Hi again everyone. Um, I don’t have a ton to say except this is your first official look into Dew’s mind and next up will be Drop. Also this comes before the second chapter, but I wrote it third, and I’m very sleepy. So how should I number thsi? I’m confused. I think I should probably say 1.5 or something like that but not sure. But anyway, without further ado, let’s get on with the story.
CW: slavery, lady whumpee, being sold, anxiety attack, forgetting to breath, selective mutism, brief fear of death, vampires
— — —
Dew had woken up early today.
She and Drop were being sold again today and they had to look good. The farm hands had done the job of making sure they were pretty enough to be bought, now they had to make sure they were pretty enough to stay.
As she styled her hair, Dew looked over at the still sleeping figure of her Drop. He had become more and more lax with his appearance and attitude lately. She had thought that it was just because he was very comfortable around their last Mistress, but he was still acting this way. She hoped that he’d at least stop once they were at their new owner’s house.
Speaking of, Dew really tried tried not to worry so much, but she couldn’t help wondering what this new vampire would be like and how lenient he’d be. All she knew was that he was a he and that he didn’t live among other vampires but rather in his own apartment. Of course she didn’t know much about the world, but that didn’t sit well with her. What was he hiding?
What would he do to them when no one else was around to stop him?
Before she realized it she could barely breathe and Drop was at her side rubbing her sides, trying to ground her. She shot him a smile as she recovered from her panic. He returned it. She did a quick look around to make sure no one was near enough to hear them.
“When did you wake up?”
“…heard you. Breathing.”
Dew nodded. Drop hadn’t spoken much since that master. And then Mistress didn’t like noise and Drop would do anything for her. And thus, even though it wasn’t an official order, they were still scared to break it and the silence had continued. Dew hoped this new master would allow them both to speak freely. She knew Drop still wouldn’t, at the very least not at first, but having the ability to gave them both comfort. Distracted from the fact their owner could kill them at any time and they were powerless to stop it.
- - -
“Okay, you’re all set then, sir. They’re ready for you in the back. I’ll call them in.”
Drop could hear the farm worker talking to the man who bought them. He seemed like a good person. Gentle too. If only they were his and not his friend’s.
Drop nudged her and she was pulled from her thoughts. The attendant was already standing in front of them and gave a warm smile.
“You ready to go to your new home, girl?”
Dew nodded and the employee clipped a leash to her and Drop’s collar and lead them to the front. Just before handing the leashes off to the other vampire, the farm hand leaned down to whisper in their ears.
“This is your fourth home in six years. Try to make sure I don’t see you again, mkay? I don’t know who else we’ll be able to convince to buy you.”
And with that, they were off. Off to their new home, for better or quite possibly for worse.
— — —
Tag list: @kim-poce @badluck990 @whumpy-writings @imagination1reality0 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @wolfeyedwitch @thecyrulik @nicolepascaline
my contribution to Spiral Day, started by @brutal-nemesis
Did I cry while writing this? Absolutely, it was like Niagara Falls over here. This is probably one of the most emotionally draining pieces I’ve ever written. It took me several different sessions, spread out over quite a few days, to get it completed. It’s also one of those where I feel like it’ll never be really and truly ready, so here it is anyways. I hope y’all enjoy it because this was one piece that I was extremely nervous to post and share.
Taglist: @newbornwhumperfly @unicornscotty @itsleighlove @whump-scribbles @getyourwhumphere @skunkandgrenade @penny-for-your-whump @lektric-whump @just-a-whump-lover @thelazywitchphotographer @restrainthenmaime @angstyachesplus @lilbitwhumpy @leaderofthebeanarmy @aquard-skaii @whumprincess @thatgaysnail @finaldreams1106 @reveriedeludesme @kemonoinuzuka @circlingravens @whumpasaurus101 @spicy-wendigo @femmewithadhd @wafflestakethecake @lonesome–hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump let me know if you want to be added/removed!
CW: thoughts of death, like so many thoughts about death, that’s basically the entire piece, acceptance of death (not in a suicidal way, more in a “I’m okay with dying” type way), beating, painful wound cleanings, noncon touching (nonsexual), implied death (but no real death), referenced grief, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, pet whump, being sold, noncon drugging, please please please let me know if I missed anything, this is a rather heavy piece and I want to make sure everyone can read it as safely as possible!
Masterlist
-
He was laying there, unable to move, every single inch of his body aching, a pain he’d never experienced before. Distantly, as if from another life, he heard screams, sobs, pleas that went unanswered. He wanted to move, to get up and comfort the person that had become his entire world, but he was stuck; he couldn’t move a fraction of an inch, no matter how hard he tried.
