#black market whumpee

[mj-iza-writer]

I don't want to talk about how long this sat in my drafts waiting for me to figure out the ending 🤦- Mj

Whumpee adjusted how they were lying on their pedestal. They were bored to death for this last-minute dinner party Whumper planned. They hid a small yawn, not wanting to seem too bored.

"I saw that", Whumper stepped up, and handed them a plate of goodies, "a few more hours and you can be done."

Whumpee sat up and eagerly took the food, "thankyou master."

Whumpee watched as Whumper talked with their guest. The food they had just received made it worth being their master's eye candy for the guest.

Whumpee was considered a Chattel slave, Whumper had purchased them from the black market. A chattel slave was pretty much considered someone's property, no different than livestock or the couch in the corner.

Whumper used Whumpee as an ornament, an object of their money. The guest often marveled at just how beautiful Whumpee was. Whumpee had been conditioned by their traffickers for this type of work.

Whumper never laid a punishing hand on them, they didn't have to. That hell was all done by the traffickers. Whumper could just enjoy their doll... or honestly, their puppet.

Whumpee was often dressed in the most expensive, often revealing outfits Whumper could find. Whumpee looked down at the lacy skin tight outfit they had on. They had lacy wraps around their wrist to match, but to also hide the rope burns from last night's fun in the master's bed. Lastly, they looked down at the sparkly shackle on their ankle, that was followed by a sparkly chain cemented into their pedestal.

A lady came up and started to ask Whumpee questions about themself and Whumper.

Whumpee stared straight ahead, not acknowledging the woman. They wished she'd go away though so they could eat more.

"Look at me, and talk to me, you useless...", the woman comanded, "how rude", they took their wine glass and threw the drink at Whumpee.

Whumpee gasped as the dark wine spilled over them.

Whumper came running, two butlers followed.

"What the heck is going on", Whumper looked at the wine covered Whumpee, then the woman.

"They wouldn't answer me. It's just like you to have a rude servant", the lady answered.

"She came up and started asking me questions about you, and about me master", Whumpee also answered while awkwardly holding out their arms do to the wine dripping from them, "I didn't acknowledge her, and she threw wine at me."

Whumper's anger flared at the lady, "they are not supposed to talk to people. They are furniture to look at. They were doing exactly as they were trained", Whumper spoke through gritted teeth, "the only way they can talk to someone is if they have my permission to talk to them."

"So you purposely made them rude", the lady looked up at Whumpee, who now was looking right at them.

"No that is how they were trained, and who are you to think you have a right to talk to my property", Whumper argued, "I literally started this party explaining how to interact with Whumpee, and if you wanted to talk to them to ask me, I would have happily introduced you. Everyone else has followed that rule, and that is much appreciated by me and Whumpee. Whumpee enjoys talking to people under the correct circumstances."

"I'm sure they would appreciate being able to talk to whomever they want", the lady fired back.

"And they would want to talk to you because?", Whumper asked sarcastically.

Whumpee grinned a little, hiding a laugh.

"Well I've never", the lady gasped.

"Well, it's about time someone talks to you like that", Whumper frowned, "your invitation to my parties is being revoked, my butler will escort you out.

When the lady was gone, Whumper turned to Whumpee.

"I guess that outfit is done. There is no coming back from that grape wine", Whumper stepped up, and unlocked the shackle, "I'm relieving you for tonight, go get cleaned up and relax in my room", Whumper caressed Whumpee's face.

Whumpee leaned their face into Whumper's gentle hand.

Whumper looked up at a butler, "Whumpee didn't get to eat much thanks to the lady, have chef cook them something."

"Yes sir", the butler bowed.

Whumper gave a hand to Whumpee to step down from the pedestal. They watched Whumpee as they left the party.

"I'm sorry for the disturbance in our party. Please continue to enjoy yourself", Whumper looked around, "I do apologize. Whumpee won't be joining us for the rest of it though."

The crowd had watched Whumpee leave, they all seemed sorry to see them go.

Later that night, Whumper went into their bedroom. They smiled when they saw Whumpee resting on the bed reading a book.

"Master", Whumpee closed the book and sat up, "how was the rest of the party."

"You have no idea how many people asked about you once you left", Whumper walked to them, "all so concerned about you", they started to get undressed.

Whumper caressed Whumpee's face lovingly.

"I'm going to shower, then we can go to bed", Whumper grinned.

Whumpee leaned into the touch.

"Are you tired, my dear?", Whumper smiled.

"Yes sir, I'm sorry about the wine spill", Whumpee frowned.

"That wasn't your fault. You were doing what you were supposed to do", Whumper turned toward the bathroom, "it only means I need to find you a copy of that outfit. You looked stunning in it."

"Thankyou master", Whumpee smiled weakly.

That night, Whumpee was cuddled into Whumper's arms.

They moved up and down with every snore Whumper made.

Whumpee blinked away a tear.

"I wish I was free", Whumpee whispered before forcing themself to go to sleep.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

[dump-o-whump]

Red Market — 3.25: Artist’s Muse

giggles (also @augustwritingchallenge)

content: bondage, use of ‘sir’ and ‘master’, use of ‘pet’, implied human trafficking, begging, broken bones, slapping

•

Leo woke up in a strange position. He was splayed in an X shape, suspended in the air by ropes hanging from the ceiling, barely upright by the balance of gravity. His newest owner was sat under him, grinning. He was holding a paintbrush and sitting behind an easel. There were paints surrounding him, all in soft ivory tones like that of Leo’s skin.

He was about to paint him.

Leo screamed. All he had wanted in his captivity was to be hidden. That was all he asked for. He would be good, he would do anything, just don’t show him to the world.

He couldn’t handle it if anyone saw him like this. It terrified him more than any punishment he’d ever been given, chilled him down to the bone, earned immediate tears. And this was a painting. His torture would be preserved forever. His owner would probably show off the artwork to whoever would look, proudly parading Leo’s agony. Everyone he’d ever cared about would see. Everyone would know he was weak.

He sobbed hoarsely.

“You’re so pretty like that, love,” Leo’s new owner cooed as he leant over the easel and looked him uncomfortably in the eyes. “Stay there. You’re beautiful.”

“N-No! Get me down!” Leo screamed.

He didn’t expect to and he didn’t mean to, but he did. He had only fought back to Master once. After that day, after that punishment, he vowed to himself to never defy again. He would just take it and be good and pray that he wouldn’t be hurt too badly. But everything was different now. He was scared, just like he had been when Master took him. He didn’t escape that time, but maybe — just maybe — he could now.

So he fought against his bonds and screamed at the top of his lungs. “Fuck you! Get these off me, you fucking sicko! I’m not gonna be your- your muse!”

Leo’s new owner cracked a thin smile. “So, that’s how you wanna be,” He growled, voice low. He pulled a lever and Leo’s ropes went slack, sending him careening towards the cold stone floor. He screamed out in shock and pain.

“No!” He managed. The ropes snapped taut just before he hit the ground, sending him into a daze. Pain exploded from his arms and legs. In his confusion, it took him a second to realise. The bones in his limbs had shattered on the impact. He let out a broken shriek of agony.

“So you want to be difficult? I’ll make it difficult.” His owner hissed. He smacked Leo round the face, hard, as he sobbed.

Every single piece of dignity Leo had regained suddenly crumbled. “No! I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- please, make it stop, please-“

“That’s what I thought.” He pushed the lever back up and sent Leo reeling back to the ceiling, head still spinning.

