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itsawhumpsideblog · 12 days

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BBU Community Days 2024, Day 3

April 16 / Writing Prompt: "RULES" / Write a BBU story based on the one-word-prompt and share it!

CW: for institutionalized slavery, emotional abuse, manipulation, drunkenness and drunk antics, a lot more swearing than normal, burning with cigarettes, forced to self-injure

"Shit, why didn't we invest in one of these earlier?" The speaker was a tall man in wrinkled slacks and a polo who looked like he was probably a good shot. There was no gun in evidence, unless you looked behind the counter of his establishment, but it didn't need to be visible for his customers to know that crossing him would be a bad idea.

"Cause they're fucking expensive," his bookkeeper replied, in the weary tones of someone who had explained this before. "We had to start coming out in the black consistently before we could afford the expense. You know that."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." The first man looked down at their new acquisition, kneeling on the floor next to the counter, looking down at his lap and wringing his hands. "Hey, uh- you- uh-" he looked back up at his colleague. "Hey, Ed, what do we call him?"

"His serial number is GU2938." Ed was engrossed in whatever he was doing on a laptop and didn't even look up.

"Nah, that's a mouthful. I'll just call him Pet, that's easy enough. Hey, Pet, there's some food there in that bowl for you. Take five and eat up, but be quick. We're gonna have customers in here in a few hours and we gotta clean and everything."

"Yes, Master," GU2938 replied, as he had been trained to, and scurried over to the bowl. It was full of scraps, probably the remnants of food humans had ordered but not finished. Sometimes people were so busy gambling or getting drunk that they forgot they had a meal in front of them. One of the first things GU2938 had learned was that people on a binge of any kind- betting or drinking or drugs- were unpredictable and did not always act according to logic that he could discern.

Once he had finished eating, GU2938 went back to the counter and crouched next to it, rubbing his knuckles and bent over to ease a bruise on his right side. The previous night, his first in the bar, had been an education, to say the least. It was his third day with his Master, but he had arrived mid-week and the bar was quieter on a Thursday night. Master had said that was best, since it gave him an evening to observe and learn his job.

GU2938 had been purchased to serve as a bouncer for the drinking-and-gambling establishment his Master owned, a dimly lit and slightly greasy place that was accessed by knowing which alley it was in and which stairs to go down to find the door. People did not come here for a quiet night out and GU2938's job was to get them out of the bar when Master determined that they were too drunk or high or broke to give him any more of their money.

Thursday had been quiet, with only a handful of regulars who hadn't left the Pet alone, but hadn't exactly hurt him, either. They only wanted to play with him, ordering him around just to watch him follow their commands. They had ordered him to bring their drinks from the bar, poured condiments on the table just so he would have to clean it up, and made him lick ketchup off the floor. When they lit a match, Master intervened.

"Hey!" he barked, so loudly that GU2938 jumped, although the regulars did not. "You were having your fun- fine. But you don't damage my property. I bought that to do work, not keep you entertained. That's what the races are for." He scowled at the men and waved GU2938 back to his corner beside the bar.

Friday had been very different, in a way. There was more work to do, or at least, more of the kind of work Master had in mind. GU2938 broke up a fight over poker and had to throw out a man who had gotten so drunk he forgot where- or possibly what- the toilet was. Then GU2938 had to clean up after the man, which might have been even worse than hauling him to the door.

When Master turned the lights off, locked the door, and left at almost 4 in the morning, GU2938 finally sat down and hoped he could fall asleep. It was hard to do, just like it had been hard the previous night. The floor felt very flat and a little sticky, and the small, barred windows didn't admit any light beyond a neon glow from some other business across the alley. Through the thin wall, he could hear the sounds of cars outside and the occasional siren and the strange noises frightened him.

GU2938 squeezed himself as far under the bar as he could manage. He was tall and broad-shouldered and the training at the facility had focused on building his muscles so that he would be marketable as a guard dog. He had learned a lot during his training- how to throw a punch and, more importantly, how to take one; how to dart past an opponent and use their own body weight to throw them; even where to put his hands to make someone pass out, permanently if the order was given. But the main thing he had learned was that he hated to fight.

