#it’s very light pet whump but that IS the universe it’s in and why he’s there

[deluxewhump]

Lawrenceville Baptist

III - Sam Morgan

Prev

CW: gun, drugs and alcohol, mentions of murder, some misogynistic language, codependent qualities in a sibling relationship

Paulo had slipped from one bad dream into another. This one was stranger to him than the first, though probably safer. He was being housed by a family called the Sullivans, who belonged to the church that had found him on the rural winter road where he’d been left unconscious.

Their names were Glen and Tabby, and he’d seen very little of them since coming to their farm. The house was a one story ranch that reminded him of another decade with its flowered curtains, glass shelves full of memorabilia, beige wall-to-wall carpet, and framed sepia pictures of dead grandparents. The house was four miles from the main road, on an unmarked lane narrow enough you had to pull onto the shoulder if another car came from the opposite direction.

From what he had seen on the drive from the Lawrenceville Baptist church, the road wound through empty woods and fields, dotted intermittently by other residences that belonged to other church members. They called themselves close knit, but the sense he got so far was of isolation, both from any urban area and from each other. As they’d driven him out, each house seemed to him an island, or an outpost, lonely and silent.

The older Sullivan boy, Jesse, left the house most mornings to go to various job sites, where he worked for a local contractor. The younger Sullivan, Peter, was a senior at Cheshire highschool. He woke up early to catch a ride with Jesse if he was headed that way, or even earlier to catch the school bus into town if not. “Town” was Cheshire, fifteen miles away. It was the nearest anything— grocery store, school, gas station. There was nothing out here but the little church, and the houses that dotted the woods and fields.

After the night he almost froze to death in the barn, the Sullivan boys let him sleep on the living room sofa. Mr Sullivan was often gone for a week or two at a time for work, and Paulo began to wonder if Mrs Sullivan didn’t have a covert drug or alcohol problem with how little she would come out of her bedroom during those periods.

One morning, he got bold enough to make a pot of coffee for himself. He was contemplating taking a page from Mrs Sullivans book and just turning on the TV when there was a knock at the door. He didn’t think he was in any position to answer it, but Tabby didn’t come out of her bedroom, no matter how loud and insistent the knocking got. He couldn't see a vehicle from the front window. Fear curled in his belly like a snake. Was it the police, come to hand him over to his rightful custodians? Why would they come back for him after leaving him for dead like that in the cold?

He opened the door just enough to peek through. It wasn’t a cop or a social worker on the other side, but Samson. His eyes seemed to shine like ice, squinting against the sun. He had on a beanie that pushed his golden brown hair down around his ears in their tight curls. “Hey,” he said, as friendly as if they had never met and he wanted to give a good first impression.

Paulo went to close the door but Sam had already stuck his foot in its path. “Woah,” he laughed. “I don’t know where you’re from but around here that’s considered rude. As. Fuck.”

“What do you want?” Paulo asked, annoyed that his heart was pounding this hard over a barely-out-of-highschool bully. He’d dealt with people that would eat this kid for lunch.

“I want to make up for the other day. I want to make it up to you.”

Paulo barely heard himself laugh. It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. The moment Sam moved his shoe he would slam the door shut, without hesitation or falling victim to curiosity on what he might say next.

“Your fly is unzipped,” he tried ridiculously, hoping in a moment of reflex the other boy might lift his shoe from where it was jamming the door open. Sam just kept smiling, all those blunt white teeth. “C’mon. I’m serious, I come in peace. I'll bring you back in an hour.”

“From where?”

“Just a cruise. No destination. I swear on my mother I’m not gonna hurt you. I thought maybe you had questions, and I could answer them.”

“About what?”

Sam shielded his eyes from the winter sun so he didn’t have to squint so hard. “This place. The church. The Sullivans. Me. Whatever.”

“Do I have a choice?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. Paulo guessed he wasn’t used to someone being so blunt about it. He supposed he shouldn’t behave like a pet, like prey. He was just used to it.

“I mean sure,” Sam shrugged, like his feelings were hurt. “Not very neighborly of me, what I did to you the other day. I hoped you’d give me a chance to set it right. I mean it was all in good fun, of course. You know that. Right?”

Paulo wouldn’t give an answer.

“I was a little messed up, I got carried away. In retrospect I see how not cool it was. That’s really clear to me now, trust me. I’ve got a handle on it though, I’m not doing that stuff anymore. I wasn’t going to hurt you. Not really.”

“Sure,” he shrugged, just to get him to stop.

“C’mon, a quick ride. I’ll show you Cheshire.”

Paulo took Peter’s coat off the rack and followed Sam reluctantly to an ancient Toyota pickup.

The ride into town was undeniably beautiful. It had snowed, and all the bare spots and hard packed ice were covered with a pillowy, glittering coat of white. The sky was a washed out, glasslike blue. They made their way east , the yellow divider line in the road almost completely invisible from salt and gravel. Sam’s heater melted the snow off his shoes and wetted a crushed pack of Camels on the floorboard.

“So?” Sam asked. “Whatcha got for me?”

“Huh?” he asked before remembering and hurrying to correct himself. “Oh. Questions?”

He tried to think. He didn’t want to ask anything too invasive, or seem rude or ungrateful. He was sure whatever he asked would get back to the Sullivan brothers.

“Ok, you’re shy. I get it. Me too. I’ll just start us off. I’m Samson Morgan. You know Jesse and Peter Sullivan. Peter used to be a Gatcomb, but they are, uh, no more, rest in peace.”

Sam was trying to bait his curiosity. Paulo watched sun warmed snow drop from telephone wires as they passed. “What’s that mean?” he asked mildly.

“Pete’s adopted. Family died in a house fire. Probably grandpa’s cigarette. I dunno. They were from Pittsburgh. The Sullivans wanted another kid I guess, couldn’t have one. The Pastor did a sermon about some adopted kid one day, real tear jerker, it gave Tabby the idea… and now there’s Pete.”

“How old was he?”

“I dunno, like twelve or thirteen? Most people want babies, she wanted an older kid, thought it would blend better with the family. He and Jesse are attached at the hip. It’s weird, everyone knows it’s weird, no one says shit though because A, it’s boring by now and B, Jesse will stroke out and beat the shit out of anyone who makes fun of Peter in any way. Especially about him and Peter. So word to the wise, don’t mention it. Peter knows how to hide it better in public now though.”

Who cares? He thought. Peter's whole family died. Why would they begrudge him having someone? The empty fields were becoming more populated with farms and houses. It seemed like each driveway had a pickup in it with a plow attached, like a sentinel. Barns like the one he’d spent a night in before the Sullivan boys took pity on him sat behind the houses. They either had a shiny new tin roof and fresh coat of paint or were dilapidated, half collapsed.

“There's Cheshire High,” Sam said, pointing up a steep hill topped with a long brick building. “Jesse and I graduated last year.”

“Jesse works for a contractor, right?”

Sam seemed pleased Paulo was engaging. “Dover County Builders.”

“What do you do?”

His face faltered for a millisecond, and then he affected an air of bored apathy. “Oh, I’m getting far away from this shithole.” He stopped his truck at a red light. “I got into Penn State no problem, but I decided to take a gap year. It’s more for my family than for me, really.”

“Do you work in Cheshire?” he asked innocently.

“You could say that,” Sam grinned, looking at him sidelong as if deciding something before reaching into the center console and pulling out a can of Skoal chewing tobacco. He handed it to Paulo, who turned it over awkwardly before popping it open and being hit with the overpowering smell of pot. He closed the lid. “Oh.”

“Just weed,” Sam said, as if he had asked if he sold heroin, too. “And I mean, some molly or mushrooms or whatever when I’ve got it.”

Paulo handed the can back.

“I don’t sell anything harder than that, though. Maybe Xanax, Adderall, whatever. Vyvanse. There was a guy I knew of around here you could get other shit from but he uhh, disappeared a year or so ago.”

“Disappeared?”

“Yeah, him and his car. Never found him. It was the same time, the same weekend actually, they found Jasmine Black in the cemetery. Did Peter tell you about her? Jesse still probably won’t talk about it.”

“No.”

“Jesse was dating this girl, Jasmine. Brunette, maybe five three, no tits whatsoever, but she was smoking hot anyway, you know how with some of them it just doesn't matter? So she turns up dead in the cemetery last fall around Halloween, stabbed like twenty some times, head caved in, really fucked up. The same weekend, Charlie, or Evan— he went by his middle name over Washington county for some reason— disappeared, and they never found him. There is still not even a shred of evidence he took off and went somewhere else, or that his car was stolen and he was shot or something… just nothing.”

“Is he a suspect?”

“Oh yeah. Big time. I mean, there was no other reason I ever heard of why he would need to skip town like that. And it's not like he was rich, it’d be a pain in the ass to get reestablished somewhere else without your reputation, your network, you know. So yeah, I mean maybe Charlie killed her and took off. They couldn’t connect them with her phone records but, duh, dude’s a drug dealer, he’s got a burner. Either way, Jasmine was an honor student, everybody loved her, church girl, all that. It was a whole thing around here. She didn’t go to our church, but one here in Cheshire. Presbyterian, I think.”

“That church is really a big thing for your families, isn't it?”

“Oh, could you tell?” Sam grinned over at him. If he hadn’t already made it so clear he was a psycho, Paulo would probably be drawn to his easy chattiness, his quick smile and golden Peter-Pan curls. “What about you? You’re probably Catholic, right?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Your name. What is that, Italian?”

“I was born in Oregon.”

“Oh. But really, are you bought in? They’re gonna try to get you saved and baptized, washed in the blood of the lamb, all that.”

“Isn’t that what you were trying to do the other day?”

“I was just kidding, I told you. I don’t give a shit about any of that stuff. I just go because it keeps the peace, and all the girls there are super repressed and horny. And look… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I dunked your head in horse water. That was not cool. But I was trying to get a rise out of Jesse, because he’s been so fucking lame ever since Jasmine was killed. And I wanted to see what Pete would do. He’s dying to be a good little Christian so that everyone will love him and accept him and forget he’s adopted. It’s sad.”

“He told me it wasn’t my fault,” Paulo said. They were driving past a cemetery with an iron gate and he wondered if this was the one they’d found that girl in last year. “Peter.”

“But yet he didn’t try to stop me,” Sam wrinkled his nose. “Have the courage of your convictions, you know? I can take just about any crazy thing from anyone, but I hate a hypocrite.”

Paulo didn’t buy this backpedaling reasoning for a second, of course. What Sam was saying was ostensibly true about Peter, and Jesse, but it wasn’t the reason Sam had done what he did. He did it because he saw an opportunity to, and he liked it. He enjoyed himself. Sam might be able to fool his church and the Sullivans and whoever else, but Paulo knew exactly how that looked and felt on someone.

“Are you ever afraid a deal will go wrong?” he asked. “Or that someone will try to claim your turf?”

He was giving Samson an opportunity to grandstand, and he took it without a second thought. “Who?” he said with a smile. “These incompetent hicks?” He pulled up his flannel outershirt to reveal a holstered handgun.

“SIG P365.” He patted it fondly and let his shirt fall back down. ��Don’t worry,” he winked. “You’re in good hands.”

He thought Sam would ask him questions now about his time as a pet-slave, quid pro quo for all the information he’d just given him.

But he never did.

[maracujatangerine]

Collaboration

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

Lydia glanced through her notes once again, dark green ink on white paper detailing her plans for the event and some of the questions she wanted to ask.

The book on the desk in front of her had a glossy photo of a shaggy billy goat on the cover, the animal’s strange eyes meeting the observer’s with amused intelligence. The curve of his massive horns matched almost perfectly the outline of the mountain ridge behind him. It seemed almost impossible to capture such a moment and yet the whole book was filled with similarly impressive photography. Lydia’s personal favourite was a photo of a hawk diving in front of a waterfall, the whole image misty and fluid like a dream.

It was quite a coup, Lydia felt, to have snagged such a famous photographer to take part in an event at her shop. There would be two local nature photographers that would take part in person, and then a digital presentation by Decima de Mares. She felt slightly nervous, what she had heard was that Decima was a bit… peculiar. She hoped that the conversation would go well.

*

“I will have an interview soon” said Miss, taking unfolded clothes and throwing them on the bed. “And I think this should look like it’s clean in there”

“Can I stay there, Miss?” Juli asked anxiously.

“I suppose you could, why? Are you interested in the interview?”

“I just wanna to be in the same place as you” Juli said honestly

“That’s sweet.”

*

With a deep breath, Lydia opened the meeting app and smiled her most charming smile at the person on the other side of the screen.

“Hi! I’m Lydia Winterthorpe. Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me.”

“No problem, it’s an opportunity for me too. I hope the camera is not picking up the mess in my room” Decima joked.

The conversation went smoothly after that.

“So what was your own favourite photo?” Lydia asked.

“I think it was one of the old castle. We do not know who built it, we only know a rough date of when it happened. By now there are only a few walls left and rain caused it to become some sort of a lake… a lake inside something that was once a luxurious living space. I think it’s very poetic. It’s also a special place for me. ”

A sudden movement in the corner of the screen caught Lydia’s eye. A glimpse of light brown fur against the photographer’s white wrist. Then she saw it again and smiled to herself.

“Sorry Miss Decima,” she said, “I lost my thread a bit, I just saw your cat waving its tail.”

“Oh no.” The pale woman smiled, too. “It is my pet, but he’s no cat. Even though he does knock things out of counters sometimes. Come on up and say hi, Juli.”

A short moment of silence.

“I said to say hello” Decima repeated. Was she angry? Or trying to force her pet to do something he didn’t want to?

A young man with a shock of light brown hair and grey eyes shyly raised his head. Lydia felt her blood run cold when she saw the collar around his neck.

*

For most of the interview Juli was just hidden away from the camera, enjoying the pats, and not paying much attention to what was going on around him. He was just wondering whether or not jelly could be classified as a soup. It was made by putting something in hot water after all. But the end result is solid, not liquid, so…

“...Juli”

He heard his name, pulling him away from his silly thoughts.

He made eye contact with Miss and she understood that he didn’t hear her, so she patiently repeated herself. She wasn’t even annoyed with him not listening and once again Juli was reminded how kind she was.

*

“Uhm, hello Miss Winterthorpe… pleasure to meet you” said the boy awkwardly. “I’m sorry for interrupting, uhh…” he looked at Decima, like to check if he’s not saying anything wrong“... I hope my presence is not bothering you”

“No, that is totally fine.” Lydia smiled. “I’m glad to meet you, Juli.”

What kind of pet owner is she? Lydia wondered quietly to herself. Out loud, she asked.

“Have you been living with Decima for a long time?”

“Not yet, but… I hope I will” said the boy.

“That’s nice.” Does he say it because he feels like he has to? Or because she’s actually nice to him? Lydia thought to herself. And who am I to judge? Buying a pet yourself doesn’t exactly give you the moral high ground, does it?

”So, as we discussed earlier, I’m thinking it would be good if you give a presentation for around 30 minutes, and then we’ll open the floor to the public and everyone will have the chance to ask some questions.” Lydia made an effort to return to the topic of the meeting. “Does that still sound like a plan?”

As the blue-haired photographer assented, Lydia surreptitiously studied the pet. He seemed… fine. Clean, not injured, a bit on the thin side, perhaps.

”That sounds like it will be a very good set-up.” Decima said. “I’m looking forward to hearing from the other photographers as well, it is always nice to get some new perspectives.”

She smiled down at Juli kneeling by her side. “I haven’t been able to go to any conferences lately, so I really appreciate the chance to participate online. I got Juli somewhat by chance, and he didn’t have a great time in his previous life. I want him to get more comfortable with being on his own before I go away again.”

“Oh, I see.” Subconscious recognition clicked into place in Lydia’s mind. The way Juli looked at Decima reminded her of the way Coriander had been looking at her when he first came. She smiled, genuinely this time. Her brown eyes glittered. “I know what that’s like, actually.”

Raising her voice slightly, she called out. “Cory, would you like to come in and introduce yourself?”

