Hey there! I'm Sparrow, welcome to my blog, I hope you enjoy your stay! Minors beware, this blog will often contain mature and dark themes such as kidnapping, torture and noncon elements. P*rn blogs DNI!!!
Thanks for taking the time to visit my blog, it means a lot! Here, you'll be able to find any stories or small series' I post! Over time, this list will get bigger, so bare with me as I get my feet under me.
(P.S. Since I know what so many people will think when first reading the name, my character, Sparrow Cresky, is not a self insert by any means, it just happens to be the first name I thought of when creating his character as it suited his personality.)
The Warehouse:
Content Warnings: Each chapter will have their own individual warnings pertaining what happens, but this fic will contain noncon elements and threatened noncon. Read at your own discretion.
The Beginning:
Part 1: The Start of a New Beginning
Part 2: The Showing, Part 1
Part 3: The Showing, Part 2
Part 4: The Showing, Part 3 (Final Part)
Small Drabble: Fighting the Decision
Digging Up Old Memories
The Ending of a Story (Heed the content warnings for this one)
Recovery Arc:
Small drabble: Broken Boned (set right after Sparrow escapes)
A Small Step Forward
Recapture Arc:
Never Truly Free
Unsettling Reality: Alex's POV - Sparrow's POV
At the End of Their Rope
Hit the Hay
Small Drabble: Repaying the Favor
Revenge - A Warehouse Mini Series:
Part One: Ghosts of the Past
Running Out of Time:
(This is a sfw series in regards to any sexual themes. If sex related series aren't for you, this would be your story!)
Does anyone else have whump phases like, in waves. Like for a while you'll be like "Oh yeah, some cool whump content, that's great," but you'll just keep doing your other daily life shit. But then out of nowhere for anywhere from days to weeks you'll get hit with the Super Whump Beam(tm) and literally all you can think about is fictional characters getting kidnapped and tortured. And then after a while of that it's back to business as usual until it all happens again
This raffle has been a long time coming as a late celebration of 500 followers and general gift to the whump community.
What's being raffled?
A waist-up greyscale sketch commission of a single character.
Any character, any pose, any whump.
Rules:
To enter, please reblog this post. That's all!
You don't have to be following me to enter (but I mean you could be that would be very cool of you.)
The raffle will end on March 20th, and one winner will be drawn via a random name picker. The draw will happen around 4pm GMT (10am CST).
I will DM / send an ask to the winner to let them know they've won. They then have 24 hours to confirm, or I'll pick a new name.
[Optional] Add in your reblog tags which character you would want drawn in a precarious situation :V
Thank you to everyone out there for sticking with me (and my un-knowable, unstable schedule of posting things) I read every comment and every tag, and I'm very grateful to everyone who enjoys my blog in the open or in the shadows.
Good luck to everyone who enters! 🦎
I don't see enough whump writers talk about how much stomach acid hurts when one throws up, especially when it's mainly stomach acid. Starve your whumpees and make em throw up. Extra pain but internally :D
❣️ GUYS! PLS I DEMAND YOU LOOK AND FEAST YOUR EYES ON THIS BREATHTAKING ART OF IZAAK FROM MY 'A TASTE OF YOUR OWN MEDICINE' SERIES❣️
Art by the always so kind and utterly incredible @sorrowful-hyacinth !!! SQUEEEE!!! Thank you so much!!! 🫶 He's so beautiful!! That pose, the binds, his expression, his collar, the gag!!! ALL OF IT 🦋🦋🦋 MY GOD!
MASTERLIST - PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5 - PART 6 - PART 7
Authors note: Guys I'm alive! I told you I was working away at this one very slowly. My mum has been going through cancer treatment and is finally done. And I'm also struggling with my job. I won't promise that once things settle down I'll post more cos I don't want to make empty promises 😅 But for now, enjoy!
CWs: general mental illness content, psychiatric whump, medical gaslighting, forced psychiatric 'care', medical malpractice, injections and needles, medical torture ig, drugging, brief ECT mention
A beautiful DSLR camera sat on the table, with an SD card beside it. Rowan picked up the camera, passing it between his hands. It was an old model,well loved. He inserted the SD card and began to look through the photos.
An older man and woman, smiling. Their arms around each other as they sat at a dining table.
A little old brown brick cottage, covered in ivy. Flower boxes on the window sills, with shades of blues and purples. Orange, red, and yellow leaves were scattered across the path leading up to the front door.
A bedroom, newspaper cuttings all over the floor. A laptop opened on a document with only twelve words across the screen, the cursor flashing as it waited for someone to continue writing.
A large hospital with two three-story buildings. A wide, sprawling lawn of perfectly manicured green grass. Six foot tall fences around the entire building.
A large hospital. Three-story buildings. Wide manicured lawn. Six foot tall fences. Largehospital. Three-storybuildings. Widemanicuredlawn. Sixfoottallfences. Largehospitalbuildingsmanicuredlawntallfences. Noonegetsout noonegetsout noongetsout no one -
James awoke, disorientated and drenched in cold sweat. His eyes darted around the room as he frantically tried to remember where he was. He was lying on a mattress in a cold, white padded room. The only thing he had for bedding was a singular white sheet, which lay twisted up on the floor. The white hospital gown he was wearing was dripping with his own sweat. He put his head in his hands and tried to take a few deep breaths. He was in an isolation room. There was a camera on the ceiling in the corner, which flashed red every few minutes to remind him it was active.
These dreams of ‘Rowan’ were becoming more and more regular. They had to stop. That wasn't him. He was James. As long as he remembered he was James, everything would be ok. But he had to remember that. Had to remember his own name. That was his only job. Just as long as he remembered his name. He had to take the pills, and remember.. remember. Remember something.
His breaths came in sharp pants as he tried to piece everything together, but there were still so many gaps. What was he missing? It was like putting a broken mirror back together, with not enough duct tape, and none of the pieces seemed to fit perfectly. Some of the pieces could have been from a different mirror altogether.
He just needed to talk someone, someone who could help him remember. He did have someone, he remembered suddenly. But who? Why was their name something that would not stop slipping away from him, like trying to trap butter on his tongue?
There was a knock at the door. Two orderlies clad in white scrubs with tasers on their belts entered. Each of them also had a ring of keys attached to the belt. Without a word, they stormed toward him, grabbing him under the armpits and dragging him to his feet.
They escorted him out of the room, where a gurney stood in the hall. They manhandled him onto the surface, pinning him in place so that they could attach the soft padded cuffs to his wrists and ankles. James knew there was no point in struggling.
They began to push the gurney down the hall, and he watched the bright fluorescent lights pass by above him. He didn't bother asking where they were going; and his mouth felt so dry, as if stuffed with cotton wool. He closed his eyes, forcing back a wave of nausea as the gurney continued down the hall. He didn't open them until he felt the gurney come to a stop.