He could fight, it turned out, and well. He was big enough to hit hard when he was ordered to do it and he was surprisingly fast for someone his size. He was perfectly compliant in the gym and ate the diet he was given, perfect for building muscle and laced with steroids that the WRU left off the guard dogs' medical records when they were sold.

But every time a fight ended, GU2938 would pause, look at his opponent, and break down in tears. And every time, the guards would make fun of him, order him to stop crying and, when he couldn't, beat him until he was too stunned to react any more. Then they would take him back to his cell where his wits would slowly return to him. He lay on the floor every night, seeing the face of the Pets he had fought in his mind's eye. He worried about them until he saw them again and could reassure himself that they were still breathing, even if they were damaged. His own injuries, even when they were severe, were less painful than the knowledge that he had hurt someone else.

Under the bar, GU2938 thought of the other Pets and closed his eyes against the mental images that formed the only memories he had. He began to rock back and forth, as if trying to shake the pictures away, and then found that the swaying reminded him of the last time he felt safe. It had been in the box on the truck between the facility and the bar. In that box, nobody was there to hurt or frighten him and he knew he would be left alone as long as the truck kept on swaying down the road. GU2938 tried to pretend that he was back there in the box on the truck and eventually he fell asleep.

He was woken late in the day by his Master opening the door and turning on the lights. GU2938 jumped up and stood with his head bowed at respectful attention as his Master crossed the room to the bar and set down a box.

"Got you something," he said. "Come here." Master opened the box and drew out a thick black collar with a small box attached to it. When GU2938 came over, Master reached up and fastened it around his neck. "That's a shock collar. I got the remote right here, see? I don't want to have to use it, but if you leave here or you disobey me, I can and I will. Understood?"

"Yes, Master." They were the only words GU2938 had uttered in recent memory and he heard his own voice so seldom that he was almost surprised by the sound of it, soft and deep and uncertain.

"Good. Now fill the cooler and get the floor mopped." Master went off to his own tasks in the back office.

GU2938 hated the feeling of the collar. It wasn't actually too tight, but it felt like it was and it made him cringe whenever he turned his head and felt the material rubbing against the front of his throat. He tried not to turn his head much, but it was difficult to remember not to move naturally. Even worse, he had no idea what Master's idea of disobedience was. GU2938 was trying his hardest to be a good Pet, but he was very afraid that Master would disagree.

As the weeks passed, GU2938 became more accustomed to the rhythm of life in the bar. He found that sleeping sitting up and leaned against the inside of the bar was more comfortable than trying to stretch out on the floor, especially with the collar snug around his throat. He also slept with one hand inside the collar, holding it away from his windpipe. Master fed him at least once a day from anything left in the kitchen before closing time and Ed, the bookkeeper, even gave him permission to eat scraps off of customers' plates when he did the dishes. He was hungry, but on most days not painfully so.

Only dealing with the customers never got easier. When Master ordered it, he had to throw them out of the bar sometimes, but Master also let the customers order him around when they wanted something. Occasionally, they played a game with him where they made a rule he had to follow for however long they said.

They seemed to play this game about once a week and GU2938 dreaded it. The first time they played, the rule had been that he had to do a somersault whenever one of them clapped. After he had rolled across the dirty floor a few times, one of the customers got it into his head to start applauding, making the Pet roll over and over around the bar until his back ached from contact with the hard floor.

The next time, he had to serve them with his eyes shut until they said he could look. The bartender played along and even Master laughed when someone put a chair in front of him to trip him when he brought a table their bill. The Pet went sprawling, afraid to open his eyes even to catch himself, and landed hard on his wrists. Without looking, he picked himself up very carefully and felt his way to the nearest table.

"Wrong one," someone said, when he tried to give them the little plastic tray with the paper and pen on it. There was a roar of laughter as he felt his way from table to table, each of them refusing the bill, until he was touching the back wall.