“No… p-please, no…” Leo managed between frantic breaths. His limbs were in excruciating pain, his head felt like a shaken-up beehive, and his heart-rate was spiking.

His owner flashed a grin and prepared his paintbrush. “Ah, that’s the pose I wanted.”

•

leo <33 i love to torture this innocent little man. he doesn’t deserve any of this and i love it!! :))

taglist (i guess?? /vpos): @whumpsday

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

I fell asleep and woke up with the horrendous idea of people sending asks about their whumpees and me responding with how Malik would direct their Red Room video and how much it would go for on the dark web

[loonybun]

whumper who literally just uses an immortal whumpee as an organ farm. like yes we love to see an entrepreneur on the black market! make those profits!

[3-2-whump]

Whumpee Intro: The Auction Floor

next>

Thanks @dresden-syndrome for helping me bounce ideas off you! We talked about how pet stores display the fish in glass tanks, especially how some of the good stores display their betta fish in individual glass tanks. And I was like, "why not for pet whumpees?" Inspiration comes from the unlikeliest of places.

TW/CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, nonconsensual nudity (nonsexual), minor whump (at time of story), noncon body mod (briefly mentioned), light gore (briefly mentioned). I also have little to no idea how auctions like this would work, so I'm skipping over some details. Enjoy, regardless.

The boy backed up as far as his glass prison would allow, but the hungry eyes of the bidders outside never left him. He hoped and prayed nobody would buy him, but his hope diminished with every scrutinizing stare and comment muffled through the glass. He slumped into the corner of his cell and curled into a ball, ignoring the handlers’ threats they drilled into each prospective asset before the auction began. He shut his eyes and buried his head into his folded-up knees. If he was just boring enough to look at, maybe the people outside would move on and buy somebody else.

The floor was cold. The glass walls of his cell were cold. He was bare, completely naked in the empty glass container. The back of his left ear was itchy, but he made no move to scratch at it. If he interfered with the tattoo as it was healing, they promised to pull out his fingernails. It had already happened to one girl; he had seen it. He dug his nails into his shins until the unbearable itching subsided enough to ignore it once again.

The murmurs outside died down, accompanied by the sound of retreating footsteps. The boy dared to peek out from his hiding place. He locked eyes with a man standing right in front of his cell, staring at him with a glass of whiskey in hand. He was a big man, broad shouldered and solidly built underneath that crisply pressed suit. He was easily two heads taller than his father, and up until that point, the boy thought his father was pretty tall. The man had short, dirty-blonde hair and sharp, steel-gray eyes. His mouth was downturned into a frown, the only indication of what he may truly feel behind the blank expression he bore.

Two more men –presumably his friends- materialized alongside him, jovially poking at him and gesturing inside the boy’s cell. It was next to impossible to make out the words they were saying from within the cell, but the boy got a sinking feeling in his stomach. The whole time, the man’s eyes never left his.

---

The auction part of the night had ended, their area of the black market had been closed off, and he (among many others) was retrieved from the glass box. The handler who fetched him threw him a pair of pants and a shirt. “Put those on, and follow me.”

So, I did get sold, the boy realized. He dressed quickly and followed the handler silently, dread weighing down each footstep. He mentally ran through the faces he dared to look at while he wondered who among the crowd had bought him. His mind circled back to the tall man with the scowl. Please, God, please, not him, he begged.

He stopped in his tracks when they came to the exit. The very same tall man turned around to meet him. The handler quietly disappeared from his side. Those steel eyes looked far colder and sharper up close. The boy averted his eyes, staring at his bare feet while keeping his hands folded in front of him.

“What’s your name, kid?”

The boy looked up briefly. Faint freckles danced across the man’s pale cheeks, and an old scar grazing across his left temple disappeared into his hairline. Those sharp steely eyes continued to flay him. He was so scared he nearly forgot his new owner had asked him a question. My name? He dropped his gaze back to his feet. “Khaled,” he all but whispered. “But you may call me whatever you want, sir,” he added, remembering the ‘correct’ answer.

The man above him murmured his name a couple times to himself as the boy stood ready to accept a new name, if his new master so wished it. “Luckily for you, I like your name,” he said decisively.

Before Khaled could breathe a sigh of relief, the man placed a broad hand on his shoulder. The boy tensed; his palm covered his whole shoulder blade. “Come with me, Khaled.” Not like he had a choice, when his master’s hand pushed him out the door into a future of unknowns and uncertainties.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

This Reality

For @amonthofwhump's day 3 and day 4:

3: George Bailey “We’ve lost everything we have.” | Disowned Drowning | Comfort: Christmas Market

4: The Grinch Sedatives | Blackmail | Yandere Whumper | Comfort: Ugly Sweater Party

Follows on this piece exploring the AU of Chris never being rescued/running away and instead being abandoned years later on the street

CW: Drug use, drugged whumpee, references to noncon/dubcon scattered throughout

-

“Hey.”

A foot nudges against his side, but Baldur barely notices the pressure pushing into one rib. He’s drowning and it feels wonderful. The push of the pill through his veins keeps him languid and loose-limbed, lying on the ground with his eyes open, staring up into the watercolor sunset. He can feel the earth turning on its axis, spinning wildly in the empty universe. The pinks and reds in the clouds above him shift and change with the movement. 

Everything was so loud today. There are people everywhere, crowding together for the Christmas parade. He’d taken his usual route around looking for someone who might give him a bed to sleep in if he handed over the body everyone used anyway, but instead of the usual handful he knew, there had been police officers watching with their handler-like eyes, groups of families fighting and laughing and shouting.

The Christmas market and parade. He’d forgotten about it.

His Sir had always given a speech at the parade, ridden in a float. Baldur had watched him on television each year, lying in silence on the floor, wondering if he missed his Sir or was glad for the time alone. Desperately grateful for any time at all where he wasn’t afraid.

But then he’d forgotten it would still happen, even after his Sir didn’t want him anymore. 

Today had been terrifying. People everywhere and he’d had to push through them as he moved, the constant weight of their voices pressing his brain into a smaller and smaller space, bouncing around the inside of his skull. 

He’d caught himself shifting his hands, trying to flap, had to stop himself - stillness is better than what I do - repeating his handler’s mantra for him in his mind over and over and over again. But if he couldn’t move, he couldn’t get the sounds out from under his skin. Everything had been crawling over him, laying against him, buzzing like bees in his ears and behind his teeth.

Then he’d run into Vamp, a runaway like him who works a corner at night and a convenience store counter during daylight. She’d seen the look on his face when he ducked inside to hold off the worst of the noise and told him to wait while she got something out of her purse. She’d even bought him a bottle of water to wash it down with.

About an hour after that, and in the hours since, everything has been soft around the edges, the noise bouncing off of him. There’s a wall between him and the rest of the world. He doesn’t even know when he got to the park, only that at some point he stopped standing upright and instead was like this. Nothing ached in his legs and arms any longer, his mind no longer buzzed with the weight of the noise.

It feels just like the mornings at home with Sir, or when he’d gone off to work for the day and left Baldur behind, dozing drugged in his bed waiting for him to come back.

He used to cry all the time, when Sir was gone, wishing he could think again. Palming the pills when he dared. Now he just wishes he could at least go back to the quiet room and the comfortable bed, to one man demanding access to him in exchange for his life, instead of many. But the pill helps.