The orderlies uncuffed him and forced him to his feet outside a door labelled 'Treatment Room 03'.
James' eyes widened, remembering the torturous ECT. "No, please, no-"
He began to thrash in the grasp of the orderlies, who held him tight as they unlocked the door and escorted him inside.
"No. Please, please don't-"
The orderlies shove him towards an exam bed, and he stumbles onto it.
The orderlies began to reach for his wrists and ankles to buckle into the restraints. Fear curled in James' stomach, and he thrashed against their iron grip.
"Stop. Please, I don't need them. Just-" He begged.
The orderlies were too strong, and they easily overpowered him. His wrists and ankles were shoved into the restraints.
"No!"
The orderlies stepped back as the door to the room opened again. Doctor Wilson entered the room, his blue scrubs neat, and his white coat pressed with his stethoscope slung over his shoulders.
"How are you feeling today, James?" He asked, approaching the exam table.
"Let me go, please." James answered, taking a deep breath and trying to keep his tone level and calm.
"I'm afraid I can't do that." Doctor Wilson replied, running a gentle hand over James' forehead. "You see, I'm concerned that you aren't responding well to treatment. I've been watching you in isolation, and well, you still seem agitated. There were a few occasions where you've been physically violent with the orderlies."
"What?" James was baffled. He didn't remember any of that.
"Don't play games with me. So, we're going to try something new." Doctor Wilson stepped to the side of the room, where he washed his hands thoroughly in a steel sink.
He then snapped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. "I'm just going to do a bit of a check-up first."
He rolled over a little steel trolley laden with equipment. Doctor Winston first slid a penlight from his pocket. He shined it into James' eyes. James flinched slightly, tugging at the restraints.
"What are you going to do to me?" He murmured.
Doctor Wilson just smiled. "I'm going to break you, James. And then I'm going to put you back together."
The doctor next selected a blood pressure cuff and a small finger clip monitor. He wrapped the cuff tight around James' small bicep and clipped the monitor onto his index. The blood pressure cuff began to squeeze, paused for a minute, and then released. Doctor Wilson made a note of the numbers on the cuff before checking the monitor on James' finger and making some notes of that too.
Next, the doctor examined his ears and throat before moving onto checking temperature and then listening to James' heart and lungs with a stethoscope. He didn't make a sound while making his examinations, as if ignoring James' presence as anything but an object to observe.
The doctor then began to potter around James on the table, setting out syringes and tubing that James recognised as equipment for an IV. The man pulled over a metal pole as well.
James' heart pounded in his chest as he tried fruitlessly to free himself. The doctor didn't even pay attention to him, as if he didn't believe there was any possibility his prisoner could escape. Which made James' chest grow tighter still. His breaths came in short bursts of panic.
The doctor wiped the inside of James' elbow with an alcohol wipe before selecting a particularly long and sharp needle.
"No, no, stop. Please, I promise I'll behave. I just - just don't, you don't need to you-"
"Shh.." The doctor murmured, clapping a gloved hand over James' mouth.
The glove muffled the pained cry that slipped from the patient as the syringe slid home inside a large vein. Tears prickled in the corners of James' eyes, the pain and fear swelling inside him. His lungs ached as he tried to catch his breath. Finally, the doctor removed his hand, and James drew in a large gasping breath. The doctor continued setting up the IV, attaching the tubing in James' vein and connecting it to the bag of clear fluid hanging from the IV pole.
James managed to get his breathing under control, watching in anticipation as the fluid began to drip from the bag into the tube. Ice entered his veins. Only, it felt like ice for just a moment before the sensation was replaced with heat. James began to thrash around as the solution felt like it was burning his body from the inside out. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his body trying desperately to escape itself to no avail. His stomach roiled as he was hit with another wave of burning agony. His muscles shook with tension.
James' entire body convulsed, his head rearing up as he threw up all over himself.
With that, he sagged back onto the table, panting heavily. His eyes rolled back in his head in an attempt to maintain consciousness. The world was spinning in and out of focus, pain clouding all of his senses. As he writhed around, the doctor loomed over into his line of sight.
"You belong to me, Rowan. When you forget everything else, even who you are.. You better make sure you remember that." Doctor Wilson smirked.
That was the last thing James remembered before a wave of white hot pain overwhelmed his senses, and his eyes rolled back into his head.
---
PREVIOUS - NEXT *coming soon*
Taglist (as always just ask to be added/removed!) :
idk why but when I first joined whumblr™ I considered your blog, darkthingshappen and whumpcereal as like the trinity of whump (kind of still do ig). I know there are a lot of big whump blogs but these three ended up becoming big hyperfixations for me. As of now the whumpcereal blog is like officially complete and the darkthingshappen blog is on a hiatus (I think?). I absolutely love all three blogs and truly respect the dedication that went behind each of them. Literally the first thing I do when I open tumblr every day is check your blog and Darkthingshapoen's blog for updates <3 Idk why my tone might come off as rude but I want to frame it as genuinely as possible. My point is that I'm really glad you're still around posting and interacting so frequently. Running a whump blog and writing such high quality whump sounds soo exhausting but I hope it's equally rewarding (if not more).
All in all, thank you!!
AAAAA! Oh my god???!!!🥹❤️ Dont even worry, it didn't read as rude for me whatsoever!!! if anything, it hit me right in the heart! 😭 Thank you so much for taking the time to say all this - genuinely. I’m sat here blushing like a damn idiot 🙈 Darkthingshappen and whumpcereal are such close friends of mine and I absolutely adore them and deeply admire their work (they were who I looked up to and fangirled over so hard when I joined whumpblr!) and to hear that my blog has been part of your whump experience in the same way, in somehow the same caliber as them is honestly surreal!!! 😭🫶
Making this blog and running it has been one of the best things I've ever done! I LOVE this community so much. I love writing, I love sharing, and I love reading and enjoying all the amazing content by all the other ridiculously talented blogs! It can be hard at times, and ive definitely had my fair share of wobbles, but I don't know what I'd do without it!
Rambling aside - I'm grateful that you've stuck with me through it all, even when I've gone quiet on here and ive struggled with writers block 🙈❤️ The fact you check my blog for updates is so mindblowing, I can't wrap my head around it! Thank you for being so kind and caring 🥺
You've made my whole day, anon 💕 (and it's only just gone past midnight asdfghjkl)
i really like the idea of two people meeting in captivity - filthy, hair overgrown, wearing whatever their captors have provided them - and then, long after the rescue, getting to meet again when they're all clean and groomed and both of them going, oh. so that's how you look normally.
cw:/ kidnap, captivity, yandere whumper, submissive whumpee, coercive control/psychological abuse, restraints, gag, blindfold, mention of stalking, forced dependency, mentions of past physical punishment, noncon touch, noncon kiss (please let me know if I've forgotten any!
