#angel carewhumper

[demondamage]

MediwhumpMay Day 7 - First night in the Hospital

I am once again not feeling comics, so have a drawing and writing instead.

CW Restraints, intimate-ish whumper

General art tag list: @whump-queen@whumpsday@whumpinthepot@kixngiggles

@mediwhumpmay

"I hope you understand the necessity of these." Kotarou sighed gesturing to the extensive restraint system holding Aziphem into place. "With time hopefully we can replace them with... less invasive measures.

As unmoving as those black eyes were, Aziphem's third eye betrayed him, following every move Kotarou made as he pulled up a rolling chair and clip board. That would be dangerous in the wild, but Kotarou had caged enough demons to know their limits.

"You might not remember me, they had your body temp pretty low last time I saw you. I don't think you were conscious." He tried a comforting smile. "I go by Kotorou, and I've been here for... well close to 12 hundred years by now if my math is right. So, you're in well experienced hands. You could consider me.. a doctor of sorts."

Unwavering silence responded, that single vertical eye affixed to him. A little unnerved, Kotarou flipped through the pages on his clipboard.

"It uh, seems last you heard you were going to be executed. Go in to freeze and never wake up. So, this must be a little bit of a... shock. But you might be worth so much more to us, and as such I was able to indefinitely stall the execution. As long as you are... scientifically useful you will be allowed to remain alive. Of course... I do have higher hopes than just that. The unique circumstances surrounding your turning make you a prime candidate for rehabilitation. You could be a first for history."

Pulling his chair a hint closer, the angel reached out to brush a strand of hair from the demon's face. "You could be human again. Or at least close enough to live a somewhat normal life. Isn't that exciting?"

Finally reacting, the demon snarled and jerked forwards, yet failed to faze the angel. Cornered animals may be unpredictable, but the length of chain never wavered. He smoothed the hair to the side, feeling the grease lingering on his fingers.

"You need a shower. And a change of attitude." He chuckled, standing up. "If you think that these outbursts will change my mind, you don't know what's coming little demon. But don't worry, I won't give up on you so easily."

[painonthebrain]

DAY #5: Ebenezer Scrooge

Comfort: Snuggling by the fire

Fandom: Original work/OCs

CWs: captivity, masc whumper, carewhumper, masc whumpee, angel whumpee

@amonthofwhump

When Oath thinks Flint isn’t looking, he slinks closer to the fireplace. With his wings shielding his body – as much as he can with them clipped – he crawls to it, watching Flint from behind with sharp blue and brown eyes. Hunched over, he stays low to the ground, cephalic wings folded against his face.

It’s a totally selfish action – but Oath deserves it. After everything, the least he should have is some comfort by the dirty fireside.

Flint is usually absorbed in his own work when he’s not using Oath for… his ingredients. He usually sits at his desk, the wooden surface creaking with the weight of the alchemical concoctions he brews, bubbling over onto the floor beneath. Sometimes the little clinks of vials hitting the table hit Oath’s ears, ringing out like the sound of little pixies. More often than that – the sound of Flint cursing under his breath when they spill.

Whenever he speaks, Oath tenses, freezing up …like that would help if Flint noticed him. Or if he decided to take his anger out on him.

Thankfully, Oath has known Flint long enough to know he wouldn’t. He needs his little feather supply unharmed, after all. That and … he’s not really that type of guy. Flint tears his own hair out of his head but never Oath’s, he kicks his chair but never Oath, he slashes and rips his notes apart but never lays a hand on Oath. The lack of violence allows Oath respite from whenever Flint takes more than Oath can give.

It makes Oath’s efforts to creep to the fire barely needed. It’s just a precaution, really.

Flint wouldn’t mind anyway.

He’s sure of it, especially when the fire is so kind to his injuries, soothing the irritation of the poorly done stitching on his arms and the dull ache of his unused wings. He tells himself Flint will just yell if he doesn’t like this, maybe drag him away if he really cared. Nothing too wrong with his feather supply having a warm rest by the fire…

He drifts off into dreamless sleep, the crackling of the fire and Flint’s work fading into the background as he curls his wings around his body.

Of course, good things must always come to an end.

Laying at Flint’s feet, Oath wakes up, blinking away the fog of sleep. He’d fallen asleep in the most uncomfortable position, laying on one of his wings. It tingles as he sits up, pins and needles radiating throughout it and sending sparks up his back.

He’s also coated in a fine layer of ash, the dust covering his skin and trapped in the layers of his hair and feathers.

Oath expects Flint to kick him or prod him away with his crutch. He really shouldn’t have underestimated him, after all he always seems to be having bad days despite his newfound luck. Well… “luck.” Business has been slowly rising for him now that he has an angel to use for potion ingredients. Key word, slowly.

Instead, Oath watches as Flint grabs a blanket and drapes it over his body. For a moment, Oath doesn’t move, he only stares up at Flint’s deep brown eyes. Then he tugs it closed, gripping the fabric.

“…Why?” He asks, running the fabric between his fingers. The blanket isn't very soft, but Oath wants to know why Flint even cares to give it to him.

“I dunno,” Flint says. “Just take it.”

He obeys, not giving it back, but he hunches inwards, thinking hard about it.

Why would you let me dirty your blanket?

Flint’s answer doesn’t satisfy him.

…He’s been oddly kind to Oath for someone who only wants to use him.

Oath sighs. Whatever. He can think about it later. For now, he’s content to lay, satisfied like some stupid pet. After all, the fire is nice, he has a blanket – things could be worse.

He lets the warmth of the fire seep into his bones, clutching the blanket close.

[obsessedwithegos]

i would like to pluck some feathers out of Harmonia's wings as a treat to myself :) -emmettnet

CW for lady whump (whumpee and whumper), angel whumpee, embodiment of death whumper, carewhumper, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, touch starved whumpee, wing whump

"You did so well today, Harmonie" Death praises as she walks over to the angel that was crumpled into a sobbing mess on the ground, her own tears and blood mixing on the cold grey floor.

She kneels down to gently pick her up and hold her close "I know my dear, I know." She soothes "I just have one more thing to do, okay? It doesn't involve any tools."

Harmonia clings onto Death's dress, burying her face in it to not look at the entity. "Just get it over with." She managed to get out between sobs.

"I'll need you to count for me." Death says before moving one hand to the angel's golden wings. She could feel the thin but soft metal feathers making small cuts in her hand but ignored it as she searched for the right spot.

Her fingers laced around a feather and plucked it out.

Harmonia's breath hitches in her throat as the small pain felt like the cherry on top the gruesome sundae.

"Breathe my dear, what number was that?" The entity asked.

"One.." The angel answered, voice shaking.

Death's other hand moves up to Harmonia's head to gently pet it as if trying to distract her from the pain as she plucks another feather.

Fresh tears fall from the angel's eyes "T-two."

She always was so pretty when she cried.

"You're doing great, after we get you bandaged up, I'll take you outside. Is that alright?" The entity asks, plucking another feather.

"Three." Harmonia counted as a sob broke out, she nodded "Yes m-ma'am."

"Wonderful." Another pluck

"Four." She grips Death's dress just a little tighter.

Death moved her hand for a slightly larger feather, her own black blood starting to coat the golden feathers in her hand. Another pluck, gentle as if it might break the angel.

"Five." Harmonia's voice cracked.

"Perfect, that's all my dear." The entity reassured "Come on, lets go get you cleaned up and get you some food before we go out." She spoke softly as she helped her angel up, as if even the wrong word could cause her to collapse again.

General: @emmettnet @thebluejaysworld

[inkwell-and-dagger]

do you have any whump series recommendations?

I have a few, I'd say!! I don't dabble in the community all too often, since I'm scared I'm gonna clog up people's notifs in the process of going absolutely insane about their works n stuff. but I'll name a few I've taken a look at (most are made by mutuals) or have read from the top of my head!!!

The Last Lab Rat by @whumpy-wyrms is a really good option if you like lab whump, carewhumpers (?)and a bunch of failed escape attempts! Blood Runs Cold is made by xem as well, and it's just recently sprung into action, so I'd recommend that as well if you prefer vampires and immortal whumpees :3

The Angel of Death by @whumpninja is also a series that's recently begun, and it's really good! the underlying and vague jokes and puns are something I've never really read in the few whump series' I've taken a look at, but it's amazing nonetheless. if you like vampires and feral whumpees, along with a bit of institutionalized whump I think?? sorry if I got that wrong but anyway, I think this'd be down your lane :3

Spiderwebs by @toyybox next! the way she uses vocab is amazing and I'll never shut up about this! now, I haven't read all of Spiderwebs yet, so I'm kinda going in this blind, but if you like stoic whumpers and kind-of-equally as stoic whumpees (also an immortal whumpee who doesn't quite know about the immortal part), along also with lab whump — can you tell I like lab whump? — then I'd recommend this :3

hmmm okay so there's four series' there, so I'll keep it at that from the ones I can name from the top of my head :D!!! thank you for the ask!

[vivisection-and-vampyrism]

🧸 for October

🧸 - A soft plushie

Content Warnings: Captivity, Rodents, Vampire Whumpee, Human Carewhumper

Note: Ramadan Mubarak, have some writing I've been procrastinating on.

Falkner gently shook October, his strong hands on its shoulders. "It's time to wake up, angel."

