#dissoci@tion tw

[ashintheairlikesnow]

His Word Goes Forth

CW: Referenced past child abuse, some emeto references (brief, vague), some dissoci@tion towards the end, alcohol references, prostitution references. Just a whole load of references. But I am so excited to finally be able to write this chapter and introduce... Gilly's children.

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

The Hotel Import, Grand Island, the Colonies

Guilford Wentworth the Fifth - who went by Ford and told everyone who didn’t already know his parentage that his name was Wilford Prose, simply a cousin to the illustrious Wentworth name - woke up to sunlight streaming in through the gauzy curtains, bright like daggers against his closed eyes.

He’d been meant to go to the symphony last night and make some sort of connection with a man whose properties his father admired, a man named Hogarth or something who owned too much land and not enough good common sense to know to avoid anything to do with the Wentworth businesses. Ford had been told to convince him a visit to the Continent would do him good, to stop by the Wentworth estate and meet the elder Guilford.

He’d been told to make many such meetings before, and usually he did as he was told. Ford had ceased to be treated as a child and had become just another tool in his father’s toolbox since his mother died and could no longer shield her children. He’d been good at it at first. 

But now… He was only eighteen and already he was tired of this.

And last night, he’d decided to let tired win the day.

Instead of making contact at the symphony, he’d instead allowed himself to be distracted by the promise of further liquor in a dark men’s club down the street, and spent his night in pursuit of new ways to forget his hated name.

He had succeeded, however briefly.

Unfortunately, the end result was that Ford woke up knowing his own name very well still, but with a headache that threatened to split him in two from temple to chin, a tongue that felt like cotton stuffed into his mouth, and a stomach that was either threatening to empty itself or ravenous for food and it couldn’t seem to decide which.

“Damn the sun,” He groaned, still feeling the ebb and swell of the liquor from the night before within him, stretching against the sheets. There was an ache in his hips that he enjoyed more than he disliked it, and when he tried to open one eye to look down at himself, there were marks of red from someone’s rouge, he thought, along the insides of his thighs. “... huh.”

Rubbing his face, he slowly sat up, squinting against the pain. There was a bottle with at least two good drinks left in it on the table next to the bed, and he drank it all, feeling it burn all the way down.It would help hold off the worst of the ache, though, at least until he could find somewhere darker to hide away from the daylight and a draught of laudanum to send him back to sleep.

Then, when he woke up once more, he’d need to come up with an excuse for why Hogarth Whoever wasn’t already boarding a ship for the Continent, to be swayed by his father’s monster like everyone else was.

That could wait, though. At least for however long it took to sleep off last night, both the alcohol and the pleasures that came with the darker bars and the seedier places in the city. Ocean air and warm nights made pleasures easy to find, and there were plenty of people who wanted money to eat more than they wanted their own virtue intact.

Ford had plenty of money.

Although even the money wasn’t really his.

He sighed, dropping back into the bed. There wasn’t anyone in the bed, although there had been when he went to sleep. Or passed out. Whichever it was that he’d done.

There’d been a young man, his own age - what was his name? It didn’t matter. None of their names mattered. Once they had coins in hand he could call them anything he wanted and they’d do anything they were told. Nothing there beside him now but empty space.

 When he laid his hand there, it was still warm.

“Damn,” He whispered, then checked the other side, where there had been a lovely woman. Had the two known each other? He couldn’t remember. Well, in any case, that space was equally emptied, and it wasn’t warm at all. 

She’d left long before the man had. 

“Well… double damn,” Ford said, voice a little rasping. One of his last clear memories had been shout-singing along with the sea shanties sung by the sailors come on shore to drink and whore with the rest. Had the young man been a sailor on leave? Might have been... “If he told me his name, I forgot it. I rather liked them.”

His eyes drifted closed again.

“Of course you did,” His sister’s voice came, warm as the ocean nearest the shore, dry as the desert wind, breaking through his thoughts. “You like them all, because you are an idiot with money and that makes them like you.”

Ford gasped, his heart half-stopped before his mind caught up and he realized she wasn’t actually in the bedroom, but out in the sitting area where he couldn’t see her - and more importantly, she couldn’t see him. Even so, he felt himself flush and yanked the blankets up to cover himself, sitting upright all at once.

“Nathalie! What in the gods’ names-”

He heard the rustle of the morning paper. “Good morning,” Nathalie said, without even the slightest change in tone. “How are you, dear beloved sister? Oh, I’m fine, Ford, thank you for asking. Did you just arrive, Natty? Why yes, Ford, I did, it is so lovely of you to ask after my health-”

“Fine, fine, Nathalie, I get it. Just-... hold on, let me dress and I’ll join you.” Ford snorted, reaching blindly towards the floor and grabbing at the first pieces of clothing he found there. The suit he’d been meant to wear to the symphony, now a wrinkled mess - but it wasn’t like his sister would care, or even as if it were the first time she’d seen him in disarray after a night wasted. He had to fight a swell of dizzy nausea as soon as he was on his feet, leaning against the wall and letting his fingers scrape the textured wallpaper there, a series of flowers in dim pastels against cream. “How did you get in here, anyway?”

“I asked at the desk if my brother was here carousing with whores,” Nathalie said. The paper rustled again as she turned the page, as if punctuating her sentence. “And the sweet young man at the desk informed me that you were, indeed, carousing with whores. I paid him to let me in and threw out the whore.”

Ford swallowed thickly, walking with slow, careful steps along the cool wooden floor to the doorway, his shirt half-buttoned and the linen a mess of wrinkles. “There were two.”

“Of course there were.” Nathalie set the paper down and turned to look at him. She looked like their mother - both Ford and Nathalie looked like her, thank any god who might have been responsible. They had her delicacy, her bright wide eyes. Nathalie looked the most like her, though. And now she turned their mother’s look of solemn, disappointed judgment on him just like she had. “There was only one when I arrived. I sent him away.”

“Hmph. I thought he was quite nice, I was hoping to seek him out again. I can’t recall if he told me his name, though.” He dropped into a chair at the little breakfast table she’d set herself up at, slumping against the hard wooden back and tipping his head back. The world swayed dangerously around him when he did.

“His name was Darren,” Nathalie said, and when he opened his eyes to look at her, he found that the disappointment had become the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “Darren Meander.”

“That… He cannot have been speaking true to you.”

“I don’t care if he was or wasn’t, it’s what he told me. There, now you have a name if you want to find him again.”

“Thank you. Why did you bother?”

“You get on better with the whores than you do with your own class,” Nathalie said, as if the answer were obvious. “And you’re going to seek them out anyway. Besides, I use you as proof positive to myself of something I have always known.”

“What…?” 

“That I, Lady Nathalie Wentworth, shall never marry, since any man of means or with a good family name may be as dissolute and pointless as you are.” She winked at him, and he might even have found it in himself to laugh if his stomach hadn’t twisted angrily at the thought. “I do enough picking up after you, I don’t think I am in need of any other man to deal with.”

“I’m sure you can find a pious man and get to him before he joins the priesthood,” Ford muttered, his face hot with guilt. She really did so often have to handle things for him, things he should have handled himself as the eldest.

Nathalie was younger than him, only just now sixteen, but she’d always seemed older, more second mother than sister some days. Maybe because, since their mother had died - when he was eleven and she was only nine - she’d done all the mothering of the twins, all the hiding them from the attention of their father, holding them in the night after nightmares or when the coastal storms raged. 

Ford’s job, back then, had been to take the brunt of his father’s anger, keep Guilford’s eyes - and his fists - on him, and only him. It had kept Nathalie and the twins safe, for years… until their lordly father had split them all apart and declared the twins were old enough for finishing school, Ford was ready to take over the business interests in the Colonies, and Nathalie was old enough to run her own household and prepare for marriage.

Still.

They were all still far, far away from their father, and therefore safe from his direct influence, his attention, and his damnable monster.

Still.

Ford sighed, watching a shivery little rainbow from the sun shining through a window just right bounce off the ceiling. “In any case, I’ve hardly caused enough trouble to cross the channel and find you. What are you doing here, anyway?”

Nathalie didn’t look up from the paper she was scanning, but she gestured at a carafe before her. It had freshly-brewed coffee that steamed as he poured it into a teacup, and he sighed happily at the first sip. She hummed. “I came to see you.”

“You’re meant to be up at Howe House.”

“I was up at Howe House. I’ve been supervising it for months. It’s nearly habitable, which is lovely, considering I’ve been habiting there amongst the dust and the mouse droppings all this time.” Nathalie finally set the paper down, crossing her arms on the table and looking Ford over. She was pristine, in a light-blue linen dress made for the hot island days, her hair pulled back in a chignon to keep it from suffocating the back of her neck. “Oh, Ford. You look awful.”

“I feel awful, thank you ever so much for noticing.” He drained the first cup of coffee and poured a second, his tongue flat and numb from the too-hot liquid. He didn’t care. “So if you were at Howe House, why aren’t you there now? It’s a four-day sail to get here from there, and you sent no warning-”

“I absolutely did send you a notice, you shattered teapot of a man. You just haven’t been home in a week, I checked when I arrived. Your servants haven’t seen you since last Wednesday and not a single one had a clue where to find you except your butler.”

“Yes, well, he’s the only one I told when I left that I was going to stay here.” Ford exhaled. His sister’s constant piercing stare wasn’t helping his headache even a little bit. His stomach turned over itself and he fought back the urge to simply be sick all over this lovely table and Nathalie’s lovely dress. “... I hate the house. I avoid it whenever I can.”

“Clearly.” Something in his sister’s bristling manner softened, a little. She reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Ford. I know this… wasn’t how we hoped it would be, when we were young.”

Ford laid a hand over hers. His fingers felt chilled and numb - hers, by contrast, felt bright and warm and full of life. “We thought we could go farther from him, that he wouldn’t follow us. But…”

That had been when their mother was alive, and they had thought they could bring her with. Neither of them said it. Both of them heard it, anyway, even unsaid.

Ford cleared his throat. “... but if this is what our father wants, we must help to build and maintain the Wentworth name and fortune.”

“I know.” She squeezed his arm, brief but firm, and then let go of him, glancing back down at the paper. “I know. And we are, however we hate our parts, we play them. For the twins, at least.”

“For the twins. They’ll… be out of school in a few years, and by then, maybe-”

“Maybe.” She cut him off. She poured herself a coffee, then, holding it in both hands. Her nails were bitten nearly to the quick, the one bad habit that had never been broken in her no matter their father’s rages. “I should tell you, Ford, this is not a social visit. I was… sent here to pick you up.”

“You were?” Ford sat up straighter, and felt a frisson of dread like an electric eel moving inside of him. “By-... Nathalie, not by-”

“Yes. By… our father.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “... why?”

She took in a breath, wincing and pressing one hand to her side as the mere expansion of her ribs pushed against the tightly-fitted bodice. The style of the times, for wealthy young women, and Ford had spent more than a few nights undoing laces of young ladies wondering if ‘style�� was just a pretty way to avoid saying suffocation. At least the lower class women he spent most of his time with were allowed to breathe. 

Nathalie’s voice was so soft it was nearly a whisper. “You were supposed to be packed and ready to go when I arrived, Ford. I was supposed to explain it to you on the ship.”

“... what?” He blinked.

"Father's letter to me made it clear I wasn't to tell you until we were underway, but-... but I meant to regardless, just-... I expected you to have seen my letter."

"... Ah." The mere mention of his father had made his stomach try to rise up in his throat again, and the idea of going back on a ship - the weeks of seasickness and then the week of land sickness afterward when he had to get used to being solid and still once again - made it much much worse. He had to swallow hard as bile rose and lean over, resting his forehead on the cool surface of the table and pressing one hand over his belly to try and calm it with the pressure. 

The morning breeze blew in through the windows, bringing the salt-scent of ocean air with it. There came with the welcome salt the faint hint of dead fish, a simple fact of life everyone tried to ignore. You got used to it. Ford had gotten used to it, in the end. But it didn’t help his stomach feel any better now, or stop his heart from racing. “Father sent you... to pick me up? I am to live at Howe House with you now?” He groaned against the tabletop without looking up. “That house is full of ghosts!”

“It is not.” Nathalie rolled her eyes. He could hear her shoe tapping impatiently under the table and her cup clatter against the saucer as she put it back down. “That’s an old wives’ tale, I’ve never met a single one and I’ve been living there for more than a year.”

“Yeah, because you aren’t the heir, they don’t loathe you like they do me.”

“There are no spirits haunting Howe House,” Nathalie said firmly. “And if there were, why would they hate you?”

“The same reason I have such hatred for myself, due to the blood in my veins! His blood!"

Oh, he’d spoken too loud. The pain in his head spiked with his voice's volume, and he had to close his eyes tightly and breathe in quick, shallow pants until it ebbed again. 

Nathalie was silent, but her hand laid on his back, then, rubbing gently up and down. Just like their mother had, when they were young and came to her with sickness. She gave him a moment or two of quiet, which... it helped, honestly. “You cannot help the circumstances of your birth,” She murmured. “And remember what Mother said."

