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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 months

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Falling Water Cease to Roar

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

CW: 'It' used as a pronoun, references to past murder/abuse, captivity, referenced mind control/magic

The grandfather clock that stood along the wall by the fireplace in the study ticked, lazily but inevitably marking the passage of time while Ford stared down into the glass of amber bourbon he’d poured himself to stop his hands from shaking.

In an hour, he would hopefully be drunk enough to make dining with his father, his sister, the absolutely gorgeous woman upstairs his father intended to force him to marry, and his father’s beautiful monster something he could bear. For now, though, he was sober enough that the horror weighed too heavy. He was slumped in the overstuffed leather chair, close enough that the warmth of the fire touched him, but it could not fully penetrate his skin.

The worst thing, of course, was that the monster was in here, too.

It sat in a different chair, over by the window, staring at the sunset with a look of fixed intensity, barely blinking. It had every appearance of being an unnaturally beautiful man a decade or so older than Ford was, but of course it was at least close to two centuries old, and really… who knew how long it had lived before Guilford Wentworth had come across it?

It wore the loose shirt and pants it had been given as if they were chains, shifting uncomfortably every few seconds. Its bare feet pressed into the softness of a plush rug beneath its chair. Ford stared as it… wiggled its toes, like anyone might at the simple comfort. Like any human, any… person.

The creature had been there his entire life, just one more tool in his father’s toolbox. The biggest and most useful one. He had watched with growing dread as he aged while the thing sang affection into his father’s friends, obedience into his enemies, and… love into Ford’s own mother, over and over, every time her mind threatened to stray away from it.

Just as it would sing love into the mind of the woman upstairs, love into him, and even after that it wouldn’t be enough to please his father’s demands. No… time was running out for Ford’s own mind to remain his own.

Once the wedding was done, and the monster had done what it was commanded to do, Ford would be nothing more than what his own true father had been. He’d be a puppet, going through the motions with a stupid smile on his face, until he was no longer needed and was tossed into the toybox to rot.

How would he be made to do it? He looked over at the monster again. It looked so… calm and peaceful, resting its chin on one hand, the light from the setting sun warming its brown skin and making its eyes seem oddly ablaze. It never looked all that dangerous, but… although Ford had been young, and the twins only just born, he remembered very clearly watching the monster sing a pretty song and then his true father walk into the pond in the garden to meet it. He remembered how its jaw had opened far too wide, how it had had too many teeth when it fell on him. There had been so much blood in the water.

They hadn’t known he was watching.

Ford wondered sometimes if he’d have been sent into the pond as well, if they had seen him peeking over the windowsill in his mother’s room.

Would Guilford Wentworth allow his so-called firstborn son to make requests on the manner of his murder, once his life became inconvenient to the grander plan? Maybe. Maybe he could ask, once he’d had a child of his own-

His stomach flipped, nerves and nausea battling within him when he thought of the look of fiery defiance in the eyes of the woman upstairs. She did not want this. He did not want this. But of course, that mattered very little when Lord Guilford Wentworth, second only to the king and with a terrible magic at his command, wanted it.

Not when he had a monster to remake the world to his liking, and all Ford had was his pitiful anger and no skill, influence, or fortune he could use to effect an escape. Had his true father been this frightened, before his wedding? Had his mother loathed Guilford Wentworth like the woman upstairs so clearly did, before the monster wiped her clean of everything but softness and light? Had his true father regained his mind at the end, when the monster’s teeth tore out his throat and he had only seconds to live?

And if he had, was it a mercy to die his own man, or simply a darker murder?

His fingers tightened around the cool glass until he worried it might crack under his grip. Thinking of his true father and the days after when he had screamed himself hoarse that it had been murder while everyone around him mourned the unfortunate drowning accident… it ached, and he had to shove the memory away as far as he could. He’d been shoving that memory aside most of his life, and he was an expert by now at how to bury it. He took a breath and then sipped the bourbon, letting the liquid burn down his throat and warm his shoulders, his chest.

He took another drink, a deeper one, and this time he coughed when the liquid felt like it tried to go into his lungs and not his stomach, his chest suddenly felt like it was on fire within, burning behind his breastbone. He had to lean forward and pound his chest with a fist, coughing breathlessly and then jerking in air in graceless gasps.

The monster did not move - but its head turned, just a little, to look over at him. It should be a crime, to be a creature of such evil and have such beautiful eyes. “... are you dying?” It asked, voice low and devoid of any real curiosity.

“N-No,” Ford spat, finally feeling air enter his lungs more easily as he gulped oxygen down. It felt like spots danced at the corners of his eyes, fading as everything settled. His heart, though, still raced. When had he last heard the monster speak aloud? “I’m fine. Just went down the wrong way, is all.”

“Mmn.” The monster turned away from him. “Good. I would be blamed if you died here.”

“Why do you care if you are?” Ford’s eyes narrowed. He set the glass down on a small table next to his chair with a hard enough crack of glass on wood that he winced, hoping the pricey liquor wouldn’t leak onto the wood, make a stain, and get him in trouble.

No. He was a grown man, and he would not fear his father’s beatings, not now. He would not let that creeping terror of Guilford’s rages keep him from standing, stalking across the room to the monster, and standing before him.

He leaned over, pitching his voice so low it wouldn’t even carry to any servant who might be lingering on the other side of the door, eavesdropping for anything they might take to Guilford to get Ford in trouble again. “We both know damn well, monster, that you’ll be the one to kill me eventually, anyway. So why do you care if it happens now?”

It did not stand, but its eyes flicked upwards to meet his where he loomed over it. From this angle, he could see the tattoos, the swirling loops and and arcane symbols that moved from just under its jaw down one side of its neck, disappearing into the neckline of its shirt, reappearing in glimpses along its wrist and hand where they came out from its long sleeve. He could see, too, scars around the unmarked side of its neck. They were so faint he’d never been close enough to notice them before. The scars circled, layered over each other.

The monster held his gaze. “He will be displeased with me if his plans have to be changed. I will bear his anger again.”

“You…” Ford trailed off. The monster raised its eyebrows. Despite its posture reading as nothing more than lazy insolence, he could sense tension. When his eyes followed the line of its arm, he found its fingers were trembling, minutely, where they lay seemingly relaxed against the arm of the chair it sat on. There were scars faintly visible around its wrists, too. Its throat shifted as it swallowed, holding perfectly still.

Ford had spent his life learning how to appear like a happy first son of one of the wealthiest families in the world, while secretly fearing his father’s every hint of disapproval for the violence it would bring on. He knew what it looked like to be frightened and yet determined not to show it.

He knew he saw the same fear in it now that he knew so well. Carelessness was an armor, a magical cloak of invisibility for true feelings, but it was one that you could see easily if you’d worn it yourself.