A little.

The foot nudges him again.

“Hey, are you-... are you dead?”

Baldur manages a blink. He has to consciously tell his head to move on the stem of his neck to look to the left now and see the man leaning over him, staring down. 

Vaguely familiar, with wild black curls ringing a perfectly lovely face, big warm blue eyes, dark brows a little knit together with concern. The guy who bought him breakfast a couple of weeks ago, he thinks, after they’d been the stars of the show in that house the night before. That had been fun, Baldur thinks. Maybe. Or had it not been? Skin on skin never feels good, but he’s supposed to act like it does. Sometimes he blanks out and he thinks his body has fun, then… His lips move with his thoughts, unable to separate enough not to. 

The man squints. “Okay, so not dead, definitely moving and breathing, but… are you, like, OD-ing, or… what is this whole thing happening here? What am I looking at?”

“... colors,” Baldur whispers, and looks back up into the sky above him. Grass tickles the back of his neck and the palms of his hands. “Night, soon. Then we’ll see stars, stars dead… a billion years ago. Far enough… far enough away… we still see the lights. Like me. Dead but you still see me… dead, but the image… like ghosts. Like… us.”

The man’s frown deepens, but he drops into a crouch, laying a hand on Baldur’s forehead, pressing a palm to his cheeks one after the other. He closes his eyes at the touch and pushes up into it like a cat. His Sir never cared enough to check him for fevers like that. He has fuzzy memories of a woman, dark hair, smiling eyes, who would do that. Oh, sweet boy. You’re on fire, huh? The image dissolves, though, before he can hang onto it or turn the impression into a real memory. It leaves an imprint of pain behind, making him wince.

The man pulls his hand quickly away, and Baldur fights back the urge to whimper at the loss.

No one touches him anymore unless they want to fuck him about it. He’s so tired of just wanting someone to hold him and stop there. 

The man sighs, shifting to sit down. “Just really fucked up, huh? I get it.” After a pause, the man lies down beside him, fingers laced together behind his head, following Baldur’s gaze to the sky. “I do that, too. What’s got you wanting to fuck off out of this reality tonight?”

Baldur doesn’t answer.

Instead, he thinks for a long, long moment of silence, and then manages, “... I forgot your name.”

“Kauri,” The man answers readily, without offense. “That’s okay. I remember you said you’re called… Baldur, right?”

“My Sir… called me that.” Baldur blinks again, his eyes shutting with a clang in his mind like garage doors before opening back up again. The thought makes him smile. “I… don’t like it much. But there… isn’t any other.”

“Oh.” Kauri thinks that over. Then asks, “What do the guys you fuck call you?”

“... baby. Sweetheart. Sexy…”

“Yeah, I guess there’s only so many nicknames in bed. Do you want to be Baldur?”

“... no.”

“Oh. Then… you can pick your own new name, if you want.”

It takes a little while for the statement to work its way in. He hears the words but they don’t really land, just sort of flit around his head for a while trying to find a place to nest. He giggles at the thought, like pretty birds with wings chirping pick your own, your own, own new name, name you.

Kauri watches him, then exhales. There’s a fond sort of smile on his face, but it isn’t the kind of smile Baldur is used to seeing, one heavy with meaning. The kind of smile that comes before a hand on his ass or moving his head down where they want it. Baldur turns his head to look back. They’re inches apart. He’s probably supposed to kiss him, now.

But the pill makes it so he remembers that he doesn’t actually want to do that. It makes him so he can just lay here, and wait to be kissed or not kissed. It’s okay. Everything is okay, like this.

“Funny to see it from the outside,” Kauri murmurs, and then moves up on his elbows. “Hey. Listen. If you could call yourself anything else - not Baldur, or your number, just like anything else that you picked and you alone… what would you choose?”

Baldur blinks again. Lets the words settle, arrange themselves into something that makes sense. Then, he closes his eyes and drifts, almost asleep instantly as soon as he shuts himself away from the vision of the sky and the way the yellow-gold fading sunlight turns the hair of the man lying next to him to some kind of glimmering brilliance. “... -ris,” He mutters, the sound coming to mind without any thought.

“What?” Kauri pokes him in the nose, making him open his eyes with another giggle to see his confusion, which only makes Baldur laugh harder. “What’d you say? Did you say Chris?”

No.

But Baldur can’t say no, can he?

No, good boys only say yes.

“Yes,” He says, and puts his hands over his mouth to try and stop his giggles from escaping. He fails, and finds himself rubbing his feet one against the other even through his shoes, rolling from side to side. He thrills at the forbidden movements, something he can only do now, when his mind isn’t in control of him any longer, when the handler’s whispered demands and punishments aren’t the loudest thing he hears. 

“Oh, wow, you are gone,” Kauri says, a little enviously. “Well, damn. Man, and that was basically my plan tonight, too. That’s okay, though, nothing like playing babysitter to the world’s most beautiful park decoration for a few hours to make you appreciate sobriety, huh?”

Baldur’s laughter fades, replaced with a hazy frown. “... hours?”

“Right. Yeah. Cause the way you are right now, somebody’s going to murder you and you won’t even notice until like ten minutes after you’re dead. So I, being your self-declared fairy godmother of the evening, am going to keep an eye out and make sure this little Cinderella lives past midnight.”

Kauri pokes him in the nose again. 

“Got that, Chris?”

It sounds good, actually, that name. Baldur weighs it on his tongue. He mouths it, teeth close together and then opening, tongue moving. Chris. Chris. Chris.

“Chris-... Christopher,” He sounds out, slowly, thinking of a child’s movie he barely recalls, a teddy bear. “Christopher. But Chris.”

“Right. Once you sober up, I’ll get you something to eat and then I want you to go see a friend of mine. I think you could maybe use somewhere to crash for a while, and there’s a place I go - they don’t make you do anything, there. So I go there sometimes. There’s a shower and you can eat any of their food and nobody stops you. You’ll like it. How’s that sound?”

Baldur doesn’t hear anything Kauri says. He’s too busy sounding out the name he’s chosen inside his mind. But he knows from the way Kauri’s voice lilts up at the end that he’s been asked a question. So he just says, “Okay.”

“Great. So tell me more about the stars and shine on you crazy fucked-up diamond.”

Kauri lies back beside him, the side of his arm just barely touching Baldur’s, a warm touch grounding him to the earth without climbing on top of him or shoving a hand down his pants or telling him to shove his hand down someone else’s. Baldur lets his eyes close, and breathes in the cool air.

“A lot of the stars… are already dead. But, but we… still see them. Because the light, um, of dead… of the dead stars… still travels so, so far… and it takes so long… we see them shining… and, and they’re already gone…”

“Hm. I take it back. Talk to me about something less depressing than that.”

Baldur has to think for a long time to find something that fits. Then he offers, “I met… a man over by the red diner… who carves little horses out of wood. He told me that he used to… work with wild mustangs, horses, a long… long time ago…”

“Perfect.” Kauri’s smile is brilliant, and Baldur is caught by the sight of it, staring for a long time in silence with wide eyes at the way it shines. Those blue eyes catch his, their heads turned towards each other. “Well? Keep talking.”

Baldur swallows, and then slowly nods, and tries to think of all the funny people he’s met since his Sir decided he needed replaced. He stammers, sometimes, but Kauri doesn’t seem to notice or maybe just doesn’t care.