"It is only blood," Ford muttered, mouth barely moving. "She had no idea how deep the ties of blood run."

"Yes she did. And... I understand, Ford, I wish as much as you that we could change our names and be gone, but you know we can’t."

"The twins need us."

"Yes. Besides, Father-”

“Why, why would Father even think of me? I’ve done everything I can to get him to forget me entirely, Nathalie!”

“Oh, is that what the drinking and whoring were about? Being easily forgotten?” Nathalie’s humor was sharp, but it never quite cut deep. He knew her too well for that, and she was still gentling herself for his sake. He made himself sit up and look over at her. There was something in the set of her face that had his nerves singing in worry. “Listen to me, Ford. You aren’t coming to stay at Howe House.”

“Well, he can’t have sent you to scold me about… this.” He gestured at the wreckage of the hotel suite around him, bottles emptied or half-emptied. It looked as though at least one of his guests the night before had left their shirt behind. Or maybe that was one of his, and it had been unpacked… He’d never seen it before, but that didn’t mean much. Ford’s clothing was bought according to his father’s specifications, he never knew of it until he was sent for tailoring. “He doesn’t even know about it.”

“You cannot be sure, but… no, no, it’s not about this.” She licked at her lips, looking uneasily over to the window. Outside, the sun shone in a perfect, cloudless blue sky. The sound of people going about their lives down there filtered up to them. “... Ford. He calls us. We have been summoned... home.”

His heart chilled at the word. "No."

"Yes." Nathalie exhaled, folding her hands in front of her. She looked everywhere but him, and he tried without success to follow her gaze. “He’s… sent for us, Ford. You know why. You know what that means.”

“Either of us, really.” His voice was a whisper, airless. The hotel suite around him seemed suddenly transparent, as if he weren’t even seated here within it. As if it were all a pretty fiction, a daydream he had at night with Wentworth Manor crowding ever closer, his father’s eyes everywhere searching for faults, always finding them. His father’s monster with teeth bared and loathing in its dreadful eyes. “It could be for either of us. You’re sixteen, I’m eighteen, it could-... it could be for you, or for me, it could be-”

“... I think it’s for you.” She took his hand in both of hers again, and this time she held on tight. They looked at each other, with their mother’s eyes, and Ford felt the wave of fear he had spent his time here on the islands trying to escape breaking over his head, to drag him under again. “I think Father has found you a wife.”

The sun shone. Birds sang. The ocean was a constant dull, reassuring roar just outside the window. Despite the heat, Ford shivered with a depthless chill and felt water closing over his head, drowning him in the dark with all his fears coming suddenly to life.

“How-” His voice broke.

He had to swallow down terror, just like he had done since he was a child, and straighten his shoulders. He had to tell himself the world was only a play, and he was only a part his father had imperfectly cast. He had to keep his own life at a distance, and not feel it, or he would feel too much. The world had too many sharp edges, and he must stand apart from them or be slashed to ribbons. “Nathalie-”

“Please,” Nathalie whispered. “Please don’t ask, Ford. Don't, I won't know the answer, none of us know."

“How long?”

She didn’t answer, only looked away. He could see the glimmer in her eyes, knew it for what it was. It made the world feel even more distance, as if he were adrift in a lifeboat, the tide carrying him away from his own body. The escape was a gift or a curse, and he didn't know which.

His mouth still moved, without his consent. Without his decree. It asked the question neither of them knew the answer to, the question that haunted every Guilford Wentworth but the first.

“After I’m married, Nathalie... after he has given me to his bride, and the monster has taken my mind and will from me... after he has me shut up in his house again..."

His voice felt like someone else's. His body was only a creation that carried blood to a new generation, to give his father more power. He was far, far away from it.

"Nathalie-"

"Please, Ford-"

"How long will he... let me live?”

-

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee

[benry-coinings]

PS1advertismic

Alt flag under cut but TW 4 skin/flesh texture

Not sure how disturbing it rlly is but i wanna b cautious :•3c

A gender related 2 the strange and abnormal nature of the earlier PlayStation 2, and also PlayStation 1 print ads. Your gender feels like psychedelic body horror, digital, grungy, retro, gross, disturbing, dissociated, risque in a slightly sinful way, and claims to be/feels more powerful than god despite modern context proving it to be just an outdated piece of gaming hardware. This gender is very connected 2 weirdcore and techcore aesthetics.

Pronoun Suggestions:

Play/Sta/Tions/PlayStaself

Ad/ad/ads/Adself

Flesh/flesh/fleshs/fleshself

△/O/Xs/□self

?/?/?s/?self

💿/💿/💿s/💿self

🎮/🎮/🎮s/🎮self

🔌/🔌/🔌s/🔌self

[endless-whump]

Milo: Demands

CW: homophobia, references to abuse, implied abuse, implied past captivity, manipulation, violence, light dissoci@tion reference

Masterlist

I finally was able to pull myself out of my Simon and Oliver fixation and get some Milo stuff done lmao

----

“Open the fucking door, Daniel!”

Nick slammed his fist against the door of the small townhouse, fuming.  He could barely think past the pure rage running through his veins, logic completely thrown out the window as soon as he’d gotten the text from Ava.

Daniel is trying to take him.  Get home now.

That short, straightforward text had sent Nick into overdrive.  He’d abandoned his errand immediately, driving home as fast as he could only to come back to an empty house.  Ava was home, and so was James at that point, but to him it was empty.  Without Milo it was empty.  He suspected Daniel might try pulling some shit like this- but under his nose like that?  Coming and taking Milo while he was gone?

Bullshit

“Open the FUCKING-”

Nick took a step back as the door swung open, being greeted by the completely calm face of that prick-

“Where is he.”  Nick grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him forward, having to lift him up just slightly to get them at eye level.  Daniel’s eyebrows rose in surprise and a flash of fear before calming again, forming into an almost smug expression.

“He’s inside with mom, home where he’s supposed to be.”  

Nick dropped him and advanced, forcing the other to take a step back as he glanced behind Daniel to try and look inside the house.

“Milo?”  He called out, trying to push past.  There was no way he could do this, he couldn’t do this.  He was going to take Milo home, court order be damned.

“Dude- you can’t come in!  Get the hell-”

“Nick?”

Both of their gazes snapped behind them to the hall inside the house, Milo standing hesitantly in the entryway, wide eyed.  Nick’s breath caught at the sight of him, hope sparking.  Everything was gonna be ok, they were going home.

“Milo, go back to mom or something, this is none of your business.”

Violent anger flashed in Nick's eyes at the statement, and he took another step forward

“Stop talking to him like he’s a fucking kid or something.  What is this court order, anyways, some custody shit?! You’re seriously stripping him of his rights like he’s some child being tossed around between divorced parents? Are you fucking sick?  He’s an adult, and he decided to live with us.”

“Milo can’t make decisions right now.”  Daniel snapped right back, sneering.  “He can’t fucking take care of himself, lets face it.  Now I know you’ve been having fun playing house or whatever you fucks like to do, but that kind of involvement isn’t healthy for him, and I’m stepping in because I care about him.  He’s staying here.”

Nick was stunned, feeling like he’d been slapped.  He didn’t know what to say for a moment, what he was implying slowly registering in his mind.  His face set in a grim, furious expression as he grabbed Daniel again by the collar.

“Listen here you little shit-”

He slammed Daniel up against the wall, rage burning through him.  To insult him like that- to insult Milo like that, it crossed a line.  There was no way he had any good intentions with Milo, not with what Nick knew about what he’d done throughout their school years.

“Whatever us fucks like to do?  What the fuck does that even mean, Daniel?  Go on, say it, I dare you.”

He felt a grim satisfaction at the fear that finally settled in Daniel’s expression, a feeling of accomplishment that was only weighed down by the still present goal of getting his partner out of there.

“Get off my property right now, unless you want me to call the police.”  Daniel said shakily.  Nick didn’t budge, just getting closer up in his face.

“Really, Daniel? I don’t think you will, unless you want to be calling an ambulance along with it.”

He wasn’t in the mood to be civil anymore.  He knew Daniel had hurt Milo before; the night he found him at that gas station.  Those bruises, that fear.  That was Daniel’s doing, and it wasn’t the first time it's happened before.  He wasn’t going to stand by while he twisted some sick excuse to pull Milo back home, to treat him like a child that couldn’t decide he wanted to stay with his friends.  His actual family.

“Try me.”  Daniel spat, trying to regain some of his earlier smug demeanor.  “Hit me, I dare you.  You were always too much of a coward to really stick up for anything.”

That was it

Nick pulled him back and slammed Daniel against the wall with a yell of anger, watching the surprise and pain flash in the others eyes.  This was the payback.  This was the payback for all those years he watched Milo fear his own home, for the pain he caused even after Milo tried to leave.  For shoving his way back into their lives like this, for causing so much hurt and pain and anger.  He deserved the wrath of every little bit of it.

He raised his fist and brought it down with anger fueled speed, sending Daniels head snapping to the side.  He gave him another shove before letting him go, watching the smaller man stumble and bring his hand up to clutch at his now bleeding nose.  He shook his hand with a fist, knuckles screaming in pain at the clumsy, inexperienced hit.

“FUCK- what the FUCK, dude-”  Daniel swayed and leaned against the wall, leaning over as he swore in pain.

“What was that?”  Nick demanded.  “I’m too much of a coward to stick up for anything, huh?  Want me to keep going?”

“I’m gonna get your ass hauled off for so long,”  Daniel laughed, spitting blood to the side as he looked up, still grimacing.  “You complete dumbass.”

Nick hadn’t cared until this point, the realization of what he’d done settling into his mind.  The only thing that had been on his mind was getting revenge on this asshole.  It was going to be his downfall, he realized in the back of his mind. He’d be no help to Milo, now, by getting himself arrested.

Might as well make it count, then.

Nick was lifting a fist to advance and strike again, only to be stopped by unsteady hands grabbing at his arm.  He froze, looking back and seeing Milo tugging at him, tugging him away from Daniel.

“Please don’t,”  He begged shakily, gaze darting between both of them.  “Please..Daniel don’t call the police, I’ll stay.  I,I’ll stay if you don’t call them.”

Both of them froze, staring at him.  No, Nick thought desperately.  He couldn’t let Milo stay here.

“Please.”  Milo repeated, voice breaking.  “Nick..I’ll be ok.  Please go, I’m ok.”

Nick didn’t believe him for a second.  He could see the fear and tiredness in his features, in the way he looked at Daniel, almost as if for approval of what he was saying.

“I won’t call the police if he gets the hell out of here now.”  Daniel snapped.  “I highly advise you to take that offer, Nick.”

Nick turned to Milo, desperate. Milo wrapped his arms around him in a hug, hanging on tight and shoving his face against his neck.

“I’ll get you out,”  Nick vowed, holding him protectively.  “I’ll bring you home, I promise.”

“No,”  Milo choked out.  “Please..please just leave me here.  I want to stay here.”

Nick froze at that, hands clenched into fists.  He didn’t believe it for a second, but knew this was Milo’s way of protecting both Nick and himself.  He’d get Milo out, but for now he needed to let him protect himself in the only way he could, and that was compliance.

He reluctantly pulled away, not missing the way Milo held back tears and let that blank, distant expression take over his before grieving features.

“Go.”  Milo choked out.  “Get out. I..I don’t want you here.”

Daniel looked triumphant even with the blood in his face as Nick backed out of the doorway, giving Milo one last desperate look before turning and walking back to his car.  He could feel himself falling apart but knew he needed to get it together to try and pull something off.  He needed to get a hold on himself, for Milo’s sake.

Milo watched him go with a sinking heart, unable to hold back the sob that had been growing in his chest.

“You’re better off without him, Milo.”  Daniel said lowly, slamming the door shut and locking the first, the second, and the third locks on the door.  “Basement.  Now.”

Milo obeyed and walked slowly down the hall, stumbling a little as tears blurred his vision.  He’d just driven off his one hope of leaving, of escape.  Nick probably hated him, had thought he wasted his time coming. He was alone now, to be faced with the dark and the pain again. He might as well just be back with Samuel again.  That meant he was right, in a way.  The safety wasn’t ever going to last, it wasn’t meant to.  He was right back where he started.  He was alone.

Meanwhile, Nick’s hands were shaking as he dialed a number on his phone, slamming his finger against the call button and bringing it up to his ear. He had one hand on the wheel and one on the phone, trying to keep himself from driving off the road in his trembling rage.  He was going to make a plan, to do whatever it took.  He was going to bring Milo home.

----

taglist

@haro-whumps@simplygrimly@insanitywishes@lonesome--hunter@deluxewhump@elisabethrosewrites@insanitywishes@iaminamoodymoodtoday @bleeding-demon-teeth @lumpofwhump@redstainedsocks @redstainedsocks @finder-of-rings @insomniacscoprio @inaridriscoll @rosesareviolentlyread

[burtlederp]

A Collection of Unfinished Blurbs: Part 4

Taglist: @whumpers-inc Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this whump community variety show!