Its eyes narrowed and its top lip shifted, revealing sharp fangs for teeth, a hint of a defensive snarl.

“Stop it,” Ford commanded, but some of his anger had gone.

“I do not serve you,” It said, its own voice holding both its human tongue and a lower, animal growl that rumbled underneath. “I will not kneel or lay down for you. Touch me and I will tear off your hand.”

Ford took a step back, and then another, almost stumbling until he bumped into another chair and didn’t so much sit as fall backwards into it. “You won’t what-”

Its bared its teeth fully, then, briefly showing him the full force of its razor-sharp fangs before it turned deliberately away, to look back at the sunset. Dismissing him the same way his father used to, without even speaking a word.

Ford stared at its impassive face, back to seeming utterly human now that it was no longer showing its surreal, hideous teeth. “... I saw you kill my father, you know.”

Those eyes moved briefly to him, then back to the window. “I kill all the fathers. A few of you have seen me. Your children may see me kill you. Every time is different. Every time is the same.”

Ford swiped his hand over his mouth and let his head drop until it hit the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling, letting the simple mundane horror of the words flow over him like water. Dipping his head beneath the surface of such easily-spoken and awful truths. His heart pounded, thumping against the inside of his chest as though trying to batter its way out. “Have you ever not killed anyone?”

“Yes.” Ford looked back at the monster in surprise, but it only watched him now, evenly, with no expression on its face or in its voice. “I told a child to run, once, and she lived. The rest… even if I do not rip them apart myself…”

“They die because of you. We die because of you.” It nodded, face utterly blank. “Don’t you…” Ford gestured aimlessly, not even sure what the movement of his hands was meant to represent. “Feel the slightest bit bad about it? Regret? Remorse?”

“You are human. You are his blood, you are like him-”

“I am not like him!” The denial roared out of him - the shouting was so loud and seemed to come unbidden, and it took him until the end of the sentence to realize it was he himself who was shouting. He was on his feet in an instant, closed the short distance between them, and he had slapped the monster full across the face before he understood he had moved at all. “I am not!”

His palm stung, hot and buzzing, and he stared at the monster who looked at him with that snarl yet again, one side of its face flushing bright red already, eyes glimmering with the reflection of the dying day. “Are you not?”

Its voice was low, and its aim true.

Ford hitched in a breath, horror washing cold through him, sweeping away the anger that had driven him forward. He had never hit another-

No. It wasn’t a person.

But still…

If he resorted to his father’s violence so readily, turned on another what had once been turned on him, was he even a person?

Perhaps they were both monsters.

“I-... I’m sorry,” He said, his voice slightly strangled, looking away. Something very like a scream was trying to claw its way up his throat and he had to fight with everything he had to keep his voice level and even. “I apologize. That was… I should not have-... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He all but fled back to his glass, drinking the rest of it in a few quick swallows, breathing harshly as the warmth spread but could not fight the cold loathing of himself that one small slap had brought to the surface. He set it back down with a shaking hand, putting the other up against his forehead, closing his eyes tightly against the hot rush of tears that he would not allow to fall.

Once he felt more in control of himself, he took the deepest breath he could, expanding his lungs until he felt they might burst, and then slowly exhaled again.

When he found the courage - just barely - to chance another look at his father’s creature, the monster was watching him with the first genuine, open expression he’d seen it make.

It was surprised.

There was a pause while it stared at him, and he stared back. Then, it said, in the same low voice always, “Help her.”

“What?”

“Kiraya Losna. Help her, and save us.”

“Save… you?”

It hesitated, and just as it opened its mouth to speak again, the door swung open. Ford turned on his heel to try and look unsurprised, but it was only his father’s butler.

“Miss Kiraya Losna and Miss Nathalie will be escorted momentarily to the dining room,” Babbage said, cheerful as always. If he was even able to sense the tension in the room, he seemed to ignore it. Although perhaps he couldn’t see anything but whatever Ford’s father wanted him to see. “Your father is already seated, Master Ford. You will join him now, you and your friend.”

Ford’s eyes shifted to the monster and then back. “My-... Ah. Of course, Babbage, thank you.”

Babbage bowed his head, briefly, and then walked away on silent feet. He always moved like that - he’d caught Ford at childish nonsense many times in his childhood, because he was impossible to hear unless he wanted to be heard.

Although Ford could have sworn he’d once or twice heard Babbage shouting in the night, incomprehensible, silenced before Ford had ever been able to quite understand what was wrong. And each time, he was right as rain the next morning, with a smile and a welcoming pat on the shoulder.

Ford took steps that felt like walking to a gallows, the monster falling in just behind him, as if they were old friends. He could feel its presence at his back, goosebumps rising on his arms, but there was no threat, no danger. Only his own nerves pouring acid through his veins.

“Help her,” The monster whispered once more. “If you are not your father, then be a man better than him. Free me and I will harm no more of you. Go to her room and bring her down to speak to me. Free me. Please. Please.”

“I do not trust you, monster,” He murmured, barely moving his lips. “Why should I believe your words at all?”

“Better to hope for my honesty than to fear your father’s anger.”

Ford’s teeth ground together. What could he possibly say to that? His father would be furious beyond all reason if he let his prisoner loose to roam the halls of the house or run away entirely. His rage would be all-encompassing. He might decide to marry Nathalie or-... god forbid, one of the twins off instead. Damning them to the fate he now faced seemed a worse sin than any other.

But…

The monster did not seem to want to be here. If it wanted only to escape, his father’s control would be shattered, and Ford could be free.

If it was only trying to lead him to the slaughter, well… That would be terrible. But if it was looking to escape and he did nothing, then… his father’s monster would doom him to lose his mind and then his life. It wouldn’t even care about the loss. Indeed, it would make sure no one cared about the loss in the end, the way his mother had mourned his true father only for a night before she seemed to simply forget he had ever existed as anything but a faint, lovely daydream by noon the next day.

His life, all his wants and dreams and wishes for his future would dissipate like smoke, unmourned, unmissed, because of this thing that sat in a chair like a man and sang magic like a demon.

But it was the same thing that was begging him for help.

Help her.

Ford squared his shoulders, straightened his spine, and stepped into the dining room like a man preparing for a fight.

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

#fantasy whump #original writing #fantasy writing #whump #captivity #it as a pronoun #light dehumanization #referenced child abuse #traumatized whumpee #mentioned murder #mentioned mind control #magic whump #original fantasy #fiction #original fiction #fantasy world #siren whump

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3-2-whump · 2 days

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The Auction Floor: Thomas Costa’s POV

Hi all,

In exchange for a chapter on the current timeline (a chapter I am still working on/fixing up before it is posted), I am posting a prequel chapter. Any and all prequel chapters will be found under 'Eternal, part 0.' They won't have nav arrows, but they will have an explanation to when in the story they take place, and a link to the masterlist to read more. Hope this system works for everyone!