*

After a moment, the sound of a door opening and closing could be heard. A pet with blonde hair appeared on the screen. He looked… pretty. He was of the kind that rich people would show off and he had no scars on his face.

Juli suddenly felt nervous.

Even though they both were pets the one on the other side on the screen looked so much more… proper. What if he would notice every mistake Juli makes and point it out and then Miss would be embarrassed, because she can’t even keep one pet in line?

“It's a pleasure to meet you. T-this pet’s name is Coriander.” When he raised a hand in greeting, Juli could see scarring all around his wrist.

“Nice to meet you, Coriander” said Miss.

“This is Decima and Juli.” Miss Lydia explained. “She is the photographer I told you about.” The brunette held up Miss Decima’s book to the pet, who smiled.

“Y-you have created a beautiful book, Miss Decima.” He said. “Miss Lydia has shown it to t-his pet.”

“Thank you.” Miss smiled. “We just talked about which photos we like the best, did you have a favourite picture?”

It was subtle, but Juli caught the way the other pet glanced at Miss Lydia. When she nodded encouragingly, Coriander continued.

“T-this pet l-liked the photo with the field of sunflowers against the mountain. T-the light w-was a-amazing.” Quickly, he added. “B-but all the photos were beautiful.”

“That is one of my favourites, as well.” Miss said.

“What about Juli?” Miss Lydia asked. “Which photo did you like the best?”

“My favourite is from… not from this book, there is another one with fishies and… can I bring it there?”

“Go ahead, we’ll wait.”

Juli disappeared for a while and came back carrying a book in a hard, black cover. He opened it on one page and turned it to the camera. There was a seahorse, visible sunrays crossing the water and scattering on the animal’s skin.

“I liked it very much and because it’s cute and I even was gifted plush seahorse, because I liked it so much”

”That is gorgeous!” Miss Lydia said. “I understand why that is your favourite.”

“I-it is beautiful.” Cory agreed.

“Well,” Miss Lydia said, “thank you for the meeting. It was really nice to talk with both of you. I think we have a good plan in place, Decima, but let’s meet on Wednesday and make the final decisions.”

“N-nice to meet you, Miss Decima, Juli.”

“Likewise.”

*

This post is a collaboration between @octopus-reactivated and @maracujatangerine. It is part of the 2023 BBU Community Days organised by @bbu-on-the-side. This is our joint entry for day 15: Collaboration.

*

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

[justplainwhump]

⛑ for Adrian

Gauze

This is not entirely "tender" first aid, but I hope it's coming close.

Blanca takes care of Adrian's wounds.

[Pet Safety]

Content: BBU, BBU recovery, some light medical whump (as in, wound cleaning), very vaguely mentioned torture.

Bea was a quick learner and utterly unimpressed by the sight of wounds. Adrian's stomach got queasy even imagining what the holes ripped into his neck and shoulder like l looked like. The calming rhythm of Bea's breath on his skin didn't waver though. "Shhh," she mumbled, when he flinched under her touch. "You'll be better soon. You're healing."

He wondered where she'd learned such softness. She'd never been treated with it herself.

"Still hurts," he replied through clenched teeth. His voice was still rough.

"Healing hurts." Bea took another swab, applied disinfectant, and went to the clean next wound.

Adrian winced when it touched raw skin.

"You're not very good with pain," she observed. "Your scars say you should be used to it."

"Being used to it-" Adrian sucked in a breath when the swab brushed over an infected spot. "-does... doesn't make it better."

"Hmm," Bea hummed. "They never taught you to stop whining and keep smiling?"

"No," Adrian grimaced. "Who taught you that? The handlers?"

"Everyone," she said nonchalantly. "So they could make it a challenge to make me cry anyway. You, however - Making you cry wouldn't be a challenge at all, Adrian Delgado."

"Oh?" He tried to smirk at her, as well as he could without turning his head and putting even more strain on his wounds. "Is that what you're doing?"

Bea clicked her tongue. "I'm trying to not make you cry. That is my challenge. You're making it hard." She prepared another wipe. "Almost half way done. Next one is the deepest."

Almost half. Three out of seven wounds in total, where the desperate Guard Dog's titanium enforced teeth had pierced through Adrian's protective clothes and dug into his skin. He'd been lucky, the doctors had assured him. Without armour, the Guard would've have ripped his throat out.

Disinfectant stung at the next place.

Bea worked calmly and efficiently.

"Titanium teeth," she stated. "Only for the best Fighters. Going right for the neck. Like the Fighters are made to attack."

"Fighter isn't a WRU designation." Adrian sucked in another breath, when Bea's hands moved to a wound on his shoulder.

"Chewtoy isn't one either, you said." She pressed the disinfectant-soaked swab onto the last wound. "Your company's rules aren't universal."

His face contorted into something between a pained grimace and a frown. "What... what do you know about Fighters?"

Bea dropped the used swab into a bag. "That's a strange question to ask. There's a lot to know, probably. But all I know is, they're dangerous, and they're sad." She looked up and gave a half shrug. "But all pets are sad, so that's normal."

"How... How do you know that?"

"You feel it. In-"

"Not that they're sad. I meant... how did you meet Fighters?"

"Jack's Guard Dogs, they all fight." She tilted her head. "That's why he gave me to them. When they won."

Adrian let his head sink back and closed his eyes. Of course they were. Of course he did. Jack was just the type for that. And Adrian's boss had just made him drop the investigation.

"The... the sixth one, too?"

"Mac." Blanca's brow furrowed, even though her voice softened. "Mac's at the arena. He's, um." She pulled at her shirt and twisted to expose a scar on the back of her neck, and shoulder. A half moon of circular scars, arranged in a way too familiar pattern. "He's got enforced teeth, too."

Adrian swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. "Why?," he asked.

"Jack told him to." She rubbed the scars. "It wasn't... it wasn't bad. He didn't bite down hard. Not like the one who hurt you. He... he didn't do it for love. Mac..." She shrugged. "He held back." Decidedly, she reached for a package of gauze. "You'd have cried anyway, Adrian Delgado." Her smile is teasing, soft, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I didn't."

Bea lifted her hands to apply the bandage, but Adrian put a hand on hers to stop her.

"Bea. I..." He bit his lip, calling up the image of Jack, his ranch, his cowboy boots, his sickening smile, the drop of his voice when he'd tried to bribe Adrian, the gleam of the signet ring that had taken Bea's eye. He'd wanted to take that man down, even before he'd met the person behind the Chewtoy. "I want to help Mac."

I want to destroy Jack, he thought.

She shook her hand free and unwrapped the gauze. "Why?"

"Because it's the right thing."

Because I want to take everything away from Jack and see him fucking lose.

"You don't even know Mac." Her fingers were oddly cool, when she pressed the bandage on his skin and started to wrap the gauze around his neck. "He's angry."

"So am I."

Her finger was under his chin, lifting his face to look at her. There was something hard in her gaze. "Mac is not nice, Adrian. He does not want to be helped."

"Do you want to help him, Bea?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard. Her eyes widened a bit, before she shook her head. "I'm a pet. I... He... He's Jack's and I... I can't." She shook her head again. "No, Sir."

"Why?"

Something like anger flared up in her eye. "A pet doesn't care about another pet. A pet cares for nothing but her owner. A pet is loyal only to her owner. A pet-" Her voice had become flat, mechanical almost.

"Okay," Adrian whispered and lifted his hand, changed to his other hand when the strain at his wound reminded him of his limitations. Gently, he rested his fingers to her cheek. "Okay, Bea, it's alright, I won't ask this again tonight."

She closed her eye at his touch and weakly nodded. "I just want to be good," she mumbled. Light caught in her lashes, broke on a single tear. "Please, Master Adrian. Allow me to be good."

"Okay." He brushed away the tear. "Okay."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Little show-off," he remarked softly. "It's not so hard to make you cry after all, is it."

She chuckled a little bit against his chest, and it just vaguely sounded like a sob. "I'm not done with your wounds yet." She pulled back and looked up at him. "Don't make me change my careful approach, Adrian Delgado."

He turned his head, baring his neck to her to finish with the bandage.

He'd promised her to not ask again tonight. That didn't mean he wouldn't dig into it, right after she went to sleep. He'd find the sixth Guard Dog. He'd get him out of this arena, all of them. And he'd watch fucking Jack Donnell go to court for what he'd done.

A grim smile crept up on his face.

By his side, Bea tugged at the gauze, a tiny bit too harshly, bandage pressing against raw skin, and he let out a strangled whine.

"Told you," she mumbled into his ear. "Too easy."

Luckily, he couldn't turn his head.

Otherwise, he was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to resist the overwhelming urge to kiss her.

---

-

Pet safety tag list: @gottawhump @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @highwaywhump @tauntedoctopuses @pigeonwhumps @whumppsychology @labgrowndemon @whumpinggrounds @somewhumpyguy @whumpzone @tragedyinblue e

[pigeonwhumps]

Blackmail

Finding Safety masterlist

Whump Girl Summer day 6: Blackmail

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch (plus @justplainwhump bc you've been waiting for this)

While at university in Canada, Aaliyah is forcefully reminded of her past as a pet.

Set a few years after Cass and Aaliyah move to Canada. Aaliyah's in her second year.

1.8k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, rape/non-con, sexual slurs, flashbacks, conditioned whumpee, degradation, self-degradation, blackmail, non-con nude photos, discrimination, briefly implied homophobia, dehumanisation

Aaliyah closes her laptop and removes her headphones, stretching widely. She's enjoying researching for this essay but despite her ability to stay in one place for hours at a time she's getting stiff. And her ears are aching.

Her roommate Zac looks up from his own textbook. "You want to take a break? We have plenty of time."

She picks up her tablet and chooses her words from the symbols. Zac waits patiently, something he's good at and which she's always grateful for, given how some people act about her AAC software.

"Get water. Will be quick."

"Take as long as you need, I'll look after your stuff."

"Thank you."

She heads out of the library and crosses the corridor to the water fountain, drinking as much as she can and splashing a little on her face too. It feels nice.

She hears footsteps behind her and moves out of the way in case whoever it is wants to use the water fountain.

They don't. Instead, they bark out an order.

"Respect."

Aaliyah drops to her knees before she even knows what's happening. No, this can't happen here. She didn't even realise she still did that.

She tries to get up but her body's locked. If she gets up before Master says she can–

No. No, she's not there, she's safe, Master isn't here. He never will be.

So why can't she move?

"I thought so," says a confident, sneering voice from behind her. "See, my cousin's studying in the States, and his frat house just bought a box boy. So cute and eager to please. Combination of some sort, I think. Apparently you're not gay if it's a boxie you're fucking. Anyway, he showed me their pet on a video call and it's funny. The way you cock your head, your inability to read and write, and you always cover your left forearm, no matter how warm it is or what else you're wearing. You're a WRU slut, aren't you?"

Aaliyah doesn't respond. She doesn't reach for her tablet, or move her head, or try to get up. She can't do anything, and that's probably enough of an indictment by itself.

"I knew it." The voice is gleeful now, and he grabs her arm in a bruising grip, pulling her up and pushing her along. "Disabled restroom should be free, right?"

Distantly, Aaliyah realises she should resist. Master isn't here anymore to make her do this. She doesn't want to do this.

But she's not a person. And it has never mattered what she wants.

The boy shoves her into the bathroom and she tumbles to the floor, ending up sprawled on the tiles.

She hears the lock click with a dreadful finality.

"Now, I don't know any of the positions, but I want you on your hands and knees. I'm sure you know how to do that, at least. Oh yeah. And strip."

Aaliyah obeys with shaking hands, throat tight. She wishes the floor wasn't so white and the light wasn't so bright, it reminds her too much of the facility.

She flushes as he looks her up and down. She's not sure how he knows her, but she recognises him from somewhere. The name will come eventually, she thinks.

She doesn't want him seeing her. This isn't like when she plays with Cass and Calixte, this is different, it's like she's a pet again.

No, not just a pet. Owned.

"You really are hot. No wonder you volunteered to be a slut, your looks are your best asset. I don't see why you hide them, I mean most Romantics don't, right? They seduce and manipulate using them. Your looks might not be your very best asset though, I think I'd like to try you out now. You're bottoming, obviously. Let's see how good a slut you can be for me."

Aaliyah holds back her tears as the boy climbs on top of her. She's been taught how to hide her emotions, she's an expert at it, and she blinks her eyelashes seductively at him as he positions her to his liking. She ends up on her back, legs spread between his. He looks at her like she's a banquet.

"Oh, you really are a nice-looking pet. Keep your eyes on me, I want to see your face while I fuck you. I hear you Romantics are trained to love your owners, and really, that sounds ideal."

He's not her owner. He's not. But as he opens the lube in his pocket and slicks her up, teasing her with his finger, she finds that difficult to remember.

He positions himself and slides his cock inside with a wink. Fuck. She hates this. She wishes she could go back to not caring, but now she knows what it's like not to have to do this, not to believe it's all she's worth, not to have an owner (and that's the most important thing she's learnt, and the most painful), it seems impossible to do. The boy isn't her owner, but he feels that way.

So many people fucked her in training, and then there was Jacob, too, so maybe it doesn't matter if he's her owner anyway. She's a WRU slut at heart, after all, and with her owner gone it would make sense that she's a general slut for everyone now.

No... no, that wouldn't make sense. Not the way she'd like. She has Cass and Calixte, although she doesn't want to think of them right now, doesn't want them associated with this.

She buries her emotions deep down where they can't show, covering her anger and sorrow and utter terror with a veil of pleasure. She desperately wants to curl up in a ball and cry it out but she can't. She has to behave, and do what she was made to do.

She's a good pet at heart, after all.

He fucks into her, not caring how she feels about it, and she turns the small moans and sobs that escape into sounds of enjoyment.

"Oh, you're so good at this pet, my god. Keep doing that, this is good."

Aaliyah wants to stop. Just stop, stop giving him this, stop giving in, kick him and stop him from ever doing it again. But she's a good pet, so she won't. The lights are bright and it's so white and she knows she can't disobey or she'll get shocked. The handlers will use their batons if she fights back.

No. No, she's not there, she's free. Free and still a pet and still being fucked against her will.

A hand slaps her cheek, the stinging pain bringing her back to the present.

"Hey. Bitch. Don't zone out on me now, I was enjoying your attention."

Aaliyah bats her eyelids and does what she should. It hurts, but she's made to take that, so she does, even if she desperately wishes she was somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Almost anywhere.

It seems like an eternity before he comes inside her, which is usually permission for her to orgasm too. The boy sighs blissfully and withdraws.

"You are an excellent pet slut." He does up his trousers and pulls his phone out of his pocket, cocky grin back on his face. "Just gotta do something."

Later Aaliyah will wish she had punched him or covered her face or run or something, but right now she just lets herself be manouvred. She's a pet, she doesn't have any free will, and anyway she can't bring herself to move. It's all too much, all over again. He takes photos of her face and her barcode and the two together, and other parts too, making it very clear who and what she is, and what she's done.

"Nice photos. I won't share them so long as you don't tell anyone about this. And, well. I might come up with more terms later. Gotta finish college before I can move and get a Romantic of my own, after all. Do we have a deal?"

Aaliyah nods, barely keeping the tears at bay. How did she end up like this?

"Great. See ya."

He stalks out of the bathroom without so much as a backward glance, and Aaliyah locks the door again before sinking to the floor. Now, the tears come. They can, now he's gone, she doesn't need to keep such a tight rein on her emotions now she's alone.

She didn't... how did this happen? How could she let something like this happen? She's not a person, this is a clear reminder of that, because a person wouldn't be so useless. They wouldn't have a barcode that makes them so easy to control. Master's dead and she's still a pet, still owned in every sense except the completely literal one. She scrunches up under the sink, giving herself a few minutes to cry messily, snottily. Not silently pretty, as a Romantic should.

She takes a deep breath, then another. Then she gets up and leans over the sink, scrubbing her face, wiping away the tears, making her eyes less puffy.

Maybe Zac will assume she's had a panic attack and not ask too many questions. She hopes so.

