The difference between how Percy describes Beckendorf and Silena in âStolen Chariotâ is lowkey frying me a bit.
Like, with Beckendorf he doesnât even attempt to give him a general description where he recounts his hair or eye color or something like that, but he immediately dives into rather intimate details, like how muscular he is, how tall he is, what his usual expression is like and what exactly his hands look like:
Beckendorf was head counselor for Hephaestus. He was this huge dude with a permanent scowl, muscles like a pro ballplayer, and hands calloused from working in the forges. Heâd just turned eighteen and was on his way to NYU in the fall. Since he was older, I usually listened to him about stuff⌠(The Demigod Files: The Bronze Dragon)
And with Silena, who is often framed as the prettiest girl at camp, heâs just like, âshe has black hair and brown eyes, and most guys find her attractive, I guess:/â which is like one of the most basic descriptions for a beautiful girl imaginable:
Then Silena Beauregard, the head counselor for Aphrodite passed by. Beckendorf had had a not-so-secret crush on her for three years. She had long black hair and big brown eyes, and when she walked, the guys tended to watch. She said,â Good luck, Charlie,â (Nobody ever calls Beckendorf by his first name.) (The Demigod Files: The Bronze Dragon)
I also like how he says âthe guysâ, which creates a bit of narrative distance and can potentially be interpreted as if he excludes himself from that.
one thing I LOVE about non-con is whumpee in dishevelled clothing to actually imply that the non-con happened
the collar of their shirt scruffy and uneven
buttons not fully done up
BELTS!! either completely gone or ripped or undone
smudged make-up (or someone else's make up on them)
maybe the way others find out about the SA is because whumpee's clothes slip to reveal a bunch of hickeys/bite marks/bruises
torn or stained clothes in general
haphazardly layered outfits to cover as much skin as possible
or maybe whumpee is found somewhere and from the state of their clothes it is embarrassingly easy to piece together what happened, maybe they try to fix themselves up and the others let them because it is so terribly obvious that no one wants to take away their last shreds of decency
(bonus points if the whumpee usually takes great care to look presentable and being seen in this state is very unusual of them and immediately makes others worried)
Elliot pushed the door open and stepped into the room. He could feel the human tentatively following behind as he gestured around the area.
âThis is where I spend most of my time. Iâm sorry for the mess but I wasnât expecting, uh, guests.â
Lukas couldnât believe his Master even allowed him in the study. Usually pets were prohibited from all the important rooms. Why was he showing him all this? The boy was suspicious, although maybe it did make sense since this room was exceptionally disorganized and someone had to clean it.
They were surrounded by tall bookshelves that were filled to the brim with expensive-looking literature and magazines. The walls were decorated with various paintings, depicting scenes from vampiric history as well as maps from different time periods. In the middle of the room was a big desk on which papers and schoolbooks lay scattered around.
Lukas took a small step back, seemingly overwhelmed by the sheer size of it all. His gaze drifted over the walls as his fingers nervously fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. Elliot began walking through the study, pointing at the different items and lighting candles around the furniture.
âThese are all my schoolbooks. Here we have history, geography and English literature. Oh, and over there is the math and physics section, not really my favorite to study but the grades donât earn themselves, huh?â
He grinned awkwardly and walked behind the desk. Lukas could only glare warily through the room.
âHere I keep all my writing stuff. You know, homework and personal projects. But this right here is my proudest possession.â
He pointed behind another bookshelf, and Lukas realized he was supposed to come closer. The boy carefully approached, fingers still clutching the shirt. Then, he gasped. Behind the shelf was a big globe, mapping out the entire planet with all its various countries and seas. The human stepped closer, eyes fixed on the huge orb. He knew how the human territory was sectioned and which countries and continents existed, yet there was a whole other side to this he never saw before. Big patches of black filled the area behind the great âborderâ of the two territories. But they too were separated into what seemed to be countries. His eyes drifted over the surface as he read their strange names.
Senara.
Eurinja.
Thorinuk.
For a moment, curiosity pushed and broke through Lukasâs fear. He had never heard of those countries; he had never seen their forests and mountains mapped out before. Humans didnât know much about the land behind the border since it was a death sentence to even try and explore the other side of the world. Then, Lukas's gaze traveled up the border, over rivers and small lakes until it stopped on a town in human territory.
Minot, North Dakota.Â
His hometown.
The letters hit him like a punch in the face and his chest constricted. Memories of his school suddenly flooded his mind. Memories of his mother, his father, and siblings. Birthdays, festivals, nights outside with friends. What he would give to see Eveline and Kyle just one more time. Oh no, no, no, this wasnât good. Heâd spent so long pushing these memories down, away from the surface, away from these monsters. His breathing quickened. It hurt too much to think about what was lost, what heâd never see again⌠Lukas was sucking in short breaths and he could feel his hands get clammy. Glassy eyes focused on that damned spot on the globe.
Elliot watched the human worriedly.
âHey, are you ok?â
Immediately, Lukas was ripped from his trance and seemed to realize where he was. He was no longer a person in Minot and with his family. He was a slave, a slave surrounded by dark forests and bloodthirsty monsters. He couldnât risk letting his Master find out about his vulnerability.
âY-yes, excuse me, Master.â He shot the vampire a scared glance before looking away.