October sat up in bed, pulling the blankets around itself. It might not produce its own body heat, but they were still a comfort against forever exposed, bruised skin.

"I got something for you," he said. "If you're interested."

Falkner was always coming home with gifts for October. At least, when it had been good. Cosmetics, perfumes, clothing, jewelry, and everything else its vain little heart desired. Thar was to say, this wasn't surprising in the least.

"Sure." It stretched with its arms over its head. "I'm always interested when attractive men bring me things."

Falkner chuckled, and rummaged around in the backpack he wore out and about. What he pulled out was a stuffed animal, made from purple fabric and made to look like a rodent.

It smiled. Genuine, for once. "I love it!"

"I thought you might. Vermin and the color purple are half your personality."

Falkner handed October the stuffed animal. The synthetic fur was so soft, and October held the toy close to its bare chest. It hadn't owned a stuffed animal or doll in a very long time. It wasn't sure why the thing made it so happy, just that it couldn't stop smiling.

"I'm just worried my actual rats might tear it apart," October said fretfully. "You got so upset with them for burrowing in your pillows."

"Leave it up here, then. You already keep most of your things in my closet. And I sure as hell don't tolerate your weird little pets coming upstairs."

October ignored the slight against them. Falkner always talked like this. It's love for what he considered pests was the only thing stopping him from calling an exterminator.

"Thank you, dear." It squeezed the stuffed animal tight. "You're always so thoughtful..."

Taglist: @sulnusoup13 @heavenlyeden @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @excessive-vampires @pigeonwhumps @foresttheblep @gloomytheclown @theauthorintraining

[quietly-by-myself]

A Wicked Work of Art - Chapter 12

Masterlist

CW: drinking/alcohol, medical whump, trans whumpee, test subject whumpee, experiment whumpee, fantasy racism, dehumanization, fantasy whump, mentioned eye gore, eye whump, possession whump, references to attempted noncon, frank language, institutionalized slavery, possessive carewhumper, dehumanization, fictional religious talk

===

The basement of the bar stunk of whiskey and vodka. Cheering came from every direction. Compared to the somber atmosphere of the Facility, the basement of that bar was refreshing. 

People approached Stergios and Vasiliki with smiles. Vasiliki didn’t feel… judged. He expected hostility. He expected hatred. Vicious rejection. He thought everyone could see through him, look into his core, and understand what an awful person he was. See that part of him that was missing, that part of him that made him ever so slightly inhuman. 

They didn’t.

In fact, they opened him with open arms. Well, not everyone. He noticed some hostile glares that he was long used to. They weren’t the majority, though. Perhaps the majority was hiding how they truly felt about him, but Vasiliki didn’t get that sense.

“I need you to meet someone, Vasil.”

Unlike most of the others who were drinking and singing and dancing the night away, the figure was busy talking in a hushed corner. He was short - below five-foot and bore wolfish ears in his mop of golden-blonde hair. When he turned around to face them, Vasiliki immediately noticed the creature’s goat-like eyes.

“Vasil, this is Elias. Elias helps me a lot with operations.”

Now that Vasiliki looked harder at Elias, he noticed the wolfish way his legs were formed, his dog-like nails, his elongated fingers, and the webbing that hung between his toes and fingers. The left side of his mouth was missing some of its cheek - leaving his canines exposed. Then there were his goat-like horns, poking out of his hair. Elias wasn’t human - he was a devil. An old one at that.

A mix of awe and fear filled Vasiliki as he looked at Elias. The last time he’d seen a devil, it was attacking his village. However, those devils had been young. This was a different breed - a powerful, old devil. A golden one at that.

“Vasilios?” 

Vasiliki shook his head. “Vasiliki.”

Elias chuckled a little. “A girl’s name?”

“My mother liked it,” Vasiliki responded tersely. “Whether I was a boy or a girl, I would’ve been named Vasiliki.”

Elias didn’t lose that good-humored smile that played on his lips. “Well, then, Vasiliki, I’ve heard many things about you.”

Vasiliki tried not to be unnerved by the smile, the calm demeanor of the devil. He felt tense, afraid. To live this long, who knew what this devil had done, what atrocities he’d committed. That thought lingered as did the lingering scent of burning wheat. 

“I’m not sure I’ve heard much of you, Elias.” Vasiliki looked at Stergios hesitantly. Stergios knew that Vasiliki didn’t like devils, so what was the point of this? 

“That… doesn’t surprise me.” Elias threw an amused look at Stergios. “Stergios doesn’t like putting other members in danger. Himself, only. The fact that he told you, a Facility worker - a higher up at that - about his activities is proof enough.”

Vasiliki shifted a little. The undertone of hostility wasn’t lost on him. “You always were reckless, Stergios.”

“But we’ve known each other for a century. I know that’s not a long time for you, Elias, but that’s the majority of our lives.” 

Elias gave a genial chuckle. “No, it isn’t a long time. You don’t remember the times beyond this current regime. You don’t remember the Una Pax, the times before the gods of order and chaos, of death and of life, of disaster and prosperity were driven from this world. You don’t remember when the light mages and dark mages, the devils and the angels, when we all lived in peace.”

Vasiliki froze. “No such times have existed. Gods? What are you talking about?”

“A thousand years ago, my friend.” Elias’ smile turned into something of a smirk. “Who do you think gives us our magic? The gods. Who do you think used to keep the peace? The gods. When they were driven from this world three hundred years ago, peace couldn’t be held together long. I knew the gods, Vasiliki. You? You work for men playing the role of gods. Fake peace is all you’ll ever achieve.”

“Elias-”

“Let me speak, Stergios.” 

Stergios, for all his kindness and geniality, spoke tersely. “Elias, this is his first meeting. There’s no need to be so confrontational.”

“I see no reason not to be.” Elias glared at Vasiliki, staring deep into his soul with those piercing golden eyes. “He’s hurt countless. He’s contributed to a system that enslaves and tortures. He’s no better than the trainers. I don’t know why you’ve kept his company all these years, Stergios.”

“Because he can change, Elias. We all can. You should know that better than anyone-”

Vasiliki finally decided to speak up. “No, he’s right, Stergios. I’ve done a lot of wrong in my life.” Vasiliki grabbed his arm, rubbing it a little and shifting uncomfortably.

That had caught Stergios completely off-guard. “Vasil-”

“It’s okay.” Vasiliki gazed carefully at Elias. “I appreciate it, Elias.”

Elias scoffed. “You appreciate me for that?”

The conflict that had swallowed Vasiliki’s heart whole soon spread to his face. His eyebrows furrowed. “Yes. I know that I’m a bad person. I’ve- I’ve come to realize the error of my ways and I’m trying to change.”

A phone ringing interrupted Vasiliki. It was his cellphone - it was the paging line. Vasiliki immediately picked up.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Christakos, your subject attacked someone.”

Akakios?

“How bad is it? I’m a little busy right now. Is he injured?”

The nurse on the other end sighed - Vasiliki knew that voice well enough to know that it was Amara. “He ripped Constantine’s other eye out. We know it wasn’t the devil - his eyes weren’t silver when he did it. Dr. Christakos - Akakios hurt someone of his own volition. You need to come in immediately.”

Vasiliki looked at Stergios, who returned a concerned gaze. “I’ll come as soon as I can.”

He said his pleasantries to Stergios and Elias, then rushed out of the bar. He jumped in his car, pressing the pedal to the metal. He was speeding - at least 20 miles per hour above the speed limit, but fuck it, he was in the military in some odd way. He would get away with it, even if he was pulled over. 

Parking was easy to find at the complex this time of night - not at all like the morning. Vasiliki practically ran up to his lab, where two nurses armed with guns were waiting for him.

Amara approached him. “Dr. Christakos. I’m glad you could come so quickly.”

“Want to explain what Constantine was doing anywhere near my subject?” Vasiliki asked incredulously. “I thought I made it clear that the trainers were not to be around Akakios. How did he get badge access to my lab?”

Amara hesitated. “We don’t know. He’s going to be investigated by personnel security and the military police for this, because he attempted to sexually assault someone else’s property.”

Vasiliki saw red. He didn’t expect to be as angry as he was, but as he thought of that bastard Constantine trying to assault Akakios, he couldn’t help but be filled with rage. “What the fuck did he try to do?”

“Same thing as he always does.”

Vasiliki fought the urge to push aside Amara and barged into the lab. There, Akakios laid, his gown covered in blood, restrained to the table.

Akakios immediately shrank. “Master.”

Vasiliki looked behind him. The two nurses had followed him in. Amara approached from the side.

“Dr. Christakos, take a moment. Dr. Demos put your subject on the list for retraining. He said that you need to go speak to him immediately.”

Vasiliki swore. This was too much for him. Far too much. He was tired and overwhelmed and the conversation with Elias kept playing again and again in his head.

“I’ll go speak to him. I don’t want Akakios to be sent for retraining.” Vasiliki looked at Akakios, who was trembling in his restraints. “I think Constantine shouldn’t have been anywhere near my property.”

“Well, convince Dr. Demos.”

Vasiliki let out a heavy sigh of frustration, but gave up. “Don’t let anyone near Akakios. Stay outside until I figure out what the fuck is going on.”

