Thank you @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​! Marshal has a great love of shocking devices and he thinks a collar is a good look on Laurent. (This is just a whole bunch of marshal being kind of a creep and Laurent being so tired, as usual)

Marshal smirks, tangling his fingers back into Laurent’s hair. He yanks his head back, exposing his neck. “You know what I think? I think you would look gorgeous with a collar. I really do love the new shock ones we’re about to put on the market. They’re addicting.”

Laurent grits his teeth and tosses his head, trying to yank away from Marshal’s grip, but without success. “W-what? The ones Locke sells s-so disgusting excuses for human beings can- can put on their brainwashed slaves they call p-pets?”

Marshal shrugs and traces Laurent’s delicate jawline with a finger. “It’s a perfectly legitimate business Laurie. Locke knows where the money is. Military and Pet tech are the two most profitable revenue sources for companies like ours. All those little chip implants, collars, cuffs, you name it- we make it. You will be making it. Once you come to your senses.” His finger trails from Laurent’s jaw to his neck, sending icy, gut-twisting spirals of fear down the inventor’s spine where they dig their claws in and hold fast.

“I w-won’t”, Laurent says. His mismatched pale eyes can’t completely meet Marshal’s. “I won’t contribute to trading in life- or- or m-making things that hurt people.” He doesn’t want to cause harm with his work. He wants to help, to heal.

Part one | Part two

Tw light gore, referenced/implied past noncon in terms of a victim getting revenge

Shock.

Crow realizes it’s shock that keeps Silas from overpowering him as he threatens him to move with the knife. When he locks the cuffs over the hands that had beaten and choked and touched him. When he leaves him chained to the metal loop in the wall next to the cot. When the lock slides into place behind him with a satisfying click.

Oh.

Now what.

The first thing Crow does is raid Silas’ closet. There’s a nice warm jacket, much too large, but he doesn’t care. It swallows him up and the soft lining is like heaven. He can look for other things later, but for now, he just revels in the warmth.

The cabinets are inspected next, and sure, there’s not much. But he mixes up enough oatmeal to make a person twice his size sick and eats it all. It’s probably not wise, he should ration it out. But he hasn’t had anything substantial to eat in so long.

The adrenaline is wearing off and his head pounds from taking the beating, eye completely swollen shut and the side of his face a colorful pattern of blues and purples. He lightly touches his busted lip and sighs before laying his head in his arms on the table. He’s so tired. But there’s something that has to be taken care of.

Silas seems incapable of having anything actually useful around his house, like a pen and paper. But Crow finds one eventually and settles down to write. He has to take breaks because his hands keep cramping up. But finally it’s finished. He’s pretty sure it will work, Silas is in a lot of debt to those people. But Crow has a private score to settle first.

He regretfully slips the the coat off, no need for it to get messy and picks up the knife. Silas thought it was fun to control and hurt? Crow can play that game.

But when he goes to unlock the door, he realizes he shaking. He doesn’t want to ever see that man again- every time he looks at him he just feels sick and shaky and twisted up inside. He remembers everything Silas ever did to him and it makes him feel dirty and disgusted with himself. Worthless cripple. Can’t even do this right. The voice in his head sounds like Silas. Crow shakes his head and tightens his grip on the knife handle. No. He needed to do this.

The man is right where he left him, blood splattered and chained up. The gash across his face looks worse, how that Crow has a better look at it. That’s definitely going to permanently scar.

Silas grimaces and spits blood in Crow’s direction. “What’re gonna do you murderous fuckin’ shifter? Kill me?” His voice is hoarse with overuse and pain, he looks and sounds angry, but Crow can see the fear in his eyes. He’s actually afraid of him. Crow smiles, and tests the blade with his thumb before looking Silas dead in the eyes. There’s no fear in his, only anticipation and delight.

There’s no antagonizing words to say, no mocking or explaining. Just a smile and a knife plunged into Silas’s shoulder, slowly slowly twisting, looking him dead in the eyes the whole time.

