#that's the point of whumper gatherings damn it

[whumping-newbie]

BTHB: Burns

@badthingshappenbingo​

More Lot 1! I’m on a roll. This is for @givemethatwhump​, @straight-to-the-pain, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @winedark-whump​ and @shameless-whumper - because you all love Lot 1 and so do I 😉 This is also waaaaaaaaay longer than I planned, I’m sorry.

Just a little heads up that during the month of November I probably won’t be very active on this blog (not that I was for a while anyway 😅) but I’m doing NaNoWriMo for the first time and want to focus wholly on that. It’s the main story that I’ve lowkey been working on with Michal, but with more focus on the Princess’ story in general rather than simply Michal’s, though he is a POV character and rest assured any and all whump that gets written next month will get posted on here!

I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: captivity, dehumanisation, burns.

The next party I attended was not one my Master hosted.

It was also smaller than the last one.

Maybe it’s because I’m used to the big extravagant parties that master hosts on their estate, the various guests who bring along their own little pets and prisoners.

Mercifully, the host of this event did not seem to have any fun and games for us yet. At least, not until dinner is over.

I’m chained up in a room with four others. Our pathetic, worthless selves were not worthy to sit in the same room as the masters as they wined and dined together. If we behaved, however, they promised us scraps from the table as our own dinner. For now though, we were just left here in the cold, grey, windowless room. There’s a draft coming from the gap under the door, and the wood looks old and rotten, yet none of us are in any position to reach it.

We’re all knelt or sat on the concrete cellar floor, our chains keeping us tied to the walls. None of us were muzzled here, not like my first party, where several of the other pets were so poorly behaved they were punished in front of us.

I hoped not to see that tonight.

There was a small squeak from somewhere outside the door, and the pitter patter of tiny paws scuttling just there. Rodents. The masters have put us down here where we belong, with the vermin.

“Can’t - get - this - stupid - thing - off!”

I don’t recognise these pets down here with me. I haven’t seen them before. I have seen one or two a few times at other parties, but these ones are fresh faces for me. Master’s friends must have more than one pet in their household, unlike me who does not have time with my master divided.

That one over there looks strong, they look fierce. They are tugging and pulling at their chains. They’re fighting so hard against the merciless metal restraints that even I can see it causing them pain. I shift in my spot, and I’m reminded just how tight these things are. If I were to fight as much as them, I would be digging into my wrist, probably drawing blood.

My master doesn’t like me bleeding unless they’re the one that caused it.

“Keep quiet, will you?”

Another one hissed, one closer to the strong one.

There’s five of us in here, trapped together in this small room, with only each other and the rats for company. There’s the strong one, the defiant one – who is sat furthest away from me. They had a messy mop of black hair and green eyes, bruises painting their flesh with an almost intrinsic pattern.

The one next to them is the one that spoke, they had long locks of beautiful blond hair. Their master clearly cared for their appearance, because I couldn’t see any bruises or cuts or anything on them.

The one between me and the blond one is small, quiet and not looking at any of us. They must be very new, but already very aware of the consequences of disobedience. They were not as certain as me, though, because they were trembling with fear where I knew to take any kind of relaxation where I can. Any moment without my master is one where I can breathe.

The final one in here is knelt on my other side. They were tall and clearly already injured – if the huge, glaring cut on their bare leg was anything to go by – and not at all comfortable in the way they were seated. They kept shifting, kept changing positions, trying to find some comfort against the brutally cold stone wall. I felt awful for them, like that. We have a momentary reprieve from our masters and they can’t even be comfortable.

I had been so focussed on keeping my head down and trying to enjoy my peace that I only became aware that they were speaking again in that moment. The first one was brave. Their determination was admirable, but I was too tired to try and tell them otherwise.

“Look, I don’t know about you, but I am not staying here. To hell with putting up with this!”

 “And how exactly do you propose getting out of this situation, genius?”

“They’ll come down here, and they have to unchain us, right? There’s no way they’ll be able to fight all of us if we fight them together!”

“Bless you, you sweet naïve child. They aren’t that stupid. You think they’ll let their guard down around you? They already know you’re a troublemaker. The only chance we’d have is if one of those two did the fighting.”

The second one nodded in the direction of me and the small one, and I clenched my fists in their restraints. Why did they have to drag us into this? As much as I want to help them – to use what little strength and fight I have left to resist our captors – I know better.

I’ve seen this film before, and it doesn’t end well.

The first one’s voice suddenly calms, from that insistently urgent voice, to a very gentle, yet equally frantic tone. Begging. Pleading. It hurts, to hear them say things in this voice, it hurts to know that they just aren’t going to get out of this one unscathed if it doesn’t work – which I already know it will not.

“Come on, you have to give us a chance. Please.”

Nothing I can say will make them change their minds. Not when they’re so alive with that hope, clinging onto that desperate fantasy of potential freedom. I wish I had that, I wish I did. If that hope is what keeps them alive, then I would hate to tarnish that. I don’t want to kill that.

But would letting the masters break their spirits be any easier?

I remained silent, acting as though I heard nothing. It’s safer that way.

The one to my other side, the tall one, piped up next. Had they been talking this whole time? I wasn’t certain.

“I’m trying, whether you help us or not. We just thought you’d want a chance to escape too.”

I don’t know anything other than a life in and out of the auction house, going from one master to the next.

I don’t have anything to escape to, even if I could.

   “Now, now, now… why did you think this was a good idea?”

An hour later and things have gotten worse for all of us. I didn’t even do anything, but now I wish I hadn’t held my tongue so stubbornly.

We had been with our master’s after dinner was over, at their sides as they conversed, showed us off, talked about us in front of us. My master had been running their hand through my hair, and I just let them, keeping my bound hands close to me, keeping inside the world in my own head – blocking out the laughter and occasional assault from our masters.

But now, things have progressed rather significantly.

Our masters were not pleased. They surrounded us all, keeping us trapped within their circles that we were knelt down in. I kept my face burning to the ground, bowed down and only listening to the host of this gathering. The host was leaning in close to the strong one, the one that had tried to break free of their master’s grip and run away.

They had gotten as far as the stairs before they were stopped.

“You think that you can expect to get the better of us?”

I stole a glance to my left, looking at the other pets in that direction. The tall one, and the small one, over there. The small one was bowed down so low, quaking like a leaf, that one would think that they were caught misbehaving. The tall one was knelt proudly, watching the host. They were laughing, smiling, almost happy that one of them had done something wrong.

Any excuse to hurt us, I suppose.

“A shame, really. But now we have some entertainment for the evening, don’t we?”

They called upon their guests, our masters. They all cheered in agreement, and my chest is burning with dread, the anticipation is killing me. What do they plan to do with us now?

The host left the brave one laid there, tied down and beaten for now, shuddering in their breaths as they tried to stay conscious. They went straight for the small one, the one between me and the tall one. The one that is trembling with trepidation and fear so much that I can’t help but want to cry out for them to stop.

But the pain that shoots through my arm when I consider opening my mouth, is what makes me stop. It’s not a pain that leaves a scar, it’s the burning, residual pain of something already experienced, like a phantom had simply come up and struck me.

A warning.

“A good pet, aren’t you, little one?” they cooed, ruffling the hair of the small one.

I wonder what they mean… this isn’t what I thought it was. Why are they…?

“Don’t be so frightened. We’re proud of you.”

I look at the little one, before darting my eyes quickly to the beaten and bloody brave one on the floor.

Oh. Oh no.

“You did a good job, telling us what the bad ones were planning. You deserve a reward, don’t you? Good behaviour earns rewards.”

It was only now that the host stood up and nodded at their friend at the side of the room, that I noticed metal things sticking out of the fireplace over there. Metal things.

I can put two and two together. We’re all going to suffer for this.

The host took the small one by the hand, helping them to their feet, cooing softly and speaking so gently. The host led them to the fireplace, handing them the cold ends of one of those metal pokers, and it shook in their grip. The host was careful and patient, though, standing behind them, trying to help keep it still and steady. I wasn’t focussing on their attempts at keeping them calm, though, I was watching the white hot, smoking end of that black metal get closer and closer to the brave one. My insides are knotting, and I can’t help but want to scream and cry, to beg for mercy for them.

But I can’t. It didn’t work last time, and it won’t work this time.

“You’ll see what happens to bad pets who think that running from home is a good idea,” the host continued, standing over the brave one, who was now fighting and bucking from down there on the floor, “keep still, now. Don’t want to get something vital, do we?”

I don’t turn away. I don’t close my eyes.

I simply watch, in horror, frozen in place. I can’t do anything but watch and listen as that sizzling metal makes contact with tender skin, and the screech that follows is enough to send echoes ricocheting off the walls of this grand mansion.

There’s nothing I can do but watch, and wait, and listen.

[inky-here]

cw: past whump, protective caretaker, dialogue, implied whumpee breakdown, friendly work setting

caretaker and whumpee live together. they've known eachother for a while and caretaker knows about everything the whumpee's been through before they met.

they also work at the same company. when caretaker gets a text from supervisor, they head right to their office but before they can get to the door, they spot a person standing next to a water cooler by the office. it was whumper.

caretaker's heart skips a beat, but they try to not show it. they've only encountered the whumper about two times before, but they'd recognise that face anywhere. why are they here?

caretaker wonders if the whumper recognises them as well, the answer being clear as day the moment whumper gives them a patronising, smug smile they can only see for a second before they enter the office.

"caretaker! good to see you," their supervisor greets them with a smile, along with a few coworkers who were in the office as well.

"good to see you too," caretaker tries to reciprocate the warm greeting, but can't hide the way their throat suddenly goes dry. they swallow before continuing, "listen, who's that person outside your office?"

supervisor looks at them a bit confused, but answers anyway as they take a sip of their coffee: "their name is whumper, I just hired them. why?"

"is whumpee here?" caretaker shoots the next question immediately as they visibly grow worried.

"they just left, actually. looked like they were in a hurry, too."

"god damn- did they talk to eachother?"

"I don't-? caretaker, what is this?" supervisor puts their coffee mug down as they and the rest of the crew eye caretaker.

"supervisor, did they or did they not talk to each other," caretaker urges. if this wasn't a professional setting, they'd probably grab supervisor by the shoulders at this point.

"um, i think i saw them exchange a few words?" a coworker chimed in.

"fuck," caretaker uttered, "god fucking damn it. listen, we need to put a pin in this, i need to go find whumpee, like, right now. i probably shouldn't talk about it but i just know that they're not having a good time." they explain briefly as they gather their things.

"we'll help," supervisor put a hand on caretaker's back. "you know them best. where do you suggest we look?"

caretaker gives them a thankful look before the whole group storms out of the office.

[jasonsilverafterdark]

The Price of Admission  Part 1

The Whumpers' Soirée

Prompt/Event details from @the-whumpers-soiree

No warnings for this chapter, Part 2 is where the spicy stuff happens 

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

Serge observed the crowd before him and wondered if any of this fellow blue bracelet wearers knew the price of admission. He himself wasn't entirely certain but he knew one thing, it sure as hell wasn't free as advertised. Free drinks, free hor d'oeuvres, a chance to network with San Francisco's wealthy and successful, please he wasn't born yesterday. It didn't escape his notice that those given a blue glow stick bracelet at the door (automatically it seemed without questions or explanation) were the young, attractive, and those not in possession of a tailored suit.

  He adjusted his own slightly, didn't quite fit him in the shoulders, a little too tight and snagged every time he reached out for one of those delicious little mini-mini-minced pie things. He really had no idea what was in any of them but damn did they taste good. Serge had found himself a not as well lit corner to observe in before deciding what, if any kind, of moves he wanted to make. The gold and blue lighting scheme made everyone in the room look slightly unearthly in an alluring way. Mostly blue banded people were crowed around the bar chatting amiably and glancing around. Surely he wasn't the only one to pick up on the differences between the two different colors of bracelets. Although no explanation was given. Perhaps, he laughed to himself, this was all some sociology experiment from UC Berkeley.

