Ambrose and Elliot #15
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Warnings: torture, explicit non-con, light starvation, slight death wish
Once upon a time, a few years ago or more, there was a slave. His name was [REDACTED] and he served his Master faithfully. Because anything less than perfection was punished. But [REDACTED] couldn’t remember if he was being punished or not. It was hard to remember much of anything when his back was on fire.
He cried out as Master brought down the cane again. And Again. And Again.
“Please, I'm sorry, Please-” Master scoffed. His head and back hurt so much and the room was spinning and he just wanted it to stop.
“Get up.” [REDACTED] sobbed in relief. It was over.
But his arms were too weak to push himself up off the stone floor, and his legs refused to move at all.
“I said. Get. Up.”
“I- I’m trying Master, please, I-”
Master’s boot slammed into his back, grinding the heel into the fresh wounds and welts. He wailed, the pain turning his vision to white.
“Get up,” said Master, but it was impossible. [REDACTED] didn’t move, too confused to react, and Master twisted his heel again. Now he understood. This wasn’t a punishment or even for Master’s amusement. This was a lesson.
___________________
Master’s hips slammed into him. Breathe he reminded himself, but then Master grabbed his hair, and the air escaped him. Master moaned behind him, and his legs throbbed. His lungs struggled to keep up, but Master enjoyed this position and that was all that mattered.
Soon enough Master let go in favor of a bruising grip on his hips. [REDACTED]’s arms gave out, and he heard Master groan again. They’d been at it for a while, and blood dripped from between his legs and stained the bed sheets. It hurt so much. He tried to relax, tried to make his thoughts drift somewhere else, but his brain wasn’t working today.
Finally, Master finished, and the warmth of his cum was indistinguishable from his own blood.
Master shoved him away, and left to clean himself up in the bathroom. [REDACTED] sat on the floor for a moment, catching his breath. He had precious few minutes to change the sheets before Master wanted to sleep, and he planned to use them all. His cock was still hard, unfortunately, and that had its own awfulness. Why couldn’t his body hate it as much as the rest of him? The best he could do was ignore it.
He changed the sheets, careful to keep his own disgusting mess away from the soft fabric. Thankfully he’d stopped bleeding by the time he got to wiping the floor. Once, he hadn’t managed it, and Master mocked him for trying to clean while still dripping.
Master was nicer, after sex. Or maybe he was too sated and tired to do much more than yell at him. Either way, it was a break. Even if it came with a high price.
___________________
He hated winter. Master’s stone floors were unforgiving. [REDACTED] wasn’t allowed more than what Master gave him, and Master seemed to forget his slave felt cold too. His only allowance for winter was a threadbare pair of socks in addition to his usual shirt and boxers.
Lighting the fires was the warmest he'd get for months.
His teeth chattered all the time, and occasionally Master gagged him to stop the sound. Of course, he wasn’t allowed to take it out, so sometimes he missed his meal of the day.
Master was lazy during the cold months, and his punishments were lighter. [REDACTED]’s favorite punishment was more of a reward, so he tried really hard to hate it enough that Master wouldn’t catch on.
It was a tiny closet Master would lock him in, sometimes for days. But the small room heated quickly from his meager body heat, and it was nearly pleasant. If he curled up really small, he could sit and enjoy the warmth.
Spring would always come eventually, but some years he wondered if he would die before the snow melted. Sometimes he even wished he would.
taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme
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He wakes up
He doesn't know what day it is or what time it is
He wakes and has only one thought on his mind
"I'm fucking pissed"
He knows he gets cranky when he gets hungry but this is something else.
He knows how it is, he will die soon
So why shouldn't he be a little hater in the meantime
This situation just sucks. Dying from thirst is so unglamorous.
This house? Wack. The art? Wack. The architecture? Wack.
If it wasn't because he didn't know how to start a fire, he would, indeed, set this place on fire
He knows what he can do.
After doing things that he'd rather not repeat to keep his water levels vaguely estable, he stands up and walks, with purpose this time, he is looking for something
And he finds it
The femur is a human's strongest bone
"I don't know who your owner is, Mr Femur, but I'm sure this will be cathartic to both of us"
He is walking again
He finds a suitable target
"Here comes Oliver Beebo, our rising star this season. He gets ready to swing aaand..."
"He absolutely smashes it!!! It's a homerun-goal-checkmate whatever the fuck, he wins!!"
"I fucking win"
He does it again to the rest of the heads. It's exhilarating, and moves to the next room
He's walking only through adrenaline and spite
He sees another graffiti from his friend, anonymous graffiti-er.
He wonders if this is their femur. He hopes they are happy looking it be used for good.
Down with the system, you are so right graffiti person, I will make you proud
He smashes with a smile on his face
He finds a familiar room
The ceramic crime scene
Now it's gonna look like a real tragedy
He wonders if the ghosts of the house are watching him right now
He hopes they're are
He can almost hear them
Giving him encouragement, clapping for him, shouting in joy where he can't
He will join them soon, he knows this
He will make a grand entrance
"Enjoy the show, fellas. I'll be there soon for any interviews"
He already feels like one of them
He's happy
Although
Part of him hopes he's alone
He hopes that everyone else managed to leave, to pass on.
He hopes no one else is trapped like him
He doesn't know any of this people, and he loves them
"We are brothers now"
He walks, locally grown bat by his side, when he finally sees it
His primary target
The map
Always there, a constant presence
Mocking him
His brain is not the most logical right now, but who cares? He has three femurs and a quickly approaching expiration date
He knows what he wants to do
The frame shatters into pieces
He hits it over and over again, until the frame falls
He takes the paper and rips it with his own hands
He even bites it a little
He wished he could put it on fire, but he'll settle for leaving it absolutely non recognizable
He feels full of energy, borrowed from adrenaline
He feels amazing. He feels successful. He just ...!!
Something feels
Right
He's tired, but he won't rest
He doesn't plan to stop until he's forced to rest
He is going down swinging, Goddammit!
He goes to open another door
"I'll have all the time in the world to rest when I drop de-"
He's outside
He's... He's outside?
The sun is so bright
He hears something behind him
A meow?
Looking behind him, he sees... a lot
Is the main room, the one he came in.
There's the cat, meowing, he takes it
"Poor boy, he's definitely hungry, but still looks healthier than me, hah"
Behind is... everything
All the trash, art, bones, corpses, and mysterious substances that he found in the multiple rooms
His blue jacket is there, he thought he lost it forever
He doesn't take it
Some things he hadn't even encountered are there
It's... It's a lot
He puts the femur with the pile
He quietly thanks it
In between the... everything, he sees a can of spray paint
Must be empty
He feels like he lost a friend
He says goodbye to everyone
He think he hears them say it back
He goes back to the closest city, it's early morning
He leaves the cat in a vet and himself in a hospital.
The cat was delivered to the owner the next day
For his sacrifice and high amount of trauma in the act of cat-searching, he got paid the amazing quantity of
20 dollars
He got himself the most expensive and delicious ice cream 20 dollars can buy
It was really good
And a great way to repress memories
He tells people something fell on him while he was in that house, and that's why he couldn't escape for 2 days
Sometimes he believes it too
He makes a formal and stern petition to have that house be demolished. Seeing the multiple bones inside and Oliver's story of the events, they quickly accept it.
The house is gone shortly after
He doesn't know if there were ghosts in there or not. He could have been very well just hallucinating anything due to his poor, poor mental and physical health.
He still misses them
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