#whumpgirlsummer

[rizzoto-whump]

@whumpawoman​ whump girl summer day 4 - Stress Position

@juneofdoom​ day 10 - Shackled

CW: Bruises, blood

[pigeonwhumps]

Hunting Night

Sam and Lucan masterlist

Whump Girl Summer day 5: hunted for sport | traditions

@whumpawoman

Taglist: @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @onlybadendings @whumpofdory @haro-whumps @flowersarefreetherapy @enigmawritesstuff @quietly-by-myself

Kara and Edith are hunted as part of a centuries-old tradition.

3.5k

CWs: non-human whumpee, use of silver on a vampire and werewolf, slavery, hunting for sport, bounty hunting, mentioned murder, hate crime, discrimination, dehumanisation, burning, taunting, bound, broken bones, painful transformation, whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper, caretaker turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker, implied past rape, mentioned panic attack, branding, grief, vigil mention, scared whumpee, expectation/fear of punishment, sadistic whumpers, gore, drinking blood

She should've known better.

That's all Kara can think as the bus grinds to a halt yet again. She should've known better. Tonight's Hunting Night, and everyone knows you don't go out on Hunting Night. Even humans don't, if they can help it, because it's so easy to pretend that, well, you attacked them because you thought they were a glamoured faerie or an untransformed werewolf and it wasn't your fault, really, and although Hunting Night is illegal the police don't care enough to even give cautions. No non-human would ever report an attack anyway.

They should never have gone out. Certainly not in the late afternoon. But the fridge broke, and Edith's blood apparently tastes bad (she won't say so, but the look on her face was proof enough), and she went so long without anything at all that Kara never wants her to make do with sour blood. Kara's food is going off too, she won't be able to eat it all before it's rotten. And on top of all that, Edith seems to believe it's her fault, somehow.

So they had to go and buy UHT mini blood cartons, and ice, and something for Kara to make Edith feel better, and Edith panicked because they were selling blood cartons laced with silver for punishing your vampire (her reading skills are still very rusty, Kara's going to kill whoever fed her them in the past), and then some people's treatment of Edith had reminded Kara of her own slavery and she'd had a panic attack, and everyone was staring and they'd almost left half the shopping behind in their rush to leave before someone called the cops.

And now they're stuck in a traffic jam. They're unlikely to make it back before moonrise, which is when the hunt starts despite being well before sunset, and this year's Hunting Night falls on a full moon.

She checks her watch. 19:00. Definitely won't make it back.

She presses the button, waiting anxiously for the bus to stop.

"We gotta get off an' walk, baby," she mutters to Edith, standing in front of her – slaves aren't allowed to sit in seats on buses if even one passenger objects and she hates it. "Moonrise."

Edith's eyes widen and she follows Kara off the bus when it finally stops, full rucksack on her shoulders.

Kara takes her hand and hurries along the pavement, taking a quick turn into an alley she knows far too well.

"Okay. Right. It ain't far, that bus takes the long way round, but we might not make it 'ome in time. If anyone attacks, Edie, run like 'ell. Ya got it? I can defend meself, jus' get outta 'ere."

"Yes, Mistress Kara."

Kara... isn't sure Edith will leave, actually, but if she pushes she'll get cowering or begging or freezing that they don't have time for, so she just nods.

"Good."

They're close when Edith does actually freeze, glancing up at the sky. Kara feels the heart palpitations she always gets when her body's partway between one form and another, at the start of her transformation, body chemicals shifting. She drops Edith's hand and backs away slightly, gritting her teeth.

Her bones and muscles crack as they break and reform, and at first it's not too bad, it's a bit like stretching, but then it gets stronger and stronger until she can't do anything but let out an ear-splitting scream. Halfway through, the scream turns into a howl, as her snout lengthens, vision changing.

She pants as she feels the aftershocks of the change, slowing down but still there. Edith is frozen entirely, eyes wide.

Vampires really don't smell good.

Kara's instincts are more animalistic like this, but as she's got older, she can recognise people, control herself a bit. When she was fifteen she may well have attacked Edith. Or perhaps not – the vampire is definitely in her pack.

Someone laughs from the end of the alleyway, and she shrinks into the shadows, Edith following.

"You might be hiding but I know you're down there! We heard you change! Come out, come out, little werewolf."

Kara sees them. There's five, and they smell like sweat and cheap aftershave and silver. And there's bloodlust in there too, excitement, the thrill of the hunt.

In a fluid motion, she grabs Edith, swings the vampire onto her back, and bounds the other way down the alley. She just runs, with no regard to where she's going. She has to get away.

She skids to a halt as the smell of silver hits her nose, so much of it, and more humans too. She hears a *thud* and hopes that Edith's okay. She emits a low growl and backs away, keeping an eye on the three heavily-beweaponed humans, low to the ground with ears pinned flat to her head.

Then there's laughter behind her, humans she somehow missed, and she yelps as her tail is pulled, spinning to see the five humans from the other alley.

"You were right about blockading these alleys. Two already. Tonight's gonna be a good night, I can feel it in my bones."

Kara snarls, lip curling so they can see her teeth. An instinctive movement that shows one of her greatest weaknesses to the hunters. What seems to be their ringleader guffaws.

"Oh, this is gonna be easy. It's no fun, it can't even fight back."

"Still adding it to the tally though. We've got ourselves a stray werewolf. How many points is that again?"

Edith steps between her and the humans with a growl. "Stay away from her."

Two humans grab Edith as she swings a punch, pulling her off to the side and throwing her rucksack and ear defenders into a skip. She struggles desperately, more than Kara's ever seen. More than she thought possible from Edith. But despite the vampire's strength, she doesn't manage to get away before silver ropes are wound around her arms, binding them together. Then four of the humans can hold her still.

"Guard-class vampire," reports one, looking at her bracelet. "Dunno whose it is though. Kara... Evans."

"Who cares? Must be a runaway. We need to mark these two for proof it was us."

"Might be safer to just mark the bodies."

"Now, where's the fun in that?"

Kara tries to rise slightly, in preparation for another escape attempt, but before she can even process it her skin's burning. Her snout's first, and then her body and she tried to shake it off, scratch it but that just burns her pads, it doesn't come off and she howls in agony. She can't hear or feel anything else beyond the burning that's everywhere, all-encompassing, completely overwhelming. It's so much and she can't stop it.

_

Edith watches, horrified, as the diluted silver hits Mistress Kara. She howls and immediately tries to get it off, scratching at her fur and turning endlessly.

She won't manage it. It'll burn and burn and eventually burn through skin and flesh and bone if it's left on long enough, that liquid sticks, and then her arms and legs will dissolve, and they'll taunt her, place blood where she could reach it if she had arms, if she could stand. And, well, if she only managed to control herself better, this wouldn't be happening. She might even be allowed some of that blood. A few licks off the basement floor would be enough, please, she's not sure she can keep going.

She hears an animalistic whine and jolts. She's not there, she's in the present, with the hunters, and that's just as dangerous.

Her arms are burning from the rope but it's not about her. Mistress Kara is being hurt and the hunters are going to kill them both and there's nothing she can do about it.

The hunters' laughter is raucous without any ear protection, but she can't do anything to help and she isn't about to show them that it hurts. She knows what humans do when she shows weakness.

"It's not going anywhere now. Time for the marking. Hold the vampire's face."

Edith's head is grabbed by multiple hands, all over, suffocating, sweaty hands and too much contact as a circular silver thing that looks like a branding iron is positioned above her cheek. She's been branded before, but she can't get away as the silver stamp comes down on her cheek.

The pain takes her breath away, she can't even scream as the silver's pressed in and held until it's nearly burned through her cheek.

"Stinks."

"Yeah, well, get used to it or go home, there's gonna be a lot tonight. Now for the werewolf. Paint it. It is an animal, after all."

A can's chucked across and some of the humans guffaw as one of them starts to spray.

"Should tag their ears as well. We're slaughtering them like livestock apparently, after all. Isn't that what those activists say?"

"Those idiots should be hunted too. Their views are too backward to let them live."

Amanda. They're talking about Amanda and others like her. That's the final straw for Edith. The hunters have slackened their grip and she focuses, ripping her arms free. She grabs the nearest hunter and sinks her fangs into his neck.

Oh, she hasn't had blood directly from a human in so long. Shame it's tainted by bitter alcohol but it's so warm, warm and pumping. She doesn't have time to drink the full hunter, instead turning to the next.

She's quick enough that they don't start screaming and fighting until she's on her third hunter.

It all becomes a bit of a blur after that. She comes out of a daze, stomach full of warm human blood, injured a little possibly, when the remaining hunters are all dead on the ground.

Good.

She's surprised she managed it actually, she thought she was trained better. But Mistress Kara was in danger.

Edith approaches Mistress Kara, careful not to touch any silver on the way. She's still pawing at the diluted silver, and Edith touches her snout cautiously. She shouldn't touch her owner in this way but she has to. The silver burns as she attempts to brush some off.

"Mistress Kara? Are you here?"

Mistress Kara yips at her, still pawing at her snout. The hunters didn't manage to get much spray paint on her before Edith killed her, that's good. About the only good thing, aside from them not being dead.

"We need to go home. Can you lead the way? This vampire does not know it."

Mistress Kara stops pawing herself and stares at Edith, and Edith repeats herself calmly. After a few minutes she seems to understand.

Well, almost.

She sniffs the air, and limps her way over to a large skip. Edith follows.

Oh. She didn't realise where Mistress Kara's belongings had gone. She thought the hunters had taken them or maybe she just hadn't thought at all. She pulls them out, swinging the backpack over her shoulders, holding her ear defenders in one hand.

They're not too bad. A bit smelly, and damp, but they'll be okay.

"Thank you, Mistress Kara."

Mistress Kara yips again, pressing her snout up against Edith's palm, and starts limping down the road.

Mistress Kara was right earlier, it isn't far, and Molly comes bounding up when Edith unlocks the door. She strokes the dog's head and drops the backpack in the hallway, grateful at least that they didn't bring Molly. Molly isn't hurt.

"Hello Molly. Mistress Kara, Edith is going to wash your fur, if that is acceptable, and then comb it out. It should get the silver out. Edith has done it on hair before, but not fur." Edith pauses momentarily. "Edith does not know how much you understand in this form, but please be lenient on this vampire. Edith understands this vampire needs to be punished for pretending she has agency but it is an emergency."

Mistress Kara whines, and Edith leads the way to the bathroom, Mistress Kara's snout pressed into her cupped hand. She wonders whether it's something to do with the familiar smell, if it's somehow distracting or grounding.

"Edith will make the shower warm but you do not have to wait, Mistress Kara." She strips down to her underwear and picks up the grooming brush, stepping into the shower. The water is freezing when she turns it on, but she stands under it anyway, washing off the silver that's made its way onto her. Slaves shouldn't waste warm water on themselves. But she has to wash herself, because it's more effective to help Mistress Kara if she is not also burning.

That's what she tells herself anyway. She shouldn't be cleaning herself without Mistress Kara's permission, if Mistress Kara wants her to stay with silver on her for any reason that's her prerogative. Mistress Kara will punish her later for her audacity, she's sure. She has to.

Mistress Kara bounds into the shower before it's warm and stands under the shower, turning round and round in circles. She lets out a happy yip.

"Edith will brush your silver out, Mistress Kara," says Edith, "will you stay still so this vampire can?"

Mistress Kara stills, vibrating in place and sticking her snout out. Edith takes the hint and carefully rubs it with a cloth, taking care to reach everywhere and get out every fleck and drip of silver.

The bright red burns stay. They'll be there when she transforms back to human form, Edith knows, and she only hopes they don't scar.

Then she cleans Mistress Kara's ears, careful of the burns that make her owner let out quiet, pained whines. It's not fair, she's so nice, far nicer than she should be to a vampire like Edith, but she keeps being hurt.

"Edith is going to brush your fur now if that is acceptable."

Mistress Kara tilts her head up into the stream of water, washing her eyes out. Edith crouches down and brushes her methodically. She uses Mistress Kara's nice shampoo and conditioner, careful to catch all the snags in her fur and all the silver, liquid and solid and scraps. So many strands are coated and Edith has to scrape them out by hand. It hurts but she doesn't mind, it's what she's for. The pain's nowhere near as bad as the burning brand on her cheek anyway. The transferred silver flecks are washed off now, but it still burns.

She's trying not to think about the brand. If the silver had been pressed there much longer she'd have a hole in her cheek, and she could start to heal but she can't drink without Mistress Kara's permission. Her healing will be slower, then.

She gently holds the werewolf's paws up as she cleans them one by one, gentle with the toes that have been cut, scrubbing the edges of her pads thoroughly. There's not so much silver on them, only the bits she transferred herself, but anything on the ground could've been covered in silver, Edith doesn't know. So she cleans everything carefully.

"Is there anything else this vampire needs to clean?" Edith asks uncertainly. In answer, Mistress Kara jumps out of the shower and shakes herself off. Edith rubs her with a towel, and then quickly towels herself off and dresses. Mistress Kara won't want to see her naked if she doesn't have to. Right? Right.

She is not sure where the burn cream is kept, unfortunately. She hopes Mistress Kara can forgive her.

"You should rest, Mistress Kara. You will be all right now." Mistress Kara nudges her hand, and she's taken aback, despite all the past kindness she's received from her. "You would like this vampire to come with you?" The werewolf yips. "This vampire will come then."

Mistress Kara bounds ahead and jumps onto her bed. Edith tries to lie on the floor or at least at the foot of Mistress Kara's bed, but Mistress Kara tugs at her until she's in the middle, the werewolf curled around her.

It's very warm and comfortable, and Mistress Kara falls asleep quickly. Edith has to resist the urge to join her – although she has finished most of her job, she cannot leave anything incomplete. It doesn't matter how little she's slept recently, or how comfortable she is here, she is a slave and needs to finish working before she's allowed to rest. Besides, Mistress Kara didn't say she was allowed to sleep.