—

Dr. Demos was a bastard of a man motivated by one thing: wealth. It worked well for him - moving up the ranks in the Facility quickly and eventually surpassing Vasiliki despite being fifty years his senior. It was always a practice in patience to grovel at Dr. Demos’ feet.

However, Vasiliki couldn’t imagine giving Akakios up to another trainer. Not to let him be tortured for an indefinite period of time. Not to have someone else’s hands on his research project. Vasiliki would rather handle Akakios’ punishment himself. 

To get what he wanted, groveling was exactly what he’d have to do. 

Vasiliki swallowed his pride and knocked on Dr. Demos’ door. “Dr. Demos, it’s Dr. Christakos.”

“Dr. Christakos,” Dr. Demos opened the door, giving a fake, almost passive-aggressive grin. “It’s a pleasure.”

“You as well.” Vasiliki bowed a bit, taking a seat in front of Dr. Demos’ desk, where his superior sat. “I’m here to discuss 7634. I don’t think retraining is fit for him.”

Dr. Demos raised an eyebrow. “Those are orders, Dr. Christakos. This is out of your hands now. 7634 attacked someone. He ripped eyes out. Of his own volition. He’s dangerous and needs retraining.”

“I- I know, Sir. However, I don’t think that an ordinary trainer can handle 7634 in his current state.”

“Continue.”

Vasiliki took a deep breath, closing his eyes and preparing himself for what he was about to say. “Dr. Demos- 7634 is transforming.”

“Into a devil? I thought his magic killed.”

Vasiliki nodded. “And it does. But, he has a devil inside of him, Asimi is their name. When a human mage is possessed like that, the devil slowly transforms the human into one of them. It can take anywhere from a few years to a few decades. Asimi has been with 7634 since he was a child. It… was only a matter of time.”

Dr. Demos’ eyes narrowed. “Why wasn’t something done about this devil sooner?”

“They’re very attached. It makes it impossible to remove the devil from the human. Someone I worked with before your time discovered that.”

“And what can be done now?”

“I have experimental therapies that can reduce aggression in devils. I’ve been working on locking down the dosage, but I think that I can prevent 7634 from becoming aggressive as a devil.”

Dr. Demos seemed unconvinced, before his eyebrows creased and he leaned back in his chair, weaving his hands together.

“Is he still going to be punished for this infraction?”

“Yes and it will be severe.”

Vasiliki hated the idea of punishing Akakios at all, but he would do what he had to, if it was for Akakios’ own good.

“And you aren’t doing this because he’s your work?”

“No, Sir.”

Dr. Demos considered Vasiliki, eyes piercing into him, looking for any sign of lies. 

He found none, even if Vasiliki had lied.

“Fine. If he can go three months without another incident of aggression, including towards you, you can keep him. If not, he gets retrained and sold. Is that clear?”

“Yes!” Vasiliki sounded almost a little bit too relieved. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

It made Vasiliki sick to have to grovel at Dr. Demos’ feet. 

“Report his punishment and the results of it to me. For now, you’re in the clear.”

Vasiliki nodded and swallowed, standing up a little too quickly. “I’ll complete the punishment in the morning.”

“No, you’ll complete it now. Report to me before you leave.”

Vasiliki froze, wanting to curse under his breath, but keeping himself amicable. “Yes, Sir.”

With that, he left, no further words to the doctor. Vasiliki could hardly call Dr. Demos a doctor at all, but then again, could the same really be said for him?

===

@i-can-even-burn-salad @whumpsday @pigeonwhumps @oddsconvert @pumpkin-spice-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @writereleaserepeat @just-a-silly-little-whumper, @sparrowsage @inscrutable-shadow @whumplr-reader @whumpycries @demondamage @whumpshaped @itsleighlove @whump-blog

[whumpy-writings]

Helpless

Febuwhump 2024 Day 1

The Dhampir Files Masterlist

CW: Non-con drugging, abusive parents (whumpees are adults), carewhumpers, reference to murder of parents

"You're an old man now, ya know that?" Cal leaned against the doorframe, smirking. Renn rolled his eyes.

"You're older than me."

"Exactly. Welcome to the old man club, where our favorite activity is napping and complaining loudly about the weather." Cal crossed the room and ruffled Renn's hair. Renn slapped his hand away playfully.

"But seriously, Renn. Happy Birthday."

"Thanks," Renn said. "I honestly can't believe I'm twenty. Part of me didn't think we'd live this long."

Cal sighed. "Wow, way to bring down the mood." He wrapped Renn in a hug. Renn closed his eyes and squeezed his brother back. They were dhampirs, half human and half vampire. They weren't supposed to exist. If the authorities ever discovered them, they would be executed. There had been several close calls over the years, but they had so far evaded detection.

"Boys! Dinner is ready," Silvie called from downstairs. She was the human housekeeper who had taken care of them for the past few years. Ever since things with their vampire parents had gone sour.

The two boys tromped downstairs. Renn breathed in the scent of rosemary roasted chicken. It was his favorite meal.

"It's smells delicious in here." Renn pulled out his chair and settled in, Cal in the chair across from him.

"I would hope so. I've been slaving away at the stove all day. There's mushroom soup, rosemary chicken, mashed potatoes, and a lemon cake for dessert." Silvie put a dish of butter on the table, removed her apron, and sat down.

Renn's mouth watered at the feast. He started to fill his plate. "Thank you, Silvie. Everything looks amazing."

"Anything for you, Renn. Happy birthday."

They talked and laughed as they ate. Renn drank the cup of blood Silvie had provided for him to wash down his dinner.

Silvie brought out the cake and she and Cal fussed over how best to arrange the twenty candles on top.

"Well make a wish," Cal said.

Renn stared at the flickering flames, contemplating. Then he blew out the candles. I wish for twenty more years just like this.

The cake was, of course, heavenly. Renn leaned back in his chair. "I pronounce this birthday feast a success." He got to his feet and started to gather the dirty dishes.

"Hey, I got those," Cal said as he swatted Renn's hand away. Renn let his brother have the dishes. Cal was at the sink when Renn noticed Silvie crying.

"What's wrong?" Renn pulled out a chair next to her, his brow pinched in concern. She looked at her lap and sniffled into a handkerchief.

"Oh, nothing. You boys are just both so grown up." Sylvie looked at him with a sad expression. "It feels like it went by so fast." She stroked his cheek. "I'll miss you."

"What do you mean?" Renn asked. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sylvie's eyes widened. "I mean . . . I'll miss the little boy you used to be."

Renn couldn't suppress his snort. "Really? I think I single-handedly gave you at least three-quarters of your grays."

Sylvie laughed. "You weren't that bad. I only got half from you, the other half came from your brother."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cal called from the sink. "I'm an angel."

"What about that time you brought an entire bucket of frogs into the house?" Renn asked.

Cal spun around. "It was freezing outside! I was trying to save them."

Sylvie chuckled. "I swear my heart almost gave out when I woke up to a frog on my pillow."

The rest of the evening passed quietly. Renn changed into his nightclothes and climbed into bed. It was early spring and he left the window cracked open to get the cool night breeze. The only sounds were the chirping of the crickets and the wind whooshing through the leaves. Renn, Cal, and Sylvie lived in a little house out in the country, far away from prying eyes. It hadn't always been that way. Renn shook off the memory. They were here now, that's what mattered. He was just about to put his candle out when there was a knock at his door.

"Come in."

Sylvie came in, a candle in one hand and a cup in the other.

"I brought you some tea," she said as she set the candle on the table. "I know how much you like the chamomile."

Renn sat up in bed and took the teacup. "Thanks. Does it have-"

"Yes, I put in two dollops of honey."

Renn grinned. "You're the best, Sylvie."

Renn took a sip of the tea. He sighed at the sweetness. Sylvie sat down on the edge of his bed.

"I love you, Renn. Please always remember that."

Renn's forehead creased. "I love you too. Are you alright? You've seemed sad today." He took another sip of his tea. He could feel a headache coming on.

"You've always been such a sweet boy. I asked them for more time, but they said it had to be now."

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Renn asked. His vision blurred and his head pounded. He suddenly was so, so tired. Sylvie took the cup from him as he fell back against the pillows.

"I'm sorry," Sylvie said. Renn's eyes widened. She had drugged him. But why? He tried to move away from her but his limbs were as heavy as lead. Sylvie shifted his head into her lap. "Don't fight it. It's no use. Just relax, Renn." Renn's eyes drifted shut. He forced them open. He had to get away. He had to warn Cal. He attempted to yell but all that came out was a strangled sob. He was going to die. He had always thought he would burn to death. That someday the authorities would discover him and Cal and have them burned at the stake for being monstrosities. He had never thought it would be like this. Drugged by the woman who he loved as if she was his own mother.

"It's okay honey, it's okay," Sylvie soothed as she ran a hand through his hair. "You're just going to sleep for a little bit." Renn wanted to pull away from her, but he was completely helpless. The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was the tear sliding down Sylvie's face.

Renn floated in the darkness for what felt like eternity.

"He's more sensitive than Callum," a voice said. "She should have given him a smaller dose."

"She had no way of knowing that," another voice said. "He'll be fine. It'll just take a little longer to get through his system."

Renn whimpered. His head pounded and he had never felt so sore in his life. He blinked his eyes open. The light burned and he snapped them shut again with a groan.