Silas isn’t silent, screaming and bellowing himself hoarse, yanking on his restraints, yelling curses at Crow, who could absolutely care less. He slowly draws the knife out and watches the blood run down the blade with a faint smile before looking at Silas, shaking, sweaty, mumbling Silas. The other shoulder seems far too intact.

It’s a good while later when Crow leaves that tiny room for the last time, bolt sliding into place behind him. He could really use a shower and some not bloody clothes. And now, all he has to do it wait until the money collectors show up again. Silas has pissed off all the wrong people and that included Crow. He feels good for the first time in a very long time.

Silas has friends over.

It’s not a common occurrence. He usually goes out when he wants to socialize, leaving Crow handcuffed to the cot in his tiny cold closet-like room. But today Crow isn’t that fortunate.

He’s been given a hoodie, certainly not new by any means, but new to Crow and he revels in the warmth it provides. It’s far too large for him and hangs off his too-thin frame, but it’s all the better. He can tuck his legs under it when he curls up at night and it’s almost like having a blanket. The sleeves are too long, but they keep his hands warm.

Silas lounges on the couch, laughing roughly with his friends, crow tucked tightly in between his side and the arm of the battered couch. He holds perfectly still, keeping his eyes down, focusing on not flinching whenever Silas puts a heavy hand on his leg, or pulls him a little closer. He’s fine, he’s small and tucked into the corner, no one’s paying too much attention to him. Until they are.

“How’d you come by that thing anyway?” One of the friends comments, blowing a stream of smoke out and nodding towards Crow.

Silas shrugs. “Picked em up. Was hoping to make something off of him but never really got around to it. Got its uses though.” He chuckles and some of the others laugh too.

“Mute and cripple you said earlier? Well that’s got value. Can’t run away. No annoying noise. Seems like a pretty sweet deal to me. If you ever get tired of em, let me know and I’ll take it off your hands”, the one who spoke first says. “No I’m serious”, he says as Silas opens his mouth to say something. “Just say the word.”

“Well I’ll keep that in mind”, Silas says. “But no need to go to all that trouble, I don’t mind sharing.”

Crow’s stomach drops and he instinctively curls up tighter, but Silas just grabs him by the loose front of the hoodie and pulls him off the couch and lets him crumple to the floor, unable to get his legs under him in time. Crow gets Silas’ boot in his ribs, nudging him towards the friend. “Go on then.”

He carefully picks himself up, shame burning in his thin cheeks and walks the few steps over to Silas’ friend, who smirks and blows a stream of smoke into the shifter’s face. Crow squints and coughs, but stays still, trembling slightly from cold. He’s always cold.

“What an obedient little bitch”, the man laughs and grabs Crow’s arm. “Hey Si, got any rules about him?”

Silas shakes his head and makes an “I don’t know” noise. “I could care less. Don’t kill em?”

The man grins and pulls Crow’s sleeve up to reveal his misaligned, crooked hand. “Good, cause I think I’m about done with this.” He pushes his cigarette into Crow’s knuckle and grinds it out. “You’re right, it does have other uses, makes a pretty good ashtray.”

Crow trembles and bites his lip hard, tears springing into his eyes. Tears come a lot easier here, rather than before when he was with the Collector. His fingers curl, but he can’t pull his hand away- wrist still trapped firmly in the man’s hand.

“Aw don’t cry little birdy. It’s just one measly cigarette.” He reaches up to touch the tiny feathers near Crow’s eyes and the shifter flinches away from his hand.

The resulting backhand is quick and sharp, stinging pain across Crow’s face, leaving a quickly reddening patch and a teary, stunned expression.

“Hey don’t hog em- I need to put mine out too”, one of the other guys calls, and the tight grip on Crow’s wrist is released and he’s pushed towards the man who spoke. He’s just an object to them. Something to use. That’s all he’s worth anymore. One of the welling tears spills over and trickles down as his hand is yanked out again.