---
Felix’s hand settled on the small of Josh’s back as he ushered him back down to the basement. His touch deceptively gentle but unmistakably possessive. His fingers barely pressed through the thin fabric of Josh’s shirt, but even that was enough to make Josh’s stomach somersault. Nausea bubbled up in his gut, lunch rising like it wanted to escape.
But he didn’t dare resist. He obeyed Felix like a desperate little puppy - too eager to please, too terrified not to.
His breath became shallow as they reached the top of the stairs. Josh craned his neck back, casting one last and longing glance toward the window where daylight still burned bright.
Maybe winter had come around already, he thought. Maybe it’s later in the evening than it feels. Had the seasons slipped past him unnoticed? Are the days already stretching too long and the nights glowing too bright? Time itself was slipping sideways. Hours stolen from him, days vanishing in the blink of an eye. Before he knows it, he’ll have grown grey and old with Felix - his life left unlived. That felt like a fate worse than death…
A kick to his ankle jerked him out of the thought.
It wasn’t cruel - just a nudge. Felix’s way of saying; keep moving. Josh moved without question - without hesitation, grumble or groan. No more dragging his heels. No more bargaining.
Silence was safer.
After all, what was the point in fighting for another day, when the next day was just another fight? And fighting for what exactly? Survival? Life isn’t for surviving…it’s for living.
Felix’s hand stayed with him the entire descent, flat and firm against Josh’s spine. When they reached the bottom, his spine prickled with dread. Felix guided Josh to the narrow cot tucked into the corner of the room, with its dented metal frame.
He gave Josh a small, almost courteous push at the hips. Josh sat, the metal frame squeaking under what little weight was left of him.
Josh stared straight ahead, soul leaving his body, as Felix crouched in front of him and took one of his scrawny ankles in his hands, and began to bind them together. The rope rasped against the cotton of his socks, before digging into tender skin as it tightened. Josh winced, breath catching when he felt the dull throb of blood already struggling to flow.
His heavy eyes drifted to the top of Felix’s head as he worked. That silky, fawn hair, falling just over his brow in soft waves. For a fleeting second, Josh remembered.
Felix was handsome. God, he really was. That jawline, the faint stubble, those honey-brown eyes - even now, even this - some traitorous part of Josh still recognised it. The thing that had drawn him in, once. That charm. Those looks. The way Felix magnetised him.
But the moment passed. A sharp tug on the rope snapped Josh right back and knocked his senses straight. His whole body flinched. Right. This is Felix - the real Felix, and not the fantasy Josh had dreamt up in his head when he first set eyes on him in the cafe.
“F-Felix? W-Why are you putting me to bed so early?” Josh asked, voice meek but sugared. That careful tone he’d worked hard on perfecting, to keep Felix sweet and never let his mood sour. “It’s still light out…?”
Josh’s eyes stayed on Felix, watching as he finished up the restraints. It somehow felt intimate - the way Felix finished the knot. The gentle pat of the rope when he was done. Like tying the laces of a child’s shoe. Felix gave the knot one final tug, admiring his handiwork. When he finally looked up, Josh’s eyes were swimming with unshed tears.
“Please, Felix,” Josh whispered. “Let me stay up a little longer? With you? I’ll be so good, you know I will. We can pick a new Netflix show and cuddle all night?
I’ve been good,” Josh added, quieter now. “Haven’t I?”
But even as he said it, guilt clawed its way up his throat. He hadn’t been good. Not recently. He’d tested the boundaries. He’d snapped. Mouthed off. Hesitated and argued back when Felix gave his orders. He’d even reached for the door once, when he was sure it had been left unlocked. But the punishment had been swift. The trust evaporated like smoke. The leash shortened. The bindings tighter.
Then, like flipping a switch, Felix’s expression softened. He leapt up, cupping Josh’s face with both hands, warm palms on flushed, rose-colored cheeks. “I’m just popping out, my sweet,” Felix consoled. “We need some bits and bobs.”
Bits and bobs. Josh might giggle if he had the energy or the gall. Felix sounded like a little old lady heading out for sugar and milk.
“I won’t be long, darling. Promise. Just to the store and back. Forty-five minutes, an hour if the queues are bad".
Felix's hands were already reaching for the handcuffs, and clinking them over the bruised and tender flesh of Josh’s wrists.
“You’ll be a good boy for me while I’m gone, won’t you, baby? Maybe if you’re on your very best behaviour this time, I won’t tie you the next.”
Josh didn’t reply right away. His eyes were glassy now, wet with humiliation. With shame. With the stupid, wild hope that he could be good enough again. That if he followed the script perfectly, Felix would stop seeing him as a thing to be contained, and at the very least - maybe see him as human.
But he’d ruined that.
So he nodded. Hoping obedience might earn him back some scraps of 'freedom'.
“You understand why I have to do this, don’t you?” Felix asked. “It’s for your own good, baby.”
Josh nodded miserably again. Not because he believed it. But because he knew that Felix needed to. Felix needs to fall into the lull of compliance. And it worked. Felix beamed, a smile of radiant approval.
“Good boy,” he hummed. “I knew we’d be singing from the same hymn sheet sooner or later.”
Josh’s chest hollowed. Felix leaned in again, brushing a thumb along Josh’s cheekbone. “You’ve come such a long way,” he whispered. “From where you started. You used to fight like I was the enemy. And now look at you. My sweet boy. My quiet little lamb. I love you.”
Josh said nothing. His voice had fled, hiding behind his teeth.
Felix kissed the crown of Josh’s head, before reaching for the gag. Before it could be pushed past his lips, Josh spoke. Voice as fragile as glass.
“Felix?”
The name stopped him in his tracks. Felix froze, his head tilting just slightly.
“Can I… ask for something? From the shop?” The words tasted dangerous. Like he was stepping off the ledge. This is where Felix would go apeshit. Beat him black and blue for being such a greedy and ungrateful brat. Obviously - after everything Felix had given Josh - everything - how dare he ask for more?
But not this time.
“You want me to get you something?” he asked, surprised but delighted.
Josh nodded, eyes still lowered, voice small. “Just… things I miss. If that’s okay?”
Felix’s face lit up like a struck match. “Of course it’s okay! This is your home too, baby. You should have things you like.” He was already digging out his phone, thumbing it open, ready to write his list. “Tell me. Name it.”
So eager. Eager to be wanted, to be depended on.
