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obae-me · 5 months

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The Brothers and their Nightmares

I was going to post this for Halloween, but things came up as they always do and I couldn't get to finishing it until now. Enjoy the late angst and spoops!

These are just dream scenarios I imagined the Brothers would suffer with, connected to both their Sin and the personal things they struggle with. Most of it is symbolic but could still be triggering for some.

TW: Hurt/No Comfort, Violent Images, Death, Blood, Angst, Nightmare Scenarios, Burning, Broken Bones, Disturbing Scenes that may upset readers. As Always, Read Safely.

Lucifer:

Displayed in a box. Preserved. Hung on a shelf for all to see. Trapped in a clear case with giant pins puncturing his wings and limbs in place. A perfect specimen.

The pain is immense. The torture almost unbearable, but this is where he belongs, right? To be shown off with Pride? To weather any struggles and pain to shine ever brighter in the light? A diamond only need be pressurized, cut, and polished before it's valuable.

Blurry faces of demons and angels and humans alike all pass him by, pointing at him and observing him with awe, sometimes fear, but nothing more. A living piece of art. He's searching for any familiarity amongst the crowd. The people he loves the most, the people he wants to shine for above all, the people he's suffering for!

Please! Give him a reason to endure this crucifixion! Prove to him that this is worth it! Let him know that he's enough! This prison must mean something! Don't say it was all for nothing! Everything he's worked for! Everything he's lamented over, toiled for! Look at him! Appreciate him!

But no one ever comes.

In the end he's left alone. The pins push deeper. The blood dripping from his eyes.

Just a caged butterfly.

Mammon:

Glistening palms. Shimmering faces. Gold as far as the eye can see. A perfect shining kingdom. Frozen lifeless subjects. This isn't what he wanted.

Come on, Belphie. Beel? What about you Asmo?... Satan?... No... Levi, please... Hells no... Lucifer!

Unmoving metal lips match each stiff jeweled eye. His hands... He- he had only touched them. That was all he did. Right? All he had done was love them. The Greed had become too much. In his ambition for glory, his corrupted embrace had tainted his family past the flesh. Motionless mannequins, that's all they were now. Cursed to shine till the end of time. His treasures that he had always craved.

Was this what he had wanted all along? No! He had created this all for his family! His friends! His loved ones! They were to all to gimmer with him! Not leave him alone! He did this. He always took things too far. Steal and cheat and lie until nothing remained! Rotten scum! Why couldn't he just listen? Why couldn't he just be better?! Give him a second chance... please. He can be better... Someone say something...

A destiny written in stone. Take. Even the lives of his brothers.

No matter how hard he tries, he only makes things worse.

Surrounded by the Fool's gold.

Levi:

Clanging, burning chains. There's a constant deafening buzzing in the air, the chatter of thousands of people. The voices rise and fall in rhythm, like the beating of war drums, or the increasing pace of his heart. He can't think, he can hardly see, and he can't breathe.

Millions of shining eyes stare down at his restrained body in the middle of a stadium. The blinding gazes singe his body, his skin melting off his bones. He's not the only one at the center of attention. Other people, other contestants are here to play the same game. Win, and get everything you ever dreamed. Lose, and be forced to burn with Envy and shame.

Every failed attempt of his makes the arena hotter. The infernal heat spills from the breaths of the crowd sharing his weaknesses to the world. They give his competitors the advantage, kicking him while he's down. The thrumming gets faster. It's not fair! He's trying so hard! Was he just doomed from the start? Was he born a failure? Hated by the universe since the moment of conception?! Is that why he's never good enough? Is that why all his brothers get to move on without him?!

His dreams always just out of reach. He's not good enough to be loved.

The bitterness eats him up from the inside.

Till he's melted into a pile of nothing.

Satan:

A mess of strings. The curtain is drawn. The show begins! It's the same routine day after day after day after day-- He can't take this any more!

He doesn't even understand this masquerade! The story he's forced to play out is gibberish, some fickle plot he can't even begin to fathom. Everything is foreign to him. The audience, the dance, his body, his Wrath. None of it is recognizable. And they chuckle like they know, like they enjoy his ignorance. Limbs are pulled in any direction the strings choose. Bones broken, lips sealed shut, he's pushed to the brink of oblivion once again.

