CWs: beating, drunk whumper, pet whump, noncon touch, creepy whumper
The basement is chilly as usual, but for once, Lynx isn’t cold. They’re curled up in their pet bed, bundled in their new red blanket. Their food and water bowls are full, and they haven’t seen Kennedy in hours. He went out to have Christmas dinner with some friends, which means Lynx won’t see him until tomorrow morning. The promise of solitude is an even better gift than the blanket—although they’re not complaining about either.
Lynx has never celebrated Christmas before. At their last owner’s house, they stayed chained to the hot radiator in the living room, watching Christmas movies on TV while the humans did their little rituals. Everyone in those movies, even the meanest, shittiest people, seemed to be nicer on Christmas. Lynx never really believed that a specific day of the year could make someone nicer; that was just made up for TV. But they’re not sure how else to explain Kennedy’s attitude today. He fed them three meals, didn’t dig his fingers into the sores on their arms, didn’t even snap at them. He treated them more like a regular pet than a punching bag.
Of course, they’re not getting their hopes up. He’ll be back to normal tomorrow. Maybe he’ll even take away their blanket and bed again and leave them freezing in the corner of the basement. But tonight, they don’t have any new wounds, and they drift off to sleep warm and content.
-
The basement door slams open, and Lynx jolts awake. Their heart pounds to the sound of footsteps beating down the stairs. They’re upright before they can even think about it, pushing off the blanket as they scramble out of bed. The lights flicker on, searing their eyes. “Get over here, mutt,” Kennedy snaps.
They stagger to their feet, still squinting. Suddenly Kennedy’s fingers hook through their collar, yanking them off their feet. “I’m not in the fucking mood,” he hisses. His breath reeks of alcohol. Lynx cringes away. “Get on your knees.”
He drops them, and they let their knees hit the floor, tensing their stomach instinctively. Sure enough, his foot drives into their gut and sends them sprawling backwards. The next kick catches them in the ribs, and they curl up to protect themself as the blows rain down. “Son of a bitch,” Kennedy seethes. “That fucking asshole—” The next kick hits Lynx in the stomach, forcing the air from their lungs.
The kicks let up sooner than expected. Lynx takes the opportunity to catch their breath. They remain curled on the ground, arms wrapped around their torso, bracing themself for more.
Kennedy’s catching his breath, too, panting hard. “Ah, shit.” He kneels down, his hand sliding into Lynx’s hair. They flinch, expecting to be yanked upright. Instead, his fingers scratch against their scalp. He sighs, and they hesitantly peek up at him. “Those guys piss me off sometimes,” he mutters. “You didn’t do anything. You’re a good pet, Spike.”
They raise their eyebrows, but stay quiet. He’s drunk, they think to themself. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Their skin crawls as he pets them, but as long as he’s giving them a break, they don’t want to set him off again. Lynx stays put, resting their head on the carpet.
“You’ve been so good today,” Kennedy mumbles, continuing to pet their hair. “I shouldn’t have kicked you, since it’s Christmas and all. I was just a little mad after hanging out with the guys, that’s all …” They stiffen as he drags their head into his lap. They try to squirm away, but his grip tightens, pulling at their hair. He doesn’t seem mad about it, though, so they reluctantly stay still. “I promised myself I wouldn’t hit you today,” he continues. “I was giving you a break, as long as you didn’t act like a little bastard, and you’re being so good …”
He cups their face, his thumb stroking their jaw, and a shudder runs down their spine. They’re just about to pull away when a shaft of light catches their eye. Hesitantly, they follow it up the wall, all the way to the top of the stairs. The door is open. Kennedy, in his drunken stupor, left the basement door open.
Lynx’s heart flutters. They take a deep breath and brace themself against nausea before nuzzling into Kennedy’s leg. “Aww,” he coos, laughing. “Are you tired? Is that why you’re being so cute?”
“Yeah,” they grumble, “you woke me up.” They have to be careful. Too much attitude, and he’ll get pissed off. Not enough, and he’ll sense that something’s up. They have to keep him distracted.
“Oh, you poor thing.” He sounds mocking, but only a little. His fingers stroke skin-crawlingly through their hair, catching on knots. “Want me to rock you back to sleep?”
“Fuck off.” Lynx slowly pushes themself upright, pressing their cheek into his shirt. It makes them feel sick, drowning in the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body. They’d rather freeze to death than fall asleep on him. They swallow down bile as they rest their head on his chest, faking a yawn. Now, they’re in a better position, leaning sideways to rest against Kennedy’s chest.
