I’m so scared to post this 👍 but guess I’ll die 🤷
Please don’t hate me—
«I can’t» refers to him not being able to help himself.
«I’m sorry» refers to him apologising to no one in particular (in self-blame)… yeah…
This is not related to the prev art! Inspired maybe, but not related.
«What happened to him?» Ehhh… I don’t… know…… 😬 it just happened I guess.
A whumpee begging for the pain to stop—but it’s their own body they’re begging against. “Please don’t spasm again…”, “Please don’t pass out right now,” “Please.”
Bonus points if there’s nothing caretaker can do to help them.
AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 4. Betrayal, 6. Forced to Hurt Someone Else, 13. Crushed, 14. Field Medicine, 16. Amputation, 29. Forced to Choose
Fandom: For All Mankind, Ed Baldwin, f!reader
Summary: When an accident on Jamestown Base leaves you trapped, Ed must make an impossible decision.
Word Count: 3702
TW: Amputation, Heartbreak, Depression, Begging, Betrayal, Language, Implied Age Gap in Relationship
Notes: Thank you to @loverhymeswith for the GIF and ask that inspired this fic! 💖 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event
Takes place between season 2 and season 3
Even before he opened his eyes, Ed heard the screaming. It was a high-pitched keen of agony that was reverberating all around the tight enclosed space. And while he knew he needed to get up—to go investigate—the back of his head was throbbing so fiercely that he didn’t even want to open his eyes for fear of making it somehow worse. All he wanted to do was sink back into the dark numbing abyss and sleep off the pain.
“Get this goddamn thing off me!”
Ed’s eyes snapped open before quickly recoiling from the light. However, he blinked away the pain and forced himself up onto unsteady feet. All desire to succumb to unconsciousness evaporated the moment he heard your agonized voice and realized it had been you screaming this whole time. Instead, a fresh wave of adrenaline and dread pushed him forward towards the crowd of people on the other side of the room.
As the other astronauts noticed him approaching, they silently moved aside, everyone avoiding his gaze. And it was then that he finally saw you.
You were lying on your back in a pool of blood that was slowly growing larger. At first glance, you seemed relatively fine. There were some small cuts on your face and arm but nothing that would put you in the kind of agony he had heard moments before. But then Ed noticed your left arm disappearing beneath a pile of twisted metal beside you. He had no idea where the debris had come from, however, it had clearly trapped your arm beneath it.
Your face was pinched in pain but as soon as you saw him standing there, it softened slightly. “Ed,” you moaned, reaching out toward him with your freed arm. He quickly knelt down and took your hand in his. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” he asked incredulously. “You’re the one currently pinned beneath heavy machinery.”
“Yeah, well, it’s obvious I’m not alright. But you hit your head in the explosion and that can’t be good for you, old man.” You were trying to stay upbeat and your usual snarky self, but underneath the forced levity, Ed could hear the pain and fear in your voice.
“I think we both know there’s not much up there worth damaging,” he joked back, trying to keep the same false lighthearted tone as you were. Squeezing your hand tighter, he added, “But I’ll be alright and so will you. Just wait and we’ll get you outta there.”
You snorted. “Where am I gonna go?”
But then a shiver of pain ran through your body. Your face twisted into an agonized grimace as you squeezed Ed’s hand so tightly he felt his bones crunch in your grasp. However, he made no move to stop you. Instead, he brushed the hair off your face with his free hand and waited for your pain to fade.
Once your grip lessened some and you seemed to relax, Ed murmured, “Hey, I’ll be right back, okay? I just need a minute then we’ll get this figured out. Hold on.”
You nod and reluctantly let go of his hand. As he stood up, Ed grabbed the closest person to him and pulled the young man across the room so they were out of your earshot. The man seemed flustered and unsure of why he had been dragged away, but Ed put up a hand before he could speak.
Glancing down at his suit, Ed saw his patch read “N. Corrado” and after scouring his still foggy brain for a moment, he remembered you mentioned your friend Nick was coming to the moon on the next rotation along with the supplies. Considering this man had just arrived two days earlier and was the only astronaut Ed hadn’t recognized, he was pretty sure he must now be speaking to your friend.
“What happened? Start at the beginning.” Nick opened his mouth but Ed interrupted once more. “I need the quick and concise version.”
And that was what Nick gave him.
They had been trying to update Jamestown and expand the base with new equipment they had just received from Earth a few days ago. Ed had obviously known that part. But what was news to him was that while trying to install the new air system, one of the oxygen tanks exploded, damaging not only the new system but the equipment around it as well. The team managed to throw up the emergency shields so the base wasn’t in danger of depressurizing or losing air, but there had still been two injuries in the accident.
One of the pieces had been thrown off and hit Ed in the head—hence his headache and unconsciousness—and they had carefully moved him to the other side of the room so he was out of the way while they dealt with the real problem…you.
You had been right next to the tank when it exploded, sending you, the remains of the tank, and several other parts of the base flying across the room. It was a miracle the debris had only landed on your arm and not the rest of you, otherwise they would be planning a funeral rather than an extraction.