But he worked so hard! Everything he's read, everything he learned, so he could stop feeling like this! He's not just a hollow doll, controlled by someone else's ambitions! He has thoughts, he has feelings! He might... not fully understand them yet, but he's trying! Tell him he's smart, that he's strong, that he's his own person! Let him stand on his own!

But only his mind is allowed to scream as the congregation watches.

A wicked dance until the strings are snipped. His opportunity to be independent. But instead, he falls into a lifeless heap on the floor.

Nothing without someone else.

The poor wooden plaything will never be real.

Asmo:

An endless winding labyrinth of mirrors. He runs, panting and crying as he tries to find his way through the illusions. Make it stop! Let him have peace!

The creatures are invisible to his normal eyes, only showing up in the reflections of the mirrors surrounding him. There's hundreds of them at least, crawling over each other to get to him. They don't even make a sound, silently scrambling towards him. An amalgamation of Lust. Each time they grab him, they take something precious from him. His fingernails, strands of his hair, his beautiful lips, the blush from his cheeks. They rip off of him as easily as tearing away a puzzle piece.

They're stripping him of his beauty bit by bit! How is he supposed to be loved like this?! If he's not gorgeous, than what is he? He has nothing left! This is all he has! He's not strong, or smart, or powerful! His physical charm is all he has! Please, leave him alone! He's supposed to be a jewel! That's all anyone ever sees him as!

He can't bear to look at himself. Every time he glances he's slightly different. Until he no longer recognizes the humanoid shell in the mirror. But he has no choice to keep looking if he wants to keep an eye on the monsters pursuing him.

A single fumble.

It's rather quick and painless as the souls each take what they want from him.

And leave him broken in shards on the floor.

Beel:

Screams echo from every direction. Buildings crumble as the earth shakes and the air hums. A moving living black cloud sweeps through the town. Where's his family? He has to help.

The sky a vast pool of crimson as the Celestial Sun and Demonic Moon cross paths and cast a torrent of blood down onto the merging realms. The ground beneath them all trembles, growling. It's Gluttonous. Every person he tries to save is always just too far away. They either get consumed from the plague of insects or fall into the gaping maws of the starving earth. And he still can't find his family.

Why? Why is this happening? Why isn't he strong enough to save anyone?! All the workouts, all the training, pushing his muscles stronger than any demon ever has, all so he can quit feeling so useless! He told himself he would be ready to take on anything! Even an entire army if he had to, just so he could save somebody for once! Lilith... Belphie… everyone... he's sorry... Sorry he's so weak. This is his fault.

The foundation beneath his feet begins to crumble.

His wings feel far too fragile to fly.

It makes sense that in the End of Days, no one would be there to save him.

He didn't deserve it.

Belphie:

There's something rotten in his chest. It feels like a pit in his soul, growing larger with every passing second. The sensation is agonizing.

It's something no one can see, but something he feels with every breath. It's very slowly stripping him of everything he is. His love, his memories, his desires... He needs to go find help. The House is laid out all wrong. Doors lead to where they shouldn't, hallways bend in the wrong directions. His house doesn't even feel like home anymore. Every step feels harder than it should. The supposedly easy task of getting help seeming more like an impossible feat. This rot is more than just Sloth. It takes what seems like hours to finally find his family. That's when he reaches out to them, trying to tell them what's wrong. But he can't speak for some reason.

Gestures and panicked grasping means nothing to his brothers. The desperation in his eyes goes ignored as most simply rub his head or push him off to the side, not taking him seriously in the least. But this hurts! He can't take the pain anymore! Someone help him! Don't push him away, don't treat it like a joke! Listen to him! Take what he has to say into consideration! He can't possibly speak over six other voices!

His efforts wasted, his energy depleted.

The rot ate away at his heart and left him numb.

And everyone walked away, leaving the boy who cried to cry alone.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me nightbringer #hurt/no comfort #tw: violence #tw: death #tw: blood #tw disturbing imagery #tw burning #tw broken bones

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betweenblackberrybranches · 1 year

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First meetings bonus part

Part 5

So this is a lot. Introducing Sun and Moons ex, a spunky advisor at court and also the decendant of a long line of witches. Also staring one of the many rulers they served, having to follow their every command even if it broke them. Prior to this event Sun and Moon had seperate bodies but Suns shattered after this, not being able to cope with being his lovers executioner.