  May people regardless of bracelet color gathered by the large ornate window. It was a half circle done in the art deco style the rest of the building boasted. You could see the whole city from up here, all glittering lights and ant like people crawling around bellow. Serge had no desire to push his way through to get a closer look, he'd guess many of his blue bracelet companions weren't native San Franciscans or they'd know this very fancy lounge was open to the public when events such as this weren't being held.

  Movement caught his eye. Although everyone was moving to some extent these where the first people he'd seen heading towards the door rather than coming in. A red braceletted woman in an equally red floor length cocktail gown lead a smaller college age man out the door. Serges thought's jumped to the many many many unoccupied penthouses and suites bellow them. And this particular hotel's infamy for soundproofing. Well he himself was no stranger to these particular arrangements although never having done so he'd come prepared to sell his body for a wealthy backer to his startup. At this point without a success tonight the company would go under in a few weeks, maybe less. And he and his 'business partners' dreams of their little indie game making it big time would be squashed. Of course if Asher had any idea what he was about to do to insure that didn't happen he'd forbid it. That's why Serge had snatched up the invitation for himself instead. Asher was brand new to all this, straight out of college from middle of nowhere Idaho, but he was the best damn programer Serge had ever met. Completely unable to handle any social, business, or economical aspects of their company but that's where Serge came in.

  The price set in his mind he stepped forward and began his hunt.

The first group he got pulled into had three blues crowed around one red man who stared them all down with a calculating gaze. More college students, looking for grants to fund their research which would change the world. Some doing so in such a clumsy manner Serge had to excruciate himself from the group before he burst out laughing. Yeah those idiots had no idea what they were getting into.

  Next he got pulled aside by a red woman asking about his career goals. She was delighted to hear about his little start up but when he mentioned growing up in San Fransisco she suddenly noticed a friend across the room and swiftly left.  

Closer to the large window now he allowed himself to be pulled into a conversation by two red men. On the older side to be sure but still quite handsome. They wanted to know his thoughts on 'small, intimate' theater production they had attended and were trying to settle an argument over what style it was aspiring towards. Serge called upon any knowledge he may had gained via osmosis from his theater-kid-dropout-former-roomate.

  "But see if they were going for absurisum why even try to have a coherent plot?"

"It's a ploy." The taller man nudged his partner and rolled his eyes affectionally. "And you fell for it hook line and sinker, you old fool."

"Oh if I'm and old fool what does that make you?"

"Now settle another question for us young lad, who do you think is older?"

Yeah this conversation wasn't going anywhere. He quickly made his own excuses. While he was prepared for some things, double timed by a couple of theater gays was not on that list.

  Then his eyes caught a man across the room lounging in one of the ostentatious armchairs. He was unoccupied at the moment but surveyed the crowd with sharp eyes. Old money, but maybe not as wealthy as he'd once been. Suit not quite up to the news fashions but definitely worth more than all of Serge's savings put together. Stalky but handsome, slicked back brown hair, broad shoulders, and just a hint of a tattoo peaking out from his coat sleeves. Dangerous, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. But who ever said this evening had to be just about business and not pleasure?

  In what he hopped was a smooth move he took the seat next to Mr.-Old-Money-Handsome started with his prepared opening line.

  "Wow, when I saw this building my first time in San Fransisco I never thought I'd get the chance to be way up here." He'd decided to impersonate Asher's 'young fresh face innocent' personally as well as stealing his invitation to this event. The man fixed his gaze on Serge. "I had to shoulder my way through the crowd just to get a glimpse at the view."

"I never saw you by the window."

"Oh, have you been watching me?" Serge leaned forward laying the flirting on a bit thick.

  "Yes." The man's smile was all teeth.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

The Auction - Tool

Inspired by this prompt by @justplainwhump . 

Tool uses he/they pronouns and shout out to the amazing people who beta read this for me! @haro-whumps @walkingchemicalfire @unicornscotty @much-ado-about-whumping @valkyrie-whump Thank you all for your help! 

(also @whump-it named Cog and I do plan to do a little more with him.) 

CW: human trafficking/slavery, dehumanization (not pet whump, just "less than"), physical abuse, creepy whumper, conditioned mindest, references to the Machine, diss//ociation, loss of control, broken whumpee, manhandling.

[Tool Masterlist] 

Tool stood perfectly straight, hands clasped behind his back against the wall. The guests milled around the room, crystal glasses clinking and low refined music drifting over the crowd. The latest stock was ready, and the Mechanic had invited people to the manor to view. There would be an auction later, in which Tool was supposed to keep things running smoothly behind the scenes. He was to take care of everything behind the scenes.

They had been working non-stop to get the ballroom ready for the auction. They had sent one of the little cleaning robots – the one they had affectionately named Engelberger – to make sure the floor was clean and prepared. Engelberger was in the ballroom, Nobel was in the hallways, and Tesla was in the parlor. Tool let them work in the background, then hurried the bots away back to the charging stations. The Mechanic wouldn’t care if the bots were out and about, but Tool didn’t like the idea of them getting stepped on.

It was easier to care about them than the stock kept in the back bays. Tool never heard Tesla crying when he walked by the station, never saw Engelberger tremble in fear when he approached or watched the light fade from Nobel’s eyes.

No, Tool preferred the litter of robots. Besides, they would be the only ones left after tonight.

So Tool stood back, dressed in the black slacks and black button-up shirt that the Mechanic had given them. Waiting, savoring the simple act of breathing.

The stock was lined up against the other wall, available for appraisal and perusing. Heads down, hands hanging loosely by their sides. Tool had promised, promised, himself that he wasn’t going to get attached. No point. There was nothing that he could offer besides gentle movement or the rare soft word. Nothing could be done, nothing at all.

The one at the end of the line caught his eye again. Cog.

The man was utterly crushed at this point. Worse than the others, even worse than Tool. Their heart ached for him, for the empty way that he moved. Tool had tried to help, really tried, but Cog still ended up hollow. But he was supposed to be hollow – right?

Tool was too deep in thought, too distracted to notice the man that was quickly approaching. Before they knew it, he was up close, inspecting them.

“Is it true? That you’re all submissive and shit?”

Light blue-green eyes skated across the man’s face, desperately trying to figure out what to do. In the end, they did nothing. The man leaned forward, measuring Tool against some invisible standard only he knew. Tool’s brow’s furrowed, subconsciously leaning away with shallow breaths.

“He’s not just, like, paying you to act like this?”

Their face must have conveyed their confusion, because the man grinned.

A slap. Open handed, holding nothing back. Tool’s head snapped to the side, disoriented by the sudden strike. They looked back, only to be struck again. After the fourth they stumbled, hand reaching out to the wall for balance. Their cheek stung sharply and they had accidently bitten their tongue, eyes watering. What had they done wrong to deserve this?

A few others had gathered behind the aggressor, sipping from their champagne flutes and observing. Tool didn’t look to them for help, didn’t expect it.

“Oh my god, you really don’t do anything, do you?”

Tool nodded along, hand coming up to gently cup their cheek. It was hot to the touch. Skin sensitive.

“He said you were top of the class before; is that true? Biomedical whatever.”

He kept his eyes down, finally balanced enough to let go of the wall and stand straight. Yes, biomedical engineering – not that it mattered anymore. Tool didn’t really like to think about before. He could never go back there, never fit back in. Graduate school was for whole people, for those who had a future and ambitions. He didn’t have those anymore; didn’t need them. No, Tool was just that; a tool for others to use. He had a specific skillset, but so did the Mechanic’s rachet set and no one would send that to school.

“Where?”

“Ralford, Sir.”

The man whistled. “Damn. From Ivy League to cowering in the corner.” He paused. “Wait, wait wait wait – you’re that kid that disappeared last year. Yeah, I saw something about it in the papers when I was up there. J-something-or-other. He really took a student government president and turned them into a puppet, didn’t he?”

Tool nodded again, wanting the man to stop talking. He wanted this night to be over, to go back to the cot in the corner and sleep until the next day came. Go back to the menial tasks with no bodies to take care of.

The man grabbed Tool’s jaw, forcing eye contact.

“I want you.”

Tool blanched, not sure what to do. They, they weren’t part of the auction – right? They hadn’t even considered it until this very moment, and now they were torn. Farther away from the Machine, but at what cost? What would this man use them for?

The man spun them around, looking at their back as if searching for something. “What’s your number thing-“

“Problem, Mr. Elks?”

Tool swallowed, freezing in place at the sound of the Mechanic’s voice. Were they glad he had come? Or disappointed?

“Oh, nothing Nigel. Just taking a look at your fine stock.” The man smiled, rubbing his knuckles into Tool’s skull. They winced, still overly-sensitive from the strikes.

The Mechanic’s gaze hovered over the red marks on Tool’s face before he smiled diplomatically and grabbed their shirt, dragging them away. “Apologies, but my assistant is not part of tonight’s auction.”

Tool stood closer to the Mechanic, slightly behind him. Their legs felt weak, and they told themself it was from relief. The small group of other attendees still invested in the scene unfolding before them.

Mr. Elks put his hands in his pocket, grinning casually. “Come on Nigel, everything’s got a price. Besides, can’t you just make another – or are you lying? Tricking us with grandiose promises?”

Tool was trembling. A trick? A lie? No, no the Machine was so very very real. The door at the end of the east hall hung over the entire manor, thoughts of it creeping down Tool’s spine at even the thought of disobedience. Their heart was beating faster by the moment.

The Mechanic smiled, nearly inhumanly sensing Tool’s panic. He reached back and grabbed their forearm, dragging them back into the fray.

“Does this look like a lie? Like a trick? Kneel.”

Knees hit the hardwood without hesitation. Tool’s clasped hands hung in front of him, head down and respectful. The situation was perilous; one word and he could be shoved back into the Machine. Not for some act of disobedience or misconduct, but simply as an example. To show the lasting terror the experience left on the minds that experienced it.

“If it’s real, then I’m sold.” Mr. Elks paused, “And you say this can be done to anyone?”

“Anyone. You bring them to me and I will make them obedient.” Tool’s chin was lifted, and those light blue-green eyes met the Mechanic’s steely gray.

“I still want this one. A compromise, perhaps?”

Tool watched, gaze still locked on the Mechanic’s face, as one of the man’s brows rose, a silent go on.

“One week. A trial period. Then I’ll bring in my own for you to remake.” The Mechanic looked as if he was considering it, and Tool’s heart was in their throat. The Mechanic must have been able to feel it from his grasp on their chin, and he grinned subtly.

“I believe that may be possible-“

“I would also be interested in that deal.” Another voice, a female one. Tool stayed perfectly still, never looking away even as their hands started to shake. Their helplessness was choking them, laying like a heavy fog. They took a deep breath, reminding themself they had no control, no authority, no choice when it came to these matters. The mindset calmed them, in the blank, disconnected way that it always did. What happened around them would just happen, regardless of their input. So Tool waited for someone else to make a decision for them.

A few more scattered voices chimed in, and the Mechanic straightened.

“Then I shall add them to the auction list. One-time offer, one week.”  He motioned for Tool to follow and strode over to the other stock. Tool did as he was told and stood next to the others.

They kept their eyes down, letting the invasive looks slide off.

Just let it happen. 

~

@unicornscotty @as-a-matter-of-whump @starnight-whump @whump-me-all-night-long @whump-it @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @valkyrie-whump @cupcakes-and-pain

(pls let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist)

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

▶Hey there Floyd why don'tcha burn yourself and ruin that lovely brand Percival gave you. I'm *sure* he won't give you another one. Yeah :)

Ohh boy, thank you so much for this ask Nemi. The response got out of hand, as always, but it was a ton of fun to write. This is completely non-canon, but linking the masterlist for the rest of Persistence for context.

