#this is more whump-adjacent

[writereleaserepeat]

Hear No Evil - Chapter 5

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CW: bbu, bbu-adjacent, pet whump, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization, dehumanizing intent by using it/its pronouns, ableism, blood mention, scar mention, non-sexual nudity

It felt wrong to touch the boy’s face. It felt wrong to touch a person who had been endlessly abused into mindless submission, someone who had been trained through pain and suffering that they had to exist at the will and command of another. It felt wrong that the boy was still sitting naked, all but skin and bones, entirely unmoving on Rowan’s floor. 

What other choice did Rowan have? Was there another way to communicate with this boy, one  that wasn’t as direct as physical contact? Necessity, Rowan reminded himself as the boy’s face turned upward in his palm. I’m doing this out of necessity.

Even as he gently guided the boy’s face to look upwards, he refused to meet Rowan’s eyes, his gaze directed towards the floor. That was alright. It was going to have to be alright for a while, Rowan suspected. 

After a moment he let his fingers fall away from the boy’s chin. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but he was relieved when his new houseguest held the position rather than dropping back to the ground. 

“Hey there,” Rowan greeted. He did his best to smile. “I don’t know if you remember, but my name’s Rowan. I know this is new for you, but it’s new for me too. It’s new for both of us. I’m sure you’re probably scared, but we’re going to get through this. We’re going to have to learn together, alright?” 

The boy didn’t even blink. 

---

Master didn’t seem upset that Pet was holding still and looking up at him. By the hint of a smile on Master’s lips, it seemed that he was pleased by the unusual posture. 

It didn’t dare meet Master’s eyes, of course, but now it could try and read his lips. Even if it couldn’t decipher the words that Master was speaking, it had already come to enjoy the soft murmur of Master’s speech. The kindness and warmth was enough for it to relax. 

New… new… new for both of us… learn together…

Pet knew that it could do that. Pet was happy to learn new things for its Master, and it was going to try its very best to do them well. Failure meant punishment, but even worse, failure meant disappointing Master. Disappointing its old Master is what got Pet into this mess to begin with. It could handle any amount of pain, however Master chose to train it, but disappointment always burned the deepest. 

Pet can be good. Pet can learn with Master. 

---

It struck Rowan that now only was the boy still naked, but the stench of waste and sweat clung to his body. The putrid odor of the liquidation event had begun to seep into the room at no fault of the boy’s own. 

Of course - Rowan privately scolded himself for forgetting. The facility never gave its victims the luxury of proper hygiene, and this one had been stuck at the liquidation event for days, before eventually being stuffed in a box. There was no wonder that the boy’s curls were slicked down with grease and dirt. 

Rowan attempted a smile. He knew it didn’t reach his eyes, but how could it, when he knew how much pain this person had been through? 

“How does a bath sound, yeah? Can we do that?” Rowan offered this enthusiastically. Rowan also knew that his bathroom was a bit of a disaster, scattered with half-empty shampoo bottles and skin care products he hadn’t used in weeks. He tried to soothe himself by rationalizing that the boy wouldn’t particularly care about the room’s cleanliness. 

There was no reaction to Rowan’s offer, not a nod, not so much as a twitch. It was all he could do not to sigh, worried that any sighs would be interpreted as misplaced frustration. The last thing he wanted to do was set the boy on edge. 

He remembered what worked earlier, the very gestures that had lured the boy to his bedroom in his first place. After giving himself a determined nod, Rowan took a few steps backwards, and gestured with a low hand to invite the victim to follow along. 

Much to Rowan’s relief, the boy understood. He scampered forward on his hands and knees, eyes glued back to the ground, every bone on his gaunt frame showing. As much as Rowan would have preferred him to walk on two feet, this was going to have to do for the moment. Just enough to get him cleaned and settled in, nothing more. Then they would begin work on rehabilitation. 

As soon as Rowan opened the door to the bathroom, the boy bolted forward and into the tub in a tangle of limbs and apparent enthusiasm. Rowan hadn’t spoken a single word or made a gesture. He smiled in spite of himself, and cocked his head to the side.  

“Alright, I guess baths are okay? That’ll make this easier.” Rowan thought about the many victims that had been tormented by water, scalded or frozen at inhumane temperatures, or held beneath the surface until they drew mouthfuls into their lungs. To have a victim who was at least amiable to the cleaning process would relieve the burden on them both. 

The boy had resumed the typical kneeling position in the tub, seemingly unbothered by the hard porcelain. Rowan figured it was best not to try and correct that for the time being. One step at a time. Be encouraging. 

Rowan leaned over to the spigot and slowly turned it on, carefully easing the handle towards “H,” and diligently checked the temperature as water began to flow. Once it was comfortably warm he plugged the drain and watched as the clear liquid began to pool around the boy’s legs. Rowan almost swore he heard a contented sigh as the boy’s eyes slipped closed. 

For the first time in more than a day, Rowan felt himself smile, a genuine smile. And for the first time, he felt that maybe he was cut out for this. 

---

Pet was grateful for the washing before it even began. Its old Master was so particular in keeping Pet clean, and would have his servants scrub Pet down every day beneath a stream of hot water. Sometimes the soap was floral, other times it was citrus, but it always left Pet smelling wonderful. Handler never gave it such luxuries when it was sent back to the training facilities. 

The water rose ever higher, first over its thighs, then over the pale skin of its stomach, until the water finally came to a stop right above its navel. It could have groaned with how pleasant the warm water felt on its aching legs and bruised knees. For a moment it nearly dared to speak, express its gratitude for the kindness, but knew better than to open its mouth without being told. 

Still, it was a treat to have Master wash it rather than a servant.

Master gently cupped warm water over its head, and Pet closed its eyes tight to keep the water out. With each new splash of water Master continued to talk away, his voice nearly as warm as the water, wrapping around Pet’s shoulders along with the suds. Of course, the words were still indistinct, and Pet listened in case there was a command it could discern, but it was already starting to think that maybe Master just liked to talk. Pet wouldn’t mind that at all. 

---

“I’ve never really had anything to name before,” Rowan mused aloud as he worked his fingers through the boy’s curls. The texture was so much deeper than his own, the ringlets rich with weight. He made a quick mental note that the dollar-store shampoo he used for his own pin-straight hair would most certainly not do in the future. 

“You see, I had to name a goldfish when I was a kid,” Rowan continued as he began to rinse the shampoo out. “I had to name it, and I stalled for weeks. My parents kept asking me, and my sister kept bugging me about it, but I just didn’t have anything. My mom eventually suggested ‘Goldy,’ and I just went with it. But if you can’t tell me what you want to be called, at least not yet, you deserve a name. A proper one, something with a bit of dignity.”

He wondered if there were websites to help with such a thing. namesforyourbrainwashedhumanslave.com? It wouldn’t surprise him. 

“You’re going to have to learn to wash yourself in the future.” Rowan gently wrung some of the water from the boy’s thick head of hair and hoped he wasn’t pulling on the roots. “It’s okay if that doesn’t happen right away. I’m more than happy to help, but I want you to feel comfortable doing things on your own, without having to ask me. You can come in here and have a bath whenever you want. The apartment incorporates the cost of utilities into the monthly rent already, which means we can use as much as we want at no extra cost. It’s nice to have almost unlimited heat in the winters, especially this far north.”

As he began to carefully wipe away the grime on the boy’s face with a warm cloth, Rowan nearly startled when the boy leaned into the touch. He hadn’t expected to feel pressure returned against his hand. After pausing long enough to pull himself out of the shock, Rowan pressed on and began to scrub at the dried blood on the side of the victim’s face. Flakes of muddy brown and deep crimson scabs covered the deep gouges that ran from his temples, down his ears and jawline, almost down to his neck. Given the extent of the damage, it was a wonder there was any skin left. 

“I hope one day you can tell me how these got here,” Rowan murmured as he got a good look at the wounds for the first time. Blood flaked away and fell in hues of brown into the water, mixed with fresh red from the most recent and still-weeping wounds. 

“I’m sorry,” Rowan whispered before he could stop himself, because he knew he had to be hurting the boy, no matter how gently he tried to proceed. The wounds were deep, and Rowan wondered if they needed stitches. How was he supposed to tell? Maybe they were too wide for stitches, maybe the scar tissue was already too well-formed. 

They were different than the scars that Rowan had seen on other victims before, and he had seen the aftermath of many instruments of torture in his time. These scars were jagged, and they were as wide as three fingers across, as though they had been continually torn open. It was the first time Rowan saw them this close up, and he noted that the cartilage of the ears was warped and knobbed. Again, something like he had never seen before. 

The water had turned a translucent copper color, and Rowan tried not to be sick as he reached in to drain the bathtub. A quick hand gesture and the boy got out of the tub and knelt back down on the bath mat. 

Right, towels. Dry him off. 

“Let’s get you dry, huh?” Rowan spoke. Maybe it would help ease whatever tensions were running through the boy’s mind if Rowan kept narrating what he was doing. He imagined it would be beneficial to take away some of the nerve-wracking suspense, and instead replace it with vocalized certainty. 

Forcing a smile on his lips, Rowan grabbed the freshly-laundered towel he had set aside, and held it out in the boy’s line of sight. 

“I’ve got a clean towel here. If you want to do it yourself, just grab the towel, and I’ll stop. Otherwise, here we go.” 

As soon as the terry cloth made contact with the boy’s shoulders, he leaned into the touch, his upper body shifting a few centimeters closer to Rowan’s own. Again. This time, Rowan didn’t startle quite so easily. In fact, he was surprised at himself, and the happiness that blossomed in his stomach. 

He knew he couldn’t take happiness in this forever. There was no joy to be taken in a human being that acted on inhumane training, a human who sought other human contact because they were told to, not because they wanted it. But if the boy wasn’t afraid of him and his touch, that was one small victory. Rowan had a feeling he was going to have to take the little victories for what they were. 

“You’re doing great,” he said, not for the first time that hour. But this time, Rowan knew he might have been talking to himself as well. 

---

Taglist: @honey-is-mesi @aswallowimprisoned @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @honeycollectswhump @rekiroyalstraightprincemaru @tragedyinblue @clairelsonao3 @octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @peachy-panic @whumplr-reader @dislexiher @cc1010foxy @onlybadendings @panstardalia @tempoghast @whumpzone

#hear no evil #whump #whumplr #whump community #pet whump #whumpee and caretaker #recovery arc #bbu adjacent #mind the cws #anyway this chapter is just slow af #if I rewrote this front scratch I'd probably take it out #next one gets more exciting I swear #...maybe #anyway thank you all so much this taglist just has me in shock #some of y'all are authors I really respect with a lot more skill than me #it's really humbling #anyway I love you all thanks so much for reading #'updates on tuesday' is a lie btw #at this point it updates whenever my life isn't in shambles #last month of grad school is rough ngl

[basingstokemercury]

Facing a bit of a dilemma

I very much want to share some of my fanfiction with my parents once it's written (in particular I've pitched Guilt By Association to my mum and she loved the idea), but I'm not sure how to go about that while keeping my online and offline worlds separate.

