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After confronting Jack, Adrian has to report to his superior.

Pet Safety Masterpost

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Content / warnings: None, other than for genre-typical institutional whump setting and general disregard of humans (BBU setting). Referenced and implied threats, including one of vague noncon.

Adrian was called up to his boss’ office first thing in the morning. As expected, he figured. He’d almost punched one of their most prestigious clients; and almost been beaten up by that same man’s high profile Guards, right in front of another handler and dozens of safety cameras.

As expected, Kelly wasn’t amused.

As - well, not as expected per se, but still as 'probable enough' - she let this one slip anyway, because it was obvious enough from the visual evidence, that the client had been the aggressor.

What came completely unexpected though was Kelly raising an eyebrow and proceeding to a next topic. "Funnily enough, this isn't even the only video of last night that shows you getting into a fight."

She put two manicured fingernails on the corner of her screen to turn it towards Adrian.

A shaky video, taken by hand, on a phone he assumed, of the brightly lit clinic entrance. Ray and him facing each other, obviously agitated, obviously fighting. Ray's fist punching into his stomach. Adrian going down.

His chest felt like his breath was punched out of him again. 

"Care to explain?" Kelly asked.

"He hates me."

"Seems so. You went to see him on your own terms, though. Why?"

"He's a good doctor. It's a good clinic. And they do treat pets. My pet needed a doctor, after what our preferred customer Jack Donnell did to her."

Kelly raised an eyebrow. "Careful, PSI Delgado. In case this isn't obvious, I'm interrogating you here. You've been in contact with a known pet lib activist, who also just happens to be married to your sister."

"Separated," Adrian clarified. "They don't live together. And that contact, as you can see, was not particularly..." He waved his hand at the screen. "Amicable."

"When was the last time you were in contact with Raymond Louissaint before last night?"

Adrian shrugged. "Christmas at my parents'. The year before last. He broke my nose. We both departed early, then." He grimaced. "He doesn't think highly of my choice of employer."

"And your sister?"

"Her neither. But she never tried to break any of my bones. So we make it work." Adrian frowned. "What about your family, Kelly? Do they appreciate your job?"

The thin smirk on her lips was answer enough. "This is not about me, Adrian. This is about you. Admittedly, your performance here is great, but I feel like you're slipping in your private life."

"And how much of your business is that, Kelly?"

"Enough to keep an eye out on you."

She tapped a long fingernail on the clinic doors on the screen. "And on them. We'll schedule an appointment for your pet after her release. She'll report to us about anything suspicious going on in this clinic."

"One spy in there not enough?" Adrian leaned back in his chair. "This was filmed from inside the clinic. Patient? Or an employee?"

Kelly snapped the laptop shut. "As her owner, you can be present for that interrogation or not. Your choice. But it will happen. And you best avoid *any* further contact with your brother-in-law." She pursed her lips. "Not only for your precious bones' sake."

Adrian grimaced. "Fine with me. I don't particularly enjoy these encounters. But just to give you a heads up, my sister is going to pick up the pet for me. Please don't accidentally get her mixed up into this affair." He caught her gaze. "I am *very* protective of her."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No." Adrian flashed her a brief smile. "Were you?"

She looked him down with her lips pursed. "I think this conversation is over."

"One thing," Adrian leaned back in the chair. He’d promised something to Bea. 

Kelly's brow shot up. "Really, Delgado?"

"The Guards. Donnell's. I recommend you order them in for a complimentary refresher on their training."

"Oh? And why do you think I should do that?"

"Because Donnell is pissed. He's going to punish them for doing exactly what WRU programmed them to do - never turn against one of us. And he'll keep being dissatisfied with our products. I assume you don't want him to buy his replacement Guards from our competitors."

Kelly huffed. "Our competitors don't play in our league."

"You don't need to convince me. Convince him.  By making a great service offer. I've drafted a mail for you."

She frowned and bit her lip, thinking. For a second, Adrian wondered if that was a learned mannerism, too. "Fine," she said then. "Send me that draft. And prepare another one, to Facility 14. Let them start looking for potential replacements among the trainees. Maybe we can set up another sale. We do know the man's taste."

A cold shiver ran down his spine. You'll make a fine addition to my Guard team, Delgado. I hear they can make Guards, who just love to suck their masters' cocks.

"Will do." He forced himself to smile.

If they weren't dead yet - and he doubted that, somehow; Jack seemed like someone to plan his punishments out meticulously - this might have saved their lives.

It should've felt good.

Somehow, it didn't.

"After that, take the rest of the day off, Delgado. Pull yourself together. I expect you back in better shape. Stop provoking fights. You're not casting the best light on our company these days."

He had to bite back a hard chuckle. Yeah. Everyone around him could agree on that, it seemed.

"Yes, madam."

Kelly clicked her tongue. "Don't madam me. Leave that to the actual pets, will you, Delgado? You're still far from that." She waved both hands dismissively. "And now, just get out."

He did.

--

At home, in his impersonal apartment that felt emptier then ever, he didn't even bother to open to curtains. There was nothing worth to see anyway. Instead, he pulled out his burner phone.

Ray's mobile was turned off. He didn't have a mailbox, at least not on that phone, to which only a select few people had the number. 

*Call me back*, he texted. *Important.*

His next call was to Marta. This one, he did from his main phone. She was his sister, after all. And they always made sure their calls were encrypted. 

"Adri," she said. She sounded exhausted.

"Bea is back," he said. "They hurt her. I brought her to Ray's."

"I know." She sighed. "I've been with her today. She's a tough woman."

"You've talked to Ray, then?"

"He told me he had to beat you up for show."

Adrian grimaced, as he fingered for the bruise under his shirt. "Felt like it wasn't only for show, to be honest."