Content warnings: forced self-harm and general discussion of/brief loss of autonomy due to outside forces, burning/branding, creepy/intimate whumper, mild gore (some description of blood, cuts, burns), and the narrator is played as a character in the story.

Specific warning that you are in the point of view of the person who gave the command here. They are remorseless and actively help the whumper for a brief period. Proceed with caution if that could be upsetting to you. ————————————

Floyd’s eyes go wider with every word you say.

“Nhh- no. No. That’s- you’re…” He looks down at you in complete disbelief and denial. The mere thought of doing what you commanded sends his heart racing with immeasurable fear, intense hatred, and the tiniest shred of forbidden desire.

“You can’t possibly mean that. Please, you don’t-” You cut him off, knowing he’ll keep prattling on if you don’t, and insist that you do very much mean what you said. Every single word of it. Floyd doesn’t listen- can’t listen to you.

“You don’t know how he is. What he would do if I- if I- I can’t,” he throws his hands down resolutely, but his voice is shaking and his expression is uncertain. Floyd feels the immense power radiating from you. The air is thick with it, making it difficult to breathe with the command incessantly weighing on him. On some level, he understands the luxury of declining an order and knows he will not have it here. 

He’s silent for a few seconds, held back as your words take root in him and control wiggles another inch out of his grasp. Floyd moves as the command urges him to, if only out of the desire to maintain some desperate authority over his own actions. He reaches up to the collar with his shackled hands first, feeling along the back of it in hopes that the locking mechanism has come undone and he’ll simply be able to slip it off. It’s... not. 

A few tugs on the leather does nothing but chafe against constantly irritated sores: a sharp pain dulled by repetition. Floyd looks to you as if he’s going to make some half-hearted comment about how he can’t do this with the magic restrictor on, or ask what you think he should do, but his mind has already plotted out his options for him, is already gathering magic within him that makes the collar buzz in anticipation. 

He’s staring at the metal shackles, now. The length of chain between them that stretches just far enough to reach both sides of his chest. He recognizes their untapped potential, as much as he wishes he didn’t. A bare hand of fire could surely do the trick, but a flame on its own is far too unwieldy. He’d have to hold it longer, reign in flickering tendrils, potentially move it across the brand…

As excruciating as the metal branding had been, replicating that scenario would be the easiest choice. 

“What did I ever do to you?” Floyd’s voice cracks as he pushes against Percival’s seal, letting the heat of his magic spill and flow to his hands, clutching the chain between the shackles. “I- I’ve never even met you, you aren’t a member of his crew… why are you doing this to me? I can’t usually sense magic but I feel your power, it’s- it’s incredible, I’m sure you could choose to do anything with it. So why this? Why- aAAH-!” He doubles over, unable to speak as a scream forces its way out.

You stand silently, watching the magic restrictor finally kick in at full force. Floyd tenses up, muscles in his arms and shoulders twitching as he rides out waves of uncontrollable pain, still pouring magic into the shackles which are now glowing a faint red. It’s a vicious cycle, but eventually the pain stagnates and Floyd peels his eyes back open to glare at you. They’re crazed and glassy. They’re beautiful.

“Well?! Please, if you won’t let me stop, if you’re really going to let this happen to me, just tell me why!” Every word shakes, wet with tears in his throat. A sheen of sweat coats his skin. The metal is almost orange, and you can feel the heat from where you’re standing only a few feet away.

You shrug and grin, thoroughly enjoying yourself by this point. You may not be affiliated with Percival, you explain, but you admire his work. And it’s not your fault that Floyd happens to be such a perfect subject to display it on.

“You, you’re… hhhhnnh- you’re sick,” Floyd spits, crying out again when the pain ramps up. 

Yeah, you nod, holding back a laugh. That just about sums it up. 

Floyd is panting audibly now, his efforts exhausting him completely. You see his own magical power draining, only supported by the sheer willpower and necessity of your command. The metal was hot enough long ago, which both Floyd and you had recognized, but he hadn’t been able to press it against his own skin. With nowhere else to go, the magic heated it more and more.

Two feet separate Floyd’s brand and the bright orange shackles trying to singe his hands as he lets go of his magic, the restrictor finally settling as well. Any pain left is a penetrating soreness, but far more pleasant than what he’d endured for the better part of a few minutes. 

You tease him, ask him what he’s waiting for now, and are seriously considering just burning him yourself when someone else bursts into the room. It’s sudden and loud, and Floyd startles, losing his focus on resistance for just long enough that the command takes a secure hold, shoving his hands against his chest, stretching the chain across the brand, and keeping it there. 

Floyd wails, crashing down to his knees. Percival is standing by the door, disbelief quickly melting away in favor of rage. He stalks over, tears Floyd’s hands away from the brand as he only screams louder, and shoves him down on his front. Percival either can’t see you or didn’t care to take note of your presence, and you continue to watch as he berates his captive.

“What the hell was that?! Hm? Care to fucking explain yourself, Benedict?”

Floyd writhes under him, trying to get heavy pressure off of the fresh burn as Percival’s heel grinds him into the ground. He can’t even seem to form words yet, so soon after the burn. Hysterical laughter bubbles up in Percival’s throat, not quite quashed by the fury still radiating off of him. 

“You had better have a damn good reason for this,” he says, flipping Floyd to lay on his back and straddling his waist instead. One arm pins Floyd’s wrists above his head, keeping the hot metal far away from the rest of his vulnerable body, and exposing the damage done.Torn skin is already beginning to welt up, and the original brand is almost completely ruined. 

“Not only did you use your magic, but you used it to put yourself in danger and mutilate the mark I so lovingly bestowed upon you,” he sneers, tracing fingers over the pale, irritated skin. Floyd jerks away at every touch, shaking his head and sobbing.

“No, p-please- AAAAH! Please! I didn’t ha-ave a choice! I promise I didn’t- I didn’t want this, I would never want this!” Tears spill down his cheeks and he can’t bear to look Percival in the eye as he pleads, squeezing his shut instead. 

“You can’t lie to me, Benedict. I see how you look at my mark. How you cover it, try to pretend it’s not even there... It was only a matter of time before you tried to get rid of it, wasn’t it?” 

“Not like this…” Floyd pants, “It hu-urts, it hurts so much, I- I can’t, I couldn’t-”

“But you did. You’re just regretting it, as you should.” Percival shrugs and Floyd shakes his head again, sobbing harder. “No sense in crying over it now, darling; you’ll need to save a few tears for when I can fix this proper.”

Floyd’s eyes fly open wide. He’d expected it, of course. He should have been ready to hear those words and brace for that pain all over again. But he wasn’t.

“Nhh…” He can’t even force out a word before Percival presses especially hard on the burn and he shrieks. 

“Yes. But I think you’ve done quite enough damage yourself for one day, don’t you agree?” Percival sits back as Floyd nods, reaching into his pocket. 

“You there,” Percival says without turning his head, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you. You swallow hard, greeting him when Percival finally looks you over. “Hold him down.”

You nod and do so gladly as he draws a small, sturdy knife from his boot. The wooden handle is beautifully engraved, and you can’t help but admire it as you settle your hands on Floyd’s shoulders, leaning your weight against his frantic struggles. He’s trembling and breathing hard as the tip of the knife approaches his skin. 

“What- what are you- please don’t, please please please...” Floyd’s voice fades to a reedy whisper.

“This is just a temporary solution,” Percival says as he dips the knife into the middle of his marred insignia, carving out along the figure eight. 

Floyd screams, voice breaking off in intervals, and he pulls against you in a weak effort to get away. Blood drips down from the wound, only serving to dirty his chest further. Percival is efficient, carving beautiful curves through ruined skin, and when he drags the finishing lines down Floyd’s chest, the man finally goes limp. 

With the command finally fulfilled, you fade away, saluting Percival and smiling wide as you go.

[whumpsblog]

Hey!! Thanks for the update on TSOHL, I'd love to get on the taglist! Also: Whumpee talks to someone on an online app, only to eventually call them.. That someone is whumpee's whumper. -sol

A dialogue prompt for @broken-horn. Obviously, the events below that take place after Hanna escapes Conner’s possession. TBH I really had no idea where to take this prompt, and writing it took a while because I couldn’t figure out how it needed to end. You had me stumped! Thank you for the prompt and feel free to SEND ME MORE in the future!

Tag List: @bloodandbandages, @broken-horn, @eatyourdamnpears, @butwhatifyouwrite. If anyone wants to be added to the list or removed, contact me.

Anon: 51 Depot Street Verona NH, 13874

The first time Hanna is contacted by Anon she assumes the message was sent to the wrong person. She doesn’t give the message any more thought and she goes about her day. 

Two weeks pass and Hanna gets a second message. This one reading:

Anon: 5961 Caravan Drive Troy WA, 95832

Her gut churns and she delete the message quickly with an unsettling feeling in her gut. Recalling how the same thing happened two weeks before, she contacts Anon, informs them that they have the wrong username, and deletes the message. 

The third message comes two days later:

Anon: 7390 Apt 34 LeeHigh Ave Monroe AZ, 29402

Irritated, Hanna blocks Anon but keeps wondering about the messages through out the day.

Two morning after Hanna wakes peacefully tucked underneath Zeros warm body, who is still soundly sleeping in their bed. Its the weekend so shes sleeping in. She checks her phone for the time sleepily, and in the process of doing so she sees she has six new messages from the website. She oppens the platform and then her inbox, and this is what she finds.:  

Anon: 8374 Murray Lane Manchester OH, 14890

Anon: 3801 Jacob Street Ontario MT, 25920

Anon: 5039 Fleming Ave Newcomb VT, 49013

Anon: 8027 Plank Road Rochester NY, 12983

Anon: 7480 Old Military Road Penfield FL, 71693

Then . . .

Anon: Hello Hanna.

Hanna tells the Big Six about Anon later that day and as a group, they decide to have Hanna remove herself from the site and have Tyler monitor it in her place.  Tyler spends the next two weeks checking the chat room and nearly everyday he receives a new message. He tries hacking into the system to determine the location of the sender, but whoever it was was operating on a secure, and unfortunatly untraceable, network. With no other leads, he researches the addresses that he has recieved so far. After several hours he determines that nearly every adress was the home adress to a well-known or wealthy individual, such as politicians, celebrities, and businesspeople. 

At the end of the two weeks Tyler logs into the server and enters the chat room, only to instantly receive two new messages.

Anon: 893-502-3018.

Anon: We need to talk.

Tyler’s glasses reflect the glow of the computer screen in the dark room and the Omega sits in his chair still and supprised. The green halo around Anon’s unassigned avatar indicates that he’s still online, so Tyler gets to work. His  hands fly up to the keyboard and while impersonating Hanna, he quickly responds.

Hanna: Who is this?

The message sends and three floating dots appear in Anon’s chat box.

Anon: A friend.

Hanna: Who. Is. This?  

Anon: A friend.

This wasn’t going anywhere. Tyler tries a new approach.

Hanna: Why are you sending me these addresses? What do they mean?

He types the message quickly and hits send.

Anon: They’re gifts. Presents for my love.

‘What the fuck?’ Tyler thinks to himself. There’s a momentary break before Tyler receives two more messages.

Anon: They’re locations of Omegas.

Anon: Current locations of Omegas.

That’s all Tyler needs. He logs off and races off to get the others.

The a small team of Omegas spend the next week traveling to the nearest location that had been provided to them, staking out the building, infiltrating the building, and traveling back to Safe Have. The mission wasn’t easy, but Anon hadn’t disappointed them. In the end the team arrives home with five new Omegas who are beaten, bruised, scared, and malnourished. Upon arrival Hanna meet them at the entrace and immediatly sends the injued and the new arrivals to the infirmary with Jayden to receive medical attention. 