_

There's sunlight filtering through the curtains when Kara wakes.

Her memories of the night before are vague at first, although she remembers the terror and pain. The longer she's awake in her human form though, the clearer the memories become. The hunters. Edith defending her and being hurt for it. The silver. The smell of Edith helping her back to herself. Edith tending to her.

Kara's face and hands still sting, despite Edith's best efforts. The injuries will heal with time, but they might scar. She'll have to check them over.

She's so much less stiff than usual after a transformation, though. Edith didn't just remove the silver, she did it so thoroughly, so carefully. Even her tailbone isn't aching as much as it should after her tail was yanked like that, and her hair is shiny and so soft. It gives Kara hope that the vampire's not just scared of her, she might actually care too.

God, Kara hopes so. She doesn't want to force Edith to stay with someone she's scared of. She'd never want that. She is not like her owner was.

A thought strikes her suddenly. Oh. Oh, god. She's curled up, in her human form, naked around Edith. She scrambles to her feet, face heating, remembering her insistence that Edith sleep with her. Okay. Okay. Edith won't think anything of it, right?

She hopes fervently that she doesn't. The first (and last) time Kara accidentally made an innuendo about having sex with Edie, she'd panicked and hidden for a week.

Time to look at her injuries, she supposes. The vampire's still asleep, and she heads to the bathroom, fully expecting to need to clean it. There was a lot of mess. But it's sparkling.

Oh, Edie. Of course. Kara feels a pang of gratefulness mixed with sorrow. She's not sure she could deal with cleaning it today but at the same time, she knows why Edie did it. Why she would've thought it was her job. She would've cleaned instead of sleeping.

Kara tilts her head to either side as she looks in the mirror. Her injuries don't look too bad. Edith must've gotten most of the silver off before it had a chance to burn her too much. It takes longer to burn her than Edith, after all.

She pads groggily into the kitchen and picks up a couple of blood cartons for Edith. She won't have eaten without express permission either.

When she gets back to her room, Kara tucks her weighted blanket around the small vampire, smiling helplessly as she pulls it tighter around herself, nuzzling into it. She's so sweet, Kara doesn't understand how anyone could want to harm her.

She needs to contact Amanda, tell her they're safe. Her phone was in her rucksack, and Edith unpacked that. Where would she have put it?

On the bedside table, apparently. Kara slides it onto her hand, muttering into it until she has a coherent message for Amanda. She's just sent it when she notices the breaking news alert.

Oh, god, why does she leave those on? Actually she knows why, but last night was not the night for them.

Vampire nest destroyed in Hunting Night raid

She sinks down on the floor under the window, hugging her knees to her chest and watching Edith. She doesn't even bother to open the article, slamming her phone into the carpet with a soft thump. She knows what it'll say.

She's exhausted. All the hate... it's too much. How can humans hate so many species so viciously, so thoughtlessly? How do they have the capacity for it? To kill and maim so many, and barely mention it, barely care. They don't even bother to try and get the terms right.

Not all humans, she reminds herself forcefully. Not all. People like Amanda... they care. But they don't always make it out alive.

She pulls herself up small, blinking back tears. Today they rest. Today the volunteers recover the bodies and count the missing and mark the dead. Kara and Edith will both start to heal, some scars fading faster than others. They're luckier than some. At least they're both still here.

Tomorrow the community remembers. The names go on the wall, in a vigil broadcast live from the Isle of Man, and they remember, and they grieve. Those they knew, those they didn't. Humans, non-humans. The vampire den on the news will only be the start of last night's casualties.

And then they'll try their best to survive another year.

Kara looks down at Edith, snuffling in her sleep, and amends that sentence.

She will keep Edith safe for another year.

And another, and another. And hopefully they can both stay safe for the rest of their lives.

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch

Day 4 - “Does that hurt?” | Delirium | Hypothermia | Stabilization

Day 5 - “It’s not as bad as it looks.” | Handcuffs | Swelling | Flinch

Also qualifies for @whumpawoman ’s Whump Girl Summer, Alt. Prompt - “Look at Me”

Contains: lady whump, graphic broken bone, restraints, fainting, brief emeto mention, captivity

.

.

Isa is still hunched over on her knees, breathing through the pain shooting up her arm, when a hand lands lightly on her other shoulder. Instinctively she jerks backwards, which only doubles the pain. She throws her head back and cries out hoarsely.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, hey, look at me, it’s just me. Just me.” Glancing over, she can see Lainey holding up her hands, cuffs jingling. “Are you…are you okay? That’s a stupid question, obviously you’re not okay, but…crap.” Her hands drop to her lap. “He just…broke your arm, like it was nothing. I don’t…I can’t…” She shakes her head. “I hate him!”

She can’t deal with the chatter right now. “It’s fine. I just…need some time.”

“It’s not fine, would you quit acting like all of this is fine? I know it’s what you're used to, but it is far from fine and you deserve far better than this, okay?”

She knows that being treated like this isn’t alright. Intellectually, at least. It’s hard to remember sometimes, though. In fact, if she’s honest with herself, it’s really only due to Lainey’s presence that she’s started remembering it now. This isn’t normal.

But that doesn’t help her situation any, so she can’t really afford to dwell on it. Maybe that’s why it’s easier to accept that it’s normal for her, at least, instead of worrying about what she can’t change.

Lainey sighs heavily. “Is there…anything I can do?”

Isa starts to shake her head no. She just wants to sit, and breathe, and cope. But she has someone here now who’s willing to help her, and she’d be stupid not to take advantage of that. “There’s a…the cabinet. On the far end.” She motions toward it jerkily before returning to digging her fingernails into her upper arm. “It’s unlocked. There’s a kit in there. And a, uh…a piece of wood.”

Immediately Lainey is up and crossing the room to look in the cabinet she indicated. She holds up the two items in her cuffed hands for Isa to see. “This?”

“Mm-hm.”

She comes back and sits cross-legged in front of her. There’s already a bruise forming on her cheek, matching the ones around her broken nose. “I’m kinda surprised he lets you have first aid stuff.”

“Yeah, well, he…wants me to stay alive…for whatever reason. We have to be careful with it, though. It doesn’t get replenished often.”

Lainey nods in understanding, opening up the kit on the floor. “So…use the wood to stabilize it and wrap these bandages around?”

“Yeah.” It’s good that she has at least a basic knowledge of first aid already. Means she doesn’t have to explain everything, and she can hopefully count on her to do things herself if there comes a time when she can’t help.

Clenching her jaw, Isa carefully moves her arm out where it can be better reached. Lainey sucks in an audible breath through her teeth at the sight of it.

“Ugh. Aw, man, that’s…it looks so wrong.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Isa runs the fingers of her right hand lightly over the misshapen arm. She’s definitely had worse. “Most of it is swelling. Though this…” Her fingers stop on a slight lump in the skin. “This is gonna have to be pushed back into place.”

“Oh, man…”

She glances up at Lainey, who looks a bit paler than usual. “I can do it. I’ve done it before.”

“No, no way. I’m not making you do that yourself. I’m…you’ve got me now, I can do it.” She hesitates, hands hovering in front of her. “Just, uh…tell me what to do.”

“I usually do it against a wall. Makes it easier to brace.” Isa turns her body so that she can splay her arm across the wall, and Lainey scoots herself around closer.

“The fact that you have a usual method for this is…disturbing.”

Ignoring that comment, Isa points to the spot on her arm. “This is it right here. All I can tell you other than that is just…get in a sturdy position and push. And don’t stop if I scream or whatever.”

“Oh man. Okay.” Lainey moves in closer, shoving strands of messy brown hair out of her face. “I can do this. Okay.” Bracing both hands against the arm without pressing down yet, she glances over at Isa. “Alright. You ready?” While Isa nods, she sucks in a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut, then focuses in on the arm once more.

Looking away, Isa grabs a handful of her shirt and clutches it tight.

“Okay. Three…two…” Before she gets to one, she shoves with all her strength. The bone pops back into place and Isa screams even more hoarsely than the first time before everything starts to go dark.

She can faintly hear a surprised shout and feel herself falling to one side. An instant later, she opens her eyes and finds herself lying on her left side with her arm stretched out in front of her. Lainey is gingerly wrapping the worn, slightly bloodstained bandage from the kit around both her arm and the makeshift splint.

“Hey,” she says softly when she glances over and sees Isa’s eyes open. “You okay? Kinda freaked me out there. Good news is, having to keep you from smacking your head on the floor distracted me enough that I didn’t end up hurling everywhere like I thought I might.”

Isa picks her head up and looks over her bandaged arm. It’s so weird, having someone else do this for her. She’s not used to it, and part of her doesn’t want to trust it, but Lainey seems to have done a decent job. “How’s it looking?”

“Almost done. Wish we had an ice pack to get some of this swelling down, though.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t do fancy things like ice packs.” She glances up at the other girl, who’s tucking the end of the bandage as best she can. “You seem like you know what you’re doing, at least somewhat.”

One corner of her mouth quirks upward. “Softball, remember? We got hurt all the time. I picked up a few things from the medics like splints and recovery position. I’m no expert, though.” Sitting back, she looks over her work. “How’s that? Does that hurt?”

“Yeah,” Isa answers honestly. “But not as bad as it did when the bone was out of place.” She begins sitting up, slowly, moving her arm carefully into her lap. “Thanks.”

Lainey shakes her head. “You need a hospital, and some of those heavy-duty painkillers they gave me when I broke mine years ago.”

“He definitely doesn’t do painkillers.” Using her good hand, Isa scoots herself back to lean against the wall. “I’ll be fine. Like I said, I’ve done this before.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though.”

Isa doesn’t have an answer for that.

[galaxywhump]

Stargazing

[An Immortal Among Stars Masterlist]

A new story for the Whump Girl Summer event hosted by @whumpawoman, Day 1: Environmental Whump. I probably won't be able to fill too many of the prompts because of a lack of time, but I still wanted to share at least this short piece, even though it's mostly introspection.