This chapter happens slightly before, concurrently, and a little after The Auction Floor

TW/CW: death of a minor character (briefly mentioned), institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, nonconsensual nudity (nonsexual), minor whump (at time of story), creepy/intimate whumper(s) (sort of a multiple whimpers situation), manhandling (nonsexual) (towards the end)

Mob boss Luciano Antonio Costa – Boss Tony - had died, leaving mafia to his grandson, Thomas, to control. The newly-appointed heir didn’t look much like a typical Italian mob boss. With his blonde hair, steely blue eyes, and freckled fair skin, he hardly even looked Italian. However, the old boss never had any legitimate male heirs to pass the helm of leadership to, having only one daughter before his wife died. Although he begrudgingly accepted his daughter’s marriage to Tom’s father, an inconsequential gangster from the Irish mob, he had always intended to pass the family business onto his surviving grandson.

“I’m so sorry for your loss” began to lose its meaning after the fourth well-meaning chump, and unfortunately, Grandpa Tony’s funeral had a good turnout. “That was a beautiful eulogy,” one of many nameless faces sniffled. “You two must have been very close,” they’d said to him. Were we ever close, though? Thomas wanted to ask, remembering only the time they last fought. It may as well have been a lifetime ago when he was a teenager who turned his back on the family to try and live a straight life, but the guilt hung over him like a curse no matter how hard he had tried to run away from his fate as the next boss of the Costas. It was always about what he wanted me to be, not what I wanted. Never once was it ever about what I wanted to do with my life, he bitterly remembered. Even now, it was all about Grandpa Tony’s wants, as he accepted his role in leading the Costas. He cast a baleful glance at the casket as it slowly disappeared beneath the earth.You won, old man.

His underboss and a few of the capos, men that he had grown up with and who now supported him in running the large criminal organization, caught on to their new boss’ sour mood. Admittedly, it wasn’t hard to notice how intensely he scowled at the freshly filled-in grave. They suggested celebrating Thomas’ ascension to head of the family with drinks and a night out, but their idea of a night out was attending a black-market auction and maxing out the organization’s funds on frivolous shit. Powerful drugs, illicit weapons, plundered antiques, and –dear god, did Jaime just buy an arowana?! Thomas looked over the side of his whiskey glass disapprovingly.

He glanced over at a corner of the auction house that seemed to gather a large crowd. He shrugged and decided to join them to see the display. The crowd surrounded an entire floor-to-ceiling wall of glass, behind which stood people from all around the world, each divided into their own little compartments within the glass wall, each of them completely naked. The way they were displayed in those little glass tanks was oddly reminiscent of how fish were displayed at a pet store.

Get a pet, people had said to him. It’ll be good for you, they said, help lift your spirits, they said, if you’re responsible for keeping one little thing alive, maybe you’ll be more motivated to take care of yourself, they said. Surely those people had meant a cat or a dog or a python, and probably not an actual human being. Although, Thomas remembered the people giving him that advice were part of the major crime families of the city, too. Perhaps this was what they meant all along?

Regardless of what those people meant, it was a whole different thing to actually commit to owning a person. He’d never seriously considered it before, but now he found himself thoughtfully observing the merchandise behind the glass. Though there were a few people who were obviously adults, most of them were teens, and most them were girls, though there were a couple boys, too.

Whichever one he’d pick, they would have to be relatively attractive, if he was going to have to bear looking at them at the end of every day. He eyed a glass cell with a stunning blonde girl futilely trying to cover herself with her hands and ignore the gazes directed within her cell. Thomas pushed past the crowd and moved on; pretty girls like that would be swiped up immediately, so it wouldn’t even be worth the trouble to place a bid. The next cell held a freckled boy who leaned into the glass, fogging it up with his breath and writing ‘HELP ME’ over and over again with his finger. Thomas passed on that one, too. One by one he would find something wrong with the human assets behind the glass cases. Too shy, too desperate, not my type, that one just stares ahead and doesn’t even move…

He finally stopped around the last few cells, where a crowd had dissipated from in front of a glass cell with discontented murmurs. Inside that one crouched a small boy, knobby knees drawn to bony chest, thin, tan arms wrapped around his shins, and a head of messy dark hair resting on top his knees. The boy dared to look up from his hiding place. Loose, unruly waves of hair and thick, dark eyelashes nearly covered his expressive dark brown eyes. Those eyes hid nothing as they shone with fear. Thomas gripped the whiskey in his hand a little tighter. The child cut a striking image inside the glass prison, reminding him of a time and a place and an incidence he never liked to think about for long-

To his misfortune, his subordinates caught him staring. “Got your eye on the little slave, Tommy-Boy?” Luca asked as he sauntered up to him.

“Don’t call him that.” Even if that was technically what he would be, the whole concept still took a while for him to get used to. “I just think he’s cute is all,” he mumbled into his glass, draining it of the rest of the whiskey while he tried to convince himself the pink in his cheeks was only from the drink.

“Why don’t you place a bid?” Thomas whipped around to see Jaime lurking behind him. When did he get here? His eyes traveled down to the large picnic cooler on wheels, supposedly where Jaime’s new fish was. “Boss Tony, God rest his soul, left you quite the inheritance, I’m sure you can afford him,” Jamie snickered. He pointed to the sign above the glass cell, where the serial number and QR code were displayed prominently. “142225,” he read.

“Doesn’t he kind of remind you of-”

“You shut up. Right now,” Thomas warned.

“We’ll shut up once you place a bid, now come on! At least look up the little slave!”

Thomas sighed and whipped out his phone; the sooner he scanned the QR Code with the app the black market had made him download, the sooner his underlings would shut the hell up. A profile popped up on his phone screen, the men crowding comically around him to read over his shoulder. 142225 had been collected in Pakistan, was 5’1”, and weighed barely 90 lbs. at the last weigh-in.

“They like to starve the kids here,” Luca explained nonchalantly. “Makes it easier to control them.” Thomas glanced briefly at the thin boy inside the glass, frowning a little as he let that unsettling fact sink in. He quickly scrolled past the blood type, known allergies, and other information he deemed irrelevant to hover his thumb over the ‘PLACE A BID’ button.

“Well, go on, you know you want to!”

“He looks easy enough to take care of, and easy on the eyes, too!”

“We saw how enviously you stared at Matteo’s pet at the last New Year’s party, won’t it be nice to finally have one of your own?”