He doesn’t hear the handler’s voice in his head, either.

Not while Kauri is looking at him. For the first time since his Sir shoved him out of the car and drove away, he feels like someone cares.

[clickerflight]

Burned at the stake: Part 4

Masterlist

Part 3

One more part after this one. I'm so excited about this story, my goodness. Also, I have, like, four more vampire whump ideas and I can't stop thinking about them all and the worldbuilding for the world this all takes place in.

Content: Vampire whumpee, carewhumper turned just whumper, silver burns, toe and finger whump, dragged by the hair, talk of vampire trafficking, it as a pronoun, dehumanization

..................................................

"Kyle! Wait! I need you, I can't speak to it!"

“I won’t have any part in this, Joanna,” Kyle hissed, turning on her and using his extra inch to try and intimidate her. “You need to give him to someone who can take care of him! You can’t keep him here!”

She began to look uncomfortable, but she bared her own teeth right back. “No! The vampire was there for the first age! The first dynasty! Who knows what it could tell us! You know we don’t have much in the way of records from that time.”

“Oh for the love of-he was a Hippo hunter!? What do you want to know? How to kill a hippo?”

“It knows something! It knew who the kings were. Even the smallest details it thinks doesn’t matter could make all the difference! We could be-”

“Rich?” he snapped, shutting her up. “Joanna, you and I have been friends for a long time, and that’s why I’m giving you a chance here. Give him over to the authorities and leave him be. You’re no better than those stupid black market treasure hunters right now. He’s not dangerous and he shouldn’t be kept in your shed.”

He stared at her for a moment and she opened her mouth, still at a loss for words. 

With that, Kyle left and Joanna let him. She stood in her yard, turning to stare at the shed. She could hear the vampire moving inside, presumably trying to escape. She went to the shed only to lock the door and then went into the house to plan her next move. 

………………………

In the morning, Joanna woke up with a plan in mind. She hadn’t really been able to sleep as she turned the problem over, but everything seemed to resolve itself. She would just have to teach the Vampire english. It was a vampire, a creature of strange magic, so it should learn fast enough. 

As for Kyle. 

She dialed his number and she was unsurprisingly sent to voicemail. “Hey, Kyle,” she said in a docile tone. “Sorry about yesterday. You were right. I’m calling some people to take it-him. Anyways, I wanted to apologize. Maybe we should take a break while I sort this all out and I’ll talk to you in a couple of weeks, yeah? Kay. Bye.”

That should take care of it. She knew Kyle and he wouldn’t be eager to see her again until his temper cooled. This sort of thing had happened in the past and they were used to having to take breaks in their friendship when they had an argument. This one would probably be longer than the ones that they’d been through in the past, but that suited Joanna just fine. She had a vampire to occupy her time with. 

………………………….

The woman was back. Esial had forgotten to ask Kyle what her name was and now he was too afraid to try and get her to tell him through pantomime. She stared at him for a long moment, before taking a slow breath. She bent down and pointed to something on the floor, saying a word in her strange language. She pointed to another object and made the same sound. 

“Silveer,” Esial repeated. That was the metal that would hurt him, then. She nodded and pointed to another object, speaking another word for him to learn. 

The entire hour was spent like that as she pointed at things and named them. He was wearing something called a towel, though it’s purpose must not be for clothing because none of the things she was wearing was called that. There was a shirt and pants and hair and eyes and coins and shed. That was the name of the room he was in. He wondered what its purpose was when it wasn’t used to keep ‘vampires’ trapped. She had called him that and he tried to correct her that his name was Esial but she repeated the word until he understood. She seemed a bit annoyed with him by the end and left soon enough. He repeated the words in his mind for the next few hours of loneliness. He had nothing to do and he didn’t want to annoy her. He hoped she would feed him soon. He was starving. 

So, he practiced the words in his head hoping to get to the point where he would tell her what she wanted and beg her to let him go. 

She kept coming back and teaching him words of her strange language and he couldn’t understand the rules. The words made no sense and a horrifying feeling began to creep over him as he realized he’d just have to memorize everything. She was growing more impatient with him every time she came out, and grew even more annoyed when she saw him scratching at the cuff around his ankle. He shivered on the table, fidgeting with the now fraying towel and tried to repeat everything, but she was going too fast and none of this made sense. She didn’t explain the meanings of all of these words and he still didn’t know what a towel was for. 

At the end of another session after a long period when she had been away, which only made it harder for him to remember all of the words and how they fit together, he hesitantly asked, “Towel?”

She looked up from her book full of little squiggles, annoyed. 

He cleared his throat and asked. “Towel what for?”

She stared at him and a deep rage filled her eyes. She started speaking quickly, too fast for him to understand more than the occasional word. She was annoyed, though. He wasn’t learning fast enough and she was.. Running out of time? She said that a couple of times and Esial grasped the meaning of it. Running out of time for what?

“Time? How… long for…. Esial free?” he found himself asking. 

The woman turned her ire directly on him and he shrank back even farther on the table, nearly falling off the other side. 

“You. Are. Mine.” she said pointedly. “I saved you. I healed you. You stay until I am done.”

He lifted an arm, half sure she was about to strike him, but when he looked back, she had gone back to her book, muttering to herself. 

Esial wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. There were worse things, he supposed. He wasn’t entirely bored, sure he was hungry, but he wasn’t hurting either. He picked at his nails glumly, waiting for the ‘English’ lesson to continue. 

…………………………………

The vampire was becoming less willing to participate. Joanna should have seen it coming, but after it realized it wouldn’t be getting out anytime soon, it just gave up. It had only given the bare minimum to her and stopped flinching now when she yelled at it, but now it stopped caring entirely. It did not listen, it refused to repeat words, and all it said when she asked any questions was “Esial want out.” It even ignored her when she tried to correct its grammar. 

Joanna was getting desperate. She had put off school and work and everything. She had everything hinging on the paper this stupid vampire was supposed to help her write and now it just glared at her when she entered the shed and refused to say anything! Her life hinged on this now! She was relying on that paper and here she sat with a useless waste of space and blood and she was going to lose her mind. 

So, today, after a week of the creature’s silence, she walked into the room and continued right across the silver on the floor. The vampire realized the intent in her steps, but didn’t move quickly enough as she grabbed it by the hair, pulling its head back hard. It yelped, hand grabbing onto her wrist. 

In front of her, in her mind, was not a man, but a monster that her career depended on. She didn’t care anymore. At this point, he would either speak to her, or she would sell him to someone who would actually get some use out of him. 

“You will speak to me,” she said slowly. “Do you understand?”

Shakily, the vampire licked its lips, eyes darting around the room before it said, “Esial want free.”

Red hot anger licked through her and she moved, easily dragging the vampire off the table. It landed hard on the silver and screamed, writhing as it tried to shove silver away from it to keep from burning. She overturned the table, leaving nothing for it to scramble onto and left, locking the door behind her. 

………………………

Esial sat hunched on a bare patch of floor. His back and sides were littered with burns, his fingers and toes peeling where he’d pushed the silver back. Dry sobs heaved through his body, the chain rattling with each movement.

The woman caused him pain. She’d hurt him because he wanted to leave and he didn’t want to play her games anymore. Maybe that had been stupid of him, but he couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted out. 