But nothing was ok, Elliot could hear the thundering heartbeat and trembling breaths rushing through the humanâs body. What had happened just now? Before Elliot could wonder further, he saw the human's head shoot up in surprise. Something had caught his eye.
In the other corner of the room was a skeleton propped up against the wall. The dim light of the candles just barely grazed the surface of the countless anatomy and psychology books stacked next to it. Elliot froze when he saw the humanâs glance land on the small dissection table next to them. A metal surface, equipped with scalpels, tweezers, and scissors. On it laid a dead frog Elliot had found by a nearby pond just a few days prior to his birthday. Shit. The vampire could feel the boyâs energy shift from apprehension to naked terror in seconds.
Lukas tightly wrapped his arms around himself and froze. The frog was cut open and pinned with needles. Right, how could he have been so naive? There was a reason why he was here, and it wasn't to read in those fancy books or find out more about the vampire territory. The reason why that vampire with the golden fang had bought him in the first place. The human swallowed hard and couldnât move.
âSince we know how much you like your little experiments, your mother and I thought we could reward our son with something special for once."
There were so many books about his kind. Gods, his new master was really fascinated by humans. There were studies on human anatomy, studies on their psychology, the skeleton, and so many notes. Lukasâ head began to spin as his glance fell onto the bloody scalpel. He desperately wanted to take a step back from the terrifying sight but remembered who stood right behind him. His body froze, suddenly hyperaware of the dark shadows in all corners and the fact that he was alone with a vampire who loved studying humans. For a moment, nobody said anything and Lukas felt his body tremble as he desperately tried to keep it together.Â
Why had the vampire gone quiet all of a sudden? The boy didnât dare turn around, he didnât want to see those carmine eyes staring at him, full of bloodlust and sadism. Then, he heard steps approach from behind.
He couldnât suppress a small yelp when he felt the monster come closer.
Elliot tried to move slowly in order not to scare the frightened boy. God, he was such an idiot, leaving his utensils out like that! Of course the boy would be scared shitless seeing all that! He could feel the human freeze up under his gaze.
âThis, this is not what it looks like. I promise.â He tried, but the human's' breathing didnât slow down at all.Â
He looked so small and fragile from behind. The shoulders pulled up to his ears and the skinny arms wrapped protectively around his quivering body.
âH-hey, itâs okay. Can you look at me?â
Lukas immediately obeyed and turned around slowly. Then, watery green met blood red. Elliot saw the human visibly struggling to keep up the eye contact. He took a deep breath.
âLook, I never wanted this. I had no idea my parents would actually go as far as gifting me a person for my birthday, I mean, this whole situation is just bizarre! But I donât want to hurt you, I donât want to dissect you or study you or whatever it is you may think.â
The human started at the desperation in the deep voice. Master didnât want him to be a canvas? Or a specimen? None of this made any sense.
Heâd almost sounded genuine, but Lukas knew one couldnât trust a vampire's words. Was this a test? It had to be and Lukas wouldnât be so naive as to fall for it. His Master just wanted to see how well he had been trained. He probably wanted to check if Lukas knew his place; younger vampires were known to play tricks on their food. Why else would he have shown him all this?
But then againâŚwhat if he really didnât want to keep a human in his house? Ice-cold goosebumps shivered down Lukasâ back. Vampires who didnât want their pets usually didnât bother keeping them around for long. This only meantâŚ
He slowly turned his head back, looking at the bloody scene once more. The animal had been cut open, and his intestines spilled grossly out of the corpse. A cold shiver ran down his spine. This was going to be him.
He could feel the vampire's stare boring into him and suddenly the air felt electric, like something was about to happen. Something bad. He forced himself towards the table.Â
Elliot frowned and watched the boy head towards the dead animal. Then, he removed his shirt, revealing a skinny and bruised torso, which he immediately tried to cover with his shaking arms. His whole frame was trembling while staring at the scalpels.
âUh-â Elliot started but was interrupted by a soft whisper.
âM-Master, p-please allow me to b-be useful. P-please use me as you wish. I know my place, I was t-trained well, you⌠you wonât have to discipline me.â
Elliot froze.
What?
The human now pressed his eyes shut, sucking in little gasps of air. His small frame trembled violently as he seemed to wait forâŚsomething. It was now that Elliot could see the various scars on the pale skin, along with some bruises and bite marks. His heart fell.
He slowly approached.
âNo, no. I, uhm, I donât want to use you. Like I said, I never meant for you to be hereâŚâ he tried, but the humanâs eyes widened further.
Without warning, the ragged breathing turned into panicked hyperventilation as the small body cowered inward.
Elliot was at a loss for words and could only stare dumbly at the figure in front of him.
Lukas opened his eyes by a fraction, flinching back and letting out a startled yelp when he saw the vampire suddenly standing so close before him. His trembling intensified and he fell to his knees, eyes fixated on the floor. He had to try and give his Master a reason not to kill him. He had to!
âP-please M-Master, I swear I can be of use to you! You donât h-have to dispose of me. I-if you donât want me in the house, you can lock me away and f-feed whenever you want. I p-p-promise I taste good!â
Tears were starting to stream down the soft cheeks.
âY-you can do whatever you want with me but please d-donât, donât k-kill me. I can also⌠I-I c-can, uhm, m-make you feel g-goodâŚâ
All of a sudden, strong hands grabbed Lukas's shoulders. The boy shrieked in terror.