"I'm with him on everything."

"Ray said the same thing." He sighed. "Listen. He was right. Someone watched us. There's a video of our fight that made it to my boss at WRU within mere hours. Taken from within the clinic, phone camera. First or second floor, a dozen or so meters to the left of the entrance. Aluminum window frame. Curtain at the side, dark blue, I think, or gray."

He heard Marta scribbling something down. 

"Got it. Did they believe you?"

"I think so, yeah. That punch of his was pretty convincing."

Marta let out a tired chuckle, but he heard the relieved smile in her voice. "You're a sissy, baby brother. He held back."

"Your husband is a fucking machine."

She scoffed quietly. "You say it like that, yet you've never experienced how he is in bed." 

"He scares me. But you do you, I guess." He smiled to himself, before he cut back to the point. "My boss asked about you, too, Matti. I kept to the story. You're separated, you and I keep my work out of our relationship, yadda yadda."

"Good. We'll look into that person filming. Thanks for the heads up. Ray's already moved a lot of the underground stuff to another site. Still, sucks to know it wasn't just paranoia." She sighed. "They really did pull a number on your girl. Who broke her fingers? That doesn't look like WRU handiwork."

"She didn't tell you?"

"Nope. She's very careful. Wise of her. Especially now that we know there is in fact someone snitching on us."

"Jack Donnell. Stepped on her hand. Just crushed them under his fucking cowboy boots."

He heard Marta whistle through her front teeth. She'd always been able to that, to his utter envy. "Wow. Shit. How did that fucker come back into play?"

"He's gone for now. Let's talk about this later, okay? You just take good care of Bea. How long until she can come home?"

"Two, three days? But she'll need bed rest after. Can you manage that?"

"Sure." He ran a hand over his face. He'd find a way. "Can you tell her that I-" He broke off.

"You tell her that yourself. I've been done with delivering your love confessions like, twenty years ago. Not starting that again."

"She asked about Eric."

Marta fell silent. 

"Well," she whispered eventually. "She deserves to know, doesn't she? He's the reason for all of this."

Adrian felt his fingers close around the old scar in his palm. "He'd probably like that," he said, his voice heavy with a held back sob. "He was always into drama."

"Especially when it was about him." Marta mumbled wistfully. "I love you, Adri. Take care, okay?"

"I will."

He hoped that he could.

--

Pet Safety Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed):

@gottawhump @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @highwaywhump @tauntedoctopuses

 @pigeonwhumps @whumppsychology @labgrowndemon @whumpinggrounds @somewhumpyguy 

@whumpzone @tragedyinblue @theelvishcowgirl @light-me-on-pyre @whumps-and-bumps

@bilightningwhumper @hellodecisionparalysis

[highwaywhump]

hahaha we have fun around here

solitaire masterlist

[highwaywhump]

"Come to me, darling," whumper says, unable to rise from their bed. Whumpee kneels down next the bed, eyes bleary. "Please--please don't die--" "Shhh, shhh, I just need rest." Whumper caresses whumpee's cheek before their hand falls limp. Whumpee catches the weak hand, pressing it to their tear-stained face, "I'll make you something, I can--I can get you soup--just tell me what to do. I can do it!" "Shh, lie down with me," Whumper smiles as their eyes close. Scrabbling under the covers, whumpee buries themselves against whumper's feverish body. Sobs wrack their shoulders as they feel whumper slip away into a broken sleep. "Tell me what to do," they whisper, "I don't know what to do..."

[highwaywhump]

peace and quiet. 🖤

Poll winner was the shock collar~ luckily had this painting sitting around and he’s one of my favorites 🖤

[highwaywhump]

vampire au part 2. part 1 here

cw/tw: it as a pronoun, mention of animal's blood, mention of sunburns, brief description of removed teeth, exploitation. quite light, mostly angst but not much of that either. not proofread.

-

Aaron startles awake.

He is not alone.

It is as if his very base instincts wakes him up. Cave dweller-instincts.

Prey instincts.

He'd spent a few hours googling vampire nature and care and intermittenly trying to get a hold of Mike. But Mike didn't answer and very few people seemed to post actual, reliable care guides on the Internet, so he'd eventually resolved to read the endless wiki on vampires and had fallen asleep on the couch. His head had tipped back at an awkard angle which had given him a painful twinge on one side, and he tries to massage it away with one hand while the other fumbles for the light on the sidetable, eventually finding the switch.

It's dark outside, and once the lone bulb starts glowing, it seems even darker where the light doesn't reach. Aaron scans the room, trying to establish whether the hairs standing up at the back of his neck were justified. The little thing had not attacked him in his sleep at least, and immediately he took back the thought. Vampires aren't a realistic threat to a humans. Especially not one like the one he so easily had picked up and carried downstairs.

The species had grown to fear humans, claimed most of the literature he had come across.

Lone individuals typically strayed far away from human settlements in prehistory. Like cats, they have keen smell and hearing, and sensitive eyes which can pick up even the faintest traces of light.

And there it is. He can see it now, the almost supernatural shine of light reflecting in the creature's eyes, where it is peeking out from the darkness of the stairwell down to the basement, halfway hidden behind the door which Aaron had left ajar. It is so low to the floor it must be crouching, or is perched on one of the steps near the top.

When it understands that Aaron has spotted it, the shadow startles back. For a second Aaron thinks it has retreated back down again, but soon the eyes are back.

Like coyotes, they scitter away before any human can even realize they are nearby.

Hm. This one, not quite.

"Hi there," Aaron tries, slightly unsure of how to apprach.

"You said I could come upstairs."

It's the first time he's heard its voice. It sounds sore, like it's screamed itself hoarse. Dragging its words like an old man. Shaking, like a little boy.