I'd rather not have my parents following my Tumblr, as innocent as it is, and I'm not too sure about them reading those fics that give vent to the darker side of my imagination either.

I could always just share a Google Doc or something without giving them my AO3, but my mum does browse fanfic spaces sometimes and there might be a chance of her coming across it. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid.

#my mum's atlantis fic is a lot darker than I expected from her #but she openly dislikes whump and its adjacent genres #can't see the appeal in writing/reading about your favourite characters getting hurt #and honestly in my more introspective moments it does feel weird that I'm into that #hey at least I'm an adult now and not an eleven-year-old who constantly writes poems about death and gets taken to a psychologist

[distinctlywhumpthing]

How old is Leo, and how old does Leo think Aiden is? - whumpinthepot

Previous ask about Aiden's age — Masterlist

CW: BBU-adjacent, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization. Explicit language. Whump of a minor mentioned.

Leo took a steadying breath. “Delia?”

“Yeah?” She didn’t even look up from suturing, so focused she’d thankfully missed the half-dozen times he’d opened his mouth and closed again, not quite ready to pull this thread.

“I—uh…”

That did it. Her hands stopped moving and she glanced up, eyes tracing his face. 

“Actually, maybe I don’t even want to know…”

“Leo, out with it.”

“Look, it’s just—Please, tell me he’s older than he looks.” He resisted the urge to glance at Aiden, convinced he’d find those dark eyes watching him, maybe even looking betrayed by this line of questioning. 

Delia did look because of course Aiden was still peacefully sedated. A state that was necessary but felt like another break of Aiden’s trust. “Well, he’s not exactly your peer…”

“Fuck, Deels. He looks about half my age though, not a day over sixteen. Tell me I’m wrong?”  

Delia sighed. “I trust you didn’t get far asking yourself?” 

He shook his head. 

“They’re trained not to answer truthfully, even if they enter the system at a legal age. So, even if he had wanted to tell you…”

His stomach felt heavy. 

“Look, if we get an MRI later, we can make a fairly educated guess. Short of that, we can see what molars he has but that’s only reliable if he hasn’t had orthodontic work to remove any and still has a margin for error of a couple of years if they came in early or late…”

Leo kneaded his brow with his fingertips. 

“What will it mean to know how old he is? Would it change anything?”

He sighed, dragging his hand down his face. The events of the day and night were really starting to hit him. “I don’t know…I guess I had hoped he wasn’t subjected to all of…that when he was so young. He just looks so young, Delia, like he never got a chance at anything.” 

“Would it be any less sad if he was your age or mine? If they had waited until he was eighteen like they’re supposed to? Because in that case, chances are he was in for a decade at least.” 

He swallowed. “See, now? This is why I thought maybe I was better off not knowing. It’s lose-lose either way.”

“That’s the system, Leo.” She picked up her instruments and resumed mending what could be fixed while Leo let himself be swallowed by thoughts of the damage he couldn’t even begin to touch.

— Masterlist —

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @mazeish @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess @meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7  @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch@skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings @peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump @aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @the-magpiesystem @pigeonwhumps

#bbu #box boy rescue #box boy whump #bbu whump #whump #pet whumpee #pet whump #clueless caretaker #reluctant caretaker #thank you for the ask! #stitches tw #unconscious tw #institutionalized slavery tw #bbu-adjacent #it really is much more bbu-adjacent/dystopia at this point #i've been meaning to hammer out the details in a reference post #one of these days #right after i start a new Together spinoff #and write an Unintentional medieval AU

[whumpofdory]

More Than You Bargained For, Part 2

CW: BBU and everything that comes with it, tics, noncon touch (very brief and non sexual)

They continued kneeling and watched as the man in front of them twitched. Tics, he’d called them. They would remember that, it could be important later. The tics slowed and the man took a deep breath. “Do either of you have names?”

“No Sir. You can choose to call us whatever pleases you best.” The one with dark hair spoke up. His body language suggested to Warren that he’d be the more dominant personality between his newly purchased pets. He sat up straighter, at perfect attention. The one with dirty blond hair nodded his assent. Warren’s head snapped forward and he whistled loudly, making both pets jolt.

“Oh. I see.” They say in awkward silence for a moment, only a whistle and a few clicks of the tongue to break the think quiet. “Can you go get the boxes you came in, please?” Warren inwardly cringed at the words. The boxes you came in. Not even animals were usually shipped that way. What have I gotten myself into? But he needed the help and there were no caretakers in his area for someone with his needs.

They each got up and retrieved their respective boxes, bringing them in to set in front of him; first the dark haired one (Darius, maybe? Dolten? He definitely felt like a D name), then the blond. As the latter set down his box, Warren’s hand snapped forward, his hand latching onto the boy’s wrist. Instantly the pet whimpered and dropped to his knees where he was, too afraid to speak.

What did I do wrong? He had done just as the other pet did, and Master had not seen his actions worthy of punishment. It is not my duty to think. Only to serve my Master. He sat on his knees waiting diligently as the tight grip on his arm released. He winced, waiting for the inevitable slap across his face.

“Sorry, kid.” Master said. “You’re not in trouble. It’s just a tic.” Just a tic? Was he supposed to know already how to distinguish them? Would he be punished for not understanding? Was he already the least favourite pet? He was the defective one, after all. “No worries. You can go sit by your buddy, I just want to look at these papers for a bit.” The boy crawled the few feet to kneel beside the dark haired pet and watched intently as Master began to unpack the rest of the box.

Warren pulled out the booklet first. He’d already read it online, but he skimmed through it anyway. His mind was occupied with other things. He’d really spooked the pet (Paxton? Harley? Hampton?) when he’d grabbed him. He read up on pet ownership on the internet and the biggest thing to it seemed to be punishment, something he never intended to implement. The pets obviously expected it though, and he was definitely worried about some of his more aggressive tics giving them the wrong idea. His head snapped and he hummed as he caught a verbal tic in his mouth. He felt like he owed it to them to try to hold the outbursts in, at least for the first few days.

He leaned forward and found everything he’d been told to expect: vouchers for collars once he picked names, two leashes, and two canes. He found something in the blond one’s box he hadn’t been expecting. It read:

Dear Valued Customer of WRU,

Thank you for your purchase during our BOGO sale. We regret to inform you that this pet is a bonus item because it is slightly defective. Due to a negligent staff member, it developed blemishes during training that could not be removed. The staff member has been removed from our team. Please note there is nothing defective about its behaviour; each pet has gone through rigorous testing to ensure it meets the WRU’s high quality standard. Please enjoy your deal and remember to recommend the WRU to your friends and family.

The generic note was signed by the CEO in the usual printed way corporate messages were always signed. Warren wrinkled his nose at it, which unfortunately became another tic. New one to add to the list. He looked over the paper at the defective pet and then back to the note. Nothing seemed wrong with him so far. And what had someone done to the kid to make him “blemished”?

The defective pet shrunk in on himself under Master’s gaze. He knew what the man was reading, and felt the shame screaming from his cheeks. It wasn’t his fault. He tried to reassure himself. Not that that matters, his mind shot back. These thoughts were interrupted by Master.

“So, let’s get you boys clean. I read that’s important.” Warren looked around for his crutches before realising he’d left them in the kitchen when the delivery had come. “Can you go get the crutches from the kitchen, please?” He looked at the dark haired pet. “They’re leaning up against the table. It’s the doorway right behind me.”

The pet looked from Master to the wide pocket doors behind him. They were slid open and he could see red metal poles with cushioned areas at the top and handles halfway down. He stood as gracefully as he could and quickly brought them to Master.

“Follow me.” Warren said before setting the crutches under his arms and walking toward the stairs.

Taglist: @maracujatangerine @hardleyquinnn

#more than you bargained for #pet whump drabble #pet whump #bbu whump #bbu oc #bbu #bbu adjacent #caretaker #two whumpees

[hearse-song]

Scurvy is so fascinating, it’ something humans have been dealing with for essentially forever (there’s Ancient Egyptian medical papyri detailing what are symptoms of scurvy). And like, it’s very easy to treat if you have access to the right things, but also the symptoms can get absolutely terrifying. Y’know, you don’t get enough vitamin C so you just kind of fall apart because your body can’t maintain its connective tissues. Horrifying. One of my absolute favorite medical topics.

Literally the biggest block I have to adding a scurvy section to my Yelling About Boat Disasters post is just figuring out how to keep the thing focused and concise-ish. 

#brutal-nemesis #there ended up being more Yelling here than I thought there would be I'm so sorry #how to tag umm.... #illness #injury #scurvy #medical whump #adjacent at least

[knittedeyebrowsandcardigans]

Listening to Bummerland by AJR and it's so cute bc they think there's a limit to how bad things can get :') ...🥲

Having said that, what a bop 🤘

#cynicism aside it does make me feel more hopeful #music rec I think #bummerland ajr #not my usual music but hey let's get wild go cray seize the day venture out into the wide unknown #it's giving radical acceptance vibes #and I'm here for it #whump adjacent #Youtube

[stealingpotatoes]

@whump-adjacent requested if tcw anakin met live action anakin!!! whatever tcw ani says, live action ani has more Majestic hair

(ko-fi requests are open!!)

#anakin skywalker #kofi req #star wars #star wars the clone wars #swtcw #my doods

[needfantasticstories]

Hi again, @twistedstoryteller!

Okay, LU recs off the top-ish of my head in a sort of organized-ish order:

AUTHORS!

Angst, Action, and Mixed:

Faerule and the No Good Very Bad Road Trip by ImperialKatwala, PolynomialPandemic is a great "Chain Meets Hyrule" fic.

@gintrinsic-writing is phenomenal. A gem. I love all of it, but check the tags to find ones you're comfortable with. AO3 Blood Like Yours is my personal favorite, and the sequel Like Fire in Your Veins by @pocketramblr are both about Hyrule's Blood Curse from Adventures of Link. M for Violence for most of them, but check tags to be sure. If you like it, consider also...

Protector of the Golden Power by Sillus Hyrule centric but he has a different secret.

@somer-writes has a lot of great short one shots, some darker than others. My personal favorite is a sort of character study of the boys at their lowest and how they recover called "Depletion"

For a Sliver of Sunlight by tirsynni: Warrior's dedication to his brothers makes him question his title as Hero.