In other news Y/N woke up from their migraine nap and started to get along with Moon

Under the cut is a panel i didnt use but dont wanna throw away

He has this dream way too often

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thicctails · 9 days

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That Voice Isn't Yours | A TFP Horror Comic | Pages 14 - 20 | FINALE

Annnnnd that's a wrap! I'm so glad people enjoyed this little side project of mine, and I'm even more happy to be able to say that it got a proper, completed ending!!

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transmasccofee · 8 months

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ngl the light novels making him see a vision of himself dying in a house fire as a metaphor for his own life and loneliness was a little fucked up

#this whole chapter was crazy but this specific scene…. oof #saiki kusuo #art tag #tw fire #tw burning

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inkwell-and-dagger · 8 months

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Whumpers who smoke and put their cigarettes out on Whumpee like an ashtray >>

Perhaps on their back and like a canvas they make patterns with each angry red mark from the cigarette burning Whumpee's skin. maybe on the back of their neck, yanking their hair away when they least expect it. on their bare legs. hell, maybe even on their face. or on some more obvious places where Whumpee can remember them everywhere, like on their arms or even their hands.

Just- whump <3

#cigarette whump #whump #whumpee #whumper #whump trope #whump tropes #whump idea #whump ideas #whump prompt #tw burning #tw cigarettes

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supercanaries · 8 months

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In the middle of the night, in my dreams, you should see the things we do, baby

#dabi hawks #dabihawks #toukei #hotwings #tw choking #tw burning #art

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shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck · 2 months

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Question for infected au. Has anyone tried to use fire against the infected? Molotovs or maybe fire-tipped weaponry? Explosives and such would probably do some good damage (I love this au <3)

it is technically effective... but fire is rarely ever used.

comic thing below. tw implied burning. kind of dark.

text: I panicked I didn't know how much you would suffer I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry

Dream has been very against using fire in fighting the infected,

sorry for the incredibly angst no comfort reply.

#herrings mailbox #infection au #undertale au #dream sans #tw violence #tw implied death #tw burning

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nullvoidface · 5 months

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I can’t believe arenanet would do this

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #my art #corvus blightstep #gw2 commander #tw fire #cw fire #tw burning #cw burning

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hufflepuffwritingstuff2 · 9 days

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Hero vs Government- Part 4

Part 3

Scientist ran a few more basic tests. They took Hero’s blood pressure, got some saliva samples, and even a small sample of ice.

“Enough of that doctor’s office fiddle-faddle, Scientist,” General said, “we need to test for temperature tolerance and cryo-healing.”

Scientist looked at Hero.

“I was thinking we should stop for today,” Scientist started slowly, “they’ve already passed out once-”

“Scientist. We are on the clock here, we don’t have time to worry about them swooning,” General interrupted, “run the temperature tolerance test.”

Scientist sighed, then waved the three agents over. Two of them got Hero back in the wheelchair, while the third gave injected them with another dose of the drug they had been given earlier.

“Woah man,” Hero said, feeling dizzy on the spot, “you guys are sick.”

The third agent wheeled Hero into a chamber. It looked like an industrial freezer, with glass windows on all sides.

“Good luck, Hero.” General smiled, folding their arms across their chest.

The agents left Hero inside, slamming the door shut behind them and locking it. Scientist pushed a button, and cold air wafted into the chamber. Hero sighed contentedly, too dazed to care about hiding how nice it felt.

The air continued to get colder as Scientist wrote notes on a clipboard. Hero tried to stand a few times, but collapsed back into the chair, their limbs wobbly. They heard Scientist and General talking to each other from outside.

“It’s below freezing, and they’re still just sitting there!” Scientist said in awe, “not even shivering at all. They must be quite comfortable in the cold.”

“I’ve seen enough. Let’s see how they fare in the opposite direction.”

General took hold of a knob on a control panel and turned it all the way to the right. The cold air stopped pumping through the chamber and was instead replaced by warm air. Hero’s brow started to form little cold beads of sweat. Hero tried to get up, but collapsed to the floor, breathing hard.

“S-stop,” Hero said, “turn it off, please.”

Scientist wrote a note on their clipboard, then reached for the knob. General grabbed their wrist and shook their head.

“Not yet,” they said.

Dark spots started encroaching on Hero’s vision. Their skin felt hot, and their clothes stuck to their body in wet patches.

“Please.”

Hero’s world started to go dark just as the door opened and cool air filled the chamber. The agents lifted them up, placing them back in the wheelchair and bringing them back to the padded chair. After strapping them down, Scientist came over with a match.