"Yes. Come up here, please? I would like to see who I'm talking to."

For a few long seconds the creature doesn't move, and then the shadows around it change. It looks like it is one with the absence of light surrounding it, morphing from one abstract shape of darkness to another. It doesn't go in a straight line from the basement door and towards Aaron; it migrates from patch to patch of shadow, coming closer and closer.

Like wolves, they are only brave enough to be a legitimate threat to humans when they are part of a pack.

Aaron hopes so, as he watches the creature move. It certainly doesn't look threatening once it comes close enough to step into the light of the side table lamp. It stands there, head bowed and shoulders hunched, looking more like a repentant child waiting to be scolded than a predator of the night.

It is wearing somebody else's clothes. It must be, with the way the shoulder seams of its t-shirt hang down its upper arms and and its shorts end well below its knees, halfway covering blue and brown bruises. Those are the only garments its wearing. Aaron can see the bumps of its ankle joints and the sharp lines of the clavicles sticking out, lik his skin has been threaded over a wire armature. It's skinny. Some part of his brain wonders about the metabolic rate of vampires. Has this one been stared or do they all look like this? How much blood do they actually need, and how often? Which quality? Should it ideally be human?

Its hair is long enough to brush its shoulders and Aaron has to duck his head down a little to get a better look of its face. The sunburn is still present across his cheeks and nose, a violent red compared to its otherwise pale skin. Its not just pale - the skin is completely colourless. Almost like a black-and-white movie. It makes few drops of blood on his lips stand out even more. So half-thawed cow's blood in a dish works.

"I have tried to get into contact with Mike, who took you here," Aaron begins, as he sits back on the couch again, tilting his head a little to one side. "He's not picking up, or answering any of my texts. So I'm hoping you can tell me where you're from, since he won't."

The vampire doesn't move its downturned head, but its gaze flits up to Aarons from where it's been burrowing into the floor. The pupils have receeded some from the vast blackness they were when the creature came from the basement door, when they were so expanded they took up the entire iris. Now they're sort of elongated circles, floating in greenish-grayish pools.

Not quite cat.

But decidedly not human, either.

"Springfield," it says blankly, and Aaron blinks.

He doesn't know what he expected, but Springfield wasn't it.

"From a private collector, or a drug farm? A lab?" he tries, because he's not entirely sure what sorts of places keep vampires. Some roam like wild animals, following highways until they find something to eat and then move on. Most exist in some sort of captivity. Legislators have still not agreed on exactly what vampires are, only that they are not humans. Some claim them to be no more tame than orcas in a pool; mostly willing to do obey for food, but inclined to pull their trainer under if given the chance. Some call for eradication, arguing that there is no place for a species which has been known to prey on humans when the conditions are right. Others believe that the humane solution is containment until a consensus is met. But almost nobody thinks they are fit to be part of society alongside humans.

Aaron doesn't quite know where he stands, but he supposes he has to make up his mind if this one is to be stay with him for the unforeseeable future.

"Leeland incorporated, Antibody Manufacturing department. Private facility."

He's not prepared for such a clear answer. These are google-able terms, he realises, and repeats the name in his head so he can remember to look it up after. He had imagined… well, he doesn't know what place of origin he imagined. The skinny thing in front of him with bruises on its shins and blood in the corners of its mouth is the first vampire he's ever met.

"What did they do to you there?" is what he asks next, because he cannot imagine that it was voluntary, whatever it was.

It avoid eye contact again, and bites its bottom lip with a set of front teeth that are remarkably straight and human-like. Not a fang. Aren't they supposed to have sharp, fox-like incisors, to pierce flesh with?

"They take our venom," it whispers eventually, so low Aaron almost doesn't hear, even though the living room is completely silent and the house is situated far enough away from any road to not be distrubed by the sounds of traffic.

"Your… venom?"

It nods, quickly, like it rather not talk about. A tear travels along its waterline, eventually rolling down from the corner of its eye and over its sunburned skin. It winces and draws a hand up to sooth the skin, and in the process pushes its lip up enough for Aaron to see that there indeed is no sharp canine there. Not because he's been tricked all these years into believing that vampires have sharp teeth, but because there simply is no tooth there at all.

There is only a red orifice where he can only assume such a tooth once was.

"What happened to your teeth?" he asks before he can stop himself, and immediately regrets it. It's appearantly a touchy subject, because the vampire lets out a sob and brings both hands up to cover his eyes, which only serves to irritate the sunburn further.

Aaron isn't sure what to do. Should you soothe a vampire? It feels slightly degrading to put his hands on it like it's an animal. Even though, it strictly is.

"They take them too," it suddenly lets out, heaving like it's ran a mile. It's trying to hold back its tears. It is still holding its hands to its face, further aggravating its sunburn. On a whim Aaron rises from the couch and retrieves a pack of frozen peas, which he wraps in a kitchen towel and brings back to the living room. The vampire isn't making much sound, but its shoulders are shaking. Aaron holds out the makeshift icepack, anticipating the flinch when the vampire spots him out from between his fingers.

"This will help," he says, gently nudging the icepack inbetween its face and hand. The relief seems immediate and palpable. Its red-rimmed eyes close as it grasps the icepack in both hands and presses it gently to its skin. First one cheek, then the other, then it brings it to its mouth and rests its sore gums on the cool fabric. It repeats the triangular pattern while Aaron sits back down on the couch.

He doesn't push the teeth-issue anymore. He has some information to work with now, and some pointed questions to ask Mike when he decides to pick up his phone. For now, he's got to take care of the little vampire in front of him.