Josh took a slow breath. Each word felt like walking a tightrope. “O-Oreos. Please. The double-stuffed kind? And …. Maybe some orange juice… but with the bits in it? You know, the real kind? O-Oh and… uhm, can you get some more of that sourdough? The one we had with dinner last week?”
“Of course, my love,” Felix purred, “Anything you want and it’s yours, Joshy. Keep going. Anything else?”
“A-Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. I want my baby to be happy.”
Josh took another minute to think. What had he been craving? What have his taste buds been crying out for?
“...Coca-Cola?” Josh continued. If this was his chance to finally get something out of Felix that didn’t include pain and suffering, he wouldn’t spoil his chance. “Spicy instant ramen. I used to live on that back in my flat. And…” His voice wavered, “Lemon shortcake biscuits? They’re my favourite… the ones I kept in my cupboard… before…”
Felix’s fingers stilled. His smile faltered, then softened. “I remember.”
Felix’s voice dropped. “Top shelf, next to the mugs. You thought your flatmate at the time kept stealing them, didn’t you? But it wasn’t him.” A pause, and a spine-chilling smirk. “You loved those biscuits, but you would just eat two or three at a time, never the whole pack. Like you were rationing joy.”
Josh’s skin prickled. His mouth went dry. How many times had Felix been there, hidden just out of sight? Watching from shadows, from across the street, from behind the curtains in his own home?
Felix leaned in, his breath warm. “I learnt everything about you before you even knew my name. I studied you, Joshy. To understand you. Every little quirk, every smile you thought no one saw. I saw. You became the center of my world. My muse. My love.”
Josh retraced moments in his mind: walking home late, the flicker of motion in a window, the feeling of being watched he'd always shrugged off as paranoia. It hadn’t been paranoia. It had been him. Felix. Always there. Always watching.
If he’d just trusted his instincts - if he’d looked back one more time, listened out harder…could he have caught Felix before it spiraled into this nightmare? Could he have gone to the police? Stopped all this from ever happening?
Mortified, Josh’s thoughts turned to static. He couldn’t make sense of this. There was no place in his body nor mind now that felt untouched.
“But I’ll get them, baby. Your niceies. I’ll get everything. I’d pull the moon out of the sky, and the Titanic out of the ocean for you.”
“T-Thank you,” Josh croaked past the lump in his throat.
Felix leaned down and kissed him again. His lips brushed Josh’s forehead first, then ghosted down to his temple, tender and loving, as if could erase everything that came before. Slowly, his mouth moved lower, until his lips met Josh’s. The kiss was gentle at first but then Felix’s teeth grazed Josh’s bottom lip - a sharp bite that elicited a pained cry.
“This is what love looks like,” Felix murmured into the kiss, “I take care of you. I provide for you. You’ll never need or want for anything.”
Josh wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or retch. This couldn’t be it. He refused to accept that this is love. Rage flared beneath the numbness. This isn’t love. Love doesn’t silence you. Love doesn’t steal your freedom and call it protection. Love doesn’t leave you pain-riddled and nightmare-fueled.
But if he said any of that, he’d lose everything. The lemon biscuits. The kindness. The moment of being asked what he wants.
So he said nothing. Silence was safer.
Felix slid the blindfold over Josh’s eyes, swallowing the last of the dim strip lights. Then the gag. It pressed between his lips, and Josh slacked his jaw to let it wedge between his teeth and pin down his tongue. He couldn’t help but gasp, breath catching at the back of his throat, but the sound was swallowed whole. Saliva gathered instantly and his jaw instantly throbbed with the strain.
The cot creaked softly as Felix guided his legs up, until he lay fully stretched out. The cuffs fastened him to the frame. A thin, ratty blanket was draped over him. Felix's hands moved slowly, smoothing the fabric over his body with deliberate care. He patted the corners, tucking Josh in.
Josh's mind desperately latched onto the promise of Oreos, orange juice, and ramen - small comforts Felix promised to deliver from the outside world beyond these walls. A sickening certainty settled deep in Josh's gut: these mundane treats were the final threads connecting him to the life he'd lost.
This was it. The closest he'd ever get. There'd be no going back; Felix had made that chillingly clear. Only this...reminders of what was gone forever, drip fed to him.
So this isn't something that I normally post, but I was hoping to get some help for my friend. He recently got a call for his top surgery appointment after being on a waitlist for several years. He's currently trying to save up enough money for the surgery and has thus set up a GoFundMe. It would mean the world to me and my friend if anyone could donate or if you can't to reblog or share this post so it reaches more people. Thank you for taking the time to read and share.
After years of waiting, this year is finally the year! Please consider donating to help cover the cost of s… Wes Moon needs your support for
This piece was definitely something to write, I'll say that. It was interesting to write this out and figuring out how to make sure things were even in terms of actions and internal thoughts and dialog the way I wanted but at last, here we are. I assure you all that Sparrow will be fine, this is hardly the ending of Warehouse, far from it. This piece is important for up coming things and needed to be written to set up stuff for future pieces down the line. It is also set after a certain event that is still in the works and happens around 2 months into the story and hopefully will be posted soon. I'd like to give a huge shout out to @flowersarefreetherapy for giving me some suggestions on where to take things at certain parts and being a beta for the piece, as well as thanking @whumpcereal, @darkthingshappen, and @oddsconvert for cheering me on as always! The piece starts under the cut due to it's content.
HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS PIECE AS IT'S A VERY HEAVY PIECE THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME PEOPLE!!!
TW: Reference/mention to past and future noncon, mention of past torture, mention of past character death, implied future torture, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, self harm thoughts, self harm, depressive thought process, heavy grieving, adult language, thoughts about the afterlife (If I missed anything, please let me know and it'll get added ASAP)
“Hope you enjoy your new home, Songbird. Maybe then you’ll wish you were still with me.”
Why did Damon have to be right?
He was right to a degree, anyway, Sparrow thought, staring at Damon’s desk from his lying position on the floor in a corner of Damon’s office, barely being able to make out the outline of the piece of furniture in the dark.
From the second he had gotten on that stupid thing, what was it called again? A plane, that’s what it was called, a plane. From the second he had gotten on that stupid plane, Sparrow had already been wishing he was back in Damon’s care. It may not have surfaced fully at the time, but deep down, that’s what he felt. With Damon, he at least knew routine, knew the environment he was living in, how things worked. With Volkov, he knew nothing, only that he had to survive. Sure, he had survived living on the island for two weeks only to be shipped back here, but things were different. He had to readjust to the system again. It should have been easy when he returned, slipping right back into proper routine with his Keeper as if he had never left the place, but it wasn’t.
Nothing feels the same now. Things he was used to, things he would normally fight against without a second thought, would send spikes of fear straight through his core, alongside doubts of why he was even fighting back in the first place. Because why fight back when there was no hope of ever leaving, of ever escaping this awful hell when everything you go through today would just repeat the next?
