“Would you believe me…if I told you…ain’t my first time gettin’ tied to a post like this?”

        Rex doesn’t bother to respond. Montez, for some reason, takes this as a cue to keep going.

        “Know you seen the scars on my back.” He huffs a laugh that’s more of a wheeze. “Never said nothin’ about ‘em, though.”

        “Figure it’s your business. Never been much o’ the curious type myself.” Rex’s throat burns when he finally speaks, raw from heat and dust and yelling.

        “Yeah, well. M’bored. Might as well…tell ya.”

        Leave it to the kid to get bored at a time like this. Rex hears the creak of ropes and the rasp of fabric on leather as Montez shifts, ineffectually trying to take some pressure off his bound legs—his bum knee, Rex remembers absently. Must be hurting him something fierce.

        “Had this gal for a while, like you do. Outside…Lubbock, think it was? Few years back.” Rex rolls his salt-dry eyes. Montez talks like he’s a fuckin’ old-timer. Damn kid can’t be more than twenty. “Her daddy was a granger, right. None too keen on his baby girl runnin’ around with the likes of me.”

“Can’t imagine the fuck why.” If Rex had a drop of moisture left in him, he’d spit. Ain’t decent, how Montez carries himself. Talks about this shit like he’s proud. Gets Rex heated.

Another weak laugh, this one turning into a cough. “Just ‘cuz you ugly as homemade sin, lobo…but he catches us, right. In the hayloft. She’s screamin’, he’s cussin’, I’m just tryin’ to get my goddamned pants back on…he musta got a cheap shot in on me or somethin’, ‘cuz I woke up huggin’ a hitching post, sin ropa, mouth full of my own goddamn belt.”

“Shoulda told ‘em this story earlier,” Rex grunts. “Maybe they woulda gotten the idea to gag you and I could have some goddamn peace.” A few winged shadows flicker above them. Buzzards. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Cabron.” Montez coughs, then picks up his thread again, quieter now. “Went at me with a stockwhip. Lost count after two dozen.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

The shadows overhead thicken. Rex is almost grateful for the split-seconds of relief as the birds block out the sun; the posse had ripped the shirt right off his back in the tussle, and his skin feels fit to burst with burning. He blinks, lids gritty. The horizon is wavering, but if it’s from the heat shimmering off the rocks or his eyes boiling like eggs in his skull, he can’t say.

“So how’d you get out?” he finally asks, in spite of himself. “Get us out this same way now, eh?”

Montez doesn’t respond. Rex glances over at him, and the peace he had wished for suddenly feels a bit sour. The kid’s head is hanging limp, glints of white visible under his heavy lashes, just like the bone Rex can see at the center of the gash in his brow. His whole face is gray-pale, mucked by oozing blood, too sun-poisoned to properly flow, and the nasty whistle to his breath is the only tell that he’s still above snakes. Rex’s dizzy heartbeat picks up for reasons he’s not entirely sure of. Bastard. Montez ought to know he’s not allowed to die until Rex collects his bounty.

The first buzzard lands near his boot, cocking its ugly pink head at him. Impatient little bugger.

“You’re early,” Rex growls.

The buzzard doesn’t seem to care.

[Fic by the exceptionally talented @bxtterflystxtches , who I have the honor of collaborating with for this event. Please show him some love!]

Whumptber 2024 - Day 6 - multiple whumpees | self sacrifice | "I'm the only one who can do this."

He is has a plan.

When two characters are injured, badly enough to be confined to bed, but they have to be kept together, in the same room or even the same bed, otherwise they'll wake up and go frantic trying to look for the other- calling out for them, struggling upright, crawling out of bed, staggering from the room; desperate to find the other and panicking to know they're alright- so if they're to get any rest in order to recover they need to be within sight and reach of each other, so when they wake up they're right there, able to reassure each other that they're alive and safe and healing.

Vina knows they're doing something awful in the other room. The screams are deafening, reverberating on the walls and surrounding him like a heavy blanket, leaving nowhere to run and hide. The utterly empty room feels like a specially designed acoustic chamber, the echo so intense he swears he couldn't hear his own thoughts at all.

He can't see what's happening, and he's sure that's completely by design. They wake him up in the middle of the night, pull a bag over his head, and drag him there with practiced efficiency. There was no way they weren't doing this to countless others as well. One could only wonder what they imagined, deep within the vortex of noise, that could be happening to their loved ones on the other side of these very walls?

