Welcome to Echo's Secondary Location

I'm Echo! • I write whump • Not a Minor • Queer • (He/It) • 18+ advised

[echo-goes-mmm]

Welcome!

Hi, I'm Echo!

Here is my writing Masterpost

What I write:

Slavery whump

Pet whump

NSFWhump

What I don't write (my squicks):

BBU

Bad caretakers (carewhumpers are fine)

Askbox is open, including roleplay with my OCs

Buy me a coffee if you want!

[oddsconvert]

Declan, my bloodbag whumpee from my series 'Shattered'! 🩸⛓️

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Commissioned from the AMAZING AND BEYOND SUPER TALENTED @elgrajaz ! thank you so so much for drawing my boy!!! 🥹😭 It's beautiful, I can't stop looking at him!!! AAAAAA!

[elwensa]

Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf

[elgrajaz]

[foresttheblep]

CbC! - 39

As you walk towards the main street you see the demi supplies store and turn for their door.

There were loads of aisles. Beds, kibble and tinned foods, clothes, collars and harnesses, treats, toys, common medications, everything you can think of.

But... what if you spoil them too much? Or don't grab enough?

What should you buy?

Just a few things, bed, some food, a collar then head out.

Maybe splurge for him a bit more. There are some nicer things (many polls)

Go all out. You're gonna have the most spoilt catboy ever. (MANY polls)

Voting ended onJul 5

Taglist; @3-2-whump @honeycollectswhump @batfacedliar-yetagain @typewrittenfangs @whump-me-harder @whumper-whimsy @lordcatwich @scoundrelwithboba @vampirewithouttheblood @sir-fenris @yonbwekh @purru @whack-a-clown

[infectiouspiss]

restrained summer fun. tied up summer fun. bound and gagged summer fun.

[silvercrane14]

Shout out to characters who want to be used. Shout out to characters who are so desperate to be worth something that they'll endure anything. Shout out to characters who build their entire self worth around being useful, being a tool. Shout out to characters who don't care how they are treated, as long as someone pays them any attention at all

[echo-goes-mmm]

Juno in "The Wizard"

My Writing Masterpost

Juno Collection Masterpost

Warnings: slavery

The rope chafed his wrists.

Juno did not complain, because he could not. No words to do so. 

He would not complain anyway. Slaves did not do such things. Especially slaves that were trying to be bought.

It had been weeks since he had been left at the market. His old master was tired of him, and so here he was.

But his lack of words made him stupid in the eyes of buyers. Slaves were for the work that real people didn’t want to do, so who would want a stupid slave they needed to babysit?

Even though he wasn’t stupid.

If only he could speak, he could tell them. I can cook, I can clean, I can sew and mend. I can play with babies and groom dogs, I can do anything you want-

Except talk. Or read. Or sign.

Stupid. This one is stupid. Cheap.

‘Cheap’ meant ‘defective’.

‘Defective’ meant ‘would need to be replaced soon’.

Waste of money.

Was that why his old master left him? Was he a waste?

He blinked back tears. Crying would not get him a new master to please; a new home to live in.

There was a man in a blue cloak browsing the slaves. There was only a small chance he would buy Juno, but it was still a chance.

He raised his aching wrists to wipe his face clear of tears.

The cloaked man moved down closer, where Juno knew the prices were lower. He did know his numbers, even if the letters were long gone.

“Can I help you find something?” 

The saleswoman seemed to appear out of nowhere, and Juno’s heart sank. She always guided customers- his potential masters- away from him.

It wasn’t fair. She never gave him a chance. The commission she would get from selling him wasn’t worth it, but the longer he went unsold, the more likely he’d be left in the woods to die. 

Keeping slaves alive cost money.

“I need something cheap for housework. I’m far too busy with research for chores.”

Juno sat up straight. Pick me! Pick me! He pleaded into the ether.

“Oh? What kind of research?”

A flash of annoyance passed over the man’s face. “Look, the sales tactics are all well and good, but I know what I’m looking for. I want an inexpensive slave who won’t bother me when I’m working.”

She pursed her lips. “Right this way, sir.” She gestured in his direction.

Juno’s heart pounded.

“Our most inexpensive slave.” Clearly a dig at the man’s small budget.

The man’s eyes roamed over him. He picked up the sign around Juno’s neck.

“He’s a bit stupid,” the saleswoman went on. “Can’t even talk.”

The man dropped the sign, and the wood fell against Juno’s chest with an uncomfortable thud.

He crouched in front of him, staring.

Juno stared back.

“Are you stupid?” the man asked.

Juno’s eyes flicked to the saleswoman. If he disagreed with her, would he be bought? If not, would he be punished for contradicting?

The truth was obedience. Lies were disobeying.

He looked back at the man, and shook his head.

“I’ll take him.”

___________________

Juno followed his Master with the quietest footfalls he could manage on cobblestone. His wrists were still tied, but the pain of the rope was forgotten in the elation of being owned again.

No more waking up to wonder if he was no longer worth the porridge to keep him alive. No more waiting.

And if Master wanted silence, perhaps he would even be kept.

The walk was long, and the shops and markets disappeared behind them. The cobblestone turned to well-worn dirt, and his feet were getting dusty.

They turned off the path, and Juno was lost in thought imagining a quaint cottage when they suddenly stopped.

He looked up from the road.

A tower, not an incredibly large one, but certainly a tower, stood in front of them.

Master turned a key in the lock, and the odd color of his cloak clicked in Juno’s mind like a puzzle piece in a riddle-box.

Master was a wizard, and Juno was going to be very, very lonely.

___________________

The ground floor was a mess. A complete circle of disaster.

Dirty floor, muddy rugs, smelly dishes piled in the sink. Windows needed wiping, cobwebs cleared, the pantry door was stained with a splat of.. something.

The stove wasn’t even lit, and it was four-ish in the evening. At least there was wood to light it but still.

Juno stared at the work, dumbfounded.

Master cut away his bindings, and Juno rubbed at the burn.

“Clean all this up,” Master instructed. “There’s two more floors to do. My office and bedroom is at the top, potions lab below that, and this floor here.”

Juno’s knees turned to jelly. Were the other two floors just as bad?

“I’ll want dinner at six.” Of course. “Think you can manage it?”

Juno nodded without hesitating. He would have to manage it.

He turned to see if Master had any other instructions, but the tail end of his cloak was already disappearing up the stairs.

___________________

The first thing he did was light the stove and do the dishes, and by the time the last cup was clean, the clock was chiming five and it was time to make dinner.

Juno checked the pantry. 

It was full, but not pleasantly.

Vegetables were old and wilted, the flour reserve was sad, and only some of the meat looked good.

Master had enough time to shop, or perhaps had arranged deliveries, but didn’t have enough time to cook what he had before it went sour.

Juno wrinkled his nose.

No time to toss the rot. Master wanted a meal.

Soup would have to do. It would disguise the poor quality of the ingredients at least a little.

___________________

At six, he carefully ladled out a bowl, set it on a tray, and started up the stairs.

The many, many stairs.

He took breaks between flights. At least he wasn’t dizzy from the circular stairs, but the occasional window reminded him how high up he was.

Why, oh why did wizards like towers so much?

His legs shook when he reached the topmost floor. Juno shifted the tray over to knock on the heavy oak door.

“Come in.”

Master was hunched over a desk in front of a window, papers and inkpots covering the wood.

Master didn’t look up, pointing instead to a small table against a stone wall. “Put it there.”

Juno obeyed, and took the opportunity to look around.

The circular room was well-lit with tall windows. Built-in shelves from floor-to-ceiling held mystery scrolls and books, quills, even more inkpots, boxes of chalk. 

It was messy, but a more organized messy. Not dirty.

There was no rug, and the center of the floor was incredibly clean. A door off to the side probably led to Master’s bedroom.

Master finally looked up, glancing over at the food.

“Soup?”

Juno nodded, unsure if he was pleased or not.

“You can go back to work.”

No way to know.

Juno turned to go back down the terrible stairs.