Ed took in everything Nick said with a growing dread in his chest. That equipment was incredibly sturdy and heavy to ensure it could withstand the deadly conditions on the moon. If there was a leak or crack in any of it, it could mean the death of the entire base. Because of this, the metal was three times thicker than necessary just to be on the safe side. This was why everything had to be moved with loaders and other transportation equipment—all of which were too large to fit inside the base itself. And since you were currently pinned in one of the inner rooms of the base—
Another one of your wails filled the room as the rest of the crew tried again in vain to remove the debris. Ed buried his head in his hands, wishing there was something he could do to stop your pain. But falling apart wasn’t going to help you. Right now, you needed him to suck it up and be the leader he had been sent on this mission to be.
So, taking a deep breath, he looked at Nick and asked, “So, what have you been trying to do to free her? Can we just turn the gravity off so we can push it off her?”
Nick shook his head. “We still don’t know how much damage the explosion caused. There’s a chance if we turn the gravity off, we won’t be able to turn it back on.”
Ed scrubbed his hand over his face. “Well, what about the saws we use for moon rocks? Can we cut the metal into smaller pieces and move them off?”
“We tried but it didn’t work on the metal.” But then Nick hesitated and Ed could see he wanted to say something else.
“What? What is it?” When Nick still didn’t reply, Ed took a step forward and growled in his face, “Corrado, we are not leaving her there to bleed out, so tell me what you are thinking.”
Nick swallowed heavily, then mumbled, “I’m not saying we leave her. Well…Not all of her.”
The meaning of Nick’s words hit Ed like a punch to his chest. Clenching his jaw firmly, he shook his head. “No. No, we’re not doing that.”
Nick bowed his head. “Sir—”
“No! We are not cutting off her goddam arm! Do you understand me?”
“I do,” Nick muttered meekly. But then he took a deep breath, raised his head, and looked Ed straight in the eye. “But I don’t think you understand, Commander. She’s losing blood and we can’t stop that until we can actually get to her arm. And even then, we can only stop the bleeding temporarily with what we have with us here. Which means she has to go home but it takes almost two days to reach Earth in the emergency shuttle. So we need to get her out of here right now if she has any chance of surviving.”
Having finished what he needed to say, Nick withdrew into himself once more as he averted his gaze from Ed’s. Mumbling softly, he added, “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just….she’s a good friend and the best astronaut we have. I understand how horrible this decision is and if there was any other way…”
Ed sighed. “No, you are right. I was just reacting to the situation without thinking it through. But we don’t have a choice here so we’ll do what we have to in order to save her life…Even if she hates us for it.” Nick squeezed his eyes together tightly, and Ed placed his hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be alright, son. I’ll be the one to tell her. Just…just get the others ready. She’s not gonna take this well.”
Nick nodded and quickly scurried back to where the other crew members were gathered around you. Ed watched him whisper something to the medic whose head shot up and he looked at Ed. Ed nodded his consent before slowly walking over to your side once more.
You smiled as he knelt down beside you, but it was weaker this time. Pain and exhaustion had sapped your will to put on a brave face and seeing that was the final push Ed needed to know he was making the right decision.
Squeezing your shoulder, he said, “You need medical attention as soon as possible. I was hoping…God, I was hoping we had more time or another way, but you’re losing too much blood so we have to take the only option that will free you immediately.”
“You guys had a plan for getting me outta here just like that and you hadn’t done it? What kind of friends…” Your joke died in your throat as you watched Ed bow his head. It took a moment, but Ed felt you tense beneath his hand as soon as you realized what he was saying. Your eyes grew wide and you shrunk away from Ed as much as your pinned arm would allow. “No…you can’t mean…you can’t do that.”
Ed tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Believe me, this is the last resort. We can’t move the metal off of you which only leaves us with one option.”
“No, Ed, please! If you take my arm…that’s the end of my career. They’ll never let me in space ever again.”
He shook his head sadly. “It’s better than the end of your life if I don’t. I’m sorry. If there was any other way—”
“No! Don’t! Please! Ed…Ed, if you love me, you won’t do this.”
Ed felt every eye in the station suddenly focused on him. There of course had been rumors about the two of you—the hotshot commander and his brilliant prodigy—but there had never been any proof…until now. For two years, the two of you had managed to keep your relationship a secret but now the cat was out of the bag. However, he didn’t have time to deal with it right at that moment. Once he got you free and home safely, then he could worry about the repercussions of your relationship. Right now all he could focus on was saving your life.
Brushing a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, Ed murmured softly, “It’s because I love you that I have to do this. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
He nodded at the medic who had just stepped up next to you. The medic drove the syringe he had prepared while you and Ed were talking into your arm even as you thrashed and begged for him not to. Almost instantly, your body fell limp and your eyes rolled back in your head as the tranquilizer took effect.
For a moment, an eerily silence filled the base. All eyes were still turned to Ed, waiting for him to give the final confirmation that they should proceed. What needed to happen was horrible enough, but the fact Ed had to be the one to make that call, that he had to say the words that would change your life forever, was almost too much to bear.
Leaning over, he pressed his lips against your sweat-drenched forehead and said a silent prayer to a God he hadn’t believed in for over a decade. Then, turning to the crew, he mumbled, “Do it.”
Unable to watch what happened next, Ed turned his back to everyone and walked to the other side of the room as one of the saws buzzed to life. Even without looking, he could hear the pitch change as the saw began to bite into your flesh and bone.