Eerin pt 2

Part 1 | Part 2 

Whumptober Day Thirteen/Fourteen: Adrenaline + Tear-stained

(Tw for this series will be child endangerment, and possible what some might consider whump, but definitely light if any physical whump, mostly just emotional. This is backstory)

“Sometimes I think you’re as stupid as you are mute. I’m going to spar”, Beck snaps. “You can do whatever. I’m not babysitting you anymore.”

Eerin looks up from his pebble and watches his brother run off towards the others and blinks, this time trying his best to keep the tears swimming in his eyes from escaping. Beck had always been resentful and frustrated with him, unlike Aster. He misses his oldest brother, the one who always smiles at him or rambles to him and messes his hair up or gives him a new shiny rock for his collection. But he’s away so much now, training with the full wings to be a guard- and one day, captain of the guard like their father.

He sniffles and rubs his eyes on the back of his hand. They don’t want him around while they spar and hang out together so it would be better if he just went somewhere else. He was used to playing alone and making up his own games only he understood. It’s not like he could explain to anyone else how to play.

He wanders off through the tall grass, pushing through it like swimming in a sea of golden green. Sometimes he pretends he’s burrowing like the little rabbits that make their home near his mother’s garden. Eerin doesn’t know how far he’s gone, he can’t see above the grass, but there’s a bit of a trail behind him. He’s not worried about getting lost, he doesn’t get lost. And besides, he can still hear Beck and Clove and Clay’s staves knocking against each other and excited shouts as they play in the distance.

Whumptober Day Five: Gunpoint

Julian’s eyes are wide and he’s barely breathing as the muzzle of the gun jams harder into the underside of his jaw. His back is against his assailant, trapped as the cold metal presses into his face, forcing his head to tip back and expose his neck.

Ace, or Ethan as he knows his real name is- is facing them, his own gun held pointed straight at Julian and the man using him as a shield. “Let him go”, he says, voice taut and strained. His hands don’t shake as he holds his gun straight, but Julian can see the worry and panic in his good eye. “He doesn’t have any part in this.”

“I don’t think so”, his captor growls. “He’s got a part. Either you put your gun down slowly and let me leave here or he gets a bullet through the face and the chances of surviving that are very slim. And you’re runnin’ out of time to make a decision.”

Julian barely dares to breath, much less speak as the gun jams into his neck again. His glasses are all askew, barely hanging on his face. “A-Ace-“

“Make a decision Agent. Put the gun down or I will shoot the scientist. You know I will.”

Ace looks conflicted, but he slowly raises his hands and starts kneeling to put the gun on the ground but he quickly aims and fires.

There’s a bright flash and bang of the gun firing and the hold on Julian loosens. He crumples to the ground, unable to hold himself up, shaking, but there’s hands on him- kinder, gentler hands and soothing words that he can’t hear over the harsh ringing in his ears.

“I’ve got you Jules- shh it’s okay”, Ace says, hugging the shaking man. “I know it was scary but I wouldn’t miss. I wouldn’t hurt you.” He cups Julian’s bruising jaw and presses their foreheads together.

But he would, Julian knows. He would if he knew what he was.

Whumptober Day Four: Human Shield

Thiago belongs to @mielosastuff

Dray hums as he counts the several small parcels that make up his purchases. It will be nice, having more food and what he bought will make it stretch while still being filling. Thiago needs good food, and it disappears into him like coins down a wishing well.

There’s also some clothes for the small dragon, something he desperately needs. He can’t keep wearing torn rags and Dray’s equally tattered cloak. But these- these will fit him nicely. It brings an almost smile to his face as he imagines Thiago’s delight at the food and new clothes.

There’s some shouting up ahead and Dray looks up to see a crowd gathering. He hates crowds with a passion and immediately turns to find another way back to where he left Thiago but then realizes- that’s where he left Thiago.

He sprints towards the gathering crowd in a panic, clutching the bundles in his hands, pushing through the outside of the circle of angry people. Dray knows the beginnings of a mob when he sees one, but he can’t leave until he knows Thiago is far from here.