She dresses hurriedly with shaking hands, wanting nothing more than to go home and curl up in Cass' arms. But she can't do that, because then he'd ask and she'd tell him and she can't risk those photos being shared.

As a pet, she's not allowed wants anyway.

She brushes herself down, takes another deep breath, and heads back out.

Zac spots her as she re-enters the library and frowns. As soon as she's close enough, he murmurs, "Are you okay?" She nods. She's fine, she always is. "Okay. If you say so. Another half hour, then we'll go get food?" She nods again. She's in no shape to use her tablet to communicate right now. Zac squeezes her shoulder and looks back down at his textbook, frowning thoughtfully and highlighting another line.

Aaliyah opens up her laptop and puts on her headphones, pressing play. She prepares to draw down her notes and bookmark the sections she needs for her essay.

It's hard, so much harder than earlier. She was enjoying it before but now she can barely concentrate. Her head swims as she tries to settle back into the research. She has to rewind the audio of her textbook several times as she zones out, constantly replaying the last half hour or so. It hurts, physically, mentally, everything, she was hoping she'd never feel that hurt again.

She's useless. She can't concentrate, can't even read or write. She doesn't know things that everyone else finds obvious, that they all stare at her for not understanding. She's trying, she really is, but she's hopeless at it.

She's been pretending to be a person for a while now, but she's not. She never will be. She's a pet, and that's all she'll ever be.

[syncopein3d]

Shun the Light: A Friendly Review

Introduction and Format Explanation:

I've just finished reading Shun the Light by @thoughtsonhurtandcomfort. In the communities where I spend most of my time here on Tumblr, I see occasional recommendations but nothing I would call a review, so I thought I'd go into a little more detail about why I enjoyed this story. I'm still a relative newcomer here in 2024, so if I'm wrong about that, send links in the notes and I will include them here!

The reason I think a positive review might be useful to my audience is that, when people praise a story, they seldom give enough detail for me to know as a reader if I will also want to read it. These are stories I liked personally, and this means that reviews will mostly be of hurt/comfort stories with happy or at least ambiguous endings.

Ambiguous here means characters may part, or may have dangling plot threads for later, but they have survived and are in some way better or recovering. Please always read authors’ trope/warning lists before taking off into their other work. I review hurt/comfort without NSFW usually, but lots of whump writers have both h/c content and NSFW, torture, pet, slave, or other subgenres of whump. I support everyone in this community, and I don’t want anyone to be mad at them or me because you dove directly from a reviewed story into something you didn’t like or were triggered by.

This doesn't mean I disliked everything I didn't review; I read a lot of stories and can't review them all. This is just for stories that are completed according to the author (something of a rare category already) and that I thought deserved special mention.

I'll attempt some light analysis, but I won't ask authors if I'm right about their intent first, so you only get my reader impressions on it. As such, I might be wrong about some or all of how I describe a story and its lore. I don't insist on death of the author once a review is up, so authors are welcome and encouraged to comment!

Summary:

A werewolf and a vampire meet under difficult circumstances and forge an unlikely bond through various injuries and incidents.

Vibes:

I will try to refrain from gushing, since the author is no doubt tired of seeing me type rows of capital A’s on the story posts themselves. This is a very sweet and pleasant hurt/comfort story. It feels warm and comfy even in the slightly gory parts. If it’s possible to write a cozy Universal Studios Horror Gothic, it’s this right here. A lot of it takes place in the same old house and its environs, increasing both the intimacy of the story and the sense of warm familiarity. This is just a delightful palate cleanser if you’ve been reading darker material lately and want to just sit back and feel better.

Characters and Setting:

The story centers on Dante and Matteo, a vampire and a werewolf who wander into each other’s lives by accident. Both are well-intentioned, both are grieving what they lost, whether recently (for Matteo) or long ago (for Dante). When misunderstandings happen, it flows reasonably out of the difference in their ages, their circumstances, and their mutual exasperating tendency to assume the other person’s emotions incorrectly. There’s some delicious angst as a result of that.

Dante is an old soul both literally and figuratively, low-energy and depressed, without rapacity of any kind. The only times he uses a vampire mind control ability are when he is helping to care for Matteo – motivating him to get up the stairs to bed, soothing him to sleep, helping him feel better. It’s almost never for his own benefit. Matteo is not a roaring monster so much as a whipped stray, used to disappointment, expecting the worst. He has a giving heart, but he can’t believe Dante would care about him in return. This doesn’t feel like he’s being stupid in a writing sense; it feels like he has been taught by bad experiences that he has no value. I thought that was handled really well. The dynamic is excellent.

As I mentioned, a lot of the story happens in and around Dante’s house, a slightly decayed mansion where the graves of his loved ones are and which, we receive the impression, he has been haunting like a ghost for some years now. Gradually, we come to see it as more of a safe haven as the story advances, the characters and their exchanges transforming the atmosphere even though the old house remains nearly unchanged. There are brief moments in the woods, in a small nearby town, but they’re not important; they hover vaguely around the place where the characters seem to belong.

Themes (Mild Spoilers):

A lot of stories with vampires in them try to work with themes of renewal. A lot of stories with werewolves in them try to work with themes of found family. Tropes aren’t inherently bad, it’s all in the execution, and it was very interesting to see those two things collide and mingle in this.

Dante needs someone to drag him out of his grave. Matteo needs someone to care and give him value. We morph from the two of them trapped in a slowly rotting antique, wounded and exhausted, to the two of them taking care of each other with more purpose and determination inside what is becoming their home. I would hope that, if the author writes a future story still set here, they would work on renovating parts of the house, as a metaphor for their ongoing dynamic; or burning the place down as a symbol of moving on from their traumas into a new life. But that’s just me writing fanfiction. The story is complete in itself, and I love it.

Final Comments and Recommendation:

This is a lovely, cozy story about two sad people treating each other’s wounds. That’s one of my favorite flavors of story, and if it is for you, too, this is absolutely for you. When I say I like whump, this right here is what leaps to my mind. For fellow loss-of-consciousness fans, Dante has a numbing venom that’s used for that purpose several times, so there’s lots of that here, too. I can hardly recommend this one wholeheartedly enough. If you like hurt and comfort at all, you really, really should give it a look.

My writing masterpost is here, including more Friendly Reviews!

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hi!! do you have any good insecure/low self esteem Sherlock fics? thank you!

Hi Nonny!

AHHHH I’ve too many to count; I did a list back in 2019 that combined the both of them, but I get asked so often for one or the other that I think it’s time to make separate lists, and to do that requires me to re-tag a tonne of fics, so for now, I will give you all the ones I have tagged; I apologize if I’ve missed any, but I’m going through them slowly <3 Enjoy!!

INSECURE / AWKWARD SHERLOCK Pt. 2

See also: Insecure / Awkward John or Sherlock (Jan 2019)

The Four Incidents by TheGirlWithRedHair22 (K+, 1,064 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, John Whump, Accident, John POV, Hand Holding, Worried Sherlock, Sherlock’s Self Esteem) – The first time John was present when someone insulted Sherlock, he brushed it off as a strange coincidence.

Together is What we Have, Together Protects Us by Phantom of the Black Pearl (K+, 1,566 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Platonic or Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, Worried Sherlock, Slice of Life) – After a case one evening in the flat Sherlock voices a concern that causes the pair to consider why they've chosen to stick together after all that's happened.

Like Euphoria and Scotch by FinAmour (M, 1,856 w., 1 Ch. || Five and One, Alcohol / Drinking, POV Second Person Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Imagination, Armchair Sex, Fluff, Happy Ending) – 5 different ways it all could have gone + the one way it actually works itself out.

Five Times Sherlock gave John a Pebble and One Time John Returned the Gesture by grimmfairy (NR, 1,895 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Fluff, Penguins and Pebbles, Nervous / Pining Sherlock, Oblivious John) – Sherlock isn't good with words, so he decides to tell John his feelings the way penguins do, by bringing him pebbles with different meanings. John catches on.

The Imminent Danger of a Tumblr-Night by Loveismyrevolution (T, 2,135 w., 1 Ch. || Tumblr Fics, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock is Out of His Depth, Humour, Fluff, Pining Sherlock, Military Kink, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock gets into trouble when he pretends to know all about John's favourite social media site - tumblr. To save face he seeks help from one of the bloggers and gains more answers than he had aimed for.

Work On Your Balance by speculate (K+, 2,448 w., 1 Ch. || Embarrassed Sherlock, “For A Case”, Skating, Fluff, Friendship, Humour) – In which John is actually pretty good at ice skating, Sherlock's not and insists it's all for a case , and Lestrade is pretty amused by it all.

The Many Faces of Concern by sdrawkcabemdaer5 (K+, 2,473 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Angsty Fluff, John Whump, Mildly Clueless Sherlock) – John is injured on a case, leading to some surprising reactions and discoveries about their friendship.

Nothing Left Untouched by ForeverShippingJohnlock (K+, 2,617 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Romance, Bed Sharing, Oblivious Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Grumpy John, Fluff and Cuddles) – Sherlock rearranges the flat. So what if John's bedroom is now a research library. It's not like John needs a bedroom, he can share with Sherlock. They're friends and John has obviously slept in close quarters with men before and it's not like Sherlock sleeps much anyway. It'll be fine.

Closeted by Sexxica (E, 2,762 w., 1 Ch. || Trapped in a Closet, Panicking Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Coming in Pants, Awkward Conversations, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending) – An improvised hiding spot and a bit of accidental voyeurism leave John and Sherlock in an awkward position.

Reversed by whitchry9 (K+, 3,072 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Medical Anomalies, John Gets Shot) – The man pointed his gun at John's chest, right at his heart, and shot.' Wherein John is shot, and Sherlock is the one panicking.

Study in Sherlock by chappysmom (K+, 3,790 w., 1 Ch. || ASiP, Friendship, Introspection, Anxious Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock) – Sherlock's thoughts and feelings during A Study in Pink. What DID he think of John, and why was he being so NICE?

Date Night by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 4,451 w., 1 Ch. || Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Caring John, Schmoopy Fluff, Fidget Cube, Baking / Cooking, Date Night, Established Relationship, POV Sherlock Holmes, Understanding John, Grumpy Sherlock, John’s Bum, Kisses, Hugs, Domestic Fluff, Touching, Hair Petting, Light Humour) – It's John and Sherlock's first Date Night as an official couple and Sherlock needs it to be PERFECT. Mrs Hudson helps. Part 7 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Sherlock and John Go Clubbing by wendymarlowe (E, 4,716 w., 3 Ch. || Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dancing, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Bi John, For a Case, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Sherlock is Lost for Words, Sexy John, Mutual Pining, Possessive John, Floor Sex/Hand Job/Frottage) – John pinched the bridge of his nose - even for Sherlock, this was a new level of no bloody boundaries. “You want me to go with you to a gay club, wait around twiddling my thumbs while I let you get pawed by a criminal, then out-flirt him and talk you into coming home with me instead?” Part 32 of John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times

Applied Linguistics by what_alchemy (M, 4,837 w., 1 Ch. || Possessive / Anxious Sherlock, Introspection, Bed Sharing, Past John Whump, Est. Rel., Marriage Proposal, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Word Play) – “He wants to shake John by the shoulders, wants to open his mouth and swallow John whole. Wants to marry him.” Sherlock searches for the right words.

Sleeping next to you by Salambo06 (E, 5,018 w, 2 Ch. || ASiB Fic, Bed Sharing, Frottage, Mutual Masturbation, Rimming, Anal, First Kiss/Time, POV Sherlock) – Based on an Anonymous Prompt: "So, that scene from ASiB when Mrs H has been attacked by the American CIA guy & John, Sherlock & she are in Mrs H's kitchen when John says "She’ll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her." to which Sherlock replies with "no". John of course suggested that because he cares about her safety, but maybe he also did it cause he /wanted/ that to happen. What if they finally agreed on letting her have John's or Sherlock's bed & J&S sleep in the same one?" Part 12 of Tumblr Collection

Nothing So Sweet by alexxphoenix42 (E, 5,275 w., 1 Ch. || Shopkeeper AU || Beekeeping, Sussex, Alternate First Meeting, Awkward First Time Sex, Self-Consciousness / Body Insecurity, Fluff, Hand Jobs) – In an alternate universe, Sherlock is busy keeping to himself, tending his bees, and selling lovely jars of honey when a soldier limps into his life quite unexpectedly. Part 1 of The Sweetest Things

My First, My Only, and My Forever by vintagelilacs (E, 6,220 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiB, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum, John’s Scar, Sherlock POV, Body Worship, Fingering, Bottomlock, Promise of Forever / Proposals, Misunderstanding, First Kiss/Time, Loss of Virginity, Virginity Kink, Seduction) – Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was missing a vital piece of data, he was sure. John had been looking at him oddly ever since they left Buckingham Palace, and the ensuing incident with Irene Adler had only exacerbated his erratic behaviour. What was it? Why would he care that Sherlock was a virgin? There was nothing reminiscent of mockery or pity in his gaze. And then it hit him. John Watson was aroused.

Time on my hands by Mildredandbobbin (M, 7,179 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S3, One Night Stands, Mutual Pining, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Sexual Exploration / Discovery, Desperation, Body Worship) – Virginity’s a construct, a concept—what does losing one’s virginity entail for a gay man anyway? Sherlock wants to fill that particular gap in his knowledge but John won’t, can’t, never will assist and there’s only so much desperately unspoken pining even Sherlock can take.

The Very Unlikely Existence of a Flightless Bird in a Tuxedo by cwb (E, 8,829 w., 1 Ch. || Poetry, Penguins / Animals / Zoos, First Kiss / Time, Blow / Hand Jobs, Sleepy Cuddles, Endearments, Friendship / Love, Adorable / Sleepy Sherlock, Case Fic, Sherlock Can’t Say Penguin) – A case at the zoo reveals something John finds cute about Sherlock. A conversation ensues, and so does happy endings.

Always the sun by Rose de Sharon (K+, 12,377 w., 3 Ch. || Song Fic, Alternate Post-TGG, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection / Reflection, Injury Recovery, Obsessive / Protective Sherlock, Nightmares, John’s Past, Bed Sharing / Cuddles) – Sherlock ponders about how much his life has changed since John has become his flatmate.

Understanding by rizandace (T, 13,268 w., 15 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Worried Sherlock, John Whump Then Sherlock Whump) – Sherlock's hiding something about his newest case, and John wants answers. Set post-TGG. Friendship fic, mostly, with brief entrances from Harry and Lestrade just for fun.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror (E, 14,835 w., 1 Ch. || POV First Person Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Stroppy Sherlock, Light Humour, Friendship, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Wall Kisses, Fluffy Angst, Happy Ending) – Sherlock doesn't even know why he resents John's dates so much. Until the day he does know. Slight angst, unrequited feelings (but don't let that scare you off!)

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names, Panic Attack) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

A Silver Sixpence by _doodle (NC-17, 16,400 w., 2 Ch. || LJ Fic || For a Case / Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Humour, Romance, Marriage Proposal, Awkward Idiots, Cuddling, Touching, Kissing, Love Confessions, Bed Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fake Until It’s Not, Schmoop and Fluff, Bottomlock) – “John, we need to get married. It’s for a case, not any romantic notions on my part pertaining to our partnership,” Sherlock said, with brutal honesty, and without even looking up.

Hope for Heroes by Richefic (K+, 16,887 w., 5  Ch. || Post-TGG Fic, Introspection / Flashbacks, Friendship/Epic Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Sherlock Admires John, BAMF John, John Deduces, Fancy Party, John’s Self Esteem, Domestics) – In the final moments of "The Great Game" Holmes hopes he will have the chance to tell his flatmate that he was wrong. Heroes do exist after all and the one in front of him is called Dr John Watson.

Between Friends by SilentAuror (E, 18,036 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Alternating POV, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Abduction, Awkward Situations / Miscommunications, Porn With Feels, Blowjobs, Pining, Unrequited, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock gets abducted. As John discovers him tied up naked in an empty storage facility and comes to rescue him, Sherlock's body has an unfortunate reaction which triggers a series of events. John is convinced that everything will be fine as long as they never discuss it. Sherlock isn't as sure...