Ed had tried to visit you every day since the two of you had landed in the escape pod and you were rushed into surgery but there had been one complication after another. Your body was still used to the conditions on the moon after having been stationed there for the past three months. Even a completely healthy body took time to readjust from that, but yours had been traumatized before reentering the atmosphere only to be then thrown into the immediate chaos of anesthesia, operations, and pain. It was no wonder they almost lost you on the table three times but somehow, mercifully, you pulled through in the end.
It took almost a full day for you to wake up after surgery but when you did and saw what had been done to you, you lost it. According to the report, it took three nurses to keep you from ripping out your IVs and tearing your stitches. It even got to the point where they had to sedate you for your own safety. And Ed had to learn all of this secondhand.
He had been examined to make sure everything was alright from where he hit his head, but then they had forced him from the hospital. Apparently, word had already gotten back to Earth before the escape pod had about his relationship with you and it was determined he should be kept far away from your recovery until there was an investigation to make sure no improprieties had led to the accident. But thankfully, Molly was slipping him any information she could on your well-being.
However, every update he got just broke him more and more. This shouldn’t be happening, not to you. You…who was on the path to lead the human race to Mars and beyond as the most talented and intuitive astronaut he had ever trained. You…who had been dreaming of exploring the vast unknown of space for longer than you could remember. You…who had turned his life around when he was spiraling into his own personal blackhole and rekindled his love for his job.
You……who he had fallen hopelessly and completely in love with.
It seemed impossible that not so long ago you were both lying naked in his bed, your head resting on his heaving chest as you leisurely ran your fingers through his damp hair. The two of you had talked about what would happen after this mission including the very real possibility of moving in together, consequences be damned. Ed had never seen you so happy or peaceful.
But now—
Five days after returning to Earth, Ed was finally told you had been taken off the sedatives and he was given permission to visit you. As he walked down the empty halls towards your room, he briefly wondered if Shane had taken his last breath in a place like this. So sterile. So white. So cold and unfeeling. God, he hated hospitals!
Reaching your room, he paused outside your door as he got his first glimpse of you since returning to Earth.
Your left arm had been severed just below your elbow and layers of gauze covered the end so Ed was unable to assess how well the surgeries had gone. You were hooked up to several machines to help you readjust to being back on Earth as well as ones you needed after your operations. All of it seemed fairly standard and not too concerning. But your eyes…your eyes were a different matter.
Ed had first fallen in love with your eyes. Not the color or anything like that, but the flames blazing within them. It was a fire that burned as brilliantly as the brightest star, born out of determination and drive. And quickly, he had become addicted to your light.
But now when he looked into your eyes, there was nothing. Just the cold emptiness of space.
However, he tried his best to push that thought aside as he stepped closer. “Hey, sweetheart. You feeling up to a visitor?”
You made no indication that you had heard him. You just continued to stare out the window with that same blank, emotionless gaze. It wasn’t an invitation in the slightest, but you also hadn’t told him to fuck off and leave you alone as Ed had expected, so he slowly stepped into the room.
As he came around the side of the bed and into your line of sight, your eyes shifted slightly to avoid looking at him yet you still didn’t turn your head or make any move to hide from him. Once again, a fairly promising sign.
Ed sat down on the far end of the bed, his hand resting just a or so inch from your blanket-covered legs. He smiled softly as he asked, “How are you? I-I wanted to come see you as soon as you got outta surgery but they said…they said it wasn’t a good time. But, uh, Molly says the doctors think you’ll be able to leave by the end of the week. That’ll be nice, huh? Getting to go home to your own bed?”
You didn’t move or make any acknowledgment of his words so Ed changed the subject in the hopes of sparking some reaction. “And I know it won’t be the same, but I’ve already talked to Margo and she has a few positions in mind for you once you’re ready to come back to work. Obviously, you’ll need some time but just because you can’t go back to space doesn’t mean your career at NASA is over. You can work in Mission Control, or become one of the instructors, or Margo said you might even qualify for Chief of the Astronaut Office. I guess that would make you my boss, then.” Ed forced a chuckle as he tried to keep the mood upbeat. “It’ll be nice to work together again, even if in different positions. They know about us now—after what you said at Jamestown I couldn’t hide it—but I think it’s gonna be alright. A little slap on the wrist but nothing I can’t handle. So once you come home, we can start on those plans we had. Maybe find a new house or apartment. You know, a fresh start for both of us. I think that’d be good—”
“Please, Ed. Just go.”
Your whispered words washed over him like a freezing rain. “Sweetheart, I—”
“Please. Leave me alone. Go and don’t come back.” You squeezed your eyes together tightly as tears began slowly streaming down your face. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”
Ed felt his world shatter around him. He knew you would be upset that he had made the call to amputate your arm, that it would take time for things to go back to the way they were—if they ever did at all. He had even prepared for the possibility you wouldn’t want to see him right now. But he never imagined you would want to cut him out of your life completely.
Sliding over so he was seated right next to your uninjured arm, he said, “Listen, I can’t even imagine how you are feeling right now but I’m here for you. I wanna help however I can and I know you’re gonna come back from this. Just don’t cut me out—”
“Ed, if you’re not out of this room in the next 60 seconds, I’m calling security.”