contents: lady whump, immortal whumpee, imagined death.

~~~

Centuries too late, people gathered to see a dying star.

The explosion had wiped out some nearby planets, but that was back when most of the universe was out of reach. Several diviners attempted to establish a link to the area, and found that among the debris that was left behind there was nothing hinting at previous life, or even at the planets being able to sustain it at all. No guilt was involved in enjoying the spectacle, and everyone treated it as such.

There were vendors, music, laughter, mouth-watering smell of food permeating the air; those were contained in a smaller area, while the rest, a huge open field, was left for the crowd to gather, to stand or to sit down, and watch the clear night sky.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Daria's eyes reflected the stars. "It happened so long ago, long before any of us were born, and we only get to see it now."

Karita nodded. She realized that the arm she'd wrapped around her partner had tensed up, and she forced herself to relax her grip, not wanting it to become painful. Her gaze stayed fixed on the burst of light.

"It's weird," she said, "that there's a whole festival around it. It feels wrong."

"I felt that way too." Daria shrugged, then reached up to hold Karita's hand and keep her arm wrapped around her shoulders. "But there had been no one and nothing there, right? So try to think of this as a… show, I suppose. Everyone treats it that way, anyway."

I could've been there, Karita thought, but didn't say it out loud, and instead nodded again, hoping that her silence would be taken as a sign of amazement.

Well, not there. She hadn't been there for this particular star's explosion, though Daria would have been surprised to learn that less time had passed between that event and Karita's birth than she would've thought.

But she could have been there to witness other stars dying. She could still experience it. She stared at the explosion in the sky until her eyes became dry and she had to blink, and she couldn't help but imagine being there.

The explosion getting closer, blinding her. The ground shattering beneath her. Dying, multiple times, coming back to life and-

She inhaled sharply and shuddered, and Daria looked at her with concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," Karita sighed, bringing her hand up to her forehead. "I think I'll go grab something warm to drink, it's… kind of chilly." At least that wasn't a lie. "Do you want anything?"

"Hmm… Spiced hot chocolate. You should try it if you haven't already, it's amazing."

Karita mirrored her smile and gave her a kiss quick enough so Daria couldn't feel the tension that filled every nerve in her body.

"I'll be right back."

Even when she stopped looking at the star, it was still on her mind, fire, burning her to death, then leaving her at the mercy of space, ice, ice and loneliness, and vast emptiness all around her that she couldn't escape.

She hugged herself as she maneuvered among the other spectators. People. There were people around her, both a risk and a soothing constant. They didn't matter to her as much as they used to, but she found their presence calming regardless. For now she wasn't alone. For now she got two cups of spiced hot chocolate, returned to Daria, and smiled when she saw the way her face lit up.

Karita sat down behind her to wrap her hands around her and bury her face in the back. She heard Daria giggle.

“Wouldn’t you rather watch? It’s a once in a lifetime experience.”

“I know,” she muttered. “I just love you so much.”

“I love you too.” She could hear a smile in Daria’s voice.

She had eternity to watch stars die, but if she didn’t change her mind on keeping her immortality a secret, she had a few more years at most to be with Daria. The choice was obvious.

Holding Daria was like holding an anchor. There were other anchors before her, there would be many more after her, but that didn’t make it any more shallow. It was like a burst of love in Karita’s life, short but intense, like an exploding star, and then it would be gone.

The hot chocolate was heavenly. The night breeze made her skin rise in goosebumps.

Her mind and heart were heavy with memories and worry, no matter how much she tried to shut them out, but she was never going to stop trying.

[whump-me]

Unburied Masterpost

Your days of working against us are over, little spy. Now your death will fuel our magic.

Kira was the kingdom’s foremost clandestine agent. Now she’s a disgraced laughingstock.

She tried to tell her superiors what she had discovered: that the death-fueled magic of a thousand years ago had returned to the world�� brought back by their supposed allies. They laughed at her for believing in children’s stories. They ordered her to keep her mouth shut and toe the line. She refused.

But she was right. She’s found the proof.

The ancient city, buried beneath the sand so its bloody secrets could never be used again.

The weapon that can level a city… as long as it has the proper fuel: a human body tortured into submission, a human soul burned away to nothing.

The shy but fanatical researcher who can’t wait to take Kira apart to test her new toy.

Piece. By. Piece.

And she’ll smile while she does it.

But the mission isn’t over. Victory is still possible. Even if the cost is her soul.

---

Unburied is fantasy whump with spies, magic, human sacrifice, and loyalty that transcends death. It was written for the Whump Girl Summer event hosted by @whumpawoman, and has a defiant female whumpee and a deceptively sweet female whumper.

Please be aware that this story will include gore (more detailed warnings will be given on relevant chapters) and major character death. If that’s not your cup of tea, this one isn’t for you.

Chapters

Day 1: Heatstroke Day 2: Sick Whumper Day 3: Self-Sacrifice Day 4: Stress Position Day 5: Traditions Day 6: "I'm Not Going Anywhere" Day 7: Sisterhood

Here from a reblog? Here's the most recent version.

[1000-niche-interests]

Raindrops on Roses

And now that we have that oc post here is a story because? I can. There are no roses in this story, but I had of “Favorite Things” from sound of music stuck in my head while I was writing it.

Annabell stood in the corner of the dimly lit chamber, watching from the shadows as the healer checked Sara’s breathing and pulse again, indifferent to how this mousy, red-haired woman looked back at Annabell every now and again, as if to check that the vampire wasn’t about to pounce. She much preferred the older man who had been in here earlier; he hadn’t been quite so jumpy. 

Not that it mattered. Anna had been here long enough to be used to wary stares of others, especially the ones not familiar with the Queen’s court. Not familiar with the fact that, while Annabell was not human, while she possessed magic enough to kill everyone in the kingdom and then some… she wouldn’t. Because there was only one person on this earth she cared enough about to kill for, and that person was currently laid up in bed with fever. Besides, Annabell was no human, but she was not a monster, either. (Despite what some of the nobles whispered behind her back.)

“Um,” The red head muttered into the quiet room, and Annabell’s head snapped up at once. The medic took a step back from Sara’s bedside in a respectful bow. “Her fever is down from what Healer Rodney said it was earlier, so I believe it should break tonight. That’s good.” The girl did not make eye contact with Annabell as she spoke, and the vampire did not expect it. She simply nodded, brisk, and waited for the girl to continue her report or to leave, as she clearly wished to.

“Apologies, sorceress.” The young woman bowed, again, this time more of a curtsy. “For my… hesitation.” 

It took Annabell a moment to figure out what she meant, until she realized the healer was referring to how she so clearly stammered over her words in fear, and some such. But Annabell only felt one thing right now, and that was concern for Sara, so she didn’t dismiss or accept the girl’s apology, merely sat down in the chair she’d pulled up to her queen’s bedside, and cupped her cheek to check her fever herself with a cold, pale hand. Though Annabell emitted no body heat, she could feel heat perfectly well, and agreed with the healer’s analysis. When she looked up again, the red haired woman was gone, as she’d expected. Fine.

Now that they were truly alone, Annabell focused on the bond between herself and Sara, crimson eyes glowing bright red as she placed her hand on Sara’s chest, just above her heart. She could hear her lover’s heartbeat, even and steady, but that was not her focus. She concentrated on the sound of rushing blood until it filled her ears, until it was all she could hear. Blood, like waves on the ocean. Plasma of life, heartbeats entwined together for eternity. A blood pact like theirs wasn’t common-- actually it was unheard of, between human and vampire-- but it allowed Annabell much.

As her hearing returned, her thoughts felt slow and sluggish, a chill having swept through her body like an icy gale. They were not her feelings, but Sara’s-- Annabell added another blanket to the two quilts already present, and tucked Sara in more until the feeling abated in her own body, replaced by a pleasant feeling of warmth. Annabell shook her head to clear it, then poured a glass of water from the pitcher in the corner. Sara would need that too, when she woke, likely dehydrated alongside exhausted. As the feeling of Sara’s ills cleared, Annabell took her seat again. They felt much of the other’s feelings through the pact; though by virtue of her magic, Annabell could sense more than Sara. It was useful, Annabell felt, to know what Sara needed even when she was asleep. When Annabell would otherwise be helpless to assist her. She saw her dreams, too, when she fell asleep, as Sara did her’s, though the queen reported it as never anything she could make out. Perhaps that was a lie, but Annabell could never tell. She, on the other hand, got dreams of family gatherings and sword training. And the moment of Sara’s father’s assassination, over and over again. Replayed. Annabell had never told her that, though.

She wondered what Sara was dreaming about now. She could probe, find out if she was in distress, but she tried not to invade the other woman’s privacy when she could help it. Besides, her expression was peaceful, even with her fever. Annabell suspected her sleep was peaceful, which lightened her worries a little.

With Sara comfortable for the moment, Annabell turned her senses to the room around her, the hallway, and the outside world, keeping alert. She knew there were guards all around in the castle, of course, but Sara’s safety was of the utmost importance here, as usual. The hallway sounded normal, and raindrops from the storm outside splattered against the windowpane like blind birds, heavy and thick. In the quiet abyss of the room, Sara’s breathing the only noticeable sound, Annabell sighed. The storm had been raging for days, and in fact getting caught out in it had been the reason Sara had fallen ill. Well-- the stress of running a kingdom also contributed, but it was the rain that had made the queen so violently cough and shiver, unable to find warmth no matter how Annabell bundled her up in blankets. Not even Annabell could offer help, emanating no heat to warm her. That always made her feel a tinge of sadness-- even though no heat could have warmed Sara after the storm anyway, Annabell knew well that touching her was like touching the shade itself. Cold, and never comforting. 

Ah, but now was not the time for her thoughts to take over. The wet cloth on Sara’s forehead had begun to dry, so Annabell wrung it out, wet in the basin, wrung it again, and returned it to its place with the efficiency of a surgeon. Annabell hoped Sara’s fever would break tonight, as the healer hypothesized… Sara had already been ill too long for the vampire’s comfort.

A groan-- no, barely even that, a murmur, really-- broke Annabell away from her worrying, and for a moment Annabell held her breath, a reflexive action she’d picked up and yet, never intended to actually do. She concentrated on the sounds, the symphony of Sara’s body, her heart and her brain, and she read the signs correctly; a moment later, Sara Penderghast’s eyes fluttered open, revealing glassy, tired blue eyes, nonetheless trained immediately on her.

“Anna,” Sara muttered, a smile at the edge of her lips. “Good… evening? Is it evening?”

“Just about.” Annabell replied, with a smile of her own, fangs momentarily flashing in her relief. Not that that mattered, in front of Sara. “How are you feeling?” She asked a moment later, having handed Sara the glass of water, from which she sipped, the flush in her face seeming to decrease somewhat.

“Tired. But… warm. Not too warm, just… good-warm.” Annabell smiled again. Her normally eloquent queen, reduced to a few broken sentences in her exhaustion. Well, as long as she was comfortable. 

“I made sure you had enough blankets,” Annabell replied, and Sara nodded against her pillows. “Thank you… but I’m sure it was awful to feel what I felt, sick like this. I’m sorry.” Ah, leave it up to her queen to apologize for what she couldn’t control.

“Darling, it was nothing I couldn’t handle.” The vampire assured her, and Sara nodded again, eyes closing after a moment. 

“Mm… the last time I was awake was morning and I know you didn’t sleep last night,” Sara said, voice slightly slurring now but still regal. “Lay with me. You should rest.” 

For a moment, Annabell considered reminding her that as a vampire, she didn’t need nearly as much rest as humans did and she could still remain awake for several days if necessary… but didn’t. Sara was giving her an option, and Annabell truly did desire to lay beside her, cool her fever, if she could. Still, she hesitated.

“You won’t be cold?”

At that, Sara gave a little laugh, one that sounded like music even when her voice was so raspy. 

“Oh, Anna, there’s more than enough blankets. I promise.” 

“Alright, you win.”

“I usually do.” Sara huffed in an appropriately queenly manner as Annabell slipped under the covers, and Sara nestled in close to her. The oppressive heat of the fever soaked deep into the vampire’s bones but didn’t bother her. 

Nothing mattered, as long as she could hold Sara here, warm and safe, for as long as her queen needed.

[gritpyre]

Whump Girl Summer Day 6 - Hunted for sport

a lil snippet on how Salazar got her hands on Alma on the first place

[flowersarefreetherapy]

Trapped

For @whumpawoman's Whump Girl Summer: Day 7, Trapped

CW: Discussions of BBU system, arguments, brief suggestive dialogue, someone viewing WRU as positive thing, familial conflict

The turkey pops in the oven, drawing Olive’s attention away from the conversation happening in the dining room. Her brother perches on the arm of a chair, glass of wine in hand, talking to her brother-in-law about the latest scandals in the upper classes.

“And I heard that Lucy Den got another Pet,” her brother, Aaron, laughs. “Changing them faster than trends in Hollywood.” 

“That's an interesting choice for her,” her brother-in-law responds. “Considering that WRU dropped the sponsorship for her last movie.” 

“Olive!” Aaron calls. “What do you think? Gotten any offers from WRU to do those little barcode things? Bet you could make some good money doing that.”

Olive freezes, glancing towards the living room, where the rest of her family sits. Anne is there, talking with her mother about something, hopefully businesses. They both have a good head for it and Anne has been trying to figure out how to expand for the last several months. 

“I haven’t got any offers, no,” Olive says, keeping her voice steady. “I don’t think they’re paying attention to little artists like me.”

And I would like to keep it that way.

“Don’t be so humble! You’re the best tattoo artist in this city. They’re stupid to not have you hired. besides”--Aaron lowers his voice with a wink– “Sure they’d let you sample the goods too.”

“Aaron!” Olive throws a pillow at him, nearly knocking the wine out of his hands. “How dare you!”

“It’s the truth! I’ve got some friends who are in that business and the stories they tell . . . Damn, sometimes I think it would be a good idea, just buy one of those instead of settling down.”

“You’re drunk,” Olive mutters. “Shut up.”

Her mind drifts to the men who come to Anne’s shop. They’ve just moved in, down the street, renting an apartment with the barista she used to work with. Nice, quiet, polite. Too polite. The kind of politeness people aren’t born with, but have beaten into them. The shorter of the two watches with a gleam in his eyes that unnerves her every time she sees him. The taller one, the one with a scar across his cheek, smiles and speaks in a soft tone, but he moves with purpose, not a single movement wasted. 

Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t, but what Olive knows is that people make mistakes. Things happen. And no one deserves to be talked about like this. 

“I’m just telling the truth, Liv,” Aaron says. He turns to their brother-in-law. “What do you think, Henry? Do you think Olive here should get in with WRU?” 