He wasn’t healing. It had been weeks without blood right after a tough regeneration and the blood had run out as his body used it slowly as energy. He was starving and all he wanted to do was go home to his little mud shack and wait till he was strong enough to kill some birds. He wanted to wrestle with hippos and see his favorite crocodiles. He wanted his Maman back. 

He started rocking, sobbing and whispering for his Maman. He knew she was dead. He knew that his crocodiles were dead. Who knew how much time had passed. He got the sense that it was an enormous amount of time, and that only made him cry all the harder. He wanted to go home but he hadn’t even had a home when he had been taken and chained to that stake. 

And then the door opened.

………………………………

Kyle had got a call from Mary, Joanna’s neighbor, her voice looping in his head. 

Something was screaming. I know it was. She’s your friend. Check on her please.

Mary had bad blood with police in the past, and Kyle wasn’t going to bring them to her door if he could help it, but he didn’t think it would come to it. He wondered if the vampire had come back and killed Joanna. Or if Joanna kept the thing and it was screaming for help. 

He took a stake with him, just in case.

He reached Joanna’s house in the evening just in time to see her get in her car and drive off. He idled in the street, surprised. It seemed like she hadn’t noticed him, though, and she looked perfectly fine if not incredibly angry. 

He had a strange feeling in his gut as he parked in the street in front of her house. He took the stake out and trudged through the dew stained grass to the shed. The lock had been left open and he felt rather sick as he slowly opened the door.

The table was overturned, the chain of the ankle cuff caught under it as the vampire sat curled over his knees. There were painful looking burns covering his back and arms, his one visible hand red and blistered from clearing somewhere to safely sit. He slowly lifted his head and looked at the figure in the doorway, his eyes lingering on the stake in Kyle’s hand. There was no fear in his eyes when he saw it, and Kyle realized it was because he didn’t know what it was. 

Kyle tossed the stake out and walked carefully over the silver, kicking away some of the closer objects to the vampire. He was only wearing that towel Joanna had given him in the beginning, the edges of it unraveled. He was covered in sores and blisters, and all of those looked recent, but as he uncurled a little to see Kyle better, the researcher could see every single one of his ribs and his hollowed stomach. Vampires didn’t bloat during starvation the way humans did. 

Kyle crouched down and Esial stared at him. 

“Esial want free,” the vampire whispered heavily. 

“Yeah…. Yeah, I can do that for ya, buddy,” Kyle sighed, reaching up to run a hand down the back of Esial’s head. “I’ll find something to cut the chain. I’ll be right back.”

Kyle left the shed and crept around the yard until he found where Joanna had hidden all of her garden supplies. There was a branch cutter that looked like it might work so he picked it up and went back. 

Esial looked up again as Kyle got the cutters around the chain. He strained to try and get them through the chain, and while he dented the link, it didn't do much more than that. 

He instead turned to where the chain was connected. it was wrapped around a wooden support between the leg and the bottom of the tabletop. He opened the cutter as wide as it would go and bit the metal down into the wood. It gave a little, then splintered. He nearly fell over as the wood gave since he had been leaning his weight into the cutters. 

He dropped it on the floor and fished the chain out from under the table, gathering it up in his arms. There wasn't too much of it, but certainly enough to trip the already damaged vampire. 

Kyle held out his hand for Esial to take and the vampire did so, accepting the help up. 

Kyle carried the chains and shuffled his feet to clear a path for Esial, who followed along after him. 

As they stepped outside, Esial took a deep breath, looking up at the stars in confusion for a moment before he was distracted by something else. 

"Blood," he whimpered, looking to a lonely corner of the garden. Kyle could faintly see something black coating the plants there and could smell the faint scent of rot. 

"We'll buy you some later," Kyle promised. "We have to go."

Esial seemed to understand that and followed along to Kyle's car. Kyle opened the passenger seat door, dumping the chain onto the floor and stepping back. "Sit here," Kyle said, pointing to the chair. 

Esial gave him a confused stare. "Sit? But we to go?"

"Yes. You will see. Trust me. Sit."

Esial slowly did and Kyle gently closed the door for him, which had the vampire scrambling at the door in a panic, trying to find the way out. Kyle ran to the other side and got in, leaning over to take Esial's hands. "It's okay," Kyle promised. "You're not going to be stuck here."

Esial's wide muddy eyes seemed to bleed out panic and Kyle reached into his pocket. He kept a fidget toy there for when he was reading lengthy papers so he wouldn't chew his nails down so much. 

He gave the cube to Esial, showing him how some of the things moved and clicked and Esial took it, frowning at it as Kyle closed his door and started the car. 

Esial jumped at that, eyeing the lights that started up on the dashboard while messing with the cube. 

Kyle started driving and Esial stared out the window, eyes wide with shock as the world passed him by. Kyle wondered if he should avoid the highway, but he wanted to get home as quickly as possible, so as he got up to speed Esial gripped the cube like it was the only thing keeping him alive as he went faster than he'd gone in his entire life. 

"It's going to be okay," Kyle said softly as they drove and Esial looked down at the cube in his hands, turning it over and over. 

Kyle turned off into the small town he rented an apartment in. Joanna inherited her house from her grandparents, but he did not have that for himself. Still, he'd found a nice place to live and he had a guest bedroom. It had been used by a girlfriend he had at the time, but had been empty for months, and he was glad for it now. 

He parked his car and pulled his jacket off, reaching over and coaxing Esial's arms through the sleeves and zipping it up. 

"No one should be awake right now, but I want to be careful here," Kyle said before getting out and going around to open Esial's door. 

The vampire looked around as he stepped out onto the pavement, eyes wide as he took in every detail. It had to be so alien to him, considering how long it had been since he had been conscious. Kyle almost felt bad that he couldn't explain everything to him right now. Instead, he grabbed the chains, put an arm over the vampire to try and hide him more, and went up to the house. It was a building with four apartments and Kyle lived on the top floor. 

He got his key out, unlocked the door, and took Esial inside. He closed the door just as quickly and looked around. The apartment had not changed since he left of course, but he felt like he was seeing it with new eyes, imagining that he didn't have a single clue what anything in this room was.

 Kyle gently took Esial's arm. "Over here. Let's get you set up."

Esial went with Kyle to the guest bedroom and stood awkwardly, looking around at everything. The room was a little cluttered becoming Kyle's storage room when Jocelyn left, so there were books and totes lined against the walls. 

"Here," Kyle said, patting the bed. "For you to sleep."

Esial stepped over curiously, pressing his hands down onto the bed, eyes wide with surprise. 

With the vampire distracted, Kyle steeled himself up to feed him. Everyone got lessons in how to safely feed a vampire these days in case of emergencies, so he knew what to do, but he had to steel himself to actually do it. He pulled back his sleeve and went to the adjoining bathroom to wash his arm off, which got Esial's attention immediately. 

The vampire came to see what the sound was and stared in awe at the water pouring out of the sink. 

Kyle shook his arm to get most of the water off before turning and lifting his arm to Esial. The Vampire stared at it before looking at Kyle in confusion. 

"Blood. To eat," Kyle said, a lump in his throat as he said it. 

Esial frowned. "Blood? Blood is to Kyle. Not Esial."

"It's a gift. To you."

Esial gave him a skeptical look. "Safe?"

"Yeah?"

Esial went back to looking at the arm and frowned again. "Esial.... doesn't know."

"No, it's fine, you can have it. It's yours."