He blinked in utter shock as he finally realized how serious you were. But, surprisingly, what hurt even more than your threatening to have him forced from the room was the fact that your words and expression were still as lifeless and flat as ever. The you he knew—the you he loved—would have been screaming, snapping, hissing with anger as you threw him from your room. But now? It seemed as if your spirit had been left with your arm back on the moon.
“Okay. I’ll go.” Leaning over, he pressed his lips against your forehead and whispered, “But you know how to find me if you change your mind. Anytime day or night, I’ll be there. Just please…don’t give up on us.”
Ed straightened up, sniffing as he wiped the corner of his eye, and forced himself to walk towards the door. It was killing him to leave you alone like this, so broken and numb, but it didn’t seem as if you were giving him any choice. He just hoped, given time, you would relent and allow him back into your life.
But just as his hand reached for the door handle, you softly whispered from the bed, “There is no us—not anymore. You made sure of that.”
Without turning around, Ed said in a firm, clear voice, “I don’t regret my decision, not as your commander or as the man who loves you. And if we really are done because of what I did, I still wouldn’t change a thing. At the end of the day...there never was a choice. Because I would rather live in a universe where you are alive to hate my guts than one where you loved me but I let you die. And nothing you say will ever make me feel differently.”
And with that, Commander Ed Baldwin walked out of your life—though he still held out the slightest of hope that the door had not locked behind him.
Theo gasped as euphoria rushed through him. He always forgot how the magic crashed against his senses, stifling his mind with its power. It was as strong as a wave from a stormy sea, as hot as a forge. The magic burned out of the Vessel’s body and into Theo’s, setting every single nerve on fire. He had to get it out of his body, otherwise it would consume him.
Theo threw out his hand towards the enemy army. The magic swept towards the soldiers, taking the form of a cloud of flame. Theo could hardly hear their screams over the rushing in his ears. This Vessel had more magic than he had ever worked with before. Theo closed his eyes as his limbs trembled and his skin burned hotter and hotter.
He couldn’t control it.
But if he didn’t give it somewhere to go it would kill him.
He screamed as the magic burned up the side of his body. He had to act now.
Just as the magic was about to overwhelm him he released it all at once, a wall of flames shooting out from him in all directions. His vision went white as the remainder of the magic rushed through his body to find its freedom, no longer content to be bound by flesh.
He collapsed to the ground, chest heaving as his skin cooled, limbs twitching and fingers tingling. His ears rang and his vision was blurry. He took one deep breath, then another, each one filled with the stench of smoke and smoldering flesh. That’s when he realized that his hand was still on the hilt of the knife buried in the Vessel’s chest.
Theo scrambled back with a cry, bloody hands shaking. He couldn’t look away from the corpse of the Vessel he had just killed, his glazed eyes staring blankly at the sky. This was wrong. Wrong. He couldn’t think, couldn’t remember why he had killed that man. His mind was muddled, his thoughts scattered.
He couldn’t think, he couldn’t think.
“You’re okay, Theo,” a voice said. Theo spun around. There was a man crouched before him, his clothes dark and black beard closely trimmed. Theo’s eyes caught on the peak of a tattoo at his wrists.
The man was a Reaper. But he couldn’t for the life of him remember what a Reaper was.
“Who-who are you?” Theo asked.
“Simeon. We’re friends, don’t you remember?”
Theo shook his head, eyes drifting back to the corpse. To the knife in its chest. The knife he had put there. A lump gathered in his throat.
“Are you alright, Theo?” Simeon asked.
Theo burst into sobs. “No,” he finally managed to choke out, “I just murdered a man.”
Simeon shook his head. “No, Theo, you’re confused,” he said softly. “That thing you killed was a monster, not a person.”
Theo stared at the corpse, his brow wrinkling. The body looked human.
“You always get confused after the magic, remember? I have your medicine right here, it’ll help.” Simeon pulled a pouch out of his jacket and loosened the drawstring. Fear slammed into Theo. The medicine was bad. He couldn’t remember why, his thoughts were still too jumbled, but he knew that he didn’t want to take it.
“I-I don’t want it. Please. I don’t want to take the medicine,” Theo said, panic building.
The Reaper sighed. “This is why I hate it when you use a lot of magic,” he muttered. He moved towards Theo.
“No!” Theo yelled, throwing out his hands in front of him instinctively. To his shock, weak sparks shot from his fingers, the final dregs of the dead Vessel’s magic. Simeon cursed and leaped forward, pinning Theo to the ground. He was larger than Theo, stronger too. Theo thrashed around as the last of the magic fizzled out, trying desperately to get away from this man.
“No! No! Please Simeon please I don’t want it please!” Theo screamed. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He didn’t want it, he didn’t want it. His memories were coming back, he knew that once he ingested the drug he would be helpless. Then, Simeon would hurt him.
Simeon dug his fingers into the sides of Theo’s jaw. His grip was painfully tight and he forced Theo’s mouth open. Theo let out a scream of terror. He gagged as the Reaper poured a handful of the bitter white powder into his mouth and shut it.
Within seconds a wave of calm washed over him and Theo’s whole body relaxed, his limbs heavy.