"Do you have a name?" he gently asks when the worst of the crying seems to have subsided. The vampire looks at him from over the icepack, which he's now placed across his cheekbones and nosebridge like a cold compress.

"One of them called me Joey."

It's low and muffled through the towel, but Aaron still manages to pick it up. He smiles.

"Well, Joey. I'm Aaron. Nice to meet you."

[highwaywhump]

vampire au part 2. part 1 here

cw/tw: it as a pronoun, mention of animal's blood, mention of sunburns, brief description of removed teeth, exploitation. quite light, mostly angst but not much of that either. not proofread.

-

Aaron startles awake.

He is not alone.

It is as if his very base instincts wakes him up. Cave dweller-instincts.

Prey instincts.

He'd spent a few hours googling vampire nature and care and intermittenly trying to get a hold of Mike. But Mike didn't answer and very few people seemed to post actual, reliable care guides on the Internet, so he'd eventually resolved to read the endless wiki on vampires and had fallen asleep on the couch. His head had tipped back at an awkard angle which had given him a painful twinge on one side, and he tries to massage it away with one hand while the other fumbles for the light on the sidetable, eventually finding the switch.

It's dark outside, and once the lone bulb starts glowing, it seems even darker where the light doesn't reach. Aaron scans the room, trying to establish whether the hairs standing up at the back of his neck were justified. The little thing had not attacked him in his sleep at least, and immediately he took back the thought. Vampires aren't a realistic threat to a humans. Especially not one like the one he so easily had picked up and carried downstairs.

The species had grown to fear humans, claimed most of the literature he had come across.

Lone individuals typically strayed far away from human settlements in prehistory. Like cats, they have keen smell and hearing, and sensitive eyes which can pick up even the faintest traces of light.

And there it is. He can see it now, the almost supernatural shine of light reflecting in the creature's eyes, where it is peeking out from the darkness of the stairwell down to the basement, halfway hidden behind the door which Aaron had left ajar. It is so low to the floor it must be crouching, or is perched on one of the steps near the top.

When it understands that Aaron has spotted it, the shadow startles back. For a second Aaron thinks it has retreated back down again, but soon the eyes are back.

Like coyotes, they scitter away before any human can even realize they are nearby.

Hm. This one, not quite.

"Hi there," Aaron tries, slightly unsure of how to apprach.

"You said I could come upstairs."

It's the first time he's heard its voice. It sounds sore, like it's screamed itself hoarse. Dragging its words like an old man. Shaking, like a little boy.

"Yes. Come up here, please? I would like to see who I'm talking to."

For a few long seconds the creature doesn't move, and then the shadows around it change. It looks like it is one with the absence of light surrounding it, morphing from one abstract shape of darkness to another. It doesn't go in a straight line from the basement door and towards Aaron; it migrates from patch to patch of shadow, coming closer and closer.

Like wolves, they are only brave enough to be a legitimate threat to humans when they are part of a pack.

Aaron hopes so, as he watches the creature move. It certainly doesn't look threatening once it comes close enough to step into the light of the side table lamp. It stands there, head bowed and shoulders hunched, looking more like a repentant child waiting to be scolded than a predator of the night.

It is wearing somebody else's clothes. It must be, with the way the shoulder seams of its t-shirt hang down its upper arms and and its shorts end well below its knees, halfway covering blue and brown bruises. Those are the only garments its wearing. Aaron can see the bumps of its ankle joints and the sharp lines of the clavicles sticking out, lik his skin has been threaded over a wire armature. It's skinny. Some part of his brain wonders about the metabolic rate of vampires. Has this one been stared or do they all look like this? How much blood do they actually need, and how often? Which quality? Should it ideally be human?

Its hair is long enough to brush its shoulders and Aaron has to duck his head down a little to get a better look of its face. The sunburn is still present across his cheeks and nose, a violent red compared to its otherwise pale skin. Its not just pale - the skin is completely colourless. Almost like a black-and-white movie. It makes few drops of blood on his lips stand out even more. So half-thawed cow's blood in a dish works.

"I have tried to get into contact with Mike, who took you here," Aaron begins, as he sits back on the couch again, tilting his head a little to one side. "He's not picking up, or answering any of my texts. So I'm hoping you can tell me where you're from, since he won't."

The vampire doesn't move its downturned head, but its gaze flits up to Aarons from where it's been burrowing into the floor. The pupils have receeded some from the vast blackness they were when the creature came from the basement door, when they were so expanded they took up the entire iris. Now they're sort of elongated circles, floating in greenish-grayish pools.

Not quite cat.

But decidedly not human, either.

"Springfield," it says blankly, and Aaron blinks.

He doesn't know what he expected, but Springfield wasn't it.

"From a private collector, or a drug farm? A lab?" he tries, because he's not entirely sure what sorts of places keep vampires. Some roam like wild animals, following highways until they find something to eat and then move on. Most exist in some sort of captivity. Legislators have still not agreed on exactly what vampires are, only that they are not humans. Some claim them to be no more tame than orcas in a pool; mostly willing to do obey for food, but inclined to pull their trainer under if given the chance. Some call for eradication, arguing that there is no place for a species which has been known to prey on humans when the conditions are right. Others believe that the humane solution is containment until a consensus is met. But almost nobody thinks they are fit to be part of society alongside humans.

Aaron doesn't quite know where he stands, but he supposes he has to make up his mind if this one is to be stay with him for the unforeseeable future.

"Leeland incorporated, Antibody Manufacturing department. Private facility."

He's not prepared for such a clear answer. These are google-able terms, he realises, and repeats the name in his head so he can remember to look it up after. He had imagined… well, he doesn't know what place of origin he imagined. The skinny thing in front of him with bruises on its shins and blood in the corners of its mouth is the first vampire he's ever met.