There were also the nightmares. So many nightmares, most of which were the events of his past. Before he left for the island, they hardly happened. That, or he never remembered them. Now though, each night he kept reliving the most awful things he had ever experienced in this place and he couldn’t get them to stop no matter what he did. Some were about when he was a kid, a mixture of different points in his training both before and after he was thirteen with Logan. Some were about after Jayden died and how much shit he went through due to how hard he’d fight back and retaliate. Most of them though were about Jayden. Sometimes his brain would just relive the moment he died, each time reopening the wound and bringing up all the horrible emotions he felt when it had happened. Other times it would twist the event and provide him the false hope and relief of returning to the main room and finding his friend, alive and perfectly fine, as if the whole thing never happened.
Sparrow’s eyes moved slowly over the faint outline of the desk light Damon had on his desk as he thought, letting out a quiet sigh as thoughts kept circling in and around in his head.
Damon had left him unrestrained tonight, a small reward for both being able to go through a shower for the first time since returning without heavy retaliation or fighting and for complying with more orders than he usually did. There was a small part somewhere inside him that was grateful for the fact he wasn’t restrained for once during the night, but a bigger part of him hated it because it meant that he was obeying, crumbling under Damon’s training, something he swore from the moment he first awoke in the Keeper’s office that he’d never do.
What good was there in fighting back at this point? If he had listened to the Keepers, so much wouldn’t have happened, so much pain he would have never had endured. He wouldn’t have been a free-for-all amongst the Keepers, he wouldn’t be under Damon’s controlling hand, he wouldn’t have gone to Volkov’s island, Jayden wouldn’t have died.
Tears started to well in Sparrow’s eyes as he continued to trace the outlines of the things on Damon’s desk with his gaze.
It was all his fault.
Jayden had never fought back that hard against the Keepers until that day, and it was all because he had watched Sparrow do it time and time again. If Sparrow hadn’t been hell bent on fighting back, Jayden would be alive right now. He’d be fine.
Maybe it was a mercy though, Sparrow thought, shutting his eyes tight as he felt the tears finally spill from his eyes. He’d forever be upset and angry that Jayden died, that he lost his one and only friend to Logan and this awful system, but maybe it was a mercy. A way out of this horrible cycle once and for all.
Jayden had endured his fair share of abuse here, especially around the time when he died, but he was able to get out before more could ever occur. Worse things Sparrow had unfortunately gone through and would continue to go through. Sparrow had heard some stories about different pet owners, what they did to those they purchased. At the time he heard these stories, before he was with Damon, he didn’t envy those pets, quite fine with the safety netting that the Keepers couldn’t deal out that kind of damage. Now it seemed like he was living out those stories he had heard so long ago, all because he had tried to fight back against the system.
Opening his eyes again, Sparrow eyed the desk for a second before he slowly pushed himself up to his feet, wiping the tears from his eyes.
A mercy, a way out once and for all.
If he could pull it off, Sparrow would be free. He’d never have to go through another Showing again, never have to see Damon or any of the other Keepers again. He’d never have to watch Jayden die again in his dreams. Maybe he’d be able to see Jayden again, getting to be with his friend wherever he ended up after he died. Sparrow didn’t know where people went after they died; maybe they went to a new world, a better world, maybe they just stopped existing entirely. At this point, anything was better than being here.
Slowly, Sparrow made his way over to Damon’s desk, his eyes slowly going void of any emotion as tears silently fell down his cheeks every now and then. Clicking the desk lamp on, he flinched slightly at the light, it taking a second for his eyes to adjust after spending the last few hours in the dark.
He never understood why things were like how they were. Why did he have to be one of so many to get treated so horribly? Why did the Keepers have all the say in everything they ever got to do and feel? No choice in any matter, no say in anything that happened, nothing. If there were only two options on who to be in this world; a pet, whose only job is to serve whoever owns them however they want no matter the cost, or a Keeper, whose job it was to enforce control and dominance over pets, to train them so they could fulfil their purpose, Sparrow would much prefer to be a Keeper. Then that way everything would stop, things would be better. He’d have control over his life.
None of that mattered though, because it was never going to happen, and he wasn’t going to be a pet for much longer. To hell with what he was supposed to be.
He could see the desk more clearly now that the lamp was on. Sparrow’s eyes slowly went over everything on the desk, trying to find something that would serve his purpose. But there was nothing he could use. Damon was an orderly and well kept man, not to mention careful. The Keeper would never leave anything out that could potentially be used against him and if he did, Sparrow would have laughed in his face. The amount of trust Damon would have to have in Sparrow would require a lot more than Sparrow would ever give him, or anyone for that matter.
Damon, Sparrow thought, letting his eyes crawl slowly across the desk again, just to be sure he didn’t miss anything. Why did he ever have to get involved with him? Why did he have to gain the Keepers attention? So much time had passed between Jayden dying and Damon taking over his training. From what he could remember, he hadn’t done anything differently since Jayden died, so why had Damon stepped in? Why did things change?
Why did Damon have to be different?
He was still learning new things about the man, even after all the time he had spent with him thus far. Sometimes things would change, small things, and it always threw him for a loop, but thankfully most things stayed consistent. Even if he grew accustomed to how Damon did things, he’d never fully get used to the pain. So much pain, new pain, new marks, reminders of what Damon could do whenever he wanted. Before he met the Keeper, he didn’t have many scars, the main one being the Warehouse branding mark all the pets got. But now? His body was littered with so many different scars, all with their own story on how they got there.
Sparrow’s head slowly turned to the walls of the office, eyeing a glass picture frame of something Sparrow didn’t know the name of, the faintest of smirks ghosting across his face as an idea formed in his head.
What’s a few more marks on his body, he thought, slowly approaching the picture frame, staring at it for a good long moment. A few more marks added to his body, the defining marks of the final story of his life, once and for all.
Slowly, Sparrow reached his arms up, carefully taking the picture frame in his hands, giving the picture one last look over as his grip tightened around the frame. Taking a step back from the wall, he raised the picture frame before, with all the force he could muster, threw it down onto the ground, flinching ever so slightly at the sound of the glass breaking.
It took him a moment to crouch down, looking over the different pieces of the broken glass, trying to find the biggest piece, the sharpest piece. It didn’t take him long, careful fingers picking up the shard of glass. Standing once more, Sparrow slowly made his way to the middle of the office, his eyes never leaving the piece of glass in his hand, turning it over several times as he looked at it.
This should work perfectly, he thought.
What was the best way to do this? Any way he could think of required time and no intervention, how could he do this quickly? Sparrow raised the piece of glass slightly, his gaze glancing over towards his left arm, remembering a couple times where Damon had used that stupid bullwhip on his back and feeling faint and dizzy afterwards.
