Hi! My name is Írissiel, she/her. 22. I follow from @dyke-terra.
In case it isn't blindingly obvious from my writing, which I'm not going to lie, I was sure it was, I'm the dirty liberal Zionist they all warned you of. My main story is an incredibly thinly veiled allegory for the historical material conditions that led to the rise of Jewish nationalism to begin with, except with a wish fulfillment ending where everyone gets along and there's no >80 year conflict.
I want peace. I want everyone who has a reason to call that land their home to be able to live there safely and peacefully, and I include my people in that. If you think that sentence makes me a monster, then maybe you should start by looking in the mirror.
That aside! The fun stuff.
we'll be fine (even though we might cross the line) - Master Post
Dubiously canon scenes from my ongoing Vampire the Masquerade chronicle.
between knights & knives - Master Post
Cape whump series. Living weapon whumpee, multiple whumpers.
Homecoming (The Long Way Around) - Master Post
Main project!
Original story starring elf protagonists. Very loosely inspired by the history of antisemitism. Requests and asks welcome/encouraged!
In the aftermath of the Revkian Emperor's death, the empire splits into three factions, one for each of the emperor's two sons and one following a notable general.
Main TWs: Slavery, fantasy racism (modeled after antisemitism specifically but directed towards elves), a whole lot of misogynistic language, so much sexual abuse.
Protagonists include:
Morwë - Broken/conditioned whumpee. Somewhere between 100 and 200. An elf from a clan that's been enslaved by the Revkian Empire since before he was born. Conscripted into the military and branded using dark magic that makes him incapable of actively going against said empire at 60, he's had a rough go of it. Of course, now the empire is split into three parts, who is he obligated to be loyal to? Aside from his beloved captain, who's been captured by what he sees as usurpers. Possibly a reincarnation of Itarata's dead sister. Playlist.
Captain Mikhail: Caretaker/whumper turned whumpee. In his fifties but looks and acts much younger thanks to his bond with Morwë. A human captain in the Revkian Empire, responsible for managing Morwë. A manipulative bastard who flaunted his control over his fort's elven slave one too many times, and now his jealous fellow soldiers are eager to make him pay.
Itarata: Defiant whumpee. Around 900 years old. A leader of the Orontdrim, a tribal nation of free elves living in the mountains on the periphery of the border of the Revkian Empire. Captured by those very same "usurpers." Playlist.
Esteldur: Caretaker. Around 900 years old. A very confused Orontdrim who's doing his best to take care of an incredibly traumatized Morwë as he sets out to rescue his oldest friend. Playlist.
There's also now a "sidestory" centered around Prince Ilmatar of Minyas, the first city of elves, and his life after the city's fall. Said sidestory is now like half the length of the series, so I'm not sure how long I can keep calling it a side story.
Current primary inspiration are @ashintheairlikesnow and @there-will-always-be-blood!
And if I said whumpblr had a serious problem of viewing only penetrative sexual violence as “real noncon,” in a way that’s insanely disrespectful. Then what.
A hook has been attached to the back of his collar, a chain pulled taut between the anchor point on the ceiling and where Jaime kneels in the center of his cell.
Well, not quite kneeling.
While the hook forces him upright with the constant threat of strangulation, another restraint keeps him from standing. Or, for that matter, even stretching up into a ninety-degree angle on his knees to alleviate the strain in his thighs, which hold his body weight in the half-elevated stance. His hands are cuffed behind his back with the same unbreakable metal that he wears permanently around his neck, and there’s another chain securing them to a bolt in the floor between his ankles.
No way to settle into the kneel. No way to rise out of it.
For hours—god, it had to have been hours by now—Jaime has been forced to maintain his position. His quads scream out from the exertion of balancing his weight in the awkward angle. Sweat runs in thick rivulets down his back, his face, his arms. The slow trickle is its own torture; a faint buzz of sensation that only grows more unbearable because he can do nothing to wipe it away.
All because of a single mistake. An isolated moment of defiance bred from days of complete and utter soul-destroying obedience. He had been doing so well. Handler Smith had even given him small bites of his lunch nearly every day this week for his compliance.
And now, because Jaime couldn’t resist a knee-jerk reaction of fear last night when Handler Smith had backed him into a corner and told him to get on his knees, all his progress—or what passes for it in this place—is lost. He had refused to kneel, just once, and now he isn’t given a choice.
You’ll learn not to make that mistake again, he promised Jaime before leaving him like this.