“I really think we should sedate them for this,” Scientist said.

“Nonsense, how will you get feedback if they’re asleep?” General asked, “and matches? We talked about this.”

“We don’t need that much power for my data-”

“Scientist, if you keep arguing with me I’ll have you thrown off this project completely and get someone else who will do the job. Get the blowtorch.”

Scientist stood, frozen.

“Oh for the love of- it’s fine. Really. Lily-livered beaker brains like you don’t have the stomach for this sort of thing anyway.”

General grabbed a blowtorch from the cart and brought it to Hero’s skin. Scientist hid behind their clipboard, knowing what was coming next.

General pressed the ignition button, and Hero screamed. Oh how they screamed, loud and long, as the white-hot flames licked up their entire forearm. General turned off the torch, setting it aside, then turned to Scientist.

“Write that down,” they said over Hero’s wails of pain.

An agent injected a serum into Hero’s neck, and their agony was coupled with such a strong drowsiness that their screams turned to whimpers, which turned into snores in a matter of seconds.

Hero was unstrapped, and their sleeping form was wheeled back to their room, their forearm bubbling with third-degree burns.

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@worstcasescenariolullaby @21fandom-shipper21

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hussyknee · 5 months

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"Not publicized to prevent copycats" is an absolute bullshit excuse in a nation of school shooters btw.

Please, please read this.

The Congolese genocide is one of the biggest mass murders in modern history, counting eight to ten million murder victims and millions of others severely injured.

As for Palestine, but the bombardment is somehow more intense than ever, they killed about 178 people including 52 babies the first day after the ceasefire. Zionists got hold of the photo of one of the babies cradled by his grandfather in his tiny shroud, his face waxy and eyes open and glassy in death, and has been passing it around, along with other similar pics of dead little children, claiming they're "obviously a doll". The open calls for genocide from the Israeli general public are more virulent than ever, and the IOF has arrested and imprisoned more Palestinians in West Bank than they released. The increase in intensity may be due to Blinken having told Netanyahu that "he had weeks, not months" to finish up whatever he wanted to do (genocide isn't good for the holiday spirit of the voting public methinks), and Netanyahu reportedly wants to "thin the population" as much as possible and herd the remaining survivors out through the Egyptian border.

Please take the time to scroll the tags at least every other day and reblog one or two posts. Keeping eyes on the unfolding situation helps keep the pressure on and politicians are clearly nervous now! YOU can't do anything, but you help create a vital domino effect for hundreds of thousands of people who CAN organize. Relevance is survival. Don't let these people have martyred themselves in vain!

#my TL is an absolute horror #i can't imagine what palestinians and the general arab diaspora are feeling #to be honest i was expecting this. self-immolation as protest i mean #i can't imagine how more people can witness this without being driven to desperate suicidality #before the truce everyone was kind of numb with the ceaseless trauma #but then the truce allowed them to process the enormity of their losses a little bit?#which was even more cruel imo because when they started up again it just broke the palestinians #this is what we meant when we said there's nothing humanitarian about pauses or truces or anything less than a permanent ceasefire #self-immolation #tw burning alive #tw burning #tw suicide #tw death #tw child death #gaza genocide #palestinian genocide #congolese genocide #pro palestinian protests #congolese protests #DRC #war crimes #fuck israel #fuck the USA #ceasefire now #free palestine #free congo #media suppression #knee of huss

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3-2-whump · 1 month

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Escape Attempt Last

As in, there were plenty in between this attempt and First Escape Attempt, but I won't enumerate them (unless you ask nicely, I guess)

Set one year after The Auction Floor

TW/CW: minor whump, slavery, pet whump, noncon body mod (tattoos, piercings), threats of permanent injury (not followed through), burning, inappropriate use of a clothes iron

The first thing he heard that morning was “Happy anniversary,” whispered softly over him as he stirred awake.

Khaled blinked. The blond man leaned over his bed, not a trace of a frown on his stern face. Khaled groggily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had no idea what his master just said, though that might’ve just been because he was never much of a morning person. “What was that?” Khaled yawned.

“It’s our anniversary,” the man explained patiently as he helped him sit up. Those broad arms and bruising hands that once (and occasionally still) struck fear into Khaled’s heart now supported him as he climbed out of bed. “I brought you home a year ago, and so I wanted to give you something special today, if you’d let me…” he trailed off with a smile.