___________________

The first floor became Juno’s bedroom as well as the kitchen, living room, pantry, storage, and seemingly everything else.

He slept on the (now clean) rug in front of the fireplace. He’d sewn a pillow from fabric that Master didn’t seem to know existed, and therefore didn’t miss.

Once everything was scrubbed and wiped and polished- which took four days of backbreaking work- it wasn’t half bad.

Master did indeed get groceries delivered, and the pantry was now beautiful. Stocked with fresh food that actually got used, and flour that made lovely bread. It was a treat to be able to cook such nice meals.

Master ate quickly, like a starving wolf, so Juno wasn’t sure if he actually liked them. 

Wizards were busy people. Juno kept himself busy, too. He grew berry bushes out front to make jam. Used forgotten fabric to make plush toys. Dried flowers over the fireplace and used them to decorate.

Master didn’t notice. Master didn’t pay attention to what he did.

Master didn’t talk to him much at all, except to yell his name down the stairs.

___________________

“JUNO!” called Master from the upper floor.

Juno took the stairs two at a time, panting in the doorway.

Master tossed a small bag over his shoulder at him, and Juno scrambled to catch it. It clinked in his hands, and it felt like coins.

“Get me two pots of ink, one blue, one green, and three boxes of ninety-eight percent chalk.”

Juno blinked. Two pots of ink, blue, green, 9-8 chalk.

Where would he get 98% chalk?

But Master seemed finished talking, and was once again reading his papers and scratching out notes.

Juno shifted, thinking, and the floor creaked.

Master looked up. His brow furrowed.

“Come here,” he sighed, and Juno cautiously obeyed.

Master pulled open a drawer with matches and pots with different labels. He got out a small jar and unscrewed the lid to reveal a dark brown… ink?

He grabbed a quill. “Give me your hand.”

Master dipped the quill and scratched out a sigil on the back of Juno’s hand. He lit a match.

Juno watched in horror as Master held the match to the ink. It burst into flame, he jerked away on instinct, but Master’s grip tightened and-

It didn’t… hurt, but it tingled uncomfortably. The fire died out and the brown was turned to a shimmery gold.

“So you don’t get lost,” Master said dryly. He let go. “Hurry up with that.”

He waved Juno off without further guidance.

___________________

It was hard to figure out what the sigil did at first, but soon Juno found himself… tugged towards a certain direction when he got into town. 

He fiddled with the leather shoulder bag. He’d never been sent on an errand like this before, and he felt distinctly out of place.

The sigil pulled him along, down the streets, which looked more and more off-putting the further he went on.

The road grew narrow, and the alleys increasingly frequent. The buildings cast long shadows.

It was quiet here.

Two men stepped out of the dimness, blocking his path. One held a knife.

“Hand over the bag,” one smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, with yellow teeth and sneering lips.

Juno stepped back. The other man flipped the knife between his fingers, also smiling. “You can go home, or you can be target practice. Your choice.”

He gripped the satchel strap nervously. It was Master’s money, not his to give up, but he really didn’t want to die.

The taller man’s smile fell from his face. He stared at Juno’s hand. He whispered into the knife-holder’s ear, whose gaze also fell to the sigil.

The hand holding the knife dropped.

“Never mind,” the man said. “Have a nice day.” They disappeared into another alley.

Juno wasn’t going to correct them that it was just a locator spell.

___________________

The shop the spell took him to was even more messy than Master’s office. Jars upon jars of strange substances, liquids that swirled on their own, vials of hairs and plants, a bin of teeth Juno hoped weren’t human, and scrolls scrolls scrolls.

 It took a while for him to find the inks in the maze of shelves. 

The chalks were easy to spot, however, and all labeled with numbers.

But there were only two boxes with “98%” stamped on them.

Master didn’t say what to get instead if they were out.

Juno stared at the empty bin on the shelf, the last two boxes in hand.

“99%” on the bin to the left. “96%” on the bin to the right.

99% was twice as expensive as 96%.

Juno bit his lip, and took a box of 96%.

___________________

“Don’t waste my money, moron. Go find something to clean.”

Master was not happy when he went through the supplies.

“This,” he snarled, shaking the box of 96% in Juno’s face, “is useless for alchemical circles.”

Juno stared down at his feet, trembling. Master hadn’t hit him yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

He didn’t know what alchemical summoning was, or why the chalk needed to be more pure, but he should have known better.

Juno descended down the stairs slowly and sniffling.

He nodded, eyes wet and vision blurry.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been yelled at. It was the first time this Master had insulted his intelligence, and that somehow hurt more than just the scolding.

“What? What could possibly be so important that you’re disturbing my studies?”

___________________

Guests did not come to the tower.

When a knock sounded against the oak door, Juno had thought he must have forgotten it was delivery day.

Instead, he opened the door to a woman with a small crying child in her arms. The baby was flushed and pale all at once, and her little wails sounded muffled even though her mouth was open.

“Is the wizard here?”

Her voice was full of breathiness and fear.

Juno escorted her in, practically pushing her to sit at the fireplace.

He would get Master; she did not need to go up all those stairs.

Juno fetched her a cold cup of water and took on the steps two at a time.

He wasn’t supposed to disturb Master now, and he ducked at a spoon flung at him in anger when he entered the potions lab.

“What?” Master growled at him, hunched over his bubbling glass beakers and green-flame stove. “And hand me back my spoon.”

Juno handed it over, and tugged at Master’s sleeve for his attention.

Master turned on him, face damp with sweat and hair wild from running his hand through it.

“Show me,” he demanded.

Juno made a coughing sound, holding his throat and pointing downstairs.

For all his gruffness, Master had tried to understand his wordlessness so far.

Juno nodded. What else could he say?

___________________

“She’s sick,” the woman explained, bouncing her baby in an effort to soothe her. The little girl’s crying hiccuped. “Nothing seems to help. The apothecary doesn’t have anything else.”

Master felt the baby’s forehead, his brow furrowed like when he was working on one of his foot-long equations.

“Juno, go make some sugar water,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

He went upstairs, and the woman turned to Juno. “Is he going to fix her?”

Her eyes were rimmed with red and hollow shadows.

___________________

Master returned with two tiny identical vials of shimmering silver liquids.

“This will cure her sickness,” he told the woman. She reached for the vials, and he stepped back. “Let me dose her. Ten millitres. It will taste like shit. Juno, where is that sugar water?”

She looked at him suspiciously, pausing at his hesitation to let her handle the liquid. “Is it safe? She’s only two.”

He sighed as Juno hurried to his side with the still slightly-warm simple syrup.

“Juno, drink this.”

He gave Juno one of the vials of magic.

Juno didn’t dare disobey when he was clearly meant to demonstrate.

He uncorked the vial and drank the whole thing.

It tasted awful. Like dirt and the bitterness of the white part of a lemon peel. He swallowed, gagging.

She watched, eyes wide. The baby wailed in her arms.

Nothing happened.

The woman let Master feed the toddler a spoonful of medicine, then sugar water. Then repeat.

The little girl was unhappy, and Juno let the woman soak a clean cloth in the syrup so her baby could suck on the sweetness.

“Thank you,” she breathed, her shoulders slumped in relief now that her baby was quiet. The flush seemed to drain away like water out of a glass.

Gold was exchanged, and Master went back upstairs.

Juno watched his cloak swish up the stone while he handed the woman a muffin to nibble on.

His stomach hurt.

Juno couldn’t move anyway, white lights bursting in his eyes when he twitched.

Master made his money by selling magic.

Juno made his Master happy by drinking strange things and not crying when his Master needed blood samples.

“On a scale from one to ten, how much does it hurt?”

Juno twitched on the bed, vision fuzzy. He shakily pointed to the crying face on the chart.

“Where?”

Juno moaned when Master massaged his upper stomach, where the agony had spread from.

“Hm.”

Master muttered under his breath. Thinking out loud, he called it.

Master pricked Juno with another blood collection device, the hot red dripping over his skin and into the little cup.

“Wait here.”

He was just happy it was over.

___________________

After a few more tries that Juno hated, Master declared the blood type changing potion a success.