He chuckles, hands sliding up to support their back. They halfway suppress a shudder, but Kennedy’s used to that—enjoys it, even. “I’ll never understand why you don’t just let yourself be a lapdog,” he murmurs, breath ghosting against their hair, palms sliding down their waist. “You’ve got the looks for it, when you’re not acting like a little asshole …” His pinky brushes the bare skin beneath their shirt.
Lynx’s stomach riots, and their patience evaporates all at once. They shove Kennedy as hard as they can. He tumbles backwards, and they just barely glimpse the slow, shocked expression on his face before they slam the heel of their hand into his nose. He grunts in pain, and they scramble over him, slipping away from his blindly-grabbing hands as they sprint for the stairs.
They take the steps two at a time, using the handrail to haul themself up. They hear Kennedy growl behind them, maybe at the foot of the stairs already, but they don’t look back. Their feet pass the threshold, and then they grab the door and slam it, fumbling with the deadbolt. Not a second later, Kennedy’s weight slams into it. “Spike!” he shouts. His fist pounds incessantly against the wood, jolting Lynx’s body with each strike. “You fucking bastard, open up!”
The doorknob rattles. Lynx backs away and watches it cautiously. It doesn’t budge. Their heart pounds as they fumble with the chain at the top of the door. The motions are unfamiliar, clumsy; they’ve never locked a door before. They’ve fought and spat at people all their life, but they’ve never done something this brazenly stupid before. They watch the door with amazement, and for all its trembling and shuddering with the force of Kennedy’s struggles, it holds true. He’s locked in.
“Spike!” The pounding continues as Lynx brings themself to attention. They’re out. They need to … they need to … fuck, what should they even do? “Spike, I swear to fucking god, if you don’t let me out right this second, I’m putting you down!” Lynx unbuckles their collar and tosses it on the ground with a satisfying thud. They’re so glad Kennedy never bothered with the padlocked one he always threatened them with. “I’m serious! First thing tomorrow, you’re going to the vet and I’m making them euth—euthan—” Kennedy’s threats become background noise. They consider their thin sweatpants and tank top, and then glance down the hall. “I’m going to kill you!”
Kennedy’s voice recedes as they make their way to the foyer and glance out the window. There’s snow on the ground; of course, it’s Christmas, it’s probably freezing as fuck out there—not that they’ve been outside recently. They have to do some scavenging. Quickly.
The screaming from the basement keeps Lynx on task as they root through Kennedy’s closet. His clothes are too big for them; they have to roll up the sleeves and pant legs, and cinch the belt tight. What the hell do humans wear out in the cold? Hat, gloves? Lynx isn’t used to it. They grab everything they can put on. They find Kennedy’s wallet in his coat pocket and strip it for cash; they’re not making that mistake again. Kennedy’s stench is thick on the scarf as Lynx wraps it around their neck, pulling it up to their face.
“Spike!” The door almost sounds like it’s splintering now. “Let me out, you stupid, evil little son of a—”
A frigid wind blows into the house as Lynx opens the front door. Just for a moment, they stand at the threshold. The cold, dry air stings their nose as they drag it into their lungs. They step out onto the porch. The fresh snow on the railings sparkles under harsh floodlights and gentler, decorative string lights. Lynx has never noticed the snow before. It’s pretty.
They shut the door behind them, and Kennedy’s protests go silent.
-
Box Bastards tag list: @spectral-whumpy-writer @transgender-scout
tag list: @spectral-whumpy-writer @transgender-scout
CWs: pet whump, unconventional restraints
“Merry Christmas!”
Lynx jolts awake, groaning. Their body aches, and their cheek is smushed against the carpet. Something stiff digs into their arms and legs, and there’s more of it wrapped around their head, securing a gag in their mouth. What the fuck happened last night? They struggle to remember as they blink the grit out of their eyes.
Kennedy stands over them in his plaid pajama pants, wearing a Santa hat. “Look at you, all wrapped up and quiet,” he coos, kneeling down to admire his own handiwork. “This is the best present I could ask for.”
They try to say fuck off, but it comes out garbled from behind the gag. As they roll over onto their back, pine needles tickle their cheek. The lights of the Christmas tree twinkle above them. It makes their head ache in a familiar way. Right. Kennedy drugged them, and then …
They glance down and glimpse the shiny lengths of red ribbon crisscrossing their body. Now it’s coming back to them.