Khaled shuffled toward his wardrobe and began picking out a pair of boxers, denim pants, and a shirt. “A year, huh?” Though he was still in the process of waking up, having never been an early riser in his life, his muddy brain was slowly piecing it together.

It was well into midday when Khaled finally let its implications sink in.

One year of his life in slavery. One whole year of his life spent in servitude. His head swam in an unsettling mix of shock, anger, and grief, emotions that traveled down to his gut and twisted it into knots. A lot had happened in a year; the sixteen-year-old shot up a few inches in height, his voice had deepened, and his body hair (everywhere) had grown in enough to prompt his owner to teach him about shaving and ‘hygienic practices.’ That was an embarrassing talk, and one that he deeply wished his father could’ve given him instead.

It had been more than a year since he had seen his family; were they thinking of him? Did they notice he was gone? He brought home one of their main sources of income; how was his mother coping, providing for his siblings all on her own? They didn’t hate him for abandoning them, did they? Khaled blinked back the mist in his eyes at the thought.

The car lulled to a stop. “We’re here,” the Boss announced, taking Khaled out of his head. He looked down at the small box resting in his hands. Twin diamonds set in white gold rested inside the velvety interior. At first, Khaled thought it was a mistake, since his ears weren’t pierced. The man only grinned as he simply replied “not yet.”

They got out at the now-familiar tattoo parlor, entering soon after they opened. This was where the boy got his second and third tattoos, the initials and the skull and snake, respectively. The bearded, bespectacled man known only as Leo spotted them immediately and approached them with a welcoming grin. He made small talk with Khaled’s master as he led them to the back.

“So, we’re doing a set of piercings today?” he asked, pulling out a pair of single-use gloves.

Master nodded. “Ears, just one pair for now, unless we want more.”

Khaled let out an unbidden scoff. His master threw him a reproachful glare. There is no we, there never was, he wanted to scream. He didn’t consent to any of his tattoos, what made the man think he’d be okay with piercings? Yet his owner initialed him like an object and drew the symbol of his crime family on his skin, and he could just do that –he bought him, after all.

“Well, let’s get to it, then!” Leo said.

“Wait. I’ve gotta use the bathroom,” Khaled murmured. Master glanced at Leo, who merely shrugged. He silently pushed past the two men and made his way to the front of the store to the bathroom, where he locked the door and slumped against it as he settled onto the floor. He allowed himself a deep, shuddering breath behind the closed door, resting his head back against it with a dull thunk.

One year… he thought morosely. A streaky bathroom mirror bordered with stickers glared back at him under artificial light. Curious, Khaled got up from the floor and leaned over the sink to look at himself, to physically see how much he had changed in only a year. How much of these changes were within his control?

None of them, he realized sadly. He turned his newly shaved head side to side to look at his ears, taking in the sight of the unpierced lobes as much as he could. These would change too, and that was also out of his control.

Or was it? Out of the corner of his eye, Khaled spotted a slit of natural light seeping in from above. He turned; there, above the toilet, was a small window, vented open to let in fresh air. He assessed the window immediately, judging that he was still skinny and flexible enough that he could climb through, and without much else besides a desire to just be in control of something, he did exactly that.

With exception to the mall incident (which shouldn’t even count, he genuinely got lost), this had to be the worst escape yet. He was recaptured within two hours, tied up and thrown into the back of a car yet again, and now lay on his back on a large table, hands and feet bound to each corner as two unfamiliar goons stood on each side. Beside him, Master stood solemnly ironing a dress shirt on an ironing board. His resting bitch face was back, and he was re-ironing the same sleeve for the third time. Khaled gulped, only sensing a fraction of how fucked he was.

“I really thought we had made some progress this past year,” the man growled. A puff of steam escaped the iron as he set it aside and hung up the crisp white shirt. He then moved on to ironing a pair of slacks. “I trusted you, I provided for you, I gave you everything you could ever need, and what do you do? You run away the second I loosen your leash,” he continued, straightening out a seam with a bit more force than necessary.

Khaled cleared his throat and tried to look up from his awkward position on the table. “I’m sorry, Master, I just freaked out- “

“Quiet! Let me finish.”

Khaled shut his mouth immediately. He sunk back down, fixed his eyes on the dim ceiling lamp above him, and awaited his punishment with dread.

Master continued talking. “You know, the last time this happened, a friend of mine advised me to cut your tendons.” Beneath the quickening pounding of his anxious heart, Khaled heard the faint hiss of the iron. “I don’t want to permanently cripple you though, mostly because it would be even more of a hassle to care for you, but I will cripple you temporarily, at the very least...”