Henry shrugs. “I don’t care. She’s going to make money one way or another. She’s good and that means she’ll get a job somewhere.”

Olive swallows hard. Her skin crawls, the sensation of being trapped in a corner washing over her. Anywhere else and she is confident, ready to fight for her and her family, but here she doesn’t want to speak up. Not when it's with her drunk brother. Her eyes burn at the memory of her wedding and the comments he made regarding their relationship. 

“I’m gonna go talk to Mom,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. “You don’t care anyway about my job.”

“Don’t say that, Liv. I do care, that’s why I’m offering you better options for pay and a chance to move up in this world. Don’t you want to provide for your wife so she doesn’t have to keep working at the dead-end store?”

“Don’t bring Anne into this,” Olive says, her voice hard. “This conversation has nothing to do with my family. In fact, this is a conversation I didn’t want to be part of in the first place. I’m leaving. Keep an eye on the turkey.”

“Aw, Liv, don’t-”

She leaves the room before Aaron can say anything else. Her eyes burn as she curls on the couch next to her wife. Anne takes her hand without pausing in her conversation. Olive clutches it as a drowning person grabs a lifeline. 

“You good?” Anne whispers when there is a break in the conversation.

Olive nods. “I’ll explain later.”

She squeezes her hand and Olive forces herself to relax. They are going to be fine. 

[pigeonwhumps]

Routine

Finding Safety masterlist

Whump Girl Summer day 4: Rescue

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch

Pet thinks about her weekly routine, and eventually, with the help and encouragement of a nice delivery man and his cousin, makes a change to it.

3.3k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, conditioned whumpee, shock collar, implied rape/non-con, beating, dehumanisation, brief whumpee thinks caretaker is new master (at the end), mention of scarification, mention of public humiliation, mention of starvation

Pet's weekly routine doesn't change much. Every day, she wakes up in time to make Sir's breakfast (three rashers of bacon, two fried eggs, two slices of toast, and exactly eight ounces of orange juice) and get him ready for work. Sometimes, if she's good, he'll give her a pat on the head before leaving.

Sometimes, if she's not, he'll leave her with shoulders mottled and aching.

Then she has to clean the house until it's spotless, and everything's in the correct position. There's not a speck of dust to be seen once she's finished, not an object out of place.

On Mondays, the shopping's delivered. The doorbell is connected to her collar, the low shock making sure she knows it's been pressed, but the delivery man doesn't ring it anymore. She's not sure why.

It's always delivered by the same young man. He's nice, talks to her like she doesn't have a collar around her neck. Brings the shopping all the way into the kitchen when he doesn't have to. His name is Mr Jason.

One day, he hands her a slip of paper with a phone number on. Tells her that if it ever gets too much, this life, to call someone called Sandy on that number.

She's okay though. Why wouldn't she be? This is the life she chose.

She puts the shopping away perfectly, everything in its place, exactly where it should be. Exactly where Sir requires it.

She sorts, irons and stores the laundry twice a week, hers (maid outfits, which according to Sir's friend are fashionable) hanging in a small closet in his room. Everything that Sir gives her is in her closet. She doesn't have much – a pet bed, clothes, disciplinary tools that make her shiver to look at them so she tries not to unless it's absolutely necessary – but it's everything she needs. Sir takes care of her every need, she doesn't need anything of her own.

Sometimes she bakes. Sometimes she cooks. Sometimes she does neither. Sir doesn't always have a plan for his meals, and on those occasions, Pet knows she has to wait until he's home, until she can receive clues or instructions on what he wants. She always bakes on Thursdays, so he can have enough homemade snacks to sustain him throughout the week.

Once the day's chores are complete, she has to clean herself. That's important. Even if she will undo the work after Sir gets home, she has to be clean and presentable and smell nice for him when he does. Everything has to be perfect.

She washes herself, every nook and cranny, carefully scrubbing between her fingers and toes, making sure to use the strongly-scented soaps and conditioner that Sir likes so much.

Ten minutes before Sir is due to arrive home, Pet's shock collar goes off. It's a low setting, just to let her know Sir needs her. She inspects the house, making sure that everything's in its proper place. No room for sloppiness here.

Five minutes later, it goes off again. She starts the coffee maker. It takes five minutes to brew, and then it will be ready for her to pour him a cup when he gets home. She has to turn it on at exactly the right moment, his coffee mustn't be too hot or too cold. Then she kneels beside the front door, ready to welcome Sir home.

The first thing he does, once he's drunk his coffee, is inspect the house, and her, thoroughly. He strips and examines every part of her, and her clothes, and then does the same with the house. Every speck of dust missed, every part of the bathroom that isn't sparkling enough, every packet that isn't in exactly the right place, it all gets tallied up. Everything wrong with her, too, a slightly loose hair ribbon, a drop of damp left between her toes, a minute incorrection of posture, that all goes down. That's the number of hits her shoulders will take. Punishing her is, apparently, Sir's work de-stressor. That's what he said to his friend once, and Pet remembers. She always remembers. She has to, she can't afford to make mistakes.

The tally goes down on the big chart, too, along with anything unusually good she's done, in preparation for Sunday.

That evening, as every evening, she is at Sir's beck and call, serving his every request. Her collar vibrates frequently as he calls on her often, sometimes for drinks, food, company... and sometimes for other things.

Pet's collar is like a bell in those old-timey British films Sir likes to watch, she muses sometimes. It calls her to service. Only the collar is silent, and it hurts, too.

Silent. Silent like she is. Silent like she has to be, because that's the way Sir likes it. Unless Sir requests otherwise, of course. Silent movements, silent chores, silent as a mouse. Only squeaking for his amusement when her punishments become entertainment.

On Monday and Wednesday evenings, Sir takes her into his bed and has sex with her. He's talked about experimenting, he's used a few toys, but nothing major. Not yet.

She's not sure how she feels about that idea.

On Fridays, Sir works from home. She doesn't spend all day doing chores then, instead she waits on him, bringing him drinks and snacks and papers, whatever it is he needs when he calls for her. Stress relief, sometimes. If she's lucky it just involves roughly petting her, but it's often more than that. She's used to the taste by now, though, it's okay. Whatever Sir wants is what she wants. Even if it leaves her black and blue and red, or with a sour taste in her mouth and an aching jaw.

Her neck hurts the most on Fridays, shivering with phantom shocks for hours more that night, after even the mice have settled down and gone to sleep.

On alternating Saturdays, Sir goes out with his friends, or they visit each others' houses. Some of them have pets too. Some just like to play with her. She doesn't like it quite so much.

Her least favourite game is when they take the pets out someplace public, and she has to stay perfectly still and silent, perfectly secretive, as they do what they like to her. The first pet to cry out or be otherwise noticeable loses.

She doesn't like to lose. That's never good. Sir doesn't like it at all. It's especially bad if a member of the public notices, says something. She hates it when that happens.

Then come Sundays. A lazy lie in for Sir with plenty of sex, and then the charging of the three sets of shock collar batteries that have been used that week. That's when she gets her punishment.

It could be a reward, of course, in theory, if she made up enough good points on her tally, but she could never do that. She's not certain it's even possible, or if Sir rigs it. He might.

Sir has used lots of different punishments in the past. Stress positions, beatings, small cuts in sensitive places. Nothing that will scar.

The only scars she has are the section of her right shoulder that Sir and his friends use as an ashtray, and Sir's initials on her inner thigh, where no-one else can see. The latter, he called scarification, seeming very pleased when he did it.

She's not pleased. She thinks she should be, but she isn't.

Sir has a special wipe-clean room for Sunday punishments, in the basement, that she has to clean until it's spick and span. That's what he says, spick and span.

His current favourite punishment is to tie her spread-eagled to hooks in the floor and ceiling, upside-down and naked, and just beat on her with whatever's to hand. Sometimes, it is his hand. She's had broken bones a few times, although Sir usually tries not to do that. He says bruises make her look prettier, so they're fine, provided they can be mostly covered up. He tries to avoid them in the places her clothes won't cover.

Bruises are socially acceptable on pets, although not too many. Apparently.

Then, once the batteries are charged and the shock collar is back on, it's time for a film and a takeaway. If Pet's lucky, if she's affectionate enough, she'll be hand-fed the leftover crusts and crumbs. Otherwise, it's her usual pet food, ordered on a subscription from somewhere she can't read the logo of. Enough to keep her fed, bones peeping through the skin like they should in fashionable pets. That's what all the magazines show, the ones that Sir flicks through and then discards with a snort. But there's no variety, and sometimes she finds herself wishing that there was.

She ignores the look of pity the delivery man gives her as he hands over the bags of warm food. She always does. She's as wide-eyed and pleading as possible with Sir, so much nudging affection, and maybe, hopefully, this time she'll be allowed some of his tasty leftovers. Maybe even tasty food of her own, one day.

Sir's friend petsat once, and she got a pet ice cream from his girlfriend then. It was like a cloud on her tongue.

A cold cloud. Maybe clouds are cold, though, it's not like she's ever been up there.

Sometimes she daydreams about having an ice cream again.

She daydreams about clouds, too. She likes to watch them skud past. Shape them, mould them, name them. Pretend they're something they're not.

Sometimes she feels like she's pretending too. Waiting for a gust of wind to blow her out of this life and into another.

This is the life she chose. But she isn't sure she'd choose it again.

One Monday, Mr Jason arrives with the shopping. He looks at her, wearing a posture collar over her shock collar because Sir thinks she isn't good enough, bruises peeking out from under the sleeves and skirt hems. Everything aches, she could barely move for aching that morning, bruised stiffness setting in. She's one wrong step away from being sent to a retraining centre, though, and regardless of that she'd have to do her job, so she goes through the motions of it all.

And then there's a knock on the door, and her careful posture, the way she's holding herself to keep the weight away from the worst pain, almost breaks.

Mr Jason takes one look at her. Just one look, catching so much, and he says two words.

"Call xem."

So Pet does. After Mr Jason's left, she calls, doing her chores at the same time. She can't read the numbers but she copies the shapes into Sir's landline. They speak for hours, as Mx Sandy works out a plan.

Her beating that evening is worse than normal because of her inattention during the call, with a metal and leather cane as Sir orders her to select the weapon that will cause the most pain without scarring or breaking anything. She obeys, her posture apparently not at its best still. She'll have to work on that then.

The next day, Sir comes home with a yoke and a box of pet cams. He explains that they're so Sir can watch her at work, to see why she's misbehaving so much, and then he can send her to the trainers with appropriate instructions the next time he goes on a business trip. He says that he doesn't understand what's happened, but that her behaviour needs fixing.

Pet thinks that perhaps, if he was a little more careful with his Sunday punishments, then it would be easier for her to behave during the week.

At least she won't have to go on the business trip. She feels sorry for the rental pet he'll undoubtedly get, though.

Then Sir makes her kneel and passes the yoke over her head, fastening it around her neck. The wooden sides sit on her shoulders, draping slightly over the very tops of her arms. It's not too bad like this, but then he fastens weights to it, and she struggles to keep her shoulders at the correct height.

This is to fix her posture. She's going to wear it for the next week and then they'll see how she is. Whether he also needs to spend money on training her in that, too.

The yoke worked on his friend's pet, apparently. DIY posture training. Pet remembers seeing it on him, at Sir's friend's house. It looked like it hurt.

She's grateful that she at least doesn't have to wear it at night. A small shock emits from her collar when it is to go on and off.

She can't read a clock, but she doesn't need to with her shock collar.

Sir's going to install the cameras the weekend after this, when his friend's free to help. Pet calls Mx Sandy the next day, making sure to be very careful with the landline, and xie moves the plan forward a week.

On Saturday, Sir's friends come to visit. Not the camera-installing one, thankfully. They laugh at Pet in her yoke, and hang weights from it and use it as an increasingly heavy table until she collapses. Then Sir, drunk Sir, the worst kind of Sir, breaks a glass on the back of her head, the one that cracked when she fell.

Now her head is covered in cuts and beer and then stinging cuts.

She hates them all. She knew it was coming, they did it to another pet before, but it still hurts. Why can't Sir care without hurting her? Is that the only way to be loved, as a pet?

It seems to take a very long time, but Monday finally comes. Mr Jason arrives at the normal time, his eyes widening when he sees her. She's glad he's not seeing her at her worst, at least.

He helps her put away the shopping quickly, side-by-side, exactly the way she'd do it alone. The longer time frame there is for an investigation into her departure, the better. Then he leads her outside.

They can't leave the yoke or collar here. Both are padlocked on, it would be obvious she had help.

"In here, until we get out of the gates. My cousin's in the back."

He helps her climb into the truck, where she collapses to her knees, the weight suddenly too much. The person who must be Mx Sandy peers out from behind a stack of crates.

"Hi. I'm Sandy. Let me help you get those things off?"

Pet nods, crawling as close as she can, and Mx Sandy meets her in the middle.

"Okay. Let's see if I can pick these locks. I'm going to come around behind you now, don't panic."

Pet nods, and Mx Sandy clambers behind her, fiddling with the locks on her yoke. Xie lifts the yoke off, and Pet's head sags. It feels suddenly weightless, but she's too weary to hold it up.

There's a tiny click and Pet's leather shock collar is peeled away. She swallows hard and doesn't feel the press of soft leather or plastic against her throat. It's strange.

"That's better, I bet. Put this jumper and shoes on. Maid outfits aren't uncommon with pets around here and I don't want people getting suspicious."

Pet nods and shrugs on the knee-length green jumper and trainers Mx Sandy hands her. They're surprisingly comfortable. She pulls down the sleeves until they're exactly even on both sides, and checks that the laces are symmetrical.

As clothes should be.

"Thank you, mx."

"Just Sandy. Ready?" Pet nods again, unsure what she's meant to be ready for, and Mx Sandy knocks hard on the metal dividing them from Mr Jason.

A few seconds later, the lorry comes to a stop, and Mr Jason rolls up the back of the lorry.

"We're walking the rest of the way," explains Mx Sandy– no, just Sandy. She has to be exactly right. She can't make another mistake. "Safer for Jay that way."

He holds out his hand to help Pet out, and she takes it, stepping down as gracefully as she can manage. "Good luck. See you next weekend, cuz."

Sandy makes a face at that. "Don't get caught."

Mr Jason (Jay?) climbs back into his lorry and drives away, leaving Pet alone with Sandy in the large, empty, secluded car park. Xie takes her hand before she can worry too much.

"Let's go. It's not far from here."