“Of course, it only works on humans,” he rambled, pleased. “I won’t risk trying to morph other species’ blood into human blood on such a small sample size.”

Juno has learned over the past six months that most smart people considered a single test subject not enough for big discoveries.

His head still knocked against the floor clumsily.

___________________

There were other experiments. Potions went down his throat. Sigils and runes drawn on his skin and burned to activate. Sometimes Master misdrew them, and the activation did burn instead of harmlessly become magic.

He never apologized.

More customers came, sometimes with new projects and requests that would take a long time, and Master never refused to try.

Juno didn’t want to.

He wanted to cook and clean and sew stuffed animals and garden.

He didn’t want to be dizzy and knock-kneed and throw up and crash into things when a sigil made his body move too fast to keep up with.

“I thought for sure your work would be done quicker,” Master complained after the second week of trials. “I suppose the physics are unrealistic for that. Are you sure you can’t just get used to the speed?”

Juno shook his head and regretted it, neck aching with whiplash.

He panted for air, and his heart was almost thrumming out of his chest. Is this what a heart attack was?

“Oh well.”

Juno laid down, moving as slowly as he could.

___________________

___________________

It was after a new fire-resistant potion experiment, in which Juno was made to make roasted chicken and potatoes in the oven without protection, that he noticed.

The potion was a success, even better than the previous version, and he was cleaning up.

Master didn’t like potato skins, but the garden compost pile did.

It had been snowing for three days. The compost pile was outside, but not far, so Juno didn’t bother putting on more than his shoes before taking the bowl of skins out.

The wind howled and he should feel freezing and regretful, but he didn’t.

The snow fell on his skin. It was as warm as raindrops.

He brushed the white beauty off the compost pile so the skins wouldn’t lie useless on top.

His hand didn’t notice the iciness.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just after effects of the potion. It was supposed to have worn off half an hour ago. Master was precise like that.

Maybe he should have told the wizard.

He didn’t.

It was just… warm.

Things got weirder.

Dirty dishes seemed to disappear when he looked away, and reappeared clean and put away when he searched for them.

Linens unstained themselves.

Flour never clumped; never needed sifting.

His bread rose quicker and lasted longer in the pantry. Butter and cheese were cold in the spring thaw, even when the dairy accidentally got too warm one surprising afternoon.

Juno looked for new sigils and runes, but there were none.

He was stumped.

Master’s magic was made from careful calculations and precise measurements and theory books. Sigils and potions and a staff.

He did magic by following instructions and making new ones, like how a cook followed a chef’s recipe and made adjustments.

Master wasn’t a sorcerer; wasn’t magic himself.

After a few years of watching Master do wizardry, Juno was certain this was not how wizardry worked.

Juno reached for the fire poker to shift the logs. He paused.

He turned to look into the gentle flames of the fireplace.

Fire was hot. It wasn’t something to be learned.

He could still feel the heat. See the flames dance. The logs glow.

Juno’s hand darted in and out of the fire.

Nothing?

He did it again, slowly.

No burn. None.

He checked his palm, his sleeve.

No singed fibers, no reddened skin.

Well. Sorcerers were born. Not made.

___________________

Sorcerers were born, not made.

Wizardry was built on a foundation of hard work, study, and harnessing existing magic to break the rules of the universe.

What Kieran wouldn’t give to be born a sorcerer. To be able to bend the universe simply with will, without tools, and study it. To create and refine the very laws and techniques that wizards had to copy to even do half of it. To do by instinct and explain later instead of trial and error and careful experiments-

Inherently, a mediocre educated sorcerer would know magic far better than a wizard, who had to look at magic through so many limiting lenses to even grasp-

The plates lay in pieces, ceramic shards scattered.

___________________

Juno was magic.

He figured it out after a few more cautious tries.

He had to think about wanting to avoid burns, or wishing the floor clean when he woke up.

It didn’t work when he recklessly tried to pick up an iron pan without thinking about it. But the blisters did go away when he willed it. It just made him tired.

He was trying to float dishes back to their shelves when a sudden thud made him lose concentration.

The dishes crashed against the floor. He flinched.

Master stood at the bottom of the stairs, heavy book on the floor, his eyes wide.

Juno froze.

___________________

Keiren had made a sorcerer.

It must have been sheer exposure, or maybe Juno had always had a propensity for sorcery, or both.

He had questioned the slave for hours, tried every test of magic ability he could think of.

The boy was a damn sorcerer.

Keiren was going to be the most famous wizard in the world when the order found out.

…If they found out.

He’d never been under that level of scrutiny. His past thesis evaluation would be nothing compared to the rigor of something like this.

Juno looked up at him, tired and probably annoyed, and Keiren was struck with a thought.

If Juno was revealed to be a sorcerer, the order would educate him. He’d outclass Keiren in every way in no time at all. He might even be talented.

Who was to say that wouldn’t end badly?

Who was to say that Juno didn’t want revenge if it was within his reach?

“Well,” he said carefully. “I suppose you may do a little magic at home if you’re quiet about it. Don’t make my customers anxious.”

Juno nodded, relieved to be dismissed.

Keiren turned back to his desk, letting out a shaky breath. Beaded sweat ran down his back, and he shivered.

No more experiments with Juno as a test subject.

He’d have to be nice, now.

And hopefully Juno wouldn’t find out what he could really do.

taglist: @haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979 @batfacedliar-yetagain @bloodinkandashes @behind-the-v3il @paperprinxe

[echo-goes-mmm]

The Beginning of the End

Juno Collection Masterpost

Next

Note: an AU of King's Counsel where Juno does not recover. Begins after Regress

Warnings: Major Character Death (temporary), Grief

Juno knew he was dying.

The fever had left, and so had the delusions, but the deep exhaustion and aches in his bones had not.

He knew he was dying, even before his Master and the nurse sat beside him and gently, softly, told him so.

“I am so so sorry,” the king had whispered into his ear, his voice cracked. “I can’t save you, Juno. Please forgive me.”

Terry’s brown eyes, kinder and softer than anyone Juno had met, were wet with unshed tears.

Juno raised a hand to his cheek. His arm was sore.

He stroked the king’s face.

It wasn’t fair. Terry needed him. Terry needed someone to brush his hair and remind him to eat and sleep next to him so he could rest-

But Juno was dying.

Anger festered in his heart; a burning ember inside the hearth of a soul he’d dedicated to this one man.

He was going to die, because he wanted Terry to live.

Now he wasn’t sure if his Terry would survive putting Juno in the ground.

___________________

Master was not working.

Juno didn’t mind.

Master Terry spent his days by Juno’s bedside, reading to him and holding his hand.

Juno felt the aches in his joints all the time now, and he struggled not to doze through Terry’s presence. He wanted to be there, to spend as much time as he could with the man who loved him.

Terry loved him.

Terry was the only person who ever loved him, aside from perhaps Juno’s mother whom he did not remember except that she was warm and sang.

It was cruel that Juno could not stay.

“Are you hungry?” Terry asked. His voice was as soft as the feather pillows he’d helped Juno sit against.

He wasn’t, anymore. Hunger seemed like a distant memory with how little it plagued him now, even as his mind silently counted all the meals he missed while sick.

Juno nodded anyway.

Terry smiled so sweetly at him when he spooned the broth into Juno’s mouth. It wasn’t crying, but it was a smile of grief.

Juno missed the happy smiles.

___________________

Terry took Juno outside when it was warm and sunny.

Today, he had made a picnic on the grass of the royal courtyard, below the shade of a cherry blossom tree.

Juno hadn’t been strong enough to get to the koi pond to see the fish. But this would do.

“I was thinking,” Terry said quietly. “That you should see the dressmaker.”

Juno peeked up at him from his place on Terry’s lap.

He’d seen the dressmaker only a few times in his years of Terry’s ownership.

“It’s tradition,” his Master’s voice was strained. “To have something new before…” he trailed off.

Juno would like a new dress. Brides got new dresses to be married in. It made sense that the dead would have a new dress to be laid to rest in.