What are You to a God Slayer by Secretlysheikah BAMF Sky

Brethren in a Cradle by Skyward_Arpeggio BABY!!!! It is adorable, if a bit sad at the start.

Always Darkest Before the Dawn (Linked Universe Whumptober 2023) by Skyward_Arpeggio because in general they don't go above T ratings and write excellent fics.

this year it taught me (lost and ambitious) by qar Also EXCELLENT writer. "Sky has a separate moment with each member of the team"

Whumptober 2023 by Arecaceae Great fics! Plus, "Each story will have warnings in the tags and the story notes as well as a 0-5 whump rating. The ratings will be relative to my writing, so my 5 might not be equivalent to someone else's 5. I don't write MCD, extreme gore, non-con, or extreme emotional angst."

Major's Whumptober 2023 by major_de_speed Major's are also quite clean despite the M rating which is more about the violence.

Linkeduniverse Shorts by Skyward_Arpeggio LU Short fics

A Royal Castletown Wedding by Skyward_Arpeggio This story is so good!!!!!!!!!

Whumptober 2022 by Arecaceae more great fics, rated T.

LU Whump Dump by UnexpectedStormy (ArtemiStorm)  need AO3 account to read, but worth it! Linked Universe Whumpy One-Shots, rated T.

There's one I'm missing, and when I find it I'll add it here. It involves a cursed magical artifact that Legend messes with... it's intense.

Fluffier Fics:

Frosty Reception by Skyward_Arpeggio "Four’s glad to finally be home again, and he’s not the only one happy at his return." Cute fic!

S’more Stories by Ginger375 "A collection of drabbles and mini-fics for LUtober! Day 31: Costumes"

Sentiment by Arecaceae

nine heroes, one spirit by Imjustherefortheangst, uncleskyrule (unclemoriarty) tons of great short fics, all with G-T ratings

Finding Family by Tashacee "AU where Wild's scars are a lot worse and he isn't used to interacting with people. The Chain think their new brother is dope af and are determined to make him feel at home."

My Heart's Forsaken Me by sister_dear "Four looses his sword in the heat of battle, and it's picked up by someone else... Time’s aren’t the only secrets coming to light, and the gang discovers they still have a thing or two to learn from each other."

Ambush at the Bridge by JinxedRuby Very action and healing oriented fic, multiple perspectives on one event.

Dark Clouds on the Horizon by CubanCracker62 "he Chain ends up in Wild's era shortly before the events of TotK."

There are worse ways to stay alive by EliotRosewater one shots rated T.

Crack Fics:

Misplaced Heroes by notOK this had me busting out laughing SO MANY TIMES!

Peak Gremlin Energy by defenestration_nation "Fics focusing on various Links being chaotic gremlins"

Not Necessarily LU, but Adjacent or just LoZ:

Blood of the Hero by Skye_the_Lofty_Nutcase: (Wild) Link's parents have to step in to save him when the Shrine of Resurrection gets damaged. His parents are so well written, and Abel makes appearances in LU-related/adjacent fics, The Many Misadventures of Dad Squad and Dad Squad AU by Nancyheart, Silver_Captain82403, Skye_the_Lofty_Nutcase

which is part crack and part angst, mostly lighthearted.

Don't Worry Man, I'm from the Yiga Clan: Link makes a Yiga friend due to being a delightful chaos gremlin.

Feature MCD... but might be worth it:

And Still the Cradle Blooms by Solistrix: GORGEOUS literary masterpiece. The writing is unreal. It's descriptions and emotions are incredible. This is more like finding the meaning in eventual death, so of the three here I suspect you'll like this one best as far as not being too hurt by the character's mentioned end.

This is an Adjuration: I'll be real, this is full of action and excitement but yes, it has MCD and is making me cry, but it's also REEEEAAALLY good!

Blood Drops on Roses by HotCheetohatred Fantastic storytelling! Wild centric, Twi is big brother but from day one of Wild's journey. Unreliable young Wild as narrator is an absolute delight. Unfinished, no MCD yet, but it's in the tags so no promises.

Modern AUs for not-big-on-modern-au fans:

As a fellow not-seeker of modern AUs, I personally have enjoyed the following

@skyward-floored Incredibles AU

Wild’s Wolf by HotCheetoHatred "Modern AU where young Wild is a feral forest child, raised by Wolf Twilight. He is captured, separated from Twilight, and put under observation. Time helps him escape." Unfinished, and I admit personal bias here because HotCheetoHatred is my BETA reader.

ARTISTS!!!

@ovegakart: amazing action, gut-busting humor, and captivating storytelling! Does comics

@la-sera: beautiful, ethereal, and gorgeous illustrations and a great storyteller, loves downfall duo but does every one of the boys justice

@dfanart: HILARIOUS and such heartfelt emotions on them boys.

@kikker-oma great art from fluff to whump to action

@1caru has so many fluffy LU gems!

@linderosse has a Zelda's meet AU, does LU, and much more!

@lele5429 great illustrations and abstract pieces of LU fanart.

@theecholegend hahaha... arson.

@ikaishere has so many cute LU ones.

@thepinklink fabulous LU character sketches

@hiimgin BIAS! I got to work with them and they are FABULOUS!

@pluviatrix has art for their fic And Still the Cradle Blooms

@cherrypaii has fantastic illustrations of these boys!

AND MANY, MANY MORE!

(Commenters, please add artists I forgot. I know there are a ton Im missing!!)

Hope this helps you feel welcome!

#WELCOME TO LU! #linked universe #lu fic recs #skiprambles #loz fanart i love #fic recommendation

[sseniita]

medical malpractice

cw injuries, whump-adjacent, malpractice of the medical kind (?)

To say the villain was bored was an understatement. They led a dreadfully, unequivocally, dangerously, dull life. They had achieved their goals months ago, enacting a plan years in the making and swiftly took control over the city. It was easier than expected, both the killing and the politics. Now, having everything they’ve ever wanted, they questioned why this desire in the first place? 

They barely had fun with the various heroes who tried to stop them, pathetic attempts at most. Bombs, guns, punches, it all didn’t mean too much to a healer. Other villains called it ironic, the villain’s own mother insisted on the villain pursuing medicine- she didn’t seem to complain about her child’s career now that the villain had put her in a luxury home on some sunny island. Yes, the villain was bored; sat rotting away on the mayor’s chair- with absolutely nothing to do but polish their mask and listen to the protestors gathering on the steps of city hall. 

Oh? The villain thought. They’re quite rowdy today. 

Before the villain could kick their legs off the desk a group of heroes barged into the office, guns blazing, yelling obscenities at the villain. Charming. They put their mask on and skillfully and elegantly the villain took each of them down one by one. The heroes obviously hadn’t healed from their previous encounter with the villain. All the villain had to do was hit them in the same spot to send them calling a retreat and running out of the office, revealing a lonely individual in the doorway. 

The villain didn’t break a sweat, setting their eyes on the new hero, practically trembling from fear. They stood frozen in perfect fighting form watching from the doorway. 

“You're new.” The villain tilted their head curiously at the hero, recognizing the symbol they had haphazardly tied to their thigh. “Ah, I see.” The villain’s finger lazily spun a dagger they swung out of its holster. “You’re Superhero’s little protege. Oh! He would be so proud if he saw you there trembling in fear.” 

The villain noticed they had struck a chord within the hero, dodging before the hero could land a hit. “Ooh, so close!” 

The hero seemed to burst alive, they continued to try and try and try, shooting out powered rays, breaking windows, doors and wreaking havoc as they followed the villain through city hall. The villain, merrily laughing all the way, having the time of their life. They had avoided many close calls to certain death but with each one they dodged, they laughed harder, perhaps it was their first laugh in years. Their mask had fallen off long ago, but the villain couldn’t be bothered to care. The villain landed a good deal of hits on the hero, causing them to trail blood on the carpet, couches and anything else the hero was thrown into. The hero continued like this until the villain got bored and threw a punch to the hero’s ribs, knocking them down and leaving them unable to turn themselves to get up. 

“Oh ho ho! You are fun! Lord, much more fun than your little friends who ran before anything got interesting.” The villain paced slowly towards the hero. The hero obviously tried to hide their whimpers of pain, but a kick to their ribs was enough to make them howl. “Awe, you overdid it, didn’t you, sweetheart?” 

If looks could kill, the villain would have been six feet under; the hatred in the little hero’s eyes was intoxicating to the villain. If the villain didn’t know any better; they would have thought themselves in love. 

“You’re short. How old are you? Superhero died…” they pursed their lips in thought, “2 years ago? You were a teenager, then. Hmm, 21, 22?” they finally said. 

“You killed them!” the hero spat. 

“That I did. What’s your deal, hm? Avenging your fallen master, are you? How mature.” 

“You’re a monster!” The villain tutted. 

“No, no. Enough with the insults. You seem to be above that, my little firework.” The villain used their foot to turn the hero onto their back, they crouched down and took hold of the hero’s cheeks; squishing them. 

“You’re cute.” the villain smiled at the hero, almost kindly. Before the hero could spit out another curse, the villain squeezed harder to shut them up. “Your mission is admirable. If not a little annoying. But this has been the most fun I’ve had since this godforsaken city surrendered.” There were shouts from outside. Backup. 

With a sigh, the villain smiled at the hero. “I’ll cut you a deal. You get better, and I’ll give you another shot at me.” They winked, much to the hero’s horror. 

“You broke my ribs.” The hero groaned. In response, the villain took this as an invitation to feel up the hero’s chest. 

“Only… hmm. About 13 or so of them.” The hero coughed up some blood. “Maybe more. Wish I could help but…” they stuttered. Looking at the hero; hunched over on the floor, their smartest idea popped into their head. “Oh. My, my, my, firework. You just might be the best thing that’s happened to me.” 

“You’re sick.” They growled, trying to crawl up and away. 

“Yes, yes. Come on, stand up.” They grabbed the hero by the arm, enjoying their shouts of pain and the way they tried- and failed- to wring out of the villain’s grasp. The villain wrapped their arm around the hero and set them on a couch, ignoring their shouts to let them go. 

The villain was called a healer, but this knowledge wasn’t widely known. They were known for their more terrifying ability to control any biological body. They had the ability to kill with a touch; control blood pressure, suppress hormones, destroy senses, manipulate memories. They used this ability wisely and sparingly, preferring to use their knowledge on their human body to always have the advantage. This power was very misunderstood between the heroes, they never cracked the code, and they would have never believed it to reach such lengths. 