Kennedy hooks his fingers through the ribbons and, with a little effort, hauls them upright. Their head swims, but he holds them steady. “Aww, look at you!” He grins, and there’s a plasticky crinkle as he pats the top of their head—that’s when they remember the bow. “Should I keep you like this, or should I cut you loose? Hmm? Will you be nice for me if I untie you?” They growl at him through the gag, and he laughs. “Oh, come on, Spike. That can’t be comfortable.”
It isn’t. Their hands are numb, and the hard plastic edges of the ribbon are cutting into their skin. But they continue to glare at him, unwilling to back down.
Finally, Kennedy sighs. “Well, I probably shouldn’t keep you like this for too much longer, anyway.” He fishes something out of his pocket, and they flinch at the scrape of a switchblade flipping open. “Now, hold still.”
He works slowly, from bottom to top, peeling ribbon out of the deep grooves in their bare arms and untangling the knots around their legs. They stay as still as they can, their breath stuttering every time the blade gets too close.
Unfortunately, the gag is the last thing to go. They spit it out and rub at the sores left on their cheeks. “Fuck you.”
“Hey, that’s no way to talk on Christmas.” Kennedy sets aside his knife and stands up. “And to think, I actually got you a present.” They glare at him, but he holds out his hands innocently. “No, really. If you’re good this morning, I’ll give it to you.”
Their eyes narrow. “You’re fucking with me.” The present is probably … a shock collar, or a whip, or something equally awful. He’d never give them something they actually want.
They’re still wary, but their aching body and dizzy head don’t give them much of a choice. “Fine,” they mutter. “I’ll … be good.” Their tongue tastes bitter, and they can’t tell if it’s from their surrender or from the gag.
“That’s the spirit!” He ruffles their hair. They flinch and bat his hands away, but he’s already distracted again, kneeling by the wrapped boxes under the tree. “Now, let’s see what I got for Christmas …”
Lynx finds a spot by the couch and dozes as Kennedy opens gifts from his friends and family. How did a dick like Kennedy get so many gifts? Lynx didn’t even know that he knew so many people—but, then, they don’t get out of the house much. They half-listen to him murmuring his appreciation over new clothes, bags of fancy coffee beans, and other uninteresting human things. Mostly they’re just relieved that he’s distracted.
“Oh, look, Spike,” says Kennedy, rousing them from their sleep. “My parents sent you some treats! Do you want one?” He shakes the box at them. The image on the front has a biscuit with some kind of sugary, sprinkle-covered coating. Lynx’s mouth waters, but they press their lips together and shake their head. Right on cue, their stomach growls. “Alright, c’mere, Spike.”
Reluctantly, Lynx crawls over to him. It’s only slightly less humiliating that he’s sitting on the floor, too, but the smug look on his face doesn’t make it any better. He pulls a biscuit out of the box and holds it teasingly in front of them. “Open up,” he says with a grin.
“I have hands, you know,” they mutter.
They reach up to take the biscuit, but he catches their wrist and leans in. “I know,” he says. “But you’re being a good little pet so you can get your reward later, and you know how this goes. So open up.”
Their face burns, but they open their mouth. As soon as the biscuit is between their lips, they bite down and yank it away. Half of it falls into their lap, but they grab it and shove it in their mouth. The biscuit is as sweet as it looks, and they practically drool over it, devouring it with embarrassing speed.
Kennedy chuckles and scratches their head. They flinch away, licking the crumbs from their lips. “Good pet. Want another?”
Their stomach still feels hollow, and they can taste leftover sugar on their tongue. They cross their arms and open their mouth.
He looks delighted as he holds out another treat, and they grab it so fast that their teeth graze his fingers. “Hey,” he warns. But his tone softens as he scratches their head again. They’re too busy trying not to choke on the too-big bite to pull away this time. “Alright, no more treats for now. I’ll get you your breakfast in a little bit.”
Still burning with embarrassment, Lynx retreats back to their spot by the couch. The rest of Kennedy’s presents go quickly, and soon the floor is littered with red and green paper and lengths of ribbon that Lynx eyes warily. But Kennedy just tosses it all in a trash bag. Lynx’s sore wrists ache with relief.
Once everything’s cleaned up, there’s just one present left under the tree. With a smug grin, Kennedy brings it over and deposits it on Lynx’s lap. The box is bigger than they expected, but not particularly heavy. For a moment, they just stare. “Aren’t you going to open it?” Kennedy prompts.