Eventually, their peer-pressure resulted in the new mob boss placing a bid, becoming $30k poorer, filling out some ridiculous form about any last-minute body mods he may want, and waiting until the end of the night to collect his new slave and go home. His companions had left hours ago, and every other buyer had gotten their slave already, so it was just him waiting alone in an emptying warehouse, trying to make small talk with one of the event coordinators.

“So, does he have a name?”

She didn’t even look up from her tablet. “He’s named whatever you want to name him.”

“Where is he from? Besides the collection point, where’s he actually from?”

“We don’t know.”

“How old is he?”

“We don’t know.”

Thomas barely suppressed a groan. “Is there anything you do know?” he ground out impatiently.

“Yeah. He looks even cuter when he cries.” The woman smirked over her tablet, looking over Thomas’ right shoulder. “He’s here.”

Thomas turned around to see the boy, now clothed in a white T-shirt and bluish gray sweatpants. He kept his eyes downcast and his hands folded in front of him. “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy looked up briefly before dropping his gaze back to his bare feet. “Khaled,” he replied, voice timid and heavily accented, “but you may call me whatever you want, sir.”

Khaled. He silently rolled the name around on his tongue as if savoring an exotic sweet. Khaled. Thomas cast what he hoped was a reassuring smile, not that Khaled saw it with his gaze fixed to the floor. “Luckily for you, I like your name.” He strode decisively toward the exit, gently placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder to direct him. “Come with me, Khaled.”

In the nearly three-hour car ride back to Thomas’ home, the mob boss learned three things about his new purchase. Firstly, Khaled was shy, only speaking when spoken to and even then, using as few words as possible. Also, Khaled probably didn’t speak much English; how much of this was because he was shy, and how much of this was because he literally couldn’t understand him? And –finally, -Khaled could run. Since the moment the car parked, Khaled dashed out and sprinted into the street. He nearly got hit by a truck before Thomas could chase after him, pull him back, and drag him inside the apartment building. The scene of a grown man dragging a distressed kid who was screaming bloody murder probably shocked some residents, but fortunately the doorman was part of the Costas and did not bat an eye.

“It is too damn early for this!” Thomas complained to himself as he practically threw Khaled into the awaiting elevator. “Do you want to be leashed up like a dog, you little shit?! Cause that’s what’s going to happen if you keep trying to run away!”

“Let go of me, please!” the boy cried, his voice brittle and panicked like a scared, caged animal as he tried to twist out of the punishing grip on his arm.

“Like hell I’m letting you go, not after maxing out my personal credit card on you and pulling an all-nighter for the first time since Kandahar!” He violently jammed the buttons that would take them to the top floor of the high rise.

Soon the elevator dinged, doors swooshing open as they reached the floor of his penthouse. “Come on!” Thomas continued to drag the boy through the hallway, ignoring him begging in that endearing accent of his. Khaled’s complaints all but ceased as soon as he opened the door to his penthouse and let the boy step inside. His eyes widened, sparkling in awe, and his jaw dropped as he let out a reverent “whoa” that transcended any language barrier.

The living room to the penthouse itself was light and spacious, with large floor-to-ceiling windows that let in plenty of natural light, and minimalist décor to accent the living room. A large L-shaped couch dominated the living room and looked over the expansive rooftop and the cityscape beyond it. The rest of the room terminated sharply into a dining area with a large oak table and a wood-floored kitchen with two large granite countertops. An imposingly large door –the door to Thomas’ bedroom, -stood closed to the left of the living room. A hallway to the right branched off into an office on one side, and a guest bathroom opposite. A small staircase right outside the laundry room led to a storage loft spanning above the entrance. Thomas toed off his shoes at the door. Khaled, who wasn’t wearing any shoes, hesitantly walked in. Tom frowned when he noticed the dirty footprints left behind on his beige rug.“Would you like a bath, Khaled?” he suggested. The fact that Khaled didn’t reply made him again wonder how much English he truly understood. We can work on that. He sighed in exasperation as he gripped the boy’s arm and dragged him off to the guest bathroom. Once inside, Thomas deposited him at the entrance and turned on the lights and the fan. He got the shower head running next. Khaled stood silently watching him by the door as he tested the water’s temperature with his hand a few times. He nodded in satisfaction as the water finally reached an agreeable temperature. “Come on in,” he beckoned. Khaled inched closer to the bath tub. “Can I take off your clothes?” he asked. The boy blinked, then shook his head as he quickly took off the shirt himself. The drab sweatpants soon followed, and he quickly stepped into the shower. Thomas drew the curtain to prevent water from spilling and to give him a shred of privacy. As the boy showered, he soon realized Khaled had nothing to wear but that depressing little t-shirt and sweatpants. He took them to the laundry room and chucked them in the hamper, making a mental note to buy some clothes for Khaled as soon as possible. Cute as the small naked boy was, he was still a minor, and Tom didn’t need any extra distractions while he was adjusting to his new role as Boss of the Costa Family.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump

#whump writing #whumpee #creepy/intimate whumper #multiple whumpers #tw death mention #institutionalized slavery #pet whump #tw dehumanization #tw nonsexual nudity #nonconsensual nudity #tw minor whump #at time of story #manhandling #near the end there #I think I got all the tags but if i'm missing any do tell me

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milimeters-morales · 5 months

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here’s the original post (instagram), the constant sound of shooting and bombing is awful.

#palestine #seen many videos of palestinian mothers crying over the bodies of their babies which range in age #my heart goes out to Duaa Obaid and her little girl Sama (seemed to be no older than 2) who was murdered by Israel #and the countless other mothers that have had their children beaten abused raped killed and stolen from them #and the mothers who had motherhood ripped away from them. they’ve no doubt lost fetuses from the constant terror theyre experiencing #not to mention the diseases and sicknesses that are spreading and will still affect the population years after palestine is freed #and the men and boys that are constantly stolen from their homes or whoever they had ran to after their homes were ransacked and attacked #and humiliated killed raped abused dehumanized pissed on #they are all suffering and it’s clear that it’s just plain genocide that Israel is commiting.

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houxe · 3 months

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Is anyone else starting to get a little weirded out by Tubbo, TinaKitten, and other CCs in their circles making increasing comments about keeping people as pets? Like, I understand that they likely don't mean it in a malicious way, but it's starting to get... gross. Especially because 'keeping' people has a lot of horrific historic context. Starts with an s, ends with an e, runs in the same vein as ‘keeping/owning people’, and we all should’ve learned about it in school? Even in the 'pet' nature there’s so much awful history surrounding it. Court Dwarves are just one glaring example and something I also only learned about recently. (More info can be found Here by Dwarfism History.) There were also other people who were dehumanized, taken, and kept for someone else's amusement, most often by British/European royalty. They were treated and kept like pets. Even if that wasn't their specific title.