“Look at me.” The hero was very obviously terrified. Confused at the sudden mercy- if you could call it that- they shut their eyes tight, remembering all the warnings about the fearsome villain. Their mind went a million miles a second- trying to find a way out. They has seen the villain’s face, they had a chance to get an advantage. 

“You and I are going to get along swiftly. But I need you at your peak. Constantly.” They smiled, not unlike the hero though the devil would. 

“I’ll kill you.” 

“And I’ll be looking forward to see you try.” 

“Once I heal I’ll get you, I promise.” they snapped, feverishly staring daggers into the villain’s eyes. 

“Yes, of course. But that’ll take too long don’t you think?” 

“Oh don’t worry, no amount of time will stop me- I’ll keep coming back until you’re dead.” They threatened. The wicked grin on the villain’s only grew, the hero began to feel a pit in their stomach- why weren’t they dead yet they thought. 

“Well, I’m not the patient type.” They set their hands on either side of the hero’s head, sticking their thumbs into their temples. “Don't worry though. I’m sure you’ll heal in a jiffy, my little firework.” 

The hero’s vision grew blurry and their head went fuzzy. The villain’s face swirled until it was barely recognizable, a final attempt to remember their face came in a hazy image of the Cheshire cat. 

///

Hero’s mission to defeat the villain had been futile. They’d discuss it daily with other heroes and planned raids once a week. Hero began to wonder if the villain knew they were coming, month after month the villain was always prepared. The villain had seemed to take a personal grudge against them, never holding back. But no matter what, the hero was always ready to go back. Since the first time they met, the villain was an elusive, mysterious being, and the hero was committed to destroying that illusion. 

The hero would return after a siege bloody and bruised, aching and sprained. They lost count how many times the villain had broken their arm, leg, cracked some ribs, scraped some skin. They were barely recognizable without their arm in a sling or a bruise on their cheek. Even when life seems unbearable they knew the healer would always be there for them. 

They had found the healer months back and they joined the team immediately. They were a godsend. 4 week healing times would be shortened to a weekend, not only were they incredibly useful and talented in their position, they were charming too. They carried a smile wherever they went and seemed to have taken a liking to the hero- their most frequent patient. 

Limping and trailing blood, the hero made their way towards the infirmary inside the base. Weakly opening the frosted glass doors, their eyes met the healer's, seated at their desk. Hero smiled at them and promptly plopped down on the examination table. 

“Well. That was quick. Did you miss me?” The healer rolled their chair towards the hero, setting their hands casually on the hero’s knees. 

“Yep. Even broke my arm just to see you.” The chimed back. The healer chuckled, standing up and examining their arm. 

“Hmm. Nothing major.” They grabbed their stethoscope, placing it on their chest. The hero didn’t need instruction to begin breathing methodically for them. The whole examination could have been done blindfolded and without a word. An action so familiar it was almost comforting. The hero would lean into the healer’s hands against their limbs, warming with the healer's power, the ache of which felt like a much needed massage. The healer spoke in a soft, instructing voice, something the hero only ever got from Superhero. The dull grief of losing the Superhero was still there, but the healer seemed to heal their broken soul as they did their broken bones. 

“You’re all set.” The healer said, power fading from their palms.

“How much longer till I get back out there, Doc?” 

“Give yourself a day or two.” They said, wiping away the blood on hero's nose as they would the snot on a child, the hero couldn’t help but be embarrassed. With a sigh, the hero started. 

“Great, so in less than a week I’ll be back. Right at square one.” 

“Oh, don’t think like that. You're close I know it.” 

“Well, I’m glad you think so. The other heroes are starting to have doubts.” 

“Don’t listen to them.” The healer grabbed the hero’s jaw softly, caressing it with their thumb. The hero did all they could to not melt into their touch. “You’re so extraordinary. So special. None of those heroes even come close to matching your power, you know that, right?” They pulled a strand of hero's hair from their face. "Superhero would be so proud."

The hero blushed. “You’re just saying that because I single handedly keep you busy; I know how bored you get here.” The healer smiled back, leaning in to give the hero a peck on the forehead. 

“Don’t tell anyone but you’re my favourite patient.” 

The hero failed in not melting under the healer’s gaze, they were smiling ear to ear.  

“Can’t I just stay here, forever?” They said in a hazy, drunk sort of way. “I’ve forgotten how it feels to have bones that work for longer than a few days.” The healer chuckled. 

“Maybe someday, but for now, you have to get back out there and give the villain a fight they’ll never forget, don’tcha firework?” The healer winked and the hero could barely contain the butterflies in their stomach.

#hero x villain #enemies to lovers #original fiction #writing #criticism welcome #villain x hero #hero and villain #whump #hero lost their memory #if that didn't get thru to yall #lmao #toxic villain lol

[avvail-whumps]

‘the facility’ — the breakout 2/?

previous · masterlist

content warnings: prison whump, whumpee turned whumper, sadistic whumper, mass prison breakout, captivity, imprisonment, torture, violence, beatings

Noah’s head felt as though it had been rammed through a wall when he finally came to. It took him a long, aching few seconds to realise that was pretty much what had happened - the elevator doors.

His hazy vision could barely make out where he was, if he was the right way up or not, but he soon began to wriggle his limbs and realised he was lay on his side, head pressed uncomfortably into the cold floor.

He bit back a small moan of pain - his arms were twisted behind his back, knotted together with an uncomfortable, scratchy rope. The fear was stabbing numbly at his chest, the situation dawning on him.

The breakout. Cash – shit, Cash.

Noah’s breath hitched, feeling automatic tears start to relentlessly sting his eyes. He could recognise one of these rooms, one of torture. It wasn’t the one they had experimented on Cash in, being much larger and decorated with so many more horrifying tools.

The scientist felt dizzy looking at them, shifting. Aches spiralled through his muscles, the pins and needles kicking in once he finally became aware. As he did, something caught his eye.

There was someone else against the adjacent wall, an Apoid. The helmeted head was dipped down low, arms equally twisted behind his back, but Noah could just catch a small glimpse of a short link of chain. The visor on the helmet was cracked, and their chest was rising and falling slowly.

Noah’s heart sank. The Apoid was still alive, and better yet, he prayed it was who he thought it was.

“Fionn?” He croaked, his throat dry from the last moments he’d spent screaming. His heart was hammering in his chest. “Fionn, wake up. Fionn.”

“He’s not gonna hear you.”

Noah felt his body seize in a vice grip, the voice from behind him making all of his blood go cold. He didn’t even have time to crane around until someone was stepping over his body, and his wide eyes flickered up to meet Cash’s face.

He was smirking. But those eyes; he wasn’t amused at all.

“Hello, doc,” he spoke calmly, crouching down closer towards him. Noah winced, his chest rising and falling with his quickly labouring breaths. “Glad someone didn’t pump you with any lead. Been looking forward to this since the alarm went off.”

Noah shrank further into the floor.

He remembered what that prisoner had said, and it frightened him how Cash had been gunning just for him the whole time the chaos had erupted. To fulfil the promise he’d made. His throat ached in reminder of that moment.

“It’s not as fun when the boot’s on the other foot, huh?” Cash sneered, tilting his head as his unrelenting gaze didn’t falter for a moment. Noah forced himself to look away, tucking his wobbling bottom lip under.

“Cash, please, I—” His words dried up, squeezing his eyes shut. He was so terrified. “I didn’t take any pleasure in it. I didn’t—”

“—want to?” Cash interrupted. “You signed up for this place.”

“I had to,” he shakily whispered. “It’s my sister. There was no way I could afford her treatment if I didn’t—”

“Noah,” Cash groaned, the irritation evident on his face, now hardened from his fear induced babbling. Fingers twisted in his hair, pressing his temple into the concrete floor. Noah bit back a whine of pain. “I don’t want a justification. In fact, I don’t care. But I am gonna make you pay. There’s nothing you can say that will change that.”

His stomach twisted. He was shocked he hadn’t thrown up yet, with the stress of the breakout and all the horrfic things he’d seen, and now this horrific predicament. His white jacket was still stained with patches of blood, a cruel reminder that none of it had mattered in the end.

“Why not run?” The scientist whispered shakily. “This is your chance to escape this place. There’ll never be another opportunity.”

Cash raised a brow, looking disinterestedly at the muck on Noah’s jacket. “Doc, getting out of this place ain’t easy. They’ll have the army, thousands of Apoids, anything swarming the outside of this place. Those lucky enough to get out won’t last two minutes up there. But here?”

Cash grinned, the sight wolfish. The secretary figured he might sink those sharp teeth into his neck for good measure. “They’ll eventually get control of the place. They’ll round up the prisoners and take us alive once we cooperate. After all, they won’t gun us all down as long as we remain in the Facility.”

Cash’s fingers twisted harder into his hair, and Noah’s body went rigid, hissing through his teeth.

“I’ve been in this place longer than you, doc. I know how they work,” he whispered sharply, the puff of air on the shell of his ear making him shudder. “So, why not take this time to do something I’ve wanted to do since the moment I laid eyes on you?”

He roughly released him, and Noah’s throat bobbed as he swallowed uneasily. Cash was right - an escape would only end in death. Clearly, after the fiasco when he’d broken out of his cuffs, the Facility prioritised taking the prisoners alive unless it was absolutely necessary to kill them. They’d send in reinforcements, round them up, and get the place back under control.

It meant that Noah was going to have to wait for the reinforcements to show up. Who knew how long that could take? Depending on how far the breakout had stretched, which levels were unaffected and under control, he was in the dark.

In the dark, and trapped with his prisoner, who had every desire to make him wish for a merciful death.

Noah hadn’t even realised he’d started crying until Cash scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, biting back a small whimper.

“You’re a doll, doc,” he cooed, his eyes gleaming. “I’m going to take my time with you. Though, I was kind enough to provide you with some company, at least.”

Noah’s teary eyes darted over to Fionn.

He wondered how Cash even knew that was him, but he didn’t care.

Fionn wasn’t safe, neither of them were, but at least he knew he wasn’t dead. The last thing he had been so consumed about was if he’d cost the Apoid his job; now he wished that was all he had to worry about. Noah bit back the little sniffle, the dizzy headache throbbing uncomfortably through his skull, only intensified by the pounding of his heart. 

Level Nine was terrifying enough as it was; locked in a room with one of their prisoners, completely at their mercy? Noah didn’t think anything worse could have happened. Level Nine prisoner’s were some of the most ruthless war criminals, prisoners of war, agents and spies, too dangerous to be kept anywhere but a highly sophisticated underground prison. He had recieved Cash’s file, but it didn’t tell him anything about the things he’d done to get himself locked up in here. Only blood types, medication - things that he would have to know as his scientist. 