Several times over the course of the punishment, Jaime’s legs have given out from under him, muscles collapsing in momentary defeat, and he has tried to endure the subsequent constriction around his neck, the loss of air, as best he can. But it hurts, and the metal of his collar is unforgiving against the tender skin of his throat, and he always finds himself forcing himself back up after only a few seconds. There’s not really a choice. There is no relief in this game. Not until he is released.
When a faint beep outside his door signals an impending entry, Jaime’s head snaps up, ready to beg, to barter, to apologize and grovel for forgiveness. And it’s… god, for once it’s a fucking relief to see Handler Smith walk through the door.
“Don’t speak,” he says before Jaime can get any words out. He snaps his mouth shut, the words dying in his throat. “I’m not ready to hear your apology yet. Not until I know you mean it.”
I do mean it, Jaime’s head screams back at him, and he’s distantly horrified to realize it’s almost true. The sound leaves his body as an involuntary whimper.
His breathing is a mess of hitching gasps and hisses between clenched teeth as Handler Smith circles him like a shark in water. Every time he rounds behind him, out of Jaime’s line of sight, the already-trembling muscles in his back knot up in awful anticipation.
Minutes pass. It’s an eternity. Smith settles back against the wall directly in front of him, legs crossed at the ankle and arms folded over his chest. And for a long time, he is content to stand there and watch Jaime suffer. His eyes are wide and pleading from his personal hell in the center of the floor, and they’re met with an amused indifference.
At one point, his hand slips down to the pocket where Jaime knows he keeps the remote to his shock clip, and it takes everything in him to bite down on the urgent please that lodges in his throat.
In the end, he doesn’t activate the shock collar on him. Instead, after entire lifetimes seem to have stretched out between them, Smith pushes off the wall and ambles toward him. Jaime is shaking so hard, his mind half-gone from the pain and the exertion and the constant, constant misery, but he still finds it in him to be terrified of whatever comes next.
Tears are making their way down his cheeks, mingling with the sheen of sweat, but he doesn’t realize until the pad of Handler Smith’s thumb swipes across their path. “Are you sorry for earlier?” he asks.
Is this another trap? He doesn’t know if he is allowed to answer. He was told not to speak, but he knows it’s against the rules here to ignore a direct question. Jaime nods, a bit more frantically than he intends to.
Handler Smith smiles. The thumb on his cheek drags slowly downward until it presses down on his lower lip. Jaime doesn’t have it in him to so much as hesitate at the silent command. He relents instantly, mouth falling open to allow his thumb entrance. He doesn’t dare pull his eyes away.
“Tell me,” he says, applying light pressure to the flat of his tongue. “I want to hear you.”
“Please. Please, I’m sorry, sir.” The words come rushing out of him like a dam has broken, garbled and misshapen around the intrusion in his mouth. Jaime doesn’t have the bandwidth to feel the intended humiliation. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hmm.” A thoughtful glimmer lights up in his handler’s eyes before he pushes his thumb further, triggering Jaime’s gag reflex. “Next time I tell you to kneel for me, I suspect there won’t be any hesitation.”
His reply comes out as a choked whine around his thumb, but he nods as much as he can manage, and finally Smith retracts his hand.
“I told you when you got here that I would make sure you learned your fucking place. Can you tell me where that is?”
Jaime doesn’t care. He doesn’t fucking care about the loss of dignity, the humiliation, the exchange of power he’s offering up in his words. He just needs out of this. He won’t last another minute. His legs will give out for good and he’ll end up hanging himself from the ceiling. “On my knees,” he whispers. A few more tears slide down his cheeks as he closes his eyes. “Sir.”
“Don’t fucking forget it.”
A wave of panic takes hold as the collar suddenly yanks tight against his throat, cutting off his air. His wrists burn and chafe against the cuffs as he tries to rise with the sudden upward pull of the chain. His eyes snap open, but he only has a second to process the sight of Handler Smith’s grasp on the hook before the tension releases and Jaime collapses down—fully, blessedly—onto his haunches. The clasp at his wrists is released a moment later, and he sprawls helplessly to the floor.
i fully expect the handler/hound mechsploitation dynamic being ported en masse to VtM with a sheriff/hound equivalent in fics and chronicles at some point
“Look, I know it seems counterintuitive, but, when you’ve never been free, when every decision has been made for you, when you have no idea what you’re supposed to do or why, restriction can feel like freedom. He needs these rules so he can start making safe decisions.”