He nodded, slow as molasses, and pretended that Terry was not nearly weeping.

___________________

The dressmaker was solemn as she passed over fabric for Master, then Juno, to feel and touch.

He rejected all the silks, opting for soft and familiar cotton.

Juno wasn’t a noble, to be dressed in lace and silks and jewels.

He was just Juno. He would die happy, but not as someone he wasn’t.

The cotton he picked was white, in an imperfect way that reminded him of the roses in the greenhouse.

It would be the first white garment he wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning. It would be white forever.

“I’ll embroider it myself,” the king told the dressmaker.

“I understand.”

___________________

Terry worked on the dress at Juno’s bedside. It was nice to watch him move the needle and threads as the birds sang outside the window.

Juno was sleeping more now, and he knew in his heart it wouldn’t be long.

Sometimes he woke up with wet eyes and cheeks, and the king’s handkerchief wiping the sorrow away.

Every time he woke up, the dress was a little more finished, with roses blooming over the hem and birds on the vines of the sleeves.

It was the prettiest dress Juno would ever wear, and still Terry’s needle moved.

“Does it hurt?” Terry whispered to him, setting aside the fabric to take Juno’s hand. “There’s no need for you to be in pain.”

It hurt, but not in a way any pill or potion would cure.

Juno weakly squeezed Terry’s hand, and shook his head.

Terry reached with his hand to stroke Juno’s face.

His fingers were so warm.

“I thought,” Terry swallowed. “Remember your king, Jason the fifth?”

Juno remembered. The Timorsian emperor had been kind to him, unusually gracious, like Juno was a kinsman and not a slave.

“He’s sent you pearls.”

Terry smiled, and it was pale like milk.

“I thought you might like to wear them. When the time comes. Something to remind you of home?”

Juno had never worn Timorsian pearls, much less pearls from his king. 

It would be nice. To have a thing from home that wasn’t a scar from pain or temporary like spices and sheeps’ cheese.

___________________

The pearls were cool against his skin, blue-green like the sea they came from.

Juno liked to twirl each one with a finger.

Terry had asked him to look at blossoms today. Branches of wisteria flowers, all of them blue but in different shades.

“Pick your favorite,” Terry offered, spreading the bundles over the quilt keeping the chill away.

Juno didn’t ask.

He knew Rhodanthians planted trees over their dead.

He picked out a delicate bloom, blue as a clear summer sky.

“It matches your eyes.”

___________________

Juno was going to die today.

He knew. It wasn’t fair.

Terry knew too. Without even trying to tell him, his Master knew that Juno was going to die.

He never felt so loved. He never felt so angry. He never felt so heartbroken.

Terry gave him a small vial of clear liquid. Painkiller, to get through the day.

Juno drank it without hesitation. It tasted like bitterness and honey.

They ate breakfast together; a savory porridge and bacon. Juno could lift the spoon himself with the aid of the drugs. He only managed a few bites of the cheesy grits, and nibbles of the rich maple-glazed bacon, so he kept to his favorite parts. They’d made the bacon chewy with browned edges, just how he liked it.

The king Juno loved then helped him out of bed. Bathed him carefully with a hot, wet cloth. Eased him into his dress, embroidered with blossoms and birds and greenery and love.

Terry carried Juno out to the garden, to the beloved koi pond. They fed the fish peas and barley grains, watching the shimmering reds and golds and whites of their scales.

Juno laid his head on Terry’s lap, enjoying the sun as Terry read to him. It was a story Juno had heard many times, a favorite, but he paid close attention to his Master’s voice. He wanted to keep it in his ears forever.

Lunch was fruit tarts and crackers with salty sheep’s cheese. The small portions were easier to lift himself and bring to his own lips.

“Here,” Terry suggested. “Have a bite of each kind.”

Juno managed a single bite of pear, strawberry, apple, blackberry, cherry-

Terry didn’t have much appetite either.

___________________

The court musicians played just for the two of them.

Music flowed seamlessly from one song to another, harp and violin and cello and Rhodanthian pipes and Timorsian chimes, and a few Juno couldn’t name.

Endless music that wasn’t interrupted by court chatter.

Terry stroked his hair and held him close and Juno was getting more tired than he’d ever been.

Dinner was a single slice of warm, rich chocolate cake, topped with cold vanilla ice cream and whipped heavy cream.

It was a summer day, and the amount of work the kitchen put into making ice cream just for him-

Juno smiled at Terry as he ate. It was the first thing he finished in a long time.

“Did you have a good day?” Terry asked him as they lay in bed after an hour of stargazing.

Juno nodded weakly.

He lay over top of Terry, his head on his chest as Terry pet his hair.

It would be soon. His breathing was slower than ever.

“I’m glad,” Terry whispered. He was so close to crying.

Juno didn’t want him to cry. Not now. Not ever again.

It was hard.

With one last effort, he raised his head.

He kissed Terry on the cheek.

He laid back down.

“I love you,” Terry told him.

Juno knew.

___________________

Announcement of Mourning

King Terrance’s beloved pet and servant, Juno of Timorsia, died in the early hours of the morning of June 30th. He was approximately twenty-three years old. The funeral will be held tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. He will be buried under a blue wisteria tree, near the royal koi pond which he loved so much. It is a private ceremony. The Crown thanks you for your consideration at this time. 

taglist: @haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979 @batfacedliar-yetagain @bloodinkandashes @behind-the-v3il @paperprinxe

[echo-goes-mmm]

Juno in "The Wizard"

My Writing Masterpost

Juno Collection Masterpost

Warnings: slavery

The rope chafed his wrists.

Juno did not complain, because he could not. No words to do so. 

He would not complain anyway. Slaves did not do such things. Especially slaves that were trying to be bought.

It had been weeks since he had been left at the market. His old master was tired of him, and so here he was.

But his lack of words made him stupid in the eyes of buyers. Slaves were for the work that real people didn’t want to do, so who would want a stupid slave they needed to babysit?

Even though he wasn’t stupid.

If only he could speak, he could tell them. I can cook, I can clean, I can sew and mend. I can play with babies and groom dogs, I can do anything you want-

Except talk. Or read. Or sign.

Stupid. This one is stupid. Cheap.

‘Cheap’ meant ‘defective’.

‘Defective’ meant ‘would need to be replaced soon’.

Waste of money.

Was that why his old master left him? Was he a waste?

He blinked back tears. Crying would not get him a new master to please; a new home to live in.

There was a man in a blue cloak browsing the slaves. There was only a small chance he would buy Juno, but it was still a chance.

He raised his aching wrists to wipe his face clear of tears.

The cloaked man moved down closer, where Juno knew the prices were lower. He did know his numbers, even if the letters were long gone.

“Can I help you find something?” 

The saleswoman seemed to appear out of nowhere, and Juno’s heart sank. She always guided customers- his potential masters- away from him.

It wasn’t fair. She never gave him a chance. The commission she would get from selling him wasn’t worth it, but the longer he went unsold, the more likely he’d be left in the woods to die. 

Keeping slaves alive cost money.

“I need something cheap for housework. I’m far too busy with research for chores.”

Juno sat up straight. Pick me! Pick me! He pleaded into the ether.

“Oh? What kind of research?”

A flash of annoyance passed over the man’s face. “Look, the sales tactics are all well and good, but I know what I’m looking for. I want an inexpensive slave who won’t bother me when I’m working.”

She pursed her lips. “Right this way, sir.” She gestured in his direction.

Juno’s heart pounded.

“Our most inexpensive slave.” Clearly a dig at the man’s small budget.

The man’s eyes roamed over him. He picked up the sign around Juno’s neck.

“He’s a bit stupid,” the saleswoman went on. “Can’t even talk.”

The man dropped the sign, and the wood fell against Juno’s chest with an uncomfortable thud.

He crouched in front of him, staring.

Juno stared back.

“Are you stupid?” the man asked.

Juno’s eyes flicked to the saleswoman. If he disagreed with her, would he be bought? If not, would he be punished for contradicting?

The truth was obedience. Lies were disobeying.