Soon enough, the horrible sounds of grief and guilt and death were replaced by the shallow, near-silent rattle of his own breath and the pounding of blood in his ears. He knew there was something important that he needed to do, something that he knew his life depended on, but he couldn’t remember what.
So instead, he just stayed there, his broken body sprawled out on the hard floor, blood pooling out from under him like a halo of death.
-
There was movement around him, stirring him from the half-conscious daze he was in, delirious from pain and blood loss. He blinked slowly, vision so blurry he couldn’t make out a thing, surprised to find his eyelashes meeting something wet.
Am I crying? When did I start crying?
A hand in his hair pulled his head up, the part that had been pressed into the floor feeling damp and sticky. Dark eyes met his own glazed gaze, and he saw the flash of teeth. He would’ve flinched if he could, but he couldn’t.
“Hey there, sugar,” a low, soft voice said. “You took your punishment so well. Played your part like a champ. Now my sweetheart’s breaking, all thanks to you. I knew you’d be absolutely perfect.”
For some reason, he started crying harder at that. No, he thought, I didn’t want to do this. You made me do this. He can’t break, not now.
Not over me.
The other dropped his head back down, and he went back to drifting, letting all the thoughts fall out of his head.
-
He woke next to the tap tap tap of footsteps. Blinking groggily, he tried to sit up, tried to get up, but the pain lancing through his body prevented him from doing more than rolling over a couple inches.
A shiny shoe resting on his cheek, pressing his head down, kept him from attempting it again. A face settled in his line of sight, and his lip curled.
The Jeweler stared at him for a moment, a pleasant smile on his face. “Hello, sugar,” he said, removing his foot and replacing it with his hand, which stroked his face in a way that made him want to push him off, but his body was still not responding to him.
He swallowed several times before cracking open his mouth. “What-” His voice was rough and hoarse, sending a cough through him. “What did you do to, to me? Where- where is he?” Panic started overwhelming him, crashing over him and pulling him down, drowning him.
He couldn’t remember anything. He had been in his cell, whispering with his world, and then there was nothingness, blankness, emptiness. Tears pricked in his eyes, and he took a shaky, shuddering breath that ended up sounding like a sob.
The Jeweler moved his hand to comb through his hair, still softly smiling. “Shh, shh,” he soothed. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about any of that. You don’t need to remember any of this. What you need is to forget. You’re going someplace new, and you’re leaving all of this behind. Okay, sugar?”
He tried to shake his head, but it was barely more than a twitch. No, no I don’t want that. Please, don’t kill me, don’t make me leave, I can’t leave him, please.
The Jeweler laughed softly. “My silly sugar,” he said, voice dripping with condescension. “Just relax, okay?”
“Please,” he managed to whisper before his head was set back down.
The Jeweler stood, grabbing something out of his line of sight. When he did see what it was, the fat tears rolled down his face even harder. The large needle, filled with a menacing amber liquid, came close to his neck, piercing it easily with him weak and nearly paralyzed. His mouth opened to whine softly at the cold flooding into him, before it withdrew and was left alone again.
His eyes found the Jeweler and he sobbed, begging, “Please, not this, anything but this.” He just smiled.
-
He didn’t so much as wake up next as he did rise to consciousness, suddenly and roughly. Hands, too many hands, were touching him, grabbing him, manhandling him.
A low groan slipped out of him as he tried and failed to open his eyes and he heard a muttered curse.
“It wasn’t supposed to wear off yet, was it?” someone asked in a hushed voice.
“Who cares?” someone else responded. “It’s not like it’ll remember any of this anyways.”
He whimpered and the hands resumed their work. He could feel them harshly cleaning out his wounds, bandaging them up. The people surrounding him were thorough, his gently throbbing muscles telling him that much, and it felt like an eternity before they were done.
He sighed as they set him back down, ready to slip back off to oblivion, but then they were back, pulling at his clothing, taking it off-
He yelped as the cold air hit his sensitive skin, struggling against the hands. Weak as he was, it barely affected them, but he still heard several more curses as flailing limbs knocked into them. A backhanded slap had him stilling, though, knocking all the fight out of him and leaving him even more dizzy and disoriented than he was before.
He let them pull new clothes onto him, although they felt less like clothes and more like scraps of cold, thin cloth that barely covered him. He shivered and whimpered, high in his throat, face burning, desperately wishing he was anywhere else in the world.