“But how far do we go? What if we go too far and he won’t tell us that there’s something wrong? We could hurt him worse by trying to help…”
“Right now he’s terrified to move, he won’t get out of bed or drink water or speak without permission, we’re more likely to miss something without rules. And he deserves to feel like he’s not just flying blind, waiting for one of us to beat the shit out of him. He’s already aware that there are rules to the world, he just doesn’t know what they are and which ones are going to hurt.”
“So where do we start?”
“We start with what he needs to be doing. Bedtimes and what time to wake up in the morning, when to eat, what to eat, meds to take and when-“
“It’s not like he’s a child, and god if he wants to sleep in, shouldn’t we let him? If he wants to eat a midnight snack, doesn’t he deserve to decide that?”
“Yes. But right now he’s not sleeping in, he’s hiding in bed because he doesn’t know if it’s safe to get up. He’s not eating because he doesn’t know if he’s allowed, he’s not making any of those decisions because he can’t even exist yet without being fucking terrified. If we can get him on a routine, he can relax enough to hopefully start to trust us.”
“I know that, I know he needs some framework, but what if he takes these rules too deeply? What if they get too deep? Then we’ve just upgraded his prison instead of actually getting him out and safe.”
“We’re gonna have to be careful. That’s the only thing we can do with any of this.”
Are you going to finish any of your original work?
Define “finish?” I feel like it’s easier for me to work without expectations of having it have a start, middle, and an end. I tend to think of my projects more as collections of short stories and slices of a bigger picture, as opposed to novels. Less pressure that way. But I do intend to go back to older projects and keep adding more!
Thinking about characters getting a nice demeaning slap in the face, in *warning*, telling them in not so unsubtle terms to watch their mouth. Two slaps maybe... or a backhand if they're really pushing it...
Whumpee with PTSD that has seemingly odd or strange triggers.
Whumper had a favorite song they'd play whenever they'd torture whumpee. It's not super popular, but it's popular enough that it plays occasionally on the radio or in stores. The first time whumpee hears the song after being saved they freeze up and start screaming.
Whumper always wore this one specific perfume, when whumpee smells it randomly at the mall once, they nearly colapse and start hyperventalating.
Whumper would cook for whumpee, they'd always make whumpee a specific meal right before torturing them, it was their way of getting into whumpee's head, psyching them out before the physical torture.
Whumper would release whumpee into an enclosed space of a few acres, and then release dogs trained to sniff whumpee down and attack them. So now whumpee is TERRIFIED of a few specific dog breeds, to the point where seeing them immediately makes them panic and run out of pure instinct.
Whumper smoked like a chimney, so whumpee gets SUPER on edge and jumpy whenever they smell cigarettes or cigars.
Idk I just love the idea of whumpee having triggers that to outsiders seem completely random and/or almost illogical, but make perfect sense to caretaker since they know the context.
Also if anyone else has any other ideas for this I'd love to hear them!! <3
Thinking about characters getting a nice demeaning slap in the face, in *warning*, telling them in not so unsubtle terms to watch their mouth. Two slaps maybe... or a backhand if they're really pushing it...
RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and you post a snippet or tell them something about it!
Ahhhhh *covers hands over eyes*
The Magician’s Trap
Ice
Ideas
Invisible
Invisible 2
Royal Ideas
Royal
Royal 2
Statue
EC part 8
Idea
Protect
Wish Epilogue
Cursed Part 15
Cursed Part 16
Guardian Girl
Things that help me write
This list is brutal to see. Tags so you can suffer too (no, 17 is too many and yes, I do really want to see your work!): @jumpywhumpywriter @how-the-powerful-fall @f1shs-b0nes @bookshelf-for-stuff-i-wanna-read @bloodthirsty-squirrel @whumpninja @a-little-bit-of-whump-123 @surplus-of-sarcasm @kiichu @sacredwrath @piddlepog64 @enemieswbenefits
OOOOOH THANKS FOR THE TAG! This looks fun! (And also deeply humbling, because I am now forced to confront just how many WIPS I have going on behind the scenes right now XD)