He looked back at the man, and shook his head.

“I’ll take him.”

___________________

Juno followed his Master with the quietest footfalls he could manage on cobblestone. His wrists were still tied, but the pain of the rope was forgotten in the elation of being owned again.

No more waking up to wonder if he was no longer worth the porridge to keep him alive. No more waiting.

And if Master wanted silence, perhaps he would even be kept.

The walk was long, and the shops and markets disappeared behind them. The cobblestone turned to well-worn dirt, and his feet were getting dusty.

They turned off the path, and Juno was lost in thought imagining a quaint cottage when they suddenly stopped.

He looked up from the road.

A tower, not an incredibly large one, but certainly a tower, stood in front of them.

Master turned a key in the lock, and the odd color of his cloak clicked in Juno’s mind like a puzzle piece in a riddle-box.

Master was a wizard, and Juno was going to be very, very lonely.

___________________

The ground floor was a mess. A complete circle of disaster.

Dirty floor, muddy rugs, smelly dishes piled in the sink. Windows needed wiping, cobwebs cleared, the pantry door was stained with a splat of.. something.

The stove wasn’t even lit, and it was four-ish in the evening. At least there was wood to light it but still.

Juno stared at the work, dumbfounded.

Master cut away his bindings, and Juno rubbed at the burn.

“Clean all this up,” Master instructed. “There’s two more floors to do. My office and bedroom is at the top, potions lab below that, and this floor here.”

Juno’s knees turned to jelly. Were the other two floors just as bad?

“I’ll want dinner at six.” Of course. “Think you can manage it?”

Juno nodded without hesitating. He would have to manage it.

He turned to see if Master had any other instructions, but the tail end of his cloak was already disappearing up the stairs.

___________________

The first thing he did was light the stove and do the dishes, and by the time the last cup was clean, the clock was chiming five and it was time to make dinner.

Juno checked the pantry. 

It was full, but not pleasantly.

Vegetables were old and wilted, the flour reserve was sad, and only some of the meat looked good.

Master had enough time to shop, or perhaps had arranged deliveries, but didn’t have enough time to cook what he had before it went sour.

Juno wrinkled his nose.

No time to toss the rot. Master wanted a meal.

Soup would have to do. It would disguise the poor quality of the ingredients at least a little.

___________________

At six, he carefully ladled out a bowl, set it on a tray, and started up the stairs.

The many, many stairs.

He took breaks between flights. At least he wasn’t dizzy from the circular stairs, but the occasional window reminded him how high up he was.

Why, oh why did wizards like towers so much?

His legs shook when he reached the topmost floor. Juno shifted the tray over to knock on the heavy oak door.

“Come in.”

Master was hunched over a desk in front of a window, papers and inkpots covering the wood.

Master didn’t look up, pointing instead to a small table against a stone wall. “Put it there.”

Juno obeyed, and took the opportunity to look around.

The circular room was well-lit with tall windows. Built-in shelves from floor-to-ceiling held mystery scrolls and books, quills, even more inkpots, boxes of chalk. 

It was messy, but a more organized messy. Not dirty.

There was no rug, and the center of the floor was incredibly clean. A door off to the side probably led to Master’s bedroom.

Master finally looked up, glancing over at the food.

“Soup?”

Juno nodded, unsure if he was pleased or not.

“You can go back to work.”

No way to know.

Juno turned to go back down the terrible stairs.

___________________

The first floor became Juno’s bedroom as well as the kitchen, living room, pantry, storage, and seemingly everything else.

He slept on the (now clean) rug in front of the fireplace. He’d sewn a pillow from fabric that Master didn’t seem to know existed, and therefore didn’t miss.

Once everything was scrubbed and wiped and polished- which took four days of backbreaking work- it wasn’t half bad.

Master did indeed get groceries delivered, and the pantry was now beautiful. Stocked with fresh food that actually got used, and flour that made lovely bread. It was a treat to be able to cook such nice meals.

Master ate quickly, like a starving wolf, so Juno wasn’t sure if he actually liked them. 

Wizards were busy people. Juno kept himself busy, too. He grew berry bushes out front to make jam. Used forgotten fabric to make plush toys. Dried flowers over the fireplace and used them to decorate.

Master didn’t notice. Master didn’t pay attention to what he did.

Master didn’t talk to him much at all, except to yell his name down the stairs.

___________________

“JUNO!” called Master from the upper floor.

Juno took the stairs two at a time, panting in the doorway.

Master tossed a small bag over his shoulder at him, and Juno scrambled to catch it. It clinked in his hands, and it felt like coins.

“Get me two pots of ink, one blue, one green, and three boxes of ninety-eight percent chalk.”

Juno blinked. Two pots of ink, blue, green, 9-8 chalk.

Where would he get 98% chalk?

But Master seemed finished talking, and was once again reading his papers and scratching out notes.

Juno shifted, thinking, and the floor creaked.

Master looked up. His brow furrowed.

“Come here,” he sighed, and Juno cautiously obeyed.

Master pulled open a drawer with matches and pots with different labels. He got out a small jar and unscrewed the lid to reveal a dark brown… ink?

He grabbed a quill. “Give me your hand.”

Master dipped the quill and scratched out a sigil on the back of Juno’s hand. He lit a match.

Juno watched in horror as Master held the match to the ink. It burst into flame, he jerked away on instinct, but Master’s grip tightened and-

It didn’t… hurt, but it tingled uncomfortably. The fire died out and the brown was turned to a shimmery gold.

“So you don’t get lost,” Master said dryly. He let go. “Hurry up with that.”

He waved Juno off without further guidance.

___________________

It was hard to figure out what the sigil did at first, but soon Juno found himself… tugged towards a certain direction when he got into town. 

He fiddled with the leather shoulder bag. He’d never been sent on an errand like this before, and he felt distinctly out of place.

The sigil pulled him along, down the streets, which looked more and more off-putting the further he went on.

The road grew narrow, and the alleys increasingly frequent. The buildings cast long shadows.

It was quiet here.

Two men stepped out of the dimness, blocking his path. One held a knife.

“Hand over the bag,” one smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, with yellow teeth and sneering lips.

Juno stepped back. The other man flipped the knife between his fingers, also smiling. “You can go home, or you can be target practice. Your choice.”

He gripped the satchel strap nervously. It was Master’s money, not his to give up, but he really didn’t want to die.

The taller man’s smile fell from his face. He stared at Juno’s hand. He whispered into the knife-holder’s ear, whose gaze also fell to the sigil.

The hand holding the knife dropped.

“Never mind,” the man said. “Have a nice day.” They disappeared into another alley.

Juno wasn’t going to correct them that it was just a locator spell.

___________________

The shop the spell took him to was even more messy than Master’s office. Jars upon jars of strange substances, liquids that swirled on their own, vials of hairs and plants, a bin of teeth Juno hoped weren’t human, and scrolls scrolls scrolls.

 It took a while for him to find the inks in the maze of shelves. 

The chalks were easy to spot, however, and all labeled with numbers.

But there were only two boxes with “98%” stamped on them.

Master didn’t say what to get instead if they were out.

Juno stared at the empty bin on the shelf, the last two boxes in hand.

“99%” on the bin to the left. “96%” on the bin to the right.

99% was twice as expensive as 96%.

Juno bit his lip, and took a box of 96%.

___________________

“Don’t waste my money, moron. Go find something to clean.”

Master was not happy when he went through the supplies.

“This,” he snarled, shaking the box of 96% in Juno’s face, “is useless for alchemical circles.”

Juno stared down at his feet, trembling. Master hadn’t hit him yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

He didn’t know what alchemical summoning was, or why the chalk needed to be more pure, but he should have known better.

Juno descended down the stairs slowly and sniffling.

He nodded, eyes wet and vision blurry.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been yelled at. It was the first time this Master had insulted his intelligence, and that somehow hurt more than just the scolding.

“What? What could possibly be so important that you’re disturbing my studies?”

___________________

Guests did not come to the tower.

When a knock sounded against the oak door, Juno had thought he must have forgotten it was delivery day.