“So, the intell was accurate.” Hanna says to Zero as they walk back to their shared room.

He nodds. “You think its a spy on the inside of the Slave Market?”

Hanna chews on the inside of her lip. “She had considered the possibility, and though part of her hopes thats whats was going on, the other part of her is skeptical. They needed to contact Anon.

Later in the afternoon the Big Six gather inside of the office. Madison, Jayden, Zero, Tyler, and Hanna, all stand around the island in the center of the room and hold their breath as Madison calls Anon. 

He picks up on the fourth ring.

“Hello?” He says.

“We got the Omegas.” Madison says sharply and straight to the point. “Now tell us who you are.”

“I want to speak to Hanna.”

“This is Hanna.”

“No. Your not. You’re Madison. Now, Madison, hand me over to Hanna. I know she’s there.”

Madison pulls the phone away from her face and she covers the microphone with the palm of her hand. “He called my bluff.” She says irritated. She turns to Hanna. “He wants to talk to you. Do you want to take it or should I tell him to fuck off?”

Hanna has her palms pressed into the edge of the desk and she’s leaning against the peice of furniture with all her weight. She looks at the phone that Madison holds out to her, before taking it, putting it on speaker phone, and placing it down on the counter before her.

“This is Hanna. Who is this?” Hanna says.

There's the sound shuffling on the other end, followed by a smooth male voice. “Hello Hanna.”

Zero is marching up to Hanna and she knows that he’s going for the phone. She holds a hand up to Zero and stops him in his tracks.

Of course it was him. It all made sense now. 

“I missed you Hanna. How have you been?”

Hanna’s stomach clenches and she grips the edge of the desk tightly. “Well to be honest I was doing great right up untill five fucking seconds ago.” 

Conner grumbles on the other end. “Such a filthy mouth you have there Hanna. I see your set back in your old ways. Pity. I had you behaving so well for me before you left.”

“You mean before I escaped?” Hanna snarls.

“No, actually, I do mean left. What else do you call it when your lover walks out in the middle of having sex, and leaves you inebriates and tied to a bed?” He chuckles to himself and he sounds unhinged. “I knew you were a vixen Hanna but damn - - that was criminal.”

Hannas ears flush and suddenly she wishes that fifteen year old Jayden had been excluded from this meeting. “We were never lovers.”

“No?”

"No.” Her voice is as unyielding and cold as steel.

Another pause. “Well, I guess I underestimated you Hanna. Your acting abilities had me fooled. It felt real to me.”

Anger and a practiced speech boils in her chest. She knew one day she would be able to say these words to Conner, but she hadn’t known when. “Your delusion was your downfall.” She says. “You thought you had me wrapped around your finger, trained and obedient like some sort of dog, but you were wrong.” She smirks and it can be heard in her voice. “The whole time I was the one that had you wrapped around my finger. I tugged on your heartstrings and did what you wanted because I knew, one day, you would let your guard down, and I would be free. I never belonged to you. Not for a single god damn moment.”

There’s a long strech of silence on his end and everyone but Hanna and Zero start to wonder if he’s still there.

“Very well then.” He sighs. “I’ll be seeing you soon Hanna, and until then, take care of yourself.” Another pause. Then, “I want you in prime condition when I come to collect what is rightfully mine.”

>> The Story of Hanna Light Master List <<

[haro-whumps]

Box Boy Meeting Yanni

(CW: slavery, dehumanization, creepy + intimate whumper, implied noncon, possessive behaviors)

I STRONGLY discourage readers with any kind of paranoia from reading this chapter.

Tag list <3:  @thatsthewhump @whump-it @ashintheairlikesnow @fairybean101 @finder-of-rings @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @that-one-thespian @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @raigash @im-not-rare-im-rarr @spiffythespook

Masterlist

Much as they would have loved to quit their job and just lounge around with Soren for the rest of their life, Ren did in fact have to go back to work eventually. So they showed up in a white button down and a pencil skirt with red lipstick and their hair tied in a high ponytail, tips of their hair just tickling at the nape of their neck, and resigned themself to staring at Soren through the cameras all day.

“REN!” Yanni shouted, banging open the door of their office and draping herself dramatically in the doorframe. “My favorite gossipbuddy in the ENTIRE office and you left me alone for a WEEK!” she accused, storming over to their desk and nearly flailing a hand into one of their potted plants. 

They liked gardening. Liked knowing that there were living creatures that, without Ren, would die.

“A week and a day,” Ren corrected with a playful smile. “It’s Tuesday.”

“Cruel and heartless, Ren, cruel and heartless,” she said, plopping herself on their desk. They laughed good-naturedly, leaning an arm over the back of their chair and smiling up at her. “Did you go on another cruise with your mama?” she asked less theatrically.

“No, actually. I was busy with something new.” They gave a wicked grin, which prompted her to lean in, ready for whatever they were about to share. They’d conditioned the response, personally. “I got myself a Box Boy.”

Yanni gasped, lighting up. “No! Show me pictures, show me pictures! Is he cute?”

“He’s so cute,” Ren said, pulling out their phone and bringing up a picture of their precious angel. “His name is Soren, he’s the same age as me, and his hair is this gorgeous texture.”

“Oh my god!” she squealed, “Look at hiiiiiiim, oh my gooooood!” She fanned at her face excitedly, and Ren swiped through a couple more pictures with their thumb. “Ren he’s adorable!!!”

“And he’s sweet as a peach, too,” Ren bragged, smiling down at Soren’s blushing face. “My personal little angel.”

“Ugh, now you’re making me want one! I swear, ever since Box Babes came out with their spring lineup, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Did you see that lineup? The one with that gorgeous big-titty one in the purple?”

“Was it the same line that had the one with curly brown hair and pretty green eyes?” Ren asked. Yanni tilted her head, her curly brown hair bouncing in its ponytail and her pretty green eyes looking off to the side in thought.

“Not sure! It’s not an uncommon complexion, though,” Yanni said with a careless shrug, and Ren hummed, a private smile on their face, eyes on hers. She smiled back. “But seriously, that one Babe was soooooo pretty, and I’ve been needing an outlet.”

‘You really do,” Ren agreed.

“I can’t help it that the gods made me horny. And like, none of the women in this office are bangable, you know? They’re all, ugh, smart.”

“Working with folk of our caliber, I’d hope they would be,” Ren said easily, mostly entertained by Yanni’s over the top theatrics. They felt warmly towards her. Not that she’d ever be in any danger of it, but if--in some other life--she were made into a Box Babe herself, Ren would’ve just as happily bought her.

It would still have meant that they wouldn’t have a pet they could really yank around, but at least neither would ever need to feel jealous of the other.

“Well, obviously,” Yanni said with a flip of her hair. “But it does shrink my dating pool to zilch. I mean, seriously, what’s a gal gotta do to get herself a bimbo these days?!”

Ren pretended to hum thoughtfully, and shrugged with an airy “Buy one.”

They shared a laugh, and Yanni leaned in to kiss their cheek. “You’re so fun, I missed you. You should invite me over to meet your new little plaything!”

“Maybe,” Ren said, “We’ll see how I feel at the end of the day.”

Yanni stuck her tongue out at them. “You just wanna hole up with that cute little bean and keep him all to yourself.”

Ren shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Guess you’ll never know.”

“Well, text me whenever you decide. Oh! But, I did get sent in here for a reason. Like, a reason-reason, not just to bitch you out for stranding me here!”

“Oh?” Ren asked unapologetically.

“Coffee machine broke yesterday. Help us Ren-bi Wan Kenobi! You’re our only hope!”

Huh. They hadn’t even sabotaged it that time. It meant the thing was actually malfunctioning, but they weren’t particularly concerned, as they stood and left their office. By this point, they knew the insides of the thing better than the manufacturers did. 

A couple of their office-mates were gathered in the break room, one of them contemplating buying iced coffee from the company fridge, a couple chatting with empty hands, another very sullenly nursing a cup of water. Aimie looked up from said water cup and caught sight of Ren, and her face immediately lit up.

“Ren! Thank god; the damn thing’s been broken all week!”

“It’s only Tuesday,” Ren said with a laugh, basking in the turning attention of the break room, each and every one of them delighted to see Ren. 

“It’s already Tuesday,” Yanni corrected, hopping up on the counter next to the coffee machine as Ren pulled open the panel. “You’ve come to us in our darkest hour!” she said with a dramatically raised fist.

Ren poked around, checking the usual spots they sabotaged it in. One of the wires they used most frequently had jiggled loose all on its own. They must have used that wire too much, and now it was worn down from the constant in and out. But, that just meant they didn’t have to sneak in here and break the thing as often anymore, and would be able to walk in with other people and be lauded for their competence without needing to time things perfectly when the room was empty. If they could just get access to the security cameras legally, this would all be so much simpler.

“And booting back on,” Ren announced calmly, the room watching with baited breath, and they all let out a playful (but only so playful) cheer when the thing beeped to life.

“Our hero!” Yanni shouted, flinging her arms around their neck and kissing their cheek. They laughed, hugging her back, and offered her the first paper cup off the stack, as a monarch bestowing riches to a favored knight. They placed their hand on the nape of her neck while she filled the cup, pretending to lean on her while they looked at their phone (Soren was on the balcony again).

One of the first things they’d done when they decided they liked Yanni was touch her neck, like this, their hand pressing down on the clasp of her necklace. It dug into their hand, but it dug into her neck too, and was the first step in conditioning her to put up with mild discomfort in exchange for Ren’s touch and attention. Of course, they would never do anything terrible to her, no no, they wouldn’t be mean to their friend, but they liked knowing that they could, that their friends would let them. They were better now, than as a teenager. Smoother, sharper, smarter about this. They hadn’t conditioned Soren successfully in their youth, having to wait until he was a precious little Box Boy to get him acting like he should, but they were doing a fine job of manipulating Yanni. She was willing to put up with most anything, these days.

“See you at lunch,” Yanni said, steam wafting out from the little hole in the plastic lid. “You’ve got so much office gossip I need to catch you up on!”

“Looking forward to it,” Ren said honestly, giving her a quick kiss on the temple before returning to their office.

They thought about it. Yanni was very, very much a lesbian, so therefore would pose no “threat” for Ren with Soren. Her interest in him really and truly would be entirely aesthetic, and she would have no interest in taking what was Ren’s. She wasn’t violent, and respected other people’s properties (Ren’s more than most), so she wouldn’t hurt Soren, but she was also a little careless and very energetic, so she might play a little rough. She might shake Soren up a bit, leave him nervous and trembling and desperately folding into Ren’s embrace, which was definitely desirable. She might also just coo over him, pinching his cheeks and braiding his hair and fawning until she got bored and demanded Ren distract her in other ways, which was also fine. 

Ren tried to think of possible downsides to inviting Yanni over, examining potential outcomes thoroughly. They did, after all, like to be prepared. They especially couldn’t afford to be careless with Soren, not when they had him just like they wanted him. But all they came up with were pros. Yanni would undoubtedly like Soren, and would be further convinced to buy a Box Babe of her own. That would mean she’d waste less time trying to find hookups or dates, which detracted her attention from Ren, and would leave her better able to focus on them, devote her time to them. 

If she bullied Soren a little, it would leave him clingy and needy. If she bullied Soren too much, it wouldn’t happen instantaneously, and Ren could step in when things crossed a line, and Soren would be grateful and view them as his savior (which they were, anyway). If she was nothing but sweet and friendly, well, Soren deserved that. Ren would be able to show off how well trained Soren was, which was a stroke to their vanity, and Yanni would get more quality time with Ren, which the two of them hadn’t had in a while.

They checked in on Soren again (in the kitchen now, and when they checked their clock it was about lunchtime), got up from their desk, and headed out to the vending machine. They bought a bar of super-dark chocolate and swung by Yanni’s office, decorated with streamers and rainbows and artfully nude paintings and photographs of women. 