*winces knowingly before adding my WIPS list here for everyone to see*:
Broken Hero vs Mind-reading Villain
Special lengthy series specifically for 🎀 anon (a secret project for now)
The Siren and the Little Girl
Emaciated Villain Used as Entertainment at a Hero's Party
Run, Human, RUN
Hero Kidnaps Villain
Beauty and The Freak
The Monster in the Black Room
Whumpee (Nico) Drugged for His Own Good
Immortal Deity Fights Mortal Human
Mysterious Villain spares Hero
Injured Sidekick -- Hero's apprenticeship with Other Supervillain backstory -- separate series
Injured Sidekick bonus scene (Medic)
Injured Sidekick bonus scene (Henchman)
Superhero x Rogue series (using characters from Injured Sidekick universe)
Villain's coffee shop bonus scene: how Villain discovered Mocha's superpower
Villain's coffee shop bonus scene: how Villain got his burn scars saving a life
Two Living Weapons
Whumpee kills Whumper
"Don't attack someone without knowing who their friends are" -- "Whumpee's secret"
Bully Whumper (prompt from another writer who didn't want to write it)
Villain memory loss
Antagonist's false victory -- "plot twist"
"Slave whumpee gifted to a royal" series
Villain experiences street justice
Whumper secretly scared of Whumpee
Hero's child with death-touch superpower
Rescued by a monster after car crash in the wilderness
Guard & captive Supervillain who breaks free
Quadriplegic hero
Misc Shadow scenes
Werewolf Hero
The Vampire King
Hero's evil twin, Villain
Villain pushes hero too far
Vampire hypnosis story continuation (anon request)
Overprotective villain x younger siblings who IS a hero and they sedate them and have to watch their sibling take over the world? LOVE UR WORK. BONUS POINTS IF THIS IS A VILLAIN FAMILY. (Anon request)
Terrifying Villain with addictive mind powers (requested by @doctorsawyer)
Rooftop hero x villain prompts list (anon request)
🐉 anon story requests (several of them are lurking in my inbox right now; I'll get around to writing them eventually)
Injured villain goes to the hero asking for their help (they've been getting closer together) but hero actually betrays them (anon request)
hero fights villain, but the first is already hurt from a previous battle, so they almost doesn't make it BUT a rival saves them and eventually ends up being their caretaker (anon request once more)
Blind whumpee comfort (anon request)
City Dragon
Purring vampire
Mercy killing
Mute, silent sidekick with slashed vocal cords
Sidekick's powers self-destruct
Child assassin with death touch powers
“You're not supposed to be able to see me”
Vampires & their reflections
Supervillain's daughter & hero
Poem fragments
Literally I am so swamped 😭 53 WIPS in total on this list, and that's just what I could easily find. There's definitely more hidden in my notes and documents that I didn't search for.
I have SOOOOOO much already written for all these WIPS, but none of those writing pieces are complete enough to post yet (or are just written completely out of order. I can't post chapter 5 without writing and posting chapter 4 first, you know? XD)
Here's tags for who I'm curious to see the insane amount of WIPS they have (@chaotic-orphan, I might have outdone you with how many WIPS I have XD)
First of all, @jumpywhumpywriter go to hell... I despise this. I hate seeing all of this, and these are only from my tumblr drafts and WIPs, god fucking damn it!!!
However, seeing how many of these are halfway finished, or almost complete does make me feel better ahahahaha, a lot of them are just sitting there waiting to be edited with cobwebs on them, lots of notes at the end of how to finish a particular scene/drabble/piece so, yes... ahem... lots of work to do I guess... better get on it... sorry, Jumpy, you got to be less organised and less regularly posting if you want to catch up to my level of WIP hell and chaos
Intoxicating fear
Remnants
Delirious villain x hero caretaker
Vendetta
Defiant Leader x confident villain
Golden Boy
Heroic betrayal
The stranger
The immortal Hunter
Semantics
Brook No Quarter [formerly Mulan Pirate Whump]
Villain’s gift
The hero and the infant
Partners in Crime
A Benignant Mischief
The heretic
Supervillain's brand
Fae whumper x human whumpee
Pathetic and Defeated
Civilian x Crush kidnapped
Work for me (from drafts, "FD")
You just can't (FD)
Hypnosis Villain ask (FD)
Steel Mill Blues (FD)
Vendetta random drabbles (FD)
Beg, part two (FD)
Concerned Villain (FD)