“You’re lucky I know how to get blood stains out of the carpet, Songbird, otherwise we’d be doing this in one of the Showrooms, and I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy the audience listening to you scream.”
So many hits with the bullwhip, each one hurting like hell, but he bled, apparently a lot if Damon’s comment was anything to go off of. That must be why he felt dizzy after the Keeper was done, the blood loss. That’s how he could do this, pull it off.
He had to bleed until he couldn’t anymore.
There was no world in which this wasn’t going to hurt, Sparrow knew that. He’d have to go deep, deeper than the bullwhip ever did, and the bullwhip hurt. Despite this, Sparrow was okay with it. He was the one in control here, no one dictating his actions but himself. It was entirely his decision, his will, and no one could stop him.
Eyeing the glass thoughtfully for one final moment, he raised his left arm up, a few more tears falling down his cheeks as his grip on the glass tightened, his expression twisting into a sickening, twisted grin.
“You should have left me restrained, you son of a bitch.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Sparrow’s expression fell as he brought the glass to his arm, right below the crook of his elbow, before pressing down as hard as he could, dragging the shard all the way down to just below his wrist. As soon as the glass broke through his skin, Sparrow let out a sharp hiss through clenched teeth, his arm starting to shake as he watched blood immediately well up out of the wound and start to fall down either side of his arm.
A cracked whisper of a smile slowly worked its way onto Sparrow’s face as he watched the blood drip off his arm, taking a moment to feel the pain of what he’s just done. It hurt like hell, like nothing he had ever experienced, but in a weird way it also felt good. Good in the way that soon all of this would be over, he’d never have to experience this kind of pain ever again, and the fact that the pain he was in right now was because it was his choice, not Damon’s or anyone else’s.
It was entirely his decision and Sparrow couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit happy that, in the last moments he was going to spend here at this fucking place, he was doing something of his own free will, something that he wanted to do.
His right hand started to tremble as he went for a second cut, right beside the first, just as deep. More cuts means more blood, more blood means more bleeding. He couldn’t help but let out a gasp of pain when he dragged the glass through his skin this time, but this was progress, good progress. More and more blood seeped from the open wounds, the carpet by his feet starting to stain with the crimson color.
More cuts, more marks, more blood, Sparrow thought, clenching his teeth as he opened and closed his left hand, watching as more blood came out of the wounds when he closed his hand tight.
His left arm burned from the cuts, but it was progress. Carefully, Sparrow put the glass shard in his left hand, noticing that he couldn’t get as tight of a grip on it like his right hand, but that didn’t matter. He just needed to do two more cuts on his right arm and he’d be done. Surely two cuts on each arm would be enough, right?
Repeating the process, he brought the glass up to his elbow before pressing down as hard as he could, dragging it down his arm towards his wrist. Sparrow couldn’t help but let out a pained noise this time, his left hand shaking more than he would have liked it to as he felt the skin break and tear underneath the glass.
Time and time again, he had to feel the abuse of the Keeper’s who forced him to do awful things. Time and time again he’s had to feel the torture of Damon and his cruel hands with whatever hell he thought up for the day. Time and time again he couldn’t do a damn single thing about it because fighting got him nowhere.
As he was about to make one final cut, Sparrow swayed slightly where he stood, blinking a few times to try and get his footing. Looking down at his feet, the carpet around where he stood was stained in red as blood continuously dripped from his arms. If he was getting dizzy though, it meant what he was doing was working. Just one final cut.
As Sparrow dragged the glass shard down his arm one last time, his left leg buckled, causing him to stumble down to one knee, the glass curving from its original straight path down his arm. He let out a curse as he did his best to readjust his position on the floor, now sitting on his legs before letting the glass fall from his hand as he held out his arms in front of him, looking them over.
More and more blood poured from the cuts, his arms trembling from the pain and from the loss of blood, but despite this, all Sparrow could do was smile. Thinking about dying, at least in the past, had scared him to a degree, but right now? The only emotion he felt was happiness. He was happy he was finally getting out of this place, away from everything, hopefully to see his friend again. And he was entirely under his own control. No Keeper forcing him to do anything. He finally got to take control of his own life in his final moments. A perfect ending to his final story.
Sparrow’s vision started to swim, black spots starting to form around the edges as he felt his body start to sway back and forth a bit. His arms started to get heavy and he just let them fall, shutting his eyes as his body followed suit, slumping to the office floor.
Jayden had told him about stories when he was alive, he even told Sparrow about a few he had been thinking about writing if he had ever made it out of this place. Sparrow couldn’t help but think of it, about the magical place Jayden had described to him. Maybe that’s where Jayden ended up, even though Jayden had said his story wasn’t real. Who knew what happened to a person when they died, maybe they ended up in magical places like the one his friend had made up. Hopefully though, if he himself were to end up in a new place, a new world, he’d end up in the magical place Jayden told him about, and maybe, just maybe, his friend would be there to greet him once he got there.
Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch,
@whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @flowersarefreetherapy,
@goronska, @blueyellow8green, @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @whumpcereal (if you'd like to be added, let me know!)
This piece was definitely something to write, I'll say that. It was interesting to write this out and figuring out how to make sure things were even in terms of actions and internal thoughts and dialog the way I wanted but at last, here we are. I assure you all that Sparrow will be fine, this is hardly the ending of Warehouse, far from it. This piece is important for up coming things and needed to be written to set up stuff for future pieces down the line. It is also set after a certain event that is still in the works and happens around 2 months into the story and hopefully will be posted soon. I'd like to give a huge shout out to @flowersarefreetherapy for giving me some suggestions on where to take things at certain parts and being a beta for the piece, as well as thanking @whumpcereal, @darkthingshappen, and @oddsconvert for cheering me on as always! The piece starts under the cut due to it's content.
HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS PIECE AS IT'S A VERY HEAVY PIECE THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME PEOPLE!!!
TW: Reference/mention to past and future noncon, mention of past torture, mention of past character death, implied future torture, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, self harm thoughts, self harm, depressive thought process, heavy grieving, adult language, thoughts about the afterlife (If I missed anything, please let me know and it'll get added ASAP)
“Hope you enjoy your new home, Songbird. Maybe then you’ll wish you were still with me.”
Why did Damon have to be right?
He was right to a degree, anyway, Sparrow thought, staring at Damon’s desk from his lying position on the floor in a corner of Damon’s office, barely being able to make out the outline of the piece of furniture in the dark.