âEnough!â Elliot couldnât believe what he was hearing.Â
His own heart hammered in his chest as he felt the human go completely still under his touch. Cold nausea washed over him. The boy really thought Elliot would kill him if he weren't useful.
âEnough. I wonât,â Gods, âI wonât kill you, okay? I didnât mean it like that. Take a deep breath for me.â
The human obeyed â or at least he tried to â as he desperately sucked in air through his quivering lungs. Clearly he didnât trust Elliot one bit and the vampire didn't blame him. He had to say something the human would understand. He had to make him calm down somehow.
âYouâre right. You can be useful to me.â
The blonde boy tensed up but seemed to be listening.
âNow that I think about it, I really need someone who can help me clean up around the house. Like uhm, dusting the shelves or watering the plants. What do you say?â
He carefully let go of the thin arms and backed away. Giving him space, since clearly Elliot was the reason why he was so terrified in the first place.
âOf course, Master! Iâll do it, Iâll do anything!â
And there they were again, those beautiful emerald eyes. Still glistening with tears, but now a fraction of hope dared to shimmer through them. Elliot sighed and for a moment, his glance got lost in the humans face. The mortal was still shivering a bit, too afraid to make eye contact but also too scared to turn away. There was dirt on his nose and in his thin eyebrows. His blonde hair would probably be shiny and golden if washed, but right now the greasy mop looked just as miserable and neglected as everything else on that poor creature.
âI havenât even asked you for your name yet.â Elliot then said quietly.Â
The human startled. Why would his master care about his name? Wasnât he just considered property?
âY-You can call me whatever you like, S-Sir.â He whispered.Â
âIâd like to call you by your real name.â The vampire countered, making him swallow dryly.
âL-Lukas, Sir.â
Lukas. A careful smile appeared on Elliotâs lips as he extended a hand to help the boy get to his feet.
âPut your shirt back on, Lukas. Iâll pour you a bath.âÂ
<-Previous
@written-in-the-stars135
@devised-agony
SUPER TOP SECRET WORK HACK!!! If you explicitly tell people, "You are an adult and a professional, I trust you to do your job; just keep me in the loop and let me know if there are questions," then thank and/or praise them when they accomplish your mutual goals? they will keep doing things for and with you. Sometimes they will even side with you over other people in the organization, because you've taken the time to establish that baseline respect and trust! hashtag winning or whatever
I just want to say this can work with kids too, mostly because of the 'respect' thing.
This past month, Parks & Rec has been doing a lot of work on the field adjacent to my school. They have trucks with flatbeds, mowing/tree-cutting/postholing machinery, etc. And when they arrived, I (campus monitor) was told I would need to herd the kids away from the trucks/machinery and basically prevent them from creating a dangerous situation.
So when recess came around and the kids stampeded out the door I held them up and I said (being funny but at the same time serious, you know how it is, kids listen better if you're funny)
"Okay, I know that you're all smart AND mature, right? And talented and good looking? Definitely the smartest and most talented class in this school? (I say this to every class, they're all 'my favorites'.) And because you're SO intelligent and mature, I don't need to actually TELL you that these guys have vehicles and machinery that you need to stay clear of, right? Because I know you figured that out already, and I also know that YOU know how sad I would be if any of you were run over, or squashed, or had a pole fall on you. I would be SO SAD, like, I would probably have to lie down on the floor and cry. So you're not going to make me cry, right? I can trust you to stay away from the trucks and machines no matter where they are on the field? Because you're wonderful and amazing? My favorites? My inspiration?"
And they're laughing at me of course, because I'm being so dramatic. Some of them are "Yes, and-"ing my dramatics and inventing more involved mourning processes I should undertake if any of them get run over. Some of them are yelling at me that they are NOT mature yet and they are VERY STUPID and I should know this.
It's been three weeks. We had one conversation about it. None of them have gone anywhere near the trucks. This is actually in excess of the typical elementary-schooler's working memory and I'm very proud of them. I haven't had to blow the whistle at ONE person for getting too close even when the trucks were literally 40 feet from the actual playground.
"I know I can trust you to do this", even when phrased with humor, is like a magic key that unlocks teamwork+cooperation.
I usually phrased it to middle-schoolers as, "I was a weird artist before I was a teacher, so I don't understand how children work, really. So I am going to treat you guys like adults unless and until you give me a reason not to." It's amazing how far they'll go to keep that adult status.
got a crick in my neck and a frog in my throat and a chip on my shoulder and a stick up my ass and now you're gonna stand there puttin words in my mouth? haven't I been through enough?
becoming too OC pilled will ruin your fandom experience forever. i have invented The Character who is perfectly tailored to my own tastes and not beholden to any writers or showrunners. and i can even make more of them if i want. but watch out.
And how quickly that would tangle. How fast Whumpee's hair would knot. How quickly would it become matted and untameable?
If they're not restrained, maybe their hair would get to them. Would they try to desperately run a few fingers through it, smooth it out? Cry when it gets tangled and tight around their fingers? Or would they find the first sharp object and try to chop it off?
When rescued, would Caretaker try their best to clean their hair? Cut out the worst, unsalvageable chunks and the rest is spent in the tub. Gently washing through whumpee's hair, careful on their scarred scalp. Trying their best to be gentle as whumpee cries.