“Knock knock,” they said, after they’d already crossed the threshold and were in the middle of sauntering to her desk. She looked up, grinned bright, and then saw that they had a chocolate bar in hand.

“Oooo, you get me something?” she asked, hand already extended, and they dropped it into her palm with a pleasant hum.

“You know I like spoiling you.”

“I dooooo, you dooooo,” she cooed, unwrapping it and taking a bite. “Is it lunch already?”

“Sure is. Also, you should stop by after work today and meet my little Soren.”

“Hell yes!” Yanni said, sticking the bar in her mouth so she could lock up her computer with both hands. She looped her arm around Ren’s, and the two went to lunch, Yanni informing them of all the office gossip over green iced tea and shakshouka. The knowledge that Carl’s father had recently passed was useful. It meant he would be… vulnerable. It did put a closing-window-time frame on whether or not Ren liked him enough to want him, though. If they didn’t, he wouldn’t be worth the effort, emotional vulnerability or no. Sure, Carl was nice enough, but he was getting kind of old, and didn’t exactly have enough clout to make him useful.

But he did have that lovely sense of humor, and he gave out compliments easily, which Ren liked. Decisions decisions.

“Back to the grind,” Yanni said with a sigh as they tossed their trash.

“Halfway there,” they comforted, touching her back. “I’ll see you after work, puppy,” they said, playful and quiet. Calling her puppy was an inside joke between them, given how excitable and bubbly she was, how easy it was to get her wound up. They always said it affectionately, so she knew they weren’t calling her a bitch or anything, that was the last connotation they wanted with their words. But she really was, she was their cute little puppy.

And Soren was their pretty little bird, whose wings they’d finally clipped. 

Yanni’s voice echoed through their home when the two walked through the front door that evening, and when she laughed brightly Ren took the opportunity to call out, “Soren, baby, heel!”

Soren rounded the stairs the moment after; he must have started coming when he heard their voices. “Ohhh, he’s even cuter in real life!” Yanni squealed as he came down, and when Ren opened their arms he rushed to them, eyes lingering nervously on Yanni. 

“Soren, this is Yanni,” Ren said sweetly, voice once again taking that high pitch like they were talking to a child.

“Hello, Yanni,” Soren said, reluctant to be pushed away from Ren’s chest.

“Hello sweetie!” she cooed, reaching out and pinching his cheeks. Ren chuckled breathily. They were definitely pinchable. “You are just as cute as a button omg! Oh, oh, is he name brand?”

“He is,” Ren said proudly, stroking his hair and letting the silky strands fall off their fingers in a small cascade. 

“So he comes with like, positions and stuff, right?”

“Soren, position two.”

Soren collapsed to his knees, eyes turned to Ren, who smiled at him.

“Aaaa, okay, okay, uh, position four!” Yanni said. Soren glanced to her, then back at Ren, who made a ‘go on’ kind of gesture. Soren lifted up off his ankles, though remained on his knees, and extended his wrists to Yanni, who giggled.

“How abouuuuut, twelve! No, thirteen!” Soren stopped mid-motion, then slipped easily into position, and Yanni rattled off a few more random numbers.

“Which one’s your favorite?” Yanni asked, beaming at Ren.

“Soren, Position 22.”

Soren knelt, much like position two, only this time his jaw dropped open.

“EW! You perv!” Yanni said with a high giggle, punching Ren in the shoulder. Ren laughed along with, and punched back. They always punched back harder, and they always punched back last. She accepted this about them, though sometimes in her rowdier moods they would be forced to leave her rubbing at her arm with a half-hidden wince. “So, you fuck him then?” she asked, rounding Soren and tugging experimentally on a lock of hair. “Oh wow it is soft,” she muttered, grabbing a handful.

“Not yet,” Ren said lazily, observing Soren’s cute little winces, the way his throat worked as he tried to swallow his spit with an open mouth, attempting to prevent himself from drooling. “I want the first time to be perfect.”

Yanni nodded with a noisy inhale. “I do know this about you,” she said. “Man, now I really want a Box Babe.”

“You should get one; they’re delightful.”

“Huh Soren, should I get one?” Yanni asked, sitting down on her haunches and pulling him back against her shoulder, hand on top of his collar.

“I-If you think you’d like one, ma’am.”

“I wouldn’t wait to fuck mine, though,” she said, almost conversationally, booping Soren on the nose.

“And I know this about you,” Ren said with a chuckle. “Noisy slut that you are.”

“It’s true, I’m the sluttiest,” Yanni said, standing and using Soren’s shoulder to help herself up. She pulled on his hair, forcing his head back so he looked up at her. “And these pets really are just to die for, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say die, maybe just spend lots of money on,” Ren said. They snapped their fingers. “Soren, here.”

Soren rushed to them, barely even hiding that he was glad to be out from under her tugging and prodding hands, and when they kissed him he kissed back eagerly, pressing his body up against theirs, gratitude and relief clearly bleeding through his touch. 

“Oh that so does it, I’m getting one. Wanna help me look?” Yanni asked, wrapping her arms around Ren’s waist from behind and going tip-toed to rest her chin on their shoulder. Thoughts of what it would be like to have her collared and doing this, of being sandwiched between two of their favorite friends, maybe tugging on Yanni’s collar a little, came into Ren’s mind, and they smiled brightly.

“Sure! I can show you some of the other sites I was looking at too; even the ones that aren’t big brands can have some attractive wares.”

“Okay,” Yanni said easily, “Oh but first, we have to see if that purple one from the lineup is still available. Seriously, Ren, you’re gonna lose it when you see her, she’s SO pretty!”

“Well, c’mon then,” Ren said, beckoning them both into the living room and pulling out their computer. They pulled up the Whumpees-R-Us homepage and Yanni nuzzled up against their side, giggling. “Soren baby, come up on the couch with us too,” Ren said as they pulled up the Box Babes lineup.

“Oh, she is pretty,” they remarked, zooming in on the one in purple. They hooked the arm they weren’t using to navigate the mouse around Soren’s shoulders, pulling him in nice and close.

“Isn’t she though? God, she’s just, look at her tits!”

“I’m looking, I’m looking, they’re hard to miss!” Ren said with a laugh. 

“How do we see if she’s still for sale?” Yanni asked, and Ren clicked around.

“Oh, yeah, she’s sold. Here, let’s pull up the available listings? Or do you want to customize?”

“Ugh, I’m not that rich. And I’m not my mama’s special favorite, either,” she said teasingly, and Ren elbowed her in the rib.

Yanni laughed. “Filter it though. I want big tits and low intelligence.”

After a bit of scrolling and some more filters, Yanni found one she liked, a beautiful young thing, and Ren tugged on Soren’s hair. 

“Huh, Soren, what do you think of her?” Ren asked, angling the laptop a little.

“She’s, um, very pretty? And, her number is pretty low, which means, I think, she’d be happy to have a mistress, and grateful.”

“Do low numbers mean they’ve been there a while?” Yanni asked.

“Mm. Usually. That, or th-they were, um,” Soren looked away, and Ren tightened their hold, which made him unwind ever so slightly, “refurbished.”

“Ohhhh, so she could be a naughty bitch,” Yanni said thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against her chin.

“E-Either way, she’ll be grateful, ma’am, I, I’m sure!”

“We should check her personality statistics,” Ren said, smoothing their palm over Soren’s pretty head, letting him press his face to their chest and tremble against them. 

Personality stats were good, she was as-of-yet unbought so concerns of refurbishment were null, and Ren enjoyed the little twitch that Soren gave every time the word “refurbish” was said. Yanni ended up buying her on Ren’s computer, with her credit card, and kissed their cheek before she left for the night.

“See you tomorrow!” she called.

“See you tomorrow,” they answered, and as soon as she’d closed the door they turned to Soren, lifting his chin.

“My pet, you seem distressed.”

“I, I,” Soren tried, and they felt a thrill up their spine at how tears were gathering in his eyes. “I didn’t… I don’t…”

“Shhh,” Ren hushed, thumbing away his gathering tears. “Shush, now, darling, think it through, use your words. Take your time my sweetheart, shhh.”

Soren pressed his face to Ren’s shirt, clinging to them, and they pet his hair.

“I. Don’t like thinking about the facility. I don’t like r-remembering--I, I know you said what I was before d-doesn’t matter, but,” Soren took a deep breath, “i-it was scary, and, and then we, talked about,” Soren hiccuped, “refurbishment, and, Exalted, Honored One, please, please, I-I’m good, please, I don’t…”

Soren was trying very hard not to break down, it was clear, but he was getting glassier, out of focus. Ren shushed him again and lifted his face, exposing his neck.

“Soren, baby, give me your hand,” they purred, and they guided it to his collar. The shift was instant. His whole body shuddered, lips parting, and his eyes closed with a heavy exhale, other hand coming up and gripping the collar also.

“I’m yours,” he murmured, reverent as a prayer, “I’m yours, I’m all yours. I won’t ever belong to anyone but you. No one else will touch me, no one else will get me, I won’t go anywhere without you.” He rocked slightly on the couch, knuckles white from how tightly he held his collar, and Ren smiled, happy and sweet and content.

“That’s right baby. I’ll let my friends come over and play with you, but they’ll never hurt you. I’ll sign you up for classes, but you only go there with my knowledge and permission. Everything about your life, I have ahold of, Soren. I’m taking care of you.”

“Yes,” Soren moaned, “Yes, I’m yours, I’m yours. My whole life is in your hands, you have the control.”

“That’s right,” Ren cooed, pulling him into their arms and kissing his hair. “That’s right. That’s my precious boy, oh, Soren, take comfort in me.” Their arms squeezed around him a little tighter. “Take your comfort in the fact that you are mine.”

Next

[null-whump]

Heights

This takes place a few months after Varren first summons Felix.

Warnings: slight dehumanization, exploitation of a phobia, fear of heights

Word Count: 1,172

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The first time Varren brought me up to the tower with him, I thought I did a good job of hiding my fear. Just looking out the window made my head spin, and the balcony without any railings was a nightmare in itself. All the same, I pushed all my fear to the side and was determined to act normal. Well, as normal as I could.

“What are you so afraid of, Pet?”

Well. I thought I hid it well. “I – don’t like heights,” I said stiffly. Varren raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing else, and I sighed with relief. He finished his business in the tower, and that was that.

The second time Varren ascended the tower with me was in the middle of a storm, and I thought I would pass out from terror. The wind was howling around the windows, kept out with magic but determined to batter against the stone walls nonetheless. Varren made me stand next to him on the balcony, the balcony without rails, as he held up vials to capture lightning in. I stood, frozen with fear, sure that the gale would knock me off. It didn’t, and we descended safely, and Varren whipped me for dropping one of the precious vials, even though I thought the electricity that had been sent coursing through my body was punishment enough.

The third time in the tower was a perfectly normal day, and all Varren needed was to gather supplies he had stored there, and it should not have led to any incident. Would not have led to anything, had Varren not been in a bad mood on that particular day.

“Bring me those parchments,” he ordered, gesturing vaguely behind him as he continued examining the items spread out across the table.

I hurried to where he was pointing, then stopped, unsure. There was a whole wall of parchments, neatly rolled up and stacked onto shelves. None stood out in particular to me – which ones did he want?

“Some time today, unless it’s inconvenient for you,” Varren said, and I felt his annoyance growing rapidly.

I frantically scanned the shelves again, searching for any parchment that stood out, trying to see which one Varren wanted. It was no use – they all looked the same.

“Could you get and slower?” Varren hissed, and suddenly he was right next to me, gripping my collar and pulling me to face him. “What part of ‘bring me those parchments’ did you not understand? I know you’re stupid but this is a bit much even for you, don’t you think?”