Instead, he opened the door to a woman with a small crying child in her arms. The baby was flushed and pale all at once, and her little wails sounded muffled even though her mouth was open.

“Is the wizard here?”

Her voice was full of breathiness and fear.

Juno escorted her in, practically pushing her to sit at the fireplace.

He would get Master; she did not need to go up all those stairs.

Juno fetched her a cold cup of water and took on the steps two at a time.

He wasn’t supposed to disturb Master now, and he ducked at a spoon flung at him in anger when he entered the potions lab.

“What?” Master growled at him, hunched over his bubbling glass beakers and green-flame stove. “And hand me back my spoon.”

Juno handed it over, and tugged at Master’s sleeve for his attention.

Master turned on him, face damp with sweat and hair wild from running his hand through it.

“Show me,” he demanded.

Juno made a coughing sound, holding his throat and pointing downstairs.

For all his gruffness, Master had tried to understand his wordlessness so far.

Juno nodded. What else could he say?

___________________

“She’s sick,” the woman explained, bouncing her baby in an effort to soothe her. The little girl’s crying hiccuped. “Nothing seems to help. The apothecary doesn’t have anything else.”

Master felt the baby’s forehead, his brow furrowed like when he was working on one of his foot-long equations.

“Juno, go make some sugar water,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

He went upstairs, and the woman turned to Juno. “Is he going to fix her?”

Her eyes were rimmed with red and hollow shadows.

___________________

Master returned with two tiny identical vials of shimmering silver liquids.

“This will cure her sickness,” he told the woman. She reached for the vials, and he stepped back. “Let me dose her. Ten millitres. It will taste like shit. Juno, where is that sugar water?”

She looked at him suspiciously, pausing at his hesitation to let her handle the liquid. “Is it safe? She’s only two.”

He sighed as Juno hurried to his side with the still slightly-warm simple syrup.

“Juno, drink this.”

He gave Juno one of the vials of magic.

Juno didn’t dare disobey when he was clearly meant to demonstrate.

He uncorked the vial and drank the whole thing.

It tasted awful. Like dirt and the bitterness of the white part of a lemon peel. He swallowed, gagging.

She watched, eyes wide. The baby wailed in her arms.

Nothing happened.

The woman let Master feed the toddler a spoonful of medicine, then sugar water. Then repeat.

The little girl was unhappy, and Juno let the woman soak a clean cloth in the syrup so her baby could suck on the sweetness.

“Thank you,” she breathed, her shoulders slumped in relief now that her baby was quiet. The flush seemed to drain away like water out of a glass.

Gold was exchanged, and Master went back upstairs.

Juno watched his cloak swish up the stone while he handed the woman a muffin to nibble on.

His stomach hurt.

Juno couldn’t move anyway, white lights bursting in his eyes when he twitched.

Master made his money by selling magic.

Juno made his Master happy by drinking strange things and not crying when his Master needed blood samples.

“On a scale from one to ten, how much does it hurt?”

Juno twitched on the bed, vision fuzzy. He shakily pointed to the crying face on the chart.

“Where?”

Juno moaned when Master massaged his upper stomach, where the agony had spread from.

“Hm.”

Master muttered under his breath. Thinking out loud, he called it.

Master pricked Juno with another blood collection device, the hot red dripping over his skin and into the little cup.

“Wait here.”

He was just happy it was over.

___________________

After a few more tries that Juno hated, Master declared the blood type changing potion a success.

“Of course, it only works on humans,” he rambled, pleased. “I won’t risk trying to morph other species’ blood into human blood on such a small sample size.”

Juno has learned over the past six months that most smart people considered a single test subject not enough for big discoveries.

His head still knocked against the floor clumsily.

___________________

There were other experiments. Potions went down his throat. Sigils and runes drawn on his skin and burned to activate. Sometimes Master misdrew them, and the activation did burn instead of harmlessly become magic.

He never apologized.

More customers came, sometimes with new projects and requests that would take a long time, and Master never refused to try.

Juno didn’t want to.

He wanted to cook and clean and sew stuffed animals and garden.

He didn’t want to be dizzy and knock-kneed and throw up and crash into things when a sigil made his body move too fast to keep up with.

“I thought for sure your work would be done quicker,” Master complained after the second week of trials. “I suppose the physics are unrealistic for that. Are you sure you can’t just get used to the speed?”

Juno shook his head and regretted it, neck aching with whiplash.

He panted for air, and his heart was almost thrumming out of his chest. Is this what a heart attack was?

“Oh well.”

Juno laid down, moving as slowly as he could.

___________________

___________________

It was after a new fire-resistant potion experiment, in which Juno was made to make roasted chicken and potatoes in the oven without protection, that he noticed.

The potion was a success, even better than the previous version, and he was cleaning up.

Master didn’t like potato skins, but the garden compost pile did.

It had been snowing for three days. The compost pile was outside, but not far, so Juno didn’t bother putting on more than his shoes before taking the bowl of skins out.

The wind howled and he should feel freezing and regretful, but he didn’t.

The snow fell on his skin. It was as warm as raindrops.

He brushed the white beauty off the compost pile so the skins wouldn’t lie useless on top.

His hand didn’t notice the iciness.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just after effects of the potion. It was supposed to have worn off half an hour ago. Master was precise like that.

Maybe he should have told the wizard.

He didn’t.

It was just… warm.

Things got weirder.

Dirty dishes seemed to disappear when he looked away, and reappeared clean and put away when he searched for them.

Linens unstained themselves.

Flour never clumped; never needed sifting.

His bread rose quicker and lasted longer in the pantry. Butter and cheese were cold in the spring thaw, even when the dairy accidentally got too warm one surprising afternoon.

Juno looked for new sigils and runes, but there were none.

He was stumped.

Master’s magic was made from careful calculations and precise measurements and theory books. Sigils and potions and a staff.

He did magic by following instructions and making new ones, like how a cook followed a chef’s recipe and made adjustments.

Master wasn’t a sorcerer; wasn’t magic himself.

After a few years of watching Master do wizardry, Juno was certain this was not how wizardry worked.

Juno reached for the fire poker to shift the logs. He paused.

He turned to look into the gentle flames of the fireplace.

Fire was hot. It wasn’t something to be learned.

He could still feel the heat. See the flames dance. The logs glow.

Juno’s hand darted in and out of the fire.

Nothing?

He did it again, slowly.

No burn. None.

He checked his palm, his sleeve.

No singed fibers, no reddened skin.

Well. Sorcerers were born. Not made.

___________________

Sorcerers were born, not made.

Wizardry was built on a foundation of hard work, study, and harnessing existing magic to break the rules of the universe.

What Kieran wouldn’t give to be born a sorcerer. To be able to bend the universe simply with will, without tools, and study it. To create and refine the very laws and techniques that wizards had to copy to even do half of it. To do by instinct and explain later instead of trial and error and careful experiments-

Inherently, a mediocre educated sorcerer would know magic far better than a wizard, who had to look at magic through so many limiting lenses to even grasp-

The plates lay in pieces, ceramic shards scattered.

___________________

Juno was magic.

He figured it out after a few more cautious tries.

He had to think about wanting to avoid burns, or wishing the floor clean when he woke up.

It didn’t work when he recklessly tried to pick up an iron pan without thinking about it. But the blisters did go away when he willed it. It just made him tired.

He was trying to float dishes back to their shelves when a sudden thud made him lose concentration.

The dishes crashed against the floor. He flinched.

Master stood at the bottom of the stairs, heavy book on the floor, his eyes wide.

Juno froze.

___________________

Keiren had made a sorcerer.

It must have been sheer exposure, or maybe Juno had always had a propensity for sorcery, or both.

He had questioned the slave for hours, tried every test of magic ability he could think of.

The boy was a damn sorcerer.

Keiren was going to be the most famous wizard in the world when the order found out.

…If they found out.

He’d never been under that level of scrutiny. His past thesis evaluation would be nothing compared to the rigor of something like this.

Juno looked up at him, tired and probably annoyed, and Keiren was struck with a thought.