"What did they do to you there?" is what he asks next, because he cannot imagine that it was voluntary, whatever it was.

It avoid eye contact again, and bites its bottom lip with a set of front teeth that are remarkably straight and human-like. Not a fang. Aren't they supposed to have sharp, fox-like incisors, to pierce flesh with?

"They take our venom," it whispers eventually, so low Aaron almost doesn't hear, even though the living room is completely silent and the house is situated far enough away from any road to not be distrubed by the sounds of traffic.

"Your… venom?"

It nods, quickly, like it rather not talk about. A tear travels along its waterline, eventually rolling down from the corner of its eye and over its sunburned skin. It winces and draws a hand up to sooth the skin, and in the process pushes its lip up enough for Aaron to see that there indeed is no sharp canine there. Not because he's been tricked all these years into believing that vampires have sharp teeth, but because there simply is no tooth there at all.

There is only a red orifice where he can only assume such a tooth once was.

"What happened to your teeth?" he asks before he can stop himself, and immediately regrets it. It's appearantly a touchy subject, because the vampire lets out a sob and brings both hands up to cover his eyes, which only serves to irritate the sunburn further.

Aaron isn't sure what to do. Should you soothe a vampire? It feels slightly degrading to put his hands on it like it's an animal. Even though, it strictly is.

"They take them too," it suddenly lets out, heaving like it's ran a mile. It's trying to hold back its tears. It is still holding its hands to its face, further aggravating its sunburn. On a whim Aaron rises from the couch and retrieves a pack of frozen peas, which he wraps in a kitchen towel and brings back to the living room. The vampire isn't making much sound, but its shoulders are shaking. Aaron holds out the makeshift icepack, anticipating the flinch when the vampire spots him out from between his fingers.

"This will help," he says, gently nudging the icepack inbetween its face and hand. The relief seems immediate and palpable. Its red-rimmed eyes close as it grasps the icepack in both hands and presses it gently to its skin. First one cheek, then the other, then it brings it to its mouth and rests its sore gums on the cool fabric. It repeats the triangular pattern while Aaron sits back down on the couch.

He doesn't push the teeth-issue anymore. He has some information to work with now, and some pointed questions to ask Mike when he decides to pick up his phone. For now, he's got to take care of the little vampire in front of him.

"Do you have a name?" he gently asks when the worst of the crying seems to have subsided. The vampire looks at him from over the icepack, which he's now placed across his cheekbones and nosebridge like a cold compress.

"One of them called me Joey."

It's low and muffled through the towel, but Aaron still manages to pick it up. He smiles.

"Well, Joey. I'm Aaron. Nice to meet you."

[highwaywhump]

grasping

[highwaywhump]

a vampire au

cw/tw: mention of animal's blood, mention of sunburns, no big things. a very, very afraid joey and an aaron sligthly out of his depth.

-

“It’s temporary, I swear! I’ll come back for it. Just… look after it, ok? For the time being.” Aaron doesn’t get the chance neither inquire, agree, nor disagree before his friend Mike has leapt back down the porch stairs and opened his car door. “Blood’s in the cooler!” he shouts over his shoulder as he hops in. The dirty grey car speeds off and leaves deep tracks in the mud in Aaron’s driveway.

He still doesn’t know entirely what he’s agreed to. In his hallway, hastily carried inside by Mike and deposited on the jute rug, is… something, covered in a thick, scratchy wool blanket. It’s shivering. In an orange cooler on the porch, if Aaron heard Mike right, is blood.

He retrieves the cooler first and opens it to find… yep. They look like brick shaped popsicles, almost appetising with their red colour like ripe cherries, had it not been for what Mike had said. Each is wrapped in their own clear plastic wrapper, which is stamped with the cartoonish outline of a smiling cow. Aaron purses his lips and shuts the lid to the cooler, placing it down next to the shoe rack. He takes his time to close the entrance door and hang up his jacket, as if attempting to prolong something inevitable. There is still the matter of the shaking form under the blanket.

He regards it for a moment, considering his facts. Well, the fact. The cooler is filled with blood.

Only one creature sustains itself on blood.

Aaron draws breath, picks a long umbrella down from where it hangs on the hatrack and uses the end of it to push the corner of the blanket away, only confirming what he already knows is true.

There is a vampire in his hallway.

It's small. At a distance he may have taken it for a child, but up from where he's standing he can see its sharp features and gaunt, hollow face. The skin looks papery and sinewy at the same time, haggard by time but still fragile. In any case, decidedly not young. There are burn marks across his chin bones, an angry red like deep, local sunburns. Its eyes are pinched shut. Its lips are closed too, but Aaron knows if he were to take the metal tip of the umbrella and push the top lip away, he would find sharp fangs.

Aaron lets the blanket fall back in place to sufficiently cover the figure. He hangs the umbrella back in its place and considers his options.

There are very few safe spaces for a vampire. Not only in society at large, where they are routinely used as lab rats and overall cruel entertainment, but also in his very own house. Every room has a window, and few of the windows has proper drapes. As far as he knows, even the lowest level of sunlight could be aggravating on a vampire's skin. And the one in his hallway looked as if it had already felt the sun quite a bit.

He finds it best to be certain, and to rather ask for forgiveness later should he be wrong. That's what he tells himself as he carefully approaches the creature. It freezes when Aaron touches it, but keeps its limbs lax to allow itself to be folded up and situated how Aaron wants it in his arms. He somehow gathers it all up, blanket and all, and carries it downstairs.