“There you go, that’s better,” Simeon said. Theo smiled up at him, dazed. He couldn’t remember what he had been so upset about before. Whatever it was, it mustn't have been important. Simeon ran a thumb along Theo’s cheek. “I’m here, Theo, you’re safe with me,” he said softly. Theo yawned, suddenly incredibly sleepy.
Simeon helped him to his feet and Theo swayed dizzily. The Reaper caught him against his chest and Theo giggled.
“I feel funny,” he slurred.
Simeon ran a hand through his hair and Theo melted into the touch.
“You’re so cute when you’re high on the smoke plum,” Simeon said affectionately, ruffling Theo’s hair. Theo looked up at him with adoration. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Theo nodded lazily. He leaned against his Reaper as they made their way back to camp, all thoughts of the man he killed forgotten in the haze of the drug.
@whumpzone pspspspsp come get your ‘whumpee thinks caretaker is new master’
Whumpee sniffed, holding back tears. They stared into the soapy water, happy that the suds could keep the shaking of their hands hidden.
A new master meant that there would be new rules. New behaviors to learn, new ways to please.
New punishments.
They wished they could hear Master’s thoughts, that they could read his mind or tell the future to know what he wanted. They would have to mess up to learn, mess up to be told how they were expected to behave. There would be punishments and tears and pain before they could even try to be good. It was listless, terrifying to know there were holes that there was no way to avoid until they had fallen in at least once.
And how they wish it would only have to be once.
Tears slipped down their cheeks silently and plipped into the water.
Caretaker stood a few steps back, aware that Whumpee hadn’t noticed them yet. He had done this before, had helped people that stuffed the same way that Whumpee had. This was a rough time, everything scary and new. He shuffled some papers lightly, not wanting to startle Whumpee.
Whumpee’s head snapped towards him before realizing that they were crying. They grabbed a rag to dry and their hands and their face. Caretaker kept his distance, knowing they needed space.
“Hey, whumpee; are you alright? It’s okay if you’re not. Remember, you’re allowed to want things and need things.”
Whumpee nodded, they remembered what they had been told. Did they believe it? Well…
Caretaker took a step closer. “Is there something you need?”
Their bottom lip trembled, tears building. Yes, yes there was something that they needed so, so bad.
Whumpee turned to look at him, getting on their knees.
“Please,” they started, terrified but barely hopeful. “Please Master. I’d never beg not to be punished or to be forgiven, but, but- but mercy, please. I want to try, I want to be good for you. I will try, I’ll try my best but I’m sorry I’ll fail. I don’t want to, I want to be perfect for you but i don’t know how yet. Hnng, please Master, if I could, just….”
Their voice died out and Whumpee shivered, putting their forehead to the ground. There, they’d done it now. It was all in Master’s hand, and they wouldn’t dream of ever disobeying intentionally. But, but at least he knew they would try.
Caretaker took a step back, heart breaking in his chest. He’d known, he’d seen whumpees before that desired this, that would cry for it - but he had never seen one so aware, so willing to come right out and say it. They were so small, so weakened but also well-spoken and intelligent.
He knelt down and put a hand on the back of whumpee’s head.
“Of course, Whumpee,” he murmured, feeling them tremble. “Of course you can have that. You, you can have anything.”
Whumpee’s heart leapt. Mercy, they would be given mercy.
As soon as Kensington saw him he began to rush through his chores so he could go to his room for the night. He was halfway through sweeping when he heard his master’s voice from the living room.
“Kensington! Get in here!”
Kensington cringed, his heart starting to race. He quickly put the broom away and left the kitchen, his mind running through anything and everything he could’ve done wrong that day.
He didn’t go outside. He only ate what Master said he could. He did all his chores, the TV stayed off, he didn’t answer the door when someone knocked, what could Master possibly be mad about?
He took a deep breath before he entered the living room. Master was sitting on the couch, red faced and reeking of alcohol. He glared at Kensington.
“Yes, Master?” Kensington asked from the doorway.
“I said come here.”
Kensington didn’t hesitate before walking forward and stopping in front of his master. He’d learned his lesson about hesitating.
Master looked up at him with red rimmed eyes. “Where’s dinner?”
“I…” Kensington furrowed his brows. “I-- you said not to make dinner tonight. That you were going out…?”
“Do I look like I went out to eat with my boss, Kensington?”
“Well you...you came home late so I thought--”
“You didn’t!” Master pointed at him. “The issue is that you didn’t think. If you were thinking you would’ve seen that I obviously didn’t come home from a celebratory dinner with my boss because I was passed up on the promotion!” Kensington flinched as Master began to yell. “And you only have one job in this house and you can’t even do that right!”
Kensington took a steadying breath before speaking again. “I’m sorry Master. If--if I had known--”
Master suddenly stood, staggering on his drunken legs. Kensington took a short, panicked step back and his heart dropped.
The last time he backed away from his master, he’d been beaten so badly that he’d had his ribs broken for the first time. His heart began to pick up as he thought about the pain he’d been in for weeks after as Master continuously denied him medication. Master and Kensington stared at each other, both frozen.
Then a smile crept onto his master’s face.
“W--wait Master, no please I -- I didn’t mean to--” Kensington stuttered. He tried to keep himself still no matter how strong the urge to run away was. “Please I really really didn’t mean to--”
“Kensington, you know you’re not supposed to pull away from me,” Master said with a smile. “We’ve talked about this, haven’t we?”