If Juno was revealed to be a sorcerer, the order would educate him. He’d outclass Keiren in every way in no time at all. He might even be talented.

Who was to say that wouldn’t end badly?

Who was to say that Juno didn’t want revenge if it was within his reach?

“Well,” he said carefully. “I suppose you may do a little magic at home if you’re quiet about it. Don’t make my customers anxious.”

Juno nodded, relieved to be dismissed.

Keiren turned back to his desk, letting out a shaky breath. Beaded sweat ran down his back, and he shivered.

No more experiments with Juno as a test subject.

He’d have to be nice, now.

And hopefully Juno wouldn’t find out what he could really do.

taglist: @haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979 @batfacedliar-yetagain @bloodinkandashes @behind-the-v3il @paperprinxe

[whump-whump-whos-there]

Whumper forcing their fingers deep into whumpee's mouth until they choke and gag, over and over. Over time whumpee learns how to breathe past the intrusion, and their gag reflex is slowly trained out.

"I didn't have to do this for you, you know," Whumper tells them in between sessions. "You'll thank me later."

[tsukareta819]

Adore this prompt by @whump-whump-whos-there

It inspired me to draw another comic about Leo's time as captive

[foresttheblep]

CbC! - 38

You stare at the worker, then back to the pamphlet, "I... should set up a space for them to stay before adopting him, hmm?"

"Oh, that would be a good idea," the worker nods, "There is a demi store near the main street if you want to pamper your pet, though they'd be fine with a blanket on the floor,"

You nod and head out, now you had two choices.

What will you do?

Head to this demi supplies store and look around, you've got the money anyway

Head home and see what you've got, you can make do.

Voting ended onJun 26

Taglist; @3-2-whump @honeycollectswhump @batfacedliar-yetagain @typewrittenfangs @whump-me-harder @whumper-whimsy @lordcatwich @scoundrelwithboba @vampirewithouttheblood @sir-fenris @yonbwekh @purru

[hopeisawildflower]

Engaging with Whump is like having cuteness aggression but DOING something about it

[kiodja]

say sorry

[boxboysandotherwhump]

😍😍😍😍😍😍

[half-corrective-surgery]

Caretaker who finds Whumpee drugged with aphrodisiacs. Whumper doesn't seem to be anywhere nearby, but Whumpee is incredibly delirious. They can't speak, they don't know what they're doing, they can hardly recognize Caretaker. Their clothes are ripped and they can't explain what happened. But something must have happened. They just can't figure out what.

[goes-whump-in-the-night]

whumpees in muzzles 🥰

whumpees in collars 😍

whumpees with gags 😊

whumpees on leashes 😘

[whump-queen]

Welcome Aboard

continued from this!

Masterlist coming soon

Tags: pirate whump, slave whump, whipping, begging, fainting/passing out, dehumanization, humiliation, multiple whumpers, multiple whumpees, physical abuse // Words: 2.5k

༻✦༺ 

Jonah squinted against the harsh sunlight, trying not to trip on the wooden stairs as his eyes adjusted to the harsh rays after so many hours of pure darkness. He heard men’s voices cheering and hollering, and squeezed his eyes shut as he was hauled up onto the deck. 

He heard the crack of the whip before he saw it. The fierce snap cut through all the jeering voices and reverberated off the wooden deck like an echo of a thunderbolt. 

He heard an angry cry, and his eyes snapped forward to see a crowd forming around a dark-haired figure tied between two masts, his hands outstretched above his head to either side, he was tethered so tightly he was stretched taut. Jonah’s heart froze—the man’s tanned back was an absolute mess of bloody lashes—they criss-crossed through his skin in deep, angry gashes, leaking fresh red blood all down his skin. The young man hung his head forward and grunted loudly when the whip struck again. 

The tall man holding the whip trailed back and forth behind his victim, a sharp grin on his face. His dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and secured with a dark red ribbon. He had a knee length leather coat and several gold necklaces around his neck, hanging down to his bare chest, golden pendants visible just above the hem of his low-cut tunic. 

“You know what I want to hear, Sawyer,” the man called, projecting his voice so the entire crowd of crewmates could hear. 

“Go to hell!” he heard the bloody man—Sawyer—shout, though Jonah could hear the pain in his voice. He couldn’t believe the nerve of this man, to be mouthing off and cursing his torturer in his position. Jonah knew from personal experience that he would’ve been begging for mercy long before this point, had it been him at the business end of the tall man’s whip. 

Another lash, even harsher than the ones before, and it finally drew a long pained scream from the restrained man. 

“There we go,” the whip-wielding man sneered. “‘Bout time I get some pretty noises outta you for my efforts.”

“Fu—fuck y-you,” Sawyer’s voice was wavering now, catching on his every sharp, pained inhale.

“Still as shameless as ever aren’t you, mutt,” the wielder hissed, “All these years and we still haven’t managed to beat that shitty attitude out of you, ‘ave we?” 

Sawyer said nothing, only panting in his restraints, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath in the brief respite before the lashes started up again. 

“Whip him harder!” someone in the crowd called, to the furious cheers of the onlookers. 

“Mutt fuckin’ deserves it!” Another yelled. Then the crowd descended into mad shouts and jeers, swirling together in a symphony of thrilled, angry voices as the weilder brought the whip down on Sawyer’s back again and again. The crowd’s cheers served as an orchestral backdrop against the thunder-claps of the whip and the screams of the one at its mercy.

Jonah looked to his sides, terrified. He locked eyes with Crowe, who gave him a fierce grin.

“Stop!” Jonah cried, “What did he— What did he even do?”

“Oh, you should learn quickly that that stupid mutt can never keep his damn mouth shut,” Crowe said casually, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Jonah had thought Carlisle to be the cruelest man he’d ever met, but it was clear he was in just as much danger here, on the ship he thought would be his mercy. 

Jonah wanted to cry out to them, to scream at them to fucking stop hurting the poor man, but his voice failed him, fear took over and froze him in place. He cursed the way fear always seemed to grip him in ice until he couldn’t move at all, but the self-preserving part of Jonah knew that to call out for mercy on the man’s behalf would only cause the whip to be turned on himself instead. So he stood there, Graves and Crowe’s grip tight on either of his biceps, and watched with horrified tears streaking down his cheeks. He felt awful for the man, Sawyer, but knew he didn’t want to face the same fate. Maybe if he was good, if he obeyed and didn’t talk out of turn, he wouldn’t face the brunt of that tall man’s whip. 

“Oh,” Graves leaned in, pointing to the wielder. “That there’s Voss, our fine ship’s first mate. Bit of a right terror he is, an’ awfully good with that whip, though don’t tell him I said that..” Graves paused a moment, “Just.. uh, try not to get on his bad side, eh?” 

Jonah gazed in terror at Voss, who wielded the whip with such confidence, such ease, he could give Carlisle himself a run for his money. He watched the man pause his relentless onslaught for a moment to work the soreness out of his shoulder, rolling it in circles in the joint. Voss must have been working up a sweat, for he slipped his leather coat off to reveal a simple low-cut burgundy tunic below it, the fabric was unbuttoned most of the way to expose his chest and the top half of his torso. Jonah could see the tattooed tentacles of a kraken winding up his chest and neck, he saw them spreading down his arms where the sleeves had been rolled up. 

Working the tension from his shoulder, Voss took up the whip again, and lashed Sawyer over and over, who only continued to curse him out between blood-curdling screams. 

“Fuck— Fuck you— Y-you f-fucking bastard—AAAHH!”

Eventually, the cursing stopped, and Sawyer only cried out at the fire of each hit, groaning in pain in the seconds between them.

Sawyer was clearly in too much pain to speak, and Jonah’s vision was getting blurry with the amount of tears welling up behind his eyelids. At some point, Voss gave one furious crack of the whip and Sawyer collapsed, limp in his bindings, hanging from his wrists.

He’d passed out. 

Voss signed, wiping the blood from the whip with a handkerchief from his pocket. 