“I-I’m sorry,” I managed, my pulse quickening. “You didn’t tell me –” I cut myself off, realizing my mistake too late.

“I didn’t what?” Varren asked, his voice dangerously low.

“N-nothing, sir” I stammered. “It was m-my fault, I’m sorry –”

Varren tightened his grip on my collar. “You know better than to lie to me, pet,” he said. “Now tell me, what did I not do?”

“Y-you – didn’t tell me which ones you wanted,” I whispered, barely able to get the words out.

Varren’s cold eyes bored into mine. “Unless I misunderstand,” he said, “you are attempting to blame your incompetence on me.”

I shut my eyes, knowing that denying it would only drag the punishment out longer. “Y-yes, sir,” I said miserably.

Varren didn’t speak, but I could feel his anger. Then suddenly he was dragging me across the room, and my eyes flew open. One look at where we were going was enough to make me panic.

“W-wait, please, what –” then we were on the balcony and Varren had thrust me over the edge, his grip on my collar the only thing keeping me from plummeting to the ground so far below. My scream caught in my throat as I desperately clung to Varren’s arm, for once praying that he would keep holding on to me.

“Careful,” Varren warned. “If you move too much I might drop you.” As if to prove his point, he loosened his grip enough for me to slip.

I did scream then, and I was too terrified to be ashamed of it. “P-please,” I gasped. “I-I’m sorry – I’m sorry – please –”

Varren laughed. “You really are afraid of heights,” he mused. “It’ll be fun watching you fall, then.”

He released his grip completely, and I screamed as I fell. It took several seconds for me to realize I had stopped falling. After that realization came the one that I had not hit the ground – I was still in the air, hovering barely a foot below the balcony. The next realization was that Varren was laughing, but my terror was still too great to be ashamed. I could still see the ground far below me, and Varren was still the only thing keeping me from falling.

“Do you see that ledge there?”

I realized Varren was speaking to me and forced myself to look where he was pointing. It was a small ledge, jutting out from a window that I knew led into the highest room of the tower. I barely managed to nod.

“The next you decide to be so damn disrespectful,” Varren said calmly, “I’ll tie you to that ledge and leave you there until you’ve learned your lesson. You wouldn’t want that, now would you?”

I felt as if I could barely breathe. I shook my head.

“Now, maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll bring you in.”

“Please,” I choked out, shaking. “Please, sir –”

“Good,” Varren said approvingly. “But you can do better. How about an apology, hm?”

“I – I’m sorry, sir.” I could feel sobs working their way up my throat. I was so scared, I just wanted to be back in the tower – even Varren’s hand holding me up was better than this.

“Go on,” Varren prodded. “What are you sorry for?”

“I – I’m sorry for – for disrespecting you, sir.” Varren looked at me expectantly. “A-and for being s-slow,” I added hurriedly.

Varren smiled. “Good boy.” He curled his outstretched hand in a beckoning motion, and I drifted towards the ledge until, finally, my feet were on solid ground again. I collapsed onto the balcony, shaking and gasping. Varren’s hand reached down to ruffle my hair as he turned to walk back into the tower.

“You can stay here tonight,” he said, and I swear I could feel him smiling. “Just to be sure the lesson sinks in.”

“No, please,” I whimpered, feeling sick at the thought of being up here for even another minute.

Varren turned, amused. “Would you rather I tied you up on that ledge instead?”

I choked back a sob and frantically shook my head.

Varren stroked my hair once more. “That’s what I thought. Be a good boy now, and stay out here.” Then he left me. I slowly, carefully, pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. With open air on three sides and nothing but a wooden platform beneath me, I knew I would never be able to sleep.

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Tag list! Let me know if you want to be added or removed, or if I somehow missed your name.

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog @shameless-whumper @whumpity--whump--whump @whumpitywhumpwhump @nervous-writer @this-zombie-will-eat-you @abyssshifter @whumpersworld @whatwasmyprevioususername @why-did-i-say-that-when-i-was-7 @zitroneofficial

[whumping-newbie]

BTHB: Choking

 @badthingshappenbingo​

So thanks once more to @straight-to-the-pain​ and @scath001 for this idea tbh. More whumper gathering stuff!

Let’s just say that this one is set juuuuust before the piece I wrote for S’s birthday last week. I kind of broke them in that one, but I liked the idea that S made about the whumpee protecting a smaller/younger/weaker whumpee during the hunting, and decided that my whumpee needed just a touch more rebellion than I allowed them in that piece.

As usual this is longer than I planned it to be BUT who cares about that.

Warnings: shock collar, dehumanisation, hunted, choking.

My bare feet stung against the rough gravel that littered the pathway I was sprinting down, every loose stone dug into my skin with a sharp singe of pain that felt like tiny needles stabbing at the soles of my feet. The scratchy sound of the gravel as I ran over it was almost musical, an intrinsic pattern brought on by each and every footstep of mine in rapid sucession. I was running so hard against the gravel in my frenzy that I didn’t care about the pain of the stones against by sore and tender feet, not right now.

I was out of breath. My lungs were on fire, burning against the bitter cold air in the woodland I was sprinting through, away from them, as fast as I can. Admittedly I was not in the best physical state to be doing this - not that I had much choice in the matter. I was almost skeletal compared to what I once was, the pang of hunger in my stomach was insatiable in comparison to the stabbing pains in my feet. I almost preferred the assault on my feet, it didn’t seem as permenant. When was the last time I ate? Two days ago? I can’t remember.

I heard sharp breaths to my left, and I darted my vision in the direction of the source. I couldn’t see a thing over there, it was so dark here. To my left was a mass of bushes and flowers, their vibrant colours still visible even in the moonlight. The plants looked healthy, well cared for, I envied them - they didn’t have a mark on them, their petals and leaves unblemished and taunting me with just how nice they looked. I saw a dark figure amonst the brush, and I could hear the telltale sound of rapidly sprinting footsteps on twigs bolt away from me. I was grateful that it was one of us, not one of them.

The moon was the only thing illuminating my pathway forwards, and even then I had to strain my eyes to see two feet ahead of me. I ground to a halt, out of breath and realising I had reached the edge of a large pond. I would have given anything to dive in right this moment and relish the moment. To wash off, to drink the water, to cool down. I didn’t care that there were leaves and algae and lilly pads dotted across the surface, decorating the water to make it look as inviting as possible to me, the plants rested gently against the unbroken surface of the water. There were loose petals from the land flowers on there too, they must have escaped on the wind, enjoying their freedom on the surface of the pond. The sheer tranquility of the water was enticing, it looked wonderful. I wish I could jump in and enjoy the cooling, refreshing feeling of the water on my skin.

But I couldn’t do that.

“Run, run, run, as fast as you can!”

An almost cheerful voice somewhere far behind me called out, catching my breath in my throat. I stared back at the path I had emerged from, realising my error in staying on the path. I had practically gift-wrapped myself to them.

No, can’t let them find me.

I ran around the pond, leaping over a bush on the side of the path, trying to stay out of sight. There was a mass of trees over there, enough that I could probably stay hidden behind them whilst they look for someone else. I crouch down, slowing to an almost silent set of footsteps as I reached the trees. I put my back against the rough trunk, pulling my knees to my chest. I covered my mouth with my hand to silence my own trembling breaths, filled with dread and just a hint of panic. I tried to make myself as small as possible, hoping they would just miss me here, that they would move on from here and allow me just a little bit longer here. I daren’t move a muscle when I heard the footsteps get closer and closer. They didn’t seem in any particular rush, I heard them jogging, and they slowed down at the pond edge, I presume.

“I’ll soon catch you, you’ll be part of my plan!”

The singsong voice was truly sickening, and I dread to think about what they have in mind if they catch me. I shuddered breathlessly, willing them to go away.

“You’ll be part of my plan, and I’ll hurt you as much as I can!”

I saw a flicker of light pass over the environment around me, coming from behind me. A torch beam. I closed my eyes, hoping I was still invisible to them. If sheer will power could keep them away from me, I was almost certain that they would never catch me.

A scream rang through the trees and permeated my ears. It was a desperate screech, a terrified sound that was truly heartbreaking to hear. It was somewhere close, sort of ahead of me, and I snapped my eyes open. The torch light stopped hovering around my hiding spot and started looking for the source too, before the footsteps started jogging again, kicking the gravel up as they did. They got closer, closer to me before going quiet again. They hadn’t stopped, they had merely gone around the pond, unknowingly passing me in my hiding spot. At least, I hope they didn’t know I was here.

I gripped the collar around my neck so hard that I could feel my knuckles whitening, digging my fingernails into the palm of my hand. I felt the prongs on the inside of the collar - the nodes that buried themselves painfully against the nape of my neck, that could cause me serious pain at a moment’s notice. It was restricting, and I hoped and prayed that I was out of the range of the remote. Having that damned remote set off the collar would be disasterous, I truly hoped that they didn’t choose to make things easy for them by setting it off, forcing me to reveal my own location.

I waited until I couldn’t hear the footsteps again before creeping out of my hiding spot, caked in the dirt from the ground. I hated this, I hated this entire little game of theirs. I felt like some kind of rat, being chased around and around. This game was truly a testament to how twisted everything was here, letting us run around and then hunt us down for their entertainment.

Oh, but there was an incentive to not get caught first. “Where’s the fun in that?” they had said, “whoever gets caught first is really going to suffer, so try not to get caught! Whoever lasts the longest will get rewarded, so get going!”

I tried not to think about what kind of punishment I would have to endure if I was caught first. What any of us would have to endure if we were caught first.

I crept away as silently as I could, away from my original hiding place, in the opposite direction from the scream. They would all be heading in that direction, probably. I hope, at least.

A twig snapped ahead of me and I froze, holding my breath to try and not make my presence here known, as much as I could. I tried to stay as still as I could, listening out for what that noise was, and what could have caused it. Was it one of them? Have they found me? Trying to lull me into a false sense of security before springing their trap?

No, it can’t be, because the source of the noise was just as frozen as me.

The figure was just beyond another bush, watching me carefully with wide eyes. They were very young, easily no older than 19. They were on their tiptoes, trying to remain silent after their momentary lapse in judgement caused them to reveal their presence to me. I remember them - big, scared, brown eyes. Short hair. Pale complexion. Caked in colourful bruises. Painted with scars.

We didn’t even need to say a single word, because their eyes spoke volumes more than words ever could. There was terror, there was begging, there was panic. I could see them implore me not to say a word, almost forgetting that I am in the same situation as them.

I slowly brought my index finger to my lips, a careful gesture that they didn’t need me to remind them to heed. I pointed at them, then at the bush they were stood behind - get down. They nodded in understanding, and dropped soundlessly to the ground, concealing themselves amonst the plants. If I didn’t already know they were there, I would not have seen them by just looking at that bush. They were almost invisible to me. I crept towards them, keeping my footing as light as possible, and it was painful moving so slowly. I had my eyes on the ground, keeping an eye on the branches, stones and leaves that littered the dirt in my path. I wanted to keep away from them, because who knows what kind of trouble both of us would be in if they caught both of us together.

Another cry from somewhere in the distance halted me. That was close, that was much closer than the other scream. Someone else had been caught, but that was the scary thing. They’re close, they’re getting closer and closer, and if I’m found here, I am in for a world of hurt.

That cry of pain was accompanied by another sound. It sounded almost... triumphant. It was muffled by the distance, but it sounded like the one who had caught them was celebrating their catch.

How sickening.

Of course they would want to catch us as quickly as possible. Get to hurting us for longer. That’s their reward for whoever catches one of us the fastest, but our reward is getting hurt less.

The sheer idea that this is allowed to happen was nauseating. These people... they kidnap us, abuse us, mutilate us and then torture us for their own entertainment. Yet no one here seems to want to help us out of this situation. Why is that? Why is there no one that shares a shred of empathy with us? Why do they enjoy bringing us pain, no matter what we do to try and stop them?