Noah didn’t want to think about all the horrific stuff Cash had done.

The fact that he probably knew how to kill Noah in more ways than he could ever imagine. 

The fact that he would know how to hurt him until he wanted death. 

Horror twisted his core - there was no point begging right now. For Cash, this was how it was supposed to be. The Facility would be swarming on the surface - the moment someone managed to get out, they wouldn’t be there two minutes before they were found and gunned down. 

And, for some reason, Noah got the impression that mindless slaughter and violence would become pretty boring for someone as calculated as Cash. The breakout was an exuse for anarchy and escape; for Noah’s prisoner, it was an opportunity for payback. 

“If you want to punish someone, punish the Higher Ups,” Noah choked out, cringing when Cash’s eyes remained staring languidly at Fionn’s unconscious form. “The people who run the place. They’re the ones that pass the orders. Please.” 

Cash tilted his head, cold eyes flickering up to the ceiling, as if in thought. “That’s the thing, doc. They’re smart enough to know that. It’s always why they’re smart enough not to stick around when they don’t have to.” 

His boots thumped across the ground, stopping in front of Noah’s damp face again. Over his prison clothes, Cash was wearing one of the Apoid’s jackets, unzipped. He’d probably taken it from someone he’d killed, since Fionn was in full uniform apart from his weapons. The prisoner had stripped them. 

“But we’ve both seen for ourselves that people like you are expendable,” he mocks cruelly, reminding Noah of those words Fionn had shouted with such conviction. Something stung at his chest. “That’s why.” 

He admired the crestfallen expression that fell upon Noah’s pitiful face for a few moments, before he pretended to glance at the non-existent watch on his wrist. He hummed, lip quirking into a malicious smirk. 

“Alright, enough chit chat, doc,” he murmured. “I was hoping your little Apoid would wake up, but we’re on a time crunch here. So, let’s get started.” 

Noah flinched violently when his hand fisted into his shirt, hoisting him onto his feet like he weighed nothing. The prisoner even made a quiet comment about how little he would weigh, even soaking wet, but Noah couldn’t hear anything over the relentless pounding in his skull, and the blood rushing through his head. 

The prisoner guided him, or more like dragged him, close to the wall, where he took in the horrible sight of shackles attached to a chain in the ceiling. His knees were refusing to even hold his own weight, a colourless complexion fixed itself to his face. 

“Coveniently, these rooms were made for torture,” Cash smoothly spoke, taking a pocket knife to Noah’s restrained wrists and cutting through them easily. Before he could even consider attempting to wrench away from him, the prisoner was slapping the cold metal cuffs around them, stretching his arms uncomfortably above his head. There was a small pinch in his shoulder blade from the position, and he had to bite back a pained whimper. 

“The most challenging thing was deciding what to do with you first, though. Especially with all of these options,” he hummed absentmindly, running his fingers along the wall, lined with various tools that Noah didn’t dare crane his head around to see. He heard the clank of metal, and Cash circled back round in front of him to see he was cradling a lead pipe. “I don’t want to put you out of commission too early. Look at you - you’re so frail, doc.”

Noah’s heart was racing. With each passing second of being in this position, he was imagining all of the places that the lead pipe would crack against, and he could barely breathe from the horrifying concept. Was this how it felt for them? Waiting for the inevitable torture?

“Cash,” he breathed out shakily, biting back a sob. “Cash, please.” 

“Not gonna work on me,” the prisoner sighed, unbothered. “I don’t have a soft spot for those that grovell. Sorry.” 

Noah had barely even been able to brace for the first swing. Cash had moved so fast after standing so casually, that he only registered the movement after the crack of impact landed on his side, and his throat closed up in agony. His whole body seized up, a wretched, choked sound escaping his lips. 

The chains rattled from the very impact, his eyes wide and watery. Cash’s eyes gleamed with something predatory, like he could sense he was going to enjoy this. The numbness came next, followed by the tidal wave of crippling agony. Noah wanted to double over, try to ease the blinding pain, but it was impossible with the chains. 

“That was just a love tap,” Cash purred, and there was this sick delight in his voice, like the hit had released something within him that had been festering for years upon years. “Don’t be dramatic, doc.” 

Noah can’t even process the comparison of that only being a love tap before the pipe sinks into his stomach with vigor, and a sickening cough gets all tangled up in the scientist’s throat. The sheer force is enough to rip the air from his lungs, rendering him gasping and squirming in the chains as he tries to process the throbbing pain spreading through his body. 

The pipe goes for his side again. Then his ribs - Noah see’s stars on that swing, and he can barely even feel the instinctive panic that something was cracked before another was slamming into back, avoiding his spine. 

“Stop,” Noah tries to choke out, but he’s been rendered breathless and he’s in so much pain and he just wants to go home. Cash taps the edge of the pipe under his chin, gently tilting his head up to meet his unfocused, tear filled eyes. He can’t help but wrack with groaning sobs, each jolt making his body flare up in intense agony. Breathing aches. 

His face is contorted in pain, and Cash admires it languidly. 

“But, doc,” he drawls. “Why stop when we’ve only just begun?”

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#the facility #whump #whump writing #whump fic #whump series #whump tropes #whumpblr #whump community #whump scenario #whumper #whumpee #caretaker #noah and cash #noah and fionn #writing #writing snippet #story snippet #my writing #avvail whumps #fionn pov next chappy! #i didn't mean to post this #it's not proofread tf 😭

[truebluemenace]

I don't normally write angst/whump/hurt no comfort like this but the idea wouldn't leave me alone.

Tails has a bad time in this. Sorry

1.8k words

All things considered, it didn’t take them that long to find Tails. There had been a time, admittedly before the two of them had any other friends, when Eggman had kidnapped Tails for days. It had taken Sonic a long time to even track the man down, let alone break into his base and rescue his friend.

Things were different now. Sonic was stronger. He had friends to back him up.

Sure, maybe the idea of kidnappings was a little more concerning now than it had been before Sonic’s six month… vacation. But what had happened then wouldn’t be repeated.

Especially not with Tails.

He had only been missing for a few hours when they found him. Or, more accurately, Sonic found him. Once he, Knuckles, and Amy had breached Eggman’s base, his friends let him rush off to find Tails without question. They’d stay behind and cover for him if any badniks tried to impede the rescue, but they knew how anxious Sonic was to get to Tails. Trying to keep him from getting there first would not spell out good results for anyone.

The cells were easy to find. Eggman usually built at least one or two into any new bases he developed, and it was simple to locate them if you were familiar with Eggman’s architectural style. They were normally underground and close to the center of the base. All Sonic had to do was find an elevator deep enough in and, sure enough, the cells were just outside of the doors when they opened.

The smell of blood and medical supplies hit his nostrils, and his heart started hammering.

“Tails?” he called out; the closest cell was empty, so he had to move past it to an adjacent one before he was able to catch sight of the fox.

He couldn’t prevent a gasp from escaping at what he saw, eyes going wide as he immediately plucked a quill from his head, plunging it into the lock on the cell with a significant amount of urgency.

Tails was lying in the corner, curled into a ball, trembling. Sonic couldn’t see what the cause was from outside the cell with the way Tails was lying, but he’d also caught the sight of white bandages with splotches of red soaking through.

“Tails, it’s me, I’m gonna get you out,” Sonic spoke as he fussed with the lock. Lock picking was not his specialty, and his inefficiency made his stress increase. He let out a frustrated grunt, kicking the bottom of the door as he kept fiddling with the detached quill in the lock.

The little pile of golden fur began to shift, unrolling from the ball he’d been in to look up. “S-Sonic?”

Tension drained from Sonic’s body at the sound of that voice. If Tails was conscious, everything was so much better than it would be otherwise. “Yeah, bud, it’s me.” He took a moment to pause his lock picking to look over at his little bro, and sucked in a gasp, almost wishing he hadn’t.

There was a haunted look in Tails’ eyes. It was like a shadow had fallen over them, despite the almost too-bright lighting in the cell. He didn’t seem entirely present, either, as if he was in a kind of daze. Any relief Sonic had felt evaporated in an instant. His little bro should not look like that. He dropped his focus back down to his task.

“Just hang on for a minute, I’ve almost got this open…”

“Use two quills.”

Sonic looked back at Tails again. “Huh?”

“Use two quills,” Tails repeated, now starting to shuffle around into a sitting position, back against the cell wall. It let Sonic see that the bandages were wrapped around Tails’ hips, but he couldn’t see more than that. “One to put tension on the lock and the other to move the pins.”

Sonic snapped his fingers. “Thanks, bud! I knew I was forgetting something.” He plucked another quill from his head and got back to work on the lock, noting that Tails didn’t perk up at his lighter tone like he’d hoped. Something was definitely wrong.

The first pin popped into place. Tails would be out soon. “What did Eggman do? How badly are you hurt?” he asked as he kept working away at the lock.

He didn’t expect Tails to whimper. The sound made him freeze. “Tails, bud--” He cut himself off when Tails whimpered again. The kid flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. Okay, this wasn’t good. Sonic focused his full attention on the lock.

After a few more clicks, he was able to turn it and open the door. Immediately he rushed to Tails’ side.

He wasn’t prepared for Tails to cower away from him.

“Hey, buddy, it’s just me,” Sonic said carefully, kneeling down on the floor next to him and holding his hands out. “Whatever Eggman did is over now. I’m getting you out of here.”

Tails shook his head, still not looking up at Sonic, still squeezing his eyes shut.

“At the very least I need to know how hurt you are,” Sonic tried to reason, reaching out a hand. “Can I see—”

“DON’T!”

Not expecting such an outburst, Sonic jumped, startled. Tails’ eyes had flown open and he, somehow, pressed himself further into the corner where he was sitting.

This was not going well.

“Tails, I need—” He cut himself off again when Tails flinched at the sound of his name. Was… was there something wrong with the name? Every once in a while, Sonic would ask his brother if the nickname was still okay, to make sure it wasn’t bringing up bad memories unnecessarily. Every time, Tails insisted that he liked the name, that it was better than “Miles”. But maybe Eggman had done something to change that opinion?

His eyes drifted down to the bandages around Tails’ waist. They were wrapped loosely around the front of his body, in a way that suggested they were simply holding in place the more important bandages on the other side. Tails’ back. Or, more accurately…

“He did something to your tails.” It wasn’t a question. The fox kit was positioned in a way that hid his tails from view. Now that Sonic had put the pieces together, it was obvious.

The whine that Tails let out was enough confirmation he was right.

“C’mon, bud, let me see,” Sonic tried to coax gently, unsurprised when Tails shook his head immediately. He forced himself not to sigh. He understood Tails’ sensitivity about his tails, but in situations like this, it could be a problem. He had to change tactics. “Alright, I don’t have to see right now. But are you too hurt to walk? I need to know if I have to carry you out of here or not.”