Esial shook his head. "Esial doesn't know-" the vampire mimicked something that Kyle didn't catch. "Esial hurt Kyle. Not know."

Kyle was still confused so he switched to the ancient Egyptian language Esial knew. 

"You do not know what?"

Esial's eyes lit up, like he had forgotten that Kyle spoke something he knew a bit better. "I do not know how to drink from a living thing. I only drank blood taken from animals. I do not want to kill you."

“Oh…” Kyle said, back in English. “I don’t really have a needle…. Can I feed you tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Esial replied, still in Egyptian which worked for Kyle since the Vampire seemed to understand him mostly fine though struggled with speaking the language. 

“Alright, you get some sleep here. You can use the blankets. We’ll figure everything else out tomorrow.”

“Alright.”

Esial's Rescue Art

Esial: @whumpsday @honeycollectswhump @writereleaserepeat @tragedyinblue @hyrules-sleepiest-knight

Part 5

[rainydaywhump]

Reed - Pt 12: Kept

<- Pt. 11 - Pt. 13 ->

CWs/themes: male whumpee, paralysis, slave/pet whump, dehumanization, torture (medical), restraints

By the time he was mostly in control of his own body, Reed was restrained again.

Ilde had selected a simple outfit and left, declaring that she had more important things to do now that her newly-acquired slave's processing was off to a smooth start. In another chamber, two of her servants washed off the layer of dirt and sweat he’d accumulated since his capture. They were stunningly impersonal despite their hands roaming his paralyzed body. The same could be said for their manner when they dressed him. They propped him this way and that to draw a soft, flowy white tunic together; one had held his chin while the other applied a light layer of neutral makeup to his face; and they had both inspected his body’s many scars and still-healing wounds with the keen eye of merchants, not medics.

“Ilde really wants to sell him as a pet?” One asked, their lip curling. “Any noble that looks at him will know he’s misbehaved. Most of ‘em don’t like troublemakers.”

“Some do,” said the other. “And besides, a lot of them like a pet project, no pun intended. They like the thought of some broken little thing imprinting on them. Still, let’s use this on the worst ones.”

Their hands left him momentarily before returning with a sharp-smelling poultice. Reed was accustomed to the earthy healing concoctions that Cervine had made for him; plenty of them had smelled absolutely foul, but this sharp-smelling one made him recoil on instinct – or at least, it would have if he wasn’t still mostly paralyzed. If the servants saw his eyes flare in fear, they didn’t care.

They turned him over so that he was lying on his stomach, making it so that he couldn’t see, and invisible hands lifted up the back of his tunic. As soon as the cold poultice touched his skin, Reed knew that this brief instance was somehow just as bad, if not worse, as the torture he’d suffered before. He would’ve howled in pain if he could: the poultice burned and frothed on his still-healing injuries, searing deep into them and seeping into his very blood, he felt like. The pain was so extreme, the burning so intense, that Reed’s body jerked and stiffened despite the paralysis. A high-pitched, scared breath forced its way out of his mouth. It was the closest thing to a scream he could muster.

“He’s got a bit of muscle,” one of the servants commented as Reed twitched helplessly before them. “Wonder what he did before this?”

A single finger, one not laced with any of the agonizing poultice, prodded at his calf muscles. The invasiveness was completely nonsexual, nonmedical, non-caring. There was no recognition of Reed as a person, only mild interest in how he’d ended up here. “Dunno. Maybe he was in the army and left – I heard it was a bounty hunter that brought him here.”

“Makes sense. Alright, next one.”

The searing pain came back again. Reed’s vision went black at the edges. He had some presence of mind to guess that the poultice served to make his wounds less unappealing – somehow – and for a moment he desperately tried to latch onto thinking about the process, because he needed something rational to think about, something to distract him from the overwhelming pain, but the thought of his skin and flesh being manipulated and prettied up by his captors sent bile rising up in his throat. He choked and was able to swallow instinctively, but not before another wave of burning pain came – tears dripped down his cheeks; he realized that he’d been reflexively crying since the first round.

“Told you we should’ve done the makeup after,” said one servant, sounding annoyed.

“Pfft. We’ll have to redo it right before the market anyway.” The two servants decided not to bother with wiping his tears away, because that would smudge what makeup was still left, which would make it harder to get off later.

Several rounds of the poultice later and Reed suddenly found himself being pulled into a half-sitting position, chin held up in one servant’s palm. He could barely process it all. They had burned him with that wicked concoction six more times before he lost count, spasming weakly below them, tears streaming down his face and nose running – and yet he couldn’t make a sound save for that thin, terrified whimper that he’d let out the first time, each occasion markedly quieter due to his sapped strength. His eyes flinched away from the servant’s hand but quickly looked back up at them, breathing shallowly. Looking away meant looking at what they’d done to his body, and he didn’t want to know, didn’t want to think –

He craved the strange potion that Dylos had given him, the one that had made him hallucinate escaping. Even if it wasn’t real, he wanted to get out of the sight before him – he wanted to pretend it had never happened – he wanted to see Cervine again just to apologize for wasting her time – he wanted to sink into the unshakeable fog that followed the hallucinations, because drifting aimlessly was infinitely better than knowing that this was happening to him. In the past, Reed had always been intent on knowing all he could, on staying alert despite the pain. But those days were gone. Reed was exhausted, terrified, and utterly helpless. It would be a mercy to drift.

But such mercy wasn’t granted to him except for in the form of an uncomfortable drowsiness brought about by the repeated pain and fear. Reed’s eyes slipped closed as the servants lifted him onto a litter and carried him away from that chamber, and that was a small comfort, because he associated that chamber with the burning and hopefully his next destination would be quieter.

His wish was granted. The servants brought him into an unlit cellar room, chained him up to the wall, and left him alone in the dark. It was cold but dry, dark but clean, and Reed felt himself slump forward in his bonds, too exhausted to hold himself up even though some movement was coming back to his body. He waited for sleep to take him.

That was, until a voice came out of the darkness.

“Jeez, what’d they do to you, kid? You look even worse than I did when they brought me here.”

...

Taglist (lmk if you'd like to be added I'm so sorry if you've already told me, I have a horrible memory): @i-eat-worlds @pigeonwhumps @den-of-whump @generic-whumperz !

Also, I've been having an incessant worry whenever I post that people will be uncomfortable with reading this. I know it's probably just the OCD, but still -- if you'd rather not be tagged or would like a certain theme to be tw'd in the tags, please let me know!

[whumpingisfun]

I kind of want to explore a whump verse where the whumper like. Televises the whumpee’s suffering on the black markets and people vote for what torment the whumpee goes through next with the whumper getting final say on if the winning idea goes through.

And then eventually whumpee gets free. But the videos are still out there and the news breaks that they’re the whumpee despite the detectives and police trying to keep whumpee’s involvement secret. They’re the one the videos are all about. And even though Whumper is gone. The public never lets Whumpee forget.

[whump-a-la-mode]

It’s A Dog’s Life

This one was inspired by an ask from an anon, reading:

May I request a little pet whump snippet with a defiant Whumpee who is extremely touch starved, so when they finally receive some physical affection—whether from Whumper or caretaker, you choose—they just break? 

This got way out of hand (and I thought of a fun title), so I decided to post it on its own. But thank you to anon for the idea!

Some soft pet whump? For the soul? I hope you enjoy!