I was literally shocked out of my thoughts by a sudden influx of agony. Pure, crucifying agony that tore through every fibre of my being, and I cried out, dropping to my knees as the shock wore off, taking deep heaving breaths as I tried to ride out the subsiding pain.

I realised what had haddened a moment later, clambering to my feet as I heard someone ahead of me. I saw the wicked grin plastered over their face, even from this distance, and I could only think in that moment about the young one hidden just a short distance away from me. Did they know they were there? I daren’t cast a glance in that direction, what if they took such a simple thing as confirmation that someone else was here? I couldn’t do that.

I took off in the opposite direction. I had been spotted now, I didn’t need to worry about sound being my enemy. Not now, my primitive panic took the reins and I could only ride it out and hope for the best, hope that I can outrun my pursuer. I heard a deep, dark laugh echo from behind me.

“Run, rabbit, run!”

I didn’t need telling twice.

I didn’t see anything ahead of me, I had no trouble in pretending that nothing was in my way. My pursuer was having the time of their life, and I was fighting for mine. I didn’t care about the dull ache in my legs from overexerting myself, I didn’t care about the fire in my lungs and chest, I didn’t care about the stabbing pains in my feet.

This was their game, and I was playing by their rules.

Except they weren’t playing fair either.

I screamed and fell face first into the dirt as the shocks ripped through me again, unrelenting and ceaseless, dizzying and disorienting. The moment the collar stopped issuing its pulsating, agonising effect, I tried to scramble back to my feet, to get up and keep running, except I didn’t have that chance. Between my heaving breaths, I felt a heavy boot slam down on my back, forcing me back down onto my stomach. I could only breathe - not even from relief. My vision was murky from the adrenaline that clouded everything, there was no running anymore.

---

“Well, wasn’t that fun?”

That voice belonged to the owner of this estate. All of us had been recaptured, chained up against the wall like misbehaving dogs that needed to be taught a lesson. The hunters, our owners, were stood opposite us, self-satisfied grins etched over each of their faces. I refused to look my owner in the eyes. I knew that they would punish me for finishing as early as I did later. I could see the little box that was the remote to my collar hanging on the loop of their belt. It seemed to be taunting me too - if it wasn’t for that, I probably wouldn’t have been caught when I did.

I cast a glance at the other prisoners, comparing us to them. Their faces were full of a terrible pride, and yet ours were canvasses of fear and anticipation.

That young one that I met in the woods was quaking against their chains, not looking up at them. One of the bigger ones, the stronger one, their face was stoic and totally ready for whatever they were going to throw at us.

One of the other ones, I remember them from the auction, they were lot 1. They were the first one to be sold that night, I remember their calm acceptance of their situation was utterly terrifying to consider. I remember the fact that they were so blindly obedient that they didn’t even wear a muzzle like the rest of us.

Well, they were here, and they were apparently the first one to get caught. I didn’t even realise they had been captured, because they didn’t scream like the others. I was the fourth capture, out of seven, because Lot 1 didn’t resist as they allowed the hunter to end their temporary freedom. I didn’t know whether the young one I had seen was caught straight after me or not, because I don’t recall seeing them being dragged back to the manor like the others. We were blindfolded for that - keeping the suspense alive for all of us after we saw who had already been captured.

Who was going to suffer first, and for longer, than the rest of us.

Truly, the composure of Lot 1 was the work of an oscar-worthy actor - they remained knelt on the ground with their back perfectly straight, but kept their eyes to the ground, their hands on their lap. Blind obedience.

“So! Let’s get down to the prizegiving, shall we?”

The owner of the estate crept closer to Lot 1, who remained as still as an old, worn down and beaten gargoyle. I saw that the owner was hauling a mass of rope, looped over their shoulder to their waist like a sash. They pulled Lot 1 to their feet, as the rest of us could only watch as they were forced to stand in the centre of the room, waiting for the owner to do something. I heard a soft release of breath from them as they were looked over. I could hear the young one let out a small choking sound, and when I looked at them, they had screwed their eyes shut and buried their face against the wall, desperate not to watch.

I hadn’t noticed this yet because I was so fixated on everyone else, but it was at this moment I noticed the chains hanging from the ceiling, just behind Lot 1. I have no idea how they escaped my notice until this moment, it was probably just because they were almost invisible when compared to the other instruments that lined the walls of this room. The owner pulled down on the chains and cuffed the manacles to the wrists of Lot 1, who was now restrained with their hands behind their back. The loud clunk of the fastenings locking into place was so final that it was intimidating to think just what they are going to do to them. Dislocate their shoulders? Whip them? Burn them?

“So, you lost your game. You know that means you have to be punished, don’t you?”

They remained steadfast in their silence, even as the owner stroked the side of their face. I wasn’t able to see their expression as their back was turned away from me, but I could only imagine that it remained as neutral as I remember it. An empty shell, a mere thing with an ability to feel pain, but not to fear it.

The owner gripped their hair and yanked downwards, and I heard a terribly disguised groan of pain as they did so. The owner called out to someone, to one of the others, and I saw just what those chains on the ceilings were made for. They pulled the wrists of Lot 1 upwards, higher and higher, and all they could do was lean further forwards in an attempt to adjust to the position change. How much must that hurt? The other owner stopped cranking the chains upwards, but they didn’t seem as high as they should have done. Weren’t they going to dislocate their shoulders? That was what my initial belief was, but the fact that they left Lot 1′s shoulders slightly relieved of pressure, it seemed more like setup for something much, much worse.

The owner unravelled the loop of rope that they had over their shoulder and held it in front of Lot 1′s downward facing head, letting them see what they were going to use on them. For what, we were all about to find out.

The owner held one end of the rope in one hand, and used the other hand to wrap it around the neck of Lot 1 quite a number of times. An uncomfortable amount, I am positive of that. Every time they looped it around their neck, I watched Lot 1 squirm - they tried to dig their feet into the floor as much as it would allow, knowing there was nothing more that they could do.

And there was nothing we could do but sit back and witness the punishment for losing the game.

Even with a lot of rope left, the owner tied it in a knot as tightly as they could manage without totally choking Lot 1. I could hear their breaths become wheezy, I could tell they had opened their mouth for this - probably because there is absolutely nothing they could have done otherwise. I can’t imagine what kind of fresh hell that is - trying to breathe under all that constricting rope. The intent not to kill, but to torture, knowing that access to something that they need to survive is so very painful to think about. To think that the air they need to breathe is now in someone else’s control - their malicious, sinister control - and they could do nothing but hope that they would earn mercy for just going through with all of this without fighting them.

“Well, your punishment for losing the game?” the owner announced - both to us, and to Lot 1, “you get to watch us whilst we punish the others. Every time you look away from the punishments, I’ll tighten that rope around your neck. Just think on that I have no value for broken toys. I’ll let you die if you are disobedient now. Maybe next time you’ll think about this before trying to take the punishment for one of those other little rats over there.”

I frowned. Not even worrying about the prospect of being punished, but at their words. I always thought that Lot 1 was just... so broken, and compliant, and done with everything that goes on, that they would obey their commands without question. But to hear their owner talking about how they are taking the punishment for “one of us”. Did they... get caught first on purpose?

I had no way of knowing, because the owner turned away from Lot 1, and began facing us. I felt my head go light under their hungry gaze - they were out for blood, I could tell.

“Now then, who wants to go first?”

[whumpqin]

Day Seven: Freshwater vs. Saltwater

Back on track! Had a lot of fun with this one <3

Masterlist

Taglist: @spiffythespook @lonesome--hunter @strahlenderzynismus (buggy tags CRY) @whump-in-the-night

CW: Whumper POV, referenced past abuse, delirium, just Angst in general, dehydration, maybe some other things. If I’ve missed something, let me know!

Word count: 1,078

It had been a long day stuck in the woods, tracking enough prey down to feed the both of them. Adair was rather proud of what he had caught, even though it was a bunch of tiny lizards and snakes. The little bastards were less threatening than the bigger birds of prey that loomed around the southern portion of the isle, and had enough nourishment to boot.

Adair tangled through the brush, muttering light curses when he had to swing his cutlass at some of the more unruly bits of foliage.  Soon he exited out onto the beach, heading directly for where he had left Nereus that morning.

He saw Nereus laying down on the beach, motionless. Adair whistled at him to get his attention, but he still didn’t budge. A sharp stab of worry rested in the pit of his stomach as he picked up his pace.

Something was wrong.

Adair dropped everything next to Nereus, rolling him over to see listless eyes glazed over and not focusing on anything. He gave him a harsh shake.

“Roo, Roo wake up!” he said, grabbing either side of his face to force his eyes to look at him. Nereus said nothing, but dully scanned Adair’s expression. “Damn it.”

Adair began to search for signs of what happened, lifting arms and legs to investigate any skin that was laid bare for bites, injection points, or anything to suggest what Nereus had gotten into. He found a half-filled canteen, one they had salvaged from the ship’s wreckage, close to his hands. Adair sniffed it, wrinkling his nose at the briny smell from it. Saltwater. Nereus had drunk salt water.

“You fuckin’ idiot,” he cursed, panic rising into his throat. The nearest water source was deep into the island - and even then it had to be purified before it could be safely consumed. “Of all the things I taught you, you had to go and drink saltwater, eh? Am I gonna have to do what I did before an’ give you lessons again, huh? Fucking look at me when I’m speaking to you, Nereus!”

He was angry. Offended even, at the way that Nereus seemingly kept smacking away the olive branch he had held out countless times. It was like he was trying to get himself killed, and the idea that that was what was happening only made his heart pound harder against his chest.

Don’t you dare leave me here alone.

Nereus’ eyes rolled over to him, eyebrows twitching into a gentle furrow. “Mm sorry… ‘m sorry…” he mumbled, trying to move his limbs to sit up. He was so weak, Adair wondered how much he had drank to get himself like this. How long had he been out of fresh water? “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to, dad, I’m-I’m sorry…”

“I’m not your father, Nereus,” he corrected sharply, venom laced in his words even though he hadn’t directed them to Nereus. Of all the things he was, he didn’t want to be that bastard. “It’s me, Adair. Remember, your ex-Captain?” 

The reaction was instant enough to make even Adair’s calloused heart break a little, even as he scrambled to keep the thin boy still so he didn’t hurt himself.

“Nnno, no please, no, ‘m sorry, please, it won’t happen again,” Nereus promised, strained tears welling into his amber eyes. There was hardly enough liquid to fall down his cheek, but he somehow managed to anyway. “No lessons, no more, please, I can’t, please…”

Adair sighed, feeling his tail sweep against the sand and wrap firmly around his ankle. He was running out of time, and was only making everything worse. They made a deal, him and Nereus. He wasn’t going to give up on him so quickly. After all, Nereus had just learned how to block a vertical attack yesterday, he was still just learning. 

Nereus was all he had left.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he glanced around the camp. Hunting in the forest made it clear there were no large predators, beyond the odd poisonous snake here and there. If they were careful, they could rest there while Nereus gathered his strength back up. Adair just had to get him there.

He grabbed a few of the items that had been salvaged from the ship, including his broken compass, and stuffed them into a single bag. From there he took the cloth they had been sleeping on and bundled it up. Adair knelt by Nereus next, who flinched as he brushed a hand through his messily chopped up black hair.

“Hey, shh, it’s alright now,” he hushed, forcing his best soothing voice he could find. It had been a long time since he had to comfort someone, or at least calm them down enough so they would cooperate with him. Had this been someone else, he would have shot them by now.

Adair was still wondering why he didn’t shoot Nereus that first day on the beach, when he had lunged for his throat like a feral animal. Still wondered why he put so much effort into keeping not just himself alive. His selfishness was born out of survival of the fittest, and if Nereus was coherent he’d agree that Adair was the strongest between them.