Tails just shook his head again.

“No? No what? No, you can’t walk? No, you don’t need to be carried?”

Tails didn’t answer, just sniffled.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Tails was just a kid. With how insanely intelligent he was, and how easily he kept up and fit in with his older friends, it wasn’t always obvious just how young he was. But Sonic knew better than anyone that he was just a child still. And on occasion, in rare situations like this one, he had to be treated like the age he was, and not the age he acted.

“Kid, can you look at me?” No reaction. “C’mon, just for a second?”

Two baby blue eyes opened slowly and met Sonic’s. There were emotions there that he couldn’t read, and that scared him. Sonic knew Tails better than anyone else on the planet; it was rare that he wasn’t able to read him flawlessly at this point.

“I’m still not sure what Eggman did to you, but it was bad, wasn’t it?”

Hesitation, then Tails nodded. Gaia, he looked absolutely miserable. Sonic was about ready to track Eggman down and make him pay, but Tails needed him right now. He had to hope that Amy and Knuckles were giving him a bad time for him.

“I’m not sure if you’re more hurt or more scared, but it’s okay to be feeling those things,” Sonic continued. He wasn’t sure if he was getting through to Tails, but he hoped he was. “You’re gonna be okay though. Whatever happened, it’ll be much better once we get out of here, but that means we actually have to get out first. Which is why I need to know if I have to carry you or not.”

Tails held his gaze in silence for a few seconds, biting at his lower lip. Then he turned his head away. The arms wrapped around his torso tightened. “It’s not gonna get better.”

Oh, Sonic’s heart could break at that. What the hell did Eggman do to his little brother in such a short amount of time to break his spirit like this? “Yeah it will, li’l bro, you’ll see—”

“No it won’t!” Tails didn’t yell as loudly this time, but it still startled Sonic. “You can’t say that, you don’t even… you don’t know what he…” The kid’s breathing started to accelerate, the signs of panic evident. Sonic was completely messing this up.

“Tails,” he said, wincing as he caught the flinch at the name again. “Please just let me help you get out of here. Whatever happened, we can find a way to fix it once we’re safe.”

Tails shook his head again. “It can’t be fixed,” he insisted, voice wavering.

“I doubt that’s true—”

“It can’t. It can’t.”

“Bud—”

“He took it.”

Sonic froze. “...What?”

Tails sniffled. “It’s… he…”

Realization dawned on Sonic like a bucket of ice water being poured over him. He pleaded to every god out there that what he was putting together was wrong.

“Your tails…” Sonic said, feeling like he was going to be sick.

Suddenly, Tails lunged forward and wrapped his arms tight around Sonic, burying his face in Sonic’s chest and letting out a wail. His entire body was shuddering with the force of his sobbing, the wetness of his tears soaking through Sonic’s fur in only a few seconds.

He wrapped his arms tight around his little brother, rubbing his back in a way that he hoped was soothing, gently shushing him and instructing him to breathe. But Sonic felt like he might need someone to console him, too, because he now had a clear look at what had happened.

At the base of Tails’ spine, there were bandages with just enough blood soaking through to be of note. They would have to be changed as soon as they could.

Because where there should be two tails, now sat only one.

#sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonic fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #miles tails prower #cw amputation #angst #whump #i might write a second part to this since. the actual idea that wouldnt leave my mind doesnt actually happen in this part #but i might not write it so i just decided i would post this

[ilasknives]

INK BLACK AND BLUE (A whump fic introduction).

hello and welcome to my newest whumpee! I swear I'm writing my other stories but for now you can have him :)

CW for: BBU/BBU Adjacent, pet whump, brief mentions of non-con touch, non-consensual drugging.

1: Hand to Hand to Hand

Pet practically belonged to the casino by now. He was here more often than not, these days, tucked uncomfortably under some table in the back corner with his head down and his knees underneath himself, hands bound tightly together and chained to a table leg. It was a small place compared to most, low-lit in the yellow wash of the dying lights on the ceiling, hidden in some back alley somewhere. The kind of place people went when they didn’t want much competition, or when they’d been kicked out of every bigger casino in the area. Pet could find his way here from any corner of the town in his sleep.

Most days he’d be dragged in the doorway to a handful of pills shoved down his throat and a hand - or several - blocking off his breathing until he swallowed, then he’d be shoved down to his knees on the moth-eaten carpet to wait.

Today was no different. He couldn’t see much beyond the shoes of the players and the table legs around him, but by the force of the poker chips being dropped on the table and the anxious shifting of the pair of legs beside him, it was going to be… a long night. It had already been a long night. His owner - current owner, anyway - was losing, and badly.

A hand dropped down to rough up his hair and Pet gritted his teeth, curling his fingers into the carpet fibres and hunching down lower. Every muscle in his body drew tense, the urge to bite swelling in his chest, raging and painful, dulled only by the drugs in his system. Somewhere else, he would thrash and turn and sink his teeth in. But he didn't bite here. He'd learned that lesson well and truly by now. He worked his teeth into his bottom lip instead, and the hand drew away to throw another card down on the table.

The game dragged on. Poker chips slammed on the table above him, a kick to his side, yelling from the men who were losing, yelling from the men who were winning. A hand in his hair, more chips on the table, more yelling. Cards, chips, hand, yell. Teeth into lip. Cards, hands, yelling. Nausea, climbing his throat. Drugs and swimming vision. The urge to fight, stuffed somewhere back behind his teeth. He didn't bite here.

The table cleared slowly as time wore on, players running slowly out of cash as it piled in the centre or finally deciding to escape with their winnings before they lost them again. His owner kept reaching down to pet his head – something that only this owner did, really, and Pet didn’t know if it was a nervous habit or if he thought it was some odd form of good luck. Pet had never asked, too focused on keeping his teeth in his mouth and ignoring the way it made his skin crawl. He’d never be seen like that, anyway. At worst he was bad luck, at best he was nothing to them at all.

He gritted his teeth together under the table and dug his fingers into the carpet. It was worn, here, from how often he did this. His table, his spot. Casino property, or whatever. He didn’t want to mean anything to them.

It was some time before the sound of the door opening drew his attention and he lifted his head to see a new pair of shoes stepping across to the table.  

“You have time for another round?”

The newcomer’s voice was not one that Pet had heard before. He stilled, listening. The men here were all violent and mean, slurred voices, rough hands. Pet knew them all personally. Intimately. He’d been to each house, each bed, each basement floor many times over but this man – he didn’t recognise him. There hadn’t been a newcomer to this casino in months.

“Just packing up,” said his owner, but there was an edge to it, like he was hesitating. The newcomer shifted his feet.

“Are you sure?”

“… You play cards?”

“I’m quite good at cards, yes.”

His owner sat up straighter and laughed. None of them could resist a challenge. This was going to drag out into another few rounds of back and forth, and his legs were already numb. It was a goddamned miracle his owner had kept him this long as it was, but he was quickly running out of money and Pet knew he didn’t know when to stop. This owner was always more hesitant to give him up, for whatever reason, but he’d done it many times before. He’d do it many times again.

There were three of them at the table now – his owner, another regular, and the newcomer. The cards shuffled, and someone started tossing them out. One fell, fluttering down to the floor, and the newcomer leaned down to pick it up. He glanced up when he did, face-to-face with Pet as he reached for it. The man blinked at him, picked the card off the floor and straightened. That was fine. He’d prefer to be ignored, anyway. Above him, the conversation continued.

“You have a pet here?” asked the newcomer.

His owner huffed out a laugh. “He’s not worth much, if that’s what you’re wondering. A pain in the ass, more than anything. Aren’t you, pest?” He reached down to rough up Pet’s hair again. He gritted his teeth together and refused to respond, which earned him a smack up the back of the head. “See what I mean?”

“I didn’t know they were allowed this close to the tables.”

A scoff. “You think this place cares? You’re not in a big city anymore, mate.”

The newcomer hummed in agreement. “Guess not.”

Pet glared at the floor, tearing carpet threads up with his fingers, bottom lip worked painfully between his teeth. He’d bitten it raw, but no one cared, least of all himself. It’d just be a point of mockery later, of wow, pest, had to try real hard to keep your teeth to yourself back there, huh? and rough hands holding his face still so someone could lick the blood away. He told himself he’d smash his face into theirs.

Bad pet. Pest. Fucking menace. He revelled in it.

Just not here, he reminded himself when his owner shifted his leg to press it against his side. The contact made his stomach turn.

The game went on.

“Not as good as you said, huh?” Someone said, late into the game, late into the night. “Bet that hand you got dealt isn’t looking as good as you thought.”

A laugh. A shuffle of cards. “I guess not. You’re doing well, though.”

“You’re too fuckin’ polite for this place, mate,” his owner laughed. More chips dragged over to his side, piled so dangerously close to the edge that if Pet craned his neck, or shifted just a little too much, he’d be able to make them fall. Somehow they didn’t when his owner leaned across the table. “Got another round in you? Or are you gonna tuck your tail between your legs and run home? Easy winnings from someone who claimed to be good at this.”

The newcomer sighed and shifted, a hand coming down to pat at his pockets. Pet had been here long enough that he understood what was happening, the desperate search for something else to put up, the draw to the game even when he’d done nothing but lose.

“… I’ll put my car in.”

The owner laughed heartily and accepted. The other regular had left, by now, and it was these two alone, nothing but Pet and the casino staff behind the bar to watch them. This game, another. The tide turned, and his owner started losing, the newcomer’s skills seeming to come through for him.

His owner was scrambling, now, the wins he’d been gloating about ripped right from underneath him.

Pet felt the tug on his leash before he heard the words.

“Throw him in, too.”

“Your pet?”

“His attitude isn’t worth shit, but a pet’s worth a lot of money, you know that.”

“… Sure,” shrugged the newcomer. “My dad could use another pet.”

If his owner had been any decent kind of person, he might have mentioned that Pet was not the kind of pet that anyone would want. He was disobedient and angry. He didn’t get passed around the casino because he was good. They all just wanted their shot at breaking him – it’s all he was good for, anyway. A bargaining chip, a game piece, something to be taken and given up. Just a monetary value and a source of bragging rights.

But his owner was a bitter, arrogant kind of man, just like the rest of them. He was a desperate one, too. So Pet became part of the betting pool once again, and the cards were shuffled above him.

In the end, no matter how hard his owner had tried, no matter what cards he played, it hadn’t mattered. He lost the money. He gave up Pet.