"Ah, you're awake!"

"W-" Renn coughed. His tongue felt thick and a bout of dizziness washed over him. He tried again. "W-where am I?"

"You're home, my beautiful boy. You're finally home." That voice. Renn knew that voice. With enormous effort, he opened his eyes.

"Mother?"

"Yes baby, I'm here." She looked just like he remembered. Long black hair pulled back into a sensible bun, a no-nonsense gray dress, eyes that sparkled with what he had once thought was love. He knew better now.

"You had Sylvie drug me," he said.

His father spoke up. "I'm sorry about that, it must have been unpleasant. But you never would have come home otherwise."

"Of course not!" Renn yelled. His heart pounded and he was hit by the instinct to flee. He had never wanted to see them again. Not after he had seen them murder his human mother and Cal's human father in cold blood. "You killed them. You killed our parents right in front of us."

Father sighed. "For what it's worth, we didn't intend for you and Callum to see that. The only reason we eliminated them was to protect you two."

Renn let out a deep breath. "Why am I here? Where's Cal?" He tested his limbs and found he could barely move a finger.

"Callum's downstairs. We've already spoken with him," Mother said. "As for why you're here, you'll be helping us to push the boundaries of modern science. You and Callum are the first dhampirs to make it to maturity in generations. We know next to nothing on dhampir anatomy and physiology, so we'll be studying you two."

Renn's throat went dry. "You're going to dissect us?"

Father had the audacity to laugh. "Oh no, of course not. We're much more interested in how your bodies work than what they look like on the inside." That wasn't very reassuring.

"You're too special to waste on something as unrefined as dissection," Mother pitched in. Renn closed his eyes as tears burned. "You must be exhausted. Let's take you downstairs."

Renn couldn't fight back as his father picked him up and carried him to his fate.

Taglist: @dragonqueenslayer6 @whumpsday

[whumpsday]

🩸 Kane & Jim Masterlist 2: The Other Stuff 🩸

Main story chronological masterlist / Main story writing order masterlist

🌌 AU Series:

🍷 The Whumpers’ Soirée (on hold) - Part 1 - Kane and Jim find themselves as co-whumpees under a new whumper.

⚖️ Choice of the Hunter (on hold) - An interactive series where you, a hunter, decide how to treat captive Kane.

🪽 Angels & Demons (on hold) - Part 1 - The guys get wings.

📦 BBU AU (complete) - Part 1 / Part 2 / Drabble / Part 3 - BBU.

🪐 Standalone AUs:

Purring AU - AU where Kane can purr. :3

Sunrise Reprise - Kane gets stuck outside at sunrise.

Bellamy Saves Kane - What it says on the tin.

Early Pickup - Jim saves Kane when he still has some fire.

Second Chance - Kane wakes up a decade in the past.

Dark!Jim AU - Jim as a whumper. + Bonus

Bad End - Jim fails his final escape attempt.

Brink of Death - Jim fails his final escape attempt. Again.

Bellamy Saves Kane 2 - BSK again but different this time.

Human Bellamy - Kane reunites with an alternative victim.

Tiny Kane - What if Kane was 5 inches tall?

Human Kane - Kane turns human, faces the sun.

Time Travel - Both boys inexplicably wake up in the past.

Mermay Special - Vampires are an aquatic species.

💫 AU Drabbles:

Liz punches Kane

Table

Carewhumper Kane

Kane forgets Jim’s name

Alternate ending to #27: Rebellion

No Escape

AU tag - also includes ones that are just concepts

🚀 Crossovers and Collabs: (some contain varying degrees of 18+ content, check within for specific warnings)

🔨 Kane & Jim x Catharsis - Kane escapes the hunters, winding up on Luan's doorstep. (coming soon)

🤝 Celeste & Kane with wolfeyedwitch’s The Heart and the Hunger - Kane gets a new friend in captivity when Celeste’s owner sends his pet vampire for training. (on hold)

🎃 SPK with whumpshaped’s Killing, Stalking, Whumping - Kane joins Pumpkin in Seth’s basement, with the two later being saved by Bellamy and getting their happily-ever-afters. (complete)

🌗 K&J x MMSS with not-a-space-alien’s Magnanimous Moonrise & Savage Sunset - Varied crossovers including Lex & Ari rescuing Kane, Liz rescuing Valen, and Kane joining Valen in Nick’s lab. (ongoing)

⚡️ Kane & Raiza with whump-queen’s Raiza - Kane was picked up from the hunters by a brand-new whumper instead of a caretaker, to face a whole new flavor of whump than the cold torture he’s used to: intimate pet whump. (on hold)

🎁 Livestock with dragonfireridge - A short story where Bellamy takes in an injured human. (complete)

7️⃣ Kane & Seven with whump-queen’s Seven Series - A BBU crossover where Kane is bought from the hunters by a sadist and befriends her boxie. (on hold)

💌 Fanfiction:

Bleed by whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

Bite by whumpwillow

New Friends, Old Dilemmas by lethologick

Letter by whumpwillow

Soup by whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

Torture By Silver by lost-in-labradorite-halls

View by whumpwillow

Popsicles by lost-in-labradorite-halls

Celebration by lost-in-labradorite-halls (HEAVY GORE CW)

First one by not-a-space-alien

Second one by not-a-space-alien

Lynx + Trans Kane AU by whumpshaped

Home Sweet Home? by whumpwritings

The Final Apology by clickerflight

Fan Mail by writereleaserepeat

the 10/10 amazing zizi fanfic by whumpshaped

Falsely Persuaded by oliversrarebooks

💐 Related series:

Cat and Mouse by t0rture-me

Shattered by oddsconvert

Magnanimous Moonrise & Savage Sunset by not-a-space-alien

🎨 Visual:

Fanart

Picrews

🎵 Playlists:

Kane de Sang

Jim Lieberman

Liz Lieberman

Bellamy Verta

Masterpost

🔗 Misc:

Answered asks with additional content

Other posts with additional content

[demondamage]

"Oh little demon- I know you're cursing me out behind that muzzle. I know you hate me. That you think I am the worst thing to happen to you. I'll let you speak your mind behind that muzzle. But if I hear one word when it comes off? You will be paying dearly for it." Yall I have MISSED Kotarou-

For @figuwhump day 23

Art tag: @whump-tr0pes @whump-queen @whumpsday @whumpinthepot @kixngiggles @onlywhumpcomments @project-xiii @quietly-by-myself @ka1imba @suspicious-whumping-egg @cyborg0109 @whatwhumpcomments @whumpcomica @i-eat-worlds @regrets-realization-acceptance @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @burntcoffeewhump @lonesome--hunter @scribbelle @oddsconvert @painsandconfusion @whumpasaurus101 @sadcatjae @kiratheperson @studyofwhump

[painonthebrain]

Please Don’t

Masterlist

CWs: Captivity, angel whumpee, masc whumpee, carewhumper, masc whumper, stitches (mentioned)

Flint and Oath… talk things out.

Flint bends down over Oath’s sleeping form, curled in the blankets Flint gave him. His knees strain as he kneels, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet.

He wants to try something different… since last time ended with blood. He’s sure it’ll be painless. After all, he just needs a loose feather. … Well, wants one. Same thing.

Flint reaches out, touching Oath’s wings cautiously. They’re soft yet sleek, and his fingers brush over Oath’s wingtips. His touch is almost reverent in a way, careful not to disturb the angel, yet curious, probing.

He tugs on a primary. It stays on, rooted in Oath's flesh.

No. He can’t take that one. It needs to be easy. Oath shouldn’t be able to feel anything.

He reaches out again, taking hold of another feather — and Oath startles, his wings snapping to his sides. Flint jerks back in surprise, and the feather comes off with the movement. He drops it, stabbing pain piercing his legs from the sudden movement while kneeling.

“Ah, oW—” Flint groans, shifting his weight so instead of being on his knees he’s sitting on the floor. He takes the feather back, picking it up off the ground and clutching it close to his chest.

Oath turns to look at him, his expression a mixture of groggy annoyance, coupled with the telltale look of someone fighting the nerves of being scared in the middle of their sleep. “What the hell are you doing?” He groans, eyes narrowing as they meet Flint’s.

When met with silence, he huffs. Then he spies the tawny brown feather between Flint’s fingers.

“So that’s what you wanted. Asshole. You could have at least woken me up and asked.”

“I didn’t —” Flint fumes, then sighs. He runs a hand through his hair. “Even if I asked, you’d say no.”

Oath smiles tiredly, eyes narrowing. “Oh no, I’d say please don’t.” He tilts his head, giving Flint doe eyes, smile disappearing and clasping his hands together, a mockery of the perfect victim. He crawls to where Flint sits. “Please don’t! Please — please don’t!”

Flint chokes in response, eyes widening in horror. “Stop! Listen, I —”

“You’re so easy.” Oath cuts him off, killing the act. “You could have my feathers, if you didn’t take them.” He stresses the emphasis on the word ‘take,’ glaring at Flint.

“I didn’t mean to!—”

“Don’t lie to me.” Oath snaps, and Flint looks down, holding the feather closer.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“You better not.” Oath snaps.

The silence is thick. Flint opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. He stares at Oath, who clutches his blanket and settles back in, turning away.

Oath scoffs. “You're lucky it wasn't a blood feather.”