From the second he had gotten on that stupid thing, what was it called again? A plane, that’s what it was called, a plane. From the second he had gotten on that stupid plane, Sparrow had already been wishing he was back in Damon’s care. It may not have surfaced fully at the time, but deep down, that’s what he felt. With Damon, he at least knew routine, knew the environment he was living in, how things worked. With Volkov, he knew nothing, only that he had to survive. Sure, he had survived living on the island for two weeks only to be shipped back here, but things were different. He had to readjust to the system again. It should have been easy when he returned, slipping right back into proper routine with his Keeper as if he had never left the place, but it wasn’t.
Nothing feels the same now. Things he was used to, things he would normally fight against without a second thought, would send spikes of fear straight through his core, alongside doubts of why he was even fighting back in the first place. Because why fight back when there was no hope of ever leaving, of ever escaping this awful hell when everything you go through today would just repeat the next?
There were also the nightmares. So many nightmares, most of which were the events of his past. Before he left for the island, they hardly happened. That, or he never remembered them. Now though, each night he kept reliving the most awful things he had ever experienced in this place and he couldn’t get them to stop no matter what he did. Some were about when he was a kid, a mixture of different points in his training both before and after he was thirteen with Logan. Some were about after Jayden died and how much shit he went through due to how hard he’d fight back and retaliate. Most of them though were about Jayden. Sometimes his brain would just relive the moment he died, each time reopening the wound and bringing up all the horrible emotions he felt when it had happened. Other times it would twist the event and provide him the false hope and relief of returning to the main room and finding his friend, alive and perfectly fine, as if the whole thing never happened.
Sparrow’s eyes moved slowly over the faint outline of the desk light Damon had on his desk as he thought, letting out a quiet sigh as thoughts kept circling in and around in his head.
Damon had left him unrestrained tonight, a small reward for both being able to go through a shower for the first time since returning without heavy retaliation or fighting and for complying with more orders than he usually did. There was a small part somewhere inside him that was grateful for the fact he wasn’t restrained for once during the night, but a bigger part of him hated it because it meant that he was obeying, crumbling under Damon’s training, something he swore from the moment he first awoke in the Keeper’s office that he’d never do.
What good was there in fighting back at this point? If he had listened to the Keepers, so much wouldn’t have happened, so much pain he would have never had endured. He wouldn’t have been a free-for-all amongst the Keepers, he wouldn’t be under Damon’s controlling hand, he wouldn’t have gone to Volkov’s island, Jayden wouldn’t have died.
Tears started to well in Sparrow’s eyes as he continued to trace the outlines of the things on Damon’s desk with his gaze.
It was all his fault.
Jayden had never fought back that hard against the Keepers until that day, and it was all because he had watched Sparrow do it time and time again. If Sparrow hadn’t been hell bent on fighting back, Jayden would be alive right now. He’d be fine.
Maybe it was a mercy though, Sparrow thought, shutting his eyes tight as he felt the tears finally spill from his eyes. He’d forever be upset and angry that Jayden died, that he lost his one and only friend to Logan and this awful system, but maybe it was a mercy. A way out of this horrible cycle once and for all.
Jayden had endured his fair share of abuse here, especially around the time when he died, but he was able to get out before more could ever occur. Worse things Sparrow had unfortunately gone through and would continue to go through. Sparrow had heard some stories about different pet owners, what they did to those they purchased. At the time he heard these stories, before he was with Damon, he didn’t envy those pets, quite fine with the safety netting that the Keepers couldn’t deal out that kind of damage. Now it seemed like he was living out those stories he had heard so long ago, all because he had tried to fight back against the system.
Opening his eyes again, Sparrow eyed the desk for a second before he slowly pushed himself up to his feet, wiping the tears from his eyes.
A mercy, a way out once and for all.
If he could pull it off, Sparrow would be free. He’d never have to go through another Showing again, never have to see Damon or any of the other Keepers again. He’d never have to watch Jayden die again in his dreams. Maybe he’d be able to see Jayden again, getting to be with his friend wherever he ended up after he died. Sparrow didn’t know where people went after they died; maybe they went to a new world, a better world, maybe they just stopped existing entirely. At this point, anything was better than being here.
Slowly, Sparrow made his way over to Damon’s desk, his eyes slowly going void of any emotion as tears silently fell down his cheeks every now and then. Clicking the desk lamp on, he flinched slightly at the light, it taking a second for his eyes to adjust after spending the last few hours in the dark.
He never understood why things were like how they were. Why did he have to be one of so many to get treated so horribly? Why did the Keepers have all the say in everything they ever got to do and feel? No choice in any matter, no say in anything that happened, nothing. If there were only two options on who to be in this world; a pet, whose only job is to serve whoever owns them however they want no matter the cost, or a Keeper, whose job it was to enforce control and dominance over pets, to train them so they could fulfil their purpose, Sparrow would much prefer to be a Keeper. Then that way everything would stop, things would be better. He’d have control over his life.
None of that mattered though, because it was never going to happen, and he wasn’t going to be a pet for much longer. To hell with what he was supposed to be.
He could see the desk more clearly now that the lamp was on. Sparrow’s eyes slowly went over everything on the desk, trying to find something that would serve his purpose. But there was nothing he could use. Damon was an orderly and well kept man, not to mention careful. The Keeper would never leave anything out that could potentially be used against him and if he did, Sparrow would have laughed in his face. The amount of trust Damon would have to have in Sparrow would require a lot more than Sparrow would ever give him, or anyone for that matter.
Damon, Sparrow thought, letting his eyes crawl slowly across the desk again, just to be sure he didn’t miss anything. Why did he ever have to get involved with him? Why did he have to gain the Keepers attention? So much time had passed between Jayden dying and Damon taking over his training. From what he could remember, he hadn’t done anything differently since Jayden died, so why had Damon stepped in? Why did things change?
Why did Damon have to be different?
He was still learning new things about the man, even after all the time he had spent with him thus far. Sometimes things would change, small things, and it always threw him for a loop, but thankfully most things stayed consistent. Even if he grew accustomed to how Damon did things, he’d never fully get used to the pain. So much pain, new pain, new marks, reminders of what Damon could do whenever he wanted. Before he met the Keeper, he didn’t have many scars, the main one being the Warehouse branding mark all the pets got. But now? His body was littered with so many different scars, all with their own story on how they got there.
Sparrow’s head slowly turned to the walls of the office, eyeing a glass picture frame of something Sparrow didn’t know the name of, the faintest of smirks ghosting across his face as an idea formed in his head.
What’s a few more marks on his body, he thought, slowly approaching the picture frame, staring at it for a good long moment. A few more marks added to his body, the defining marks of the final story of his life, once and for all.
Slowly, Sparrow reached his arms up, carefully taking the picture frame in his hands, giving the picture one last look over as his grip tightened around the frame. Taking a step back from the wall, he raised the picture frame before, with all the force he could muster, threw it down onto the ground, flinching ever so slightly at the sound of the glass breaking.