At some ungodly hour of the morning, after a scuffle between the men - over one claiming the other had cheated, or scammed him, or something like that - that the casino staff had to break up, Pet’s chains were taken off his wrists. He heard one of the staff mutter a recommendation for a muzzle.

The newcomer wrapped Pet’s leash around his fist and dragged him outside.

The world swam, and his legs barely had feeling back, and he didn’t fight when he was pushed into the back of a car, still too close to the casino.

He didn’t bite here.

But almost. Soon. When the drugs weren’t making him so tired, when he wasn’t trying to figure out what this new owner would be like and how hard he’d have to fight.

He didn’t answer when the man asked for his name. He’d stopped keeping track of those a long time ago.

They drove the rest of the way in silence.

Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!): @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whumpinthepot

#whump #whump fic #bbu #bbu fic #box boy universe #pet whump #whump series #whump series introduction #box boy universe fic #whump writing #whump oc #tagging things on tumblr my beloathed #writing: ink black and blue #writing: ib&b

[whumpofdory]

More Than You Bargained For, Part 3

The pets reached the top of the staircase behind their Master and looked down the hallway. The house had looked large from the outside, but it felt smaller now, almost like it was choking them. A prison; a noose around the neck. 

“Sorry the hallways and doors are so small.” Warren tried to break the thick silence. “I usually use a wheelchair but I don’t want to have the whole place renovated. When we go out in public I’ll use a wheelchair but here I have to use these.” He swung the left crutch out and almost hit the shin of the light haired pet. 

Since he’d first picked up the crutches, all he could think about was how much it would hurt to be beaten with it.  They were light metal but strong; they could likely hurt almost as much as a poker but with more force behind it. And the leverage he could get with the way they were placed under his arms. This only spurred him to focus on not messing up. One of the crutches jumped out in front of his leg and he walked into it, making him tumble forward. Out of instinct he grabbed, but all he caught was Master’s shirt as he went down too, his balance being knocked off from the displacement of the crutch. The pet’s heart stopped in horror and his blood felt like ice. 

All Warren felt was that dip in your stomach, and then the gentle arms of the light haired pet pulling him up. He was used to falling; his tics caused that frequently if he didn’t have crutches. He was not, however, used to falling onto someone. He watched as the dark haired pet pulled himself to his knees in front of him. 

“I’m so sorry Master, I will accept the punishment you give me. It will not happen in the future, I promise.” There was panic thinly veiled in the semi-steady flow of his voice. 

“Don’t worry, that happens to me all the time. No punishment needed. I fall a lot, that’s one of the reasons you’re here is to help me. I’d say you certainly did that when you broke my fall. I should be thanking you.” It made Warren uncomfortable the way they spoke to him. Like he was some kind of god who was merciful enough to let them live every second. He felt sick just thinking about it. Maybe he’ll get used to it after a while?

“Thank you for your mercy, Master.” Now Master would certainly want to keep the other pet unless he was able to recover his good standing. This was awful, this waiting to see, this competition between himself and the other pet. He almost wished he was back at the facility, ready to be bought again. Almost. 

Warren led them around the bannister and through a short hallway into a bedroom. “This one is for one of you, and if the other can help me fix up the room across the hall that’ll be his.” They stared at each other for a moment before he gestured at the light haired one with a crutch. “Why don’t you come with me and get sheets for the other bed. You can stay here.” With the last sentence he gestured toward the dark haired pet.”

Of course, the dark haired boy thought. Of course he would pick the other one instead of me. He did trip Master, after all. He looked around the small room. A large bed took up most of the space, with a closet on the wall to his right and a bathroom door on the wall he’d come through to enter. Other than that there were a desk and two chairs, only one of which was cushioned.

 Warren walked down the hall with the light haired boy. “You know,” he said awkwardly, “I was thinking your name could be Peyton. If you like that name.” 

“I like it very much, Master, if it pleases you.” He had a neutral expression - the same expression he’d had since Warren first met him. Warren couldn’t decide if Peyton actually liked the name or was only humouring him.

“Good. I think it suits you.” They continued in silence until they reached the linen closet, and were silent on the way back. He had been afraid the trip would have been awkward given what had just happened with the dark haired one given what had happened moments ago, but turns out the trip with Peyton wasn’t much better.

Master named me. Peyton thought. Already too! Maybe he will keep me. I have to stay good so I will not be sold. Master led him to his new room, across the way from the other pet.

Master called the dark haired pet in to help Peyton change the sheets on the bed. He watched as they did it with practised, graceful movements. “So while we were getting the sheets I gave Peyton his name.” In case it wasn’t clear who he was talking about, Warren gestured at the blond pet. “And I was thinking I should do the same for you. You look like a “Dexter” to me, is that okay with you?” Dexter nodded and smiled. At least one of the pets was expressive. One of his pets was expressive. 

They finished and he turned to leave. “Both of you should take showers. Each bedroom has its own bathroom and there should be enough water for you both to shower at the same time. I trust you know how to do it on your own. I’ll be downstairs. Come get me if you need anything.” And with that he left.

Tag list: @maracujatangerine @hardleyquinnn

#whump #whump ideas #whump blog #so we finally have names for the boys #peyton #dexter #warren #more than you bargained for #bbu #bbu adjacent #pet whump Drabble #pet whump #pets

[jdeanmorgan]

☆ WELCOME TO FREAKCENTRAL! ☆

A discord server made to support gifmakers of any freakness level, where they can connect with others who share similar interests, find resources, get help, and learn more!

☆ this server is exclusive to gifmakers ☆ anyone who gifs or wants to learn how can join, but the network is centered around being a freak gifmaking.

☆ what constitutes a freak, you ask? ☆ well, it's really simple. you enjoy horror movies, you enjoy watching hot people covered in fake blood, you love whump, you love the crazy and macabre in media, such as shows/movies with fucked up themes and/or toxic dynamics (e.g. jennifer's body, the passenger, supernatural, the boys, interview with the vampire, house of the dragon, etc).

rules:

☆ you must be 18+ to join. no minors allowed due to the nature/subject matter of this discord server. ☆ be a freak or freak-adjacent ☆ be a gifmaker ☆ no white-washing, or color-washing characters allowed. be aware/careful of the coloring of your gifsets. ☆ don't be racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, zionist, etc.

how to join: ☆ be clear on the rules. ☆ reblog this post ☆ enter the discord server!

#freakcentral

[whumpcereal]

behavior modification, part twenty-one

masterlist here.

content warnings for: EXPLICIT noncon/dubcon, noncon drugging, forced nudity, cages, conditioned whumpee, multiple whumpers, intimate whumpers, bbu/bbu-adjacent, psychological whump

part twenty-one, easier

It gets easier. 

Jack doesn’t know how, but he does know why. It has to get easier, or there will never be any relief. It was the same with Bill, with all the others; the more he fought, the worse everything hurt. And this, this “arrangement” with Ivan is never going to end. He may still have his name, he may not have been obliterated by the Drip, but Jack is property of WRU now. Just as he was always meant to be. 

He is good. Sweet. Compliant. He is an instrument of pleasure, and he serves his master well. 

And so, it gets easier because it has to. It’s the only way he can face his future, such as it is. 

Ivan is a good master. Even if the first time he took Jack was painful, it was for Jack’s own good. So that he would know better than to resist again. And he does know better now. He won’t resist. He can’t. This is what he wants. It is the only thing he can want. 

In the morning, he swallows Ivan down with his breakfast. Then, if Ivan doesn’t have any clients, he is allowed to go upstairs. He crawls on all fours like the pet that he is, but Ivan doesn’t muzzle him. There’s no need. Jack slips under Ivan’s desk, and he waits for the tap on his cheek that lets him know he is needed. Sometimes, Ivan rests in Jack’s mouth for hours, but Jack doesn’t complain. He’s used to it now. 

If Ivan has clients, Jack is left in his cage, the beads thrumming inside of him and Joe’s hoodie puddled beneath his head. He doesn’t fight the beads anymore. Instead, he chases the sensation, letting his sweat bathe his bare body. He doesn’t come, though. He knows better; his body knows better. He rises, and he waits. Ivan likes to watch when he returns, likes to listen to Jack’s wanton moans. Sometimes, Ivan watches for a very long time. He likes to watch Jack go blind with want. But Jack knows: he is allowed to want, but not to have. Ivan only gives him release every so often–just to keep things in working order, he says. 

In the evening, Jack drinks his water from a bowl at Ivan’s feet. It is cloudy and bitter, and he knows it is drugged, but it doesn’t matter; it’s better than the hood or the leather sack. When the pall of the drug settles around him, when he is warm and pliant and fuzzy and faraway, Ivan carries him upstairs. It wasn’t that way at first. At first, he was restrained or bent over the steel table or forced into position ten–his hands and knees–on the concrete floor. But now, he is such a good boy that he is allowed in the bed. Ivan doesn’t even need to chain him to the headboard anymore. 

Sometimes, Ivan keeps him in the bedroom overnight. Not in the bed, because pets do not sleep in beds. But he has a special cage beneath the box frame just for Jack; the latest accessory from WRU’s new line, Ivan says. There is a pillow and a blanket, because Jack is such a spoiled boy. On those nights, Jack sleeps like a baby. He can stretch out, at least; it is better than his basement cage, better than the soiled hoodie. The hoodie doesn’t smell like Joe anymore anyway. 

Joe is going to be so proud of him. That’s what Ivan says. Jack hopes it is true. 

It is evening again. Jack knows because his bowl is waiting, Ivan’s wingtips shining beside it. He doesn’t look at Ivan’s face; pets show deference to their masters, and Jack is a good pet. But he hears the brisk pop of Ivan’s snap, and he lurches forward on his bruised knees to drink. 

“That’s a good boy, Jackie,” Ivan murmurs, scratching his fingers through Jack’s tangled hair. The pressure feels good on his scalp, but Jack knows better than to stop drinking. He has to keep going until every last drop is gone. Until he’s gone with it. Good boys let themselves go. 

“You know,” Ivan goes on, “you’ve done such a marvelous job lately. I can see that you’ve really adapted to the training protocol, that you understand your role. And you’re flourishing.” 

Jack keeps lapping at the water, but his cheeks color with something that might be pleasure. He’s done a good job. He is who he was always meant to be. 

Maybe he will be able to go home soon. He can show Joe everything that he’s learned. Start their new lives together. He knows his place now. He will make Joe so happy. And that will make him happy. He knows it will. There is no happiness but pleasing his master–his owner. 

“There are a few hurdles for you to clear before you’re done with training, my boy,” Ivan says. “But I know you’ll handle them with gusto. Won’t you?” 

The bowl is empty. Jack’s bare ass slides back to his knees, and he nods without looking up. “Yes, sir.” 