They swallow down the dread and slowly rip open the package. They lift the lid and flinch automatically, because they were expecting something horrible, not … something red and fuzzy?
Hesitantly, they pull the thing out of the box, and it unfurls into a blanket. It’s thick, not like the flimsy little one they have on their bed now, and it looks big enough to cover their whole body. All they can do is blink at it, their fingers curling in the soft, plush material.
“Well?” Their stomach jolts at the sound of Kennedy’s voice. “Do you like it?”
When they look up, Kennedy is giving them an expectant look that they can’t read. Their voice jams in their throat. Are they supposed to like it? What’s the catch?
They pause for too long. Kennedy leans over them, and they flinch away, but all he does is remove the empty box from their lap. They’re still holding up the blanket in front of them like a curtain, unsure of what to do with it.
He gives them a teasing grin as he pulls it from their hands. Their stomach jolts in anticipation, but it’s almost a relief. Of course it’s not really theirs. He’s fucking with them, like usual.
Then the blanket settles over their lap, and he ruffles their hair. “You’re so slow,” he chuckles. “It’s yours. Go ahead, use it.”
They raise an eyebrow. “You’re not gonna … kick me in the ribs or something?”
He rolls his eyes and sits down on the couch, his hand tangled in their hair. They unsuccessfully try to squirm away. “It’s Christmas, Spike. I wanted to do something nice for you. But if you’re going to be an ungrateful little bastard about it …” His hand hovers over the edge of the blanket. They tighten their grip on it. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. What do you say?”
They pull the blanket up to their shoulders and lean against the side of the couch. The blanket is so soft, it doesn’t even chafe against the marks on their arms. “Thank you,” they mutter begrudgingly.
He sighs. “You know, I really thought your reaction would be more like those cute pet videos …” He scratches their scalp, making them shudder and duck their head away. “But you’re welcome. Merry Christmas.”
It’s warm under the blanket, and even sitting up, Lynx feels themself getting sleepy. They rest their head against the back of the couch, mostly convinced that Kennedy isn’t going to hurt them right now. “Merry Christmas,” they murmur back.
you know those animal commercials on tv that are meant to tug at everyone's heartstrings? the ones that have sad videos of dirty-looking dogs and kittens that are like "for just $19 a month, you can help us save these poor suffering animals! act now!"
so like... imagine that but in pet whump settings. showing sad footage of abused pets, with messages like "with your help, we can give these poor pets the loving homes they need! donate today!"
(and it's absolutely exploitative, because the message is about rehoming them to less abusive owners, and not ... "hey, maybe having human pets is fucked up regardless, actually")
it’s so interesting thinking about the way people rationalize the treatment of pets in pet whump universes
like my one oc kennedy has a pet who he uses as a punching bag, and they were trained for that purpose specifically, but he would 100% call the cops on someone abusing their non-punching-bag pet.
this is mainly bc of how things work in-universe, where pets/synthetics are genetically engineered, and they’re sold with specific designations that cannot/should not be changed. there’s a common perception that it’s cruel to make a synthetic go against their training or “pre-programmed behavior” (in reality there’s actually no way to program behaviors, but the companies that sell synthetics don’t discourage this misconception).
so it’s okay to beat up a punching-bag pet because that’s what they were trained for, but it’s considered abusive to do the same to a regular pet, because they’re not conditioned for that. likewise, it’s also considered abusive to treat domestic servant synthetics as pets, because again, it’s against their training.
@maximum-ride i come bearing more oc christmas whump
kennedy would have an absolute field day torturing lynx over the holidays. wrapping them up with so much ribbon they can't move and putting them under the christmas tree to watch them squirm. (extra punishment for them if their squirming ends up knocking over the tree!)
kennedy leaving lynx outside until they're freezing cold, and then letting them inside and forcing them to cuddle with him to get warm <3
and of course, kennedy inviting his family over for christmas dinner and forcing lynx to behave the whole time. they're muzzled so that they don't say anything rude (but kennedy tells his family it's so that they don't eat anything they're not supposed to)
kennedy's 15-year-old niece has very obviously been recently introduced to the Anti-Synthetics Discourse and keeps trying to start arguments about how there's actually no difference between synthetics and humans and it's weird to keep a literal person as a pet. one of kennedy's uncles makes a remark about how they didn't have synthetics back in his day. kennedy hurriedly (and irritatedly) attempts to change the subject.
the bonus is that kennedy gets VERY annoyed at the debates arising over him having a pet and whether it's weird (and he's already decided not to host christmas dinner next year because of that lmao).
so, synthetics aren't taught how to read, but Lynx actually does now how to read a few words! namely, curse words. one of the other synthetics at the training facility taught them. (they're not sure how that other synthetic learned how to read/spell, but when they get the opportunity to fact-check it later, they find that the spellings were accurate.)