“A what?”

“A feather with a vein or an artery in it. It bleeds when it's broken.”

“Oh. Oh, I didn’t —”

“Didn’t know?” Oath turns back, twisting his body to face Flint. “Of course you didn’t. You don’t need to know. Not like you have wings or anything.”

“Well, it’s nice to know,” Flint says, looking away.

“Yeah,” Oath huffs, eyes narrowing, “sure it is.” A beat passes between them and Flint finds himself staring at the floorboards. The worn wood, the grooves and gaps between boards, the patterns from the tree they came fr –

“Listen.” His thoughts come to a shuddering halt at the sound of Oath’s voice. “Don’t you think you seem awfully reserved for someone who's doing what you've been doing?

“What's your deal?”

Flint’s throat closes up. His gut feeling is to leave. “Nothing –”

Oath groans, getting up again, pushing his blankets away. Coming closer.

“No. It’s not ‘nothing.’ Clearly it’s not.

“… So let’s talk about it.” Anyone else saying that phrase would be kind and reassuring. Oath’s inflection is vindictive, tightly-strung and stilted.

“You've kept me in here as a prisoner –” he spits the word – “and all you've done is give me clumsy stitches and pull out a feather. It’s honestly pathetic.”

He’s made his way to Flint now, almost as close as he was before, and he sneers, leaning into Flint’s face. “You can’t make up your mind about who or what you want to be; you’re not kind, you’re not cruel. You’re a fucking coward.”

Flint struggles to form words.

“What the hell is so wrong to you about this? You're the one who took me away!”

“I — I don't know! C-Can’t I do shit without you prying?”

“Prying? About what? How you’re using my blood?” Oath snaps, jabbing a finger into Flint’s chest. Flint slaps his hand away, and Oath grabs his wrist, hard.

“It’s not like you can stop me from asking — because what’ll you do? Hurt me? Oh, no you won't! Because you're too scared! Is that what you really are? A frightened, lonely, washed-up loser who can’t even —”

Flint’s face flushes. “You — don’t — I’m none of those things!”

“Yes you are.” he hisses. “If you weren't, you wouldn’t act so dysfunctional. You’d pick a side. Hurt me or not.

“Because I’m just your ingredient supply, aren’t I?”

“No, I  —”

… Supply.

“I’ll back off. If that’s what you want from me.”

“You already do that all the time! I’m asking you to stay. Stay and answer my question directly.”

Flint grits his teeth. “God, okay! It’s my moral failings! I made my choice and I either have to double down or — I don’t know!”

“You feel bad?”

“Yes!” The admission is like a relief somehow. “Yes, I do!”

“Hm. That’s interesting. Yet if you really feel bad, why do you keep on doing what you’ve been doing?”

“This?” He holds the feather out. “No, that was an accident.”

“Touching my wings wasn’t.” There’s a visible tint to Oath’s cheeks when he makes that statement.

“It wasn’t.” Flint repeats. No use lying.

“You need to get your shit together.” Oath mutters.

“…I know. I’m sorry. I want to make it right.” Flint holds out the feather for Oath, and Oath stares at it lazily, uninterested.

“Really?” He asks, not taking it.

“Yes, really.”

Oath looks deep into Flint’s eyes. “Hm,” he says, noncommittal.

“‘Hm’ what?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course.”

“You did wake me up a few minutes ago. Give me a second.” Oath turns over and lays back down, covering himself in the blankets. He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut. 

Flint sits and waits, avoiding looking at Oath and instead examining his surroundings once more.

More silence.

He shifts, and his knees begin to ache, protesting the movement.

He examines the ceiling of his poorly put together home, eyes tracing the aged, water-stained surface. The beginnings of spiderwebs can be seen in the corners where ceiling meets wall, and Flint internally notes that he’ll have to clean them … or else he’ll feel like a slob. Somehow.

He leans back, laying on the floor.

He’s noticing how disorderly everything is, lazily drinking in every detail of his surroundings, twisting the feather between his fingers and growing more uncomfortable. How much is too much? Too much silence, too many things — when is the balance disrupted?

The pain has become worse. There are little nonexistent knives driven into his knees now. Stabbing over and over, working their blades into his cartilage, slicing his legs open.

He supposes he should do something about it.

But maybe he’d rather stay here. Lay next to his mistake, not risk the pain of standing up, just keep waiting and waiting and waiting for an answer.

He ignores the urge. He pulls himself up without wincing, using the nearby table for support.

“… I’m going to put this away,” he says to Oath, standing up straighter, hoping to elicit a response. His legs strain, burning as he trudges to where he keeps his ingredients, a kind of storage unit comprised of both shelves and drawers — and shoves the feather in a random drawer, eager to rid himself of it.

He returns to Oath, and finds that the angel is already asleep again. He laughs involuntarily. Taking ‘sleeping on it’ literally, isn’t he?

But what else did Flint expect after waking him up so suddenly?

His momentary smile fades.

He won’t wake him up again. He’ll just have to wait.

Flint slumps into his seat at his worktable, and despite the stress on his knees gone, they still ache, burning with pain. He groans, folding his arms on the table and sinking down into them, resting his forehead against them.

“Please don’t.”

Flint lets his head sink down, hitting the wooden surface.

“Fuck.”

[blackberry-bloody]

Masterlist

This is a masterlist for my written content!

And if you like any of these, I have a Discord server that I'm working on putting content in! It's pretty chaotic, but it's fun!

While there is some overlap between series, since they all take place within the same universe, they can be read independently of each other.

Also, Stay down, doesn't really have an order to be read in, It's very up in the air and a bit jumbled. So while some context may be lost, it can essentially be read in any order (as it stands right now. This may change later.)

Meet my ocs-

Meet Mibium

Meet Berkley

Series-

Pick Your Poison:

Masterlist

A Choose your own adventure whump story where the player/reader is the whumpee to a mad scientist.

Contains: Lab whump, creepy whumper, paranoia and gaslighting, horror elements.

Characters: Berkley, Mx. Doe, Rain, Marley

Stay Down:

Dayzel's half- A somewhat jumbled story of Dayzel, a demon, and the multiple bouts of whumping he has endured throughout his life.

Contains: Living weapon whump, villain whumpee/outcast whumpee, whumper x whumpee, spousal abuse, manipulation/gaslighting, defiant whumpee, self-loathing whumpee

Characters: Dayzel, Mibium, Rupert, Nox, various background characters from flashbacks.

Nox Marking him

BTHB Pleading

"Have You come to Laugh at me in my miserable state?"

Unforgivable

Sensory Deprivation

Zapping

Dayzel's rescue pt.1

Dayzel's rescue pt.2

Mibium's half- A "spinoff" in flashbacks about Mibium's time as a whumpee in Hell as an angel.

Contains: Creepy/intimate whumper, pet whump, objectification/dehumanization

Characters: Mibium and Octavian

BTHB Chained to a bed

BTHB Blindfolded

BTHB Non-con Touching

Overstimulated and Carewhumper

Half Lies and Hidden Truths:

Masterlist

Three connected stories, told separately through The Heart, The Mind, and The soul.

(Content and characters in masterlist)

Snake Bite:

Whumper Berkley- A story detailing his experiments on his two main whumpees, with some flashbacks to a previous whumpee.

Contains: Lab whump, horror tropes, multiple whumpees, lots of character death (non of the major characters, and offscreen/implied)

Characters: Berkley, Rain, Marley, Mindy (mentioned but not present)

Quiet and Lament Prompts

Whumpee Berkley- An "epilogue"/"spinoff" where he is captured by a demon when he's forced to visit Hell.

Contains: Creepy/Intimate whumper, whumper x whumpee, Stockholm syndrome, whumper turned whumpee, nsfwhump (any chapter involving this will be posted to @blackberry-sour-and-sweet)

Characters: Berkley, Octavian

(NSFWHUMP) Octavian being Bored

Failed escape

(Untitled) Demon Mishap:

A story idea about a demon having been "accidentally" kidnapped and sold to a high ranking demon who's eager to break him in.

Conatains: Creepy/Intimate whumper, pet whump, institutionalized slavery, defiant whumpee, nsfwhump (any chapters containing this will be posted to @blackberry-sour-and-sweet)

Characters: TBD

(Untitled) Space demons:

A story about two bounty hunters in the far, far future when humans/angel/demons have begun exploring the stars.

Contains: Scif-fi whump, enemies to lovers, "enemy of my enemy is my friend" trope, morally bankrupt/ villain whumpees

Characters: Zeke, Omen, (others tbd later)

Lore/worldbuilding-

Timeline

Claim Marks/Magic brands

One offs, RP, extras, and non-canon-

Random Mindy fact

Nox, Rupert, Berkley whumper answer

Berkley whumper answer

Character questions (cheese, flexible, and pets)

Character questions (touch starved, sleep, breaks, and strength)

Character questions (smooth talker, graceful/clumsy, instruments, self-sacrifice)

Magic "anon"- Human Fates

Octavian, Rupert, Nox whumper answers

Berkley Whumper answers (with Mindy)

Nox, Nom, Octavian character questions

Whumpee Nox 1/2

Whumpee Rupert

Dayzel "red flags"

Dayzel tattoos

Rupert= Malewife potential?