Pet keeps her head high as they walk, graceful, elegant. A good pet should always be so. Even, maybe especially, if everything still aches and she's struggling to hold herself up. That's good, it means she still knows how to behave, if she can do that.

They keep walking until they reach a brick house in a nondescript street, and Sandy unlocks the door, leading Pet inside.

There's nobody around, although there's signs of inhabitance everywhere. Clothes draped over doors, shoes piled by the entrance, a whiteboard covered in sheets of paper and pictures drawn in drywipe. She has the urge to tidy it all up before someone gets in trouble for it.

"Dryer's broken at the moment. I'll show you to your room, Tom's out at the moment so it's all yours. I suggest you change and take a nap before we do anything else."

Pet nods, and follows Sandy upstairs. The room is spacious, two single beds lined up neatly opposite each other. One has plain blue covers, neatly tucked, while the other's are a repeating safari pattern.

Pet's not sure what a safari is, or where the headache comes from, but she pushes it away as she has done so many times before.

The blue-covered bed has a neat pile of clothes at the end, and she picks them up, carefully changing into them as Sandy quickly turns xier back. The fleecy pyjamas are warm and soft, covering her nicely but leaving her forearms free. She certainly never had clothes this soft from Sir and she wraps her arms around herself, savouring the lack of thin, scratchy material that made up her usual outfit with Sir.

Pet notices a clock on the wall. That's reassuring, somehow. Maybe Sandy doesn't rely on electric shocks to tell xier pets the time.

"The bed's for you to sleep in. Take a nap for as long as you need, I don't intend on timing you or anything. You must be exhausted."

"Thank you, mx. What are my duties when I wake up?"

Sandy pauses for a moment. "We'll work that out when you're feeling better. Nothing more than anyone else here. One thing I'd like you to start thinking about is your name. I want you to choose one you like, rather than Pet. Is that okay?"

Pet nods. She's going to have to keep a close eye on Sandy to choose a name she can be sure xie'll like, but that's acceptable, if nerve-wracking. What if she chooses the wrong name?

Still, she can't disobey.

"Yes, mx."

At a gesture from Sandy she climbs into the bed, curling the duvet around herself until it covers her completely. She's so warm, she doesn't remember the last time she was so comfortably warm.

Sandy rests a hand on her head and she leans into it. She knows she'll have to pay for the non-earned kind touches later, but that's okay. They make her feel so much better that that's okay.

"Go to sleep, honey. We'll sort everything out when you wake up."

And she does. And for the first time in years, she sleeps without being awoken by a shock collar.

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

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Taglist: @painful-pooch , @robinbugbanned

Day 11 - “We’re out of time.” | Firearm | Backseat | Self-defense

Day 12 - “It’s no use.” | Explosion | Fainting | Trembling

Also qualifies for @whumpawoman ’s Whump Girl Summer Day 7 - Sisterhood

Contains: lady whump with male whumper, captivity, gun violence, mild blood, death mention

.

.

“He left a chain out.”

Isa raises her head from where she’s curled on her side, blinking wearily at Lainey. “What?”

“Look!” She picks the chain up off the counter with a loud scrape and rattle, dangling it in the air for Isa to see. “He forgot to put it away before he locked the cabinet!”

Frowning, Isa lies back down, clearly not grasping the enormity of the situation. “Okay.”

“No, Isa look, it’s…” She crosses the room quickly, ignoring all the aches and pains that always accompany every movement, and crouches down next to the other girl. “This is finally something different. He’s never made a mistake like this before. There could be something we could do with this!” She examines the chain carefully, mind churning.

Isa wrinkles her nose. “Like what? We’re not going to chain ourselves up, he does that plenty.”

Lainey rolls her eyes. “No, like…this is heavy.” She hefts the metal in her hand, an idea beginning to form. “Especially the manacle part. What if…what if I could swing it at his head and knock him out?”

Now she’s got Isa’s attention. She picks her head up again, an incredulous look on her face. “What? No, Lainey, that’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Is not.” She huffs in frustration, swinging the chain like a pendulum. Isa doesn’t believe they can escape, she gets that. But why can’t she see this possibility when it’s literally right in front of her face? “Look, this thing is a weapon. He’s left us with something we can actually use to gain the upper hand here. I’m telling you, this could very easily knock somebody out if used the right way.”

“If.” Isa rolls over onto her back, grimacing as some part of her body apparently protests, and rubs her face with her hands. “You’re not as strong as you used to be, you’ve said it yourself. And if you missed, or you didn’t hit him hard enough the first time…do I need to explain to you how bad it would be?”

“Do I need to explain to you how bad it is, staying here for the rest of our lives and doing nothing to try and fix it?” Isa’s right, failing at this would be…catastrophic. But that’s why she doesn’t plan on failing. And if somehow she does…she’d rather get punished for trying to escape than sit on her butt and not try.

“I’m going to do this. You’re not going to talk me out of it. And I could really use your help, so I’d like it if you quit arguing and just accepted that this is happening.”

Isa shakes her head slowly. “How am I possibly gonna help your madcap plan?”

Grinning, Lainey jumps to her feet. “By using your magic! You can tell me when he’s coming so I can get ready. I’ll hide over here…” She strolls toward the alcove, where she’ll be out of sight of the stairs if she stands against the wall. “Oh, and maybe you can sit right here, at the corner, so he has to walk over here! Then you can give me some kind of verbal signal, we’ll have to decide what that should be, and I step out and swing it right at his head!” She demonstrates the action, rather poorly and awkwardly, unfortunately. The way the alcove is set up, she’d have to use her left hand to swing a direct path toward the man. Frowning in concentration, she moves back and forth a few times, trying to decide if there’s a way to use her right hand and get the same momentum.

“So not only are you going to get yourself punished for trying to hurt him and escape, you’re going to get me punished, too, for participating and using my magic.”

“No, I’m going to get us both out of here. Can you please have some faith for once?”

“No! Because this is a ridiculous plan that’s never going to work! And I’ve told you before, you’re not bringing me along on any wild escape. If you happen to somehow be able to knock him out and run, go for it. I will cheer you on and wish you the best. But I’m staying here, so that you have a better chance of actually making it.”

Lainey turns to face her squarely, fists clenching. “And I’ve told you before, I’m not leaving without you! So if you’re going to refuse to even try to run, I might as well give up this plan now. Put the chain back where I found it and pretend I never saw it.” The thought makes her want to scream and cry, but not as badly as the thought of making it to safety with Isa still trapped here. She doesn’t care what she says about finding help and coming back, she can’t trust that she’d still be alive and in one piece by the time she returned.

Slowly, painstakingly, Isa pushes herself up off the floor, propping herself up with her hands. “You’re seriously going to give up? Because I can’t come?”

“Because you won’t come,” Lainey corrects. “I know you think you can’t. But I swear we can figure out a way. I’ll carry you if I have to, just…please, Isa. Please let me help you.”

“You can’t carry me,” she deadpans. “You’re not much better off than I am.”

“I’m not in great shape, but I can do what it takes. And you can too!” She points straight at Isa, her frustration and desperation growing every moment. “Why won’t you just try and save yourself?”

“Because I’m scared!” The cry hangs in the silence that follows it. It’s not like neither of them knew that it was true, but having her say it out loud is different. More heart-wrenching.

Isa curls in on herself, hugging her legs. “I’m scared, Lainey. I’m scared of what he’ll do, I’m scared of you not making it out, I’m scared of me not making it out, I’m scared of one or both of us dying.”

Lainey stares down at the floor for a moment before replying. “I know.” Then her own admission - “I am, too. I’m scared of all those things. But either of us choosing to stay here scares me more than anything else.”

She’s quiet for another minute, rubbing her fingertips along the cool metal of the chain. “I’m going to practice. Will you…keep an ear out for him?”

Isa nods slowly, eyes on her feet. “Yeah.”

For the next while, Lainey practices stepping out from behind the corner and swinging the chain at an imaginary head over and over again, until her arm muscles are burning with that good, familiar soreness she used to thrive on at softball meets. She tries to think of different scenarios, of him passing the corner and seeing her before she can step out or him not coming far enough at all, tries to pinpoint how tall he is compared to her and how high she’ll have to aim.

Isa stays silent the whole time, but eventually she struggles to her feet and crosses the room to sit where Lainey had indicated earlier. She takes that to mean she’s planning to help, at least, which gives her a renewed sense of determination. Now she just needs to do her part, and convince Isa to run with her.

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

Lainey stops what she’s doing at Isa’s quiet words, looking down at her. “I’m positive.” Or at least she’s refusing to acknowledge the parts of her mind that aren’t so sure. “I’m going to at least stun him, which will give me plenty of opportunity to hit him again and knock him out. And as soon as that happens, we run for the stairs. You can even start heading that way before me, to give yourself a head start.”

Isa sighs. “Lainey…” Before she can say anything further, she stiffens, eyes cutting toward the stairs. “We’re out of time,” she whispers frantically.

Her heart suddenly pounding, Lainey dives behind the wall, pressing her back against the concrete blocks. Sure enough, the locks begin to creak seconds later.

“If I do this and you just sit there and refuse to come, I promise you that I will stay and take the punishment for it,” she whispers in a rush. Maybe it’s blackmail, just a bit, but she doesn’t care. She’ll do whatever it takes.

His footsteps sound on the wooden steps. The hand holding the chain is sweating, but she doesn’t dare adjust it, trying to hold everything completely still so it doesn’t make the faintest clink.

He pauses at the bottom of the stairs. “Where’s the other one?”

Too late, she realizes that they never came up with a cue to use. She’s just going to have to rely on Isa and whatever she can hear.

“In the corner, resting.”

Immediately her heart lurches at her hiding place being revealed, but she takes a deep breath and calms it back down. It’s fine, this is good. He needs to come over, he needs to know where she is. There’s not really another place she could be, anyway.

“Thinks she’s too good to bother getting up for me now?” Footsteps again. He’s coming her way.

“She might still be asleep,” Isa mumbles, but that doesn’t make sense as a cue, right? She’s on edge, weight on her toes, waiting, trying not to give into the urge to jump out too early and ruin everything.

Then it comes, short and straightforward - “Lainey!”

Just like she’d practiced, she pivots her body around and brings her arm forward with all her strength. The look of shock on his face just before the manacle makes contact is golden. Unfortunately, he’s a bit taller than she’d anticipated, and it smashes into his jaw instead of his skull.

Still incredibly satisfying. But not enough to knock him out.

He stumbles sideways, a string of curses spilling from his lips. “Go!” Lainey shouts, and to her immense relief she sees Isa scramble to her feet out of the corner of her eye.

She can’t focus on her right now, though. Switching the chain to her right hand, she steps forward again. She hadn’t practiced with her right arm. But it’s her dominant side, she’s more confident in it, and her left hand is so sweaty she’s afraid that the chain will slip right out of it. Besides, it’s much easier to hit a target that she can actually now see. Seconds after the first hit, the manacle slams into him again, this time squarely on the back of his head.

He falls forward, just barely catching himself against the wall where Isa had just been sitting. It’s clear that he’s disoriented, but just to be sure, Lainey swings the chain at him one last time.

It’s too bad that she can’t stay to watch him hit the floor, but she still hears him fall and internally cheers as she books it for the stairs.

Isa has only made it three-fourths of the way up, clutching the stair rail, when Lainey passes her. “Keep coming! I’m gonna look for keys!” If they can take his car, their chances of escape will be so much higher. Especially for Isa.

Throwing open that cursed door is a momentous occasion that she can’t stop and enjoy. Instead she plunges into the house - more like a cabin, from the looks of it - searching for the way out and for where car keys might be kept. It’s disturbingly…normal. A bachelor pad, obviously, with little in the way of decor or extraneous furniture, but otherwise just a normal cabin where a normal person would live. No one would ever guess walking in that there were two women being tortured in the basement.

The good news is that it’s small, so it doesn’t take long to find what seems to be the only door leading outside. And hanging on a hook beside the door is a car key.

“Got it!” she shouts, snatching it up. This is actually going the way she planned. This is actually working. They’re going to get out of here, she can feel it.

She hears the basement door shut and jogs back that way. Isa is leaning heavily against it, meticulously sliding and turning all the locks into place. Part of Lainey wants to urge her to come on, to leave it be, but the triumph of being able to lock him in the basement for once wins out.

As soon as the last lock is done, though, she grabs Isa’s arm and throws it over her shoulders. “Come on, let’s go! I’ve got the car key!”

Isa is silent as she half-drags her back through the house and out the front door, but Lainey can hear her harsh breathing and occasional bitten-back noises of pain in her ear. She’s torn between feeling bad for causing her pain, knowing it’s for her own good, wanting to slow down for her, and wanting to push her faster than what already feels like a snail’s pace. Her own body is holding up fine for now, the adrenaline doing its work as she’d predicted, but it’ll all catch up with her in a little while. Which is just another reason that they need to get going fast.

The car is parked out front - an older model grey sedan, nothing special. A wave of memories of being locked inside the trunk washes over her, but she forges ahead regardless, escorting Isa to the passenger side before running around and yanking the driver’s door open. The interior smells like must and stale food. As Isa falls into the passenger seat, panting, Lainey jams the key into the ignition and turns it.

The engine sputters, but fails to turn over. “No, no, come on, don’t do this to me, we were doing so well…” She tries again with the same result. “Come on!” A third time, pumping the gas pedal, and it finally roars to life, the radio immediately blasting out country music. “Yes!”

Isa swats at the radio dial while Lainey shoves the gear shift into reverse, throwing her arm behind the other seat so she can turn and see out the back as she swings the car around. Gravel flies out from underneath the skidding tires. “We are getting…the heck…out of…”

“Lainey!”

The strangled gasp from Isa has her spinning around to look out the front at the cabin. The door is opening. He’s stumbling outside, a stream of bright red blood trickling down the side of his face.

“Shoot! Crap, crap, shoot, dang it!” Her hand fumbles at the gear shift, finally managing to throw it into drive before slamming her foot down on the gas pedal. The driveway leads off into the woods, disappearing down a hill only yards from the house. Freedom is so close.

“It’s okay, it’s fine. He can’t get us, we’ve got the car and he’s got -”

A loud crack splits the air, making both of them jump and duck instinctively. “A gun,” Isa chokes out, hand gripping the door with white knuckles. “He’s got a gun!”

“Shoot!” She winces at her poor choice of words, glancing in the rearview mirror as the car careens down the narrow road. They can still get away. They have to. She just has to drive, and drive fast, and get them out of harm’s way.