Written 15 June, 2020. I haven't much to say about this, because it was very much a one-off. I think Ronick was supposed to be an oc of mine for all of ten minutes, but I just don't know him anymore. I think I had a scene in my head and I just wanted to put it to paper. Enjoy, anyhow!

TW: captivity, war, prisoner of war, mentions of torture, mentions of eye whump, dissoci@ation kinda, guns, American military

---

It was quiet.

In the small room of the adobe building, a man lay curled in the corner, as small as he could make himself, sleeping soundly. His breathing was labored, erratic, and even if he was awake, he wouldn't see anything for the bandage wrapped tightly around his head. All he had to sleep on was a thin blanket they had given him, one of the few, slight mercies that he had come to treasure in the absence of anything else. Gunshots sounded distantly, soft pops that did nothing to wake him.

He wasn't well, and that much was obvious to any observer. Thin and emaciated, covered in bruises and cuts and fresh scars, a scrappy beard, his brown hair long enough to fall in his face. It had a curl to it now that it was this long, something he'd never known about himself because he'd never once let it get this long in his life before.

The gunshots were getting closer, and it was still quiet.

Another figure huddled beside him, garbed in black robes, shaking, trembling, at the sound of approaching gunfire. She was the man's caretaker, the one who ensured he didn't die whenever his captors brought him back after a long day of interrogation. Well, not so much interrogation anymore, just torture. The man broken, no--he'd shattered. And she couldn't blame him. Day after day after day of harsh, unyielding torture, the man had disappeared, leaving behind a husk that never spoke anymore. He was responsive when conscious, head lifting when his name was called, but there was no one there. She didn't need to see the one eye he had left to know he was gone.

The gunshots were right outside, and she moved closer to him.

"Please, Allah," she breathed. "Please, please, please..." She didn't know what she was praying for. To be rescued, for a quick death? She didn't know.

She screamed when the door was kicked down, covering her head protectively with her arms as men stormed into the room like an awesome wave. A hand grabbed her by the arm, yanking her to her feet and pulling her away. A soldier, a medic, knelt beside the man on the ground, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Ronick?" the medic called. "Ronick Spendlove?" No response, not even a twitch. The medic raised his voice. "Ronick?" he called again. Ronick didn't move.

"We need to go, sir," another soldier informed the medic.

"Yes, I know. Come on, we need to carry him, I--" The medic cut himself off as the soldier stepped forward, carefully working her arms under the man and lifting him. Ronick didn't weigh much anymore, making it easy to do so as his head lolled back, mouth agape.

"Thank you, Torres," the medic nodded, and away they went, carrying the empty shell of a man into the night, taking him home.

[albino-whumpee]

The Master´s party

A little teaser for you. 

A grin quirked the man´s lips up when he held his chin in a bruising grip. Sann let out a pathetic yelp as the man pulled his face closer to his. 

“You´re an awful liar”

(This one´s long, just heads up for that and just so you know what Albus is taking about at the end, read Of secrets and memories )

This is a series, here´s the Masterlist

Taglist:  @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump  @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @twistedcaretaker

TW// Dehumanization, slavery, all the box boy jazz, past abuse, shock collars, defiant whumpee, torture, past abuse, conditioning, anxiety, desrealization, humilliation and dissoci@tion. 

The invitation came in a golden envelope.

Albus silently waited for Zarai to read it. He didn´t expect her face to turn from taciturn to horror in the split of a second.

“Absolutely not” she shouted, taking her phone and furiously typing a number as she walked to the studio. Albus glanced at Momo who meowed to be fed.

He was petting the cat while it ate, when he saw Zarai steaming from rage and straightened up in instinct, bracing for a hit that never came.

Zarai let out a loud groan before putting her phone back on the table with a slam that made Albus jump. Slowly his muscles relaxed as he watched the woman rub her temples. He waited a second, just to be sure.

“I can’t believe it. They’re nuts!” She shot her hands up suddenly “Uniform etiquette? That’s- I don’t even know where to start on how wrong that is!” She continued before exhaling a loud, long sigh.

Albus extended her coffee and gulped when he saw her drink it in one go. “I-Is there something wrong with mistress Heleba’s party, ma’am?” He ventured, catching her attention and glad it didn´t come off as misbehaving. She had simply let her chin rest on her hand as she stared at the envelope.

“They want pets to attend the party with uniforms”

Albus frowned. Wasn´t that normal? 

“Would ma��am prefer me to stay then?” he tried, picking up the cup to clean it. He knew she wasn´t exactly a fan of pets in the first place, but her discomfort was aimed more at their owners, so a party with too many of them around? He could smell her complaints from miles.

Albus was surprised to hear her sigh instead. 

“No, I need you there. I wanted you to meet other potential clients and the agencies we will form partnership bonds with in the future. Especially Dune´s executives, but…” she tapped the envelope with bottled anger. His eyes drifted down to the letter.

“Pets are required to use shock collars as uniform etiquette and security measures to our dear guests”

The man at the party´s reception told Zarai as Albus lifted his chin. The man´s partner putting the leather white collar on Zarai´s hand, as the other checked the electrodes against his neck.

Ah, what a familiar sensation, he thought to himself.

“Is it really necessary? He´s not dangerous…” She asked putting the leather collar on her purse with a deep frown on her face.

“Orders from above ma’am” the security guard limited himself to answer.

Zarai whipped her head back at the boy when she heard the buckles click. His hands twitched but he clasped them tightly over his lap, directing a small smile at his owner.

“It´s fine ma´am. Is just a security measure” he said, but a lump formed on his throat when he saw the remote. Squeezing his wrists tight, he held back the impulse to take the collar off himself.

“This button allows you control the intensity and this one is to make it shoot the electricity. Like this” It was already on the lowest voltage so when the man pressed the button, the collar’s box little LED lights turned red for a second as a short wheeze was forced out of Albus.

You forced me to do this 778900. You keep trying to run off somewhere… Don’t be so impatient. Someone will buy you, eventually. This is for your own good.

Zarai yanked the remote from the man “Enough!” He stared at her in confusion as Albus caught his breath. “There was no need for a demonstration” she shot a glare at the man who offered an apologetic smile before she walked away, dragging the boy with her by the arm. “C’mon, Claude will be waiting inside” she whispered, not expecting to not hear a reply. She stopped a few steps away, noticing Albus trembling figure. She looked around the sea of people and dragged both to a small spot besides the pet’s bathroom.

“Can…can you lift your neck Albus?” The boy complied without fighting. Almost robotically. He blinked surprised, however, when he felt her fingers searching for something on his neck. “There” she said with a triumphant click. “They never said anything about it being on” she said, putting the remote into his own hands “I don´t have a use for this. Keep it hidden for me, would you?” she smiled.

Albus eyes softened as he clenched his hand on the remote. “Thank you ma’am”.

Zarai recomposed after giving him a short squeeze on the shoulder “Let´s go. I don´t want to be here more than necessary. Oh, Claude!” she said, calling the doctor talking with some businesswoman and waving at him as Albus hid the remote on his coat´s pocket.

—-

“Mister Serra! I-I didn´t know” some of the guests told him upon seeing the collar on his neck. He was glad none of the people he considered close was there to see him sport the tag he had tried so very hard to keep hidden.

“I apologize for the confusion” he would say in a bow.

“A pet that can read and work, quite unheard of” a man with a funny mustache said reflexively. Albus recognized him from the archives Zarai had made him memorize about the party´s guests. The vice-president of the adjacent company of the many, Rupert Glass owned. “Pretty interesting tactic from Miss Montenegro to keep your status hidden. Never understood her very well… I might try buy one like you. Normal pets are mostly just for show and I want one that can be useful” he said brushing Albus from head to toe. The boy knew better than to keep his eyes at the same level and shyly let down his gaze.

He wished they could go back home soon.

Even if Zarai treated him well, for most of the attendants he was at the same level of importance as the fine glass on their hands.

A luxury they could afford to break.

They only didn´t because it wasn´t theirs. He, wasn´t theirs. It would be rude if they injured or broke someone else´s property. But they didn´t shy from dragging around by a leash their half-naked, bruised pets. 

Some of their eyes nailed on him with anger, but quickly lifted up at their owners pull on their necks. 

Albus could still feel the glares the other pets shot at him and tilted his head only to catch a glimpse of light brown hair. Sann was wearing a tuxedo with a white rose on his chest. But as soon as he spotted him, Sann disappeared into the sea of people taking Albus´ breath with him. “I…It has been a pleasure to meet you Mister Darcy, but I must attend some…matters. Miss Zarai gives you her greeting and wishes you good health” he said, offering his hand to stretch. The older man only gave it a look before wrinkling his nose.

“I don´t handshake pets” he said. Albus backed his hand slowly.

“Excuse me. Thank you for your time, sir” he bowed as he had learnt back on the facility before he dismissed him with a flick of his hand.

He quickly walked away to scan the crowd, not finding the freckled boy among them. He tried searching by the special drink fountain for pets in the back, next to the bathrooms. It only served water and tasteless crackers. A clear contrast with the tables overflowing with delicious looking pastries and varied choices of drinks for their masters. But he wasn´t there or at tables, laying his head on Robert´s knees either.

The man sat with another man, carding his fingers through a shivering girl´s hair sitting by his knees with a charming smile on. Albus backed away slowly when the girl convulsed forward and the man next to Robert laughed along him.

He thought maybe he had imagined him, when he felt a tug on his neck.

“Hey, this one´s collar´s turned off” a man with a security uniform told his partner. The man tightened his grip around Albus´ wrist

“What? Did it turn it off?” the man harshly made Albus whip his head to a side. A whimper escaped his lungs. “Ugh, delicate pet alert” He slapped him repeatedly “Did you turn off your collar? Thought you could get away with it? Do you want us to tell your owner what you did? Hm?”

“N-No, no sir” Albus heaved as both men laughed like jackals “Please, let me explain-Ah!” The man holding him twisted his arms to his back.

“Stay, boy, stay. Don´t make us hurt you more than necessary” He yanked his head up so his partner had free way to the collar. He heard it click on again “What a good boy” he cooed, wrapping a zip tie around his wrists “We can´t let this slip, though. We got to tell your owner” he said, holding his head down by the neck and forcing him to walk.

The man roughly shoved him to his knees besides the guard station, a few steps away from the entrance. His breathing got shallow as his eyes darted through the crowd trying to find the familiar black long hair and the blue suit of her partner.

He saw the man talking to the microphone to announce him as if he was a lost child on a supermarket. No. It was more similar to the announcement of a lost wallet.

People stared at him with indignation. Pets stared with apologetic looks before they clung to their master´s arms.

He pulled his knees closer to his chest. 

It was like he was back at the facility. Being disciplined in front of other trainees because his handlers were getting bored of him. Getting pushed to the front at the smallest inconvenience to make an example out of him to encourage the others to follow every order their handlers gave them through his own tearing screams.

He felt hands on his shoulders and jerked back so hard he banged his head against the wall.

“It´s me Albus, I´m sorry for scaring you” Zarai said, helping him up as a few spots invaded his sight “Didn´t expect this to happen…I´m sorry” she whispered as he felt the release of the zip tie on his wrists. He rubbed his bruising wrists, which infuriated the woman. “What´s the meaning of this?” She yelled at the guards.

One of them sighed “Ma´am, this is just standard procedure. It shouldn´t leave marks. Maybe albinos bruise too easily”

Albus heard those words and his brain turned off.  

Everything was below a thick curtain of fog, the sounds were slurred and his limbs moved involuntarily. It was like living a dream. Was he actually awake? He didn´t know.

He felt his legs walk, his mouth speak and his hand write as Zarai talked. But he wasn´t sure if it was real. He wasn´t sure if the people around him were really there.

Their voices sounded as if they were underwater. Unclear and foggy. A fog, thick as a veil covered the world around him as he walked. After a while, he suddenly found himself leaning against a wall. Just hearing the noise of conversations on the distance, when he allowed himself to wrap his arms around his knees on the floor of a balcony.

He tried to pull air into his suddenly too tight chest.

He hated it.

He hated not knowing why exactly those words put him off like that. Having the feeling he hated to hear it in a certain specific voice. He hated the laughter inside his head that filled his senses. He buried his head in his arms.

“Fuck off” he hissed, not expecting to feel a hand on his back.

He jumped up when he saw Sann on his tuxedo, letting out a lame squeak that made the other grin.

The boy stood up “Sorry…” Sann signed with a frown, his hands twitching in front of his chest as if wanting to say something else but not knowing how, he only stared at him.

Albus waited, just in case, before he looked away and set his eyes on the city “Don´t be, you just surprised me” He opened his mouth and then closed it with a sigh “I´m sorry… Just...give me a second” he said, biting his lip when Sann held his hand.

He brushed his thumbs against his pale hand as if saying “It´s ok, just breathe”

Albus made his lips a fine line before letting it out.