It's also just such casual dehumanization of people that's really weird and becoming concerningly more frequent. Especially when they're streaming to a potentially younger audience and normalizing this behavior. Again, I don't think there's any purposefully malicious intent behind it, so don't attack or harass them. I also don't think they're awful people, they're just unaware and I, personally, want to help people grow. So let's not joke about keeping people as pets anymore, yeah? It's not cute and it's not funny.

EDIT 2: Also, as I've just watched the unbanning vod from the subathon, Tubbo egged on his whole chat to keep a random recently unbanned chatter as a 'pet' and that's uh. That's immediately concerning. This is not a friend of his who he can comfortably joke with like that and he should not be joking or egging on his chat to dehumanize someone like that. That's not cool and even Billzo said it wasn't okay.

Link Here - Timestamp: 16:47 - 17:12

EDIT 1: Changed it a bit so it doesn't seem like I'm saying Court Dwarves were the only example of human pets. <3

#qsmp #tw dehumanization #tubbo #tinakitten #content creators #bad jokes #mentioned tubbo and tina specifically cuz they're the ones I've seen do this most recently

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pjharvey · 2 months

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also like especially if you’re a lesbian who has formerly dated men your experiences as a lesbian are waaay more similar to bisexual women than they are different. not that it should even matter lol bc there’s nothing wrong with having different experiences from someone, but it makes it even more ridiculous that you’re trying to create such arbitrary divisions between you and them. and there are a lot of bisexual women who primarily or exclusively date women too so if your perception of bisexual women is all “girls with boyfriends who want a threesome” you straight up are not talking to enough bisexual women, also the girls in those scenarios are literally having their attraction to women fetishized and belittled and used as a way for their boyfriends to act out their misogynistic sexual fantasies so honestly i just feel bad for them a lot of the time

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some-messed-up-writing-for-you · 1 year

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Short Prompt #1061

CW: gore mention, captivity, human treated like pet.

“Y-You can’t be serious…” The hero muttered, looking away in embarrassment.

The villain forced them to look back up, grabbing them by the chin. The little golden bell around Hero’s neck jingled with the movement. “I warned you not to try any sneaky escape attempts. This is your punishment.”

“I… will never understand you…” The hero faced away once they were let go of, cringing as the bell sounded again. “You’ve won. You have me at your feet. And yet…”

Villain chuckled. “I could skin you alive if I wanted, little hero. But I believe having you as my pet is infinitely more entertaining.”

#hero x villain #writing #writeblr #hero #villain #prompt #short prompt #writing prompt #heroes and villains #hero x villain community #writing community #smuwfy #some messed up writing for you #tw: captivity #tw: dehumanization #tw: gore mention

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we-were-so-beautiful · 7 months

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2. day six

holy shit hi! it's me! I'm back! I will be very surprised if anybody remembers me or this story given that it's been literally six months since I posted the first chapter. my motivation, interest, energy and amount of free time for this project all fluctuate, but... this story feels like it wants to be told, and I want to tell it. so hopefully I'll manage to pop up around here with an update for it every once in a while.

Content warnings for this chapter: box boy universe, pet whump, dehumanization, cages, blood mention. I'm still getting the hang of how to tag these so please let me know if there's anything I missed.

[masterlist] [chapter one] [chapter three]

Vanessa means to wait until an hour before closing time to go to the shelter. Really, she does. She wants to give this guy as much of a chance as he can get to go home with someone, literally anyone, who’s better for him than she is. But it’s lunchtime and she’s already practically vibrating. She’s not even used to being awake by noon anymore, much less having already been up for hours refreshing the site so often it’s making her nauseous. Or maybe that’s just the all-consuming anxiety of suspense.

What if the assholes at the shelter decide that six days is close enough, and take him away before she even gets there? What if she’s fucked up and counted the days wrong, and he’s actually scheduled to die today? What if the subway’s delayed, or the shelter closes early, and she’s too late, and another person dies because she made a stupid fucking mistake?

What if, says the voice in the back of her head that she refuses to listen to, somebody takes him who’s even worse for him than me?

“Oh, fuck literally all of this,” she says to the empty room, and grabs her coat.

—

“Uh, hey, I’m here to…”

“Sign in on the sheet.” The bored-looking shelter employee doesn’t so much as glance up from her phone. Vanessa looks around; the lobby is totally devoid of anyone save for the two of them.

“I just want to know if—”

“Sign in on the sheet.”

Vanessa breathes out through her nose until her hand stops ticking long enough to write. She scribbles her name and the time, and sets the pen down with a deliberate clack on the desk directly in front of the employee.

The woman barely raises her head. “How can I help you.”

Vanessa steels herself. “Is, uh… Do you still have…” God she hates talking about people like this she hates it she hates it she hates it. “Is pet number 414374 still here? I want to…” She wants to choke on the word. “...I want to adopt him.”

The employee’s affect goes duller than ever. “Oh, he’s still here, alright,” she mutters grimly.

Vanessa only realizes how much tension she’s been holding when it floods out of her so fast she almost loses her balance. “Can I see him?”

“If you really want to,” the employee sighs. “But I’m tellin’ you, lady, you’re not gonna like what you find.”

—

“That’s him?!”

“Told you you were gonna be disappointed, lady.”

Vanessa gapes. It’s not like she’s been expecting to be okay with seeing people in cages, but she sure as shit didn’t expect… whatever the fuck she’s looking at now.

The dude is filthy, caked head to toe in blood, dirt and worse. The hair that flowed around him in his picture is matted down his back now, littered with scores of dead and decaying leaves. His ice-blue eyes are dull and unfocused. His breaths are quick and shallow, and the way they rasp in his throat makes Vanessa twitch.

He’s lying in a heap on the single layer of newspaper between him and the inch-wide mesh of the shelter-standard cage. Vanessa sucks at math, but she thinks it can’t be more than three by three by five. The shelter profile listed him at six foot two.

The employee bangs on the metal with the back of her hand, making a horrible clanging sound that makes Vanessa want to claw her own ears off. “Hey, look alive, refurb. You got one more interested owner. Maybe try to impress this one for a change?”

“Can he even—” Vanessa starts, but the guy surprises her by slowly, painfully lifting his head. The dirt that coats his skin cracks and flakes as he struggles to push himself up on his elbows. He reaches jerkily for the front of the cage, arms trembling violently with the effort, his breathing growing more and more labored as he tries to meet her gaze.

In the split second before he collapses again, she swears he manages it.

—

“I want him.”