Another shot rings out, and the car jolts, swinging out of control sideways. Isa cries out, she’s not sure if it’s from pain or pure fear. She doesn’t have time to check. She’s trying desperately to keep the car straight and moving despite the way one of the back wheels is now dragging, but then the back windshield shatters. Both girls jump again, screaming, and Lainey loses the tenuous control she had. The car nosedives off the side of the road into a bed of leaves and brush. Lainey’s hands scrabble at the steering wheel, her foot pumping the gas, but all she gets in return is spinning tires.

“Lainey he’s coming, he’s coming!”

The terror she feels is reflected in Isa’s voice. She jams her foot into the pedal one more time, flinging mud everywhere, then throws open her door. “It’s no use, get out! We’ve gotta go, get out, run!” There’s no way they can outrun bullets. Can they? Maybe if they head straight into the forest, dodge behind the trees…

She nearly falls out the door in her haste. Isa is stumbling out her side, and Lainey spends precious seconds debating whether she should go to help her or just start running. He’s coming up on them way too quickly, striding across the gravel like he’s confident that he can catch them without having to run.

Isa is starting toward her now. “Go, go!” She waves her hand frantically at Lainey, who does start running but stays sideways, looking back at Isa and the man.

“Come on!” She should go back. Isa’s not going to be fast enough, she’s trying her best but he’s gaining on her. Making a split second decision, Lainey changes her course, darting back toward Isa to see if she can drag her along.

She can’t let her get caught. She promised she’d help her, that they’d get her out of there no matter what kind of shape she was in. If she gets caught now, after going against her instincts and putting her trust in Lainey…she’d probably never forgive her. Besides the fact that he might kill her.

She’s running, but somehow it feels like she’s making no progress. The man’s eyes are trained on Isa. The look on her face is desperate and pained and terrified, but the terror takes over completely when his hand reaches out and snatches her backwards by her shirt. Her scream imbeds itself in Lainey’s chest.

Her feet skid to a halt of their own volition. “Isa!”

“Go!” His arm slings across her chest, pulling her back into him, but she leans into it with all her might, sobbing. “Lainey run!”

No, no she can’t, she can’t! He has Isa, she can’t just run off and leave her! That’s the one thing she swore she wouldn’t do!

Another gunshot makes her jolt, hands automatically covering her ears. Isa’s scream this time is strangled. She crumples in his arms and he lets her fall, and Lainey’s thoughts freeze.

He shot her. She doesn’t even know where, couldn’t see where the gun was pointing, but now she’s on the ground, what if she’s dead? Did he kill her? Right there, right in front of her?

The gun swings upward, points straight at her. Lainey takes one step backwards, then two. Run! her instincts are shouting, but Isa is right there…

Isa gasps a shuddering breath and turns her face up toward Lainey. “Go! Get help!”

Her heart feels like it’s tearing from her chest, but she turns and flees into the forest just as a bullet whizzes past her shoulder.

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch

Day 6 - “You’re doing great.” | Injection | Nightmare | Duct Tape

Also qualifies for @whumpawoman ’s Whump Girl Summer Day 2 - Migraine

Contains: lady whump with male whumper, needle, fear of needles, injected with unknown substance, restraints, migraine, nausea mention, captivity

.

.

“What are you doing?” Lainey scrambles backwards across the room, eyes wide and trained on the syringe in the man’s hand. “What is that, don’t bring that anywhere near me! I draw the line at needles, okay? Alright actually I draw the line…a long time ago, at the hitting and the bone breaking and the kidnapping, but…but needles are an entirely different story.” Her back hits the wall, and she begins creeping along it sideways, not ever looking away from the terrifying point. “What is even in that? How do I know that it’s new, and not contaminated? How do I know you know what you’re doing? And why do you even need to give me a shot, anyway? I’m not sick! I don’t need medicine!”

Growling, the man tosses the syringe back into the box he’d gotten from one of the cabinets. It doesn’t make her relax any, and for good reason. All he does then is lunge toward her, trying to get his hands on her. She dodges with a yelp. Her reflexes aren’t what they should be, though, she’s slow from the atrocious pain in her ribs and lack of enough food, and it doesn’t take long for him to corner her, slamming her into the wall.

“No!” she screams, thrashing in his grip. “You are not sticking that thing in me! Let me go!”

He drags her to the cabinets with one arm around her waist, fishing in them with his free hand for something she doesn’t see, too focused on clawing and kicking and trying to escape him. Then she’s taken to the corner, where something metal is clamped around one wrist. He lets go of her waist but yanks her by the chain now attached to her, hooking it to an eye bolt on one wall, then latching onto her other arm and doing the same. With her arms now spread wide, all continuing to struggle gets her is metal cuffs cutting into her wrists.

The syringe returns and is rapidly approaching her. For once, Lainey’s defiance crumbles into pure fear. “Please…please don’t. Please don’t do this, I’m…” His fingers prod one of her outstretched arms, and she jolts. “Can…can I at least know what’s in it before you…?”

The needle pricks her skin and she whimpers, shutting her eyes tightly. This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening. She feels like she might pass out.

An eternity later, he’s done. Lainey gasps for breath, jiggling her arm up and down, trying to erase the feeling of the needle. A couple of tears escape down her cheeks when she opens her eyes.

The man is putting the box away and locking the cabinet. He leaves without having spoken a single word.

As soon as he’s locked the door again, Isa uncurls from where she’s been hiding by the stairs and limps toward her. “You, um…you okay?”

“No.” Her voice wavers. “I hate needles.”

Isa nods, biting the inside of her cheek. “I can…tell you what it probably was, at least. If you wanna know.”

“Yeah, I wanna know.” She doesn’t, what if it’s something awful like some deadly disease? But if Isa knows what it is then she’s likely gotten it before, and she survived. So that’s something. And if she is gonna die, she wants to know ahead of time.

“I mean, I don’t know actually what it is, but I know what it does. It’s, um…it’s to mess with your magic. I get the feeling he wants to get rid of it altogether, but he hasn’t actually figured out how yet.”

It isn’t a deadly disease, but it’s almost equally as horrifying. “What do you mean, ‘mess with my magic’? What is it gonna do?”

Isa gives her patented one shoulder shrug. “Not sure. I don’t know which one he gave you…or which one did what. Besides, our magic is different, so you’ll probably react differently than me. It may not do anything to your magic. All I can say with fairly definite certainty is that you’ll feel like crap for a while.”

“Fantastic.” Lainey shuts her eyes again, trying to calm down and process everything. Even though she understands - intellectually at least - why, the fact that Isa continues to just sit and watch these things happen to her bothers her a lot. “Why don’t you ever say anything? Why don’t you try to help me?”

Isa’s voice is quiet when she responds. “I can’t. It would…it would do you no good, and I would just get hurt, too. Remember what happened the last time you tried to help me?”

Of course she remembers. Isa was getting whipped, and because she’d tried to stop the man she’d gotten the same treatment. Her back still hurts days later. “I know.”

“I wish you would stop trying to help me.” She settles down on the floor by Lainey’s feet, every movement stiff and careful. “You’re making things far too hard on yourself.”

“I can’t help it. I can’t just sit there and watch you get hurt like that.”

Silence falls for a moment. Lainey tries desperately not to think about the needle and the unknown, magic-altering substance that’s now flowing through her body. “I’ve never actually asked you about your magic. It’s, um…enhanced hearing? Something like that?”

“Uh, no, it’s…I can feel…vibrations. Disturbances in the air. Stuff like that. Mostly movement, footsteps, heartbeats, breathing…” She tips her head back to lean it against the concrete blocks. “It isn’t as strong as it used to be.”

Lainey’s heart skips a beat. “Because of…this?”

“Yeah.” Isa looks up at her. Not for the first time, Lainey wonders about the scar that slashes across her lips, but she hasn’t had the courage to ask where it came from. “The good news is, he should have figured out by now what worked and what didn’t. So…unless he thinks something might work on you that didn’t on me, hopefully you won’t have to go through so many.”

“How many did he give you?”

She shrugs again. “I don’t remember.”

An uncomfortable feeling is slowly beginning to make itself known. It started in the arm he injected, but it’s spreading across her body and she’s finding it hard to ignore any longer. Her head is beginning to hurt, but elsewhere she can’t really pinpoint what the feeling is. She just feels…wrong.

“What is it?”

She glanced down at Isa. It’s rare for her to ask questions, so she must have had a weird look on her face. “I feel off. Headache. And…I don’t know, like my nerves are…crawling.”

Isa hums in acknowledgment. “I think I know the feeling you’re talking about. Sorry to tell you that the headache will probably get worse.”

It does. Steadily over the next maybe half hour, the pain grows from mild and annoying to head caught in a vice. And then keeps getting worse. She’s never had a migraine before, but she’s heard about the symptoms. They always sounded miserable. They feel much more miserable than she’d imagined.

“I think I’m gonna pass out.” She’s been trying to keep herself distracted with conversation, but she’s running out of things to say after so many days - has it been a week now? maybe more? - and her head is making it very hard to focus on anything else.

“You don’t want to pass out, you might dislocate your shoulders,” Isa replies matter of factly.

“Obviously I don’t want to pass out, I just…” She moans, wishing desperately that there was an escape from these blasted fluorescent lights. But no, they stay on twenty-four seven, buzzing their incessant buzz and flickering without any sort of pattern.

“Just focus on breathing.” Grabbing their current, almost empty water bottle, Isa struggles to her feet. “Here, you need to keep hydrated.” She twists off the cap and holds the mouth up to Lainey’s lips, tipping it to help her take a drink.

The water feels good on her throat, but churns in her already disturbed stomach. “I-I can…I can make more if we need it.”

Isa frowns. “I wouldn’t recommend using your magic while that’s in your system. I don’t know what kind of side effects it would have. We’ll make do.”

“But…what if I can’t after this?” The thought is terrifying. She’s never needed her magic before as much as they do right now, but she’s always liked it. It’s been a part of her for so long, and to think about it being taken away…

“I don’t think that’s going to happen. And even if it does at some point, it’s okay. I’ve survived this long without water magic. We’ll survive, too.”

No one says anything for another few minutes, Isa leaning her shoulders against the wall with her weight off her bad leg, and Lainey focusing on deep breaths with her eyes shut. Another wave of excruciating pain comes over her, and she cries out through gritted teeth, dropping her head forward.

“I can’t do this!” she pants. “I can’t take it anymore!”

“You have to.” She’d glare at Isa for that lovely bit of encouragement if she could lift her head up again. “I know it sucks, but…you’re doing great, okay? You’re…you’ve handled all of this really well. Ever since you got here. You’re strong, and…if anyone can get through this, it’s you.”

She didn’t expect that kind of talk coming from Isa. She’s always stoic, and distant, and never seems happy with the way that Lainey handles things. For a moment she doesn’t reply, thinking about how strong Isa is. She’s only had to survive this torture for a week, and she’s had Isa to help coach her through it and to do things like give her water when she’s chained up. As much as they clash sometimes, this whole situation would be so much worse if she was alone.

“Thanks,” she finally whispers. “I don’t feel strong right now.”

“I know.” Tentatively, Isa reaches out, hand hovering just in front of Lainey’s shoulder for a moment before dropping again without touching. “Hopefully not too much longer now.”

[pigeonwhumps]

Blackmail

Finding Safety masterlist

Whump Girl Summer day 6: Blackmail

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

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

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

1.8k

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

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

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

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

"Get water. Will be quick."

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

"Thank you."

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

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

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

"Respect."

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

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

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

So why can't she move?

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hears the lock click with a dreadful finality.

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

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

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

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

No, not just a pet. Owned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost anywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

"Great. See ya."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @robinbugwhump

Day 8 - “Breathe, darn you!” | Shock | Amputation | Infection 

Also qualifies for @whumpawoman ‘s Whump Girl Summer Day 4 - Stress Position | Begging

Contains: lady whump, captivity, stress position, mentioned dislocation, referenced broken bones, respiratory distress, touch aversion, thoughts of death, fantasy prejudice, passing out, referenced burns

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.

It’s Isa’s turn for punishment today. Sometimes he’ll hurt them both at the same time, but he tends to alternate back and forth between them, either giving them ‘treatments’ for the magic that supposedly ‘plagues’ them, or punishing them for having the magic to start with. This time he hung Isa by her wrists from the ceiling, toes just barely brushing the floor, burned her torso and arms with a lighter, and left her there, as he often does.

It hasn’t been too awfully long. She’s been left in stress positions for much longer before. Her main concern is that her shoulders will dislocate - not for the first time - so she’s trying to stay as still as possible, focusing on her breathing and not the pain in the entirety of her arms and the fresh sting of the burns. 

Only that’s becoming increasingly difficult with each passing moment. The pressure on her ribs keeps becoming more and more noticeable. Her breaths have been shallow ever since he hoisted her here, but now it feels like she can barely get any air past her throat.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look okay.” Lainey always gets really worried about her when she’s hurt, and has been checking in every couple of minutes since he left. It’s touching, though it sometimes makes her feel guilty for not being able to offer the same emotional support back. She worries about Lainey, too, of course, but she doesn’t know how to express it in the same open, honest way that the other girl does.

Right now, though, she isn’t sure she can answer. “I’m…” She huffs a few more quick, barely-there breaths. “I…I can’t…” She’s starting to panic. A tear runs down her cheek and dangles from her chin.

“Whoa!” Lainey is in front of her immediately, eyes wide and looking her over. “Hey, it’s okay, just breathe. Deep breath with me, okay?” She mimics the intake of oxygen that Isa is longing for.

“I…can’t!” 

“Crap!” Her eyes search Isa’s body again. “Is…is it the position?”

She nods frantically, unable to form any more words. 

“Crap.” Immediately Lainey springs forward, bending over to wrap her arms around Isa’s thighs and lifting with a pained grunt.

The slack lets Isa’s elbows drop and takes pressure off her lungs. Having someone’s arms around her is strange and makes her heart skip a few beats, but being able to breathe is taking much more of her focus. She desperately gulps in sweet oxygen. “You shouldn’t…your ribs…”

“I can’t just let you suffocate! I’ll be fine.” 