In addition to a washer and dryer, a game room (which is mostly made up of a pool table with a busted wheel and the old flatscreen that used to be upstairs) and a room where three freezers are awkwardly placed in a row against the far wall, there is an unfinished bathroom in the basement. Two walls are tiled, but the last owner of the house never finished the job and Aaron didn't need a fourth bathroom when he moved in, so the building process stopped. Stacks of tiles are still piled up in one corner where the craftsmen left them. In another corner are the pipes and outlets for a sink. In the middle of a floor is a drain.

Even Aaron realises it looks like a murder dungeon, with its lone light bulb and its blank walls. The important thing is the lack of windows. Not a lick of sunlight could get here. That's why he, as gently as he can, deposits the vampire on the cement floor, careful to lay his head down last. The thing doesn't move at all when he steps back and regards it.

"I'll be right back," Aaron says, not knowing if it can hear or process his words, or even understand him, and exits the room.

He gathers a softer blanket from the couch and two chair cushions from the high backed patio chairs outside and brings them down to the unfinished bathroom. The vampire hasn't moved. If he didn't know better, Aaron would think somebody had simply left a an army supply blanket in his basement.

"I'll get you a proper mattress over the weekend," he tells the wool blanket as he arranges the cushions on the floor, a pillow from the sofa placed at one end. He doesn't say the rest of the sentence, but he thinks it.

If you're still here by then.

He is unsure of what to do with the blood. First of all, he doesn't even know many of the blocks is a proper portion. One seems like little, so he pick up two by the corners of their plastic wrappers from the cooler and deposits them - well, where? A glass or mug? A plate? A bowl? In the end he decides on a soup dish, which is deep enough to accomodate a liquid, big enough to look like a meal and not as degrading as the old red dog bowl he birefly considers in the bottom far cupboard.

Aaron snips the plastic and the popsicles slide into the dish. There is a sligthly gelatenous quality to them, betraying their nature to him as if their almost black colour didn't already. They have already begun to melt at the corners. They don't look appetizing anymore, he decides as he turns away and opens the utensils drawer.

What is appropriate? A spoon, a straw? Do they even use utensils? He isn't sure, but he would rather it have the option if it preferred them, instead of having to lap from the dish or try to drink from the edge of it. From how light the creature was to carry, Aaron isn't sure it has the musculature to steady a heavy ceramic bowl enough to drink from it without spilling. The murder dungeon might end up looking even more like a murder dungeon.

He therefore decides on a spoon, fork, and the dullest knife he can find, just in case. At the last second he fills a glass of water too. He doesn't know if vampires need water at all, but it feels wrong not to at least offer it. Every other organism needs water, he reasons with himself as he descends the stairs again with the glass, soup dish and utensils in hand.

The blanket has moved, if only slightly, probably so the vampire could peek out and map its surroundings. The gray form is still shivering, so it's still under there, at least. It hasn't stolen across the room to a darker corner or is levitating above the door, waiting for him to enter. That last thought Aaron physically shakes out of his head. Children's tales. A lone vampire is barely more of a threat to a grown man like him than another grown man would be.

Much less a vampire like this, which had looked and felt more dead than alive.

Still, he keeps the wool blanket in line of sight as he enters the room and places the makeshift tablesetting down on the floor. He leans the utensils against the edge of the dish, making sure their business ends don't touch the cement.

Aaron takes a step back and considers the living conditions he's given his little house guest. An additional blanket, some cushions and two half-thawed bricks of cow's blood. It could certainly be better. But considering the state of the creature itself, it could appearently also be a lot worse.

"The cushions are for you," Aaron says and considers lifting the corner of the wool blanket, to see if his words are having an impact. He decides against it, instead moving towards the door.

"There's … um, blood in the dish," he says as his hand lingers on the light switch. Rather on than off, he decides, even though vampires probably prefer the dark. If the light is on, he can at least see where it is. He would rather him see it, than it see him and him being oblivious to it. He figures it can go back under its blanket if the lone light bulb gets to be too much for it.

He exits the room and goes to close the door, but pauses.

"I don't know what place you're from. Mike has his hands in a lot of different pots. But you don't look like you've fared too well. This isn't a prison. This door," he gently rattles the door knob, which is still enough for the blanket creature to flinch, "is unlocked. This room has no windows. And the sun goes down in a few hours, if you want to come upstairs later."

Aaron closes the door and goes back up.

[highwaywhump]

Got institutional pet training facilities on the brain because when do I not.

Thinking about sensory deprivation. Specifically sensory deprivation for whumpees who are being... particularly difficult. Most pets only end up in the program if they have behavioral issues, but these ones have special extra behavioral issues. The "I literally cannot stop myself from trying to kill everyone around me" kind.

Bonus points if this part of the program is prompted in part by Whumpee actually TRYING to cooperate, only to find they can't. They can't stop flinching or twisting away or disobeying the orders to hold still.

Clearly their discomfort with touch is the root of their issues. That's easily fixable. All you have to do is immobilize them, put blinders over their eyes and deafening earplugs in their ears. If they have issues with biting, you add an open-mouthed gag and tube-feed them.

The program is then customizable to meet pet's needs. Pet is blinded, deafened, and unable to move. They can't hear or respond to commands. They can't watch their captors or anticipate what's coming next. Literally all they can do is experience the sensation of touch.

Pet might remain in this position for anywhere from a few days to months on end. The program typically concludes when they no longer respond to stimuli with problematic behavior.

IE: they remain limp and quiet and very Very good in situations where they would normally fight/fuss.

Some very common training regimens:

THOROUGHLY cleaning pet's mouth twice a day (if gagged). Good dental hygiene is important and pet can't do it themselves! Excellent for defiant pets who have a biting streak, a swearing problem, oversensitive gums, etc.

Touching and massaging areas that always cause pet to flinch. Obviously varies from pet to pet. It can be particularly effective to focus on just one sensitive body part per session, since this helps pet understand things like "inescapability" and "total helplessness."