Character questions (mibium)

DnD content-

Forgotten Familiarites- A DnD campaign run by @obsessedwithegos for myself and @emmettnet

Contains: Self sacrifice, religious trauma(?), abysmally low self esteem, whumpee being reckless/lacking self-preservation, character death (mentioned)

Characters: Nom and Alithea (both belong to me), Dirk, Teddy, Dirce (belong to @/emmettnet), Nilam, Selin, Aevid, Kavius, Mantra, various other NPCS, etc. (all belong to @/obsessedwithegos)

BTHB "I just want to have friends"

Help prompt

Laugh

Falling Feathers- A homebrew campaign I'm running for @/emmettnet and @/obessedwithegos.

Contains: Lab whump, non-con body modifications, major character death (temporary), reluctant whumpers, carewhumper, living weapon whump, multiple whumpees, whumper viewing/treating whumpee as "family", whumpee turned whumper, horror tropes

Characters: Denice (belongs to @/emmettnet), Eliza/Esheh (belongs to @/obsessedwithegos), Berkley, Marley, Rain, Dren, Mindy, The Fates, various NPCs, etc. (all belong to me)

[kabie-whump]

Whump Prompts/Tropes List

AKA any generic whump post of mine (Whumpee, Whumper, or Caretaker as characters or whump concept posts). Non-OC whump.

♡ Post-Recovery

♡ Drug Withdraw

♡ Caretaker and Whumper Coexisting

♡ Tag Yourself: Whumpee Edition

♡ Tag Yourself: Whumper Edition

♡ Angel Whumpee

♡ Hypothermia

♡ Diamond earrings

♡ Febuwhump List

♡ Whumper Giving Whumpee Stitches

♡ Pushing Boundaries

♡ Tiny Whumpee

♡ Whumpee with Wind Powers

♡ Vampire Whumper

♡ Types of Pet Whumpees

♡ Vampire Whumpee

♡ WoW Birthday Whump List

♡ Incubus Whumpee x Sadist Carewhumper

♡ Empathy-Cursed Whumpee

[quietly-by-myself]

A Wicked Work of Art - Chapter 9

Masterlist

CW: medical whump, trans whumpee, test subject whumpee, experiment whumpee, fantasy racism, dehumanization, fantasy whump, doctor carewhumper, carewhumper, suicidal whumpee, suicide attempt aftermath, discussion of past noncon

===

Asimi, unlike Akakios, remembered who Akakios was not that long ago. It wasn’t that Akakios had those memories erased or anything of the sort. Rather, Asimi believed that it was easier for Akakios to forget his life before because his life now was so hopeless. 

Akakios was never one to hope. In that way, Asimi saw that little piece of every mage that wasn’t human. For someone like the doctor that owned Akakios, it was perhaps a lack of connection with others. For Akakios, it was an inability to hope. A disillusionment with life born of a realization of what he was. Even if Akakios didn’t know the extent to which his country hated the dark arts, there was something difficult about harnessing the worst of nature’s constants.

Was there a point in telling Akakios now who he used to be? It felt like Akakios would never be that person again. Perhaps that was true. The experiences that Akakios had been through would change anyone forever.

Asimi just hugged Akakios. Akakios was still the person that they’d fallen in love with, in that odd platonic way that they did. Could it even be called love? Was love not for lovers? Perhaps not. What they felt went beyond friendship, but didn’t have those undertones that neither of them could feel.

“Just remember our dream, Akakios, my love,” Asimi muttered, cupping Akakios’ face in their hand. “That world will be, one way or another.”

“I can’t hope for anything else, Asimi.”

“I know. But if you can’t hope, you can dream.”

Akakios seemed to consider that. “Is to dream not to hope?”

“To hope is to believe that things will change, eventually. To dream is to wish. Dreams don’t have to be realistic. They don’t even need to be about change.”

Akakios went quiet for a long time. “I’ll dream, then.”

Asimi chuckled. “There are forces greater than the humans who keep you captive working for your freedom, Akakios. For the freedom and well-being of all the mages of the dark arts. What’s happened to you - it’s unnatural. It’s disturbing the order of this world.”

Shock flooded Akakios’ face. “What?”

“There are devils and angels that are working to restore the balance of the world alongside humans. They want to get rid of the dark arts here. They’re spreading their knowledge and beliefs to other places. It’s unnatural. The dark arts are not any more evil than the light arts, as are devils not any more evil than angels.”

Tears formed in Akakios’ eyes. “It’s all too much Asimi. I can’t be dragged into a war on top of this.”

“Akakios, my love,” Asimi wiped away Akakios’ tears with their thumb. “You aren’t a soldier in this war. You’re a refugee of it.”

The tears stopped as a shocked gasp escaped Akakios’ mouth. Then, Akakios only cried harder. Oh, how Asimi longed to take away all the hurt of their beloved. To make life easier. To free him. To bring back the person he used to be, not the shell of his former self that he was.

Asimi just gently pulled Akakios into another hug. “You’ll find a refuge, eventually, my love. Asylum, somewhere. This isn’t forever. Even if he might take me away, I will always be with you.”

Akakios nodded and pulled Asimi in closer. “Don’t leave me.”

“I can’t think of anything worse. I’m not leaving you, Akakios. Not without a fight. I’d rather die.”

Akakios nodded, squeezing Asimi. “Thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

Eventually, that image of Akakios in their arms faded and Asimi was once again left alone, in that space they occupied when Akakios was awake.

—

Vasiliki didn’t move from his place by the phone until he heard a knock on the door. He forced himself to stop crying, just to keep up the appearance to the neighborhood, but the moment that the tall, olive-skinned man entered his house, Vasiliki found himself in tears again.

He never cried in front of anyone. He almost never cried to begin with. However, the memory overwhelmed him. He never thought himself as being affected by it, but he was starting to realize how much of a lie that was. How much of a lie his whole life was.

Stergios had bags of food in his arms. All the ingredients to make baklava and falafel, with some pita and vegetables to serve it with. 

“I’ll get cooking. We can talk in your kitchen. I find that eating a good meal tends to help me when I’m upset.”

Vasiliki nodded. He was willing to do anything for a home cooked meal from a friend. 

Granted, Stergios wouldn’t have been most people’s first choice. A mycologist by trade, the two of them had known each other since college. After all, what social skills did someone who worked with mushrooms all day really have?

As it turned out, more than someone who worked with people all day. Well, people who weren’t quite people.

Stergios started chopping and gathering the dishes he needed rather quickly. Vasiliki had everything someone would need in a kitchen and then some - he just preferred buying convenience, so he never used them.

“So,” Stergios sighed, clearly trying to build up courage. “Are you okay?”

Vasiliki looked at him with puffy red eyes. “Do I look okay to you?”

“I meant, like, are you safe? At work? Here? No one’s hurting you right now?”

“No.”

Another awkward beat of silence passed between them. “Nothing with Constantine?”

“Believe it or not,” Vasiliki said with a wry laugh, “Constantine actually fucking respects me. He wouldn’t if he knew, but he respects me right now.”

Stergios didn’t laugh along with Vasiliki.

“Vasil, I, um, I wanted to ask if you’ve told anyone else or if I’m the first person.”

Vasiliki felt a chill run down his spine. Did he make a mistake in telling Stergios? “Yes. I’m sorry.”

Stergios was silent for a long time. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m honored.”

Honored? That was such a strange thing to say. But, Vasiliki guessed that he’d never shown Stergios any level of trust before. 

“I can’t keep doing this. I think after my most recent grant, I’m going to quit. Open a private practice. I’ve paid my debt off.”

“What made you change your mind, Vasil?”

Vasiliki was quiet. “My most recent subject. I’ve just gotten a grant to experiment on him, too. I’ve just… Constantine raped him, every day, for six months. I can’t work with someone like that. I can’t condone that by working there anymore.”

Stergios was quiet for a moment. “You mentioned that one of your patients attempted suicide. Was it him?”

Vasiliki nodded.

“I hate to say this - I really do - but if you leave, won’t it just be worse for your new subject?”

“I plan to buy him once my grant’s up. I have to produce results, though. I’m going to hurt him and there’s nothing I can fucking do about it, because I can’t save him if I don’t. I feel helpless.”

Stergios was quick to reply this time. “You don’t have to be.”

Vasiliki knew what Stergios was suggesting and he wasn’t sure. “Taking me to one of your meetings, I’m guessing?”

Stergios nodded. “Just come. See what it’s like. You don’t have to be a revolutionary. You can just explore. If your work finds out, say you were spying or something.”

Vasiliki looked into Stergios’ eyes. “Do you really think that anyone would forgive me if I went to one of those meetings being what I am?”

“Our lives are infinitely long, Vasil. That’s one of the beauties of being mages. That means there’s infinite room for change. You’ll have to work hard. Some won’t forgive you. But the most important thing is that you forgive yourself. You’re carrying too many burdens.”

Stergios smiled softly at Vasiliki. “You always carried too many burdens, my friend.”

With that, Stergios took the food off the stovetop, placing the baklava in the oven. He served Vasiliki a plate. “Let me take some of them off you for today. Rest and return to your lab in the morning.”

Vasiliki shook his head. “I can only stay a little while. It was just last night that he attempted. I have to go check his vitals once you leave.”

“Well, then, allow me to at least relieve them for a little bit.”