He finally pushes to the front of the crowd only to see people starting to pick up rocks from the ground and hurl them at the cowering figure on the ground, the cloak that had been covering him pulled away and torn on the ground. The little dragon is covering his head with his hands, trying to protect himself from the stones hurtling at him.

“Get out of our town!” Someone shrieks. “We don’t want creatures like you roaming around free! Get out!”

Others join in, shouting and jeering, and throwing whatever rocks or stones or trash they can find on the ground near them.

Dray is frozen in place for what seems like hours, though it’s only a few moments before he’s pushing out of the crowd and rushing toward Thiago, parcels scattered across the ground and forgotten, pulling the boy up and covering him with his own body. “Stop this!” He snarls, eyes flashing. “Leave him alone!”

A sharp rock catches his cheek, leaving a jagged cut. He ducks his head down and hold Thiago tighter, trying to cover every part of him. “ ‘s okay, you’re gonna be okay” he mumbles to the shaking boy, wincing as rock glances off his shoulder, another on his back. They don’t stop raining down- his demand only seeming to have infuriated the crowd.

Thiago is sobbing, clutching at his shirt, huddling tightly under Dray’s cover, terrified of the angry people. He doesn’t deserve Dray coming to his rescue, the people have a right to be angry at him. He’s just a horrible creature that doesn’t deserve to walk around their town like he’s a person. He’s a coward for staying hidden and letting Dray take the blows that were meant for him. He can feel Dray’s labored breathing as the older dragon forces himself to not give their assailants the satisfaction of hearing his pain.

A well-aimed stone hits Dray’s temple and he gives a cry, fingers digging into the back of Thiago’s shirt, shuddering, keeping Thiago covered and not letting him push him off. He has to protect him. It’s his fault- he should have never brought him into this town.

A hand grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him backward, away from Thiago and his head smacks against the rough cobblestone. “That’s a lot of heroics for one measly little creature”, the man says, ignoring Dray’s groan. “Makes me wonder why you’d do such a thing.” He kicks Dray in the ribs, hard, making Dray gasp and curl to try and protect himself. The man just kicks him back on to his back again and pulls him up by the front of his shirt.

He’s about to slam a punch into the already bleeding face when his arm is tugged back by Thiago in a burst of bravery. “Get off him! Leave him alone!”

The man angrily growls and slams his elbow back into Thiago’s knocking him off his feet. “Stay on the ground where you belong.”

The crow is growing bored and starting to dissipate, mutters and scowls still tosses in Dray and Thiago’s direction. The man shoves Dray into the ground again before dusting his hands off on his pants. “Just get lost and don’t ever show your faces here again.” He kicks the scattered parcels as he leaves and stomps off.

Thiago waits- frozen until the man is out of sight before scrambling to Dray’s side. “Dray? Dray wake up- can you hear me?” There’s so much blood on his face, bruising starting to bloom around the cuts. “Dray please wake up.” His voice wavers and he paws at his shirt, not wanting to shake him but not knowing what else to do.

Dray groans and presses his hand to the bleeding wound on his head. “You- you okay? You hurt?”

“No no- but you are- Dray you’re bleeding-“

“Heads bleed more”, Dray mutters, not wanting to open his eyes and face the situation and the splitting headache that’s coming on fast. His whole body feels like one big bruise. “Help me up- we need to go before- before they decide to come back.”

Thiago helps him up and he sways- but manages to stay on his feet. “See if- see if there’s anything that can be salvaged”, he says, voice strained as he tries to start picking up the scattered contents of his bundles.

Thiago hurries to do that and together they gather their belongings up and Dray makes sure Thiago gets his new clothes, now a little dusty from the ground, but still worlds better than what he’s currently wearing. “You can change once we get out of the town limits, okay?” Dray rustles Thiago’s hair lightly and bites back a wince as they start walking. When the kid is asleep tonight, he’ll assess the damage.

@whumptober2019