There were no tables left and he found himself shaking and afraid, because he didn't know what to do next. Should he ask again? But then Master would think he was questioning the honest of Master's customers and he wouldn't like that.

"Give it here," said Master's voice. "And go back to the front."

Still with his eyes squeezed shut, GU2938 went. Master must have delivered the check and the game continued, with GU2938 delivering food and drinks in between orders from the customers to go find the pinball machine or tie a customer's shoes.

The game came to an abrupt end when GU2938 slammed into the pool table and spilled an entire tray of beers all over himself and the floor.

"Open your fucking eyes and clean up that mess," Master snapped. GU2938 blinked in the light as he opened his eyes for the first time in hours and beheld the immense mess in front of him. Entirely without meaning to, he began to cry and almost immediately there was a sharp stinging feeling at his neck that made his whole body tense up. It only lasted a second, but when it ended, the spot on his neck under the little box didn't feel right and he ached horribly.

"Enough," his Master said in an angry voice. "I don't want to see any of that bullshit. Just clean. it. up."

"Yes, Master."

That first use of the collar marked a terrible turning point in GU2938's life. Now that the bar regulars knew he could be shocked, and knew one thing that would make Master do it, it seemed to become their goal to make Master shock GU2938.

In addition to the Rules game, they began betting on how long it would take them each night to make him cry. In between watching races or poker on tv, they pinched him as he passed or kicked his ankles or kneed him when Master wasn't looking.

If he had seen in, GU2938 supposed, Master would have stopped them, if only to protect his investment. The night one man pressed a lit cigarette to the Pet's arm, Master yelled at him and made GU2938 throw him out- but he had already been shocked and the man had won his bet. Every night GU2938 did his best not to cry, from either pain or fear, but they managed to find his breaking point all the same.

When they left and GU2938 had done his cleaning and eaten a bowl of leftover scraps, he would wedge his aching body and all its bruises under the counter and think about a quiet, dark box in a quiet, dark truck and rock himself back and forth until he could calm his adrenaline enough to sleep.

Things reached a crisis point the night the TV set broke. It might have had something to do with the bottle a very drunk customer had thrown at it earlier in the week, or it might simply have been a very old set. But whatever the cause, it broke in the middle of a race and the customers had been very invested in watching cars circle a track.

"Fuck," Master swore, and emptied the contents of his pockets onto the bar until he found his phone. He smashed the buttons and yelled into it, already sounding angry. "My fucking TV just died." There was an indistinct voice from the other end, and then Master said, "So what? The race was on and the TV just died, just like that." Pause. "Yeah, I know." Pause. "Well, I think we probably need another one, dumbass." Pause. "What the fuck?" Master sighed. "I'll be back when I sort this out," he announced to nobody in particular and stormed outside, still swearing at whoever was on the phone.

GU2938 was already nervous to be left alone with the customers, but when he saw that Master had left the remote to his collar on the bar, he thought he might be sick. He wondered for a split second if he could hide it until Master got back. Even if Master shocked him for it, it would still be better than whatever the customers might do.

He wasn't fast enough. One of them saw it and grabbed it out of the pile of loose change and crumpled receipts.

"Hey," he called to the other men, "Look what I got!" This was greeted with a round of drunk cheers that made GU2938 feel sick.

"Okay," said the man holding the remote. "First rule, umm... you have to walk around with your eyes crossed. Now go to the pool table and see if you can hit anything."

GU2938 did as he was told. He made it to the pool table and tried to pick up a cue, but he was so concentrated on the pool balls that he forgot there was a second condition.

"He's looking at them," someone called and instantly there a shock ran through him, making his muscles seize.

"No good," called the man with the remote. "Next rule? Anyone?"

"Make him eat gum off the bottom of the tables," someone suggested, to laughter. There was plenty of gum on the undersides of the tables and the chairs, too, as GU2938 well knew. As instructed, he scraped some off and put it in his mouth, but when he gagged, they shocked him again.

Then they had him carry a plate on his head and shocked him when it fell off. He had to turn a cartwheel and was shocked when he couldn't. With every broken rule, the shocks seemed to last longer and he was sure they were turning up the intensity. He couldn't help himself and screamed with each wave of electricity that shot through his body.