Whumper interrogation, mocks Whumpee during questioning, Angry Caretaker (Request from messages)
Beyond Death is Loyalty (FD)
Mortal x Vampire, wlw (FD)
SH Hero, shows up at Villain's door in the middle of the night seeking help because life is too hard and they're struggling (FD/request)
Angry, sui Whumpee rescued, and Caretaker who gets the brunt of their anger (FD)
Messed up Hero lets drink be spiked in bar, Villain realises and intervenes (FD/request)
Dying in Friend's arms (FD)
Civilian Healer trying to live normal life, Villain discovers their secret (FD/request)
A Way Out (FD)
Little Scholar (FD)
Villain Family Whump (FD)
Master Thief (FD)
Whumper's favourite lab rat (FD)
Whumptober no.21 body horror (FD)
Twisted Love, part two (FD)
King's perspective of Cosimo at beginning of ABM (FD/request)
Work whump, part one and part two (FD)
Rope burns (FD)
Kindred, part 2 (FD) - from here Macknus drafts/requests
Hypothetically (FD)
Defiance Squashed (FD)
A Space between the sea and the sky (FD)
Please, just stay down (FD)
Help me, or else (FD)
Still too dumb (FD)
Gut wrenching memories (FD)
Other Ways (FD)
More trouble than you're worth (FD)
Monstrous Love (FD)
Bravery is a choice (FD)
Need a hand? (FD)
Please don't cry, lamb to slaughter, ceremony, beg for forgiveness (FD)
Royalties (FD)
Relentless (FD)
"I won't help you" (FD)
There will be peace (FD)
Defiant Whumpee (FD)
Betrayal (FD)
Magic school whump (FD) - ugh I love this one gotta get back on it
We all want to be saved (FD)
Obsessed Villain x Civilian (FD)
Dialogue Snippet (FD)
Villain x civilian (FD)
A thank you gift (FD)
Continuation of child x vampire (FD)
No pressure to those tagged <3 but I did suffer a lot so...
@whumplicity @b0amagination @bedtimescenarios @barbarianwomon @whumblr @whumpasaurus101 @whumble-beeee @neon-kazoo @assortedcriminality @moonfall-wreckage @writinggremln @yet-how-they-creep @theloveofwhump @painsandconfusion @pvtashby @mj-iza-writer @lovelizards (...um... instead of seventy-two people, how about we reverse the number to 27, and then take away 10?... 72 is a lot of people and I have a small number of people who put up with my antics, but I am a superfan of a lot more but I don't want to bother them and please? Forgive me?)
Gah! Double-tagged?! Oh gods, the pressure is upon me!
*scrolls through docs* Why have I named everything something so boring?!?!?!
Okay, I'm probably not doing this right but here's the at least somewhat interesting ones:
Plot Twist (Not as exciting as it sounds)
Portal Fantasy Idea (I'll get back to that at some point)
The Jorogumo (Spider woman but based on trapdoor spiders)
Snippets
(but also!) Snippets to work on later
(and!) 30 Day Writing Challenge 1 (containing yet more snippets)
A Game of Memory (actual attempt at book writing which I did for my course)
Tooth Worms (Teeth horror. Not to be confused with my completed tooth horror piece 'Marzipan Teeth')
While looking through these I also found a power point entitled 'ducks' which was the story idea about capitalist ducks that I presented to Falmouth University for their creative writing course. Not gonna brag, but those ducks got me an unconditional offer XD
And now it's my turn to pass on the curse! Mwahahahaha!
I call le general tagliste to ze stand (minus the ones already been tagged above): @doctorsawyer, @stupidlypurplemist, @elfwhump, @imgoingtobiteyounow, @hymnusadbacchum, @atomicduckthefirst, @whump-till-ya-jump, @lazytoshiko
Also! Not sure if I read the challenge right or not but:
'People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and you post a snippet or tell them something about it!' ???
@jumpywhumpywriter I am very intrigued about 'Guard & captive Supervillain who breaks free' (and also 'Purring Vampire' XD). And also to @chaotic-orphan I would like to endorse 'Civilian Healer trying to live normal life'. I also wish to know whether 'Supervillain's brand' refers to a physical brand? I imagine it is, but I also know the importance of villains and brand marketing.
Awww, thank you for the tag @laurenpiplupfluff2!! You're the best <3
Here's Lisl, my little fantasy whumpee from "Her Roots Run with Blood"
Tags: @melpomenelamusa, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @tilldeathiwillwrite, @whumpsandwhimpers, @auroragehenna, @it-is-whumptastic and anyone else who wants to hop on the train!
I fear everyone knows my girl by now... Alyse from Lamb To The Slaughter. I love her. I just can't stop making her.