Ivan laughs. “Good to hear. Now, tonight, we’ll stay down here in the basement.” 

To his credit, Jack’s heart no longer plummets. It doesn’t matter where he is, so long as he is giving Ivan what he wants. That’s all that matters. 

“Have I done something wrong, sir?” Jack asks. His voice wavers, just like it is supposed to. 

“Not at all, sweet boy, not at all. I just have a very special surprise for you. A challenge. Do you think you’re up to the task, my darling?” 

“Yes, sir.” Jack folds over his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor. 

Ivan’s toe flicks against Jack’s ass crack, and Jack spreads his knees accordingly. 

“I can see that you are,” Ivan laughs. “That’s good. Now, Jackie, I want you to assume position ten.” 

Jack shifts to his hands and knees without a second thought. 

“Excellent, my boy. Now, you stay–” Ivan holds his hand flat in front of Jack’s face, “And I’ll be right back with your surprise, hmm?”  

Ivan sweeps out of the room, leaving the basement door open, and it doesn’t occur to Jack that there might have been a time when he would have tried to follow. To fight. But nothing occurs to Jack at all. He waits, because that’s what he’s been instructed to do. His head is empty. 

Ivan isn’t gone for long; only a few minutes have passed when Jack hears the patter of footsteps on the basement stairs. 

“You’re not going to believe how far he’s come,” Ivan says. He isn’t speaking to Jack.  

“Oh, I’m sure I can believe it,” another voice answers. 

The voice is familiar, but Jack can’t quite place it. Whatever Ivan laces the water with is starting to take effect; his ears rush warm and his joints feel like wax. His head lolls on his neck, but he stays on his hands and knees. He will not break position. Cannot.

“Well, Mr. Kenyon! Look at you!”

Mr. Kenyon. The name swims in Jack’s brain. No one’s called him that in so long. It doesn’t even feel like his name anymore. 

There’s a gentle nudge at Jack’s backside. “It’s alright, Jackie. You can look up. Show our guest your pretty face.” 

Jack looks up, blinking against the overhead light. The man’s face is shadowed, but even so, Jack recognizes him. The sharp chin, the beady eyes, the whispy mouse brown hairline. Immediately, Jack’s balance falters, and he sinks back over his feet. 

“Aw, now, Jackie. Don’t be scared. You remember Dr. Seligman, don’t you?” Ivan kneels beside Jack and runs a careful finger over the ridges of Jack’s spine. “He’s the one who helped bring you here to me.” 

Jack squeezes his eyes shut, even though he isn’t supposed to. He remembers, just barely. Carl’s low snarl, the smoke detector, the drinks–drinks that Seligman mixed. Snatches of foggy time. Being shunted down stairs. His clothes being cut from his body. Hands, shifting, groping, pulling. Waking up, bound in a straitjacket, in this basement. 

Because Jack was taken. Because this is never what he wanted at all. But now, he doesn’t know how to want anything else. 

“Open your eyes, sweet boy,” Ivan coos, but his hand rests heavy on the back of Jack’s neck. A warning. 

Jack complies. Seligman’s horsey face is just inches from his own.

“Dr. Peters was right about you, wasn’t he?” Seligman’s lips creep into a wet smile. “You’re just perfect.”

And Jack is perfect. When Seligman caresses his cheek with papery fingers, Jack lets his mouth fall open. When Seligman teases his soft palate with a jagged fingernail, Jack does not gag. 

“No alarm reaction at all,” Seligman says in wonder. He wipes his wet fingers on Jack’s cheek and swats at Jack’s chin, a silent command for Jack to close his mouth; Jack does. “This is extraordinary, Ivan.”

“Well, I appreciate that.” Ivan’s nails twine with the hair at the nape of Jack’s neck. “He’s almost ready, I think. But I’m still dosing him with a sedative on occasion. That’s part of the reason I asked you to come.”

Seligman stands, still studying Jack from above. “What do you mean?”

“I thought we’d run an experiment,” Ivan says. His touch withdraws, and Jack whines. Ivan only chuckles. “Good boy, Jackie. You just be patient while we discuss. Position five.”

Jack folds in half, a penitent at worship. He listens, but he doesn’t really hear. He is boneless and warm, any real understanding lost in the fog that gets thicker with every slow breath.

“What’s your proposal, Ivan?”

“He’s already been dosed tonight. I say we do what we discussed now, with his typical drugs, and then repeat the exercise tomorrow, without sedating him.”

Seligman sucks his teeth. “So you’ll know if his compliance is drug dependent or not.”

“Precisely.”

Seligman half-laughs. “I suppose I could be talked into it.”

“All for the sake of science, of course.”

“Oh, of course.”

Faraway as Jack is, his stomach still jolts. He knows he’ll do what’s asked of him—there is no asking, not really—but there is an unfamiliar pinprick of fear worrying his belly; he hasn’t been scared in a long time. Still, he stays where he is and waits for instruction.

“You’ll take his mouth,” Ivan says, his voice cool and matter-of-fact, “and I’ll take him from behind.”

No. They can’t do this. Jack can’t do this. He’s never done it before. He is so good, so good at everything else. He can show them, if only they’ll let him. He wants to raise his head, to protest, but he is too fuzzy, too well-trained. He doesn’t move.

“If you insist,” Seligman replies.

“He’s quite adept at oral stimulation. I’ve made note of it in his file.”

Jack closes his eyes again. Yes, he is good at that. He’s always been good at that. Even Bill thought so. But now, he is practiced. A professional. 

“I’m sure the agency will be pleased.”

Ivan laughs. “And so will you.” He claps his hands. “Up, Jackie. Ten.” 

Jack raises himself to hands and knees, and he keeps his eyes on the slate gray floor. Seligman’s feet move away, but Jack hears the gentle drop of a zipper. Ivan squats down in front of him, tucking his fingers beneath Jack’s chin. 

“Now, my good boy, you’re going to show off all of your training. You are so close to being ready for your next step, but we still need to assess, don’t we?”

“Yes, sir,” Jack whispers. 

“Good. Now, when Dr. Seligman is ready, you’re going to take him in your mouth, and you are going to make him come. You can do that, can’t you, Jackie?” 

Jack nods. He can do that. It doesn’t matter if he wants to. Of course he wants to. Of course he can do this. It’s what he was made for, isn’t it? What he’s been training for?

Ivan grips the sides of Jack’s jaw with punishing strength. “What’s that, sweet boy?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Ivan’s fingers relax. “Right. While you’re doing that, I’m going to fuck you. Doesn’t that sound nice?” 

The pinprick of fear tears into Jack’s gut, widening, burning. But he nods again, the world blurry in front of his eyes. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, my darling,” Ivan says. He presses a kiss to Jack’s forehead. “Isn’t this nice, Jackie? Letting others do for you. No choices to make. Just the simple kind of life you were always meant for.” 

“He’s a very lucky boy.” Seligman’s naked, downy-haired legs appear just beyond Ivan’s shoulder. 

“He is. And his Joe will be so proud.” 

Seligman laughs. “Prescott? Oh, Jesus. I’d forgotten.” 

Jack whimpers before he can stop himself. They shouldn’t make fun of Joe. Once Jack gets home, he’ll prove what a big man Joe is. He’ll let Joe do whatever he wants, the way he always should have. 

“Yes, Jackie works very hard for his Joe.” 

“Does Prescott even know–” 

Ivan pops to his feet. “Enough talk, I think. Jack knows what to do. Let him show you.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Seligman says. 

“Alright, Jackie.” Ivan’s voice drifts behind. “Position one. Let Dr. Seligman guide you.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Jack pushes himself to his feet, but before he can rise to standing, Seligman’s dry hands wrap around his shoulders, holding Jack’s trunk parallel to the floor. Jack hates the feeling of the man’s skin on his, but it doesn’t matter; what he feels is unimportant, and he knows it. Still, he shivers, and Seligman squeezes his shoulders. 

“Open that beautiful mouth, Mr. Kenyon,” Seligman says. 

Jack follows orders, and when Seligman slips himself–limp, pink, cold–between Jack’s lips, Jack immediately does what’s expected of him. He flattens his tongue, pushes himself down, lets Seligman guide him back and forth, back and forth. 

“My goodness,” Seligman breathes. “My goodness.” 

Jack doesn’t have any goodness of his own. He is almost grateful when he feels the familiar warmth of Ivan’s hands on his hips.

“That’s it, sweet boy, keep going. Don’t let me distract you,” Ivan murmurs. He kneads his thumbs against Jack’s tailbone, using his knuckles to tease at the cleft between Jack’s buttocks. 

Jack isn’t distracted. His cheeks hollow, and when Seligman’s grip grinds against the hinges of his jaw, Jack moans. The sound is protracted, muffled by the weight of Seligman against his tongue, but it doesn’t matter; Seligman laughs and pats his cheek. He’s hard now, and his hips thrust forward against Jack’s waiting face. 

“That’s right, Mr. Kenyon. You are the star pupil, aren’t you?” 

Jack knows the words are wrong, but just now, he can’t explain why. There is nothing but sensation, nothing but a body that floats in space, ready to be used however his betters see fit. He lets Seligman’s pubis press against his nose; he will breathe when he can. There’s no reason to fight. 

“He is quite teachable,” Ivan agrees. 

He slaps Jack’s ass, sending Jack’s body forward until Seligman is teasing his throat. Jack’s buttocks are cleaved apart, stretched so far open that he almost feels like he’s being ripped in two. But it’s alright. Ivan is only getting ready to prepare him; Jack is lucky. 

There’s a soft hocking sound, and then something warm and slippery drops between Jack’s ass cheeks. Ivan’s thumb slips between the mounds of skin and muscle, and then he circles Jack’s hole. 

“Hold him still for a moment,” Ivan says over Jack’s head, and Seligman slows his rhythm, smashing Jack’s face between his sandpaper palms. 

“Christ, Ivan. You’ve done a wonderful job.” 

One of Ivan’s hands finds purchase on Jack’s hip again; his grip pulses around the bone. “We’ll see, won’t we?” 

Ivan guides himself down, and then, with one sticky thrust, he is inside of Jack. He ruts forward, gently, just once. A kindness. Seligman eases himself forward too, laughing a little. But Jack isn’t afraid. He is just a good boy. The warmth spreads inside his head, and his throat flutters as Seligman pushes into it.

Ivan rocks against him. “Now, sweet boy, now, we’re going to see what you’re really made of.”

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#behavior modification #tw noncon #jack kenyon oc #ivan peters oc #bbu #nsfwhump #it's been a minute #but jackie's back #tune in soon for a continuation #you know #since the experiment isn't over