“I might always say hello with food, but you always try to hold my hand” he said in a half giggle, squeezing on Sann´s hand slightly tighter. A smile came to his face and somehow, couldn´t shake it away. 

“…Can we stay like this for a bit?” he asked, feeling the fog on his head dissipate slowly.

“Yes” Sann signed before curling his fingers around Albus´ hand.

Albus looked above at the night sky feeling the warmth of the boy´s hand leak into his before he took a deep breath. Despite the sound of the party inside where most likely Zarai was searching for him, it melted with the usual sounds of the city and the rumble of the sea in the distance. He let out his breath slowly, calm settling on his chest.

He wondered since when he had started to feel that way around the other boy. The other pet looked at the cars below with a little smile hanging on his lips. His hair was mussed up, pulled back in a way that framed his face and made his features pop. The sleek attire with the rose delicately set on his chest, was a look that couldn´t be ruined even by the shock collar on his neck intermittently lighting up.

“You look stunning” the words rolled out of his mouth and didn´t notice he had said it out loud until Sann turned to him with wide eyes. He pulled his free hand to his chin to sign a thank you with an even wider smile.

“You. Too” Sann signed as the albino felt his cheeks burn and tried to hide it by fixing his glasses. He squinted when he noticed something about his hand.

“What´s this?” he asked, fishing Sann´s hand and inspecting the new pink circles around his knuckles. Cigarette burns, he identified bitterly. “What happened? A punishment?” His tone urgent as he lifted his eyes and found Sann´s smile had ran away from his face.

He shook his head.

“No? Then why…” Albus asked as Sann pulled his hand away to lean on the balcony, watching the traffic below with a lost gaze and hiding the injured hand. Albus joined him a second later “…just because?”  Sann nodded with a shrug that pulled a string on his heart. Albus wondered if that was normal treatment for Sann and felt a sting of guilt.

It was a possibility to end up with an owner like that, the handlers had told them as much enough times, but Sann deserved someone better as owner. He deserved to be able to smile without fear of not looking pretty and eager enough to avoid being hurt.

The thoughts raced through his head before being interrupted when Sann looked up at the fireworks popping in the distance, putting that beautiful smile on his face yet again. He turned to him and finding his worried frown, his gray eyes softened.

He moved his hands up to sign, but then had second thoughts and simply smiled with slightly worried eyebrows.

“I´ll be fine” Albus could almost hear him say as he pointed his head at the fireworks.

As Albus watched the show of colors a dread began to grown in his heart. He was to act as a person, but that didn´t change he was a Pet. Just like Sann and the many others inside. They looked at him with envy and resentment, but Sann...Sann didn´t. Despite the scars on his neck and the rest of his body; the sadness behind his eyes, he still would let him hold his hand and smile at fireworks. The pleasant memories of his time with Zarai began to pop into his mind like the blue and yellow and red lights shining in the night sky.

How could he even change that for him if he couldn´t be free from it himself?

Albus felt Sann tap on his shoulder and he turned, only to find him smiling at him holding the rose of his chest and gently put it on him. He blinked perplexed at the rose, now on his chest, before his eyes found him shrugging playfully.

“Gift. For you” Sann signed as he watched Albus take out his small notebook and pen and extend it for him. It took him a second, but Sann pulled it up so Albus could read it.

“My Master can be very explosive, but he´s a man of his word. He promised me he would give me a bouquet of roses if I could stand the burns…“ Albus eyes widened in horror before Sann smiled again and tapped on the note, urging him to continue “I only got one flower, but do you like it?”

Albus was speechless for a long moment that made Sann tense up and shrink into his shoulders. Albus hand gently guided him to look at him again.

“I love it” he said as Sann´s face lit up “But, the best gift you can give me is your smile” at that, Sann´s cheeks flared up. “S-So, please, don´t do something like that for me ever again. Please...” Sann was stunned by his words and only could looked down as Albus let down his hand and Sann noticed the wild blush expanding on the albino´s cheeks, right before he felt a shock on his neck.

Sann wheezed, bent over the balcony, before he felt yet another shock. As he gasped for air, Sann worried if his Master was hidden in the shadows. The terror of it being true made him step forward, a primal fear screaming at him to rush to his side. 

“Wait!” Albus caught his wrist before he could run off. Sann stared at him for a second, heart drumming loudly in fear, agitated, so much more than the composure the albino put as front to his worry as he looked up at him could calm him. Ruby eyes full of determination nailed on him through long, white eyelashes. “Before you go, can I give you a kiss?”

Sann was thrown off the loop and glared back inside, darting his eyes through the crowd in fear of another shock, but when he felt Albus hand on his, his heart eased.

He asked.

He asked a toy like him who couldn´t say no.

Sann returned the squeeze and took one step closer. His hands were small and thin, a bit rough around the edges but so soft. Sann looked at his lips and waited for them to seal with his, but to his surprise, Albus pulled his hand and pressed his lips into his knuckles. 

It was a light kiss. Soft and soothing, Sann´s heart melted when he didn´t step closer to kiss him somewhere else and instead only saw Albus pull away.

“See you later” 

Sann stared at him for a moment, longing for more, but as Albus let go whispering, “Take care” he knew he couldn´t be greedy. He had to hang on to it until there was a chance they could meet again.

His Master glared at him when he came running to kneel besides him and then tugged on his collar, lifting his chin up as he checked his chest pocket and found it empty.  He gripped on either side of his cheeks and pressed just enough on his throat with a severe look on his eyes that made Sann recoil before he clipped his leash to his collar and took him outside. 

Sann slowed down when they passed through the security line to return the shock collar, but when the man only tugged on it for him to keep walking, he knew the collar would stay on that night. 

When the man opened the trunk for him to crawl and sit on, he saw something grim shine on his eyes. 

“Where did your rose go?” the man asked, stroking Sann´s cheek. “Did he like it?” 

For the split of a second Sann stopped knowing how to breathe, but the next he was leaning into the man´s hand, shaking his head and then tilting it as if he didn´t understand the question. 

A grin quirked the man´s lips 

[osdd-1bitch]

Notes on why specific alters formed: (by Cassie)

Chloe (Integrated) she/her

So, Chloe was a easy one. shes very maternal because we(im just gonna refer to everyone else at any given time as we bc idk when this happened) were v young and had 0 fckin communication w other people and absive parents.

our bio parents were neglectful and absive and our grandparents who did a lot of the work raising us did not speak *any english* for a long time and we never learned their language, so we had literally no one to talk to and struggled to communicate basic wants/needs as a child a lot.

Chloe was that sort of ideal mother figure, soft and loving and wise. She was also incredibly quiet, preferring to listen instead and provide nonverbal comfort which was vital to our emotional state at the time, where sharing any negative emotion,  would quickly elicit a yelling match or confusion at any more complex or abstract issues.

Owen Grady (Active) he/him

Now, Owen, who is still around, is obviously a fictive, but we've never directly interacted with his source. the portrayals of him were rather chaotic and we werent particularly sure why we split him. His role never seemed obvious to us and we had no idea wtf he was doing here...but taking a step back he makes a good ISH. He's a natural in the jungle which is full of more animalistic alters and trauma, and he's incredibly patient and kind with these guys. He might also count as their gatekeeper as he keeps them from leaving their part of the headspace (and causing major issues throughout the system). He's brave and loves exploring which are good traits for that subsystem. He isnt a large part of our collective, but his presence is known and valued (by me lol)

Sia&Nia (dormant?) she/her both

Sia and Nia are twin catgirl alters, and exist to be cringy in a way. Both were important protectors, but are currently mia due to a traumatic event that sent the vast majority of known jungle alters into dormancy.

anyways Nia was a social/emotional protector. She was loud, and defiant and very sure of herself. She knew she was 'cringe' and didnt mind being mocked or teased at all, and she was very moral and energetic. She helped a lot with self advocacy because she would not stand back and let us be ignored, although that ultimately led to her tenure being so short.

Sia was the physical protector, who didnt particularly care about others opinions or ideas on what they could do to us. She also had a strong sense of justice and was a important protector.

Ranboo (unknown) he/they/end

Ranboo was actually a rather important trauma/anxiety holder. the beginning of 2020 was incredibly stressful and traumatizing, considering now we were trapped in an absive home, w a//phyx///ia//tion being a strong trigger, black, and very close to certain...events. this made the host at the time feel incredibly unsafe and dissociated, and they momentarily hyperfixated on Ranboo the streamer. His presence took a great deal of pressure off of the host at the time, and well he is/was a rather small part of the system, his split was still helpful

PostContent (Active) it/he/they

PostContent is a fictive of a character on this one youtube channel by the same name.

tw///mentions of dth, crpses, eds, sui

////

on said youtube channel PC's 'corpse self' (the videos are highly up to interpretation as intended so I'm summarizing a lot) is in constant conflict with the main character due to being more self aware. it knows what if feels and wants and is very blunt doing so. at the very end of the first season the two seemingly 'merge'. this was something that really, and obviously, spoke to us and this split was actually needed for a long time.

see, theres been a basically lifelong fight between Need and Independence. Need is dependant, craves toxic relationships, is obsessive and, well, needy! if you give it a inch, it will want miles and miles. i dont know if it can even feel full bc whenever its in power we eat so fckin much and are always hungry. attention, food, whatever. Need feels emotions explosively and wants validation

On the other hand, Independence wants no dependence on anything. it cuts off friends, doesnt eat for days at a time, is cold ect ect. It believes things like being hungry or tired are inherently bad and 'weakness' that must be trained out of the body. Emotions are an even larger weakness that must be destroyed.

PC calms both of these factions by existing. he feels incredibly deeply, it's a very deep and dark depression, but, being dead he can simply ignore it and put it off. is being dead not the ultimate freedom from needs? is being dead not the ultimate freedom to do and want whatever you want? he also fufils both sides su//ici///dal thoughts, bc hes already dead.

PC did not end this internal war, not even close, but has helped us cope with it, making him a large and rather influential alter in our internal politics. *deep sigh* id rather deal with american politics sometimes..

///////// tw over////////

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 2&3 - 81

If you didn’t see my earlier post, I’m splitting HB2 into 2 books and extending book 3 a bit. HB4 starts in a few chapters.

Honor Bound 2&3 - 81 (Hurts to Breathe) @badthingshappenbingo​

Requested by anon & the bit at the end by @endless-whump

~

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound. 

AO3

Cw: surgery, gore (non-graphic), death mention, brief noncon mention, amputation mention, dissoci@tion tw, blood, ketamine, needles, self-hatred

~

Watching Finn do surgery was like watching a nightmare happen in slow motion. Isaac kept his hand firmly on Sam’s leg, but his eyes kept drifting to where Finn was slicing Sam’s arm open over the bullet wound. Below the tourniquet, Sam’s arm was a mottled purple-and-white that made Isaac think of corpses. I guess that makes sense, he thought. There’s no blood happening in there.

He shook his head. No blood happening. He could barely stay on his feet.

He’d barely slept at all the night before. He’d been too busy solidifying the plan with Gavin and when their whispers had faded away to silence, they just laid together, breathing together. Isaac wasn’t sure if Gavin had been asleep for any of it. Isaac had been awake, burning, agonizingly aware of every inch of skin that was pressed against Gavin. Aching, from what Gavin and Leo had done to him. Fighting down the tears, knowing this would be the last time he’d get to be in bed with Gavin, knowing after this it would never happen again. Knowing he’d never get to touch Gavin again, after what he’d done. Knowing he didn’t deserve to, after what he’d asked for. Begged for. Maybe he slept. He could just barely remember dark punches of sound in his dreams, muzzle flashes, blood. Death. Maybe he’d slept, if he dreamt of his family dying.

Maybe he was still in one of those nightmares now.

Behind him, he heard someone stumble through the door. He tore his eyes away from Sam and turned to see Gavin and Vera walking in. Behind the hospital mask Gavin looked paler than usual, but better than before. Gavin stopped just inside the doorway and leaned against the wall across the room, his eyes fixed on Sam. He wrapped his arms around his chest and shivered.

Vera crossed behind Isaac to Lucy where she sat huddled in the opposite corner, watching her husband. Slow tears rolled down Lucy’s cheeks. Vera murmured something to Lucy. Asking for something, maybe. Isaac couldn’t hear, and didn’t want to try. He only wanted to see Sam, see them getting better. Lucy left the room.

Finn cut carefully. The bullet had gone clean through Sam’s arm. Hadn’t cavitated. Just straight through, with a small hole on either side. Sam’s eyes were blank, rolling slowly in their head, drifting, landing on something in the room, moving again. It was like their body was vacant. It was like Sam was miles away.

Finn breathed slowly as they concentrated, and cut. Trying to reach the bleed. Trying to reach the thing that would tell Finn if Sam was going to lose the arm.

I don’t think Finn can do an amputation here, Isaac thought, the words coming and meaning nothing. Amputation. Nothing meant anything right now. Isaac was here, and not-here, with Sam, and somewhere else. Somewhere he couldn’t describe, just felt. Somewhere distinctly empty.