“Well, seems that’s all the fun we’re going to get out of him for now, men,” Voss called, to the disappointed groans and boos of the crowd. The first mate’s voice sent chills up Jonah’s spine—it was sharp and menacing, though there was a slight breathlessness to it, as he’d no doubt just had a decent workout shredding up Sawyer’s back. 

“Cut him loose, boys,” Voss ordered, and two men rushed forward to untie the ropes at Sawyer’s wrists. Without the bindings to hold him up, Sawyer crumpled to the floor, and the men hauled him up and dragged him off to the side. 

“As you were, gentleman!” Voss called, and the crew gave a chorus of “Aye!” before the men rushed in all directions back to their stations. 

Now, with the central entertainment over and done with, the men started to take notice of Jonah, casting him hungry looks and eyeing him up. 

“Oi, Graves, Crowe,” Voss called, crossing the deck to where they stood, holding a tied up Jonah. 

“What’s this pretty thing you’ve caught me?” Voss sneered as he approached Jonah, who flinched and tried to crane his head away, only for Voss to reach out and grab his jaw in a firm grip once he was close enough to reach him.

“We found this little rat stowing away in a barrel in the hold!” Graves said triumphantly. 

“I see..” said Voss, his voice a low hiss when he leaned down ever closer to Jonah until they were face to face. Jonah stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes, shaking in the first mate’s grasp. 

“And what, pray tell, were ya’ doin’ scuttling around down there?”

Jonah swallowed, willing his tongue to move, but it felt so heavy in his mouth it was hard to speak at all.

“P-passage, S-sir,” he stammered, his heart pounding like a drum in his ears. “J-just wanted p-passage, Sir.”

Jonah winced when Voss gave a low, amused laugh, just as smug, if not all the more sinister than Graves and Crowe had mere minutes earlier. 

“Ohh, you poor, stupid thing,” Voss grinned like a serpent. “Ain’t you lucky you stumbled upon our little vessel.” Little was hardly the operative word, the ship felt huge to Jonah. “I’m afraid you’ll not be goin’ anywhere now. Not without my say so.”

Jonah gulped, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He feared his voice would crack into tears if he tried. 

“What’s your name, pretty thing?” Voss asked, forcing Jonah’s chin up, tilting his face from side to side and studying him. It made the hairs on the back of Jonah’s neck stand on end, as if this could be any more terrifying.

“Um.. J-Jonah,” he squeaked. He’d do anything to keep this man happy, it was Carlisle all over again. Voss was fucking terrifying.

“Well, dear Jonah,” Voss’ voice sank into a sickly mocking tone when he addressed the boy by his name. “Let’s have you come meet the Captain then, shall we?”

Jonah said nothing at first, but when Voss’ fingers gave his jaw a harsh squeeze, he forced out the “Yes, Sir,” he was supposed to say. 

“Good boy,” Voss smiled, patting Jonah’s face condescendingly before he released him.  

Obedient. Just be obedient, and they won’t torture you. Just be good, Just obey. Jonah repeated the mantra in his head as he was dragged over to the other side of the ship, presumably near the captain’s quarters. 

Voss ducked inside the chamber, and a few moments later he exited again, this time being followed by a beautiful, important looking man. The man had a large black tricorn cap atop his long silken hair—brown with streaks of warm honey and tied loosely behind him with a cream-colored ribbon. His boots were freshly shined, and he had an excessive amount of gold jewelry hanging from his neck, his ears, around his wrists. He looked like he was absolutely dripping in treasure. 

“Now, boy,” Voss ordered sharply, and Jonah snapped out of his trance from staring at the captain to blink back into reality. “This here’s your new master, Captain Sebástian Vale. Show some respect.” 

The moment he uttered those words, Jonah was shoved down to his knees, and Crowe pressed his boot between Jonah’s shoulder blades until his face hit the floor for a second time that day. Crowe’s boot rested heavily on his back, forcing Jonah down in the deep bow as the Captain eyed him over.

Captain Vale approached closer, until his boots were directly in front of Jonah’s head. Jonah shook horribly, terrified of what this Captain would do. 

“Well, hello there,” the Captain cooed, as if Jonah were a little bird he’d trapped in a cage. “My first mate here says the men found you stowing away on my ship?” 

Crowe stepped off of his back only to yank Jonah’s head up by his hair just enough so he could crane his neck to look up at the Captain. 

“Answer him!” Crowe ordered, with a fierce kick to his ribs. 

“Y-yes, Sir!” Came Jonah’s panicked response.

“Aww, not quite, little pet,” the Captain clicked his tongue down at Jonah, who cringed back when he realized he’d already done something wrong. 

“It’s Master to you, slave.” 

All the blood drained from Jonah’s face when he realized the full reality of his position. They weren’t just going to ransom him or try to rob him, they were taking him captive—permanently. He had effectively gone from one cruel master to another in less than the span of 24 hours. Tears spilled down his face as Crowe tugged his hair again, a wordless demand for him to fucking answer already.

“Y-yes, Master,” Jonah’s breath caught in his throat as a sob threatened to work its way up. 

“And??” Crowe shook Jonah’s head roughly back and forth. 

“I—I’m s-sorry, Master,” Jonah cried, his voice breaking as he looked down at the captain’s freshly shined shoes. 

“Well, aren’t you a pretty one,” Sebástian Vale reached out to swipe away a tear on Jonah’s cheek. “It’s rare we get one that’s pretty when it cries,” he smiled down at Jonah. 

“Fucking pathetic…” Voss scoffed from behind him. It was evident the first mate wasn’t quite so enamored with Jonah’s little terrified performance as Captain Vale seemed to be. 

“Yes, quite pathetic, isn’t he?” The smile never left the Captain’s face. “I think this one will do nicely here. I’ve been needing a new cabin boy ever since the…. Well, never mind.  You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about it, sweetheart,” the Captain pinched Jonah’s cheek and he bit back a wince. 

“Good work, gentleman,” Voss said, strict and businesslike. 

“There’s just something I’d like to see,” Captain Vale said, voice alight with amusement. “I want to see the little thing kiss my boot.” 

“Do it, if you know what’s good for you, mutt,” growled Voss, his arms crossed and all his weight leaned on one hip. 

Jonah bit his lip to hold back the sob that wanted out so badly, and thought of Sawyer, and the whip that now dangled in a coil from Voss’ waist. 

Slowly, when Crowe released his hair, Jonah lowered himself to the Captain’s shoes. Fresh tears fell and splashed against the smooth leather before Jonah’s face even reached it, but once he was close enough, Jonah pressed his lips to the Captain’s shoe, shuddering in place as he tried not to sob against them. 

“Aww, very good, little boy,” the Captain sounded beyond pleased, smug and delighted at his new slave boy’s obedience. 

Jonah stayed down, completely still save for the tremor in his shoulders. He didn’t want to move without permission, the fear froze him in place. He didn’t want to know what might happen if he angered the Captain so quickly.

It seemed to be the right call.

“Up,” ordered the Captain, and Jonah rose once more to blink up at him, his eyes red and wet as more tears streamed down his cheeks. 

“We’re going to train you so well, dear boy. You’ll be pleasing my every need in no time,” the Captain said it like it was an encouraging promise, but the words stabbed Jonah’s chest with icy dread. He couldn’t get out of this. There was nothing surrounding them but miles and miles of water. 

“Now, I trust these boys here to help you get… acquainted. I’m pleased you already seem to understand your place here. Were you a slave before this?”

Jonah sniffled. “Y-yes, Master.” Now he really did feel like he was back with Carlisle again, sniveling and dutifully agreeing, saying ‘Yes, Master,’ over and over to the man who ran his life, who decided whether he ate or slept or lived or died.

“Good boy,” the Captain gave Jonah’s hair a ruffle with his hand. “In that case, I’ll let my men get you oriented here.”

Sebástian Vale towered over his crying slave, and flashed him a wide, beaming smile. 

“Welcome aboard La Sirena de Sangre.”

༻✦༺ 

Two chapters in one day??? Honestly this story is just falling out of my brain this is so much fun to write

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