He's tried multiple times to assuage it. When the screams die down, he positions himself against the grates and soothes it, hoping the small point of connection will grant him the mercy of allowing Dog to hear him. He's not sure it does. But it makes Vina feel better anyway. He's never thought to ask it directly, after everything was said and done and they were returned to their shared cell, both visibly worse for wear, if it could hear him. If it had ever.

In those moments they barely spoke, instead seeking comfort in each other for hours on end. And then everything was right in the world again. Even if Vina was ultimately talking to himself, he was still doing his best to console it, to talk to it just in case it could hear him. Just in case it ever felt it was truly alone.

The screaming resumes, and Vina returns to his spot in the corner. Covers his ears. Curls around himself.

Waits for the screaming to stop so he can comfort it again.

Whumptober 2023 - Day 20 - Dehumanization

Not born into a certain class, maybe even belonging to another species, crossing paths with the wrong people... and just like that your autonomy gets taken away and you get treated like things, like goods to be bartered with, like property without free will.

tw implied murder, implied captivity, sadistic whumper, psychological whump

"Do you know that game, two truths one lie?"

Whumpee nodded nervously. "Yes, sir."

"Why don't we play a little, then?" Whumper's saccharine smile did nothing to ease their anxiety, but they forced themself to return it anyway. "One. I have every intention of hurting you and your friend horribly."

Whumpee swallowed and nodded. That one was likely a truth.

"Two. Caretaker will walk out of here alive."

They opened their mouth to say something– and then closed it. They hoped that was a truth.

"Three. You will walk out of here alive."

Group Whumpees: 1. Start

Inspired by this post by @whumping-every-day​ and @justtorturewhump​ about a group of whumpees. I’ve been thinking about it on and off ever since I saw it but I finally got the giddyup to actually write for it

CW: Modern slavery, implied + referenced abuse, death of a minor character, multiple whumpees, transphobia (brief), aftermath of torture/conditioning

–

Galo settled himself into the hospital chair, perfectly comfortable and positioned at a thoughtful angle to the side, opposite the door so physicians could easily enter. He’d intended for this to be a quick visit, but clearly his aunt had other ideas, so he might as well take a seat.

“Here I am on my deathbed!” Auntie Bethany raved, flinging her arm about wildly, and Galo internally winced each time she got too close to jerking on the IV, “Only ONE person comes to visit me! In my whole family!”

To be fair, your whole family is made up of jackasses, Galo thought privately, raising his hands in placation. “Auntie Bethany, please, you were just admitted today. I’m sure plenty of people will show up tomorrow.”

“None of them want to visit me, even when I’m going to die!” she persisted. To be fair, Galo didn’t really want to visit her either. He just… well, she was family. And she was in the hospital. And even though his family was estranged and largely filled with self-centered, arrogant individuals that made any kind of holiday event a stomach ache and a half, he tried not to be. So here he was. 

“You’re not going to die, Auntie Bethany,” Galo said patiently. “You’ve had this surgery before, remember? And you made it through just fine. I bet the same surgeon still works here, even!” Galo tried for a positive tone, cheerful. 

“Ah, you’re such a good niece for your dear old aunt, sweetheart.”

“I’m your nephew, auntie, we’ve been over this,” Galo said through grit teeth, smile significantly more forced now. This is why no one likes you, Galo thought.

“That’s why I’m leaving you all of my estate, darling,” Auntie Bethanie continued like she hadn’t heard him. Galo blinked twice.

“I’m sorry, what?” Galo asked nicely, sticking his pinkie finger in his right ear as though to clear it out. “You’re…”

“I have my lawyer coming to the hospital,” Auntie Bethany said, “Go get me a pair of socks. They keep it so damn freezing in here.”

Galo rose and went to the cabinet, pulling out the soft yellow cloth and helping the socks onto her feet.

“I had planned to split my estate between everyone who showed up, but you’re the only one! So you get the jackpot, you’re welcome!” she said, well, nearly-shouted, as Galo tugged the socks on over the socks she was already wearing, struggling with the tightness. He was strong; daily visits to the gym had his arms thickly muscled, his chest broad, but he wasn’t exactly trying to break his elderly aunt’s foot here, so he couldn’t just shove.

“Thank you, Auntie Bethany,” he said, trying to sound actually grateful and not just tiredly patient. So this was her newest passive-aggressive ploy. After Galo told the rest of the family there was money involved, the others would show up with their plastic smiles and loud voices and then she would get to gripe at how they were only in it for the money, but change the will up anyway to keep them visiting. She liked to play “games” like that. Galo tried very, very hard not to sigh. 

It’d probably keep up after the hospital stay, too, Galo mused as he sat back down in the chair. People showing up to her home with flowers and wine and “earnest” attempts to make sure she was recovering just fine. Honestly, who knew how long she could drag this out? Her poor lawyer. He hoped she was at least paying them well.