Tag List: Open (But also) @whumpitisthen @whumblr @elfwhump
like yes actually there is a conversation to be had about how a characters actions are framed and how they thematically fit with the rest of the story and it can in fact reflect the author's beliefs. some authors are even trying to make a point
not all depiction is glorification but sometimes it is and you need to be able to tell the difference. not because your immortal soul will be tainted by reading The Bad One, but because you need to have reading comprehension skills
we'll be fine (even though we might just cross the line) - masterpost
when among crows
TW: References to sexual abuse, abusive vampire sire/childe relationships.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ferris says, looking at Anton’s face for something he knows isn’t going to be there. “I’m not polishing his fucking boots.”
Anton sighs the same sad sigh, the one Ferris is starting to recognize as a mix between concern for him and exasperation. “You don’t exactly have a choice in the matter.”
“He has more money than Gd, he can get it done professionally.”
“You know very well that’s not the point.”
He does. Of course he does. He can’t help but think of waking to Erich on top of and inside him, of the man’s hand on his shoulders at Elysium. Of his fangs in Ferris’s neck, tearing the life out of him and replacing it with something worse.
Let him think he owns you.
Julia’s advice hadn’t been too far from what he’d already had in mind— but a part of him had really wanted to be able to hold onto his pride in all of this, or at least force Erich to well and truly beat it out of him. Maybe that’s the same part that’s terrified that if he gives in even an inch, he’ll lose himself entirely.
He squares his shoulders, trying to force some of the tension out of his body. “Fine.“
He can imagine Erich’s voice in his ears, giving him a condescending “good boy” as he trades away another of the few remaining fragments of his soul, and he suppresses a shiver.
Anton cocks an eyebrow at him, clearly expecting more resistance.
“I said fine, didn’t I?” he asks, the self loathing rising in him and spilling over into his voice. He feels a bit bad — Anton only half deserves it. “I’m assuming you’re going to show me how.”
“Yes,” he says after a moment. “It’s not too complicated.”
For a moment, an image of Anton showing him by cleaning Ferris’s boots, on his knees and submissive, flashes through Ferris’s mind, and he feels sick to his stomach at the image. It’s not like it’s degrading when people do it as a job, he tells himself.
Instead, Anton just picks up one of the brushes from where they, the boots, a tin of soap and polish, a bowl of water, several cloths, and boot grease are laid out on the table, on top of a sheet.
“He’s most of this since he was alive, and I don’t think I need to explain to you what the consequences will be if you ruin any of them, beyond to say that it will be far worse than you expect,” Anton tells him, a dark look in his eyes. Ferris wants to ask if he’s speaking from personal experience, drag back whatever memory it is he’s suppressing, but instead, he just swallows.
“Got it.”
“I’m not actually going to go through the entire process, that’s your job now. But I’ll show you the motions. You don’t need to be perfect right away, but he does have rather… exacting standards.”
Ferris nods.
“I have a sheet down because you’re learning, and he’ll probably let you have one at first. Eventually, you’ll be expected to be careful enough not to need it.” Ferris looks nervously at the tin with the dark polish, then at the hard wooden floor. Anton notices his expression. “At first means for a few years. Don’t worry too much about it.”
Ferris nods again.
“The first thing you’re going to want to do is just to wipe them down with soapy water. If you’re cleaning blood off, you want to dab at the stain with a dry cloth before using one damp with cold water, then switch to a clean cloth as many times as you need to before drying. Don’t ever let the boots sit wet. For this, use lukewarm water on a brush, it’ll help you get the dirt out. Then wipe them dry.”
He wonders if Anton was the one to wash his blood out of the clothes he wore when Erich killed him as he watches Anton demonstrate with the first boot before handing him the second.
“If there’s a lot of built up polish, you may need to strip away previous layers with rubbing alcohol and a cloth, but you won’t need to do that very often. These are fine— keep an eye out for if it’s flaking or if there’s dirt caught in the polish. But he’ll almost certainly tell you if he wants that done.”
Once the boots are cleaned and wiped dry, Anton demonstrates the proper grip for holding the cloth as he dips it ever so lightly into the polish.
“You don’t want too much at once— each layer should be fairly thin,” Anton moves to the boot, pushing down in small, circular gestures as he massages the polish in. Ferris isn’t even too bothered by learning how to do this in theory— he likes good leather shoes and he understands the value of taking care of his things. But it’s the why. It’s the who. “If I were going to do this for real, I’d do the whole first boot, then let it dry as I do the second. But I’m not going to do that— you are.”
“Now?” Ferris asks, more than a bit nervous at the idea of messing with Erich’s stuff, even without Anton’s ominous warning.
“Better to get some practice in before his feet are in them, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he says, taking a seat at the table and picking up the cloth that Anton passes to him. He tries to replicate the way Anton was holding it. “Like this?”