The employee has already turned to go, talking over her shoulder as she ambles back toward the desk. “Yeah, so if you're lookin’ for a fancy one you could try the Manhattan shelter, they sometimes—hang on, you what?” She twists back abruptly as the words actually register.

“I want him,” Vanessa says again.

The employee stares at her for a long, long minute. Vanessa can almost see her fighting the urge to blurt out, “why?” Finally, though, she collects herself, with a wildly overexaggerated shrug of her shoulders.

“It’s your money, lady,” she says, and unlocks the cage.

#whump #pet whump #rescue whump #recovery whump #bbu #box boy universe #vanessa + juniper #disaster caretaker #imperfectly consistent #tw dehumanization #tw cages #tw blood mention #I am once again posting this to yeet it out of editing perdition #this chapter was supposed to be slightly longer #but this feels like a better place to stop #and I didn't feel like writing the other shit #so that'll be its own chapter or interlude later #assuming I ever update again lmao (this is legally a joke I very much do want to update again actually)

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ohno-the-sun · 4 months

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I’m sorry if you getting so many questions about Sun and Moons gender is annoying but I’m curious if Moon wearing a binder only applies to your Luca AU or if all versions of Moon wear binders instead of any surgery (This is a question that also applies to if all your AFAB Suns are the same too)

Oh no no it’s not annoying at all I love the questions!

I would say yes in the other aus Moon wears a binder

And reciprocally Sun mainly has top surgery scars

#I think I’ve mentioned it before but moon’s always a little more fluid with gender compared to sun in all my aus #while suns a little more staunchly he/him #I am very pro death of the author though so honestly for the other aus where this prob won’t be brought up headcannon whatever you like!#lol I think the only reason crime au boys are not trans is cause I couldn’t figure out when’s they’d be able to transition in their backstor #they got too much trauma and dehumanization in that one #but honestly even that one also they could be trans #also mad scientist au I won’t say anything definitive #since orig designs are by oob and idk what their intention was #but I’d say human mad scientist version yes sun is also afab with top surgery scars #ask #Luca au

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clickerflight · 13 days

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Clove: Part 24 - Guest Rules Only Apply to Guests

Suuuuup buckle in guys

Masterlist - Part 23

Content: Fae politics, werewolf whumpee, fae whumper, manhandled, dehumanization

.....................................................

Hyrum, who had still been tired after breakfast, woke to voices in the main room of the suite. He blinked sleepily, kneading at the blankets in front of him that he had been cuddling with as he stretched and yawned. Now fully rested he felt a lot better.

He sat up and slid out of bed, padding across the room and opening the door. Ephraim was talking with Benny on the couch, a weird defensiveness in both of their postures.

They both turned to look at him, and Ephraim gave Hyrum a tired smile. “Hey, sweetheart. Did you sleep okay?”

Hyrum nodded as he came out of the room to them. “What were you talking about?”

Ephraim looked even more exhausted at the question as Benny grinned and said, “Just about my life here.”

Ephraim gave him a concerned look before he said, “Come sit, bud. Do you want some tea?”

Hyrum shook his head, coming to sit beside Ephraim, cuddled into his side, but not hiding like he had been earlier. He could still smell Jack’s death on Ephraim, caught under his nails and in his skin where he hadn’t been able to wash it off yet, but it comforted Hyrum in a morbid sort of way. Proof that all that remained of his tormentor was the scent of his death and the scars in Hyrum’s skin.

“Have you already told Ephraim the rules you mentioned earlier?”

“What?” Benny asked, an unnatural smelling confusion falling over him. “Oh! Right. The rules of the Host and the Guest.”

Hyrum nodded, glad he asked as Ephraim gave him a grateful backscratch for reminding them.

“When my wife accepted you here as Guests, you sealed a pact with her,” Benny explained. “The fae will obey you as long as you are a Guest, but if you disobey the rules, you will be in their power and they will be allowed to do whatever they want with you.”

Ephraim nodded seriously. “What are the rules?”

Benny thought for a moment. “Let’s see. There are seven rules. You must stay here for at least three days and you have to eat meals with your Host whenever she requests it, of course. You saw that today.”

Ephraim wrinkled his nose a little and nodded. “Okay. And I’m assuming one of the rules is going to have something to do with being polite?”

“Yes,” Benny said with a nod. “Being polite and not purposefully insulting your hosts is a very important rule. Though you should be careful when you accidentally insult them too. Sometimes the more malicious ones will claim that it was on purpose.”

Hyrum got the feeling it was more than sometimes.

“Okay. Makes sense. What else?”

“Mmm no iron. That’s easy. Neither of you have iron on you. Ummm don’t try to discover a fae’s real name and use it against them-”

“But they can try to do it to us?” Ephraim asked with a glower.

Benny shrugged. “They are not bound by the rules of the Guest just as you are not bound to the rules of the Host. Let’s see. Don’t tell lies. That is a Host and Guest rule. And don’t take part in politics that would directly harm your Host. That one is…. Trickier, to be honest. The fae are very good about not actually saying what their end motivations are when they get you to agree to something.” Benny was frowning deeply, as though remembering something unpleasant.

He shook his head. “Anyways, that’s the 7 rules of being a Guest.”

Ephraim nodded. “I can remember that…. Just three days and we’re halfway through today. We’ll be home soon.”

“Are you… sure?” Benny said hesitantly, “You could be a nobleman here, you know.”

“I’m sure,” Ephraim said, more softly now. “Thank you Benny. And you’re sure you won’t be coming with us?”

Benny struggled for an answer before he said, “Maybe I'll go for a visit,” he said in a small voice. “Say goodbye to Margie.”

Eprhaim relaxed a little. “Good idea.”

Benny nodded hesitantly. He opened his mouth again when there was a knock at the door.

Ephraim sighed, running a hand through his hair and standing up to get it. Kortops stood there, seemingly unaffected by Jokel’s death. “Hello, Ephraim. The Monarch requests your presence at lunch. Oh, Benjamin, you should come too.”

Ephraim glanced back at Hyrum but Kortops answered before Ephraim needed to ask anything. “Her Majesty noticed his fatigue. He does not need to come.”

Ephraim relaxed and nodded. “Will you be fine here, Hyrum?”

Hyrum nodded silently, watching as Benny got up and, with a few more words, they both left with the gauzy fae man.

Hyrum hummed to himself, standing up and grabbing a glass of something that was almost like milk but tasted a bit like raspberries and was a bright blue color from the cold box.

The silence wrapped around him as he sat on the couch, sipping at the drink, mind wandering. There wasn’t much to do here, and while he was very good at sitting quietly, he would like to have something to do. There was always so much to interact with at Ephraim’s cottage, at their cottage, but here it was all so clean and beautiful but completely bereft of life somehow.