Another voice joined the fray, this one too painfully familiar. “Is he ready?”
A chorus of “yes, sir”s followed, and then hands grabbed at his arms, lifting him up and dragging him along. His head rolled wildly, completely out of his control.
After what felt like an eternity, he was dropped yet again onto cold floors, crumpled in a heap. He whimpered as his head knocked against the hard tile, eyes struggling to stay open.
Distantly, he heard the Jeweler barking orders. He let the words wash over him, floating around him, unable to pierce his drug-induced bubble of semi-consciousness.
Instead, he let his thoughts drift back to him. The him that had started all of this, that he’d known since day one, that had helped him and held him, guided him and encouraged him. The him that had loved him. The him that he had loved.
It took him several moments to realize that he was crying again, silent, salty tears dripping down his face, causing the small cuts littering his skin to burn faintly. He knew he was about to die. He wasn’t scared. Angry, yes. Sad, yes. But scared? No, he wasn’t scared of death at all.
He used to be scared of being stuck in this hell on earth for the rest of his life, of never escaping, always stuck in this stasis. Now, he was scared of leaving him behind, not knowing what was going to happen to the person he was about to die for. Wherever he went after this, he didn’t want him to follow very quickly.
No, he wanted him to escape, to forget, to live. He wanted him to find someone else, someone new, to make him happy, who understood and forgave. Maybe one day he’d tell this new person about the old one, the one who had been sacrificed to get him there.
There was only one regret he had. The one thing they’d sworn never to say, he wished he had said. And he wished he had heard it in return.
I promise, if I make it out of this, the first thing I’ll do when I escape - when, not if - is find you and tell you that I lo-
He was yanked out of his thoughts by hands grabbing him, lifting him. One last tear rolled down his face, into his hairline. He took a deep breath, one of his last. He felt ready to die. He didn’t mind dying, not for this reason.
He wondered, vaguely, how he would go. Would it be a bullet? Fire? Knife? Poison?
It was none of those things.
He was placed inside a large wooden box. His hands were easily tied behind his back with what felt like silky ropes, and his ankles were forced together with the same material. A cloth gag was placed in his mouth, securely fastened around his head. He blinked slowly, confusion evident on his face. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.
Somewhere above him, the Jeweler stood, seen through flashes of dark hair and pale skin, sparkling teeth and bright eyes. He reached down into the box to cup his cheek, stroking a smooth thumb over his skin, pressing lightly into a blooming bruise there.
“Just a bit beat up, right, sugar?” he said, almost.. gently? “By the time you get there, you’ll be nearly back to full health, I dare say.” There? Where was there? “Just close your eyes now, and stay calm, alright? You’re doing such a good job here, making me a wonderful sum along with a new business associate. You’ve really been the perfect Jewel for me, sugar.”
The hand withdrew, and he almost found himself missing the warmth of it when the light above him was cut off, something large being placed over the top of the box. It wasn’t until a painfully loud whirring sound started that he realized that it was the lid, and it was being drilled down, secure and unable to be broken.
Then the box was being lifted into the air and he went rolling as much as he could, unable to stop himself due to his restrained limbs. There was a hard thump and he banged his head against the side of the box, immediately losing consciousness.
-
When he woke up next, he was still in the box. It seemed like it was in some sort of plane, gliding smoothly through the air, occasionally tilting to one side or the other. He breathed in a ragged breath, most of his memories coming back to him. As he struggled to pull himself up into somewhat of a sitting position, he remembered three things, three very important things:
One. His name was Carnelian. He’d all but forgotten the name he had before that. The name that mattered was Carnelian.
Two. He was supposed to be dead, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was being sold, shipped off to God knows where, to God knows who.
Three. He had to get back to Sapphire. He had to find the love of his life again, rescue him and tell him that he loved him.
WNBA team Atlanta Dream, co-owned by Kelly Loeffler, is close to being sold, league says
WNBA team Atlanta Dream, co-owned by Kelly Loeffler, is close to being sold, league says
WNBA team Atlanta Dream, co-owned by Kelly Loeffler, is close to being sold, league says
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Stillwater Mining Co., owner of Montana mining operation, being sold to South Africa company for $2.2 billion - Fri, 09 Dec 2016 PST
Stillwater Mining Co. officials say the company will be acquired by South Africa’s Sibanye Gold Limited for $2.2 billion.
Stillwater Mining Co., owner of Montana mining operation, being sold to South Africa company for $2.2 billion - Fri, 09 Dec 2016 PST