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

Rupert Street by WritingOutLoud (M, 27,262 w., 9 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Case Fic, Sexuality, Demisexual Sherlock, Drugging, Smart John, Sherlock Has Internalized Biphobia, Fluff, Angst with Happy Ending, Gay Bar, Flirting, John Manipulates Sherlock to Eat, John Deduces, Arguments, Kidnapping/Torture, Hospitalization, John Whump) – Discharged from the war with nothing but the clothes on his back and a realisation of his bisexuality, John Watson has to learn who he’s become. He can’t afford London on an army pension, but the city is the only friend he has. In an effort to understand his newfound queer identity, he heads to a bar one night, where he stumbles across a mysterious stranger who turns his life upside down. ‘I dug around inside myself, and I'm not quite sure what I found, but it was beautiful and terrifying all at the same time.’

The Wisteria Tree by SilentAuror (E, 29,773 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Emotional Love Making, Amnesia/Memory Loss, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Sherlock POV, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Est. Rel., Retirement) – Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John's...

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all.

The Winter Garden by Callie4180 (T, 31,213 w., 13 Ch. || Post-S4, Retirement, Christmas, Slow Burn, Grown-Up Rosie, Parenthood, Rosie’s Cat, Angst with Happy Ending, Holidays, Beekeeping, Magical Realism, Sherlock POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Future Fic, Sussex, Honey, Magical Healing Honey, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Scar, First Kiss, Touching) – As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he's given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing. Almost...magical.

a good old-fashioned happy ending by darcylindbergh (E, 32,731 w., 26 Ch. || Christmas, Frottage, Comfort, Est. Rel., Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, Frottage, Nightmares, Sleepy Sherlock, Marriage Proposal, Humour, Fluff, Dancing, Cooking, Happy Ending) – For Christmas this year, Sherlock wants to get John something special: something every fairytale deserves. Part 2 of things fairy tales are made of

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, Sherlock Has a Boyfriend) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

The Unfinished Letters by SilentAuror (E, 37,391 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3 / S3 / HLV Fix it, Angst with Happy Ending, Romance, Infidelity, Depression, Case Fic, POV Third Person Sherlock, Love Confessions, Pining Sherlock, Letters) – A fire at Baker Street leads John to read something he was never intended to see: a notebook of half-written, unfinished letters Sherlock wrote during his time away...

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea by DiscordantWords (M, 39,968 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It || Grief / Mourning, Victor Trevor, Friendship, Sherlock is Not Okay, Nightmares/Flashbacks/Panic Attacks, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John Comes Home) – Baker Street is very much the same. Only different. And Sherlock is just trying not to drown.

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

A Goose Quill Dipped in Venom by Polyphony (M, 52,748 w., 16 Ch. || Celebrity John AU || Alternate First Meeting, TV Host John, Supermodel Mary, Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Case Fic, First Kiss/Time, Meddling Mycroft, Drug Abuse, Doctor John, PDA, Deductions, POV Sherlock, Toplock, Sexual Tension, Angry/Rough Sex, Hopeful Ending, Asperger’s Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is called in to a very ordinary although brutal murder. Something is badly out of tune with the whole scenario and Sherlock finds himself becoming more and more obsessed with the crime - and also with the victim.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of SpaceBois go to Space

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w., 12 Ch. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”  

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Background Case Fic) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

The Wedding Garments by cwb (E, 105,390 w., 36 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Alternate Future AU || Alternate First Meeting, Dating / Arranged Marriages, Romance, First Kiss/Time, Heavy Petting, Cuddles, POV Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn / Falling in Love / Dev. Rel., Nervous/Anxious Sherlock, Jealous/Cranky Sherlock, Hiking, Vacation Homes / Honeymoon, Sherlock’s Family, Horny John/Sherlock, Patient John, Massages, Hand Jobs, Assassination Plots, Oral Sex, Case Fic, Emotional Love Making, Bath Time Fun) – This is the story of a young consulting detective who wants nothing to do with marriage and an army doctor who wants to find true love. It's 2020 post-Brexit England and the British government is encouraging arranged marriages. Candidates meet through state-run agencies and date in hopes of finding love (and tax benefits). Sherlock doesn't need or want a spouse, at least not until John Watson shows up. Hesitant to give in to his more carnal urges because of the way they derail his mind, how will Sherlock progress toward the more intimate aspects of a relationship? The answer lies in a very special wedding gift.

The Lost Special: Family Matters (As Do Relationships) by ShirleyCarlton  (M, 144,688 w., 40 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic / Meta Fic, Unreliable Narrator, John’s Mind Bungalow, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Demisexual Sherlock, Holmes Family, John Whump, Gay Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Drug Addiction, Parenting, TFP is a Nightmare, Virgin Sherlock, Slow Burn, Minor Character Death, Switchlock, John’s Past, Sherlock’s Past, Eurus, Love Confessions) – Sherrinford is not really the name of some high security prison. That was just a figment of John’s frantic coma dream. And Eurus is not actually Sherlock’s sister. That’s just something random she said to John before shooting him. Sherlock and John were never actually estranged. That was just their act to cover up what really happened to Mary – or Rosamund Moran, as her real name has turned out to be. Sherlock does have a secret sibling, though, and his name is Sherrinford. After finally eliminating Moran – though in a rather dramatically different way than they had envisioned – and exposing the truth about Eurus, John encourages Sherlock to delve into his past and to find out whether the reasons to keep Sherrinford away from Sherlock were the right ones, and to discover what really happened in 1981. Along the way, Sherlock and John gradually, finally, stop keeping each other at a distance, and eventually become a proper family of their own.

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

[lilixloveswhump]

Static

Whumptober 2021

No. 6 - TOUCH AND GO

bruises | touch starved | hunger

No. 7 - MY SPIDEY-SENSE IS TINGLING

helplessness | numbness | blindness

start//end

TW: pet whump, forced mutism, self-cannibalism mention, conditioning, spiraling

Words: 606

His skin was numb. Blistering with static, pins and needles of utter loneliness and solitude, as if someone were to touch him right then and there they would both be sparked and blown up in smoke. It was the floor that held him, the cold room that enveloped him in an empty embrace, the only weight applied being the slight dampness in the air generated by the leak in one of the pipes by the corner; the drip drip drip of water being the only thing to touch his skin, to soothe his throat, to quench his thirst.

His fingers scraped at his collar, lifting it ever so slightly along the length of his neck to simulate the scratch of someone else, of anyone else. He couldn’t feel his own anymore. His digits frozen off a long time ago; not gone, but they might as well have been. There was nothing for him to grab, to hold but himself, no touch but his own. Nothing but him and the floor and the walls, which was somehow worse than the cage. A million times worse than the cage. No bars to wack his arms against, to assure himself that he was really there, that there was depth and dimension to the world he was in, that the universe wasn’t just an empty room lone for him and the pipe and the drip drip drip of his only friend.

He hadn’t seen anyone else in days. It had to have been days, it had certainly been hours. It had to have been hours. There were no windows. No light, no clock. Nothing but him, and the floor, and the walls, and the dripping, and the door.

The door was so far away, all the way across the room. He could get up and walk to it he supposed. He wasn’t tied down or chained up; he had complete free reign. But where would he go? To visit this wall? To the next? To the other? To the door? There was no door. The door was a wall too, only modified. It was a room. With no windows, no light, no clock, no door. Just him. And the walls. And the floor. And the dripping.

She left him there to die, he knew it. It was why She took his voice, She didn’t want to listen to him scream and beg and cry as he was forced to eat himself before succumbing to the cold, unforgiving touch of death. At least it would be something. At least it would be touch.

He almost didn’t believe it when She came in, the clink of the door being the first sound he had heard in— it had to have been days, weeks; it certainly had to have been days— aside from the drip drip drip of water off the pipe, down his throat, into the puddle. She came for him, She came for him, She didn’t forget about Her Angel. And when She put her hand out, his face met Her palm immediately, nuzzling into her warmth and though there was very little through Her glove it was different; it was a different touch than the air, then the water smacking his face, than the collar scratching his neck.

And when She yanked Her hand back to slap him across the face, it stung. It burned, it burned his cheek, it burned his eyes, it burned his pride. But it was still touch. So when She held Her hand out again, Felix dove to feel Her caress and this time, he didn’t even cry when She called him a Good Boy.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Dark AU: The Problem

In an alternative universe where @untilthepainstarts‘s Lev married (and murdered) Martin, his captor, only to prove a thoughtful, fascinating criminal mastermind... in a timeline where @whumpiary‘s Cass becomes Cassius Bergen, who takes over the Estate after Christopher Bergen goes mysteriously missing... so there is also a Kauri.

Friendly, charming, engaging, flirtatious, this Kauri is a live-in stray at the Bergen Estate, known to come and go as he pleases. He spends an awful lot of time in Cassius Bergen’s office, and rumor has it he’s not in there to perform administrative duties.

Dot, Nell, and I have had fun along with our group of friends talking out the idea of the Dark AU, and honestly, I couldn’t resist seeing where Kauri might fit into it. I even wrote a thing, which I have been given permission to share here!

So, without further mucking about trying to explain it... here is Dark Kauri. Just sit back and enjoy the pretty.

---

CW: Referenced past noncon and pet whump, hints of fucky headspace regarding spice, some low-level spiciness (like PG-13), conditioned behavior

“Take it off.” 

“Mmn… no.” Cass kept his head tilted to the side, watching Kauri stand frozen in the doorway, one hand resting lightly on the frame. Lithe and willowy, the Bergen Estate’s fascinating, gorgeous semi-permanent ward looked every inch the gangster’s moll today. Impeccably dressed, like Cass himself.

Cass wore a black suit over a deep purple pinstriped button up loosely unbuttoned just enough to show off the wide-banded black satin choker he wore around his neck. 

The choker was what Kauri’s eyes were locked on, slightly widened.

“Take it off, Cass.” Kauri’s voice caught this time, just slightly, and Cass felt like a shark smelling blood in the water. He could feel the way Kauri’s wants poured out of him, a waterfall of nerves and fear and dark places he was desperate to keep hiding from. “I mean it.”

“Lev’s coming over later, you know,” Cass said, voice light and airy. The blade he cut with, in moments like this, was nearly invisibly thin. 

Kauri bled, just the same, whenever and however Cass wanted him to, and somehow he never ran away, no matter how hard Cass tried to push him.

Mostly, he didn’t. Mostly he liked being a safe place for Kauri in a world that had very few of them. But some days Cass felt restless, angry, hungry to prove to Kauri and everyone else that he was exactly the monster he should be. 

One day he’d find the thing that chased Kauri away.

Today, he was trying this.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Cass gave Kauri a half-cocked grin, beautiful poison, crooked two fingers to ask him to come closer even as he wanted to say, Run away this time and stay gone, it’s only what I deserve.

Some of the fear settled, and Cass felt the pulse of his desires begin to shift, to change. Kauri didn’t have what Cass had, but he could read some things, too, in his own way. Instead of turning to leave, Kauri braced himself and stepped forward, moving across the room with each step placed with careless grace. “What? You want me to ask if Lev Viklund-Reid will like your collar, Cass? After he had to wear one?”

“Yeah.” Kauri stopped next to his chair and Cass swung it around to face him, legs apart, sitting back and looking up at Kauri, head tilted. “I want to know if he’ll like my collar. Saw it in a shop two days ago and it made me think of you. And him.”

Kauri’s face didn’t change, but Cass could feel the way his desires twisted, shifted, became darker and started to turn on themselves. Anger, justifiable and justified on every level, was there. But stronger than the anger… 

“You want to put one on me, Cass?” Kauri asked, and his voice was low, too deep for how pretty he was, as he moved forward to stand briefly framed on either side by Cass’s suit pant-clad legs. Then he climbed up into the chair, straddling him, the pressure where their hips met entirely too pleasant.

This… wasn’t quite what Cass had expected him to do. “... no, Kauri,” He admitted, and some of the easy confidence was lost, in that moment. The power balance shifted as Kauri rocked his hips forward, rolling them, as his hands laid flat on Cass’s stomach over his shirt and then slid slowly up. 

Kauri took over, somehow, in the way his body could light Cass up without even touching bare skin.

Cass cleared his throat. “This isn’t-... Wasn’t my plan.”

Kauri laughed, low and husky, and the spikes of disgust generously ladled over the darker wants that curled around the two of them were heady, making Cass feel half-drunk and outmatched. “What was your plan, then?”

Hands traveled slowly upward, skimming to the sides under his suit jacket to press against his ribs through the silky-smooth fabric of his shirt. They paused over his chest, pressed against his collarbone and then around behind his neck. He felt his curly hair, soft against Kauri’s hands, shift over his neck as he met the warm, wide blue eyes of a runaway pet, someone else’s escaped whore.

Cass knows the feeling, although he didn’t escape - he became the whoremaster instead. Sort of. Sometimes it felt like being whoremaster, trying to hold the Bergen Estate together.

Sometimes, though, Kauri looked at him like this and Cass felt less like he had control and more like Kauri could have shredded him and he might have thanked him for the touch.

“...I wanted to hurt you,” He admitted, not sure why he spoke the words out loud when he didn’t mean to speak them at all. “And Lev. Wanted to see if I could.”

Kauri rolled his hips forward, and the pressure coiled heat low in Cass’s belly, setting the constant low pulse of arousal he felt nearly every time Kauri entered a room into a flame. He hadn’t even felt the pet undo the choker’s little buckle at the back of his neck, blinking in surprise at the feel of the satin sliding away, leaving his neck bare.

“You’d only hurt me if you put it on me,” Kauri said, voice low, husky, warm with need. He held up the strip of silky cloth right in front of Cass’s eyes and tore the buckle off the end in a sudden burst of violence, dropping it with a clatter onto Cassius’s desk.

His smile widened even as Cass felt his smile returning. “I wouldn’t, you know, Kauri.”

“Wouldn’t what?” Kauri knew the answer, but still wanted to hear it out loud. Cass could respect that.

“Collar you. I would never collar you, you know that.”

“Do I know that?”

“Yes.” Cass’s voice cracked, caught, and he repeated, insistent, “Yes, you do.”

“You might, one day, if you wanted someone to see you do it. I’d let you, too.” Kauri shrugged, seemingly unmoved, even as Cass felt the stir of fear that ran through him and around him, half-buried by want for other things but still there, a thread he could pull, unravel, undo if he wanted.

He wanted. And Kauri knew it.

Cass stared with a mouth suddenly too dry for speech as Kauri simply bent himself over backwards, his knees still on either side of Cass’s thighs, and arched his back until he was looking upside down at the industrial-strength shredder Cass kept next to his desk, reaching one arm out while the other went palm-flat to the floor.

Cass’s hands moved fast to grip onto Kauri’s hips and hold him steady as the other man fed the band of shining black satin, torn at one end where the buckle had been, into the shredder. It kicked on automatically, a high roaring whine as it fought to destroy threads instead of paper.

Kauri’s position was nearly obscene, his own growing hardness pressing against Cass’s, shirt riding up to show a flash of pale skin. Cass wanted suddenly to lick his way up or down and he wasn’t sure which or if he would ever stop once he started.

He could see the faintest outline of a bruise along one hip showing above the waistband of Kauri’s pants, his own teeth indented there in a deeper purple surrounded by red and yellow. Biting down had made Kauri scream for more.

If his mouth had been dry before, it became the fucking Sahara when the shredder finished its work and Kauri’s stomach muscles tightened, simply rolling himself back up, curving back to sitting in Cass’s lap again.

He leaned forward, sliding his arms around Cass’s neck, mouth moving against his ear. His teeth nipped lightly at Cass’s earlobe as he whispered, “I’ll wear anything and nothing you want me to wear, Cass, but I won’t let you collar yourself. Now fuck me before Lev gets here or don’t fuck me at all today.”