He’d seen death before. Seen blood. Seen the wounds bullets could leave when they tore through a body and left shredded flesh behind them. He’d seen how a knife could lay someone open when it was being wielded to kill, not just torture. He’d seen what the body looked like on the inside. He’d seen what it looked like when something went so wrong that the pieces couldn’t be put together again.

Watching that on Sam was agony he’d never felt. I was supposed to protect them.

His chest ached with every breath, with every heartbeat. The pain had to be from the bullet. It had to be. The crushing feeling in his ribs, the feeling like he was being punched every single moment, it all had to be from the bruise that was still forming on his chest. There was something deeper, though. Something tearing deep inside him, deep inside the core of him. Something that surpassed any anguish he’d ever felt. Am I watching Sam die? Am I watching Sam die?

NO. They couldn’t be dying. They were getting blood, Tori’s blood. Gavin’s already ran through their veins, pumping through their heart. The blood would save them. And Finn. Finn would save them.

Finn cut deeper into Sam’s arm. More blood ran over the table and dripped onto the floor.

“I think I’m almost to the bleed,” Finn said softly, almost as if to themselves. “There’s, ah… there’s a nerve in the way, I think. I d-don’t know what that… shit…” Finn adjusted their hands. Sam shuddered and groaned softly.

“F-Finn?” Isaac croaked. “I th-think it’s… I think it’s starting to…”

“Fuck.” Finn looked at their gloved hands, covered with Sam’s blood, then looked over at the counter. “Isaac, can you… just bring the whole vial, and the syringe. Yeah. God, fuck. Topher, do you… are you alright if I just have that syringe needle out? I normally wouldn’t, but…”

“That’s fine,” Topher said weakly. Looking away from the wound in Sam’s arm.

“Okay.” Finn rasped as they took the vial and syringe from Isaac. Their fingers instantly left smears of blood on the glass and plastic.

As quickly as the ketamine had set in, it was wearing off. Sam’s skin went pale, paler, as tears rolled down their cheeks. They whimpered, and their right arm shifted on the table. Their wounded arm.

“NO!” Finn screamed, dropping the ketamine on the table and grabbing onto Sam’s arm. Sam’s mouth fell open in a twisted scream.

Isaac lunged forward to pin Sam’s arm down. Pain flared in his chest. “F-Finn,” he gasped. “Finn. You… get that… get that in them.”

Finn’s hands shook as they drew out more of the drug into the syringe. Sam strained against Isaac’s hands.

“I-Isaac,” they slurred. “Isaac, please, what’s ha-happening, what’s… ahh it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts…”

“I know,” Isaac whimpered. The blood congealing on Sam’s arm was sticky on his hands. “F-Finn’s gonna, gonna fix you up. Finn’s got more of the, of the ketamine…”

“No,” Sam sobbed, pulling harder on Isaac’s arm.

Ellis’s hand went behind Sam’s head, keeping their head turned so as not to disturb the needle in Sam’s neck. Their pleas rose to a wail, then a scream. The sound stabbed into Isaac’s ears, burned in his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Finn,” Isaac whimpered. “Finn, please…”

“I got it,” Finn gasped. They didn’t bother asking Ellis to move, just reached past them and stabbed the needle into Sam’s arm. Finn retreated with the syringe, breathing hard. Tears shown in their eyes. “I’m sorry,” they whispered.

Every single second flared in Isaac’s chest as he waited for Sam’s pain to go away. Every breath hurt. Every breath hurt. Every heartbeat ached as Sam stopped begging with words and just screamed. Isaac’s knees buckled and he staggered. He looked up and Finn wasn’t even standing at the table. They had their bloody gloves off, standing at the counter, fiddling with something in front of them. Isaac couldn’t see it.

Isaac’s mouth was dry. “Finn, what—”

“Ketamine drip,” Finn snapped.

Isaac swallowed. “What—”

“Ketamine drip. To give them ketamine slowly, so th-that—” Finn threw their hand in Sam’s direction and their voice broke “—doesn’t happen again.

“Uh…” Topher looked up at Finn with his own gloves smeared with blood. “Do you want me to—”

“Start another line, please,” Finn said weakly. “Hopefully their veins are better now.”

Isaac threw a glance at Tori. She looked dizzy. Pale. Sam still screamed under his hands. Vera stepped forward as if reading Isaac’s mind.

“Babe?” Vera said tightly, her hand going to Tori’s shoulder.

Then, finally, Sam began to relax. They stopped straining against Isaac’s hands. Their head dropped back against the table and their eyelids fluttered shut.

“Ugh,” Sam mumbled. Slowly, their eyes opened again. “Wh-why is there, um, the, the air looking like that?”

“Like what, Sam?” Isaac said hoarsely.

“Um…” Sam gestured weakly with their left hand, waving it through the air. “Like… uh… whoa.” Their eyes focused slowly on their hand. “Uh… is that really there?”

Isaac glanced nervously at Finn as they injected a bag of fluids with more of the ketamine. He wet his lips. “Finn, what—”

“I can’t let that happen again,” Finn said with a sob. “C-can’t. So. Ketamine drip. 250 migs of ketamine in 250 mils of saline, one mig per mil, Sam needs thirty migs per ten minutes be, because, because that happened at around twelve. So, um… drip set of twenty drops per mil, twenty drops per mig, Sam needs, um, three migs per minute, so, um… three migs per minute with twenty drops per mig is…” Finn’s voice trailed off into silence. They stood frozen for a moment before they bent over the counter with a sob. “I… I can’t think, it’s… god, fuck, I don’t wanna do this, I don’t wanna do this, I don’t wanna do this…”

Ellis lurched towards Finn then stopped themselves short, their hand staying on Sam as if glued there.

Finn pressed their fists against their forehead. “Wh-why can’t I, I think, this is basic fucking math and I can’t do a, a simple goddamned med calculation and I… fuck, no…”

“Finn,” Topher said softly.

“…I can’t do this,” Finn moaned. “I’m not a fucking surgeon, I’m just a fucking idiot with ten fucking months of medical training and I… what if I… no…”

“Finn,” Topher said a little louder.

“…oh, god, what if I—”

“FINN!” Ellis barked from their spot at Sam’s side. Finn jumped and spun to look at Ellis. Ellis nodded at Topher. “I think he—”

“It’s sixty drops per minute, Finn,” Topher said, his voice shaking. “One drop per second. It’s a good calculation.”

Finn stood staring at Topher for a moment, trembling. Tears rolled down their cheeks. They gasped in a breath and turned back to the counter. “You’re right,” they whispered. “God, I’m sorry. You’re right.”

“No problem,” Topher murmured. He tied an IV tourniquet around Sam’s arm and looked for another vein.

“You think we could get a regular stick on Sam and let the blood go in from there so they can turn their head?” Finn said, still at the counter gently shaking a small bag of fluids.

“Sure. Wide bore. They’ve actually got a good AC now.”

Lucy walked back into the room carrying bottles of water under her arm, and a plate of sandwiches. “I… um… they’re PB&J.”

Vera crossed to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you so much.”

“Y-yeah.” Lucy’s eyes went first to Gavin where he leaned against the wall, shivering. She tentatively held out the plate to Gavin. Gavin took a sandwich with shining eyes, and left the garage to eat it.

Isaac turned back to Sam. They stared at him like they were looking at the ceiling through his head.

“Isssaac,” Sam slurred. “What’s…” They giggled weakly. “What’s going on?”

Isaac forced a smile. “Hey, Sam. How you doing?” It hurt to talk.

“I’m, I’m good,” they said. “I feel better. Did Finn fix it? Is it done?”

They’re going to be in so much pain when this finally wears off for good. “Not yet. Almost there.”

“Can I see?”

Isaac squeezed his eyes shut. “N-no, Sam. Not yet. You can’t turn your head.”

“Oh.”

Isaac opened his eyes and looked down at Sam. His sibling, his sibling was bleeding out on the table, their arm torn by a bullet that was meant for Isaac. It should have killed him, but Sam had been standing in front of him, unprotected, and he’d been in a vest. He flinched as the memory took him over for a moment. The bang, the spray of blood, the punch to his chest, the feeling of Sam falling against him. They hadn’t even screamed.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced away from Sam. Lucy stood at his side, holding out the plate of sandwiches and a bottle of water. He dipped his head and took the bottle, and a sandwich. “Thank you,” he murmured. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to eat anything. She nodded and moved on to Tori. He took a bite of the sandwich. Then another. The sandwich was gone so quickly Isaac wondered for the briefest moment if it had disappeared.

Finn returned to the table with the bag and some IV tubing in their hands. “How’s the line going?”

Isaac looked up dizzily and saw Topher finishing the IV in Sam’s arm. “Good,” Topher said.

These are all good things.

He stopped trying to pay attention to what was going on around him. He just looked at Sam. He looked at Sam as the new line was attached to their IV, blood and ketamine going in at the same time. He looked at them as the needle came out of their neck. He pushed down on the spot when Finn told him to and held the blood in until it could clot. It did. That was good, too. He looked at them as their eyes lazed slowly around the room, the pain as absent from their body as Isaac had ever seen. Sam looked like they were barely there, their mind hanging onto their body by a thread that could be cut. Sam looked like they were drifting farther and farther away.

I’d rather them be gone than in pain right now. Finn got back to cutting. Then stitching, pulling the muscle and skin of Sam’s arm together that had been torn, obliterated. Isaac tried not to look as Finn smeared superglue over the repaired tear in Sam’s artery. He tried not to look when Finn had Topher hold Sam’s arm up so they could repair the other side.

Sam heaved a deep sigh. Isaac’s eyes snapped to theirs, having wandered to watch Finn fix Sam.

“Isaac?” Sam asked thickly, as if their mouth was moving with no instructions from their brain.

“Yeah?” Isaac put his hand on Sam’s knee and squeezed.

“Do you still hate me?”

A chill rocked through Isaac, burning, freezing, tearing him apart from the inside, so much worse than the simple bruise on his chest. “What?”

“The things you said. About hating me and wishing I died.” Sam’s face was blank. Not from holding back emotion, but from there not being any emotion at all.

Isaac could feel eyes on him. His own eyes burned with tears and spilled over before he could stop it. “I…”

“I think they had you say that during the whipping so I would, um, believe it. So I wouldn’t be able to think that you don’t. But… do you?”

Isaac looked away, desperate for a minute, a fucking minute, to hold down his sobs, push away his agony, so he could answer Sam the way he wanted to. With calm words and gentle reassurances. Not screaming in guilt and fury. Not falling to his knees. Not disappearing within himself, where those words would surround him and punish him and insulate him from ever hurting Sam like that again. He needed a fucking minute, so he wouldn’t break. He needed some time.

His gaze landed on Gavin where he still stood slumped against the wall. Gavin had his hands to his mouth and was shaking with silent tears. Gavin saw it, too, and he was the one who drew Sam’s blood as I said those things. He’s the one who heard every single one of them. He’s the one who took Sam away from me in the first place.

Isaac fell back a step from the table, shuddering. He wrapped his arms around his chest and squeezed. He gasped at the pain. Welcomed it. I said those things because I was weak. I broke. I…

If I’d protected them from the beginning…

If I had died rather than beg them to come for me…

If I had been strong enough to kill Gavin when I had the chance…

If I…

If I…

If I…

If I…

Something in his chest cracked. Shattered. Was that a rib, or something else? Did it matter? He was broken, he was broken, and it was his fault Sam was broken, too.

“Isaac?” Sam’s voice held a perfect innocence. Concern, weaving gently through his name.

A second wave of agony rocked through him, deeper. Raw. Cutting into the core of who he was. I hated myself before I ever loved them.

Something shifted in him. Something he’d never even realized until that moment. I hated myself before I ever loved them. He took a step towards the table. His hand went back to Sam’s leg.

“No, Sam,” he whispered. “I never hated you. Not even once.” I said that to save their life. I was going to break, to let them live, no matter how much it hurt me.

“Good,” Sam sighed, their eyes fluttering shut. “I thought so.”

This time Isaac did stagger and drop to his knees. He reached across Sam and clutched at their opposite shoulder as Finn kept working beside Isaac. He felt a small hand cover his and squeeze. He looked up. Sam looked at him and smiled.

Continued here

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[the-uptake]

The Uptake, The 704. 3|0|1|-. Book 1, Chapter Twelve

TW: body horror, suicidal ideations, hard dissociation

Galen felt lost in the access tunnels which ran alongside the subway lines. Autopilot had seized his legs with little attention to direction. The bare concrete walls were lit by LED bars recessed in their upper seams, casting an uncomfortably uniform shadow straight down. The sounds of the public were so far away that all he could hear was the flickering of an electrical short somewhere, intermittent dripping, and himself. He couldn’t place the faint smell of burnt plastic, nor the off-puttingly sweet smell which abutted it. He’d silenced the city, coming down here. It was just him and his thoughts.