Prank call the emergency phone number.

Stand over here and piss into the potted plant.

Use this lit cigarette to draw a smiley face on your palm.

Stand under the target while we play darts.

Punch yourself in the face. No, harder. Right in the nose. Not like that.

Every time, they shocked him and with every shock, GU2938 felt his body grow weaker and felt his mind grow more afraid. His heart didn't feel right anymore, as if it skipped a beat when the shock came, and his legs could barely hold him.

At last, they got what they really wanted and he began to cry. Not just a few tears, like most nights, when GU2938 could keep himself mostly under control and the shocks from Master would be brief and comparatively light. Now, it was as if floodgates had opened and he sobbed from somewhere deep inside himself, the tears pouring down his aching face. He could feel a ball of grief deep in his stomach and he leaned against the bar and covered his face with his hands, as if they hadn't already seen.

"Uh-uh," the man with the remote crowed. "You're not allowed to do that. Your Master said you weren't. Didn't they train you better?"

GU2938 was sobbing too hard to answer or even to begin to collect himself.

"Guess not," the man said. He was looking out into the bar, talking to the other customers now, as if he was onstage speaking to an audience. "I guess we better help you out, get you properly trained. What do you think, boys?"

There was a cheer and to a background of applause, GU2938 felt the shock in what might have been slow motion. He could hear himself screaming at the top of his lungs as the man with the remote adjusted the intensity for maximum effect.

There was the feeling of a burning ring around GU2938's neck and he fell full-length onto the floor as his body tensed up. It was like an induced seizure and he felt his limbs shaking, his joints striking the tile. His teeth were grinding together and his eyes rolled in his head and then even the screaming stopped because he couldn't get a breath and his throat felt like it was on fire.

It only stopped because Master came in and shouted, "What the fuck do you think you're doing? I paid good money for that and you motherfuckers are just ruining it for fun." He kept on in that vein for some time, but GU2938 heard none of it. Consciousness ebbed and flowed and eventually someone dragged him behind the bar and left him there, supine and weeping, for the rest of the night.

The last thing that happened was Master shoving a bowl of scraps towards him. "You got the night off," Master said, "But I expect you to work double tomorrow to make it up."

"Yes, Master," GU2938 tried to say.

His blood ran cold. He hadn't made a noise- Master had spoken to him and he had answered but no noise had come out. GU2938 grabbed frantically at his throat, trying to pull the collar away. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, but there was nothing to hear.

Years later...

They were the first ones to arrive, which meant that Mikey had time to get the podium set up where he wanted it while Angie, Tim, and Nathan unfolded metal chairs into straight rows. Francis parked his wheelchair at the back of the room and got his crutches situated comfortably, pulling the sleeves of his flannel down smooth under the cuffs around his forearms.

"Are you ready?" Francis asked Mikey as they took their places at the front of the room.

Mikey shrugged. "I think so," he signed and Francis grinned.

"You'll be fine, I know you will. We'll do it just like we practiced at home."

"You're right, I know. But either nobody's going to show up or too many people are."

"Either way. Just like we practiced."

Mikey nodded and they watched the door as it opened to admit a stream of people. The local meetings of the Pet Liberation Movement were invitation-only to ensure that everyone in the room could be trusted; it looked like tonight everyone who was welcome had chosen to show up.

By 7:00, the library's conference room was standing room only and there was a low buzz of chatter as the attendees waited for the program to begin. Mikey focused on the front row, where Angie gave him an encouraging smile and a subtle thumbs-up. Nathan made a silent but enthusiastic cheering motion and Tim gave him two thumbs up, grinning broadly. Mikey blushed and laughed, but he felt better.

When the door had stayed closed for several minutes, suggesting that nobody else was coming, Mikey looked over at Francis, who nodded that he was ready to begin. Mikey raised his hands for quiet and the talk slowly died away as people noticed the gesture.

With a nervous deep breath, Mikey began to sign as Francis interpreted for him.