When Lev arrived, Cass was seated right behind his desk, his shirt wrinkled and suit jacket misbuttoned, half-cocked grin right back on his face, a red mark blossoming along the right side of his neck.

Kauri answered the door for Viklund-Reid with a flush in his face and a swollen look to his lips as he held out his hand. His sweater was on backwards and inside-out. It might have looked accidental, if you didn’t know Kauri.

Which Viklund-Reid didn’t, although he didn’t look surprised, either.

Lev looked to Cass first, eyebrow raised, and he only shrugged in return, giving him a rakish, devil-may-care grin. “Have you met Kauri, yet, Viklund-Reid?”

“I haven’t,” Lev responded, voice warm and slightly lilting, shaking Kauri’s hand without the faint curl of his lip in disgust that some of the others did, either unbothered or just incredibly polite. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Kauri shot him a smile, sunny and winning, and leaned up to kiss Lev on the cheek, fingertips sliding down the lapel of his suit. “You will,” He murmured against the faintest hint of stubble on Lev’s skin, and then moved past him out the door.

Lev and Cass both stared, for a second, in silence at the slight sway of his hips before the ex-pet disappeared around a bend in the hall. Cass let himself soak up the hint of Lev’s desires in the air - they weren’t too far off from his own, although Lev’s were far subtler, buried.

Lev turned back, pressing invisible wrinkles out of his suit. “Are we going to have a problem?”

“Nope,” Cass responded, sunny and bright. He felt a low throb at the spot where shoulder and neck met, a growing hickey that would be a dark bruise by night. He was surprised they hadn’t heard him react to that out in the hall. “What possible problem could there be?”

Lev gave Cass a flat stare and said dryly, “I think I see why you couldn’t wait until after my visit.”

“Wait for what?” Cass asked, innocently. 

“Bergen-“

The shredder kicked on, surprising them both as it spat out the last few black satin threads into the trash bin below it. Cass slid the collar’s broken buckle, with its bit of tattered fabric clinging to it, carefully into one pocket.

[redstainedsocks]

A caretaker appears...

Warnings: box boy universe, dehumanization, people as pets, mentions of punishments and restraints, noncon drugging, memory loss.

This one is more angst than whump, but sets up a bit more detail of what Kit’s daily life is like. Enjoy!

[Beginning]

It had been a busy day, and they were only halfway through it. There was still the entire afternoon to go before he could put the products—pets, and they were anxious pets today—back in their crates. Until the uneasy feeling in his gut might settle back to bearable levels.

One went this morning, to a tight lipped woman who looked stern and sounded harried. She chose Freckles. Not the first Freckles Kit had ever named, probably not the last, but he tried to commit her face to memory all the same. Someone should know, someone should wonder about her. How was she, would she settle, would they take care of her? Freckles was quiet and uncomplaining, hardly dared to move unless cajoled into it half the time. What would her life be like with an impatient owner, who barely took the time to get to know her, and chose her based on looks not compatibility?

Freckles had glowed, given Kit a shy smile. He recognised it: relief. To be picked was better. He knew that, they all knew that. A permanent home meant no longer being rejected. It meant not living in this limbo where every day you didn’t get chosen might inspire Emile’s wrath, bring down the threat of further training to get you ready. It was better that Freckles was gone… so why did he care? Why did he always care?

His thoughts ticked round in circles as he followed the new man around the store and held out his hands to carry things picked off shelves. Blankets, a comfort toy, a leash, a name tag. An instrument for correction that Kit balked at having to touch, and trembled to hold between his thumb and forefinger. He brought them all to the till, placed gently down and then neatly stacked them. He stood straight-backed while Emile finished with the couple at the counter.

“And would you like the Box Boy experience?” Emile asked.

Kit inhaled to avoid wincing and looked down at his bare feet. Please say no.

“What does that entail?” One asked excitedly.

“Here, why don’t you read this little leaflet, have a chat, while I ring up everything for this patient gentleman, and then we can discuss it!” Emile smiled broadly, and turned to Kit. “Help these men with their purchase, go start getting number four ready.”

Number four, number four? He screwed up his face and tried to count round the layout of crates from the back room, to picture it and guess where four fell… nearly halfway, right? That meant it was Ski’s turn to go to a new home. Little Ski, short for Skinny, a thin bony thing with a long face and large eyes. Kit watched as one of the couple went up and stroked through Ski’s hair and the boy turned his wide, searching eyes upward to the people he’d be going to live with. Kit swallowed hard and walked over.

“Hi, good morning. Is there anything I can help you with?” He asked, kept his voice low and pleasant, even though he wanted to snatch Ski up and put him somewhere safely out of sight.

“Oh aren’t you a polite thing?” the shorter of the couple cooed at him. “Will he be as well behaved as you?”

Kit cleared his throat. “All our products are well mannered and happy to obey, they will be very grateful to live in your home.” He paused, and wondered whether to deviate from the script. “S- he is very quiet but attentive. He likes affection and worries if he doesn’t get it, I… I can show what he responds best to, if you like.”

“I think that would be great, we should help him settle in as best we can, don’t you think, love?” The shorter turned to his partner and tried to coax a smile out of him.

“And just how do you know?” The taller man said, flicking his eyes up and down Kit’s body. “You’re just a pet too.”

“Pshh, be nice, I’m sure he knows the products here very well don’t you, sweetie?” The shorter man spoke in a high pitched babying voice when he addressed Kit that grated on Kit’s nerves.

He nodded. “I’m trained to help wherever I can, I can give you whatever information you need until my Owner is ready to complete your purchase.” I know these pets better than anyone here, asshole, and you were just going to walk out the door without learning anything, weren’t you? Why does no one ever ask me?!

“You go right ahead dear, my boyfriend here is just a worrywart over making such a big purchase.”

Kit smiled, like he understood what that was like, and stepped toward Ski. He gently lifted the boy’s arm and wrapped his hand around the boy’s wrist. He rubbed soothing circles with his thumb into the underside, something he’d learned Ski liked if he’d ever been in restraints, and now made him relax whenever he was tense. 

“Like this, he responds very well. It’s a comforting thing for him. He struggles with loud noises sometimes, but I’m sure—umm, I’m sure once he settles and feels safe and knows he’s wanted he’ll be less scared of them. The shop is busy sometimes, it’s no place for a pet to live.” He smiled and dipped his head, like he was sharing a secret. He had to make them think they were doing the best thing for the kid, so they’d think it was an honour, so they’d treat him well. It was his responsibility. Emile would sell to anyone, and give only the barest hints of information, nothing outside of the standard set of notes. 

The couple took a long time deciding what accessories to buy, and eventually decided to go for the Box Boy experience too and Kit’s long morning led into a very long afternoon.

Somehow it was always his job to get the pets into the boxes when a new Owner wanted to pretend they’d bought from somewhere like Whumpee’s-R-Us and didn’t just walk out with their new purchase. The pets trusted Kit. He had no idea why, when he was always the one to make them do things. 

The delivery truck was ready by mid afternoon and Ski trembled in a blindfold and black shorts, his arms loosely restrained and all the accessories the couple had bought in a neat canvas bag beside him. 

“It won’t be long, I don’t think they live very far. Just breathe, okay? In and out, there’s always air, you just have to breathe it in. Be good, please be very good when you get there they seemed nice, didn’t they? They listened to everything I told them about you. I think they’ll really care, don’t you?”

Ski nodded, and leaned into Kit. He looked furtively around to make sure Emile wasn’t nearby and then wrapped him in one last hug before he ushered him into the large box. Knees bent up to his chest and straps to keep him secure and one little poke of a needle, and the kid went loose limbed and flopped in the bottom of the box. Kit stood restlessly until Emile came and checked the goods, and Kit helped force the lid into place, not even able to see Ski’s eyes one last time before he was gone.

“Good job, Kit,” Emile said, one heavy hand thumped him on the shoulder before Emile and the driver started hauling the box out.

Relief and a swell of pride made him straighten his back, at the same time his stomach sank lower and lower. He needed that affirmation from the one person he was meant to please, he needed to know it was all okay, all going to plan. That he was living up to the standards he was supposed to keep. But he hated it.

He didn’t want to be good at this.

- - -

The weekend was a welcome relief. Saturday was his favourite day. Saturday usually meant no Emile. When Emile often took the day off, the newly hired shop assistant took charge for the day.

Kit liked Libby. He liked how she spoke to him, how she dealt with annoying customers, how they could laugh about them afterwards. Emile still woke him, got him up to start the day and let him out of the upstairs apartment, and then he went home, or off to play golf, or relax. And it was just Kit, waiting for Libby to arrive.

He caught sight of her as she hurried past the front window. Her hair was long, a pale brown that had faded to a lighter shade in the summer months. She’d caught him staring once, mesmerised at the waterfall of hair that had somehow magically changed color. He hadn’t known it could do that.

“What is it?”

“Your-your hair is… is yellow.”

She laughed, put at ease at his simple admission. “It’s the sun, it bleaches all the color out. And it’s not yellow, it’s blonde.”

He hadn’t known what that word meant, his mind stuck around it, buffering against a blank space from a memory that had been torn from him. 

“Blonde?”

“It’s a word to describe hair, it means the lightest shades, pale golds, straw colors. Anything… well anything yellow-y I suppose.”

“What about mine does it have a name?”

“You’re a brunette. A dark one, almost black in some lights. I bet if you got some sun it might go a little paler…”

She’d trailed off, they both knew that wasn’t on the cards. He clung to the words, new descriptions, things he hadn’t known he’d forgotten, things he hadn’t remembered he was supposed to understand.

“What about Emile. What’s he?”

She’d doubled over, laughing, beckoned him closer until she could whisper in his ear. “Balding.”

The memory of what the word meant slammed into him and he went wide eyed, and then giggled nervously. A secret. A shared joke. He was always supposed to respect Emile, he shouldn’t be laughing. But Libby was right, Emile’s hair was thin at the back of his head, and she laughed about it so he did, too.

The sound of the back door unlocking and opening dragged him from his thoughts. Libby smiled at him and dumped her things, ruffled his hair as she walked past and pinched him playfully on the elbow to get moving. 

“Come on, whole day ahead of us!” She breezed past him to start putting up the shutters and to log in on the till computer. The pets were already out, Kit had done his morning routine to the letter, chore by chore, even with no one to check on him.

He waited silently in the doorway for her to notice. For her to see. When she looked up a soft Oh left her and she turned to Kit with a half-smile. 

“Made some sales since last week, huh?”

He nodded, bit his lip. “Some. And two just yesterday. Two, all at once.”

“That’s good; new homes, new lives. Right?” 

He shrugged. “What if… what if they’re not?”

“That’s not your problem to worry about, Kit.”

“They’re gone, and they were just here. So sudden, I…” he hardened, scowled. He shouldn’t be saying these things. “What if they’re not good, what if they come back for training and I have to—have to see them go through that?”

“You miss them,” Libby said, softly. “It’s understandable.”

“No, I. No, I’m not supposed to miss them, that’s not. That’s not what they’re here for.”

She didn’t try to correct him, but he saw her disbelief. It worried him, that he’d lied and she noticed, until she held out her arms and walked forward. She was smaller than he was, but not by too much. She gestured with her hands and he leaned in, she cradled his head and he leaned further until his brow rested on her shoulder.

He shook, eyes hot and jaw clenched. He wasn’t supposed to care, not this much, not more than them. He wasn’t supposed to mind doing his job, fulfilling his purpose. He was trained to obey, to behave, to do what was asked. Why did he have to get so attached? Why did he want to protect them, when he couldn’t?

Libby stroked the back of his head, and one hand slid lower until she could rub between his shoulder blades. Just briefly. Just for a second.

“You did good, you did what you were told. You looked after them, that’s all you can do. That’s what you’re supposed to do. This is a shop, they got sold, they’re where they’re meant to be in someone’s home, not this halfway place.”

He nodded. He wanted to believe, but once they left… once they left it was like they never existed. He saw nothing outside this place, nothing besides the confines of these walls.

“Come on, I have to work or Emile might fire me,” she said with a laugh but he tensed up all the same. She was the nicest shop assistant they’d ever had since Emile bought him, since he was claimed.

“I can get another stool for you, if you want? Or you can sit down by me on the floor, until we have a customer?” She pulled back and he missed the touch that wasn’t because he was moving another pet around, or because Emile was yanking him about in a hurry.

“I can kneel on the floor, I like…” he liked not being able to see the shop, for a while, so he could pretend it wasn’t there and he wasn’t the only one with the weight of responsibility for the pets out on the floor. “I like sitting by you.”

“Good, come on then, I have your high score to try and beat.” She smiled at him, knocked her knuckles playfully on his chin and turned quickly on her heel.

Libby settled onto the narrow stool behind the counter and he slid to his knees beside her. She never sat completely, wouldn’t stop jiggling, but it was nice. He leaned against her and her hand came down to rest on his head, not moving, not pulling, not doing anything. Just there. Just a weight, something to keep him from floating away, to keep his thoughts from running out of his head to his mouth.

Just a comfort.

Just.

Someone.

[Next]

tag list:  @haro-whumps, @theycomeinthrees, @whumpthisway, @samanddeaninpanties, @teachunks, @draganies, @pepperonyscience, @whump-it, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Any fics about hair? Whether it’s hair care or hair pulling, I don’t mind.

Hi Nonny!

Ah, I don’t have very many that deal SPECIFICALLY with hair, but more like hair is within the plot or one of the boys loves the hair! So here’s what I can remember; I know there’s another that’s 100% about hair (Sherlock wants to taste John’s hair and doesn’t know how to ask) and I can’t remember which one it is and it’s bugging me LOL. Anyway, here you are, everything that showed up in a search. I’ll also add Beard Fics too:

HAIR & BEARDS

See also: John Has a Beard

Upon Reflection, Tenable Frippery by emmagrant01 (T, 1,299 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4, John’s Beard, First Kiss, Fluff) – John was, inexplicably, growing a beard.

Untouched by KittieHill (E, 3,239 w., 1 Ch. || Kissing, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, Body Worship, Sherlock’s Scars Mentioned, Masturbation, PWP, Rimming, Multiple Orgasms) – Sherlock leaked a lot. John had never needed lubricant. John loved watching it, had once spent an entire afternoon edging Sherlock so he could watch as the thick precome drip, drip, dripped onto Sherlock’s belly.

Love and Hair Dye by Anonymous (E, 3,920 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Body Worship, Self Conscious John, Voyeurism, Idiots in Love, Smutty Smut) – Self conscious John decides to cover the greys on his head, and the colour isn’t what he thought it would be. Now he’s more self-conscious than ever.

The Oolong Disaster by unicornpoe (T, 4,151 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Beard, Fluff, Humour, Frustrated Sherlock, John Takes Care of Sherlock, Case Fic-ish, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Possessive Sherlock) – John has a beard. Sherlock has a panic attack.

If He Knows by shamelessmash (M, 4,513 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fic, Pining Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Angst, Sherlock POV, Texting, Internal Monologue, Blanket Forts) – I imagine mornings: John handing me a cup of tea, hair sticking out at odd angles. How he would bend down to kiss me, smiling fondly as he pulls away. The way his skin crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the way his skin looks in the morning light. The soft sigh as he sits in his chair with the morning paper, the way his toes curl in the carpet, the way he rolls his shoulders before sinking deeper into his seat. I watch him, how he is when he is content, as it should be. As he deserves. Happy. With me.

Facade by distantstarlight (M, 4,715 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, John’s Beard, No-Shave November, Grumpy Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock) – Sherlock is highly irritated with a challenge John has agreed to undertake. Why does he need to grow a beard anyway?

One Day Like This by nondeducible (E, 4,872 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Bed-Sharing, Romance, Fluff, Virgin Sherlock) – When Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, the sight before him nearly took his breath away. The only light in the room was the small lamp on the bedside table. John’s skin shone like gold, his hair like the purest silver. He was on his side, facing the empty part of the bed, his outstretched hands ready to embrace whoever climbed in next to him. Sherlock could imagine, just for a second, that this was their shared bed and he was coming back to settle into John’s arms.