Content warnings: pet whump, minor accidental injury
“Be good.” Kennedy checks the latch on the crate and pats the top before heading for the door. “I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?”
Lynx makes a muffled noise of acknowledgement, pretending to be half-asleep. But their heart is racing with anticipation. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. It’s almost dark out, and he’s leaving them alone in the hotel room for hours. This is their chance.
The door shuts, and Lynx sits up. Though they’re itching to start, they force themself to wait—making sure Kennedy doesn’t come back.
After almost half an hour, they’re convinced he’s not coming back anytime soon. It’s time.
The hardest part is getting out of the crate. It doesn’t have a lock on it, just a latch that’s supposedly “pet-proof”—it can’t be opened from the inside. They have tried that before, but they can’t get their fingers far enough through the bars. So they came up with a different idea.
They pull out the paperclip they’ve been hiding in the corner of their crate. They bend it into an S shape and keep a firm grip on it as they stick it through the bars. In their head, it seemed like it could work, but they’ve never risked testing it before.
It takes a lot of patience, but finally, they’re able to lift the latch and wiggle it to the side. The door of their crate swings open easily.
Part one, complete.
They crawl out of their crate, immediately getting to work on their collar. They’re not supposed to know how to take it off, but they figured it out a long time ago. They toss it on the ground as they cross over to Kennedy’s suitcase. Part two should be easy, in theory: they need to look human. Their exposed scars and designation tattoo won’t help with that; they need to cover up.
They throw on a pair of their own shorts—miraculously not stained with blood—and dig around until they find a long-sleeved shirt. They pull it over their head and look in the mirror. It’s too big on them, the sleeves almost covering their hands, but the collar is high enough to cover their tattoo and any scars on their chest. It’ll have to work; they don’t have time to be picky.
Finally, Lynx is standing at the door, heart pounding as they listen for any movement outside. They take deep breaths, forcing themself to calm down. Looking nervous will only make people suspicious, and a human wouldn’t look nervous just walking through a hotel.
Another deep breath, and then they force themself to open the door and step outside.
The hallway is deserted, and Lynx only hesitates for a moment before they start walking. They remember the way to the elevator—it’s straight down the hall. Simple enough. They can do this.
They’re so nervous that the whole way feels like a blur: waiting quietly for the elevator, careful not to attract the attention of the other people; thankfully remembering to check that it’s going down before they get on… finally, the doors slide open, and they breathe a quiet sigh of relief as they recognize the way to the lobby.
It’s not a long walk to the front doors, but it’s nerve-wracking anyway. They shouldn’t be afraid of anyone recognizing them—when Kennedy took them out the other night, they were wearing a muzzle; it covered at least half of their face. Still, their palms feel sweaty, and they wipe them nervously on the hem of their shirt as they weave through the crowd. Finally, they reach the glass sliding doors, and they don’t have time to second-guess their decision before the momentum of the people around them pulls them through.
A gust of warm, humid air hits their face as they step outside. It’s already dark out, but the street is well-lit, and there are still a decent amount of people milling around on the sidewalks. They pick a direction and start walking, trying to look purposeful, as if they know exactly what they’re doing.
Except, the thing is, they have no idea what they’re doing. They got out, sure—that was the first step. But after that? They didn’t allow themself to think about what came after that, because they don’t have a clue. They may look like a human at first glance, wearing Kennedy’s clothes, walking down the street without an owner or a collar. But they don’t have any of the things humans are supposed to have: a phone, a wallet, money.
They won’t survive very long without money—and without knowing how the human world works, either. But they’ll have to figure it out. Kennedy will be pissed when he comes back to an empty hotel room, and it turns their stomach to think of what he’ll do if he catches them.
There’s no way they can go back. Kennedy will kill them.
They keep walking, hands shoved in their pockets, avoiding eye contact with everyone they pass by. Eventually, they walk far enough to see a beach up ahead, moonlight glinting off the ocean’s waves. The asphalt gives way to wooden boards dusted with sand, lined with little booths and shops that people are passing by, coming in and out of. It’s crowded, which makes Lynx nervous, but they’ll be able to hide better in a crowd. Maybe if they walk down to the end of this, they’ll figure out which direction to go next. It’s not like they have any better ideas.