It took him a moment to crouch down, looking over the different pieces of the broken glass, trying to find the biggest piece, the sharpest piece. It didn’t take him long, careful fingers picking up the shard of glass. Standing once more, Sparrow slowly made his way to the middle of the office, his eyes never leaving the piece of glass in his hand, turning it over several times as he looked at it.
This should work perfectly, he thought.
What was the best way to do this? Any way he could think of required time and no intervention, how could he do this quickly? Sparrow raised the piece of glass slightly, his gaze glancing over towards his left arm, remembering a couple times where Damon had used that stupid bullwhip on his back and feeling faint and dizzy afterwards.
“You’re lucky I know how to get blood stains out of the carpet, Songbird, otherwise we’d be doing this in one of the Showrooms, and I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy the audience listening to you scream.”
So many hits with the bullwhip, each one hurting like hell, but he bled, apparently a lot if Damon’s comment was anything to go off of. That must be why he felt dizzy after the Keeper was done, the blood loss. That’s how he could do this, pull it off.
He had to bleed until he couldn’t anymore.
There was no world in which this wasn’t going to hurt, Sparrow knew that. He’d have to go deep, deeper than the bullwhip ever did, and the bullwhip hurt. Despite this, Sparrow was okay with it. He was the one in control here, no one dictating his actions but himself. It was entirely his decision, his will, and no one could stop him.
Eyeing the glass thoughtfully for one final moment, he raised his left arm up, a few more tears falling down his cheeks as his grip on the glass tightened, his expression twisting into a sickening, twisted grin.
“You should have left me restrained, you son of a bitch.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Sparrow’s expression fell as he brought the glass to his arm, right below the crook of his elbow, before pressing down as hard as he could, dragging the shard all the way down to just below his wrist. As soon as the glass broke through his skin, Sparrow let out a sharp hiss through clenched teeth, his arm starting to shake as he watched blood immediately well up out of the wound and start to fall down either side of his arm.
A cracked whisper of a smile slowly worked its way onto Sparrow’s face as he watched the blood drip off his arm, taking a moment to feel the pain of what he’s just done. It hurt like hell, like nothing he had ever experienced, but in a weird way it also felt good. Good in the way that soon all of this would be over, he’d never have to experience this kind of pain ever again, and the fact that the pain he was in right now was because it was his choice, not Damon’s or anyone else’s.
It was entirely his decision and Sparrow couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit happy that, in the last moments he was going to spend here at this fucking place, he was doing something of his own free will, something that he wanted to do.
His right hand started to tremble as he went for a second cut, right beside the first, just as deep. More cuts means more blood, more blood means more bleeding. He couldn’t help but let out a gasp of pain when he dragged the glass through his skin this time, but this was progress, good progress. More and more blood seeped from the open wounds, the carpet by his feet starting to stain with the crimson color.
More cuts, more marks, more blood, Sparrow thought, clenching his teeth as he opened and closed his left hand, watching as more blood came out of the wounds when he closed his hand tight.
His left arm burned from the cuts, but it was progress. Carefully, Sparrow put the glass shard in his left hand, noticing that he couldn’t get as tight of a grip on it like his right hand, but that didn’t matter. He just needed to do two more cuts on his right arm and he’d be done. Surely two cuts on each arm would be enough, right?
Repeating the process, he brought the glass up to his elbow before pressing down as hard as he could, dragging it down his arm towards his wrist. Sparrow couldn’t help but let out a pained noise this time, his left hand shaking more than he would have liked it to as he felt the skin break and tear underneath the glass.
Time and time again, he had to feel the abuse of the Keeper’s who forced him to do awful things. Time and time again he’s had to feel the torture of Damon and his cruel hands with whatever hell he thought up for the day. Time and time again he couldn’t do a damn single thing about it because fighting got him nowhere.
As he was about to make one final cut, Sparrow swayed slightly where he stood, blinking a few times to try and get his footing. Looking down at his feet, the carpet around where he stood was stained in red as blood continuously dripped from his arms. If he was getting dizzy though, it meant what he was doing was working. Just one final cut.
As Sparrow dragged the glass shard down his arm one last time, his left leg buckled, causing him to stumble down to one knee, the glass curving from its original straight path down his arm. He let out a curse as he did his best to readjust his position on the floor, now sitting on his legs before letting the glass fall from his hand as he held out his arms in front of him, looking them over.
More and more blood poured from the cuts, his arms trembling from the pain and from the loss of blood, but despite this, all Sparrow could do was smile. Thinking about dying, at least in the past, had scared him to a degree, but right now? The only emotion he felt was happiness. He was happy he was finally getting out of this place, away from everything, hopefully to see his friend again. And he was entirely under his own control. No Keeper forcing him to do anything. He finally got to take control of his own life in his final moments. A perfect ending to his final story.
Sparrow’s vision started to swim, black spots starting to form around the edges as he felt his body start to sway back and forth a bit. His arms started to get heavy and he just let them fall, shutting his eyes as his body followed suit, slumping to the office floor.
Jayden had told him about stories when he was alive, he even told Sparrow about a few he had been thinking about writing if he had ever made it out of this place. Sparrow couldn’t help but think of it, about the magical place Jayden had described to him. Maybe that’s where Jayden ended up, even though Jayden had said his story wasn’t real. Who knew what happened to a person when they died, maybe they ended up in magical places like the one his friend had made up. Hopefully though, if he himself were to end up in a new place, a new world, he’d end up in the magical place Jayden told him about, and maybe, just maybe, his friend would be there to greet him once he got there.
Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch,
@whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @flowersarefreetherapy,
@goronska, @blueyellow8green, @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @whumpcereal (if you'd like to be added, let me know!)
To celebrate the upcoming valentines day (and also the fact that there are now over 100 of you out there following me) I'm holding my first free YCH raffle for the whump community!
What's being raffled?
The finished art will be a greyscale rendered sketch of any two characters you want, in the poses seen above. Any body types, outfits, hair, etc. are fine. You can also:
customize the restraints and gag
add injuries/bruises/blood
change the expressions
make it NSFW
add speech bubble/s
Rules:
To enter, please reblog this post. That's all!
You don't have to be following me to enter (but I plan to do more of these, and I post cool whump stuff sometimes so, yknow, you could.)
The raffle will end on February 14th, and one winner will be drawn via a random name picker. The draw will happen around 4pm GMT (10am CST).
I will DM / send an ask to the winner to let them know they've won. They then have 24 hours to confirm, or I'll pick a new name.
[Optional] Add in your reblog tags what character/s you'd like to see in this precarious position!
Thanks as always for enjoying the stuff I post here. And good luck to everyone who enters! 🦎