CW//Pet whump, dehumanization, whipping, humiliation, brainwashing

“That one. They’re beautiful.”

Those had been Whumper’s first words about Whumpee. They’re beautiful.

Whumpee certainly hadn’t felt beautiful, standing in the display room, hands folded perfectly behind their back. Their hair had just been cut, nails trimmed and filed, makeup delicately applied. None of it did anything to stop Whumpee from feeling like a dog.

Whumper must’ve seen otherwise.

“That one?” The seller had questioned, brow furrowed in worry. Whumper was a wealthy client, a powerful client, and Whumpee was far from the best pick of the litter.

They were a budget pet. A pet for a mid-range client, looking for utility, for something not too pretty, not too flashy, just enough. A Labrador instead of a Mastiff.

The display room had no shortage of higher-end pets, of course. It was what this particular black market was known for. There were plenty with years and years of fancy training, with special skills-- ones that could cook, clean, dance, sing, paint, play the piano, even do your damn taxes. Of course, those may have carried a higher price tag, but Whumper had no shortage of money.

And, yet, they pointed again at Whumpee.

“Didn’t you hear me? That one.”

The seller’s expression paled. Selling a pet like Whumpee to such a revered client would be a disaster. They had been through training, certainly, but only a few months of it, and their record was far from spotless. What if Whumpee attacked them? Escaped? Seller’s business would be ruined!

And, yet, if they said no, they would be equally as scorned.

Seller gulped.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll have them ready for you in just a few minutes.” They straightened themself. “We perform a final medical check, some grooming to make them just right for you, and send them home with all the supplies you might need.

While you’re waiting, we have some delightful wine from Bordeaux, and some cheeses from the Alps, if you’d like to partake?”

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Whumpee’s every muscle was taut as a bowstring.

Their back still ached from what Whumper had called ‘a good lashing’, delivered last night after Whumpee had been caught spitting on Whumper’s shoes. Keeping the silver platter balanced upon their open palm was a struggle, given the rippling pain along their shoulders.

With a great deal of gritting their teeth, they placed the platter upon the mahogany dining table. Whumper sat at its head, seated in an oversized, high-backed chair, complete with green leather padding. Tonight, they were alone, after several nights in a row of guests and parties.

Just as they placed down the platter, their grip wobbled. Whumpee quickly recovered, but their flaw did not go unnoticed. Whumper raised a silent brow.

Of course, on the other side of the table, Pet set down their own burden with steady hands and a smile on their face. Prick.

When Whumpee had been brought into the mansion, they hadn’t realized that they wouldn’t be an only child, so to speak. They hadn’t found out for some time, either.

Whumper had a very particular method of training their pets, something they insisted upon doing on their own. The first step was a period of isolation.

Brought back to the mansion in a box, in the back of Whumper’s car, Whumpee had not so much as seen the light of day before they were dumped into the cellar. Eyes already adjusted to the dark, their shock came moreso from the shivering cold. A chain collar was looped around their neck, locked to the wall, and that was all.

For two days, Whumpee was left that way, left to “soften up”, as Whumper called it. 

It was only on the third day that Pet arrived.

At first, Whumpee had thought it to be a mirage, or perhaps an image of the afterlife. An angel.

Pet was more like a devil. They offered a bowl of water. When Whumpee tried to pick it up, Pet informed them, all grinning and smiling, that Whumper preferred their pets to lap the water with their tongues.

Whumpee, of course, had struck Pet across the face. That had gotten them their first lashing.

The second lashing had come when Whumpee struck Pet for a second time, after they had referred to Whumpee as their sibling.

Both were worth it.

Now, that same stupid grin remained upon Pet’s face. It never seemed to fall. Whumpee wondered if they slept like that. Of course, they had no way of knowing-- Pet slept on Whumper’s bedroom floor. Whumpee slept in the laundry room.

Diligently, the two pets returned to the kitchen. There were only a few last dishes to deliver. This time, Whumpee picked up a plate of filleted cod, while Pet held a dish of tomato soup.

Moving through the kitchen doors and back to the dining room, Whumpee could not help but wonder just how hilarious Pet would look, drenched in red. They always wore white clothes, white shoes, all immaculately kept. Whumpee couldn’t imagine how expensive it all was.

Maybe, for once, Whumpee could wipe that damned smile off of their face.

They tried to make it look like an accident, but Whumpee was no actor. Their own heeled shoes had swiped deftly under Pet’s, taking their legs out from under them.

Whumpee was right. Pet did look hilarious, covered in tomato soup.

That had earned them their twenty-third lashing.

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Whumper was a busy person.

The CEO of an oversized technology conglomerate, they spent their long days in meetings or answering phone calls. They were up early on calls with New York, and up late on calls with Beijing.

Tonight, they still were not home.

Whumpee looked out the grand front window of the house, staring into the driveway. The sun had long since set, leaving illumination to be cast only by a few lights on the front of the mansion. For a moment, they entertained themself with a fantasy of Whumper having been in a terrible car accident, imagined the news report that would come of it.

CEO of GlobalTech dead in interstate pileup, more at 7!

The hairs on the back of Whumpee’s neck prickled, prompting them to turn around. Pet stood silently behind them, that same smile upon their face.

“Did you finish cleaning the windows?” Pet chirped.

“Yeah.” Whumpee grumbled, letting their hand, holding a rag, fall to their side.

“You really cleaned it, this time?”

“Yes.”

“Then it looks like we’re all done!” Pet cheerfully clapped their hands together. “Is master still away?”

“Looks like it.”

“I do hope they’re alright. How about we go watch TV?”

“Sure. Fine.”

Putting their rag away, Whumpee followed Pet into the TV room-- Because of course Whumper had a room just for that.

Pets weren’t allowed on the furniture. However, if they had finished all their chores, they were allowed to watch the television. Whumpee was sure it was some sort of tactic to numb their brains, to keep them from thinking up escape plans.

Yet, it was a somewhat welcome comfort. Pet pressed the power button, flicking absently through channels. Finally, they settled upon some cooking channel, playing a program about the foods of Greece.

“I bet master would love that.” Pet pointed out a dish on the screen.

“Do you ever think about anything else?!” Whumpee snapped.

A startled pause.

“What do you mean, Whumpee?”

“What do I mean? They’re all you ever talk about! Master, master, master. Don’t you get tired of it?”

“Why would I ever think about anything else?”

“Because you’re a person? With a life?”

Pet frowned. “I’m not a person, Whumpee. I’m a pet. So are you.”

“Do you even hear yourself? You’re a human!” Whumpee gritted their teeth. “Where were you born?”

Pet’s expression twitched.

“That doesn’t matter, Whumpee.”

“Of course it does!”

“Why do you make things so hard on yourself?” It was the sharpest that Whumpee had ever heard Pet’s voice, even if it was still soft as a canary.

“I don’t.”

“But you do! You’re always so stressed. What is there to be stressed about?”

“How about being kept like dogs by a psychopath?”

“I’ve always thought that dogs live quite good lives, actually.”

With one last smile, Pet’s gaze turned back to the television screen.

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At night, Whumpee slept in an oversized dog cage.

Well, for a dog, it would have been oversized. For Whumpee, there was barely enough room to lay down, and certainly not enough to extend their arms and legs. The solid, black plastic dug into their hips as they lay on their side.