Vasiliki nodded as his friend pulled him into a hug. 

“I’m here, whenever you need me, okay?”

“Okay.”

For once, it felt good to be comforted by someone, rather than talking down traumatized patients.

===

Tags: @i-can-even-burn-salad, @whumpsday, @pigeonwhumps, @oddsconvert, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @writereleaserepeat, @just-a-silly-little-whumper, @sparrowsage, @inscrutable-shadow, @whumplr-reader, @whumpycries, @demondamage, @whumpshaped

[cadaverjuices]

sane/insane

cast; hunter [he/him], septimus [he/him] word count - 3202 CWs// violence, blood, animal harm metaphors, religious themes, emeto, self harm stuff whump specific; BBU/pet whump, intimate whumper/carewhumper, whumpee is in love with whumper and vice versa, transman whumpee, gay whumper, and a female whumper is mentioned.

summary;

the overlap between predator and prey, what each does to quell traumas bygone.

A/N - originally two different short stories i wrote!! featuring worlds most fucked up rabbit boy hunter, and septimus. who multiclasses as a whumper/whumpee/caretaker because hes special [specially traumatized].

hunter stared as the blood ran down the drain, his body feeling faint, his consciousness feeling foggy like he was underwater- and even as the tap blares a loud sound as rushing water runs through it, he can’t focus on it, it becomes an inaudible buzzing in the back of his mind, muffled by the screaming of his body.

there's not much to be said about what he felt.

he felt scared, disgusted to the core.

he wanted to cry, scream, run away, but he stood still, staring absentmindedly at the blood being washed off of him, pouring down in a reddish-pinkish hue, pain searing all the way through his body.

how did they get to this?

why- like moth to flame, is he like this?

and as he coughs again, gagging a disgustingly wet and rancid sound as more blood pours out, he felt himself cry, a weary smile on his face, tears prickling at the edge of his eyes and pouring down.

it’s not the physical pain that hurt, but the images that haunted his mind.

septimus-

'gather yourself,' hunter tells himself, hand grasping his leg, his shoulder feels sticky, wet skin against a wet tile wall, 'what's going on?' he asks his own dazed, dizzy mind.

he’d been hurt again.

well, that one was obvious, wasn't it?

devoured like some sort of prey animal, he could feel the deep gash wounds scream in pain; twisting, churning like the waves of a deep red ocean, screaming for some sort of relief.

but it doesn’t come, it never does, no matter how far hunter thinks he gets in his 'journey', he is always back there again.

hurt and broken and on fire, no matter how good hunter feels in one moment, the next he feels just as empty, just as depressed as before, in need of that 'fix' again.

always the same, always the exact same empty feeling, the same depression, the same gnawing deep need for what he knows will set him free, and always... the same relief he gets from his 'fix', being hurt.

always the same relief he gets when he starts to boil with self-hate, bubbling out of him and showing its ugly face to all those around him, all those whom he should care about and should find comfort in, when they leave him.

alone again, pretty?

an echo of a memory within his mind, loving affectionate voice, juxtaposed with a face he knew did not mean well.

and then, it's always the same person- or same kind of person, that he always gets that final relief, that final comfort from, a twisted, dark, and sick kind of comfort, a disgusting kind, an impure kind.

septimus.

tall, beautiful septimus. looks of an angel, hands of a devil, he denies it every time. saying he's not worthy of that moniker, calling himself twisted and impure- it only convinces hunter more. scars on his back, yellow eyes like a cat at night, and black hair with yellow streaks, he always smiles like he's getting a twisted joy out of everything, as if he doesn't deserve it.

hunter’s fallen angel.

perhaps if it was someone else hunter would have to ask himself where he was, but he knew. nobody had quite the decoration like his septimus. holes in the wall, dust flies about glittering in the yellowed flickering lights, he sees discarded cigarettes and broken trash, there's some mysterious grime in the corners of the bathroom that he was being careful to not touch and of course- the piece de resistance.

blood covers from here to fro, hunter was far from the only bloody thing in this house he was sure.

he always has wondered, where does that blood come from? as far as he knows septimus doesn't really have any friends, with or without quotations.

when he feels a hand from behind rest upon his shoulder, he knows he's right.

from the corner of his eye, he sees him kneel, a hand squirms its way under his chin and sets itself upon his cheek, he burrows into it as he's pulled to look at the man himself.

septimus.

on him there is blood, his clothes are frazzled, hunter sees the parts where his hands were probably just pulling at, and in septimus' hands, he holds a bloody sheet.

a gentle voice, “don’t go ruining this place again, hunter.” it speaks, smooth, soft, and yet unsettling; a coldness creeps in like a morning breeze, so gentle, but hunter feels himself freeze in fear at it, like a rabbit caught by a hawk, he's smiling at hunter, a thumb caresses his cheek, in his eyes, hunter sees the unimaginable adoration he holds for hunter, a sick kind of love.

his voice turns mockingly upset, “you know i can’t keep on cleaning up after your mess, you just need to be still and nothing like what happened last time will happen again.” it says, so chillingly sweet, like a toxin making it way into hunters gut, making him shake, he feels lips against his other cheek, a kiss.

“come on, answer me.” he says, voice lower, tightening jaw and a hand tightening on his neck, nails prickling at his skin like knives, threatening to tear in at any second.

he doesn't think septimus is aware of it, even, as his brows furrow- desperation, hunter has seen it a thousand times before.

just as broken as the other, just as desperate for affection and approval as the other.

it's frankly pathetic; for both of them.

hunter nods slowly, half-lidded and exhausted, feeling the pressure release from his neck, and sees as septimus goes to stand up over him, “good.” a breathy, disgustingly cheery voice says, a short laugh, breathy, “good, yeah, good.” and hunter is pulled up, feeling himself stand on shaky legs, held lovingly like fragile glass, but nails dig into his skin like rodent caught by bird.

hunter takes a shaky, painful breath, and leans away from the blood puddle from where he sat, being pulled away firmly; gently by septimus, feeling how he clings onto him, grasping him, squeezing him just slightly enough that he can feel the stinging of the gashes at being pulled at, he slowly looks up into the mirror, seeing himself, bloodied and torn apart like wet tissue paper, and septimus behind him, a crescent, crude smile on his lips, eyes staring back at hunter, poking at hunters skin, pulling at the skin, opening up those wounds he himself tore into hunter, there is a sense of pride he shouldn't perhaps have.

artist and his work?

a hand slowly travels up and grabs hunter's face, this hand more covered in blood than the last- he shivers at the wet feeling the blood gives on his skin, feeling sick as he feels himself tense up, but he stays still, nails gently poking at his skin as septimus twists his face to look at him.

“hunter.” he asks, a quiet and smooth voice, nose against his, his thumb caresses hunters face slowly, “you know i love you right? that this is out of love, right?” and, as hunter breathes slowly, shakily… a little smile creeps on his face.

the fix.

cure for his sickness, he lets himself be covered in worse disease, a shaky, weak breath from him- it's an intoxicating feeling.

“of course.” he says, septimus stares at his face for a second longer, absorbing the moment fully, a gentle kiss onto hunter’s bloodied lips, and he backs away, letting hunter go, his tone suddenly shifts, colder, disinterested. in his eyes, hunter sees how he stares off into nothing yet again, always only focusing on the candle as it's burning, moth to flame alike.

“i’ll go call that doctor guy for you, you seem to have had enough of me now.” he mumbles, "you'll be fine in here yourself, right?" he asks, eyes digging through hunter, seemingly looking through him. hunter nods and then watches as his beloved fallen angel goes out of the bathroom, leaving hunter alone.

rabbits are not supposed to love hawks.

hunter stands, feeling himself wave from side to side as he stands, and then starts to cry, there's an exhausted smile on his face as he slides down.

it hurts, oh it always does.

it hurts so damn much, and yet he can’t stop coming here- and no matter how hurt he is, no matter how much pain he feels, no matter how broken he gets, it's still never enough is it?

he still returns to him, or others. he still comes back to be broken, torn apart.

and god, each time after- through the bewitching words septimus weaves, like blades through his skin, he’s always left feeling as if nobody will ever truly care for him that way again, obsessive sick love.

he doesn't know what septimus would do if he told him how much he adores him.

he doesn't know how he would bear with never seeing the worst of his coping mechanisms ever again.

but it's the only thing that keeps him feeling sane.

lower than dirt, lower than worms, there he is.

it’s not that he didn’t love hunter, oh he loved him. but an animal untrained is unrestrained in its behaviour.

a sharp beak picks apart fine rabbit bones, it’s instinct. it’s all he knows.

affection is something that cannot be afforded to morons, where his hands trace only bruises are left- his existence was bloody destruction, tearing apart the things he wishes he could care for whenever he is left without a muzzle around his head.

restraint was not something that he was ever taught. joy was not a privilege an animal like him deserved.

every feeling of joy, affection, and love was counteracted by a feeling of anger, disgust, and most of all; hatred. hatred for hunter for instilling the feelings of sin within him, a hatred for himself for daring to feel that way, a hatred for what was lost, what was never given, and what he cannot do.

contradiction was something he knew very well. the contradiction of being desired yet never loved, the contradiction of wanting love but not being able to give it, of being trained like a refined pet and yet rabid like a feral dog.