“You’ve got it. Make sure to press down hard— that will make sure the layer is thin.”
Ferris gives it a shot, and Anton says to make his circles a bit smaller but other than that, he’s good.
“How often is he going to make me do this?” he asks as he works.
“I’ve been doing it for you while he’s been letting you settle in, but it’s generally a nightly affair.”
Ferris nearly drops the cloth as he looks up at Anton. “That’s insane.”
“He’s particular,” Anton shrugs. “And if you complain about the time, then he’ll bring up the fact you could always drop out of law school.”
“Absolutely not,” Ferris says, looking down at the boot. It’s the only real time I get away from this shit. “I need to be there to keep an eye on Raven, anyway.”
“Then you should focus on getting good at it, don’t you think?” Anton says, as gently as he’s capable of.
“I just want to put the fact that I hate this on the record.”
“Noted.”
“And disregarded, I see.”
Anton’s got a bit of a gentle smile. Erich and Anton both seem to appreciate Ferris’s sense of humor, to some extent — though Ferris tends to find he only learns Erich’s limits on the matter when he’s already been hit. “Of course.”
Anton mostly lets Ferris work, only occasionally cutting in to adjust his hand position or say his circles are getting too big, and Ferris lets himself fall into a comfortable rhythm. Anton moves him to the second boot after not too long, and Ferris can imagine a world where these are his own boots, and it’s something he’s doing for himself, with a friend.
That is to say, until the elevator opens and Erich comes in.
If Ferris still dreamed, the noise of the elevator opening would haunt his nightmares. He gets to his feet instinctively at this point, only a heartbeat he doesn’t have behind Anton. Erich is dressed in more modern day attire, with the exception of the boots, but with his posture and bearing, Ferris can’t help but see him in his uniform from not too many nights ago.
“Sir,” Ferris acknowledges, the word feeling like poison.
“You can sit,” Erich says, and Ferris does. Anton doesn’t, keeping his gaze on Ferris as if warning him.
Erich crosses the room to examine Ferris’s work and Ferris holds a breath he doesn’t need as his murderer walks up behind the chair, leaning over him. Ferris bites back a comment that there’s room on the other side of the table. That’s not the point. Personal space is a luxury he doesn’t have anymore.
Erich examines the boots for a few seconds too long, probably enjoying Ferris’s desperate attempts not to squirm.
“It’s a start,” Erich says as he pulls back, and the dismissiveness hurts.
Please— he thinks, cutting himself off before he can finish whatever that’s supposed to be. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to focus on that mental muscle. Trying to stay him in the wake of the fog over his mind.
“Thank you, sir,” he replies, because it’s polite, because he’s a good childe, because he’s lying, because he’s on some level grateful for even a hint of praise from his murderer.
Erich’s hand brushes against his hair, and he tries to force himself to lean into it. Let him think he owns you. It’s too easy. He feels like he’s drowning.
Then Erich pulls back and the loss of the touch feels like a hole in him. Damnit. Damnit.
“He’ll be ready to take over for me in a week,” Anton tells Erich.
Erich glances back over the table, between his two childer before responding with a simple “good” and heading to his office.
When he’s out of sight, some of the fog lifts and the fear and loathing comes rushing back like an old friend.
“Does that ever get easier?” Ferris asks, his hands shaking as he tries to pick up the cloth again but can’t seem to manage it. Anton sits down again, and puts one hand on Ferris’s, steadying him.
“Somewhat,” Anton says after a pause. Ferris isn’t sure whether or not he believes Anton. “Do we need to take a break?”
Ferris pulls his hand away, takes a breath to steady himself. “No. I’m fine.”
Both lies, but he can’t afford for anything else to be true.
“Alright,” Anton says as Ferris returns to the work. He’s unable to find the same sort of rhythm as before, and he knows he’s doing a worse job now. Anton is polite enough not to call too much attention to it. When he’s done with the second, he just sits there staring at the leather until Anton nudges him. “For the next part, you can use water for now but he’ll want you to use spit.”
“Spit… on the boots?” Ferris raises an eyebrow.
“On the cloth.” Anton sighs. “I’ve looked into this — it’s not actually more effective than just water, but it’s tradition.”
“Where have I heard that one before…” Ferris shakes his head. He debates making the Fiddler on the Roof reference but he suspects it’d go over Anton’s head and he’s not really in the mood for it anyway. “I’ll just do it the annoying way now. Get used to it.”