Survival Strategies for the Domesticated British Butthole by Atiki (E, 6,183 w., 1 Ch. || Crack, Rimming, Anal Sex, Iced Lolly, Hair Removal, Depilation) – In which there’s a rimming disaster, Sherlock depilates his butt, everything goes very, very wrong and groceries are mistreated. This fic contains hair removal creme in a butthole, ice lollies in a butthole and John Watson’s penis in a butthole. You have been warned.

The Death of Doubt by Gingerhermit (E, 6,584 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate Canon, BAMF John, POV Sherlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Drama, Meddling Mycroft) – Mycroft asks for John’s help in rescuing Sherlock from his Serbian captors.

The Tip Over Into The Inevitable by ivyblossom (T, 6,894 w., 1 Ch. || Grief, Cuddles, Insomnia, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers) - When his father dies, Sherlock avoids sleeping. Then discovers he can’t sleep at all. John finds a way to help.

Onomatopoeia by aquabelacqua (M, 6,904 w., 1 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Dirty Talk, Domestics, Word Kink, POV Sherlock, Dry Humping / Sex, Chair Sex, Hair Pulling, Lazy Mornings, Hand Jobs, Friends to Lovers) – Something is the matter with John. Sherlock is determined to figure out what it is. Mark his words.

Beg for Mercy (Twice) by Solitary_Endeavor (E, 7,060 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Bottomlock, Bearded John, Edging, Rough Sex, Idiots in Love, Canon Compliant) – Sherlock hasn’t left the flat in four days, the itch of impatience beneath his skin too great to allow him to suffer interaction with any human being who isn’t John. This is probably a mercy that goes both ways, as he’s driving even himself mad. Sherlock supposes there is a lesson to be learned here about having himself to blame, but of course he blames Mycroft.

Of Razors, Pipes, Red Notebooks and Rugby Jerseys, Or: Sherlock Doesn’t Like His Doctors Clean Shaven by allonsys_girl (E, 7,313 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., PWP / Porn With Feelings, John’s Beard / Beard Kink, Roleplay, Love Declarations, Banter, Rimming, Anal, Domestic Fluff / Bliss, Idiots in Love, Emotional Lovemaking, Pet Names, Obsessive Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock) – John grows a beard. Sherlock really likes it. Part 1 of Consulting Husbands

Christmas by Anonymous (E, 7,673  w., 1 Ch. || Worried Sherlock, PWP, Drunkeness, Christmas, Est. Relationship, Idiots So In Love) – John feels a lump rise in his throat, and it hits him, again, that this beautiful, infuriating creature is his. Completely, one-hundred percent his.

And if you say the word, I could stay with you by CaitlinFairchild (E, 12,842 w., 1 Ch. || Domestic Fluff, BottomJohn / Topping from the Bottom, Fluff and Romance, Dirty Talk, Proposals) – What Sherlock thinks is, On the day I die, be it in a dirty alley at forty or in my bed at eighty, the last thing I will remember is tonight, the way you looked at at me on the snowy pavement, cheeks pink with the cold, breath puffing in frosty white clouds, your heart in your eyes and snowflakes in your hair. I will remember that single perfect moment in my life, that moment I knew I had everything I ever wanted, and whatever happens next, I will die content. What he says is simply, “Marry me.”

Where Else Would I Be? by cwb (E, 34,910 w., 10 Ch. || Retirementlock, Domestic Fluff, Falling in Love, Parentlock, Fluff and Smut, Reminiscing) – John and Sherlock’s five-year-old granddaughter spends the weekend with them in Sussex. Sherlock happily indulges her whims, and John takes care of them while quietly revisiting the past thirty years of their lives together.

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w., 50 Ch. || Post S3, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock, BAMF John) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate’s nose buried in your hair. Whilst you’re in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship’s surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there’s more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin’ the eye, he has to choose… is it a pirate’s life for him?

MARKED FOR LATER

Curlock by 88thParallel (G, 1,285 w. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Sherlock’s Hair, Fluff, Ficlet) – How Sherlock learned to control and appreciate the incredible gift he was born with, and the man who helped him sort it out.

Of Razors, Pipes, Red Notebooks and Rugby Jerseys, Or: Sherlock Doesn’t Like His Doctors Clean Shaven by allonsys_girl (E, 7,313 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Porn With Feelings, John’s Beard, Bottomlock, Domestics, Fluff and Smut, Banter, Declarations of Love, Rimming, Anal, Est. Rel.) – John grows a beard. Sherlock really likes it. Part 1 of Consulting Husbands

How to Sleep with Your Enemy in One Semester by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (M, 9,699 w., 6 Ch. || College / Uni Professors AU || Professor John/Sherlock, Enemies to Lovers, Rivalry, Bickering, Office Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Domestics, John’s Beard, Idiots in Love) – Visiting professors John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are longtime academic rivals — and now unwilling office mates — at a prestigious American university. When their tense arguments give way to an undercurrent of mutual attraction, their war of wits turns into something more personal — until it goes off course. A party, a phone number, and deserted office at night might just bring them back together.

[blinded-and-bloody]

The Meeting of Legion and his angel, Daniel [ 2 ]

[ based off of the thread between me and @mauismuses ]

Fandom : NA

Characters : Daniel, Legion

[ Legion was created by @mauismuses ]

Whump : Addiction, Blood, Bruising, Crying, Drug Use, Hair Pulling, Kidnapping, Manhandling, Manipulation, Murder, Mutilation, Pet Name

After making sure he was quite out of it with blood, the demon left him alone for awhile, trying to decide what he wanted to do next.

The angel’s wings were gone now, and he was quickly getting addicted to demon blood.

/What else could I possibly do?/

After a little while he decided he wanted some of Daniel’s Grace, and maybe he’d hang it up alone with his pretty blue wings, which were going up in the Knight’s office.

Half an hour later, the demon was walking back into the room, a completely empty syringe and an empty vial with him.

When Daniel saw Legion, he gave him a loopy little grin, and a wave, even though his wrists were still held down.

Smirking a bit, Legion settled himself down next to his angel, preparing the new needle. If the cherub had been capable of speech, he would have asked what was about to happen next.

Once he was done preparing it, Legion stood back up, and tilted Daniel’s head back again. He pushed the needle in and withdrew enough blood to leave him weak, weaker than before, even more hopeless. The Cherub let out of a soft whimper when he realized what was happening. He didn’t want his Grace taken, he needed it, even it was a bit uncomfortable to keep inside like he had to when he was all locked down.

“It’s okay,” Legion told him, pulling the needle away, pushing the Grace into the vial, “thank you.”

Daniel looked for his Grace as Legion turned away. Why had the demon taken it from him?

The Grace ended up on a chain, the glowing vial barely hidden under his shirt which Daniel saw when Legion gave him yet another shot blood.

Legion’s angel was left alone for the rest of the entire next day, which gave him enough time to some down from his high. Once he was down, he had some time to think about things, to register them. He was strapped down to a dirty chair in a dirty place in the universe, with no wings, no Grace, no way home, and then there was that weird feeling in his gut that wouldn’t go away. A want, a /need/ for... something.

The demon’s blood.

Daniel was screwed.

By the time Legion came back with a cheery; “Good morning!” Daniel had pointlessly tried to escape, wrists raw and bleeding from pulling at his restraints, face tear stained, shame practically dripping off of him, much to the delight of the Knight.

“Why?”

Legion smiled, crouching down in front of his angel.

“Why what?” He asked, giving Daniel the most innocent look he could muster.

“Why... Where’s my Grace, what happened to my wings?”

He felt like he was about to start crying again. He cried a lot, and very easily. It was just the way he was built to be.

“Oh, those things? I figured you wouldn’t need them anymore,” Legion told him, getting up to go and stand behind his angel instead, who tried to turn and see him.

“I need them... I’m an Angel.”

“An Angel addicted to demon blood?”

Legion ran his fingers through Daniel’s hair, smirking when he saw his angel try to not relax at the touch, and maybe it was the comment, maybe it was the touch, maybe it was the realization that he was completely stuck here, but whatever it was - it got the tears to finally fall.

“No,” he said softly. “I- I’m- I’m not addicted.”

“Don’t lie to yourself,” the Knight said, leaning in close to his ear. “You /need/ me.”

He wasn’t wrong, but Daniel didn’t want to admit it. So, he just shook his head instead. Legion wasn’t going to let that slide though, not for long. His angel was going to have to accept it.

The demon figured that part of the reason he was so hesitant was that good boy angel attitude. All angels come with a stick up their ass, and something in that must be screwing Daniel pretty bad at the moment. He hoped it was, anyways.

So, the demon brushed the hair out of the angel’s face as he whispered, “You love it, don’t you? Love how good it makes you feel, my blood.”

Underneath him, the captive couldn’t stop crying. He was conflicted, confused, and that /need/ wouldn’t go away.

“You don’t need to go back,” the Knight continued, “they never have to hear about this, the other angels.”

Daniel kept shaking his head, kept crying, and as much as Legion loved to see it, it wasn’t helping them progress.

“You know you want to.” Legion curled his fingers into Daniel’s hair, tugging slightly, obsessing in the angel’s wince. “You know you /need/ to.”

“If I stay...”

He couldn’t continue. He couldn’t... he couldn’t stay here.

“If you stay?” Legion prompted, tugging a little harder. “Go on.”

“If I stay...”

/Will you stay nice? Will you use me? Will you watch over me?/

“... will there be blood?”

“Of course there will,” the demon purred, smirking.

“And you?” Daniel asked him. “You... you can be nice to me. Will you stay that way if I... if I stay?”

“Do you want me to be?”

His angel nodded, feeling pathetic.

There’s a chuckle from the Knight, but no actual response.

“So.... what’s your decision?”

The angel bit his lip again, right where it was sore.

“I... I’ll stay.”

“Good.”

Legion stepped back in front of his angel, and gripped his chin, and moved it so he could make eye contact. The captive’s eyes were red and his face had tear tracks all down it. The Knight brushed his thumb against his cheek, wiping away the wetness.

/He’s all mine. My angel./

Slowly, carefully, not knowing what possessed him to do this, Legion leaned in, and kissed him.

Daniel only hesitated for a moment before kissing him back. The demon was still a demon, but he was warm in this cold place, and the cherub was built for this sort of stuff anyways. He needed some sort of physical contact, and if he didn’t have any for awhile, he could become irritable, and generally pretty mean. So, he could make this good, he could make this work.

When Legion suddenly pulled back suddenly, Daniel thought he had done something wrong. He had not. The demon had just received a reminder that his vessel, the aforementioned Beck, was still very much alive with his little / Could this get any more cliché? /

With the slight roll of his eyes, Legion leaned again and kissed Daniel, who now returned it without hesitating at all. He could hear the heartbeat of the demon, and the sick need inside of him wanted him to take it, the blood.

The second time Legion pulled away, completely unaware of what Daniel was thinking, he just stared into his angel’s cloudy grey eyes. Before now, he’d never found someone so interesting in the eyes.

“You’re so different,” the Knight mumbled, reaching out to cup his cheek, a touch the angel leaned into.

“How?”

“I don’t know... you just are.”

“Is that good?”

“Probably.”

After another moment, the demon stood up, and he looked down at his captive.

“You’ll like it here, with me, I promise.”

Daniel nodded, looking up at him. If he got his blood, he was sure that would be true.

Legion mentioned something about getting Daniel a more comfortable room, and left through the door behind him.

The angel didn’t like being left alone here, and it wasn’t long before he started getting antsy, wanting Legion to come back. He came back about 15 minutes later, warded cuffs with him to transport his angel.

Daniel smiled when the demon kissed his cheek, despite disliking the fact that he was going to continue to be cuffed.

Legion made quick work of putting the cuffs on, before releasing the cherub of the chair and carrying him bridal style through Hell. Considering Daniel wasn’t sure he /could/ walk on his own, this was fine with him.

The Knight brought him somewhere that could barely be considered more comfortable. It was a cell, with a cot against the back wall. Legion put Daniel down on the cot, lying him down.

“You should get some sleep,” the angel was told.

Though Daniel wanted to ask Legion for blood, he had a feeling it would be in his best interest if he didn’t do that. He curled up on his side, not wanting to lie on his back and be reminded about his lack of wings, putting his cuffed hands, under his head to make some sort of pillow.

The demon stood, and left the cell, closing the door behind him.

“Sweet dreams, Daniel.”

Daniel didn’t have sweet dreams though, he could barely sleep. He /needed/ blood, as soon as possible. Every time he tried to just ignore it and sleep, it seemed to get worse, causing him actual physical pain.

The Knight of Hell did eventually return, turning on the lights and opening the door. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. He really seemed to like saying that when things weren’t that cheerful or good.

His angel barely responded. He was trying to ignore the pain, closing his eyes, against it, as though that could help.

“Oh dear,” Legion said, tapping his fingers against his chin. “You need blood, don’t you?”

Daniel nodded. “Please...”

“Okay... But I want you to do something for me first.”

“Anything,” the cherub told him, trying to sit up.

Legion held out a hand, curious to see how weak his angel really was.

“Come here.”

It took a moment, but the cherub stood on shaky legs and made it almost all the way to the demon before collapsing.

Without another word or comment, Legion helped Daniel stand - Daniel was /this/ close to asking for blood - and walked him into a large room a little ways way from the cell. There was a man passed out, sitting in a chair, strapped down.

“Kill him,” Legion murmured in Daniel’s ear, “and I’ll give you some blood.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why? Is he... bad?”

The Knight decided that lying to his angel about the nature about the man would be in both of their best interests, this time around.

“Yes. Very, very bad.”

[ @maui-writes-whump @jackwriteswhump @olidiavalree @theleastmemorablequeer @pendragon451 @fullonfandomfood @animerose96 @naps-official @itty-bitty-obsessions @samael-has-arrived ]

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Searching for Answers: Alex and Jake the Shelter Guy

CW: Pet whump as a setting (Box Boy universe). References to dehumanization, brief vague reference to torture and noncon. If you’ve ever read @deluxewhump‘s excellent work (if you haven’t, you should be), you’ll see a very familiar face.

Jake takes naps between classes.

He spends three days a week at school taking 18 credit hours, in class from 8 in the morning until 10:30 at night. Then he heads to Nat’s place and does the overnight-house-worker thing, giving the rescues a sense of security knowing somebody familiar and safe is there if they have bad dreams or need help. The other four days a week he works with Natalie Yoder and Dr. Masood, learning about the rescues and how to help them.

It sounds exciting, being a college student secretly part of an underground liberation movement, but mostly it’s just exhausting.

He’s going to graduate with a degree in public health and a double-minor in communications and philosophy. It looks stupid, on the surface, he guesses, but he’s got a plan. Advocacy for runaways and human pets, working towards getting this country to a place to consider a full legal liberation and adjustment period for every person trapped in the system. 

Public health, so he can stand as an advocate with the degree to back up his hands-on experience and knowledge. Communications, to make him a better advocate by giving him the tools to understand how to utilize the media to change the way human pets are seen. Philosophy, to give him the skills to dig deeply into the thought processes around human pet ownership. 

The movement’s got more than 75 years of entrenched prejudice to undo. One day, he’s one hundred percent certain, pet ownership is going to be abolished as the fucking crime against humanity it really is. 

Jake wants to be a part of the group that finally makes it happen. 

The only problem is that he’s set himself an impossible schedule, and he’s so tired some days it’s all he can do to stay awake through his classes. He sleeps like four hours a night, and one day that’s going to catch up to him in a big way, but for now… he naps on benches and in courtyards, naps in the teacher’s lounge in the English department and behind a bunch of bookshelves in the philosophy hallway. 

It’s nice, except for when some asshole decides not to let him.

“Hey, uh, you’re… Jake Stanton, right?”

Jake groans, rubbing at his temple as he sits back and rests his back against the crumbling old brick wall of the oldest building on campus. He squints up at the fucking frat boy looking down at him. Not that Jake’s ever seen him before, but it’s easy to tell one of the fratbrats when you see them. 