The night is warm, and people meander around in pairs or groups. The scent of food wafts through the air, and Lynx’s stomach growls. Kennedy’s been in a good mood, so he’s been feeding them, but it’s not enough—it’s never enough. They’re still fucking starving.
They’re just starting to contemplate how they might get some food when something bumps into them, hard. They fall, their knees scraping against the wooden boards. They’re already filled with adrenaline, ready to bolt. They’re convinced it’s Kennedy, come to drag them back to the hotel—or maybe someone recognized them, or figured out what they are—
And then they hear, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
Nothing else touches them, and they look up to see a boy with dark, close-shaved hair looking at them with concern. With a jolt, they realize he’s talking to them.
They blink a few times, stumbling to their feet. “I, um—yeah, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” The boy looks like he’s about their age, and he’s got a group of other kids standing behind him: two other boys standing off to the side, looking sheepish, and a girl who also looks concerned.
“Yeah, I’m—I’m okay,” Lynx says, tripping over their words.
The girl glances down at Lynx’s torn-up knee. “Oh, no, you’re bleeding!” She starts to rummage through her purse. “Here, let me see if I have a band-aid.”
The first boy gives the other two boys a look. “Guys….”
One of them chuckles nervously. “Sorry we bumped into you,” he says. “We were just messing around, and—sorry.”
Lynx takes a step back, feeling a strange sort of discomfort. These people don’t seem dangerous, but something about this is setting off alarm bells in their head. They all seem so apologetic and… nice. Is this how humans treat other humans? Weird.
“Here,” says the girl with the purse, holding out a band-aid.
“Oh, uh, thanks.” They take it and awkwardly kneel down to smooth it over their bleeding knee, thinking that it’s been a long time since anyone has bothered to give them a band-aid. When they stand again, the group is still looking at them with concern. They force a smile, shifting uncomfortably under the attention. “I’m okay. I should, um, probably go,” they say, already starting to inch away.
“Are you sure?” the first boy says again. “Maybe we could make it up to you. We were just about to go grab some food—you can come with us, if you want.”
Lynx pauses, feeling that pang of hunger in their stomach again. This could be their only chance to get food—unless they want to dig through the trash somewhere (which they had been considering).
“I mean—if you want to?” Lynx says, hoping they don’t sound too eager.
The boy’s face brightens. “Yeah, of course! Come on, I think there’s a diner around the block.”
“And Brett’s paying,” says one of the other boys as the group starts walking.
“Hey, why me?” the other guy protests. “You’re the one who bumped into them!”
“Yeah, but you pushed me—”
The two of them take up the rear of the group, bickering and shoving each other, although there’s a playful tone to it. The first boy rolls his eyes, sharing a knowing smile with the other girl. “So that’s Brett and Jason,” he says, pointing to each of them. “I’m Colby, by the way.”
“And I’m Shannon,” the girl adds.
“I’m Lynx,” they reply, surprised at how easily they introduce themself. They’ve always thought of themself as Lynx, but they haven’t said their chosen name out loud in years now—not since they left the training facility. They’ve definitely never said it to a human before.
“That’s a cool name,” Colby says.
“Oh—thanks.” Warmth rises in their cheeks, and they’re surprised to notice that it’s not a bad feeling.
Colby’s about to say something else, but Brett interrupts. “Hey, Colbs, you’re not actually going to make me pay for everything, are you?”
Colby sighs. “No, Brett, we’re splitting it—except for Lynx, because they’re our guest.” He smiles at Lynx. Tentatively, they smile back.
A few minutes later, the group arrives at the diner. Lynx has never been to a restaurant before, and suddenly they’re nervous, not sure how to act. It’s crowded and noisy, and they hang back as Colby takes the lead. Lynx trails behind as a waitress leads the group to a booth in the corner.
Brett and Jason immediately cram into one side of the booth, and Shannon sits next to them. That leaves Lynx next to Colby. They’re relieved when he sits closest to the wall—they’d feel too claustrophobic if they weren’t sitting on the end.
The waitress hands out menus, and Lynx’s stomach drops as they remember—humans are supposed to know how to read. They pick up the menu, since that’s what the others are doing. Except the others are actually reading it, and it just looks like a wall of letters to Lynx.
“I don’t know if we actually wanna get a meal,” Colby says. “It’s kinda late for that. Maybe we should just get some appetizers to share?”