He’d put everything into running as fast as he could. Powering his cumbersomely-heavy figure that hard and for that long, the exertion had caught up to him finally. His head clawed for oxygen, and he tried vainly to steady his breathing. It wasn’t enough; typically, a significant amount of his respiration was from his diet. His gut screamed, his mouth and nose running fiercely, suffused by the mild asphyxia. There wasn’t anything down here to eat, though. He gripped his stomach, sniveling, and kept walking. Maybe he’d find a storage closet or something. Staying still could only make the pain worse.

Nothing made sense. How had Saurer tracked him down? And why had there been people at the Hanbrook complex? Really, everything made sense, in hindsight. He’d left a sloppy trail of activity in his wake, between vandalizing supermarkets with his appetite and discarding the copper in such a shape that must have been alarming to anyone besides himself. And when he thought about it, he must have gotten in the habit of eating padlocks off fences, that he assumed he had to have accidentally done the same for his hiding place rather than lockpicking it–that had to have garnered attention of the police that patrolled that area.

Wandering directionlessly a while, Galen came across a section of tunnel which had either fallen into disuse, or had never been completed to begin with. The materials had been abandoned on-site. Bags of concrete. Subway rails. Several enormous spools of wire. He tried his best to ignore the hunks of brass rail and prioritized descending upon one of the bags of concrete to shovel it into his mouth with both hands. After making a mess of one bag, he sat back on his heels and tried to breathe more evenly. The silicates broke down in his gut rapidly, and once he had better faculty, he eyed the bag tiredly. This stuff had been down here a long time untouched: it wasn’t wolframized. From there he presumed that the brass wasn’t wolframized, either. He downed a second bag of concrete, but some of it went down the wrong way and gave him a coughing fit.

He sat down and glared, tormented, at the brass. Not at all unlike the pile of copper tailings that had been abandoned unceremoniously in the alley. He hated himself, and everything he’d become. He’d blown it with his family, and there was a good chance that if Saurer had gotten close enough to find Galen, he was close enough to find his family.

“I shoulda stayed away. I shoulda died–”

And with that, he dropped all composure and began grabbing every piece of broken brass he could shove in his mouth. The taste of it felt off from what he remembered brass tasting like, but he reminded himself he’d never eaten subway rails before, and let his appetite run its course unfettered.

“Wh–” Galen heard the female voice gasp and he looked up abruptly to get a face full of flashlight. “Oh god–”

“–Nn, ndon’t go,” he wheezed, reaching out toward her. His head felt heavy. “Please–”

“What are you… doin’!”

The light blinded him to how he must have looked, crouched over garbage like that, and he grunted, trying and failing to stand up. The girl’s fear sobered him more than anything else about this encounter.

“I could… ask y’the same ques, ss, tion,” he turned. Everything felt off. He squinted at her once she rectified the fact she’d had her flashlight right in his face. His pallid, disfigured face, with its mismatched eyes and clustered craters of scars along the right side. Suddenly self-conscious, he tried to tug the side of his hood over his cheek. “Y, y, yy’not a ss, subway worker. Slag y, y’doin’ down here.” He flinched into his last tic, anxiety creeping up the backside of his scalp. A second attempt at standing succeeded.

“I’m lookin’ for a friend,” she replied, backing away further. “Supposed t’meet her down here.”

His eyes adjusted to the lighting in the area again. Her sapphire hair was cut in straight bangs and nothing else, and she wore hybrid-denim overalls and calf-high boots. The more he took in her tattooed features, the more his mind grew muddy, and he struggled against the fog. He knew her. Like he knew the voice in the alley earlier. But who…?

“Y, y, y’down here f’ver, verbot. That’s, ss, s it. Ss, sss, slag y’expect t’find down here? It’s just… this. An’ me.”

She squinted at him similarly, unable to shake that he felt familiar. His tic and paranoid demeanor had her worried, and she started taking slow steps backward. With her free hand she pulled out her reader and checked her GPS.

“Ain’t down here after verbot,” she muttered. “Ain’t y’ever heard a urbex?”

“Stalker. Y, y, y’a sss, sssssssstalker. Ss, stalkers don’t go sTUPId places f’no rea, ea, eason.” He wheezed again, feeling even heavier. Everything felt taut. Just how much had he eaten unchecked? She backed up enough for him to notice finally, and he reached out toward her, pleading. “Please– Lemme use y’j, j, GPS. I’m. Sss, c, cared.”

“You’re the scared one here? Slag is wrong with y’face anyway? An’ how long y’been down here like this? Y’livin’ down here or some truck?”

Galen took a starting step toward her, and regretted it. His right leg had begun to swell up, and he could feel the tightness of the hybrid-denim restricting his range of motion. But he pushed himself forward, as though to spite his mental fog, and took several more steps before he could hear stitches pop. The pressure lit his inguinal folds and jaw on fire, but still he persisted.

“What’s… that sound…?”

Worry threw her wide-eyed. Shakily, she shone her flashlight in his face again, to keep him blinded enough to keep back, but she wished she hadn’t. He’d begun to unzip his hoodie to make room for the masses of semi-translucent edemic lumps subsuming his neck, mired in wiry vascularity, and she could only imagine in her nightmares that it must be happening all over him.

“Oh fUCK what did you get into down here–”

“Ss– h– please–”

Her fear made him panic, and he lurched forward trying to grab her and keep her from running. But somewhere he went wrong, the pressure having built too high in his right leg, and he let out a sour scream as the bones in his leg broke from the weight of his own body. He fell on her, the flashlight clattering against the wall and rolling too far away, and she, too, yelled, interpreting his injury instead as an attack. His swollen bulk slumped atop her, rapidly subsuming his features.

She sniveled fiercely with a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, kicking him in the face a few times with her free leg. Her right foot was trapped in his armpit. The force of one stomp burst a neck mass and splattered a rotten-smelling fluid everywhere. She stopped cold when she started to hear a sizzling effervescence, because she couldn’t tell if it was him or whatever had just come out of him, and her scalp crawled. She rested her left leg atop his right arm, scared to put it down.

“Get offa me, asshole!” She whispered in furious defeat. The disgust felt ironic, like she was asking a corpse to move on its own. Once she settled down, the only sounds were fluorescent static and the slow procession of stitches failing as Galen gradually continued to swell ever larger. “How are you this heavy. So gross.”

She grunted, brow crumpled as she reached for her flashlight. Scooting nearer to it was not an option, and she gave up. After a moment, she slapped her forehead.

“Ame, get a hold of yourself. Y’reader, dumbass.”

The device came back out of her bib pocket and she awkwardly tried to maneuver it in a way that it came nowhere near touching the increasingly bloated face in her lap.

Ame whined then shuddered, squinting in disgust when she couldn’t not notice the sensation of two armpit lumps swelling around her ankle. In a kneejerk she started into stomping him again in whatever must have once been his neck or shoulder. The pressure had built up enough as to force all the air out of his lungs in a gurgled, flat wheeze. She slapped her hand right back over her mouth to keep from screaming or throwing up. Suddenly where she was certain before, she wasn’t entirely sure whether he was dead. Terror regained hold over desperation.

Shakily, she turned on the back-facing flashlight on her reader to get a better look at the state of the monstrosity atop her. The bloating had much of what had once been his face nearly clear, the fluid filling them orange. His eyes had swollen near-totally shut, but she could tell he’d still squinted once she’d flashed the device in his face. She couldn’t chalk that up to a postmortem nervous system response. He really might not be human, and might do her real harm in this state, so she quickly turned off the flashlight. But…

She pulled up her camera app, and tried to take pictures of him in the low tunnel light. Dissatisfied with the results, she resigned to quickly using flash for a few. He reached up with one arm seeking comfort, and she started hyperventilating and fumbled with the device. Trying to squirm away shifted his swelling bulk of face and upper body forward and prevented her from sitting up fully by this point. She groaned, no longer holding back tears at having to lean on him to keep his mounding form from suffocating her. At least she could be grateful that, for now, his hoodie covered up enough that she didn’t have to touch him.

Shaking, Ame flipped through her photo gallery until she decided which pic was clearest, and hit [share] to send it. She @’ed the whole group with it, and made sure it was GPS-tagged. TRAPPED UNDER THIS DUDE. OLD HOLLAND-JOURNAL ACCESS TUNNELS. HELP

A sigh escaped her and she slumped over the monster’s shoulder. When the reader buzz-chirped, she whipped to see who would come running. Message not sent. Please check your Web connection. It took every ounce of resolution in trembling rage not to fling it when a chain of buzz-chirps signaled each subsequent failed recipient of the mass-message. Message not sent. Please check your Web connection. Message not sent. Please check your Web connection. Message not sent. Please check your Web connection. Message not sent. Please– Barely, she put the reader back in her bib pocket.

“No service. Fuck. Of course there’s no service this deep down.”

She tried to get her right foot free again and groaned furiously, pummeling his back with her balled fists.

“Fuck…!” Her trailed whine escalated into a broken sob. “This fucking sucks–!”

Ame laid back down on top of him and shut her eyes in denial. She couldn’t feel her foot anymore. Prickling replaced sensation.

“You still even in there…?” she uttered.

A slow, thick, wet tongue-click was his only reply, too tired and heavy to move.

“At least y'stopped growin’.”

She frowned, and did her best to stay still. Her mind ran through hundreds of different thoughts in the coming hours before falling as still as her body and the mound of flesh beneath it. Had he stopped growing on his own, or had whatever that had transformed him run its course? If he had control over this rotten-egg corpse-bloating, what had made him stop? Plausibility of any number of reasons fell flat. Her thoughts arrived to how she’d burst the lump that had clustered up on his right shoulder, and she eyed the crispy dark orange stain she’d made of the dingy green hoodie’s right shoulder. Abruptly she jolted fully lucid and blindly reached into her left pocket to fish around, producing a knife. Sweating, she eyed the left shoulder.

“If y’still in there… I’m sorry.”

And she punctured the mounds of distended flesh in rapid succession, to loose the fluid that had built up, all the while trying her best not to think whether the stuff coming out might hurt her. Her conscious gratefulness latched onto her fully clothed legs clad in weatherproofed hybrid denim; but soon, the fizzing sound became a furious and prolonged hiss, and she frenetically pushed off with her left foot. Suddenly she spilled backwards, and she half-expected to look down to find no foot.

Ame was half-right, finding no boot.

Whatever had been in those bloated masses had deteriorated the vinyl of her boot, loosening it so her force had cracked it open. It took her a few minutes hyperventilating to process she had gotten free, but the moment it clicked, she scrambled for her flashlight. Mechanically, she beat it against her palm a few times before turning it off and sticking it back in her thigh pocket. Standing, she stared down at Galen a moment, knife still in hand.

Pained, slowly, that bloated, disfigured limb reached out to her, but slumped down against the concrete when he couldn’t hold it up any longer. She jumped, snarling in horrified revulsion he was still going. Her foot had gone from a prickling numbness to a cross-wired mess of burning ice.

“No!” Defiance did little to assuage her, and she flourished the knife at him. “Somehow I don’t think you’re somethin’ anymore that could get stabbed t’death. Won’t stop me from tryin’ if y’so much as think about followin’ me.”

Slowly at first, she backed away, eyes locked on him, then more quickly. Once she was around the corner of that stretch of tunnel, all Galen could hear was the uneven one-soled gait of someone running with one shoe.

Please…

[endless-whump]

Simon/Oliver: Rescued

CW: torture aftermath, dissoci@tion, mild self harm mention (brought on by panic) suicidal behavior mention, references to creepy and sadistic whumper, box boy whump,

Masterlist

----

“How long did they have him like that?”

The voices were quiet but they were so loud, too loud. Everything was too loud, the fabric of the blanket and the voices and the sound of the house’s heater. It was all just noise.

“I don’t know...I think it’s safe to assume it was a while, though.”

“It was a while.”  Another voice confirmed quietly.  “He was only this bad when they kept him alone for more than a week.”

“You’ll stay like this until you’re begging me to touch you,”

Oliver scratched at his arms, rocking slightly. Even with all the lights dimmed, everything was too bright. Too loud. He could feel the ghost of fingers trailing across his skin, all so unwanted and yet needed, needed to the point he felt like he was dying without it.

He needed it, he needed it, he needed it. Nobody wanted to touch him because they thought he was scared.

He was, but he needed this, and everyone refused to see that.

Simon was supposed to see that. Simon knew Oliver needed touch, but for some reason he was holding back.  

Simon had touched him, had held him when they came back for him. But after that, nothing. Silence. He hadn’t even spoken a word directly to Oliver since they got back.

He dug his nails harder until his skin, wanting to disappear. Every little thing was just noise and noise and noiseand-

Oliver flinched at the feeling of a hand on his, then melted into it. The hand pried his away from his arm, murmuring something about not wanting him to hurt himself.  It was all just noise to him.

As quick as the touch arrived, it was gone. It felt like he’d been burned, nerves alight with the pure sensation of someone else’s skin against him. It hurt so bad, but he wanted it. Craved it.