"Good evening. My name is Mikey and even though I'm using Sign Language, I'm not deaf- I'm mute. I lost my voice permanently because a shock collar was used on me when I was being kept as a Pet. My friend and fellow rescued Pet, Francis, and I are going to talk to you tonight about our experiences as victims of the Pet trade."

Master List

Notes: The end sort of just came to me, but I'm in love with the idea of Mikey becoming an activist. Also- is Mikey actually Ferdinand the Bull? Discuss.

Tag list: @pigeonwhumps, @cepheusgalaxy, @i-eat-worlds, @honeycollectswhump @taterswhump, @starfields08000 @whumpsday, @fruitypinapple00, @currentlyinthesprial

#bbucommunity #day3 #the safehouse #bbu #box boy universe #box boy whump #whump #whumpee #pet whump

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wolviecat · 8 months

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Space Vogue: Tech

People tend to underestimate Tech - he looked smaller then he was curled over his datapad, always hiding behind his googles.

He didn’t mind. It gave him the moment of surprise and strategically, it was worthy much more then a little mockery.

For @tbb-appreciation-week

I used just pallete this time

first time with trigger warnings hope their all okay

#Tbbaw2023 #tech #tbbtech #day3 #fanart #tw blood #blood #tw injury #injury

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whumpsday · 1 year

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Kane & Jim BBU AU #1: 100913

Kane & Jim AUs Masterlist / Next

content: bbu, pet whump, shock collar, broken dish trope

welcome to the Kane & Jim BBU AU! if you don't know what BBU is: in short, it's a shared pet whump universe a bunch of whump authors write in. more info here. as i feel it necessary to state up front to avoid confusion, everyone in this AU is human, no vampires.

@bbu-on-the-side BBU Community Days #3: Discipline

913 was a good enough pet.

He wasn't perfect, not by a long shot, but he was good at most of what he needed to do, his tasks. Cleaning wasn't hard. Neither was laundry, or dishes, or caring for plants.

Cooking was especially easy, that was 913's specialty. Not only that, but he enjoyed it, too. He didn't get to enjoy a lot of things at this place. Given it was his specialty, they would probably advertise him for that. Then he could cook every day for his owner and not have to worry about anything else.

However, while the chores came easy to him, the rest didn't. The pet stuff, the things everyone had to learn no matter what kind of pet they were. The positions, and how to talk all polite, that kind of shit. The respect crap, that was where he always messed up, and that was where he got his punishments. He wasn't trying to fuck up, it was just a lot to remember at once. He could never be a platonic.

913 rubbed at his collar. He hoped his owner would get him one without shocks. Even when it wasn't activated, the prongs dug into his neck all the time, and he hated it. Made him antsy.

But he didn't have time to worry about that right now. He grabbed his bucket to take to the other side of the room and continue his mopping.

"100913," Handler Schroeder called from behind as he stepped inside. 913 startled, dropping the water-filled bucket.

Fuck.

Handler Schroeder sighed, obviously irritated, which only made everything worse.

"I'm sorry, sir," 913 mumbled as the water spread over the floor. "Uh, you snuck up on me, so I just-"

913 cut himself off with a shriek as his collar activated, white-hot electricity arcing right into the side of his neck and setting his nerves alight. He fell to his knees, soaking his pants in the soapy water.

"Is that what you're going to do with your owner?" Handler Schroeder accused. "You mess up and blame it on them? Unbelievable. If that's the case, they'll return you right back here for refurbishing, you know. Maybe I should switch your program and make you a guard dog instead."

"I'm sorry, sir," 913 repeated, quieter this time, voice choked up with tears. His eyes bored down into the floor, too afraid to steal a glance at his handler. "Please- please- let me know how I can fix it. I wanna be better. Sir."

Handler Schroeder stomped over and grabbed him by the hair, rough fingers closing in his curls and yanking, forcing him to look up. "I will."

It had been a month since 913 got bought, and he was okay.

Master de Sang was miles better than the facility, it wasn't even close. Things were fine here. 913 had his own room, and he spent most of his time looking after the estate. Master liked the meals he cooked, the very thing he'd bought him for. It was fine.