Content: nsfwhump, whumpee who can get pregnant, whumper who can get someone pregnant, unplanned/unwanted pregnancy, team whump
Whumpee who is married and gets the news when their team is beside them. They're only 6 weeks along but the timeline doesn't match up. It aligns from when they were with Whumper.
No one says it, but everyone knows. More happened to Whumpee than they knew about.
Leader staring at the screen in blank-faced horror before they storm out of the clinic muttering vows to kill the bastard.
And Whumpee has to watch everyone come to this realization alongside them while wrestling with the sick feeling in their stomach as memories are revived.
Overprotective older sibling villain x younger sibling they'd fond of but is a hero and the villain sedates them. LOVE UR WORK. BONUS POINTS IF THIS IS A VILLAIN FAMILY
This was a very interesting concept to write, as an older sibling myself.. Well, TYSM FOR YOUR SUPPORT, ANON, and I hope you like this!!!
...
A slightly whirred beep brought Hero's attention back to the laptop. It took their eyes a few moments to adjust to the beaming screen that contrasted the night's quiet glow, but the pop-up message stood out: âDownload successfulâ. They took a moment to rejoice, silently pumping their fists in the air. They'd been foraging for this information for months, having been continuously unsuccessful. So many sources, expeditions, none of use. Until now. Ironically so, the holy grail had been thriving right underneath their nose.
They willed themselves out of excitement and back into their expected determination, quickly unplugging the flash drive. It slipped comfortably into the palm of their hand, which they clenched before shutting down the laptop and rising from the chair.
They managed to take one step before a figure emerged from the hallway.
Alarm bells rang inside their head for a few moments before rationale managed to override that response. Accordingly, Villain's features became distinguishable in the moonlight. Hero's eyes narrowed, and they were not quite sure if it was in irritation or relief. Perhaps both.
âCome on, Hero, snooping through Mom and Dad's room? Really?â Villain raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the doorframe with their arms crossed.
As Hero analysed their sibling's expression, no hint of malice arose. They decided the coast was clearâor translucent, at least. Theyâd nearly accomplished their goal. The flash drive etched itself into their palms as they clenched their fists. That driveâmore precisely, the dates and names on itâwould guarantee the heroesâ victory, all without casualties. The city would be safe, and so would Heroâs family. No backing out now; this had to be handed in to their colleagues.
They decided their best bet was acting cleanhanded, so they feigned sullenness and forced a sigh. âDidn't find anything, so you win.â
With the hope that Villain, as usual, concerned themselves more with their siblingâs safety rather than their stunts, their feet guided them to the door, past the figure. A grip on their upper arm had them halt once more before they could cross. Hero looked up again, managing to catch the worry clouding Villainâs disappointed look. Leaving no time for protests on Heroâs behalf, the grip shifted to their wrist before Villain plucked the flash drive out of their hand.
A sigh. Real, this time. âI canât cover for you again, Hero.â They let go of the hand and took a step forward, drawing Hero further away from their exit. âDonât do this. Let me have the drive and stay out of it.â
Hero shook their head. âNo, you donât understand⌠This can stop everythingâevery conflict- It would keep everyone safe!â They struggled to find the right words, to find something that might at least have Villainâs tenacity falter for long enough for them to leave. One thing about them was that theyâd always been headstrong. Good thing Hero had inherited that trait as well.
As Villainâs response came a few moments later, they internally relished on their success. That hope was crushed in no time.
âYouâre the one that doesnât understand. Thatâs impossible. Conflict will always persistâyouâre just too naive to see that yet.â Villainâs tone held a sort of wary calmness. As if they were trying to talk the other out of jumping off a roof. It made something in Heroâs heart churn.
How could they be so pessimistic? They hadnât even given a chance to hear Hero out, how could they be so certain their plan would fail? The heroes had been crafting it diligently for years. No, it wouldnâtâit couldnât.
Villain shifted, but Hero didnât pay much attention to it, instead focused on quickly voicing their argument. âNo, you just have to let me-â
A sharp prick interrupted their train of thought, letting the speech trail off and away. Their brows furrowed and eyes widened, attempting to make sense of the situation. That became equally difficult as their head spun, the ordinary sight of their parentsâ bedroom steadily swirling into obscurity.
When Villain finally pulled away, the syringe in their hand glinted meekly in the moonlight. Heroâs large eyes bore into theirs, and despite the continued firmness, they spotted speckled regret.
As dark spots blurred into their vision, familiar arms gently lowered them to the ground. The moonlight faded, and Villainâs voice was the last thing they heard before darkness temporarily consumed them.
Tags: Servant whumpee, caretaker, humiliation whump, royal whump, royal caretaker, whump, tw whipping, tw slavery, whipped whumpee, non con stripping, whumpee taken in by royalty, crossdressing whumpee, og ocs, og world, og story, whumpee, whumper, noble whumper, whumpee perceived as female, possessive whumper, mentions of past trauma, mentions of past torture, tw stoning, past injuries mentioned, non con nudity, stern caretaker, multple care takers, multiple whumpers, forceful caretaking, fear of eye contact, defiant whumpee, whumpee that doesnât talk a lot, curious caretaker, stranger whumpee and caretaker, mentions of non con activity, mentions of forced non con, manhandling, healing arc
Sonnet flinched as his masterâs whip flew past his head, barely missing his ear. The next time his master didnât miss, connecting with his shoulder and splitting his skin open. He cried out, having already lost count at what number lashing that was. Two more followed after before his master finally started wrapping the whip around his arm.Â
Sweat dripped into Sonnets eyes despite the wind being cool this morning. The sun had only begun to rise a couple of minutes ago, shining light onto the small crowd that had gathered. Humiliation burned in Sonnetâs cheeks, and he leaned against the wooden pole he was tied too. He was sitting on his knees with his wrists tied behind him, making his shoulders strain. His torn up servant dress was in taters before him, though his skirt safely covered everything below the waist. Despite everything, he somehow had enough dignity, or stupidity depending on who you asked, to glare at his master. Mr.Winslow caught his eye and fumed. He advanced on Sonnet, grabbing his jaw and forcing him upwards. His shoulders screamed, if not for his voice.Â
âYou stupid boy, show some shame for your crime!â His master screamed in his face.