He’s got the look - super clean-cut, blond hair and blue eyes, he’s even got a square jaw. Maybe not as musclebound as some of the other ones, but he’s still unmistakable. He looks kind of familiar, too, but that’s kind of the problem with frat guys. They mostly dress enough alike that it’s kind of hard to tell if he’s had a class with them or just had a class with one of their brothers. 

The guy looks nervous as hell. 

“Yeah, I’m Jake. Do I know you?”

“Uh, probably… prob’ly you do.” The frat guy shifts uneasily, one hand gripped tightly onto the backpack slung over one shoulder, a couple of textbooks under the other arm. “I’m Alex. We’re both minoring in, uh, philosophy, I think?”

“Oh, yeah.” Jake pushes back a yawn, just barely covering it with one hand. “Yeah, okay. I thought you looked familiar. What can I do for you? I’m sorry in advance if you wanted help with the essay thing, I haven’t even started on it, I’ve been busy with work.”

Nat’s newest charge had nonstop fucking nightmares from training, night after night. Jake had barely gotten a wink of sleep. 

“No, that’s okay, I, uh-... actually I’d be good to help you, if you need it. I finished mine, ran it by our-... my buddy last night.” Jake blinks, squinting again. He could swear Alex the Frat Guy is blushing. “Um. I just. I heard from, from some people that you’re… that you… know stuff.” Alex’s voice drops, into something just above a whisper. “About, uh, you know. Pets. Box Boys.”

 Jake stiffens, as his chest goes a little cold. “Who told you that?” He doesn’t talk about it much - being openly part of the pet lib movement isn’t exactly dangerous, but nobody talks pet liberation in polite company. 

 “Um. This girl I know. Meghan Jensen-” Alex pronounces the h, just a little, Meg-hen, and Jake can’t quite keep himself from smiling. “-she’s in a sorority… we kind of partner with sometimes… she said she heard from her twin sister Hannah who’s into some, like, punk underground lib shit… that you were, um. Someone I could talk to. For advice.”

Jake nods, slowly, giving himself time to process the words. He knows who Hannah Jensen is, he’s seen her at some of the group meetings and protests. He knows she has a twin who’s in a sorority, too. If this Alex guy is fucking with him, he did way too much research first. “Yeah, okay. Not out here, though, all right?”

Alex nods, expression going solemn and uncertain. “We can’t, like… get arrested just for talking about it, can we? I definitely can’t have that on my, like, record.”

Jake wants to laugh, but then he sees that the guy’s serious. Probably all he’s seen is the company propaganda shit about theft of property and consent and everything. It’s fake enough that no millenial or Gen Z person’s going to fall for it, but it’s still basically everywhere you look. Hard to make too many inroads against everyone’s assumptions about the system without someone who knows how to work it.

Hence - public health, communications, and philosophy.

“No, we won’t get arrested for talking. But someone might follow me home.” Jake makes his voice light and joking, even though it’s a genuine concern, and pushes himself to his feet. He’s actually a little taller than Alex, and more muscled-up, too.

“I just… need help. With, um. Someone I know.”

Jake blinks, thrown off-guard. “Someone specific?” Then it clicks, and he groans. “Shit. You’re with the frat, aren’t you? I’ve heard of you guys, you’ve got the guy going into the NFL. You’re one of those assholes that bought one-”

“Look, it seemed like… I didn’t really think about it, okay?” Alex’s face is even redder now, but he looks half-miserable with it, embarrassed and ashamed. Like Jake had caught him dealing drugs at an elementary school playground. “He’s… I just wanted to ask you some stuff about things I’ve noticed about him… and about Box Boys, and…”

“Why don’t you call the fucking company, Alex? They come with a number on their fucking brochure.” Jake’s voice goes dark, and he sees Alex bristle defensively. “Right there on the back, when you buy a human being. Customer service for your personal slave.”

“Hey, back the fuck off.” Alex’s eyes narrow, and he moves closer into Jake’s space, glaring at him. “Look, we went in on the whole thing together, and now I’ve gotten to know him, and I just-... I’m, um. I’m worried, and… I needed someone to talk to.”

Jake wants to push back again, to push harder. To ask Alex what the fuck he was thinking, being part of a group buying a human being. If he thought it’d be funny, or if he just cracked under peer pressure. But it won’t help, and instead he takes a deep breath, remembering Nat’s words. One step, one conversation, one person at a time. We can change the story, but you have to change minds and hearts, first. “... yeah, okay. Okay, I get it. Yeah. I can talk to you. I’m sorry, I just-”

“No, I get it,” Alex says, quickly, backing up again. “I get it. I probably look like a total rat-bastard to you.”

“No… not really. But if you’re, uh. Look, there’s a place I meet people sometimes to talk about this. I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll talk there.”

“Yeah, okay. That sounds cool.”

“What’s your major, anyway?” Jake asks, sliding his own backpack on, eyes scanning over the campus. He’s met so many rescues who should be walking around college like this, safe and easy and free. He’s met a few that he’s pretty sure were walking around places like this, before WRU picked them up. “I feel like you were really good at arguing in Intro to Philosophy. So… something public-speaking-focused, right?”

“Uh, Poli Sci,” Alex says, falling into step beside him as Jake makes his way down the dirt path made by tens of thousands of students over the course of decades simply choosing to ignore the paved sidewalks and make their own way.

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“What? Why do you say that?”

“You look like a baby politician, and you’re good at arguing. What else would you be here for?” Alex snorts, hunching his shoulders a little defensively as his sneaker scrapes along the ground, and Jake sighs. “Sorry, man. I didn’t really mean that as an insult. I’m just tired as shit and everything’s been coming out the wrong way today. It really has not been my day.”

There’s a headache pounding behind his eyes, the fuzzy-headed exhaustion that could easily take him over. But he tells himself the rescues - and the Box Boys and Box Babes still in captivity - have it so much worse than he does.

That gives him a little more energy to keep walking.

“No, it’s okay. If I want to go into politics I should probably look like a politician, right?” Alex flashes him a hint of a smile, sidelong, and Jake relaxes. Okay, Alex the Frat Guy’s not as bad as he thought he’d be.

They end up chatting pretty amicably about professors and TAs they liked and hated in their shared philosophy courses, homework, and Alex laughs at Jake’s surprise, finding out that only a few of his frat brothers are even in sports as part of their long-term goal. Alex mentions a ‘Zee’ a few times, and eventually Jake realizes he’s talking about the Box Boy his frat bought, not just another frat brother or friend. 

He doesn’t talk about the Box Boy like he’s just an object to be owned. Jake wonders why he went in on the purchase at all. Probably, he decides, peer pressure. Everyone does stupid shit because of peer pressure. Jake smoked for a while in high school. His friend Krista got the worst haircut Jake had ever seen. Maybe Alex’s stupid peer pressure thing was buying a fucking person. 

Nope. He has to stop being so bitter about it. It’s just part of being in a subculture - and like it or not, being against pet ownership is way more of a minority, right now, than being either neutral or in favor of it.

If he carries all this anger back to the shelter tonight, the rescues will pick up on the tension, on his unhappiness. They’re all experts at reading the slightest negative change in mood, and while not all of them panic, they will all start trying to fix it in whatever way they understand. Jake definitely doesn’t have the energy to deal with a handful of recovering pets trying to clean or cook or screw their way out of danger. 

He walks Alex to the Student Center while the conversation is still safely focused on surface level stuff, grabbing himself and and Alex both iced coffees before he heads downstairs. Alex seems like he knows every third person they see. Jake can’t decide if that’s some weird politician-to-be gladhanding, or if he genuinely just has a really good memory for faces and names. 

He has to stop being so bitter about politics, too - not everyone’s going to be Senator Carlotta Grant, after all. Maybe Alex will be one of the good guys, for real. 

Maybe Jake can help nudge him that direction, if he wasn’t already headed that way.

The basement has a bunch of space for students, too, but Jake can count on his hands the amount of people he’s ever seen here over the course of his entire collegiate career. There’s a small booth where a bored girl with long black hair is ostensibly selling jewelry and pottery, a small open area with a piano that has a thin film of dust, and Jake leads an increasingly nervous Alex all the way to the back, where a series of hard wooden booths are built into the walls around an open hardwood floor. It’s dim down here, and dark as hell. Jake likes to call it the Speakeasy - to himself, at least. That’s what it reminds him of, speakeasies in Hollywood movies.

“I’ve never been down here,” Alex says, slightly hushed. “I didn’t even know this existed.”

“Yeah, it’s like… everyone just collectively decides to ignore this part of the Student Center. Works for me. We have meetings down here sometimes. Plus, the fact that nobody knows about it means nobody is gonna give us a hard time about whatever you’re going to tell me.” 

Jake slides into a booth and Alex sits across from him, the both of them slipping their backpacks off. It feels sort of hilariously surreal, like they’re in a movie about spies or the only two people who know the truth at the beginning of a zombie movie. 

Alex pulls out his cell phone, nervously fiddling with it and staring down. The silence draws slowly out until Jake finally leans over. Alex’s blue eyes jump up to his. “Look. The answer is yes, I, uh. I do some stuff with pet lib groups now and then. If you’re looking for info on, like, how to donate and shit, I’ve got some papers in my backpack with stuff you can do to help the movement… we could really use some clothing donations and, like, canned food and stuff right now-”

“No, um. I mean, yeah, I’ll… I’ll ask around and see if any of the guys have clothes they don’t need, but… that’s not… what I want to ask about.”

Jake frowns, then asks, softly, “Are you looking to help him get out of the system? Your Box Boy, at your frat house?”

There’s a pause. Alex goes wide-eyed, like he hadn’t even thought of it. “No! I mean. Not, um. I don’t think he’d want to… I just wanted to… to ask. Some stuff. About, um. How to help him act more like, uh, like a person. Like, if I take him out or whatever.”

Jake’s headache is getting worse.

“You want me to give you advice on how to train him?” He can’t stop the jagged edge that creeps into his voice. “So that you can, what-... hide what he is and take your pet around without having to answer any questions about it and face up to what you did-”

“Holy shit, dude,” Alex says, sitting back and setting his phone slowly down. “You don’t need to get so mad about it. I didn’t mean-”

“Well, what did you mean? Look, I do a lot of work with the kinds of people who get bought. I’m sorry if that freaks you out or something, but… you should see the damage this whole system does, you know?”

Alex is quiet, for a long time, just staring at him. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking - he’s already got that way of looking serious and thoughtful without actually giving anything away. Then, quietly, he says, “Zee has nightmares.”

“You call him Zee?”

“Yeah, uh. I mean, technically Z2, it’s part of his, um, official-”

“Yeah, I get it.” Jake sips his iced coffee and watches Alex hurriedly pick his up and sip, too, like he’d forgotten it was there. To Jake at least it seemed like a lifeline, a way to hold back the urge he has to grab this guy by the shoulders and shake him. “They make them answer to numbers. Dehumanization is, like, the first step of what they do.”

Alex’s face twists, like he’s tasted something awful, and he looks away. “Right. So, anyway, we all kind of decided on Z2. But… I like Zee better. It seems like it’s short for, for a real name, maybe. Like I could call him that in public and nobody, nobody would know-”

“That you own him?”

“No.” Alex sits up straighter. “No, not exactly. I figure it’d make it easier for him. I don’t-... I don’t really care what people think about me-”

“If you’re going into politics, you’re definitely going to care what people think of you.”

“Look, man, let me finish a sentence, okay? Just, like,  single sentence?” Alex pauses, and waits, and Jake finally sits back and sips his drink again and nods, silently. Alex sighs. “Thanks. I just meant that if I call him Zee, people will talk to him like he’s a regular guy. And I think he deserves it, to be able to go out and just, like, talk to people and be normal. That’s all I meant. But, this is… you, um. You just said you work with them, right? With, um. The… ones who get away? Get freed, or whatever?”

“They don’t get freed,” Jake says flatly. “That’s a myth. They run away or they stay kept.”

“... right.” Alex frowns, looking down at his coffee again, rubbing his fingers over the condensation building up along the clear plastic. “You said you work with them? So, um. I just. I want to know how to make things better for Zee, while he lives with us.”

“Belongs to you.”

Alex groans, throwing his hands up in the air. “Fine! What is it with you, dude? I’m trying to make Zee’s life better. I can’t just, like, make him not a Box Boy. One of my brothers technically has all his paperwork, we all went in on him together, he belongs to the whole fucking frat. If it was up to me and Dom, we’d free him in a heartbeat, okay? But it’s not up to us. And I can’t figure out how to make things better for him unless I know where to even start.” 

There’s real anguish in his voice, now. Actual, genuine guilt and remorse. Jake closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, calms the anger that he feels buzzing along all his nerves. It’s not Alex’s fault. He’s part of a system just like everybody else. Born into it, raised in it, no need to question or even think it through, until something hits him where he lives. 

Literally, in this case.

A lot of people are paid a lot of money to make sure people like Alex don’t ask questions, don’t try to make anything different or better. A lot of people work very hard to put out marketing materials and buy TV ads and write speeches for the President all about how great and above-board and one hundred percent normal it all is. 

And people like Jake are the nutjobs standing on a streetcorner wearing a sandwich board.

“Yeah,” Jake says. Just something to fill the silence, while he keeps his breathing slow and even, takes another drink. “Look, can I… can I say something?”

“Sure. I haven’t been insulted enough today, have at it.” Alex slumps back, looking almost morose, like a kid tired of being yelled at for listening to his music too loud. 

“I”m not going to insult you. Uh, anymore. I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. It’s… I live it, every single day, so it’s kind of hard to remember not everybody does. I’ll help you out with some advice, but… but I’m really going to want you to set him free for us to help him, you know? Or people like us, anyway. Just… know that any advice I give you’s going to come from that direction, okay?”

Alex swallows, drawing little nonsense symbols on the tabletop with one finger, as he thinks. “... okay. Yeah.”

“Good. So you said he has nightmares?” He pauses long enough for Alex to nod. “Okay. That’s a good starting place. They all have nightmares. Fucking all of them. Got it? And I bet if you wake him up, he doesn’t even know what he was dreaming about, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Or he won’t tell me, anyway. He tried once, but he got a really bad headache and had to take some, like, Advil…”

“Which, I’m going to guess, didn’t do shit to help. It’s not a headache from actual, like, nerves… it’s a conditioning thing.”

“... the fuck is conditioning?”

Jake opens his mouth, closes it again. Then he turns and digs into his backpack, pulling out a worn, wrinkled old bit of printer paper carefully folded into a three-sided brochure. WRU and the companies have the good stuff. Nat just prints this stuff out on her home computer, and Jake and the rescues sit up folding them until they look - mostly - presentable for the public. He slides it across the table, and Alex picks it up, looking it over. There’s an old photo on the front of a woman who died back in the 90’s with two rescues standing in front of her, her hands on their shoulders, everyone smiling. It’s the best picture they have. 

Nobody wants to have their photo printed, not anymore. Not since people started disappearing, sometimes. 

“Read this. It’s got a little bit in it about navigating that stuff. Conditioning is like brainwashing, a little bit. It’s how they teach them to act the way they do. Like… you’ve probably noticed he can’t really say no to any chore you tell him to do, right?”

Alex swallows, hard enough for Jake to notice, and nods. He’s still got the brochure unfolded in his hands, but he looks up slowly, meeting Jake’s eyes. “Yeah. And he never gets mad, either. He just… does whatever we tell him. Even if they, uh, sometimes the others… aren’t super nice to him. And he just… takes it.”

“Right. His nightmares are probably about the reason he just sits there and takes it, Alex. If you push him - if you give him orders he can’t handle, or you tell him to do something that hurts him or he’s terrified of it or, like…” A thought flashes through Jake’s mind, one that’s so dark even he doesn’t think the frat boys would be that kind of evil, and he dismisses it. “... even if you tell him to go jump out a window, or something… he might protest or cry, but if you keep going… he’ll do it. Because, deep down, that’s all he can do anymore. Got that?”