He didn’t dare chase the hand, though. No, he learned not to do that that hard way. He wasn’t sure how long it had been when they first came back, but what he did remember was the cold, solid hit from the baton when he’d tried to reach out and touch the man, desperate for something other than the complete lack of sensory input happening.

Someone kneeled in front of him, and Oliver recognized it as Sandy.  She smiled, moving slowly so as to not startle him.

“What are you doing?”  Someone behind her asked.

“He looked like he was in pain when he talked, I’m checking for damage.  Oliver, is it ok if I touch you?”

Oliver nodded slowly, eyes still unfocused.  He wanted her to touch him so bad, but also wanted her far, far away from him.  Better to let her choose for him, it was easier like that.  He wasn’t made to make decisions.

Gentle fingers pressed against the side of his neck, and he had to refrain from pulling away at the soft pain.  Sandy seemed to notice his discomfort, frowning and feeling along his neck a little softer.

“I think he might have damaged his vocal chords, and maybe even his windpipe. There’s bruising that’s faded, and he’s got some swelling.”

There was silence after that, as if there was something unspoken they all knew but refused to admit. Simon was the one to break the silence with what they were all thinking.

“From screaming, probably.” He said quietly, crossing his arms. Oliver wanted to be held by those familiar arms so badly. “Cedr- he..he choked Oliver a lot, before. I wouldn’t be surprised if it happened, he was gone for over a week.”

“Was there ever significant damage during initial captivity that would make him more vulnerable to throat injuries?” Sandy asked, her hands leaving Oliver’s neck. She leaned back but didn’t quite move away yet, observing him.

“Nothing that ever needed emergency attention but..I’m guessing it could’ve caused lasting damage. He’s... got some issues from it. Neurological ones, at least.”

The look in the woman’s eyes was an angry kind of grief Oliver vaguely recognized, one of restrained fury and pity.

“I see. Anything in particular?”

Oliver could see Simon from here, leaning against the doorframe. His face was dark, expression pained but distant, which Oliver hated.

“Memory issues.” He murmured. “Granted some of that is probably just the facility fucking up his head, but he’s got problems..retaining things, sometimes. Forgets things a lot.”

Sandy pressed her lips together, nodding. “Part of that might just be trauma. I’d monitor it alongside the suicidal behavior, but I don’t have any concerns about it pertaining to anything underlying right now. It might just have to improve with time.”

“We don’t have time,he doesn’t have time!”  Simon snapped, making Oliver flinch where he sat curled up on the couch.  “They’ve already taken so much fucking time from him. What if we can never get it back, huh? At what point is he gonna be just another washed up rescue that can’t be fixed?  What then?”

“Come on, Simon, don't say that.  He-”

“No!”  He yelled, turning away.  To leave.  “This is myfault, and I can’t even help fix it. He’s better off with people who can actually help him, not me.  All I do is put him in danger and keep him going in circles inside his head with his conditioning.  I can’t solve this anymore.”

“S,Simon.”  Oliver called weakly, forcing himself to focus.  He had to pull himself out of the fog inside his mind, the thing keeping him tethered down.  It was heavy, suffocating, burning. But he could push through it for this. Simon froze but didn’t turn around, hands clenched into fists.

Oliver pushed the blanket aside, standing shakily.  Sandy moved to stop him but Mia held out a hand, eyeing him warily.

“Let him go,” She murmured sadly.  “They need to work this out.  This was going to happen eventually.”

It hurt, but Oliver ignored it as he stumbled forward.  He set a hand on Simons shoulder, only earning a flinch, the other moving away.  Oliver whimpered, moving to follow as Simon turned a corner and disappeared down the hall

“Simon!” Oliver called out, following him. He braced himself against the wall, wincing with the effort it took to stay standing.

“Stay away from me, Oliver.” Simon warned lowly, still walking away. “I’m nothing but a danger to you, and we both know that. It’s better for us both if we just try to learn how to live without each other.”

The statement hit Oliver like a punch, icy terror running through his veins. He was being left, abandoned, he wasn’t wanted anymore. This was what Cedric was talking about. He was too broken for anyone, and people always came to the conclusion things were better off without him

“S,Simon, Simon please.” Oliver begged, stumbling after him down the hallway. “Don’t leave, Simon please don’t leave.”  

He couldn’t lose him. Simon was the one person he had left that he’d thought would always be by his side, no matter what.  He didn’t know what he did wrong or how to fix it, maybe he wasn’t good enough or-

Simon spun around abruptly, startling Oliver a little as he stopped in his tracks. He watched the tears start, the flash of anger and hatred he knew wasn’t directed at him filling Simon’s eyes.

“I, I hurt you, Oliver!” He shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “I dragged you down the fucking stairs and, and I was..I was willing to.. I just- I failed you!” Simon insisted, shaking his head as tears streamed down his face. “I-“

Oliver took the step foreword, flinging his arms around Simon to hug him tightly. It was a terrifying step, one full of doubt in himself and fear and uncertainty, but under it all was a layer of trust. Trust he needed to bring back to the surface.

The touch burned but he wanted it so bad, it was its own kind of loud that drowned out everything else.  It was something he could latch onto and focus on.  There was a hesitation, Simon tense, before arms wrapped around him in turn, and all the noise seemed to disappear.

It was quiet, now

Oliver sobbed against Simon’s chest, clinging to him as if his life depended on it. He was so scared and part of him knew this was wrong and dangerous but he didn’t care. He just wanted Simon. He just wanted his family.

He didn’t want Cedric to be able to take that from him. He’d taken a lot of things from Oliver, but he refused to let Simon be one of them.

“I don’t care!” Oliver wailed, throat burning from the pain. “I, I, I don’t c,care. I forgive you, Simon, p,please don’t go.”

He was being lowered, hugged close to Simon’s chest as they both slumped to the ground. Simon made everything so quiet again, Oliver thought to himself.

“I’m so sorry, Ollie.” Simon sobbed, rocking and holding the other tightly. “I, I’m so sorry, I thought I lost you, a,and it was my fault.”

“No.” Oliver insisted, shaking his head.  “It's, it’s not your fault.  C,Cedric broke you l,like he broke me.  If it's not..if its not my fault, it's not yours either.”

Simon cried into Oliver's hair, embracing him.  “W,why, why would you forgive me, Ollie.  I, I hurt you, and I could still hurt you- I don’t deserveit!”

Oliver looked up, skin burning with the touch as he reached up to hold Simon’s face, looking over him.  Tears ran down his tan skin, dark eyes full of guilt and grief and hatred. The soft, dim light of the hallway illuminated the faint freckles dotting in an odd pattern along his nose and cheekbone, and Oliver traced it idly.

“You do.”  He choked out, staring deep into those eyes.  “Because..because you’re my family, and I love you.  I trust you.”

Simon looked stunned for a moment before he let out a noise that half sounded like a sob and half like a chuckle, kissing the top of Oliver’s curls.

“I love you too, Ollie.”  He murmured, closing his eyes.  “I know you trust me, which is half the problem.  I need to be able to trust myself again.  Then I can let you trust me.”

Oliver nodded, letting his head be guided back to Simon’s chest.  He took a shuddering breath, relaxing as the tingling under his skin from the touch calmed. They could work through this. They could build that trust again, for both of them.  

----

Taglist

@insanitywishes @18-toe-beans @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @spiffythespook@simplygrimly @cinnamonflavoredhugs @finder-of-rings @deluxewhump @ashintheairlikesnow @briars7 @albino-whumpee @thatsthewhump

[endless-whump]

Milo: Going Home

CW: abuse, referenced abuse, gaslighting?, dissoci@tion, self deprecating thoughts

Masterlist

---

Milo looked up from his spot on the couch when the doorbell rang.  He had a book in his lap, one of the lord of the rings.  He liked the way Tolkien wrote, as if he was talking to you.  As if he was an old friend, telling an old story.

He fidgeted with the corner of a page, eyes following Ava as she went to the door.  Nick was out for the day, had errands to run.  Milo felt safe enough around Ava and Ryan, but still kept his eyes trained on the entryway in anticipation for the sound of the door opening, keys hitting the table beside the door.

He wasn’t sure why Nick would knock, but tried not to think about it.  What was important was that he was home again.  Maybe they could try another board game tonight, those always gave Milo a simple, safe outlet to use his mind a bit more than usual.  Those kind of things had been harder since he got back, doctor had said something about a head injury.

Ava was talking to someone at the door, and it was definitely not Nick.

It was a voice Milo recognized, though.

His fingers stilled on the page he was on, breath catching. He knew that voice, he knew that voice, he didn’t want to know that voice.

“I know he’s here, I can seehim, dumbass.  I’ve got a court order, so you can’t do shit.  Milo!”

It was Daniel.

His brother gave a deceivingly warm smile, waving from where he stood in the doorway.  He had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, a piece of paper in his hand.  His sandy blonde hair looked lighter than when he last saw him, but that might just have been because it was summer.

Milo shuddered at the thought of when he last saw him.

Ava practically towered over him, but he barely acknowledged her as he tried to step past.  She quickly put an arm up to stop him, and his smile turned into a glare.  

“I suggest letting me by, unless you wanna get your ass hauled into a police cruiser.  I’m just here to get him and his stuff and leave.”

Ava gave Milo a desperate, apologetic look, but slowly lowered her arm to let him pass.  The smile returned as he walked into the house, glancing around.

“Come on, Mi, get your stuff.  I’m here to take you home.”

The words felt like a slap in the face.  Going with Daniel was dangerous, he didn’t want to leave.  He didn’t want to leave Nick and the house and the board games and his books and where he felt safe. Was this going back? Did he take this for granted, get too comfortable here?

Maybe Nick didn’t want him anymore.  Maybe that's why he was going back.

He flinched when Daniel put a hand on his arm, trying to get him to stand.  “Come on, dude, mom wants to see you, she’s been worried sick.  They wouldn’t even let me fucking see you after that one hospital visit, but I got it taken care of, ok?”

No, no no he didn’t want to go.  He tried pulling his arm away from Daniel, flashing Ava a pleading look. She was on her phone, furiously typing but staying out of Daniels way.

“Um..um..I, no, I don’t want t,to..to leave.. Daniel please-”

The grip on his arm tightened just slightly, and his book hit the floor as he was pulled unsteadily to his feet.

“Right now it doesn’t matter what you want, this is what's best for you.  You can’t take care of yourself, and home is the best place for you to recover right now. Besides, we’re your family.  Nick had noright to pull you from us like that, especially when you aren’t in a place to make your own decisions.”

He started towards the hallway, pulling Milo along.

“Where’s your room? We need to get your stuff.”

“I, um-“

Ava put herself between them and the hallway, phone in hand.

“Listen buddy, you’re not leaving with him.  Once we can get Nick here we can sort things out, just stay put.”

Milo winced at how tight Daniel’s grip was on his arm, breaths shaky and uneven. He didn’t want to go back, he wanted to stay here with Ava and Nick and James and he’d even take Theo over going back.

“No, he’s coming homenow. I’ve had enough of this bullshit.” The grip softened as Daniel smiled lovingly, but it still felt just as restrictive.  “Can’t I just take my brother home? Our mom hasn’t even had a chance to see him yet, don’t you think keeping him like this is cruel?”

Ava’s look hardened, and she didn’t budge.

“No. Milo can decide for himself, and he wants to stay here.”

“No he can't.” Daniel snapped.  “Look at him! Is he even eating by himself yet? Can he be left alone?  Is he fully aware of where he is at all times?”

Silence.  Ava and Daniel stared daggers at each other, and with each passing second Milo felt himself slipping more and more.  He felt like he was suffocating.

“No.”  Ava finally responded bluntly.  “Which is why he’s here.  This is his home.”

Daniel scoffed.  “No it isn’t.  Nick took advantage of Milo being vulnerable, and twisted this whole fucking thing against me.  He was planning on coming back home, and then went missing.  Awful convenient, huh?”

“What the fuck are you implying?”

“Nothing.”  Daniels' hold on  Milo’s arm tightened painfully as he was tugged back towards the door.  “I’m just stating the facts, and the fact is, I’m taking Milo home.  Now.  We’ll get your stuff later, Milo.  Lets go.”

Milo pulled back, bare feet dragged a little on the carpet as he tried to stop.

“No..come on Dan, please, please I don’t want to go.”

He stumbled a little as he was yanked from Daniels' hold, eyes widening as Ava put herself between the two brothers, positioning Milo behind her.

“You’re not leaving this house with him.”  She said warningly.  “I don’t give a single flying fuck about any sort of court order or warrant or anything you can wave around in my face, he’s not leaving with you.”

“Is there a problem here, Mr. Ward?”

Milo's eyes snapped up to the entry of the house, where an officer was standing, assessing the room.

“Yea, actually. I showed my court order and everything, and she won’t let him leave. I’d like to take my brother home, officer.”

The officer nodded, stepping further into the room.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside. They have a court order, and if you’d like to dispute it getting arrested today isn’t going to do you any favors.”