the things he would do to fix himself. pull out teeth, rip out nails, but nothing could ever kill the filth that was weaved finely into his entire being, a silk of only the worst he could do, never anything good coming out of him.

oh, it wasn’t that he hated hunter, no. it was that he hated himself.

to have someone who still accepted him was something he hated, something he wished would not happen, he curses anyone who forgives his sin. but he still never refuses it; a feeling of being starved, he longs for someone to treat him normally. but he can't treat anyone normally himself, the hands of a sinner. bubbling up.

it always ends the same.

bloody hands, bloody apartment, the taste of regret at the back of his throat and yet intoxication at the only affection he could afford. bloody love, the sign of the heathen he was always meant to be. created to hurt, created to suffer, created to destroy.

he wasn’t human anymore, he was something else by now he was sure of. sins pile up and twist one's form. maybe he never was one.

hunter didn’t- hunter did not come to him for love. no, he came for… other reasons to be sure, but septimus didn’t mind being used, even pain and fear, tears rolling off one’s face, could feel like being loved after being starved of it, he knew that very well himself.

so when he was asked not to tear, not to hurt, but to restrain himself, he was… anxious, afraid.

sweetness from each kiss hunter gave him, he didn't know how to reciprocate that, his hands wrap around hunters wrists, loosely as to not make him bleed as he always does.

refreshing intoxication emanates from hunter as his warmth does, to be so gentle with a monster was a virtue he was so jealous of.

disgust builds up at the back of his throat.

rotted bile, rotted mind, rotted morals.

unreciprocative trash

hunters voice was quiet, painfully kind as he speaks, “septimus?” he mumbles, and even though he doesn't answer hunter continues, “this… this might be really out of nowhere, i’m sorry..” he whispers, and as septimus hears the way that hunters voice gets choked up he wishes, he could tear flesh from bone, his throat hurting as if a ball were stuck in it, constricting flesh around the obstruction.

constricting hatred around the obstruction.

“i just- i... i like this, i think” he said, and the bile growing in the back of his throat couldn’t be more distracting, this wasn’t right and it wasn’t something that should happen “i like us, i love us like this-” and before he finishes the sentence septimus steps away.

he hated this. he hated himself for the way he acted, when he leaves he doesn’t say a word.

he almost wants to laugh at the irony of it all, something once so holy, so pure- now twisted.

wingless angel, the means he would go to so that he could feel human. but he still wasn’t one despite it all, even when tearing feathers from flesh, flesh from bone, his wings removed from his body by his own hands, he only turned into a monster. a snarling rabid beast.

the memory of hunter running his hands along the scars on his back crosses his mind. 'how did this happen?' the rabbit asks, he had never answered, it's not that hunter wouldn't understand, more than anyone else he would, but it's that he still felt shame- he still wanted to be more than...

more than a pet bird.

he had seen a beautiful girl once; from afar, a long time ago, rabbit ears on her head, a tail behind. hair and fur like acorn brown silk, soft and warm, eyes deep, dark shades of a midnight hue of brown.

and just when he finds himself starting to get lost in them, he feels his mistress' heels click on the floor, and he stands upright again, looking to her with a practised 'loving' smile, but his eyes were empty as he stares at the woman.

she runs hands along the white dove-like wings he once had, that he swears he can still feel burning in pain, and he tells her every sweet nothing she wants to hear.

his mistress.

he was below even a doormat.

today that beautiful 'girl' had sat before him again, now a boy he feels hopelessly in love (?) with. his hair and eyes as beautiful as he remembers, now close he can look at every freckle on his face, like stars to the dark sky in his eyes, he has piercings and tattoos now, and on his body septimus could trace a thousand scars with a thousand stories.

some like his, some by him, some for other reasons.

but he can't take what he dishes, unending adoration, unconditional love- from him, sick and twisted, but from him... like sun rays kissing his skin.

the scars on his back burn.

vomit sits below his face, cast out like the feelings he was not worthy of, that he didn’t deserve to experience. the disgusting taste covers his mouth, and the acid makes his throat burn, he lets out a groan as he stares at it in disgust for a few seconds before going to wash his face.

cold water makes his face numb, but he still feels the nails he drags across his face.

he hates how his body rejects normality.

but no matter how much hate he bears, no matter the tears he sheds, no matter the blood he draws out of himself, it’s never enough to cleanse him of that instinct to destroy; to hurt.

there's a knock at the door as he bites into the skin of his arm, hunter’s voice rings out, “are you okay?” he asks, distress in his voice, “i heard gagging?” and septimus only glares at the door as he doesn't answer, a familiar liquid warmth running down his arm, iron taste in his mouth.

then, there’s a long silence, a silence where septimus feels the way tears try and pour out of his face, and how his breathing tightens further, choking silently with his hatred of himself, his weakness, silently suffocating any of the tears that he may have shed.

“i…” the voice is quiet, septimus thinks that hunter is leaning against the door now with how his voice is muffled, “i’m worried. i.... care about you, okay?" a pause, he cringes at it, he feels like hes being lied to- that's why there's that pause, if it were truth it would simply come out, "can you let me in?” he asks, and septimus feels the shaky breath he lets out, panic makes his skin feel as if pins dig into it, he hits the wall with his uninjured fist.

a nervous smile crawls onto his face as he feels his chest rise and fall faster and faster, “and i don’t. only love you for the blood you spill, fucking leave.” he says a fearful chuckle escaping him.

his body burns with adrenaline. fear, anxiety, and hatred, all in one disgusting mixed concoction. he hears the slow- and then fast footsteps as hunter walks away, the closing of the door, and when he does he pulls his head back slowly and suddenly, harshly, bangs it against the door.

surely, it was hard enough to leave a bruise.

and as the pain on his head pulses he slumps down, his tears and hyperventilated breaths finally coming out, like a waterfall, a wash of relief over him, the stabbing of hatred and guilt piercing his heart.

and then he hits his head against the door again. and again. and again. and he continues doing so until his breathing calms down.

unholy mind and body joined together, the twisting of a dove, the beast he is now doesn't deserve love like what hunter wishes to give him- it’s better to hurt himself than to let him ‘love’. put your hands inside the cage and you know what you’re gonna get, to get your fingers torn from that is a question of one’s own stupidity, a stupidity that was like a grace to him, but to open the cage was too reckless, even the beast knew that.

the hunger for what he doesn’t deserve makes him feel almost insane, despite his knowledge that he only feeds and does not reciprocate.

regret does make him feel insane, however.

the knowledge he hurt hunter is something he's not surprised by at all, and yet still wishes would not happen, but beak and claws do not love like mouths and hands, an animal like him just wasn’t made for love.

you cannot do something over and over and expect a different result.

you cannot do something over and over and expect a different result.

[whumpsday]

Some of your favourite OCs from other people at the moment?? :DD

so i already did a whole post on my all-time favorite whumpees, which you can read here! here's some more!

more whumpees:

Matteo from Blackmuir Reign, Bo from Shop Captive, Carlo (especially vampire and bloodbag Carlo), all by @deluxewhump

Daero by @thoughtsonhurtandcomfort

Envy from Demon's Haven by @whumpwillow

Celeste from The Heart and the Hunger by @wolfeyedwitch

Kosta from Purring Vampire by @thecyrulik

Sacha from Shadow By My Fireplace by @quietly-by-myself

Coco by @a-crumb-of-whump

Declan from Shattered by @oddsconvert

Pup by @lost-in-labradorite-halls

Maxx from Whump World (Fang Factory) by @loor-101 and @thoughtsonhurtandcomfort

caretakers and carewhumpees:

Aldon and Micah from Of Vampires and Men by @whumpy-writings

Maisie from One Night's Mistake by @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

Hakon from The Dark Side of the Sun by @quietly-by-myself

u guys wouldn't know about this one but I KNOW HER because i get dm privileges. Gala by @lost-in-labradorite-halls

Derek (every incarnation but especially the one from) Angel on the Wall by @emmettnet

might seem like a weird pick as he's not the primary caretaker but i love him so much. Vik from Linden & Colton by @whumpzone

Andrei from Brother's Keeper by @darkthingshappen

a lot of the below are "i love you but i hate you" types or "wow what a great villain" types of favorite. everyone except Myndill actually lol. Myndill gets a high five from me

whumpers or whumper-mix (whumperee, carewhumper, etc):

King Myndill and Cassius from The Dark Side of the Sun by @quietly-by-myself

Izaak from A Taste of Your Own Medicine by @oddsconvert

Marcus and Ciaran from Cat and Mouse by @t0rture-me

Kasia from Tomas & Rowe by @whumpzone

definitely one of the most horrific villains i've ever read... Seth from Killing Stalking Whumping by @whumpshaped

not gonna link every single series because that's take a billion years, but most of the masterlists should be in the description or pinned post for the author. i linked any that aren't.

[demondamage]

After the snippet from the other blog I am SO excited to see Kotarou as a caretaker(?) and the new dynamics!!!!

Fam-- same. Kotarou is at heart a Carewhumper- and as Aziphem breaks he definitely gets more of the caretaker side of the angel. The dynamics are facinating and fun af to write--- the mix if discipline, experimentation, and care

Imma link it here since it is technically not NSFW- I would rate it Mature but not Explicit. 18+ audience since it does get heavy, but it is not explicitly pornographic