Kensington remembered a lot more pain than talking. Tears stung his eyes. “Master, please, please no--”
“Should you lose your other pinky for this?”
And Kensington ran.
He didn’t even realize what he’d done before he was in his room with the chair propped against the door. He broke down in sobs, his hand covering his mouth. Oh. Oh no. He’d had his ribs broken before just from stepping back not from running away. If Kensington was going to lose his other pinky before then Master was going to kill him now--
Sudden banging on the door made Kensington sob with the realization. He clutched his chest, his eyes squeezed shut as Master began to yell. Violent sobs ripped through his chest and made him nauseous with the power of them. Master really was going to kill him this time. He’d crossed a line he couldn’t un-cross and Master was livid and drunk and Kensi he’s really going to kill you you’re gonna die you’re gonna die you’regonnadie--
“KENSINGTON!” Master screamed, the door rattling. Kensington whimpered, pressing himself against the wall. Tears streamed over the hand pressed to his mouth as he tried desperately to breathe. “Kensington you open the door right this second or I’ll cut off your whole hand and leave you outside to bleed to death! Do you hear me?!”
Kensington shook his head, taking the hand off his mouth to gulp air around his coughs and cries. What had he done what had he done oh what had he done? There was no way out, no way to win this. He was totally trapped. His master would eventually get inside and have no mercy for his stupid slave.
“Kensington I said open the door!” The banging on the door continued, the doorknob rattling. A loud crack sounded and made Kensington back away in a panic. The banging stopped, but he knew he didn’t have a lot of time.
He turned to the window. Master had bolted it shut after Kensington had snuck out months ago, but he still gripped it with both hands, pushing upwards and praying that it would open. But it stayed down, not budging a bit no matter how desperately Kensington pulled. The pounding on the door behind him didn’t stop and eventually his knees gave out, leaving him a gasping and shuddering mess on the floor.
The pounding stopped, and the only sound in the house was Kensington’s desperate and hopeless crying. Then: “Kensington, listen to me,” Master said calmly. “Are you listening?”
He paused, so Kensington answered in a broken voice. “Ye-es.”
“Good. Now Kensington, you messed up. Do you understand that?”
Kensington nodded, then, “Yes, Master.”
“So you need to be punished.”
Kensington’s sobbing started anew, fresh tears falling down his face. “I’m sorry Master, please, I’m so sorry I didn’t--didn’t mean to please--”
“KENSINGTON.” He fell silent, biting his fist to keep quiet. “If you open the door right now then I won’t kill you.”
He lifted his head from his arms and stared at the door.
“I won’t kill you if you open the door but you have to open it now.”
Kensington pushed himself up so he was kneeling. He wanted to get up and open the door, but it was like his legs wouldn’t obey him anymore. His chest still shook with small gasps for breath as he forced himself to gather the audacity to speak. “Do you promise?”
It took a moment for Master to answer, but his voice shook with anger when he did. “What?”
“Do you promise not to kill me?” Kensington asked in a small voice.
Master hit the door, causing Kensington to flinch, before he answered in a tight voice. “Yes. I promise. Now open the DOOR!”
Kensington didn’t hesitate again before crawling to the door and pushing the chair out the way. He finally found his way to his feet when Master opened the door and wasted no time taking Kensington by the throat and dragging him out of the room.
The wind was knocked out of him when Master tossed him into the garage, and Kensington had to struggle to breathe. The trip down the hall from his room to the garage wasn’t long, but he knew his throat would bruise with how harshly Master had him in his drunken rage. He tried to get on his hand and knees, but was pushed to the ground again when Master kicked his side, making him cry out pitifully. Master took Kensington by the hair and raised his head off the ground so he could speak in his ear, the alcohol on his breath making Kensington sick.
“You’re not going to get a lot more chances from me, do you understand that?”
Kensington nodded frantically. He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his exposed throat as the threat set in. What did he mean ‘not going to get a lot more chances’? Was he going to throw him out? Take his other eye and ruin him even more? Sell him to the breeders? …Take him to get put down?
He didn’t even realize he was hyperventilating until Master threw his head down on the concrete, making his ears ring and his vision in his one eye go white for a few seconds.
“Shut up with your stupid whining!” He stood up, watching his slave try to orient himself through the dizziness. “Go to the hooks.”
It took a few more moments for the fog to clear in Kensington’s brain enough for him to crawl to the hooks Master had installed in the cement floor, but Master allowed it. At least he had that. Still, that meant that his fear was able to break through as he crawled on trembling hands and knees. The last time he was told to go to the hooks had been around a month ago. When he’d lost his eye.
“Lay.”
He obeyed, laying down in between the hooks so they lined up by his wrists and ankles on either side of him. Master quickly got to work tying Kensington up with the rope on the hooks, pinning down his wrists, chest, and… When Master got to his ankles, he didn’t simply tie them down like he did the last time. Instead, he bent his legs at the knee, forcing his heels to his thighs painfully. He used the rope to tie his ankles to both the hooks by his wrists, and the hooks meant for his ankles, leaving his feet trapped in place by tension, unable to move either direction.