“You won’t, you’ll make yourself…worse, and…you can’t just…keep holding me until he comes back!”

Lainey stubbornly refuses to let go, no matter what Isa says to try and convince her. She’s beyond grateful to be able to breathe, but she doesn’t want that to come at Lainey’s expense.

Eventually, the younger girl’s arms start to tremble, and she begins to sway slightly. “Put me down, Lainey. I’ll be okay. You gave me a good break.”

She finally gives in, lowering her as carefully as possible and taking a couple of shaky steps backwards before sitting. “Sorry,” she says breathlessly. “Stupid diet he’s got us on. I used to be in a lot better shape.”

Isa just gives her a weak smile, trying to conserve her oxygen. The pressure isn’t as bad to start with as it had been, but it doesn’t take long to get that way. Lainey’s watching her closely and sees the moment she starts to struggle for breath again.

“Isa…”

“You can’t.” She shakes her head, eyes trained on the hand Lainey has pressed against her broken ribs. It’s obvious she made them worse, just like she said she would. 

“I can if it means saving your life.” 

She just shakes her head again, unable to say anything else. Black spots are starting to dance through the air in front of her eyes, the buzz of the fluorescent lights fading. Hardly any air is making it into her lungs now.

“-sa! Isa! Come on, breathe, dang it!” Lainey’s hands are suddenly on her face, holding her cheeks, but she’s too busy panicking over the lack of oxygen to panic about the touch. Then they’re gone again, and Lainey is racing across the room and up the stairs as fast as her wrecked body will allow her.

A thrill of fear goes through Isa’s chest. No, what are you doing, don’t get us in trouble! 

“Hey!” A loud banging sound just filters through the cotton that seems to be stuffed in her ears, cutting in and out along with Lainey’s voice. “Help!...need help! She’s g-...die, you…-ere! Please!”

The next few…minutes? seconds? pass in a blur. Isa thinks she can vaguely hear a low pitched mumble accompanying Lainey’s frantic pleas, but her vision has gone completely dark. She’s dying. After all of this time, all these years surviving in this basement, her time has finally come. The emotions that accompany the realization are too mixed to name.

Then she’s staring up at fluorescent lights and Lainey’s tear-streaked face. Her straight brown hair, constantly a disheveled mess, hangs over her shoulders and nearly brushes Isa’s face. 

“Oh my gosh,” she gasps, one hand flying to rest against her heart while the other swipes tears from her cheeks. “You…you’re okay, you’re alive. I didn’t…I thought…” The hand on her chest moves to her mouth, but is unsuccessful at holding back a sob. 

Isa draws in a long, purposeful breath, holding it in as if savoring it before letting it back out. “I’m alive,” she repeats, almost blown away by the concept. “How…did you…?”

The sound of the door shutting and the locks clicking startles her. Wide eyes glance toward the stairs, then back at Lainey’s face. “He…?”

“Thank goodness he heard me…and actually listened. I didn’t know if he would. I was about to come pick you up again when he opened the door, but I don’t know how long he would have taken if I hadn’t called him and I don’t know if I could’ve…”

“Is he mad? Did he punish you?” If she was the cause of more pain for Lainey, she’d never forgive herself.

“No, no punishment,” Lainey assures her, shaking her head. “He seemed…I dunno, just as aggravated about life and us as usual. But obviously he doesn’t want you to die, since he came and took you down and didn’t do anything to me for calling him.”

“Yeah…I don’t know why.” Isa massages her left arm, gaze sliding over to the wall. It hasn’t been that long since the break healed, and hanging from it made it sore. “You’d think if he wants to rid the world of magic so badly, he’d just kill us and be done with it.”

“Well I don’t want you to die. I know you did all this by yourself for a long time, but I can’t even imagine being alone. And more importantly, you’ve gotta stay alive so that we can get out of here together.”

Isa huffs a humorless laugh and shakes her head a little. “I can’t believe you still believe that’s going to happen.”

“It is. Either we’re going to get out of here, or someone’s going to find us.” She says it firmly, but Isa’s not sure she’s imagining that it sounds less sure than it did several weeks ago. “You and I are not going to die down here.”

“Okay, Lainey.” Not today, at least.

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @robinbugwhump

Day 7 - “What’s the bad news?” | Disoriented | Bite | Chainsaw

Also qualifies for @whumpawoman ‘s Whump Girl Summer Day 3 - Nightmares

Contains: lady whump, drowning, needles, nightmares, death mention, fantasy prejudice, captivity, restraints

.

.

She’s drowning. She was taking the trash out back, getting ready to close up the shop, when a sudden rush of water came out of nowhere, filling up the alley, sweeping her off her feet and along with it. She can’t breathe, her head is below water and she can’t find the surface. Every time she thinks she can feel the bottom with her feet, she’s just tumbled around by the force of the water. She needs air, she needs air, if she can’t get a breath soon she’s going to die…

Suddenly, with a great crashing of waves, the water is gone. She’s in the basement. The man is standing over her, a syringe in one hand, a whip in the other, growling, “You used your magic again didn’t you? Didn’t you? Filthy excuse for a human!”

“N-no, no, I…it wasn’t me, I swear, I…I don’t know where it came from…” Her voice is timid, weak, and she can’t seem to make it any stronger no matter how ashamed about it she feels. 

“Shut up before I gag you.” He lunges forward with the needle, and she can’t move. Her feet are stuck as if in quicksand. All she can do is stand there and scream as he plunges the needle into her arm. 

Immediately the water comes back, swirling around her legs. She still can’t seem to move. It’s rising higher and higher, up to her waist, and she spots Isa across the room, chained to the wall by one wrist. She doesn’t say anything, but her fear is evident in her expression.

“Isa! Hang…hang on, it’s okay, I’ll…I can stop this…somehow…” She has to reach her magic. Water is her thing, she can’t let it get the best of them.

“Don’t use your magic!” Isa’s voice sounds like she’s miles away. “You’ll make him mad!”

“I can’t just stand here and let us both drown!” Shutting her eyes, she stretches deep inside herself, but she’s met with an empty void. There’s nothing there, not even a wisp of magic. “No. No that can’t be right, it…it has to be there!” She tries again, with the same result. A sob escapes as the water reaches her chest. “It’s gone! My magic, it’s gone, he took it!”

The water brushes her chin as she stands helplessly, reeling from the lack of magic. Isa is staring at her, waiting for her to do something, but she can’t. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s gone, I don’t know what to do…”

“Lainey!” 

“I wanted to save you, but I can’t…”

“Lainey!”

“I’m sorry, Isa!”

“Lainey wake up!”

Her eyes fly open. She’s lying on the floor of the basement, Isa hovering over her. Lainey looks around the room wildly, but there’s no water or man anywhere to be seen. 

“Where…where’d it go, did it work? Did I get rid of it? I couldn’t find my magic, I didn’t think I was gonna be able to…he’s gonna be mad, though, where is he? Does he know?”

“Hey,” Isa interrupts softly. “It’s okay. He’s not here.”

“He was, he was here, just a minute ago, didn’t you see? He gave me another shot. He told me not to use my magic but you were gonna…” Something clicks all of a sudden and she frowns at Isa. “How’d you get out of the chains?” She pushes herself up to sit, now aware that Isa’s been gently holding her wrist this whole time. She never touches Lainey. It’s…really nice, to actually feel a kind touch for once. The hand retreats as soon as Isa sees her looking at it, though.

“Lainey, I haven’t been chained up for a few days now. You were having a nightmare. Everything’s…alright, right now. He’s not here, I’m okay, you’re okay…and as far as I know, your magic is okay.”

A nightmare? It’s starting to make sense now. None of that was actually real, half of it didn’t even make sense, no matter how real it felt in the moment. She reaches for her magic, and finds it. It’s a bit weak - whether from the couple of different injections she’s gotten or the lack of good food and sleep, she doesn’t know - but it’s there. She can even call a few droplets of water to her fingertips.

She’s never had a dream where water was against her before. Water has always been her friend. The implications of that are…not something she wants to dwell on right now.

Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she tries to shake off the remnants of fear from the dream. “Sorry. Sorry, yeah, it…it was definitely a nightmare. I was just…it felt really real, you know? Felt like I was still in it when I woke up.”

Isa nods. “I understand. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I probably woke you up.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. You’re fine, really.”

Lainey sighs heavily. “Thanks for waking me up.”

Isa gives her a grim smile. “Sure. I’d…hope that you would do the same for me.”

“Of course.” She turns her body around so she can lean against the wall next to her companion. “I don’t think I’m gonna go back to sleep anytime soon, so…have I told you yet about when I first got my magic, and nearly flooded the house?” Maybe she can mesh the scary elements of the dream into a funny memory in her mind and stop feeling so on edge.

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @robinbugbanned

Day 10 - “Can you hear me?” | Starvation | Shackle | Hiding

Also qualifies for @whumpawoman ’s Whump Girl Summer Day 6 -“I’m not going anywhere.”

Contains: lady whump, starvation, long term captivity, death mention, restraints

.

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“How long has it been?” Lainey’s voice is tired, her words a little slurred. Isa rolls her head over to look at her, her own movements slow.

“I don’t know. You’re the one who keeps up with that.” Though come to think of it, she hasn’t heard her say anything about it in a while.

Lainey huffs. “Not anymore. I lost track a long time ago. And right now…” She swallows, the metal band around her neck bobbing. “I dunno. Seems like it’s been years since he left. I know it has to have been more than a day, because…I don’t think I’d be this hungry otherwise? But then again I’m always hungry, so it’s hard to tell.”

Isa hums in acknowledgment. She barely notices being hungry anymore, except when it’s exceptionally worse like right now. Maybe she’s just so used to being hungry that she doesn’t know the difference. Or maybe her body has somehow adjusted for the lack of food and it’s actually not as bad as it used to be. She’s heard about stomachs shrinking before. She wouldn’t be surprised if that had happened to her.

“It’s been…less time than when he went to get you. I think.” She shrugs one shoulder, making the chain behind her clink quietly. “I don’t know, I told you before that my sense of time is shot.”

“Yeah. And now I understand why.” Lainey sighs heavily, staring up at the ceiling. “I understand…a lot more things about you than I ever wanted to. No offense.”

“No, I…I know. I didn’t want you to understand, either.” The things she wants to say swirl through her mind. She’s gotten better, she thinks, at having conversations sometimes, but it still can be hard to voice her thoughts. She takes a moment to sort through them before speaking again. “I would never, never wish any of this on you. On anybody, but…but it’s also…I’m…I’m not glad you’re here, but…” Shoot, she can’t figure out how to word it without it sounding awful.

“Yeah. I get that, too.” Lainey shifts to look at her sideways, giving a weak smile. “I’m not glad you’re here, either, but I’m glad I have someone with me. Even if you do drive me crazy sometimes.”

Isa scoffs despite the relief at having been understood, raising an eyebrow. “I drive you crazy?”

“Just because I understand why you don’t want to fight back or try to escape or whatever doesn’t mean I agree with it.”

Frowning, Isa looks away. Every time Lainey brings up her cooperation and refusal to speak up or fight, she’s filled with guilt and shame. But she can’t. Her reasons never change or lessen in importance, no matter how much she hates them. And maybe it’s the hunger speaking, but right now it’s aggravating her that she just won’t stop bringing it up.

“Do you want me to get extra punishments? Do you just enjoy watching him hurt me?”

“No! No, of course not -”

“Then why do you keep trying to get me to fight? It wouldn’t do anything but make him hurt me more! I’m not strong enough, Lainey. Even if we worked together, I would be no help. And there’s no way to escape this place, I would have figured it out by now if there was and so would you. You’re just asking me to cause more trouble for myself.”

“No, I’m not, I…” Lainey sighs again, bringing a hand up to scrub at her face. “Okay. Yeah. I’m sorry, I…I know that must be what it seems like, and that’s not what I mean. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want either of us to get hurt, which is why I want to stop him and get the heck out of here. I know you don’t see how it can happen, and I don’t know how, either, but I can’t…I can’t give up.” The ‘like you have’ hangs in the air unspoken. “I can’t stop hoping there’s an answer and looking for an opportunity and standing up for myself and for you, because then…”

“Then you’ll be like me?”

“No!” It’s a defensive reply, a ‘yeah that’s what I meant but I didn’t mean to say it’. “Then I’ll…I’ll just wither up, and…be miserable, and…I don’t even want to think about it.”

You’ll be like me. She lost hope a long time ago, and she does feel withered up. She feels like an object rather than a person, one that has been used for too many years until it’s worn out and broken and useless. Lainey’s arrival had simultaneously made her feel more and less human - more because she actually has someone to interact with and remind her that she’s real and alive, and less because Lainey is more real and alive than she thinks she’ll ever be again.

“I’ll try to stop pushing you, though. I’m sorry I have.” She can see Lainey looking at her again out of the corner of her eye, and her words are earnest. “I just want us to both get out of here.”

Isa wraps her arms around her stomach. It seems to be trying to turn itself inside out, looking for anything to devour. “I’m not going anywhere, Lainey. I really do hope you get the chance and can escape, somehow, but…you’ve seen me. I’d slow you down, end up getting you caught. If you do ever get the chance to run…you need to just go. Don’t try to bring me along.”

“Are you kidding me?” Lainey exclaims. “There’s no way I’m leaving you in this basement. I would never forgive myself!”

She turns to look her straight in the eyes. “I’m serious. If this hypothetical escape ever happens, taking me along would be the worst decision you could make.”

Lainey rolls her eyes, sliding one finger underneath the band on her throat and tugging at it. “You’re so dramatic. Look, I’m not in the best shape anymore, either. I’m not gonna be super fast. But adrenaline can work wonders. I’m sure you’ll be able to keep up.”

Sighing, Isa leans her head back and closes her eyes. “I don’t have the energy to keep arguing with you.”

“Good, because you’re wrong, anyway.” Her chain jingles as she settles back into place.

Isa is absolutely positive that she’s not wrong about this. Even if she did somehow make it out of and away from the house without getting caught, she’s fairly certain they’re out in the middle of nowhere. She wouldn’t make it long hiking to find help, she can barely even walk across the room.

“If you ever manage to escape -”

“We’re going to.”

-“you should go on your own and look for help. That’s your best option - leave me here, find help, and send someone back for me.”

“But what if I can’t remember the way back? Or what if he punishes you for me escaping? He could even kill you!”

Isa sighs again, unable to find the strength to open her eyes back up. “Even if you can’t remember or he punishes me, there would at least be some hope. Someone would be able to start looking. It would be better than us both trying to go and getting caught.”

Lainey doesn’t seem to have an argument prepared for that, which is good. Not that any of it is ever going to happen, anyway, but just in case, Isa is not going to be responsible for costing her her freedom.

They sit in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts and misery. Eventually Lainey moans, curling into a ball. “My stomach hurts so bad! When is he coming back?”

Isa throws her a sympathetic glance. “He won’t let us starve to death.”

“That’s reassuring,” Lainey huffs. “In the meantime, we suffer. As usual. And of course that’s assuming he doesn’t abandon us or die randomly or get held up somewhere. Would it have killed him to have left us a little food?”

“At least we have an unlimited supply of water this time.”