âMake me,â Sonnet spat.
That comment made Mr.Winslow livid, and he kicked Sonnet in the ribs. Sonnet struggled to heave in a breath through the pressure in his chest, and he leaned forward like a wilted flower. Clearly not done with his anger, Mr.Winslow took a swing at Sonnet. His fist connected with Sonnetâs cheekbone, cutting skin open. Sonnet saw stars as an insistent ringing began in his ears. He could hear Mr.Winslow speaking but couldnât make sense of it.Â
Once Sonnet was able to blink away the stars, he saw that his master was speaking to the slightly larger crowd. Sonnet could just make out Mr Winslow barking out an order for âno one to touch his stupid slaveâ. Then Mr.Winslow walked away to drag his pitiful wife home. Mrs.Winslow looked over her shoulder at Sonnet and mouthed âIâm sorryâ. She had always liked Sonnet, and was usually very kind to him. But no matter how much she tried, she could never get Sonnet out of Mr.Winslowâs punishments.Â
The ringing in his ears slowly dimmed to nothing but the voices of the crowd. Some were still watching, others had grown bored and walked away. Sonnet avoided eye contact with all of them. The last thing he needed was to realize just how much he had humiliated himself. He was likely going to sit there till sunset where Mr.Winslow would hand him right over to a merchant to resell him.Â
Sonnect closed his eyes and started collecting his thoughts. If Mr.Winslow really was going to sell him, there was no way he would be seeing any of his stuff again. Even if they did let him keep his stuff, it would likely be taken from him by the next family he was bought by. And on the off chance Mrs.Winslow could convince her husband not to get rid of him, he would be dumped in the furnace room to work till exhaustion. He didnât know which one he wanted less.Â
âŚ
Sonnet looked up at the sky and deduced it was a little past noon. The sun burned into his skin, making it turn bright red and soaked with sweat. He was still shirtless from this morning's whipping, and would likely be for a while unless a townsperson decided to cover him with something. That's how it worked in the kingdom of Montrose. If servants were disobedient to their masters, their master had the choice of how they would like to deal with it. Public humiliation was a popular pick, beating lessons into most servants the first time. If the public felt bad enough, they could give the punished water and feed them, could even give them clothes in Sonnetâs case. But most would not, either convinced the victim deserved it or too scared of the public eye would shame them for helping the weak.Â
So Sonnet let the sun roast his skin and parch his tongue. The blood that once poured from his wounds dried on his skin. The market had long been set up and became a bustling place for passersbys. Everyone would give him a wide berth, not daring to get their polished shoes near what they considered filth. Sonnet liked it that way, it meant no one would further harm him.Â
That was until a group of boys started making a beeline for him. Sonnet noticed the stones in their hands and felt a sense of dread. Before they had even made it within the circle everyone else avoided, they were throwing the stones and shouting obscenities at him. Bruises would definitely bloom later, joining the list of injuries Sonnet would have to tend to. In the distance, Sonnet thought he could hear a trumpet being played over the boys shouting.Â
Sonnet continued to shrink away from the boys until he heard the sound of horse hooves clattering on the sidewalk. The king was back from his trip from a nearby country, and he was coming down this very street. The boys who were once throwing stones realized this as well and froze. The horses were thundering down the street fast with the crowd already parted away. One of the boys tried to dart away, either from fear of being caught or the fear of being trampled. It clearly couldn't be the second as the boy ran straight in front of the horse's path.Â
Everyone including Sonnet gasped in horror as the knights reared the horses, towering over the boy. A few members of the crowd screamed as the horses came down, knocking the boy to the ground. As soon as the hooves touched the ground, the knights were climbing off their horses and dragging the boy up. Yelling and threatening him, the crowd divided into chaos. In the corner of his eye, Sonnet saw the door of the carriage fling open. He held his breath as he watched the king himself leave the safety of the carriage.Â
âSILENCE!â The king's voice boomed over the crowd.Â
Sonnet watched in awe as everyone within the next few miles stilled. The king glared around, clearly already in an awful mood only to be dealing with unruly people. The king walked over to the boy, his friends having abandoned him. One of the knights neared the king with hesitancy.Â
âYour highness, it's not safe out hereââ The king raised his hand to silence the knight.Â
âWhat happened here?â he asked calmly.Â
âI-I didnât hear the trumpets and tried getting out of the way,â the boy said, cowering under the gaze of the king. The king huffed, then noticed something.Â
âWhat are you holding?â
The knight holding the boy let go assuming the king was talking to him. The boy also raised his hands for the king to see. There were two small stones in his hands, waiting to be thrown at Sonnet.Â
âWhy do you have stones?â
âI uh um, I like collecting s-stones?â The kid stammered. The king eyed him as the boy's friends sniggered in the crowd.Â
Feeling someone staring at him, the king turned around. Sonnet immediately averted his gaze and looked at the king's shoes. He instantly became aware of his shame and his cheeks started to go red like his sunburns. He looked down at his bloodied, sun burned, and sweat stained skin and wished he could have been swallowed up by the earth at that moment. Having been deep in his thoughts of humiliation, Sonnet hadnât noticed that the king was standing in front of him. Sonnet looked up at the king before realizing his mistake and averting his gaze again.Â
The king took in the sight before him. A bloodied and beaten servant was stripped nearly bare and tied down on display. He noticed the rocks surrounding the servant and connected the dots together. The king turned to his knights to address them.Â
âBring me some water for this servant to drink. And arrest that boy for stoning a citizen of Montrose.âÂ
Two knights grabbed the boy and dragged him off in anger as his friends watched in shock. A third knight presented a water bottle to the king which he took. The king then knelt down and cupped Sonnetâs cheek.