The lawyer did, in fact, arrive, and Galo quietly apologized each time his aunt criticized or scolded the poor man.

“You’re uh, gonna need to use my legal name,” Galo said, handing him his driver’s license. “Not the uh, childhood nickname she keeps calling me.”

The lawyer gave him a sympathetic pat, and it was hours after Galo had planned that he finally managed to get out from under his aunt’s endless conversation and go home already. He sighed, dropping his coat on the floor of his small apartment’s entryway. For all that he was competent, intelligent, and good with organizational skills and the like; Galo had not been particularly successful in his life. He was good with people and good with life skills, he just. 

Bluh!

Bluh bluh bluh! Now was not the time for a pity party, or else he’d turn into his aunt. He played an hour of his most recent video game, an open-world with a semi-voluntary plot, before turning in for the night. He should think about investing in a rabbit or something. He could eek out the money, and his apartment got awfully lonely, with just him, a computer, and a potted plant.

In the morning, he knew he should email his family and let them know Auntie Bethany wanted visitors, and she was messing around with her will. He should. A good son, nephew, brother, and cousin would. But then his dad would call him, asking for specifics (it never mattered how many specifics Galo put in the email. His dad would always call and ask for more), and that would mean talking to his dad and he really, really wasn’t ready for that, at the moment. Or at all. He could do it later. It wasn’t like Auntie Bethany was actually dying, after all, she was just up to her hysterics again. And god, if Galo’s sister or brother decided they wanted more than just an email… if they decided to “pop in” after visiting their aunt and gloat to Galo about how now it was their names on the will…

Oh and don’t even get Galo started on what Uncle Mike would do. He was a bigger attention whore than Auntie Bethany.

So he just… didn’t write. Didn’t call. Nothing that big was happening, they could afford to wait a few days before feeding into Auntie Bethany’s weird games. She could probably use a little disappointment for the first time in her spoiled, nasty life anyway.

Galo took a deep breath and covered his face with his broad palm. He shouldn’t think like that. That was uncalled for. Auntie Bethany was a fine person, she was just rude, and loud, and inconsiderate. But she was family. He should be polite. But, still, it would be fine if she had to wait a little while for everyone to get in on her weird ploys.

So imagine Galo’s surprise when the hospital called him after work, letting him know his aunt had, unfortunately, not made it through her surgery.

Keep reading

Kidnapped Together prompts

KIDNAPPED TOGETHER

SAID TO THE (NPC?) CAPTOR

SAID ONCE THEY’RE SAFE

Guard Dog

CW/TW: conditioning, overwork, exhaustion, pet whump, BBU/WRU. Eliot meets Jonas. Character development.

It’s exhausting to clean a whole house by himself. Sir-Nikolai’s house is smaller than his old owners’, but still big.

He needs to stop frequently.

Sometimes he closes his eyes for a moment, after closing a closet door behind him. An empty closet, all the carpeted floor space for him to lie down on and rest. Just for a minute.

He wakes up with the Guard Dog above him, looking. He scrambles to get to his feet, but his legs don’t cooperate. He only makes it to his knees.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Rest is earned by work, 704. Do you think you’ve earned it? “I didn’t mean to-to fall asleep. Please don’t tell Sir—“

“Sir? Does he make you call him that?”

He wants to hide from the anger. He wants to hide. If you’re noticed, you’ve already failed. But he’s trapped, the closet wall at his back, the Guard Dog-Jonas, his name is Jonas-blocking the door.

“No-no, he doesn’t.” You can call me Kolya, if you want. “But, but he’s an owner.”

“He’s not your damn owner.”

He wraps his arms around his knees, drops his head down, tries to make himself smaller. If you can’t do better, you’re only useful as Guard Dog bait, 704.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” The snarl is gone, Jonas’ voice is soft now. “I’m not mad at you. Nikolai just doesn’t think sometimes. Why were you sleeping in a closet?”

“I didn’t mean to sleep. Please—“ He can’t breathe. Grey static creeps up at the edges of his vision. Then, darkness.

He wakes up in Sir-Nikolai’s bed, not sure how he got there.

“Sometimes I don’t think either. I’m sorry,” Jonas says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eliot nods.

It’s easier to breathe after Jonas leaves the room.

But he’s soon back, carrying a tray with butter toast and a glass of orange juice. Sick food, his mind supplies from somewhere.

Eliot sits up, and Jonas places the tray over his lap.

“I don’t think you’ve eaten at all today.”