“I want nachos,” Jason says immediately.
“Yeah, we can get those. And fries, probably.” Colby turns to Lynx, almost making them jump. “What do you think?”
“Um, sounds good,” they say with a shrug, internally breathing a sigh of relief that they don’t have to pick anything. They don’t know what nachos are, but they’ve had fries before—they’re pretty sure, anyway. They remember liking them.
But after the food is ordered, there are no more distractions. Shannon props her chin up on her hand. “So, Lynx, where are you from?”
“Let me guess—Vermont?” Colby asks, and it takes a second for Lynx to realize he’s pointing at their sweatshirt.
Their gaze flickers down briefly—they can’t read that, either. They laugh nervously. “No, I’m, uh, borrowing this from someone.” They clear their throat. “I’m from New York.” That’s where Kennedy lives, isn’t it? They’re not in the habit of knowing where, exactly, they are—which makes them realize that they don’t know where they are right now, either.
“Oh, cool! We’re all from Connecticut—not too far from there,” says Colby. “I mean, unless you live upstate. Are you close to the city?”
“Uh, yeah, kind of.” They have no fucking idea. They’ve never been to a city, much less the city Colby is talking about.
Shannon sighs. “That sounds nice. I wanted to go to school in the city—but I ended up going to a state school with these knuckleheads.” She playfully bumps Jason’s shoulder, then turns her attention back to Lynx. “What college do you go to?”
College. Right. Humans their age go to college—not that Lynx really knows what that means. They figure they wouldn’t be able to keep up a lie about it, so they reply, “I don’t go to college.”
Shannon opens her mouth, but Brett cuts her off. “God, I wish that was me. School sucks.”
“Just change your major already,” Jason says, exasperated. “You wouldn’t hate it so much if you weren’t trying to major in business.”
“Well, what should I change it to?” Brett demands.
Shannon rolls her eyes, leaning across the table. “Ignore them—they have this conversation, like, at least twice a day.”
The conversation cuts off as soon as the food arrives. It smells amazing, but Lynx holds back, waiting for everyone else to take food before they do. They don’t want to betray the fact that they’re starving—but holy shit, they’re starving.
Lynx startles as Colby nudges them. “Come on, take as much as you want,” he says. “You’re our guest, remember?”
Lynx smiles and nods, but they still eye what’s on everyone else’s plates before taking a similar amount themself. They don’t want to take advantage of him or anything—although their stomach definitely wants them to.
Pet food isn’t completely flavorless, but Lynx always forgets just how much better human food is. It’s greasy and salty and so fucking good, it takes all their self-control not to devour their whole plate all at once.
Everyone else is talking while they’re eating, but Lynx is too focused on the food and trying to appear normal to actually join in. So they’re startled when Colby turns and asks them, “Hey, Lynx, where are you staying?”
They almost choke on a fry, but somehow manage to avoid a coughing fit. They wince as it scrapes down their throat, and they avoid eye contact for a few seconds as they try to come up with a response. Somehow they can’t think of an adequate lie in time, so what comes out is: “Um. That’s a good question.”
Colby looks confused. “What do you mean? You’ve gotta be staying somewhere. Did you come here with anyone?”
Again, they wince. What are they supposed to say—that their fucking owner brought them here?
“Um, sort of?” Lynx clears their throat, trying to cover up their uncertainty. “I mean, I came here with someone, but I’m not leaving with him.” Which is technically the truth, but they’re not sure why they’re worried about lying to Colby—they have to, if they want to avoid getting caught.
“Oh.” Colby pauses. “So do you even have a place to stay?”
They look away. “I’m working on it.”
He frowns. “Well, I just can’t accept that. You’re staying with us tonight.” His expression clears, like the matter is settled.
“Colby, I really can’t,” they start, although they’re already thinking that they don’t have anywhere else to go, and staying with Colby and his friends is probably better than sleeping outside. Still, Colby’s already been so nice to them, and they feel like they’re taking advantage of him. It was okay to accept the food—just this one thing, to make up for Brett and Jason knocking them over. But they can’t take anything else.
Plus, being so close to these humans is making them paranoid that they’ll be found out. What if one of them starts getting suspicious? It’s best that they leave before that can happen.
Shannon, Jason, and Brett had been having their own conversation, but now they’ve all stopped talking. “What’s going on?” Shannon asks.
“Lynx is staying the night with us!” Colby replies brightly. “I know we don’t have an extra bed in the rental, but we do have a couch, so that should work, right?”