âUntie him,â the king ordered his knight. He then turned to Sonnet and began helping him drink water. The cold water rushed down his parched throat, cooling his flaming insides. The king paused the water stream when Sonnet sagged forward once he was released from the ropes tying him down. The king offered the water bottle to Sonnet and he took it, finishing it in a few messy gulps. He wiped away the few drops that escaped his mouth and flinched when the king draped him in something. He realized it was the king's cloak and he stared in astonishment.Â
The king was too busy speaking to his knights. Sonnet closed the king's cloak further in to cover up as much of his bloodied chest as possible. In the next moment, arms pulled him up from his armpits and he yelped. He held the skirts at his waist, making sure they wouldnât fall down as he wobbled on unsteady legs. He was dragged by the knight up and into the king's carriage, before being sat across from the king. The door shut behind the knight, leaving only the king and Sonnet staring at each other.Â
He avoided making eye contact with the king, it was what he was taught since he was a kid. They sat in awkward silence as the carriage lurched forward and began to move. Sonnet grabbed onto the railing, startled by the movement. The king chuckled quietly and Sonnet blushed. This was getting increasingly uncomfortable for him, and he almost wished he was left at the whipping post.Â
âWhy were you tied there?â the king asked. Sonnet pulled the cloak further in on himself to hide the marks. Sonnet tried formulating the words, to try and sum up all the variables that played into todayâs punishment.Â
âBecause I wasnât a woman,â Sonnet finally said. He could tell that the king was confused but didnât know if continuing to explain would be over stepping. So he stayed silent, like he always did.Â
In actuality it was more than him not being a woman. Mr.Winslow always resented Sonnet, and often looked for any reason to punish him. But it came to a head this morning when Sonnet wore his servants dress like he always did. He helped Mrs. Winslow with her morning bath like he always did. Mrs. Winslow and a few other staff were the only ones who knew Sonnet was really a man. Though they didnât seem to mind, if anything they seemed to find it attractive which only increased Sonnetâs discomfort as their servant. Apparently, Mr.Winslow was never informed of Sonnetâs identity and had always assumed that Sonnet was a woman. He was also known for having romantic flings with women other than his wife. So when Mr.Winslow made his advancement and Sonnet turned him down, he tried to force himself onto Sonnet, thus learning that he was in fact not a woman. He never actually told the king that, because he never asked. But it was sad for him to think about.Â
The king never filled that silence. He stared at Sonnet for the majority of the ride to the castle, no longer amused whenever Sonnet would startle from a bump in the road. Sonnet gripped the railing of the carriage tight, to stop him from falling onto the king's feet. There was no need to further prove his humiliation.Â
Sonnet could tell when they had reached the castle gates when the carriage became enveloped in voices. Soon they were rolling through the gates and stopped before one of the side entries into the castle. The doors of the carriage opened and the knight waiting there helped the king down. Sonnet hesitated and before he could make the decision to leave or stay, the same knight that helped the king before now yanked him out of the carriage. He stumbled and was barely able to catch his balance before he hit the floor. An iron glove gripped Sonnetâs arm and held him close, making sure he wouldnât escape. The king was too busy talking to some of his royal staff to notice the mistreatment of his new possession. But the man who was currently talking to the king did.Â
â--I'm sorry to hear about the failed- who is that?â the man across from the king asked. The king turned around and seemed to remember that Sonnet existed.Â
âOh, him.â The king snapped and a servant scurried over. âGo tell Sister Florence to run a bath for this servant. I want him properly dressed and seen by a physician afterwards.â As the servant walked away, the king motioned to the knight holding Sonnet to follow.Â
The grip on Sonnetâs arm tightened where he swore it would leave bruises, and he was dragged off into the castle. The servant they were following split off in a different direction than the knight was taking him, presumably to grab whoever Sister Florence was. There were several times where Sonnet nearly fell from the pace at which they were walking. And everytime the guard would scoff and yank him onward. By the time they had reached a spacious and lavishly designed bathroom, the knight was more than happy to let go of them.Â
Sonnet stood alone in the entrance of the bathroom, too scared to step further in or to leave. So instead he looked upwards as he pulled the cloak closer together. There was an intricate chandelier above him, twinkling glass charms dangling from lit candles. It was a luxury Sonnet never personally experienced, never allowed to be in fancy bathrooms unless he was with Mrs Winslow.Â
There was a knock on the door and Sonnet startled. He stared as a woman dressed in all black entered, followed by a handmaiden. The woman in black gave him a sweet smile and extended her hand to him.Â
âMy nameâs Sister Florence, I was sent to make sure you were properly taken care of.âÂ
Sonnet neither spoke nor took her hand to shake it, leaving the room to rest in awkward silence. Sister Florence let her hand fall to her side after a few moments of no movement.Â
âWell, Iâll go draw that bath for you,â she said, walking past Sonnet and further into the bathroom. The handmaiden scurried after her, barely giving him a second glance. He started to wonder if it was too late to leave now.Â