The toast is soft and hot, the butter melting and sweet on his tongue. He finishes both triangular halves, and sips at the orange juice. Jonas smiles, showing disconcerting fangs.

“Thank you, Si-Jonas.”

He shrugs. “You don’t have to clean here, you know. Nikolai hires a service to come in twice a week. And-and you can sleep anywhere. It just worried me, when I didn’t know where you were.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You-don’t need to do that, either. Apologize, I mean, for everything.”

“It’s hard, not to.” It hurts, not to, muscles tensing, throat closing, heart racing. The first and last words out of your mouth needs to be “I’m sorry”, because you’ve been noticed, and if you’re noticed, it’s because you fucked up.

“I know.”

Forgive and Forget taglist: @whumpsday @painful-pooch @whumpinggrounds @justplainwhump @bluetheautisticrat @i-eat-worlds

Eliot/704 taglist: @kim-poce @fishtale88 @i-eat-worlds @roblingoblin285 @cepheusgalaxy

A whumpee who can not touch others because their touch is dangerous. Be it poison, limbs wrapped in dagger sharp brambles, perhaps even empathetic contact which would share their pain upon contact, to touch them is to suffer.

And so they go without. They crave a contact they cannot have. Every inch of them yearns, but they do not dare seek it out.

Then they meet the caretaker. Kind, gentle caretaker. Caretaker who has found themself trapped with whumpee, and the two are doing their best to survive this hell together.

The whumpee has never had a friend before.

...the caretaker hasn't, either.

In fact, the caretaker is just as touch starved as the whumpee is.

Nothing like a more experienced whumpee quieting a newer whumpee almost violently when Younger breaks and begins to cry with need for something completely natural to them (food, water, sleep). Older slapping a hand over Younger’s mouth hissing angrily- or, really, desperately- that they know it hurts, but they can’t.

Older shooting an apologetic glance, barely hiding their panic, at the rescuers. Unable to hold in stutters as they assure the rescuers that they’ll be good, Younger was just a little scared, he swears they’ll be good. Managing to keep their voice somewhat calm despite the stutters, muted panic in their tone as they try to defuse the situation. Subtly positioning themself between the rescuers and Younger, hoping and praying they’ll be spared and given another chance. 

Just something about Older being protective over Younger despite being just as or even more scared than Younger of anyone near them. Being forced to be rough with Younger to shut them up so they might survive.

Rather than the usual packets of blood, a strange box is slid through the slot in the door. They could both still smell the blood- it was clear enough that it was being stored in the box. The overriding question was why.

B is laid back on the cot, tossing a rubber ball against the west side of the cell. Food soon.. the new storage must be some policy they enacted. Maybe to prevent mess or something. They stay in their spot, watching A out of the corner of their eye. A will probably snap at them if they crowd them. Best wait their turn.

A slides their fingers across the surface. It’s just a box. Nothing special about it. They eventually find a ridged portion, cheering as it clicks. Instead of the box opening, though, a little drawer slides open from the box, holding a key.

“What. The fuck.” A throws their hands up, fangs bared. “The fuck is this shit! They’re gonna play mind games just so we can eat?”

“It’s not torture,” B realizes, sitting up suddenly. Their rubber ball is left to roll around as they jump into place next to A. “It’s enrichment,”

“The hell does that mean?!”

“Like- like when you have an animal in captivity, you put their food inside something so they have to seek it out. It makes the food more interesting for them, like uh.. it’s meant to be mentally stimulating, prevent boredom,”

A looks at them incredulously, but their hold on the box turns thoughtful. Wordlessly, they share a glance with B as it sets in just exactly what that means.

Animals.

Short Prompt #1154

“Another one…?” A tired voice crooned from the shadows followed by the rattling of chains. “You humans must hate each other more than me at this point…”

You carefully walked closer, shivering from the cold as your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. The trapped monster glowed with a soft ethereal light, letting you see. “D-Divine one?”

The creature looked up in surprise. “Oh? Someone still worships me up above?”

*Sigh* I wish Val Kilmer was gonna be in the Willow TV Series

Presents Masterlist

1: Roy is very oblivious

2: Dew and Drop are bought

3: Roy’s Birthday

4: Drop Doesn’t Like Roy

5: Roy isn’t cut out for this

6: Like, really not cut out for this

Picrew

Tag list: @kim-poce @badluck990 @whumpy-writings @imagination1reality0 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @wolfeyedwitch @thecyrulik @nicolepascaline @whumpsday @whumpcreations @gemiiniihiives @neverthelass @annablogsposts @aswallowimprisoned just ask to be added or removed!

“Why’d I have to be stuck with you.”