Milo could see Ava set her jaw, fist tightening as she stayed in front of Milo, contemplating. She looked pained, turning to glance at him. She gave a curt nod, backing up and turning to set a hand on Milo's shoulder.

“I’m gonna need you to go with him, ok? I’m gonna get Nick and sort this out, and I promise we’re going to get you back home. For now, though, you have to go.”

Milo flinched back, reeling. Nonono, he couldn’t go with Daniel, he couldn’t leave.

“A,Ava, Ava please, please don’t make me go..”

“Milo.” There was still pain in her voice even as she hardened it, looking him straight in the eye. “Go. We’ll sort this out, I promise.”

He choked on a sob, shaking. He looked from her to his brother, watching him expectantly. He hesitantly nodded, feeling panic take hold of him at even the thought of going back home.  Daniel put an arm around his shoulder as he stepped forward, pulling him back to the front door.

“Thank you, officer.” He called out, guiding Milo outside. “We’ll come pick his stuff up another day.”

Milo’s mind was completely blank as he was led to the car, every touch burning as if it was a hot iron. He didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to go, but he had to. This wasn’t his choice. It never was, anymore.

He hadn’t been good enough, so he was going back. What was it? Maybe he wasn’t making progress fast enough, maybe he wasn’t taking the pain well enough.Either way, it all boiled down to the same thing. 

He wasn’t enough.

----

Taglist

@haro-whumps@spiffythespook@simplygrimly@insanitywishes@lonesome--hunter@deluxewhump@elisabethrosewrites@insanitywishes@iaminamoodymoodtoday @bleeding-demon-teeth @lumpofwhump@redstainedsocks @redstainedsocks @finder-of-rings @insomniacscoprio @inaridriscoll

[endless-whump]

Milo: Drifting

TW dissoci@tion, disordered eating, past starvation references, conditioning, panic attack, gaslighting, reference to past assault, Theo is an asshole ;)

Masterpost

Happy pride month!!!  Heres some angsty fluff for my bois!! <3

----

Milo drifted, letting his mind go unfocused as he listened to the soft music playing through his headphones.  It was a good drifting, though.  Not one where his ears rang, mind numb, fear and pain dulling his senses. No, this was soft.  This was the type of drifting that let him block out everything but the senses he chose to focus on.  Like the music, or the feeling of soft fabric underneath his fingertips, or the weighted blanket laid over him.

It all felt very real,which is what comforted Milo most of all.  The reassurance that he was here, burrowed under blankets on the couch, with Nick just in the next room cooking some late dinner.  He let himself get lost in the soft sounds playing, sighing contently and burrowing deeper against the pillows.

He startled when the earbuds were yanked out of his ears, bringing him snapping back to his surroundings all at once.  His eyes blinked open, head tilting up to see the source of the sudden startle as he cringed against the back of the couch. There was a flash of red hair, someone crouching in front of him.

Oh.  It was Theo.

He was holding Milo’s phone and earbuds, looking at them curiously.

“What the hell are you listening to?  Looks like some weird stuff, man.”

“I, um..it’s just..music and stuff.”  Milo tried telling him, reaching out for the phone. Theo just leaned back, taking them out of reach.  Nick had put together a playlist for him, and it had helped him sleep tremendously when he was by himself.  Some of them weren’t really music, more like white noise.  Nick called it asmr, told him he used to listen to it a lot while he studied.

“Doesn’t look like just music, what the fuck is this? This a cam girl or something? Didn’t know you were into th- hey!”

Milo had tried to scramble for the phone, face flushed.

“It’s..its not, Theo its..its..give it back..”

“Hey, thought you were supposed to be docile and shit- get down.”

Milo stopped, breathing hard.  Tears filled his eyes, threatening to fall as he sat back, feeling like the reins were being yanked from his hands, someone else taking control over him.  He could feel himself slipping, his senses dulling as he fought to keep some semblance of control over himself.

“Hey- the fucks wrong with you, man?” Theo tapped the side of his face lightly, earning a flinch, but that just made Milo recede further. Away was safe, going away would make it hurt less once-

Milo whimpered and jerked away at a harder slap, Theo now closer to his face.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out, ok? Just stop losing your shit, Nick’s gonna kill me if he comes back and you’re all zoned out like this, focus up.”

Focus up

Nonono, he didn’t want that.  He needed to hands off him, he needed people to stop touchinghim.  He couldn’t breathe, the ghost of hands pinning and shoving and holding him down and touching and they wouldn’t stop touching him-

“N.nnh..no..no Theo..Theo please stop..Theo-”

“Dude, I’m not even touching you, I need you to calm down before Nick gets back.”

Nick

Nick could help.  That's who he needed right now.

He tried to throw off the blankets, moving to get away from Theo. He yelped when hands grabbed him by the arms, pulling him back to where he was originally and holding him in place.

“H,Hey, hey hey Theo..Theo stop.”

Milo struggled, becoming more panicked as he was wrestled onto his back, held down on the couch.  His chest was restricting as he struggled for air, mind blank with panic and instinct.

“Theo, what the hell are you doing?!”

There he was.  The bruising grip was off him now, replaced by a soft, grounding touch just to his shoulders, a familiar face, a safe face, in front of him.

“He was freaking out, I was worried about him hurting himself on accident or something, I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

Milo grabbed onto Nick, burying his face into his chest, almost as if he was trying to hide himself.  Warm, safe arms wrapped around him, and Milo wanted to bury himself as far into them as he could and stay there forever.

“Milo, need you to take deep breaths, ok? Can you do that for me?”

He still couldn’t breathe.  He tried, wheezing with the effort it took to try and draw air into his lungs, which just made him struggle harder and faster and made things worse-

“Breathe, Milo.  Need you to slow yourself down before you pass out.”  

Hands cupped his face, holding his just inches from Nicks as Milo gasped for breath.  He tried to mimic the slow, intentional breaths Nick was taking, and although it was hard, eventually it started working.  

His heart was still racing, beating so hard Milo could hear the pulse ringing in his ears, but it was easier to get air now.  He could manage slow, shaky breaths in replacement of the quick gasps that just brought him closer and closer to delirium.

“Are you feeling better?  What freaked you out?”  Nick asked

Milo...wasn’t sure.  It all happened so fast, he was just sleeping and listening to music and then Theo was there and he couldn’t breathe-

“I..um..”  He swallowed, trying to formulate his thoughts properly.  “I..I don’t know..I’m sorry..I don’t..”

“That's ok, you don’t have to figure it out right now if you can’t remember.  Just relax, ok? C’mere.”

He was pulled into Nick's arms, a hand running soothingly through his hair. Milo closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation as he tried to relax. None of it was coming back to him properly, the panic seemed to come out of nowhere...Theo was there, he was scared of Theo, but he said he was just trying to help. 

He didn’t have the energy to try and sort his thoughts and make a decision about it, so let it go from his mind.

Hands ran up and down his back, fingers running through soft, recently washed hair, the touch a constant reminder of where he was, and who he was with.

“Made us some dinner, you need to eat.” Nick hummed. Milo didn’t want to pull away but knew he had to, nodding as he leaned back against the couch cushions. His blanket was wrapped around his shoulders again, a warm plate pushed into his hands.

He leaned against Nick, who’d settled next to him, and started eating. It was lasagna, something that would actually get some nutrients into him without being too overwhelming.

“Did Theo do something?” Nick asked quietly, and it took Milo a moment to register the redhead was nowhere in sight now.  “You can tell me if he did.”

Milo took another bite, focusing on the warmth and the taste and the texture of the pasta.

“Um..I don’t think so..he said he was helping, I think,” He murmured, unsure.  It was all a blur right now, he doesn’t remember anything clearly after his headphones were gone, just panic.  Theo hadheld him down..but he was helping, right? “I was..I was freaking out..I, I don’t know why, I don’t know why-”

“Hey,” Nick cut in, a hand at the nape of his neck and rubbing softly.  “It's ok if you don’t remember why, all that matters is making sure you feel safe right now. Just trying to make sure Theo wasn’t fucking with you, is all.”

He set the unfinished plate down on his lap, curling up as small as he could against Nick’s side.

“You need to eat the rest of that, Milo.” Nick murmured.

“Don’t feel good.”

Nick sighed, his arm around Milo hugging tightly.  “I know, but doctors orders.  I’ve been too lenient with it recently, and you needto eat more.  Cmon, I know you only ate like, half your lunch today.  It’ll get easier, I promise.  Just gotta trust me.”

Milo shoved down a whine of protest as Nick pushed the plate back into Milo’s hands, and he stared at the unfinished food.  He hesitantly picked the fork back up, grabbing the bite of food between his teeth.  He wasn’t feeling sick, not exactly.  It just felt wrong to be eating this much.  He was also in the middle of slowly transitioning to eating without permission, which felt like absolute hell for Milo.  

He could remember spending hours staring at food Samuel had set on the ground for him, hours spent not allowed to touch it until his captor gave him permission.  It made him scared to even think about eating without Nick telling him to, but he’d insisted he try.  That was..technically giving permission, right?

“Done.”  He muttered, shoving the now empty plate to the side, wanting to get it far, far away from him.  It felt like he’d done something awful.  Something he didn’t have permission for.

Nick quickly took the plate, leaning forward and setting it aside on the coffee table.  Something else was being pushed into Milo’s hands, but this time it was his phone and earbuds.

“These were on the floor.” Nick said gently.  Milo closed his fingers around them, holding them protectively.  His ears still hurt a little from where they were harshly yanked out.

They were yanked out? Milo thought…

“Thanks,”  He forced the thought out of his mind.  He was too tired to question it right now.

“Turn on something and get some more sleep, ok?  I’ll stay right here, have some studying to do.”

Milo nodded, slipping the earbuds into his ears and shakily opening the phone.  He wasn’t really paying attention as he scrolled through the playlists, blindly picking one out of the many he and Nick had put together.  He didn’t really have a preference for any, at least not yet.

He settled down, his head resting on Nick's leg as they both got comfortable, soft music playing through the earbuds.  Milo tried focusing once more on the music and the fingers running idly through his hair, but he felt so wound up now.  If he paid attention, he could just barely hear the sound of pages turning next to his head, Nick no doubtedly getting settled to catch up on his homework.

Milo couldn’t help but feel guilty.  Nick tried to hide it, but Milo had overheard him talking about being behind because of all this.  Apparently he’d fallen behind quite a bit during the months he was missing, and even now that Milo was back he was struggling to juggle the schoolwork. Nick was going for his bachelors, Milo remembered.  Psychology.

There was a tap on his temple that startled him slightly, and Milo took out a headphone, turning his head to look up at Nick from where he was resting against his leg.

“I can practically hear you thinking right now, you’re all tensed up. Go to sleep, honey.”

Nick pressed a kiss to Milo’s temple, music once again drowning everything else out as he put the earbud back in.  Back and forth, fingers ran soothingly across his skin, almost to the tempo of the music.  He finally let go and let himself drown in it, a content hum rising from the back of his throat.

He could drown like this forever, Milo thought to himself, muscles relaxing as he let himself trust his partner completely.  He’d prefer it over anything else.

----

Taglist

@haro-whumps@spiffythespook@simplygrimly@insanitywishes@lonesome--hunter@deluxewhump@elisabethrosewrites@insanitywishes@iaminamoodymoodtoday @bleeding-demon-teeth @lumpofwhump@redstainedsocks @redstainedsocks @finder-of-rings @insomniacscoprio @inaridriscoll

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Hi! I’m sorry if this is a lil dumb but I’ve seen it going around for a while and was wondering: why are some content warnings not flat out written? I’ve seen it mostly with “dissoci@tion” and “r@pe”, and was wondering why it’s like that for /some/ content warnings only?

There are communities on Tumblr who experience some of those things who use those tags to talk with each other (without the change in letter) and it’s a mark of consideration, as far as I’m concerned, to specifically change the spelling like that so that, say, people who actually have DID/dissociation as part of their lives and do not want to read it in fiction won’t stumble upon whump fiction using those things because tumblr’s search won’t pick it up.

So, like, I use “dissoci@tion” in content warnings myself so that it won’t come up in Tumblr’s search under “dissociation”, as well as tagging with dissociation tw to catch people who have blocked it. I do the same with a few other things, as well.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

This isn’t exactly a writing question, but I saw in one of your recent posts that you spelled dissoci@tion in that way and I was wondering why. Is it a form of tagging it for people who get triggered? I want to make sure I’m tagging responsibly and I’ve seen a few other whump blogs do the same thing. Love your writing!

There is a very active community of people who dissoci@te/deal with dissoci@tion in their everyday lives on Tumblr. When I’m writing about fictional forms of it, I try to either tag with a “dissociation tw” to indicate I’m not talking about it happening in real life, or I use an alternate spelling, so that people in that community won’t come across the post when they’re trying to talk to/with people IRL who also do so. 

It’s just a politeness thing, in the hopes that I can mostly keep it from appearing when people search for it, because Tumblr was built by a bag of angry raccoons and it’s kind of the best solution I have for that right now.