Anton nods. “It’s mostly more of the same, but you’ll want even less polish. Six to seven layers should be good.”
Ferris looks at Anton with a dead stare.
“Did I say something…?” Anton asks and Ferris shakes his head.
“No, it’s— it’s nothing.” Anton’s face is impossible to read. “It’s just a new joke number? Like sixty nine. Six seven.”
“I don’t understand what’s funny about either of those numbers,” Anton says and Ferris shakes his head, even less in the mood to try to explain memes to the over eighty year old vampire.
“I don’t know either. Sa— Someone from school was laughing about it. Apparently it’s from a rap song? Something about basketball?”
Anton looks so lost that Ferris almost feels bad for him. The fact Anton doesn’t appear that much older than Ferris makes the expression that much funnier.
Ferris shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure one of these days you’re going to drop something that would’ve been absolutely hilarious in the 60s and it’ll go right over my head.”
“Likely,” Anton says with a touch of a smile.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to distract you. Six to seven extra thin layers with spit, coming right up.”
“That’s more of a rule of thumb— keep going until it’s shining,” Anton tells him. “You’ve seen the way he likes them.”
“I have indeed, right when they’ve been connecting with my face.”
Anton gives him a look. I’d say my smart mouth is going to get me killed, Ferris thinks to himself. But it already did.
“What? We both know I’m going to be cleaning my blood off of these things more often than not.”
“Vitae,” Anton corrects him, coolly.
A dutiful childe, he reminds himself. Then, Julia’s voice. Let him think he owns you.
“I think I have a good idea of what he’s looking for,” Ferris says after an awkward silence and he tries to focus on the work. A bit of the polish sticks to the cloth and won’t come out, so he holds it up. “What do I do?”
“Just adjust the way you’re holding it,” Anton tells him, so he does. “You’re getting there.”
“Thanks,” Ferris says. “I don’t suppose I could get my own pair of these, with the care set? Seems like a good way to practice.”
“You don’t have to.” Anton looks concerned, which is more than a bit annoying. You made me like this.
“Hey, I like nice stuff too,” Ferris replies with as light a tone as he can manage. “Part of the brand, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is. I can’t imagine why there’d be any issue with it, and you do have access to the credit card.”
“I’m being good, I’m asking for permission.”
“That somehow doesn’t reassure me very much.” Anton shakes his head, then looks down at the boots again. “That should be good for the left one. Switch.”
He does, and he’s at last finally able to sink back into that rhythm, drifting into memories of the Elysium. His conversations with Raven and the moment of breakdown — he can’t entirely remember what he said. Samuel probing him for information, him doing the same back. Julia…
Julia, the LaSombra primogen who Erich disliked but who’d cleared the way for him. Julia, who’d offered advice on how to get free in the same breath as she’d seemingly mocked him for the leash around his neck. Who’s not that much older than he is but is seemingly free. If Erich knew what she’d told him…
She won’t stick her head out for him beyond offering a bit of advice, he’s sure. She can’t save him. Nobody can save him, except himself. But maybe after he’s free— Julia seems like the sort of Kindred that just might have a chance in hell of sympathizing with his ambitions, as opposed to stringing him up as a would-be Anarch. And she’s got an in with the Prince.
“That looks good too,” Anton tells Ferris, jarring him back to reality from his borderline suicidal dream. “Just buff it with a clean brush now.”
He does.
“Tada,” Ferris says as he pulls back.
“You’re a natural,” Anton tells him, and Ferris doesn’t really take it as much other than empty reassurance. Still, something twists in his chest.
“I aim to please,” Ferris replies, looking at the finished boots. “Is there anything else?”
“Not for now. Feel free to go back to studying.”
What he’d actually been doing before Anton interrupted him with more of Erich’s humiliating bullshit was playing online poker, with the bastard’s money. An investment, in teaching himself how to play so he doesn’t make Erich look bad later in the week, of course. Studying for a different sort of test.
He should get back to class work, though. He’s been struggling to focus lately and he needs to get his damn head in the game. He knows his grades are slipping— and he knows if he keeps going downhill, it’ll be harder and harder to justify why he should be allowed to go at all.
He needs this. His constitutional law class in particular.
“I might want to talk some of the cases I’ve been reading over with you later, if that’s okay?” Ferris asks.
“I’d be happy to,” Anton says, and Ferris wonders if, in another world, under different circumstances, they could’ve been real friends instead of whatever this is.
Ferris thinks this would be easier if the answer was no.