He still doesn’t know why he’s doing this.

Nereus whined when Adair lifted him onto his shoulders, forcing him into a piggyback position. 

“Shh, it’s okay. Here, grab my horns, Roo,” he murmured, guiding Nereus’ hands up to his forehead. Adair’s horns swept forward and out to either side, which seemed like a blessing in situations like this. Nereus weakly grabbed on, curling close to him while Adair lifted him upwards. “You’ll be alright. We’ll get some water in ya soon enough.”

Nereus mumbled another apology as Adair packed up the rest of their camp. It sounded pitiful and whiny, hopelessly lost in whatever delusion he was seeing now. It hurt to ignore it, but Adair knew it would be better to focus on the goal at hand. 

You’ll be fine, Nereus. You’ll be fine, he repeated in his head, trying to squash the worry that puttered around in his chest, rearing its head and striking at random intervals. Adair had seen this - and fixed it- many times before. He tried not to think about the amount of effort he was actually putting into saving Nereus from killing himself.

Maybe his old crew was right. Maybe he had been going soft.

[whumping-newbie]

The Cache

So I reblogged a prompt a while ago from @whumpster-dumpster and then decided to tweak it just a little bit. This is my reluctant whumper/accomplice finding one of my whumpee’s stashes whilst still in captivity. It’s close enough and it inspired me.

The caretaker discovers that the whumpee has been stealing and stashing food in various random places – in coat pockets, behind couch pillows, under sheets.

It’s also part of my ongoing Michał arc, set just after the Thanks to Me piece, in which Michał has recieved a promotion for his efforts in uncovering a resistance hideout.

Tagging @givemethatwhump and @straight-to-the-pain because you both love Michał and I never tire of hearing it.

POV: Michał

The glass shattered against the wall, just narrowly missing the window by an inch. The crystal clear contents of the glass splashed to the ground, staining the deep maroon walls with its sticky residue.

I wrung my right wrist in my left hand, holding it tightly for a few moments before I ran my hand through my hair as I tried to rack my brains. What can I do now to help? I tried to get Aleksander out so that they would help me protect the girls. But what on earth can I do now that they have been discovered?

The words of that resistance woman still rang in my ears as I contemplated my situation, the words she uttered to me after the men left, way back when I first met her in the library.

I do not trust you, at all. I would rather cut you up and send you back to your boss with a few appendages missing.

The sheer malevolence in the tone of her voice had been bone chilling. In some ways, she scared me more than Emil did.

But you’re useless to us like that. I meant what I said. I will kill you if you do anything that lets him die.

I can’t remember how or even if I responded to her threats. I promised I’d get her man out of here, and I meant it, but now I have no idea if they are even alive. They could be dead for all I know, they could have been rounded up with the others. I have no way of knowing, but all I know is, that if she is alive, I am probably not going to survive for much longer. I’ve been credited with those arrests. She won’t forgive me for that.

I was in the hospital for a week after the fight I definitely did not come out on top of, and honestly, I was more miserable now that I was out of that bed. My wrist and ribs were healing as well as can be expected, but I was still covered in bruises and cuts that were unlikely to go anywhere anytime soon.

I knelt down in front of the broken glass by the floor and attempted to gather it up into one spot so that I could clean it up properly. It nicked at my skin, but I truly didn’t care for that anymore. Emil had promised me multiple rewards for my service once I was back on my feet, the first of which was a promotion in rank.

Not quite enough to get me anywhere I couldn’t already, I was still to do his dirty work, but it did mean I had command over a few men.

Part of that promotion meant that I now had my own office, just like Emil did, only smaller. It still doubled as my quarters, but it was marginally easier to conceal contraband in when you are the only one living in the room.

As I cupped my hand and slipped it behind the bookshelf, trying not to instantly slice my hand open on the glass I was expecting to be there. However, I froze when I felt something solid. Something larger than the glass shard, but softer in texture. I tapped it gingerly a few times, just making sure that there was something there.

I clutched at whatever it was, tugging it my way from under the shelf. I frowned when I realised it was a small cache, a very small fabric bag that was no larger than the span of my hand, and it was tied shut with a ribbon. There was something in it, and I untied the ribbon in order to ascertain what was inside.

I put my entire hand into the bag and pulled out the first thing I grabbed. An apple. I set it down on the floor, there was more in this bag. There was a few broken pieces of cracker. The final thing the bag contained was a handful of nuts.

There will be certainly be rats if this is left out. I collected up the bag, replacing the contents and carrying it away from its hiding spot. I was just about to drop the bag into the waste bin beside the desk before I stopped, a single thought slipped through my mind.

How did it get there?

Ignoring for the moment that there is a pitiful amount here, certainly not enough to live on, why was it hidden in such a place? That left one question.

Who is desperate enough to put a small stash of food behind a bookshelf?

I didn’t need to ponder the question, because the answer came as soon as I asked it.

A small, barely noticable knock at the door. I opened one of the drawers in the desk and dropped the stash in there for the moment, settling it on top of the papers that rested in there. I opened the door for whoever it was, not caring that I had my jacket undone for the moment. I was momentarily surprised to see Irena in my doorway.

She shuddered at the way I opened my door so suddenly, but relaxed for a moment when she recognised me. It’s Irena, she was wearing that same damn dress as Matylda, the open backed one. I could not see whether or not she had any scars there or not, but I was filled with a slightly morbid curiosity to find out. The bespectacled girl looked to be in a similar state to that of her friend - absolutely no marks on her face, nothing that signified any kind of mistreatment was there except for her expression. No happy grin, just one of total neutrality. She had a similar looking collar to Matylda, but Irena lacked the red marks around her wrists. That, or I just couldn’t see them very clearly. She always did have a darker skin tone, her and Zofia shared that trait at least, but even so...

“S-sorry to interrupt your evening, sir,” she apologised, bowing her head down before looking at me again. She was clutching a metal bucket filled with soapy water and a cloth in her hands, “I... I was sent to clean the floors.”

She wasn’t curled in on herself like Matylda had been. She stood tall, despite the clear yet disguised hatred for the situation she had been put into. She didn’t seem... as badly affected by any of this. Her eyes did seem haunted, though. Haunted by the memories of what things were like before - she was nothing like the Irena from my memories. I remember what Irena was like - she was the jovial, happy-go-lucky trickster of the group. Honestly, I saw sides to all of the girls that very few people would ever get the chance to see - I got a glimpse at their private lives, the sides of them they shielded from both the public and the King himself - and Irena was always the one to bring a smile to everyone’s faces. She had a knack for making people laugh. She liked to play practical jokes, just harmless practical jokes like filling a letter with glitter and posting it through their doors.

I don’t think she would dare try any of that now. She looked like she hadn’t smiled in a long time, much less brought a smile to someone else’s face.

I stood to the side, granting her entry without a word. I closed the door behind her, pausing there for a moment before locking it. I heard her draw in a breath, but she just crouched to her knees and put herself to work, starting on the farthest side of the room away from the door, away from me.

She didn’t face me as she worked, and that was fine with me. For a moment, I just watched her. Dare I ask her about the stash of food? Even if I did, I have no way to prove that it is hers.

But then again, what are the chances that she is being fed well? Extremely slim. Just looking at her I could see that, she didn’t seem to have nearly as much body mass as she did the last time I saw her. She was not a skinny girl to begin with, so the difference was striking and easy to see.

I pulled the cache of stolen food out of the drawer, and wordlessly stood behind her, dropping it to the floor directly in front of her. She froze, I saw the hesitation, I saw the panic that flared as she gripped the cloth she had been scrubbing with, she gripped it so hard that the water was expelled from it, spilling out onto the floor, mingling with the water that she had scrubbed with.

I crouched down beside her, watching her. She pointedly ignored me, keeping her eyes on the small bag. Her breathing was sharp, I could tell she was waiting for me to say something about it first, She didn’t move, either.

“Is this yours?” I asked quietly, pointing at it.

I watched Irena carefully, I noticed her eyes flicker in my direction for barely a moment before they were back down to the floor. I could see the glisten of a tear as it formed in her eye.

“I... I’m sorry, sir,” she croaked, closing her eyes and letting the tears stream down her cheeks as she bowed her head further still, “I, I was, um, I... I was...”

“I’m not going to get you in trouble for this,” I put my hand on hers, feeling the tension in her clenched fist, “is it yours, Dąbrowska?”

She looked up at me, finally, for just a moment before she gazed at the floor again.

“... Yes, sir. It is mine.”

She had closed her eyes, and waited, almost like she expected me to hit her for that. I grabbed the little bag and got back up to my feet.

“When was the last time you ate, Irena?” I asked, walking back to the desk, rummaging around my drawers.

“I, erm... sir?” She asked, turning her head to face me but not rising from the floor.

“When was the last time you ate? You don’t hide food in an office unless you know you’ll need it eventually,” I said over my shoulder, “you must be starving.”

“It’s not... It’s not for me,” she admitted quietly, turning her whole body around on the spot to face me.

“Who is it for if not for yourself?” I turned back around, looking at her wring the cloth in her hands. She looked at the door, and then at me, her blue eyes betraying her. She wanted to keep it a secret, I could tell. She didn’t know what to tell me, she didn’t know whether or not to trust me, “Look, I want to help you,” I whispered, taking careful steps closer to her.

“Help me?” she asked, “how do you propose to do that?” she shook her head at me, a certain brand of hurt flitted across her face, and it was contagious. The way she sounded so unconvinced by my own words really stings worse than the throbbing in my wrist. “You know what they’re doing to us. You know that they’re hurting us, and you’re just standing there watching them. I know you might not think it, but we do talk to one another. Matylda told us you were covered in someone else’s blood the last time she saw you. She said you were working for Emil, actually doing things for him. Hurting people for him. And you expect me to believe that you want to help us?”

I can’t contest her argument at all, because everything she says is true. Everything. There was nothing I can say in my defence here because I would be lying to her if I was to defend myself, to say anything to refute what she knows is true. She’ll be more alert and attentive than ever, especially when not being alert could mean brutal punishment for her and the others. Irena is an intelligent young woman, there is no dispute there. It would be an insult to say anything against her on that front.

“I’m sorry, Irena,” I apologised, “I... I’m trying. I want to help, but -”

“Do you, Michał ?” she asked, her voice breaking, threatening to overcome her with tears, “tell that to Matylda, who is suffering with Emil. Tell that to Anastazja, who is putting herself in danger to earn food and secrets for us. Tell that to Zofia and Karolina, who are personal servants to the General, and are hearing nothing but what he is going to do with the country now that he has control. Tell that to me, who got beaten up last week because the duty guard blamed me for his stash of cigarettes going missing. You’re no better than them. Don’t tell me you want to help when you’re letting this happen.”

Her voice began to trail off towards the end, I could tell she was struggling to finish what she wanted to say. She had been bottling this up for a while, and I honestly wonder if she felt better for saying it. If she felt more at ease for saying something that had been preying on her mind like an unrelenting plague.

And honestly, I was heartbroken to hear her.

I had thought about this in one way or another since I started my posting here, but hearing her say it, almost like she’ll never forgive me for this, nor accept my help.

That trust, all of it gone.

That faith in me, I had betrayed her. All of them, all for my own stupid, selfish reasons.

She didn’t even let me finish, she turned around and continued the job she came here to do. I remained speechlessly stood there, her cache of food still in my grip. I was suddenly overcome with a new, almost refreshing renewal of motivation. I felt the resurgence corse through me, the desire to want to help her.

Even if she doesn’t see it now, I need to help them, I want to.

I have to.

By the time she had finished with the floors half an hour later, I forced the cache into her hands.

“I’m going to leave food for you here, every day. Come by when you need some, I promise, I am going to get you out of here. Just keep your heads down, I’ll find a way, I promise you.”