Sonnet could hear water running from where he was left standing. In a few minutes he watched the mirrors in the distance start to fog up from steam. The air became filled with scented oils, rich with lavender and lemongrass. Scents he only knew the names of because of the amount of times he had run them for Ms. Winslow.Â
âCome on dear,â Sister Florence called.Â
Reluctantly, Sonnet stepped further into the bathroom. Sister Florence had her hand in the water to test the temperature while the handmaiden was bringing soap bottles to the edge of the bathtub. Noticing him, Sister Florence flicked the water droplets from her hand and came closer.Â
âPut your hands on my shoulder.â
Sonnet didnât listen and watched as she knelt onto the floor. She pulled his foot out from under him and he stumbled, inevitably grabbing her shoulders. She carefully took off his shoes and chucked them to the side. Sonnet took his hands off of her as she stood up. She grabbed the cloak and pulled it off of him. The handmaiden behind him gasped and covered her mouth. Sonnet flushed, feeling exposed, both literally and metaphorically.Â
Sister Florence turned back to Sonnet and took his hand in hers. âYou have nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. Now, let's get the rest of these clothes off of you.âÂ
He was thankful when Sister Florence let go of his hand. He was not so thankful when they began to take off the rest of his clothes till he had nothing left to wear. All of his clothes were tossed haphazardly onto a pile. Sonnet unclipped his dagger sheath he had attached to his thigh for Sister Florence and handed it to him carefully. She took it and looked at it curiously before setting it carefully on the bathroom counter. He was then guided into the bath, more or less against his will. Despite his reluctance, the water was quite warm and soothing. The soapy water stung against his open wounds, making them alight with fire.Â
He audibly winced when Sister Florence dumped water over his back. She and the handmaiden Ameila took great care in washing him. He hated the hands that were on him, invading his skin. They lathered soap into his skin then rinsed it off before repeating it over again. By the fourth time he was rinsed, his skin felt as if it was rubbed raw.Â
Sister Florence then had Sonnet sit as close to the edge of the tub as possible and tilted his head back. As he looked up at the ceiling she scrubbed shampoo into his hair. He almost relaxed into her touch, the feeling somewhat soothing. She titled his head up again and blocked his eyes while dumping water over his head. She repeated this process again before doing it one more time with conditioner. With his head thoroughly washed and the bath water having turned murky gray, they finally let him out of the bath.Â
He was wrapped in one of the softest bath towels heâd ever known. Sister Florence sent the handmaiden Amila to grab his clothes while she gently rubbed him dry. Amila came back with clothes in hand. Sister Florence went to take off his towel when he stepped back.
âI can dress myself,â the first words he said to her. Sister Florence seems surprised that he spoke but respected his wish. She and the handmaiden Amila turned around while he carefully dressed. Sonnet quietly grabbed his dagger off the counter and strapped it back to his thigh. He adorned undergarments, a silk button up shirt, and wide length shorts. He was slightly disappointed he wasnât allowed to wear a dress, but he made no fuss about it. Sister Florence and Amila turned around while he was pulling up the socks they had given him. Sister Florence had him sit down while she began to work on his hair and Amila helped him put on shoes.Â
After about twenty minutes, his hair was brushed out and trimmed slightly to shoulder length. Sonnet protested against any length shorter than that. Sister Florence helped Sonnet stand up and they led him out of the bathroom. Stepping into fresh air that wasnât filled with scented oils felt intoxicating. He followed quietly as they brought him to a bedroom. It looked like a nobleâs personal suite, much too big for a servant to stay.Â
âA physician will be with you shortly,â Sister Florence told him before leaving him alone in the room.Â
Sonnet didnât know what to do with his new found aloneness. He looked around the room without moving, letting himself admire the room. He could tell this was a guest bedroom with how unlived in it looked. He wondered when the last time someone had touched this room besides servants cleaning it. Would he be the first to grace this room with a living breath? A very exhausted, yet living breath.Â
The door opened and Sonnet snapped his head to look at the person who entered. It was a man in a doctor's coat, holding a briefcase in one hand and the doors handle in the other. He smiled at Sonnet and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.Â
âIâm Dr. Clarke, and you are?â the physician asked.Â
âSonnet.âÂ
âThatâs a lovely name.â Sonnet didnât respond. âIf I could have you sit on the bed, we can get started,â Dr. Clarke said as he gestured to the bed.Â
Sonnet followed his gaze and sat on the very edge of the bed. Dr. Clarke followed, setting his briefcase near Sonnet. He opened it up and pulled out a few tools. He started by checking Sonnets eyes, ears, and mouth. Once the normal routines were done, Dr. Clarke put away his tools and put on a set of gloves.Â
âIf I could have you take off your shirt for me.â
Sonnet did as he was told, and held the folded shirt in his lap. Dr. Clarke began his work with each wound. Pouring antiseptics into the open ones, burning out any possible infection. Gently covering them in ointment before wrapping them in cloth. He would gently press against any bruises Sonnet had to test whether they needed attention or not. He had Sonnet turn around so that he could do the same thing over again for all the wounds on his back. Those ones hurt the most and Sonnet had to bite his tongue multiple times to stop himself from crying. Sonnet was allowed to turn back around when the physician was done. He buttoned his shirt back up while Dr. Clarke changed his gloves.