Master then stood and left to the other side of the garage, sifting through a tool box. The sounds of the metal tools hitting each other made Kensington cringe and close his eyes. He tried to breathe slowly and let himself calm down, but the more he waited the more scared he became.
The last time he was here, Master had taken his vision. Stabbed his eye with a ragged shard of glass and rendered him blind on the right side forever. It was the most scared Kensington had ever been in his life, and the most pain he could remember. Was Master going to hurt his other eye? Blind him again or just take it entirely? Pull it out with pliers or burn it with a lighter? Then leave Kensington a worthless blind slave with no way to ever see what punishment was coming, and no way to work and no way to save himself from being put down or worse--
Master stopped rummaging, but Kensington kept his eyes closed. He heard him set something down by his feet, then stand again. He opened his eyes when he felt Master slip a hand under the back of his neck. Kensington flinched violently, his throat already tender from the bruises forming there. But all Master did was slip something under his head so he was propped up.
“I want you to see this,” Master said, going back to Kensington’s feet, where he set down the tool. But he sat in front of it before he could see what it was.
And then he began pushing down Kensingon’s shorts.
He hardly even knew that he’d flinched away and pulled his legs to the side, the ropes pulling painfully at his ankles. He hardly even heard himself shout ‘NO!’ at his Master. The only thing he knew -- the only thought he had was Why would Master do this to me?
Master knew -- he knew -- how terrified Kensington was of that happening to him. That was why he always chose to use the breeders as a threat, why he brought over scary friends to put their hands on him. It was because the fear of being raped far outweighed the fear of whatever his Master could do to him. And then Master was touching his thigh and pushing away his clothes and Kensington had been so scared of other people doing it to him that he hadn’t been considering that it might be his own Master that finally did it--
A harsh slap to the face brought him back enough to hear his Master talking to him. “--not pull away from me Kensington! You stop it and you listen to me! Now!”
Kensington froze, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and focused on his Master.
“I wasn’t doing that. I won’t do that. That’s for someone else to do if you piss me off enough to actually let them. So you stay still and let me get to your punishment or I swear I will call the breeders and give you away tonight you useless waste of space!”
Slave and master stared at each other for a moment as they both tried to calm down. Master soon nodded and reached behind him for the tool.
“Do. Not. Move.”
Kensington swallowed and nodded, his chest burning with anticipation of what was going to happen. Finally, Master showed the tool he had gotten. Or tools. In one hand was a hammer -- which made Kensington nervous enough -- and in the other was a box of nails. Master pushed Kensington’s shorts down again, just so it showed his soft inner thigh.
It felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water over Kensington’s nerves. Oh. Oh. He wanted to beg, to scream, to pull away from the rough hands touching him where he didn’t like to be touched and were about to hurt him in a way he hadn’t even imagined before.
“Master…” Kensington begged softly. Fresh tears poured down his cheeks. “Master I’m sorry, please…”
“No, Kensington,” Master said. He placed a nail on Kensington’s soft skin, and let the hammer hover over it. “You don’t get to beg me, remember?”
And he swung the hammer down.
Kensington’s whole body jerked in his restraints as he screamed. Warm blood flowed from the wound, leaking down his leg and soaking his basketball shorts. He squeezed his eyes shut, sobs racking his chest. Sharp pain radiated through his whole leg, and he had the sudden fear that it could’ve pierced an artery. Could his Master be that careless? Or would he do it on purpose and let Kensington bleed out?
He didn’t get any time to focus on his fears as his master lined another nail up on his other thigh.
“Five more will properly teach you a lesson, don’t you think?”
Kensington’s sobs of fear quickly turned into screams of pain.
Unexpectedly, inspiration has struck to write some more of this! Happy holidays, folks.
---
The door opens, and blinding light washes across Loiral where he lies. Marcus is just a dark and blurred silhouette, but Loiral knows him by his heavy footfalls, and by the easy confidence of his posture, and by the threatening shape of the scourge on his hip. His captor, his torturer. His master.
Loiral's first impulse is to curl up and hide his face, like a useless child. His second is to beg for mercy.
But he has a better option. He knows what behaviour has been rewarded in the past. What the human – his master – wants to see. He desperately, desperately needs to avoid provoking further punishment. In the harsh light of all that it is possible to suffer, grovelling is not so great a hardship.
He expects agony as he asks his so-recently-shattered body to move. But the movement is smooth and easy. His limbs don't fail or falter, only tremble with his fear. The gulf between expectation and reality leaves him disoriented and confused. Still, he rolls sideways off the edge of the low pallet and up onto his knees, the sheet sliding off his body and gathering around his hips. He lets his head hang low enough that his hair – matted and heavy with his blood – rests on the back of his hands where they are braced against the floor.
"How are you healing, drow?"
Loiral hesitates, uncertain how to answer. He is interrupted before terror can nudge him into blurting something out.
"Come here, let me have a look at you."
He crawls obediently across the floorboards to cringe at his master's feet. Fuck humiliation, he will do anything not to be whipped like that again.
Marcus stoops to take one of Loiral's arms, lifting and letting his hand slide down the forearm until his grip tightens at the wrist and he pulls Loiral to his feet. The tug on his aching body makes Loiral gasp, and he expects to be lifted into the air once again. But after a couple of seconds with his feet still in contact with the floor, he remembers to take his own weight. He's tipped one way, then the other, then spun with a hand on his shoulder as Marcus examines his handiwork.