He was thinking of going and having another bath for the fun of it when he heard the door creaked open.

He turned, wide eyed, to look at the door. He hesitated for a long moment before he put down his half empty cup of milk and went to the door to close it.

As he approached, though, the door sprang open and he jumped back, about to dash into his room.

A man with the lower body of a snake and a woman with four arms entered the room, sharp eyes on him.

“He’s really just beautiful,” the snake fae hissed as he moved quickly, cutting Hyrum off from the hall that led to the bedroom.

Hyrum just kept backing up till his back bumped into the wall. Pressed flat against it, the two fae approaching he managed to say, “Y-you shouldn’t be in here!”

The snake smiled, fangs on display as the woman closed the door, folding her other pair of arms smugly.

“Oh yes, dear one?” the snake asked, amused. “And who says so?”

“Ephraim. And me,” Hyrum said, ears folding back a little. “Go back!”

The snake ignored him approaching. “Oh, Ephraim. The Monarch's Guest. Yes he is the Guest isn't he? But you aren’t. She allows him to be here, but she never invited you.”

Hyrum felt his heart jump into his throat as he made a break for it, trying to dodge around the snake and somehow push past the woman to get out, but the snake struck quickly, dense coils wrapping around to pin Hyrum’s arms to his side, squeezing so he began to hyperventilate, kicking his legs.

“Awww, Octel, he’s so cute!” The snake exclaimed, wrapping his coils back and forth, dragging Hyrum closer so he could run a hand through the werewolf’s soft hair, ignoring his high pitched keening.

Octel shrugged. “Guess so. You going to keep him then?”

“Only as long as the Guest allows me too. But the Monarch will probably have him till after the funeral march so I should have time to dress him up and parade him around,” the snake said, still stroking Hyrum’s hair and feeling how quickly his little heart thumped in his chest. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Octel smiled cruelly. “Remember to hold up your end of the deal, Shallumn.”

“Oh, if I must,” the snake teased. He loosened his hold on Hyrum, still loosely coiled around the werewolf, catching him by the shoulders when Hyrum nearly fell as fear made his knees weak.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, little one,” Shallumn said with a toothy smile. “I simply want to spend some time with you. That will be fun, yes? Just be as good of a pet for me as you are for the Guest, yes?”

Hyrum trembled, hands held up close to his throat to protect it from the curved teeth he could see in Shallumn’s mouth as he spoke.

“Please,” he whimpered, shaking his head.

“No, come along. It will be fun,” Shallumn promised, grabbing him by the arm and leading him out of the room.

Hyrum tried to fight and pull back, but stopped as soon as real anger flashed across Shallumn’s face.

“Good,” he purred, continuing right along. “We’ll have such fun. I have many pets, you know, and I treat them all so well. If your master becomes the Monarch’s pet I will take very good care of you, I swear it.”

Hyrum could barely keep on his feet. Another Master? He couldn’t do it. He’d just escaped Jack, it wasn’t fair! This was so unfair!

“I th-thought Ephraim said to stay away from the room?” he said in a tremulous, pleading voice.

“Oh, he told that to others. Not to me,” Shallumn replied, amused.

That was about all Hyrum could take. By the time they’d reached Shallumn’s room, silent tears rolled down Hyrum’s cheeks and when Shallumn noticed his shushed Hyrum, pulling him closer and stroking his hair. “Oh, do not worry, my sweet golden child. You’re my little treasure for today, don’t you see? You are safe.”

Shallumn led him deeper into the rooms, stopping in one where a surprised woman looked up from where she was organizing clothing. She was beautiful, blonde hair rolling down her back, but Hyrum felt his breath hitch in another near silent sob when he saw the angry bite marks on her arms.

“Oh, Jezebel, go on,” Shallumn said, annoyed. “Leave now.”

She ducked her head and left quickly, not sparing another glance for Hyrum.

“Do not mind her. She is a naughty pet, you know,” Shallumn said conversationally, picking through the closet. “Let’s see. What will fit you. Linens? Ruffles? Ribbons? It cannot outshine your hair, certainly. Your hair and your fur are so lovely, pet. I’m sure your Master is so pleased with that despite your…. Flaws.”

Hyrum felt another tear roll down his face, following the track of a scar left behind by a silvered muzzle.

Part 25

Clove Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @the-blind-one-speaks @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @inkkswhumpandstuff

@honeycollectswhump @whump-blog-reblogs @pigeonwhumps @mj-or-say10 @percy-frayer

@currentlyinthesprial @scoundrelwithboba @whumps-and-bumps @hellodecisionparalysis

#whump #clove #whump writing #werewolf whumpee #fae whumper #manhandling #dehumanization #mentions of death #scarring #I know #I'm a terrible person #I apologize #(not really I'm enjoying myself)

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nomsfaultau · 2 months

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I was chatting w a buddy about cursed character concepts, and she posited a character who has a crush on someone they deem subhuman, judge Frollo style. Internal conflict, potential catalyst for character development both positive and negative, incredibly messed up dynamics. Unfortunately my brain has one setting (thinking about Fault) and now I present one of my more cursed (completely noncanon for the love of God) thoughts:

Webb has an (extremely unrequited) crush on scp Philza

Does it completely ruin his character? Yes. However…I can’t stop thinking about it. Evidence (with Fault spoilers of course):

Webb uses pet names for Philza (refuses to acknowledge he’s a person with an actual name)

They watch movies together (videos of Philza’s kids being abused)

Tries to get alone time with Philza (by separating him from his family)

Monologues about how much he’ll miss their relationship while amnesticized Philza blinks at him.

if you think about it the amnestics arc was basically Webb reloading on a dating sim to get the dialogue tree right. by giving Philza a lot of irreversible brain damage.

Webb lounges in his house drinking whiskey and thinking about Philza (murdering all of his friends and coworkers).

Webb is literally bisexual and ”””experimenting””” on Philza its basically canon already.

Philza, for his part, despises Webb and is waiting for the first opportunity to torture him to death. Which....oh you're consumed by vengeance? So you spend all day thinking about another man??

They're so. so clearly enemies to. enemies to lo. Okay I can't say it without choking but you know what I mean. Presumably. Look I'll be level, my publisher said I had to add romance to Fault to appeal to more demographics and I'm a struggling aroace. This is what y'all like, right? Villain x Hero? Attempted murder is homoerotic or something?

#actually Webb does eventually confront his biases towards anomalies but NOT LIKE THIS #still really funny to reframe every scene with Webb #im sooooo not done with this idea either #sbi scp au #fault au #philza #sbi au #scp philza #scp oc #scp fandom #tw dehumanization #tw torture mention #villain x hero #something to nom on

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salomeslashes · 1 year

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"Do you know that morticians use a special technique to sew the mouths of corpses shut and keep their pretty smiles?"