It wasn't like they told him it would be, though. Master wasn't the loving owner he'd been promised. Master was strict. Master had a temper.

He was still better, far better than the handlers. He wasn't always bad. When he was in a good mood, Master could even be nice to be around, better than being alone. Master would play cards with him, or let him watch TV with him. 913 loved the TV, giving him a view into what a person's life was like.

But Master never replaced his collar, and the prongs still dug into his neck every second of every hour of every day, even though Master didn't use the shocks. Yet.

And when Master was irritated, which was almost all of the time, 913 couldn't help but get nervous.

Today was a good day so far, at least. He stole a moment to stand in front of the kitchen window, to feel the sun on his skin. He couldn't remember what it was like to be outside, but he knows he must have been outside at some point. Before. He wonders if the sun feels different when it's not filtered through the glass.

913 let himself have just a moment to bask in its warmth before he got back to cleaning up lunch, the water running over his wrist having no effect on the barcode and number permanently etched into his skin.

As he washed the dishes, he couldn't help but wince as he heard Master stomping around upstairs. He only did that when he was upset, and when he was upset...

He tried to shake it off. Master was just on the phone. That was all.

Master came downstairs just as 913 was finishing drying everything. "Welcome back, Master!" he said, chipper and friendly despite the dread building itself inside him.

Master just scowled at him, as though the greeting had made everything worse. 913 wanted to pull his hair out and scream. He wished he'd gotten a little training in what the platonics do, complex conversations with their owners besides the basic respect and obedience. Maybe he could help Master if he did. But better a domestic than either of the other two.

"Hi," Master said flatly. He leaned against the counter, tapping his fingers against it restlessly.

"Can I get you anything?" 913 asked.

"We just had lunch," Master pointed out. He wasn't looking at 913, but he wasn't sure if that was good or bad. He was staring off into space like he always did when he had family troubles.

He remembered talking to one of the platonics once back in training, 418512. 512 was talking about how they were trained to sometimes be a little more casual, something that might sometimes be interpreted as disrespect. How if they stayed fully respectful all the time, it could come off as cold. Maybe that was why Master was irritated with him.

913 was pretty sure he knew what Master was upset about. It was a risk, but he decided to go for it. He made his voice as soft and sympathetic as he could.

"Is it your father, Master?" he asked quietly.

The slap rang so hard across 913's face that his ears rang. He dropped the mug he was holding, the ceramic shattering against the floor.

Master grabbed 913 by the chin as pain bloomed over his cheek. "Don't you fucking talk about my father. Don't even mention him. Got it?"

"Yes, Master," 913 squeaked, trembling in his grip.

Master threw him to the floor over the jagged pieces. "Clean this up."

He stayed down, not moving from where he was tossed even as the edges cut into his palms. "Yes, Master."

913 stayed completely still until Master left in a huff. Once he could hear the sound of his footsteps fade away, he began picking shards out of his skin, failing not to cry.

expect two more of these :)

taglist in reblog

#kane and jim bbu #kane and jim au #whump #bbucommunity #day3 #bbu #discipline #pet whump #shock collar #electrocution #break thing #my writing #whump writing

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blackido · 7 months

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Yeeee! No le quiten la Piña a la Pizza!

#pizzatober #pizzatowertober #pizzatober2023 #pizza tower #pizza tower toppins #day3 #inktober #drawing

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lauritanaomystery · 7 months

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Stormybean-tober Day#3: Modern Cartoon🐱💫

In the library I have read about Fionna and Cake. My friends love it and so do I, I've seen the series. It's great!!!

#stormybeantober #stormybean2023 #lauritarts #day3 #moderncartoon #fionna and cake #simon petrikov

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bi-bi-want-dragon · 2 months

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Hiccstrid Week 2024

Day 3: to discover / to explore || braids

Astrid groaned as the morning sun cut through the door of her hut. She was in bed much later than usual, and she was still in no hurry to get up. Her whole body ached from the previous day’s Dragon Hunter attack, particularly her-

“Ah!” Astrid hissed as she absentmindedly tried to use her right hand to sit herself up. She immediately took her weight off the hand, falling back in bed and cradling it to her chest. Dammit, Hiccup was right. It was broken for sure, at least her fingers were. She groaned internally as she imagined the “I told you so” that would surely be coming.