"Very good," the man declares, "That's all looking very healthy."
Loiral finds himself at least a little relieved. It would be worse, he supposes, to end up a cripple as well as a coward and a slave.
“How about the pain?"
"It, uh, there's not much, master," Loiral answers shakily. Not enough, he wonders? Having admitted it, will he be given more? His desperation escapes his throat as a tiny whine before he catches it.
"Ah, and you have not lost the power of speech after all. That's good."
The humour at his expense ought to sting, but Loiral is too exhausted to care. When the tension on his wrist is lessened, he lets his knees buckle and is lowered back to the floor.
"What do you think, will you remember that lesson?"
"Yes master," he all but squeaks, cringing lower against the floorboards. "Yes, I swear, I swear."
"I believe you." Loiral daren't raise his head, but he can hear the lazy smile in the warm, low tone of his master's voice.
"Thank you master," he half-sobs, hoping that it means the 'lesson' won't be further reinforced.
"Things can be better, going forward. Behave yourself, and I will not have to punish you. You want that, don't you?"
"Yes, master. I'll behave, I swear."
"Excellent. Now, I can see that you still need some time to recover, so I won't put you to work immediately. Let's see to your needs, and then perhaps you may accompany me for a little while. What do you think of that?"
"I, uh, I'm grateful," Loiral flounders. "Whatever you want, master, I just, I only want to please you, master."
Marcus chuckles, and it is hard-edged. He goes to one knee, and his strong fingers tangle in Loiral's hair and lift the drow's head. Loiral meets his master's eyes with breathless fear, searching for a cue.
"Hmm." The surfacer's lip curls as he studies his victim. "No, I think not."
Loiral has no words to defend himself with, he doesn't even know what he said wrong. He whimpers and his master laughs again. But more softly.
"Panic not. I am not accusing you of lying to me. I simply think you are confused. You have little interest in pleasing me yet. What you want is merely to avoid angering me, wouldn't you agree?"
"I'm sorry master," Loiral apologises desperately. He's torn between the desire to press himself lower against the floor, and the knowledge that he shouldn't pull away from the hand in his hair. "I'm sorry, I, I can try harder, uhm, I'll, uhm..."
"Hush," Marcus smiles, and Loiral is glad to obey. "You may relax, drow. I am not angry, and I am not intending to hurt you today."
"Thank you master," Loiral breathes.
"I have taught you with fear, it is no surprise to me that it is fear that motivates you. ... But perhaps you are still too shaken for philosophy, poor thing."
The grip on his hair is released, and Loiral remains frozen in place, paralysed by eye contact and the acute awareness of how easily those hands can inflict agony.
"Never mind it. Simply come downstairs and follow my orders, and you need worry about nothing else for now.
There is a terrible comfort in that.
Downstairs, Loiral drops back to his knees without needing to be told.
"Stay there," Marcus confirms. He fills a pewter mug from a pitcher, and brings it to Loiral.
It feels unnatural for Loiral to lift his head while so scared and so wretched. He hesitates, and Marcus does it for him with two fingers under his chin.
"Drink," comes the order. The water is cool and clean.
When the mug is empty Marcus turns away again, and returns with a square of dense fungus cake.
"Eat." He breaks off small pieces, and brings them directly to Loiral's mouth. Loiral eats, and barely spares a thought for the humiliation. He is so very hungry, and the food goes down easily.
After the food there is more water. It is good.
And then,
"How are you feeling, drow?"
"I don't know, master," Loiral answers honestly. He has no words for the shivering emptiness in his head.
"Hmm."
Silence stretches, and Loiral aches with fear. 'I don't know' isn't good enough. The nightmare is unending and there is no way out. His chest heaves. Uncontrolled shudders race through his body.
"If you do as I command, I will not need to hurt you like that again," Marcus tells him softly.
"I'll do everything you command," Loiral promises. "I'm sorry I disobeyed you, I'm so sorry."
"That punishment is over. Do you understand? Look at me, I want to see your eyes."
Loiral lifts his gaze. His breath keeps catching in his throat. What is he expected to say?
"It is done. Paid for in full. I am not angry any more. It is like I said – though I cannot blame you if you do not recall the details of that conversation – I understand why you had to try and run from me. I have caused you a lot of suffering, of course you want to escape me.
"And you understand that I had to punish you harshly, so that when the thought next occurs to you, you will remember that it is not worth the consequences. But the lesson is taught, and there is no need for me to hurt you further. It is behind us now. Do you understand?"
There is a logic to it, and Loiral wants to believe. He is so, so helpless against Marcus deciding on a whim to indulge his cruelty. He would far prefer to believe that it won't happen for no reason. But he doesn't.
"Yes master," he nods anyway. "I understand, master."
"Punishment means nothing without mercy to contrast it against."
Loiral simply watches his master woodenly, and after a few moments Marcus smiles again.
"Can I trust you to wash yourself?"
"Master?"
"If I leave you unsupervised with a tub of hot water and so forth, are you able to get yourself clean without assistance?"
"Yes, master." Loiral is wary. What's the catch?
"Good. This way then -- you may walk."