âNow Iâll have you take off your pants,â Dr. Clarke stated.Â
Sonnet hesitated under the physician's gaze, but eventually took them off. There were fewer wounds for Dr. Clarke to focus his attention on, making it a lot quicker then when he worked on his torso. As soon as Dr. Clarke was done, Sonnet pulled his shorts back on, wanting to be left alone. Dr. Clarke packed up his briefcase, then handed a bottle to Sonnet.Â
âDrink a cap-full of this tonic with every meal till your bruises are gone.âÂ
Sonnet held the bottle in his hands as the physician left. He leaned against the bed and exhaustion finally settled onto his shoulders. He looked out the window of the guest room and saw that the sun had well past setting. Stars were already creeping up the skyline. Just when Sonnet thought he had actually been left alone for the night, there was a knock on his door. A servant walked in with a tray of food. They set it down on a side table next to some bookshelves before addressing Sonnet.Â
âI was told to inform you that you will be spending the night here. Silas will be coming to get you in the morning for your audience with the king.âÂ
They then gave a small head bow before leaving the room. Sonnet looked at the bottle in his hand before sighing and walking over to the tray of food. A small voice in his head warned him of the food being poisoned, but at this point he really didnât care. So what if the king had him treated this nicely just to poison him in the end, it was better than the Winslows ever had. Sonnet sat at the small table and ate slowly, watching the castle's life dwindle by the night. By the end of the meal, he felt even more exhausted and in pain. He poured out a cap-full of the tonic before shooting it like whiskey.Â
It tasted bitter in his mouth and he washed it down with a glass of water. With a full stomach and a tired mind, Sonnet blew out the candles in the room and crawled into bed. The mattress was softer than any cot he had been allowed to sleep on. Despite his history with insomnia, the soft blankets and the comfort of safety in sitting in his stomach lulled him down enough to actually fall into soundless sleep.Â
Whumpee has done their best to not give into whumper's taunts and demands. They can hit them, starve them, whatever. But Whumpee won't give into them. They can take whatever comes.
Until Whumpee comes into their prison one day. They have the usual meager tray of food with them and a cup (never a glass) of water. However, Whumpee's eyes immediately dart to something on the tray. Their heart practically stops. There, in the middle of the rations, is one of their sibling's favorite things. They carry it everywhere, hell they practically sleep with it. So how...no.
"How did you get that?" Whumpee croaks. It's the first words Whumpee has said in days.
Whumper smirks as they set the tray down in front of Whumpee.
"I have my ways," they reply slyly. Like Whumpee's head wasn't spinning and their mouth had become dryer than sand.
"I swear," Whumpee says through gritted teeth. "If you did something, I'll-"
Whumper holds their hands up in a mock defense. "Relax," they say. "They're perfectly safe and sound." Whumper bends down and places a gentle hand on Whumpee's shoulder. "Just remember what I can do."
Whumpee stares at the object again, barely acknowledging Whumper as they pat them on the shoulder before leaving, the door's lock clicking shut. With shaking hands, Whumpee grabs the item off the tray. They rotate it in their hands, memorizing every scratch and stain.
Their sibling had to be alright. There's no way Whumper would stoop that low, would they?
I'm so taken by the idea of Caretaker and drugged Whumpee. Maybe Caretaker finds them in the aftermath of what Whumper did, maybe Whumper did this to Whumpee and told Caretaker to "clean up the mess". The vulnerability of it, the humiliation.
Whumpee shaking, unable to speak clearly, curled into Caretaker's lap.
Caretaker looking around, waiting for Whumper to come back, because they know that they have to be nearby.
Whumpee trying to explain what happened, but they can't, for whatever reason that may be.
Whumpee apologizing. "I know I'm meant to be stronger than this, I know I'm meant to be better, I don't know why I can't stop crying, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"I don't want to, I don't want to, I'll be good, I'm sorry."
Whumpee not being able to move... nearly completely immobile, completely in Caretaker's hands, forced to trust that they'll be kind.
"Shh, shh... it's alright, it's just me. You're safe now."
Caretaker calling them pet names, stroking their hair, doing anything they can to try to reassure them.
Character A sits with their bare back against the cold bathroom wall, wincing as the air vent's freezing wind stings their arm, when they suddenly hear the front door open from outside.
"No, no, fuck, character B isn't supposed to be here," they panic, but they're frozen in place against the tile as B calls out their name, walking closer and closer to the bathroom.
"Are you in here?" B asks, but A's mouth ran dry a long time ago, and the door finally opens, revealing B looming over them.
But instead of the anger or disgust or whatever A was expecting, B sinks to their knees with a horrified expression, pulling A into an embrace on the cold floor.