“I—” Lynx cuts themself off with a sigh. There’s no arguing with this kid, is there? “Yeah, that works,” they manage.
The others look at each other. Shannon raises an eyebrow. “Colby….”
“They need a place to stay,” he says firmly.
Shannon shakes her head and gives him a look, like she’d give him an earful if there weren’t other people around. But Colby ignores her and smiles at Lynx, and they muster up a smile back.
Well, that settles it, then. Whether they like it or not, they have a place to sleep tonight.
-
The group is staying in a rental house a few blocks from the beach. It’s a short walk there, but Colby and Shannon are whispering to each other the whole way, clearly arguing. Lynx only catches small snippets of it, but they get the gist: Shannon is suspicious of them, and why wouldn’t she be? They’re a stranger.
But Colby seems to win out, because by the time they’ve arrived at the rental, she just sighs in exasperation and heads inside, with Brett and Jason following along obliviously. Colby shoots Lynx an encouraging smile—which doesn’t encourage them at all, but they reluctantly step inside.
The place is small, with a kitchen and a living room that are attached to each other, plus a bathroom and two other doors that Lynx can only assume lead to the bedrooms. Jason and Brett are messing around in the kitchen while Shannon rummages through the fridge. She pulls out a few glass bottles and hands them off to the boys. “Want one?” She pointedly holds one out to Colby, but not Lynx—which is fine by them. They have no idea what that stuff is, anyway.
Colby waves her off. “Not tonight.”
She shrugs. “We’re gonna go hang out on the back porch, if you want to join us.” Jason and Brett are already heading out the back door.
Colby glances over at Lynx before smiling at her with a shrug. “Maybe later.”
“Alright, then. You know where to find us, if you change your mind.” Shannon gives Lynx another sideways glance before she heads outside, too, and the kitchen goes quiet.
Colby motions for Lynx to follow him into the living room. He sits down on one part of the big, L-shaped couch, and Lynx sits on the other. Lynx sighs, fidgeting with the hem of their shirt. “Listen, I don’t wanna make any trouble—I can leave, if—”
Colby hurriedly cuts them off. “No, no, you should stay. Don’t mind Shannon—she’s just a little anxious, that’s all. But it won’t hurt to let you stay with us for one night.”
Part of them had almost been hoping Shannon would make a bigger deal out of it and make them leave, so they don’t have to make the decision themself. But another part of them is relieved that they have a place to stay, at least for the night—even if they might sneak out before morning.
Colby clears his throat. “Listen, I don’t want to pry or anything, but… are you okay?”
They stiffen. “What—what do you mean?”
He looks worried again, and it makes them shift uncomfortably. “I mean, you don’t have anywhere to stay, and you said you came here with someone but you’re not leaving with them, so I was just wondering… are you safe? Do you need help?”
They almost want to laugh. Safe? Of course they’re not safe—they never have been, and this is the most dangerous thing they’ve ever done. And maybe they could use some help, but…
Colby’s still giving them that worried look, and for a second, they can almost convince themself that if they told him the truth, he’d still be willing to help them. He wouldn’t care that they’re a synthetic—and one of the bad ones, at that. A box bastard.
But they shake off the idea as quickly as they thought of it. Of course they can’t tell him. He’s a human. If he found out that they’re a rogue pet, he’d never help them.
“I’m—” Lynx’s voice comes out strangled, and they clear their throat. “I’m fine. Really.”
Colby looks unconvinced. He shifts closer to them, his hand drifting towards their leg, like he wants to touch them. They pull back before he gets the chance. “Are you sure? Lynx, I just want to help you.”
A lump rises in their throat, surprising them. He sounds so sincere. He has no idea what he’s offering. They swallow the emotions back down, blinking away the tears that had threatened to form. They try to sound dismissive, but their voice comes out a little choked. “I’m sure.”
Colby draws back, looking sad. “Okay. But I’m here if you want to talk, okay?”
They nod and fake a smile. They’ll be long gone by the time he thinks to ask them about it again, anyway.
i love my ideas for the business trip arc of box bastards tho bc basically lynx’s owner, kennedy, is bringing them on a business trip and for once he decides to bring them to a dinner party with him (with everyone there knowing that this is A Box Bastard) and kennedy is basically like
[ID: Jake from Brooklyn 99 saying very seriously to a corgi, “Do not blow this for us.” End ID.]
with lynx sitting there in a muzzle absolutely seething bc they can’t do anything without facing severe consequences <3