Some of the blood has drained from Alex’s face. “And he has nightmares about, about being… taught? To do whatever we say?”

“Yeah. Look, I’m going to sound fucking crazy, I get it. But… please just trust me. I see rescues - that’s what we call the ones we take care of - every day. They all have nightmares. They all do whatever you tell them to. Some of them do worse than that. I can help you with some exercises, some therapy stuff, that we do to help calm their nightmares down. But I can’t do anything that’ll really, really help, unless you let me talk to him. Or if you get him out of that frat house.”

“I can’t do that. He doesn’t even belong to me, he belongs to all of us.” Alex’s face twists again, but Jake is more focused on the fact that Alex didn’t protest the idea of freeing the boy at all. Only argued that it would be difficult. That Jake could work with. “Technically he belongs to my frat brother, and Cam’s… um.” Alex is silent for a second, and then asks, “What do I do if someone else, like… pushes him in ways he’s not supposed to be? Like… that don’t go along with what he’s, um, what his… category or whatever is?”

“What?” At first, Jake’s confused.

Then he realizes what Alex is actually asking, and feels the anger under his skin all over again. 

Closing his eyes isn’t enough this time. He thinks about the rescues he’s seen come through, all of them used in different, equally horrible ways. All of them absolutely, completely, utterly unable to even begin to refuse it. “Is it just one guy, or are there more?”

He’s surprised to hear his own voice come out soft, and even. He doesn’t even sound angry. Just mildly annoyed.

Underneath that, he’s ready to start throwing punches. This is why he doesn’t talk about this stuff at school - he’s going to miss his classes today, unable to handle it being here, too, when normally he keeps the two halves of his life separate so he can keep himself from burning out too soon. No, he’ll skip class and go straight to the shelter tonight. Get to bed earlier than usual, if the rescues are feeling good. 

“Just one… I think. I mean, I hope just the one. We, uh, we talked about it with him, and I’m sure… I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, it will. Give someone total power over another human life and they’ll go fucknuts destroying it.”

“We’re trying to keep them apart, but… we can’t always be there. Which is why I thought, um, if I could get him to pass for, like, just another person he could maybe just go around with us more and not be in the house when we’re not…” 

“Good start. I’ve got… hold on.” He digs another piece of paper out and lays it out on the table. “This one’s about ways to talk to your rescue about consent. It’s… kind of an awkward conversation and he won’t understand it. But… if you just keep talking, it’ll help him feel better standing up for himself.”

“Why doesn’t he understand cuh-... uh… consent?” Alex’s face was red again. “I mean. He wants… so much attention, and he seems like he’s used to being, like, hugged or kept around people, like he wants it. From Dom and me, at least.”

Jake swallows, trying to decide how much to tell him. How far to take this conversation. He pulls another paper, this one four sheets stapled together front and back, and lays it down on the table, too. “Have you ever been locked in a room without human contact for months on end, except to be hurt? The only good thing they get is dehumanizing shit like that - being petted, or touched against their will. It’s normalized. He doesn’t know he shouldn’t want it, anymore. And he’ll be terrified and upset if you stop.”

Alex looks down at the paper, shaking his head “Do you… do you have a paper for everything?”

“Bet your ass I do. That one’s on training methods. Turn to page two. It’ll answer your question. I have stuff in here to answer all your questions, and I have-... there’s a, uh. A friend of mine… I could bring to talk to you, if you’re interested. A rescue who’s… mostly… better now. He’s our IT guy. He’s been through all the counseling, and he remembers training and all of it. He can tell you what your, uh. What Zee has gone through. Ways to help him break it. But… that’s only if you want. I get that I’m throwing a lot at you. And I get that it probably seems crazy-”

“No, it doesn’t. Really.” Alex leans over, looking at him earnestly, one hand over the papers Jake has set down on the table between them. “Look, before I met Zee, I would maybe have thought… it was all exaggerated, but… but I’ve listened to him when he sleeps. He sounds so… terrified. And he’s so grateful for… everything. Anything nice, literally the smallest nice things… I don’t think you’re crazy, I think… think like, maybe… maybe I need to try and help him get out of our house before I graduate, I just have no idea where to start.”

“I can give you an address,” Jake says, softly.

“Uh… no. I don’t think he’d… want to do that.”

“Not yet. But it’s what a lot of them do, when they’re ready.”

“No, I get that, but I just. Um. I don’t think I’d… want him to be, like, homeless? Just without anybody? That seems really… awful, actually.”

“Does it?” Jake raises an eyebrow. “Does it seem worse than, I don’t know, cleaning frat guy toilets? Or whatever awful shit you’re almost telling me about your frat brother? Does he even have a bed?”

Alex looks back out into the dim basement corner, tapping his fingers on the table. His discomfort is basically a physical weight around him in the air. “No. He, uh. There’s this… closet, or he stays with Dom or me…”

“Yeah. So. Does that seem better than an address where I can guarantee a bed?”

“No… it doesn’t… I guess.” Alex glances down at his coffee, apparently surprised to discover he’s been drinking it the whole time and it’s all gone. He takes the lid off and picks out a piece of ice, crunching it between his teeth. The sound is enormously loud in the quiet, empty space. “I just feel like… we care about Zee. I think I can do better than, um, whatever you’re suggesting. I just… need your help, to do better. He… deserves better.”

“Yeah. He does. They all do.”

Alex takes a deep breath and turns back to him, folding his hands together on the table, looking for all the world like the senator or congressman or whatever he’s planning to maybe one day be. He leans slowly over and looks Jake right in the eyes “I want all your papers from your bag. Just… the whole library. I don’t want to, to send him away. I think he’d… it’d hurt him, so badly. He really likes us, and we… we’re trying. But I want to know how to do better.”

Jake stares right back. He can’t tell if Alex really means it, or not, but he sounds like he means it. Finally, he turns and digs another stack of papers out, maybe a hundred different pages all total. He always keeps some on him, just in case, but nobody ever really asks. He lets the stack fall a couple of inches in front of Alex, watching his eyes widen as he stares.

“There it is,” Jake says. “The whole damn library. All the reading you could ever want on why the pet system is bullshit, what they’re doing to make you think it’s okay, and how to help someone who’s been trapped in it. If you and, uh, your frat brother, or-... or Zee wants to meet with my friend Nine, I can introduce you. Only when you’re ready. I’m on campus Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday basically all day. I can talk to you whenever. My number’s… hold on.” He grabs another piece of paper out and scribbles his number down, hands that over, too. “Call me if you want to talk more, on those three days. The rest of the time I work with the rescues, and I’m not gonna answer my phone unless someone died or you’re my dad.”

Alex nods, and shoves the whole pile of papers into his own backpack, zipping it carefully up. “Thanks. Hey, can I ask you something?”

Jake lets out a sigh. He knows what the question is going to be, too. It’s the same question, every time, and they always save it for the end of the conversation. “Yeah, go for it.”

Alex pauses, then asks, “Is it true you know Vincent Shield?”

Jake huffs a little bitter laughter. They always ask, every single time. 

“Yeah, I do. And he’s a dick.”

[green-eyed-whumpster]

My OC Universe: Rowan 114

Chapter 114 Summary: Rowan finally meets his father’s new children. (Tags: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @much-ado-about-whumping, @abitefullofeverything, @whump-me-all-night-long, @sky-or-something-idfk and @tears-and-lilies)

Trigger Warnings: PTSD whumpee, reference to domestic abuse

Rowan managed to get his tears under control just before the flurry of footsteps from before returned down the stairs. John’s head immediately turned, ready to face his children before they could swarm Rowan.

“Give me a moment,” He said softly. “I’ll stop them from barging in,” Rowan held out a hand as he went to get up and stopped him.

“You-you said I could meet them?” He said softly. “Could I meet them now?” John hesitated for a moment, his face optimistic.

“You want to meet them now?” He asked and Rowan nodded.

“If that’s all right,”

John nodded enthusiastically and stood up.

“Let me get them,” He smiled and moved out to the kitchen where the sound was emanating.

“Do I look like I’ve been crying?” Rowan asked Peter.

“No,” He answered, shaking his head. “Have something to drink, that’ll help,” Rowan nodded and picked up his icy tea, taking a deep gulp before noticing John’s form returning in the doorway.

“I have someone very important I’d like you to meet,” He said softly to the creatures around his ankles. The tallest child was carrying the youngest, and the middle child was clutching her father’s leg nervously. “This is my first son, Rowan,” The boy stood up in response and freed himself of the confines of the table to properly look at the children.

“Hello,” He said quietly, too afraid to wave.

The two sons had dark hair, like their mother’s, and huge brown eyes, the light colour of fresh honey. The daughter had light hair, tinged with red and deep hazel like her father’s, a messy fringe hid her eyebrows from his gaze and their round cheeks were well-fed and rosy.

He remembered reflections of himself, at their age, scrawny and malnourished. His limbs were nought more than skin stretched over bone, and he could feel the vertebrae in his spine when he felt his back. His cheeks were always sallow and his skin an ugly grey colour. His hair would stick out awkwardly from cutting it himself, matted with dirt and oil, giving him the appearance of a wet rat.

A part of him loathed the angelic creatures standing before him, their healthy and loving childhood, being fed and adored like he desired to be. He loathed that he was the only one who had to remember what his father was like, and how cruel he was before. And a part of him loathed himself, for thinking so horribly about children who had done nothing to him, but be lucky enough to have missed their father’s alcoholism.

“This is Michael, Lucille and George,” John said gently, indicating to the children. Michael was the oldest, Rowan turned his attention to the daughter, John had called her Lucille. Even the title his mother shared with her created a desire within him to be near to her.

“It’s nice to meet you,” He said softly, smiling slightly as he carefully lowered himself into a crouch, hoping that they would accept him.

“Hello,” Michael said softly, breaking away from his father and stepping forward to hold out a small hand to Rowan. He felt his cheeks pulling up as he smiled in excitement and shook the hand extended to him.

“Hi, Michael,” He whispered as Olivia looked over, catching the girl’s attention.

“Puppy!” She exclaimed and raced over, small hands rubbing messily over Olivia’s head.

“Lucille, honey, don’t do that,” John sighed, stepping forward.

“It’s all right,” Rowan said softly. “She won’t bite,” His father stopped and looked at his daughter again before nodding.

“This is George.” Michael held out the toddler in his arms and Rowan giggled softly as he gurgled.

“Hi George!” Rowan held out his hands and bit his lip excitedly as the child grasped his hands, Michael put George down and he toddled closer to press his face against Rowan’s stomach, arms reaching as far as they could to hug him. Peter watched happily as Rowan’s eyes lit up and he eagerly scooped up the child.

“Are you dad’s son?” Michael asked bluntly.

“Ye-yes, I am,” Rowan answered cautiously, as George reached up and grabbed fistfuls of his hair.

“Why didn’t you stay with dad?” Michael asked as Lucille fell against his leg, still faithfully petting Olivia’s head.

“I…I wanted to leave our hometown,” He said nervously, glancing up to John, who was watching uncomfortably. “I got…a job, helping a tailor. And my father and I lost touch.” Michael’s inquisitive gaze softened and he nodded, seemingly satisfied.

“So, if our dad is also your dad, does that mean you’re our brother?” He asked suddenly, catching Rowan off-guard, distracted by George’s hands grabbing his ears and trying to get his attention.

“If-if you’d like me to be,” He managed to say before George’s hand reached for his mouth. “I’d like to,” He added and smiled as George fell back to sit on his leg.

“Of course he’s your brother,” John said, crouching behind Michael. “But, he’s grown up, now, I don’t think he’d want to live with you and Lucille bickering all the time and George grabbing his face, I’m sorry about him.” He reached forward to take the boy and Rowan shook his head.

“It’s all right, I don’t mind,” He bounced George carefully on his leg and chuckled softly.

“What about him?” Michael asked, looking at Peter. “Is he also your son?”

“No!” John groaned in exasperation, grabbing Michael by the waist and pulling him back. “What’s with all the questions? You don’t usually care this much about people who visit,”

“People who visit you aren’t usually our brother.” Michael snapped back.

“He’s very clever,” Peter commented and the boy turned his gaze back to him.

“He’s very blunt.” John replied. “I’m sorry, he should have better manners.”

Amelia appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, and smiled at the scene before her.

“Dinner is almost ready, if you’d like to join us,” She offered, it was a very tempting offer, and as Rowan turned his sight back to George, he was eager to accept.

But another part of him longed to be out of the house, away from the perfect life his father had now that he wasn’t a part of it. As beautiful as his half-siblings were, he couldn’t help but hate the way their father had loved them unconditionally always, while the only person Rowan trusted was a man he had met years ago who he lived with for only a couple of months. When a man who gave – if reluctantly – you to a group of malicious soldiers is still the only one in the world you want to be with, then what does that say about him? Or his life?

“Oh, thank you so much, but we won’t impose any longer.” He smiled weakly.

“It’s no trouble,” Amelia insisted. “We have plenty,”

“No, really, it’s so kind of you, but I promised to buy Rowan dinner,” Peter said, standing up. “Perhaps some other time, if the invitation still stands.” John nodded, pulling himself back up to his full height to show them out.

“Of course! We’d be happy to have you, whenever you’re available,” He said. “Come now, George, let Rowan up,” The small boy crawled off Rowan’s lap and he felt a moment of conflicting relief and sadness. He liked having the child in his lap, if he could not have his father bring him up with this kindness then at least he could be welcomed into the new family.

“Thank you, father,” He said as he pulled himself to his feet. “For letting me see the portrait, and telling me about her,”

“Oh, absolutely!” John exclaimed. “I only wish I could’ve done it sooner.” Rowan smiled sheepishly at him as Peter rested his discarded coats over his shoulders.

“Um, thank-thank you for your hospitality, I hope we can see each other again soon,” Rowan made his way to the door as quickly as he could without making it obvious.

~

Rowan tried to remain strong, he tried to hide his tears from Peter, but he only managed to reach the alleyway before the sobs racked at his chest and he had to stop, resting against the wall with one hand as he covered his face.

“Rowan, what’s wrong?” Peter asked softly, turning to shield his front from any passers-by.

“No-nothing!” He gasped, struggling to control his crying.

“Come now, Rowan, you’re a wreck,” Peter gently cupped Rowan’s cheeks to stop them from freezing as his tears hit the icy air. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, or don’t know, but I just hate to see you so distraught!” Rowan shook his head softly and sniffed heavily.

“I’m ashamed,” He whispered. “I’m so ashamed, even while holding my…my brother, I couldn’t help but feel such a strong hatred for him.” He turned his wet gaze up to Peter and swallowed. “I’m such an awful person.”

“No you aren’t,” Peter said firmly. “Why shouldn’t you be jealous? You’ve been running from people who hurt you your whole life, and your father was the primary abuser. Now you learn that he’s picked up his act, gotten married and had more children, that he actually loves, why shouldn’t you feel slighted?” He stepped closer and embraced Rowan in a loose way that he liked when he was upset. “Your father may not have intended for all of the pain you were put through, but it doesn’t change the fact that you were tortured. And maybe you have reason to resent them somewhat –“

“I don’t resent them!” Rowan exclaimed. “No, no, they’re gorgeous! But, I only…I want to be a part of it. And I can’t. I’ll always be at the edge of their happy family. Even if father is a different person, I still represent who he used to be, and I can’t be anything else.”

“Just remember, you’ll always be an important part of my family,” Peter said softly. “You don’t need to worry about your place here,” Rowan’s arms finally lifted to embrace Peter back and he smiled slightly.

“Thank you, Peter,” He said as he pulled them closer. “I’m going to stop crying so much, I promise,” He added playfully as they stepped apart.

“I don’t want you to bottle everything up, though,” Peter insisted. “I don’t mind you crying.”

“Ugh. But I’m always crying. I want to try and stop.” Rowan said as they began walking to the mouth of the alley. “I like being happy.” Peter smiled as he rested an arm across Rowan’s shoulders, keeping him tight to his side.

“I like you being happy, too.” He replied. “Now, enough of that, I promised you a dinner, and I’m going to buy you a dinner,”