Glancing down at the almost empty bottles, Lainey grimaces. “Yeah. Hopefully.” She’s already refilled them once, but apparently she has to focus much harder now than she ever used to. Isa can tell she’s always scared her magic is going to give out at any point. Being starved doesn’t help magic flow very well, either.

“I don’t want you to push yourself,” she quickly amends. “But I also believe in you.”

Lainey flashes her a quick smile that’s nearly a grimace. “Thanks. I’ll keep doing my best.”

They fall quiet again. Isa shuts her eyes, and is nearly asleep when Lainey exclaims, “Wait a second. Were you implying earlier that I’m the one who drives you crazy?”

[whump-me]

Unburied, Chapter 5

Chapter 5 of Unburied, my contribution to the Whump Girl Summer event hosted by @whumpawoman. Masterpost here.

Prompt: Traditions

Contains: spy whumpee, friendly whumper, female whumpee, female whumper, fantasy setting, magic, human sacrifice

---

“It didn’t work,” Kira said, or she tried. She mouthed the words, but all that came out was a bubbling rattle. But the grin she shot Leila, pained but triumphant, needed no translation.

She kept going, even though she was sure Leila couldn’t understand, even though every hiss of air across her parched and torn vocal cords was agony. “I won’t give you what you want. I’ll never die for you willingly.”

Either her rasps were more understandable than she had thought, or Leila was adept at reading lips, because Leila actually answered. “Oh, it’s not your choice anymore,” she said. “Or that’s the theory. It doesn’t matter what whether you want to help me. What you’ve just been through took a lot out of you, you know. Specifically, it took all the resistance you had in you. Burned it right out of your body. It doesn’t matter how much you want to resist—you don’t have the strength anymore.” She frowned. “At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work. I hope I got it right this time.”

Kira didn’t have it in her to offer any further words of defiance. But if she had, it wouldn’t have mattered, because Leila wasn’t listening anymore. She stood and walked away without a backward glance. She showed not the slightest bit of concern that the unrestrained Kira might surge up and wrap her bony hands around her neck.

Kira tried, of course. All she succeeded in doing was sending wrenching spasms down her back and out through her limbs. She fell heavily back down to the stone, her chest heaving with dry sobs.

She lay still and braced herself. She knew what was coming next, and she knew how she had fought it before. She didn’t have to kill Leila. All she had to do was resist. And with Edri… with Edri gone… Kira’s throat convulsed in a painful swallow. She forced herself to finish the thought. With Edri gone, Leila didn’t have any backup plan. Her internal damage would kill her soon enough. She would die here with Kira, and the weapon would go unused.

Was the best Kira could hope for. It was enough.

Until Provisha sent someone else out here. And Kira was fooling herself if she thought they wouldn’t. They had gotten a taste of magic, and the power it could give them. They would give up so easily.

Kira’s death would come to nothing. Edri’s death would come to nothing.

Another sob shook her body, this time one of despair. Exhaustion stole through her limbs, starting at her fingers and toes, creeping up her body until she didn’t think she could stay awake a second longer, let alone resist the invisible claws once they started trying to tear her life from her flesh.

With every ounce of ruthlessness she still had in her, she forced back thoughts of the future. It didn’t matter what happened next—she couldn’t control that. All she could control were the next few moments. All she could do was resist.

But the thoughts lingered at the edges of her consciousness, unwilling to let her banish them completely. The truth stuck in her mouth like a bitter taste, underneath the tang of her own blood. Edri had died for nothing. She would die for nothing.

Leila intoned the unfamiliar words from before. This time, Kira couldn’t raise her head to see what the other woman was doing. She stared up at the ceiling and watched the room fill with an unnatural glow as light spilled from the glyphs and across the lines in the floor. It brushed against her skin, drawing sharp lines of pain wherever it landed. Even that gentle touch was too much for her now.

The light tugged at her more insistently—not her abused body, although she felt it in every inch of abused muscle and every strained joint, but at the life that lay within. Kira squeezed her eyes shut and tried to wall off her soul, to warn away the light the way she had before. No. You can’t have me. But the words were just words, lacking even the substance of sound. There was no power behind them. The tugging grew more insistent, and no amount of mental screaming made it let up. This time, the gentle touches didn’t turn to sharp claws. The invisible fingers remained soft as they combed through her soul like they were carding wool.

As much as she screamed at herself not to let Leila win, not to let Edri’s death be in vain, her mind was as limp and yielding as her body. She felt her soul spilling loose from her skin, and knew she was helpless to stop it.

The worst part wasn’t the feeling of coming unmoored from her body in slow motion. Or the knowledge that her life force would go to power an ancient weapon that many people had died to ensure would never see the light of day again. The worst part was the shameful feeling of relief. At least the claws hadn’t come back this time. She’d had enough of pain. At least soon it would be over—and sooner than it would have been if her attempts at resistance had worked.

I’m sorry, Edri, she thought, too weak to even mouth the words.

The pain didn’t let up, but it felt distant now, like it didn’t really belong to her. The broken body barely felt like her own as her mind slipped free.

She tried to remind herself why Leila was doing this. She imagined the horror of the ancient weapon; she pictured her city gone, with nothing but a smooth expanse of glass in its place. She tried to muster up one last desperate spark of resistance.

She couldn’t. There was nothing left in her. The light grew brighter and brighter, until she could see it through her eyelids, until just looking at it became a pain of its own. But it didn’t matter. None of the pain mattered anymore.

“Oh,” she heard Leila breathe in a reverent whisper. “Oh. I understand.”

Kira had heard stories of the Buried City all her life, and of the ancient civilization that had once ruled from this place, grinding the world under its thumb with their cruel magic. First had come the children’s stories everyone had grown up with. Then, much later, the fragments of ancient history Edri had unearthed in the archives as they prepared for their journey. No two stories were identical, but they all shared many common threads. Among other things, they all said that either magic turned people cruel, or it took cruelty to discover the secrets of magic in the first place. Either way, the end result was that those ancient rulers had been cruel to the bone. Their cruelty was built into every stone of this place, permeating the floor like the remnants of Edri’s blood.

The ancient rulers had been monsters, a child’s fears, superstitions with more emotion than logic behind them. Or that was how it had felt to her, even as a child. No wonder her superiors hadn’t believed. The stories had turned them into caricatures, mere literary devices, with their endless appetite for death and suffering. But now here she was, inside the proof that the stories were true. Their appetites had not been exaggerated.

When Kira opened her eyes, she saw why the glow had intensified so much. The array of glyphs along the curved walls had all come to life. There wasn’t an inch of the wall not lit up by glowing lines, their curves and angles forming complex symbols she didn’t understand—symbols that pulsed with every tug she felt deep beneath her skin.

The light began to hum. That wasn’t quite right—she didn’t think she was hearing it with her ears—but it was closer to a sound than to anything else she might have described it as. It was a low and constant drone reverberating in her bones, and a soprano voice that moved up and down in a wordless discordant wail. It felt like being touched by something that had existed for a million years. Like a fossil in a museum opening its eyes and staring back. Like a god emerging from slumber. As the sound that wasn’t a sound shook Kira’s flesh right down to the bones, it began to feel as if her world had been the aberration, and now everything was going back to the way it had always been, the way it always should have been.

The world pulsed with the rhythm of the light, the rhythm of the wailing voice. This was the true rhythm of life, and it had been silent for too long. Kira couldn’t imagine how she had never been aware of it before. The pulse invaded her skin until her heartbeat slowed to match it. Her thoughts rose and fell in the same rhythm, until she struggled to hold an idea in her head for longer than the space of a heartbeat or a brief flare of light. Until she had to work to remember who she was beyond the rhythm in her bones.

“Can you sense it?” The cadence of Leila’s voice matched the pulse of the room. “No one knows exactly how long Norkhuggak ruled, but if my research can be believed, it was a longer time than our benighted civilizations are capable of envisioning.” Her voice sank into a reverent, ecstatic whisper. “My superiors have had it wrong all along. This isn’t an innovation. This is a return.”

Yes. Kira knew what she meant, understood it down to her bones, where the room’s rhythm pulsed. This was how the world had always been, except for the past thousand years, a brief blink of time compared to the sheer weight of history buried under the sand.

Some lives went to feed others. This was the natural order of things. This was how it had always been.

But she pictured Edri’s blood smeared across the floor, and something deep within her rebelled. She caught a small thread of her own mind, and held on tight to it, through the pulsing of the glyphs and the beating of her heart. She clung to it like it was a thin fraying rope, like that rope was all that stood between her and drowning.

And she kept her grip. She knew who she was now. She knew she wanted no part of this. But that alone didn’t give her enough strength to resist. Only enough that it no longer felt like peace as the invisible hands pulled her soul loose from her body. It only felt like death.

She tried to hold on to her body the way she held onto her mind. Her flesh was broken, but it was nothing but a source of pain, and there was a large part of her that would rather have been rid of it. But the rest of her wasn’t willing to let go that easily. She had earned every bit of that pain, earned it through her will and her defiance, and she wanted every last inch of her torn and abused flesh.

But wanting wasn’t enough.

Slowly, gently, the tugging hands pinched off the connections between her body and the life within. Her flesh lay heavy on the stone, and she… she wasn’t entirely sure where she was. Her body was no longer her own, or not entirely—when she tried to twitch a single finger, nothing happened. The connections between her will and her flesh had all been severed. But the pain was still there, even if there was a wall between her and it that muted some of the intensity. And she didn’t float away from her body to look down at herself from far above, the way ghosts did in the stories. She hung where she was, inside the flesh she no longer controlled—slow, heavy, liquid.

The glyphs went out, one by one. The light dimmed to a faint glow. Leila blinked down at her, frowning in confusion. “It’s done?” she said, a question more than a statement. “But… but you’re still alive. And the weapon… it’s not…” Alarm flashed into her bewildered eyes. “No. I can’t have gotten it wrong again. Not after all this.”

Was she still alive? Yes, she supposed she was. She still saw through her eyes, still heard through her ears. She still felt her heartbeat in her temples and the tips of her fingers. The pain in her hip still made her want to scream. But she couldn’t scream, couldn’t speak, couldn’t flash a grin of victory up at Leila as panic grew in the other woman’s eyes.

She wasn’t dead—she could guess that much. But was this life? She wasn’t sure.

Leila doubled over coughing. It went on longer than ever this time, broken up briefly by a series of gasping breaths. For a moment, Kira held out hope that Leila would collapse to the floor and die right in front of her, spewing blood from her mouth until there was none left in her body. Kira could live with an eternity of hanging in this state that wasn’t quite life and wasn’t quite death, if it meant she got to witness Leila’s failure.

But Leila recovered. She stood with her hands on her knees, breathing slowly, until she was able to slowly straighten back up. “I need… excuse me.” Abruptly, she turned her back on Kira. “I need to check my translations. There must be something else I’m missing.” As she hurried away, Kira heard her mutter, “there must be.”

Kira stared up at the ceiling. She heard the frantic rustling of paper, and the occasional confused or thoughtful mutter from Leila. The longer she lay there, staring at nothing, the less sure she was that she was seeing through her physical eyes after all. Her vision seemed to have subtly expanded, showing her a broader view of the room with less effort, but the change was slight enough that she wasn’t sure whether anything had changed at all. Had she been able to make out the glyphs on the walls so clearly before? She tried to see the wall behind her head, and managed it—or thought she did—for a brief instant, before a wave of dizziness overcame her and her vision returned to normal. She suspected that if she tried, she might be able to look down at her own body—and not only the surface, but the muscle and bone on the inside, all the tiny points of damage under the skin. She didn’t try. The thought made her queasy, even though she wasn’t at all sure the sensation was coming from her actual stomach.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to take an eternity of this after all—not even if it meant watching Leila die in front of her. Had Leila failed? Those troubled murmurs from across the room didn’t sound reassuring. And if Leila had failed, what did that mean? Would Kira stay in this in-between state forever, alone in the Buried City, until the next batch of fools came along to unearth the secrets of magic? If she was lucky, maybe she would die when her flesh rotted away. Either way, she felt a powerful nostalgia for her earlier list of horrible ways she might die. Any one of them would have been a kindness now.

“Oh!” came a soft exclamation from across the room. Leila sounded relieved, and an answering wave of relief spread through Kira. Maybe she wouldn’t stay here for eternity after all.

The relief curdled into a cold sweat when she remembered that the other option was for Leila to use her to power up the weapon. Was a chance at a merciful death worth it if it meant the remnants of her life would be used against her home?

It wasn’t as if it mattered—she would have no say in her fate either way.

“If this is meant to be literal…” Kira continued. “Oh. Oh, yes, that would make sense. If this isn’t about what happens after death, but before…” Leila let out a little huff of breath. “Oh. Well. That’s… well, I can certainly see how they got their reputation for cruelty. No wonder it’s impossible to do this on yourself.”

With her strangely enhanced senses, Kira felt the floor vibrate under Leila’s feet as Leila hurried over to her. Leila crouched next to her, her eyes bright with excitement. “I’m very sorry for the confusion,” she said. “There are some parts of the translation I thought were meant as religious imagery, or possibly funeral rites. In fact, when I thought I could use this on myself and power the device while I was still alive, I even wrote out a will, asking someone to bring me here and do it for me after the device finally used up enough of my life force to kill me. Just in case it was important.” A soft chuckle turned into a hacking cough.

When Leila had her breath back, she continued. “But I had it wrong. Again. No surprise, right? This has certainly been a humbling experience.” She shook her head ruefully. “It’s actually supposed to be done before you die.” The excitement in her eyes softened into a liquid pity. “And I’m very sorry about this, but it’s going to be bad.”

Leila actually looked a little queasy. Her face had gone a couple of shades paler, and her mouth was tight around the edges. And this was Leila, who could talk about vaporizing cities without flinching.

Leila shook her head again. “At least you’ll die at the end of it,” she said softly. “Body and soul both—so you won’t carry these memories into a future lifetime, if the people of Norkhuggak were right about the soul being reborn. Which will be a mercy, believe me.”

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