As briefly mentioned above, tube-feeding pet. Swallowing a feeding tube is significantly less painful than having it forced down your throat. Excellent choice for defiant pets who are disobedient for the sake of disobedience. See how long it takes them to cooperate just because they're desperate to stop gagging.

Comforting touch as a reward when pet is docile and good. Pet can't hear praise, but you can gently stroke their hair and their throat to send a message.

Tickling. It's the fastest way to make the body betray itself. For pets who pride themselves on defiance, tickling is a unique form of humiliation, especially when it's intense enough to hurt and make breathing difficult.

Speaking of -- restricting the breathing. Again, pet can't hear or obey commands. But they can react when you place your hand over their mouth and nose. Some trainers use this just to exacerbate pet's sense of fear and helplessness, because pet never knows when they'll be allowed to breathe again. Other trainers wait for pet to exhibit a desired behavior -- typically being quiet, limp, and calm -- and then let them take a breath.

In the beginning, this desired behavior will almost always only occur after pet loses consciousness. Even if they're trying to remain calm, they WILL start to thrash eventually.

If you can rewire pet's nervous system to make them limp and obedient while they're suffocating, you can rewire pet's nervous system to do anything.

[highwaywhump]

Kiefer Sutherland - Renegades (1989)

[highwaywhump]

Jack Lowden as Adam Roebuck, in 'The Tunnel' (2013). I

[highwaywhump]

[highwaywhump]

Nightfall: In the Gloaming

(Takes place the evening after what dreams may come, where Carlo senses an ancient vampire’s presence nearby and is deeply unsettled by it. Based on an ask by @distinctlywhumpthing!)

CW: vampire & bloodbag pet, past abuse mention

Maxim woke as he had every nightfall in the recent memory of the world. The house was entirely still. As if uninhabited, it had slipped silently into the blue shadows of evening. If a mortal held their breath (and tried to hear over their own thoughts and rabbit-quick heartbeat) they might be able to hear the bullfrogs starling to croak down by the creek-fed pond, but they wouldn’t hear the hum of traffic down the hill on the highway as he did, that endless snake of red taillights was too far for human ears to pick up. They wouldn’t be able to scan the nearby woods and acres of old farmland for vampires either, which he did as a habit every evening. This night, all was quiet on Vampire Radio.

Maxim’s pet (pet was a demeaning word for a mortal, even meant as a term of endearment. It was Erik’s word, not his, though better than the more modern and unappetizing moniker of bloodbag) was not somewhere on his own in the house as he usually was at this time of evening, playing a record or watching tv or cooking. In fact Maxim couldn’t sense any of the usual signs of life in the old house, not even the dim hum electric lights emit.

Where was Carlo, then? He opened his eyes. The answer was right in front of him, sleeping. Well, not right in front of him. A far enough distance to be respectful of the deep sleep of a vampire, and a short enough distance to be endearing.

Maxim hadn’t slept in a coffin since before the Baltimore Railroad Company was formed, instead choosing a bed with a canopy and curtains that could be drawn as an extra layer of precaution against unwanted sunlight. Even without them drawn, no daylight could reach the second floor bedroom he slept in, because the windows were permanently boarded up, plastered over, and painted to match the wall. Still, drawing them provided him some measure of ease, like sleeping with a blanket, though that was wholly unnecessary too. In fact he’d slept this summer day without one, unlike his mortal friend, who was curled up on the floor three feet from the bed with a pillow he’d brought from another room and his favorite soft throw draped over him.

Maxim regarded the familiar shape of the top of his head sticking out from it, the way his hair spilled on the pillow. He pushed out of bed and knelt silently beside the boy, touching soft curls with the backs of his fingers.

“Of all the places to be, why are you on my bare floor?” he murmured so that it might wake Carlo gently. He was answered with a whimper and a quick drawing of breath that mortals do when they wake— that moment of confusion passing over their eyes and giving way to recognition. He pushed himself up on one elbow.

“I thought I felt it again,” Carlo said sleepily, a troubled look soon replacing the relief and trust that had flooded his features upon opening his eyes. “Him. The vampire from last night.”

“In the day?” Maxim asked gently, but it came out as doubtful as he felt. Carlo looked away sheepishly. He knew it to be unlikely, too. But he’d never come in this room before, and must have been quite frightened in order to do so.

“Maybe you did,” Maxim said, brushing a strand of hair from the boy’s eyes. “Or maybe it was just an echo.”

“An echo? Is that a thing?”

“It can be. Especially in one of the more ancient of us. Like embers left from a fire.”

“I didn’t know what else to do. I tried not to wake you with the door. It was unlocked.”

Maxim nodded an acknowledgement. The boy was waiting for him to tell him he needn’t sleep on the floor, that he could have crawled up on the bed, but the truth was it was unwise to approach a sleeping vampire unexpectedly. They did not wake well in the day. He might reflexively lash out at anything disturbing his sleep. One half-awake swipe of the arm could result in a broken bone. One accidental, primal bite could sever an artery. Carlo knew that— both from an unfortunate wealth of experience with vampires and his own instinct.

All of this considered, he was flattered Carlo still thought the safest place to be in the entire house was his sleeping room. Rather than embarrass anyone by saying so, Maxim reached out and touched the mortal’s warm cheek. Only inches away was his neck, tender and quickly healing from a recent puncture— two barely-pink bite marks that would soon fade to nothing, no more of the rapacious double-dipping that had left him with silver scars on his wrists and hands.