Khaled tore his eyes from the ceiling and looked over his outstretched toes. His master settled in front of his feet, the steaming hot iron in hand. Moist tendrils of heat lapped at his exposed bare soles. Dense as he may be, it didn’t take a genius to realize what was about to happen. Khaled trembled, then began struggling in earnest. The mob members held him firmly by the legs and shoulders as he thrashed frantically in his restraints, fearfully begging. “No, no, no, please, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry – “

“You’re only sorry you got caught,” Boss snapped. “Now hold still.”

Searing hot pain erupted in the soles of his feet as Khaled screamed himself hoarse.

After what felt like too much time and yet not much time at all, the goons above him let him go and started working on the knots tying him to the table. That must mean he’s done, Khaled thought, but why does it feel like my feet are still burning?

“Get up.”

The now untied boy paused rubbing his chafed wrists to look up at him in shock. His master glared down at him coldly. “I said get up!” he shouted.

He can’t be serious. With horror, he realized the man was completely serious. “I-I can’t,” Khaled whimpered, “I -you wouldn’t -I can’t!” He caught his trembling lip between his teeth before a small sob could escape.

“I’m not going to repeat myself again, brat,” the Boss gritted out. “Get. Up.”

Khaled hung his head and nodded. He stiffly swung his legs over the table and gingerly lowered his burnt feet to the floor. The freshly blistered flesh barely touched the ground before an effusion of pain shot up his legs. He gasped in agony. His owner, meanwhile, stood in front of him in silence, waiting. Khaled sniffled, grit his teeth, and, with legs quivering and tears streaming down his cheeks, he stood up straight and tall.

“Walk,” Thomas said.

No. Khaled shook his head, completely unable to get a word out through the pain.

“Walk.”

Please, no, he wanted to say. He hung his head and shakily took a step forward, not making it even two steps before he collapsed. The strong arms of the Boss’ cronies caught him just before his knees could hit the floor. They scooped him back onto the table before one ran off to find the first aid kit, and the other ran off to get a basin of cool water. Khaled thankfully slipped into unconsciousness and took refuge in the nothingness.

A hesitant knock at the door brought Khaled’s attention back to the present, three hours after the Iron Incident. “Khaled, it’s me.” His master entered his bedroom soon after.

Facing away from the door in a fetal position on top of the bed, Khaled curled up even tighter. His heart picked up pace as he heard the man settle to his knees in front of his bed. “Your bandages need changing.” He flinched away when he felt the man’s fingers graze his injured feet, but ultimately he relented, letting his master unwind the soiled bandages as he winced and whimpered. Not all of the gauze was peeling off neatly. He heard a faint click of a tube opening, then felt cooling salve on his burned soles. Then, with a level of tenderness he did not think the Boss capable of, the man wrapped his feet up in clean gauze and taped the bandages in place. “One more thing,” he murmured softly, reaching into the first aid bag he brought with him.

Khaled had raised his head from his pillow, his red-rimmed eyes trailing down to his feet as curiosity overcame his pain and apprehension. His owner procured a pair of socks, gingerly slipping them over each gauze-wrapped foot. “There are plenty more of these, so if this pair gets dirty, you can just ask me for more,” he told him. “Comfortable, right?”

Khaled reached over and brushed his fingers against the soft fabric. His eyes misted with tears again at the act of kindness. “…They’re nice,” he sniffled. “Thank you, sir.”

The man replied with a pleased grunt before he lifted himself from the floor and stood, ready to leave. “Now then, is there anything else you need before I go to bed, Khaled?”

A hesitant silence. “No, but I-I’m sorry. Really.”

“I know,” he answered, his tone sincere. “Goodnight, Khaled.” Khaled flopped back onto the bed, face to the wall as he heard the door close gently behind him. What was that? He wondered. In the whole year that I’ve been here, he’s never been that gentle with me. Was that even the same man?He didn’t hear the faint click of the lock this time. In any other circumstance, this would give him hope, but at this point, the hope had been burnt out of him through the soles of his feet.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter

#throwing in a bit of carewhumper in the end #whump #whump writing #whumpee #whumper #tw minor whump #slavery whump #tw noncon bodymod #tw burning #carewhumper #failed escape attempt #no beta we die like my protestant upbringing

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