The pet nodded at it's Master, eyes wide.

"Don't you dare embarrass me in front of my friends again."

#salome whumps #whump prompt #snippet #mouth whump #fear #threats #suture mention #corpse mention #pet whump #dehumanization

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quietly-by-myself · 10 months

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A Wicked Work of Art - Chapter 13

Masterlist

A little short but Important Things Happen

CW: medical whump, trans whumpee, test subject whumpee, experiment whumpee, fantasy racism, dehumanization, fantasy whump, suicidal whumpee, mentioned/discussed noncon, institutionalized slavery, angels and demons, allusion to domestic violence, transformation whump, emeto mention

===

There was a shatterproof mirror in the lab cell’s bathroom. Akakios had checked the “shatterproof” part. No, there were no means to an end in the bathroom. Everything was set up to make suicide impossible. Whether that was because subjects frequently committed suicide or because of Akakios himself, he didn’t know.

However, one thing had become obvious one fateful day after Akakios had taken his doctor-prescribed showers. As he was brushing his hair like Vasiliki had ordered him to, he’d found nubs.

It had taken Akakios a moment to understand what they were. They were boney and sharp. It even hurt a bit to touch the base.

They were the start of horns.

Asimi’s words came back to Akakios. If I stay with you for too long, my love, you’ll become like me. Once you start, you can’t stop.

Akakios immediately did his hair in a way that would hide them. Fear pounded in his chest. God, if Vasiliki found out-

His mind raced with all the awful scenarios. It would mean more pain, more torture, more experimentation. Maybe, just maybe, Vasiliki would finally use him.

After all, Akakios had been trained for little more than sex. Constantine had used it to break him.

It would follow that Vasiliki would do the same now that Akakios was becoming a devil.

—

“Akakios, I know you probably want to sleep.”

Akakios had curled up in a ball on the table after Vasiliki had released his restraints. Seeing Akakios like that made Vasiliki feel guilty. He was going to have to make it so much worse for Akakios. He didn’t want to.

But there was something he needed to do before he hurt Akakios.

“I noticed the horns. They’re peeking out of your hair now. You’re transforming, aren’t you?”

Akakios was quiet, tears rolling down his face. The tears soon turned into uncontrolled sobbing. Vasiliki moved from his chair to sit on the floor next to Akakios. It was a delicate situation - one perhaps too delicate for Vasiliki. He didn’t know how to handle it.

However, looking at Akakios, he felt his pain. It was an odd feeling - he thought that the part of him that wasn’t human had taken his ability to feel connections with other people away.

Maybe the reason he felt that mystical connection that had been missing his entire life with Akakios was because Akakios wasn’t really human anymore.

But that made it even more confusing. Akakios was turning into a devil, not an angel. If he could only feel connections with nonhumans, wouldn’t it make sense that he could only feel them with angels? Vasiliki didn’t know.

What he did know was that he felt a distinctive pain in his chest. One that made him want to reach out and hug Akakios. One that made what he had to do impossible.

“You should’ve told me.” Vasiliki did his best to avoid a scolding tone, even if that was what it was. “I…” Vasiliki didn’t know what to say.

And he didn’t get time to think over what he wanted to say. Akakios was the one to speak.

“Please don’t use me.” Akakios sobbed some more. Vasiliki decided to allow him to speak his mind. “I- I know it’s all I’m good for, but please, I don’t want it. I don’t want you to.”

Vasiliki paused. “What do you mean that it’s all you’re good for?”

“I was rated at low value because I’m defective. They trained me for sex because sex slaves always sell. I’m worthless outside of sex and I know it’s only a matter of time before you realize that. Now that I’m becoming a devil, you’re going to use it to break me like my handler did.”

Akakios lost control of his breathing again and began to sob.

Vasiliki sat in cold silence. What the Facility did never bothered him before now. Sitting there and listening to Akakios relay everything that had been told to him, all the lies he’d been told, made it real in a way that it wasn’t before. Vasiliki found himself disgusted with himself. He’d contributed to this. He’d enabled it. He’d been a part of it, even.

Just that thought, watching Akakios sob, made him want to vomit. Vasiliki couldn’t be so self-centered though. Akakios needed him. Akakios was the victim, not him.

No.

Vasiliki was the villain here.

The image of Stergios popped into his head.

Was this the moment Stergios had been waiting for him to have? To be so disgusted with himself that he wanted to bathe in kerosene and light a cigarette?

Oh, to have Stergios by his side to guide him through these crushing emotions. To comfort Akakios better than he ever could.

But Stergios wasn’t there.

It was just him.

“Akakios, can you look at me?”

That marred, burned face looked up at him, eyes red and puffy.

“I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. I-” He took a breath. “It was only once for me, but I was raped too. It doesn’t even remotely compare to what you’ve been through, but I would never do that to you.”

Vasiliki found tears in his eyes. He couldn’t tell Akakios that he would have to punish him. He couldn’t punish Akakios. He was going to get Akakios out of here.

“I need you to obey everything I say, but after that, you’ll be safe.”

Akakios looked at him in shock.

“I’m getting you out of here, Akakios. We’re going somewhere safe. Somewhere you can get help for your transformation. This isn’t right. And I refuse to be a part of it any longer.”

…

Akakios looked at Vasiliki in shock. This had to be some sort of joke. However, as Vasiliki picked him up and strapped him to a wheelchair, Akakios thought it might’ve been to drag him to his execution.

However, the halls turned unfamiliar. Faintly, Akakios could smell freshly cut grass and must. It was a smell that hadn’t reached his nose for at least a year.

Maybe, just maybe…

Vasiliki waved his card at the door and it opened without a beep. Outside. He was outside. In a nearly-abandoned parking lot, but he was outside!

This was happening.

This was actually happening.

Akakios thought for a moment that he had to be dreaming. However, the feeling of the leather of Vasiliki’s car was certainly real. It burned his exposed legs a little. Against the freezing cold of the night, it was a shock.

“Just stay quiet and if anyone pulls us over, I’m taking you home to fuck you.”

Akakios’ heart sank. Was that what was happening?

Vasiliki took off at lightning speed.

Even if Vasiliki was taking him home for use, Akakios found himself not caring.

At least he was out of the Facility, even if only for a little.

===

Taglist: @i-can-even-burn-salad, @whumpsday, @pigeonwhumps, @oddsconvert, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @writereleaserepeat, @just-a-silly-little-whumper, @sparrowsage, @inscrutable-shadow, @whumplr-reader, @whumpycries, @demondamage, @whumpshaped, @itsleelove, @whump-blog-reblogs, @whumpterful-beeeeee

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