Knowing he was forgiven, or better yet that there was nothing to forgive, Carlo smiled and leaned into his cold palm. He thumbed over the boy’s skin to feel the pliable warmth, the blood just beneath. He was so mutable, delicate. A changing and temporary organism that could walk in the sun, age, and die… and yet of the two of them, more alive. Hunger pawed at Maxim’s mind, dilating his pupils and setting his teeth on edge. He would like a substantial drink, and soon. But this one was not for a real Feeding. Never. This one was for lovebites.

Perhaps sensing his thoughts, the mortal tilted his head, baring his neck in wordless offering. With protracting fangs, the vampire lowered his head and took it.

[highwaywhump]

He'd gone to the livestock auction for chickens. His great uncle had died and left his smallholding to him. Overgrown land full of weeds and a small house in desperate need of updating. He'd cleared out a section of the yard and had planned on getting half a dozen Bantums to get him started. Eventually he thought maybe a couple of old donkeys when he got the field cleared.

The boxie looked old for a pet, maybe 30 or so. Covered in scars and looked like he'd been hastily hosed down after a long period of being covered in his own filth. Long streaks of muck still clinging to him in places.

The men by the cage were jeering at the boxie.

"Nah look at the state of it, it's barely fit as dog bait"

"I thought Owens was meant to be coming today he usually has something decent"

Turning the tag on the cage to show the guide price

"£500 they're having a laugh, most expensive dog meat on the market at that price"

"Might be worth a punt if it goes cheap enough though. Give the guard dogs something to keep em busy this weekend"

The auction thankfully didn't drag the animals up one by one, the bids going too fast for that to be practical. The Bantums came up and he got them for less than he'd thought. He should go, something made him stay. The boxie came up. Opening bid a measly £50 it climbed slowly to £200 peering around he spotted the man he'd seen at the cage. Taking a deep breath he raised his number. The other man bid another couple of times but soon gave up, the worn out boxie not worth much.

Well this was a stupid idea. What the hell was he gonna do with a box boy at the end of its use? Maybe he could at least make him comfortable in his last days, like he'd planned to do with his donkeys.

The dog cage was hefted up onto the bed of his defender and strapped down. The cage of hens beside it then he was off home

[highwaywhump]

Wishbone

cw: pet/slave universe, otherwise nothing

His new master, a man of only twenty-nine and still somewhat of a mystery to him, turned to him with an expression of bemused curiosity.

“Did you save this for something?” he asked, holding a piece of chicken carcass in his hand.

It hadn’t occurred to Carlo that the wishbone thing was perhaps not universal until this very moment. He’d done it without thought, more concerned with putting all the dishes away correctly on the first try. But now that Max was asking, it seemed ridiculous he’d cleaned, washed, and left a piece of bird clavicle on the windowsill to dry in the spring sunshine.

“It’s the wishbone,” he said. From Max’s unchanged expression he knew this was not a helpful bit of information and that he’d have to explain himself. “You save the wishbone, dry it out, and then you can… uhm, two people can each make a wish and break it. Whoever gets the longer piece of bone gets their wish. It’s just an old superstition, it’s—”

Stupid, he was going to say, but Max had taken the dried fork of chicken bone between his thumb and forefinger as an upside-down V. “Like this?”

Carlo took the other dry end, yellow as parchment, and nodded.

“And we just… pull?”

“At the same time.”

“Count us down from three then. Pull on one.”

Carlo counted backwards and on one gave a tug. The brittle nexus of bone at the top strained and snapped, and each came away with their portion. Upon comparison, it was clear Max had gotten the longer end, either from luck or a more confident pull at the count of one. Carlo smiled graciously, which he always remembered to do upon losing anything. He’d been distracted by Max’s sudden nearness, their knuckles almost touching, his indistinct but alluring stranger-smell that he was beginning to smell on his own clothes now as he used the same detergent, the same shampoo, that he’d forgotten to even make his wish. Perhaps fortune always favored an wishmaker over an abstainer.

“Can I tell you my wish, or is it like a birthday wish type of thing?” asked his new master with a hint of a smile that narrowed his eyes.

“I—don’t know.” As many wishbones as he and the cooks Erik employed had snapped between them over the years, it had never come up. He tried to guess which answer this man might want, if there was one.

“I’ll tell you if it comes true, how’s that?” Max said, and gave him his end of the wishbone. They looked like an archaeology find in his palm, broken but with the whole they had once been plausible and obvious. He thought of his life in similar terms, pulled from the cushioning flesh and tendon he’d come to rely on, left high and dry to be suddenly and irreparably snapped into two pieces. He was immediately a little ashamed of the cliche. Erik would say ‘life as a snapped wishbone’ was only appropriate for the imagination of a middle class child of divorce. You’d win a sixth grade poetry contest with that champion of a metaphor for sure, Lo, he’d say dryly.

Intending to throw away the bones, he found himself instead watching from the kitchen window as a spring wind shook the blossoms of the apple trees in the backyard. Max told him the hard and sour crab apples they produced were technically edible, but that as a boy he’d stabbed them onto sharpened sticks and flung them as far as he could instead, imagining he was operating a trebuchet mid battle.

One of the bones was poking into his palm. Half subconsciously, he’d been tightening his grip to feel the needling bite of it and letting off when the sensation grew too sharp. It left a white indent in the skin, turning red as blood returned to the spot. He tossed the pieces in the trash beneath the kitchen sink. At the vast kitchen island behind him, Max was talking on the phone with a colleague— or a friend, it was sometimes hard to tell, but Carlo felt his gaze anyway and turned, confirming that his new master was watching him. It was a gentle gaze, though. One that asked only what are you thinking about? When Carlo met his eyes, he looked away politely.

[highwaywhump]

i have now done a self study in fainting. i will make sure to utilise my newfound wisdom in my upcoming whump writing.

[highwaywhump]

siren