Getting dressed was an uphill battle to say the least. By the time she was finished the aching in her hand had gotten so bad she could confidently count her heartbeat from her fingers. She thought maybe she’d be lucky enough that her braid had held up through the night, but when she felt her hair with her uninjured left hand she could tell it had fallen out. She sighed. This was going to hurt.

She had managed to undo her hair and brush through it with her left hand alone. She pulled the top of her hair back and tried to braid without bending the fingers of her right hand, but that proved quite difficult. So she thought she could just push through the pain and get it done quickly.

That quickly ended in screaming and cursing. Mostly cursing.

“Uh, Astrid? Everything alright?”

She stifled a groan. Here we go. “Yeah, Hiccup, I’m fine.” She must have missed the sound of his footsteps under her yelling.

She expected a sarcastic quip, but when he didn’t say anything she turned to look at him. He was just staring at her from the doorway, eyes wide and mouth just slightly ajar. Astrid blushed, realizing he’d never seen her with her hair down. Even Toothless noticed his best friend’s trance, though he merely rolled his eyes and found a comfy place to lay down and watch the show just inside the door.

She pushed the hair on the left side of her face behind her ear. “I, uh… Just having trouble with the braid.”

Hiccup slowly blinked back to life. “T-trouble with the… Because of your hand?”

She flinched. “Maybe.”

Hiccup hesitated - a first, Astrid noted - before he stepped into her hut and slowly crossed the distance between them. His eyes stayed mostly on the floor until he reached out his hand as he approached her. “Let me see,” he gently requested.

Astrid quietly held out her right hand, struggling to find a comfortable way to hold her fingers.

He leaned over and gently cupped her hand in his, hovering his other hand over them as he carefully inspected the damage. He turned her hand over in his a few times, just barely grazing over her skin with his rough, worn fingers. It felt nice, like stroking a piece of old, well-worn leather.

Hiccup shook his head. “I don’t like the way this bruising looks. I knew we should have splinted it last night.” He looked up at her, and Astrid couldn’t help but notice his eyes stealing glances at her hair. “If you come by after you’ve gotten something to eat, I should have something ready for you by then. Shouldn’t take me too long to make.”

Astrid sighed. So much for training today. “Alright, fine. I’ll come over soon. If I can ever get this hair braided, that is,” she added, brushing the loose strands back again. She hated how it blocked her vision when it fell forward.

“Well it looks pretty like that,” he offered.

Astrid blushed.

Hiccup’s eyes widened slightly. “P-p-pretty d-different, I mean, it’s-it’s different. Good different! It looks- It’s a good look on you, it’s good.”

Astrid couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks, Hiccup.”

He nodded, avoiding eye contact now. “Uh… You know, if, uh…” He scratched his face and pushed his hair back. “I-I could braid your hair for you, if you want.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I mean, I braid my hair all the time,” he quipped, gesturing to the tiny braids behind his ear.

Astrid chuckled. “Are you sure? I do have a lot more hair than that.”

He shrugged in that bouncy, hand-waving, Hiccup-y way. “Talk me through it. I’m a fast learner.”

Astrid smiled and held out the tie for her hair. “Alright, go for it.”

She had to admit, it felt nice having someone else brush her hair. A strand or two would occasionally catch on a break in his skin on his hand, but she didn’t mind. He was gentle and slow, making sure to not pull too hard. Astrid found herself closing her eyes and relaxing into his touch far too easily. She smiled softly to herself. She could already feel that it wasn’t going to be the tightest or neatest braid she’d had by far. But he could only get better with practice, right?

Maybe letting him do her braids for a while wouldn’t be so bad.

#hiccstridweek2024 #day3 #braids #hiccstrid #hiccup #Astrid #httyd #randis fics

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