Whumper had left the door to the laundry room, where Whumpee slept, ajar. From the angle at which their cage lay, they could just barely make out Whumper’s form, sitting back on the couch in the TV room. In one hand, they held a wine glass. The fingers of the other carded through Pet’s hair.

Pets weren’t allowed on the furniture. Yet, Pet kneeled at the edge of the couch, resting their head on Whumper’s thigh.

For once, Whumpee could almost, almost, understand Pet’s smile. A brief flight of fancy had them imagining a hand in their own hair, the comfort of warmth on their face.

“Sweet pet.” Whumper murmured.

Whumpee closed their eyes.

Maybe there were some benefits to a dog’s life.

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The next day, before the sun had even fully appeared behind the horizon, Whumper’s pets rushed about to get their master ready for the day.

Pet helped Whumper’s hands through the sleeves of their jacket, buttoning the front. Meanwhile, Whumpee straightened their shirt collar from behind.

“Pet? I think I’ve forgotten my briefcase in the study.”

“I’ll get that right away, master!”

Ever smiling, Pet dashed off down the hardwood floors. Whumper turned their gaze to Whumpee. For once, their master seemed to be in a good mood-- They had said something about a business deal, something big with the Tokyo branch.

“Whumpee? Polish.”

The anger bubbled up within Whumpee’s chest before they had much time at all to think. How dare Whumper demand something so degrading, so humiliating, all with one word? Without so much as a please, without so much as a 'will you?’

Sweet pet.

“Yes, master.”

Whumpee took a bottle of polish and a rag from a drawer before kneeling at Whumper’s feet. They took to their task with vigor, scrubbing until the black boots shimmered.

They felt a hand on their head. Whumper’s hand. Gently, awfully gently, it swept Whumpee’s bangs from their face.

“Good boy.”

Whumpee could feel their heart, banging in their chest, face going bright pink. The rush of emotions was impossible to describe, the warmth, the comfort.

They grinned.

“Thank you, master.”

[mj-iza-writer]

Triggers: Drugging. Abuse. Voyeurism. Black Market.

What if Whumper ran a dark web only fans, and Whumpee has to endure whatever Whumper's fans pay for.

"Hello everyone, I'm here live with Whumpee", Whumper slams their hands down on Whumpee's shoulder causing a muffled groan from a gagged and muzzled Whumpee.

"The same rules apply, five dollars to elongate their suffering by five minutes. Ten dollars to elongate the torture for thirty minutes. You can pick what their punishment is for thirty dollars", Whumper walked around to the camera, "rules are simple, I won't kill them, so don't bother asking, they are how I get paid."

Whumper smiled, "as requested Whumpee has not had anything to eat or drink since our last live show a few days ago. I will be removing that request for this one, as they will need to eat and drink something after this. They've been a bit cranky lately so I will have to feed them."

"My account is open, Whumpee is very excited to see what happens", Whumper turned to Whumpee, "aren't you?"

Whumpee pulled against the ropes tying them down to the chair.

"That's the spirit", Whumper turned and watched their account filling with money, "we have some eager fans today."

Whumpee whimpered as Whumper picked up a whip.

"I'm just going to whip them until we get a request", Whumper turned to Whumpee and began the assault.

Whumpee fell forward shakingly when Whumper stopped to check the request.

"That's dam near a hundred dollars in fives and tens. Looks like we'll be here for a while", Whumper smiled into the camera, "I also see two request, and your money has been deposited."

Whumper grabbed a bottle of water and took a big drink, "first request is to give Whumpee salt water", Whumper began pouring salt into the bottle, "this is going to suck for them, they are so dehydrated from not getting water, they'll drink this right up, but the salt will suck away any water they may have."

Whumper shook the bottle as they removed the muzzle and gag.

"Drink it", Whumper shoved the bottle into Whumpee's mouth and tipped it. Whumpee started to choke as the water dumped into their mouth, but the flood didn't relent.

"The second request came from the same person, and they asked to also pour some of the salt water into Whumpee's face", Whumper yanked the bottle out of Whumpee's mouth and dumped the rest onto Whumpee's face.

Whumpee screamed as they clenched their eyes closed. They instinctively tried to lift their hands to wipe their face, but they were limited by the ropes.

As they continued to scream, Whumper replaced the gag into Whumpee's mouth.

"Those muffled cries are so sweet", Whumper walked to the camera, then eyed the account, "just a reminder I do limit these to five hour sessions, if my math is correct we are over three hours. My account will freeze when it is maxed, and it will not allow any more five dollar or ten dollar payments."

Whumpee slumped forward as tears streamed down their face. Their eyes and throat burnt from the excessive salt. Their tongue felt like it was swiveling up.

"Hmm, I like this request", Whumpee heard Whumper laugh, "do your favorite punishment to Whumpee."

Whumpee gulped.

Whumper grabbed a pair of pliers and approached Whumpee.

"My favorite punishment is to pull off fingernails. They scratched me once. After that I decided it was easier just to remove the nails instead of wasting time cutting and filing them", Whumper started to pull the nails off one by one as Whumpee screamed louder and louder.

Whumpee's throat was raw by the end, their fingers were numb as blood dripped from the tips.

Whumper walked over to the monitor, "hmm, hey Whumpee, you'll hate this, but I just received a thirty dollars request to remove your toenails. Are you ready?"

Whumpee frantically shook their head no. They pleadingly looked at Whumper as they knelt down and untied one of Whumpee's feet.

"Pwease", Whumpee begged, "pwease nuh."

Whumpee's breathing was shallow once Whumper was done. Their head bobbed as their vision began to blur.

Whumper looked sadly at the camera as their session would be ending soon.

"So we are at our final few minutes of this live session, and I have one last request that popped up. I am turning off the payments now. You all maxed me out almost instantly and got us to five hours, I'm sure Whumpee was grateful", Whumper chuckled as they looked back at Whumpee.

Whumpee's head hung back, and their breathing was struggled.

"I absolutely appreciate everyone's support on my live feed shows. It is a huge blessing", Whumper stood, "now for the last punishment to be inflicted; find my biggest hammer and take out one of Whumpee's knee caps."

Whumpee's head shot up and they looked worriedly at Whumper.

"Oh that got their attention", Whumper chuckled as they approached Whumpee threatingly, "I need to go get my hammer, be entertaining for them until I return."

Whumpee looked at the camera pleadingly then lowered their head.

Whumper came back with the hammer.

Whumpee looked up pleadingly.

"We have to do it, I've already been paid", Whumper chuckled, then raised the hammer, "it's only one knee, not like you need it."

Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut as the hammer came down.

They groaned as the hammer repeatedly hit down onto their knee.

Whumper stopped and went to the camera, "thankyou again to everyone who joined our live and all of the support. We will be back next week for another live video with Whumpee. That should give them plenty of time to recover."

Whumper turned to look at Whumpee, then backed to the camera.

"Maybe", Whumper laughed, "signing out."

Whumper untied Whumpee and dragged them back to their cell.

"Please, please", Whumpee cried out as they were lowered to the floor.

"Okay, shh. You did such a good job today", Whumper shackled Whumpee to a long chain welded into the wall, "do you want your reward?"

Whumpee wiped away some tears with their arms, leaving a trail of blood along their cheeks.

They looked at Whumper and shakingly nodded.

"Very well, let's get some food and water in you, and I'll drug you up", Whumper laughed.

Whumper helped Whumpee eat and drink.

"Yep that salt water was a harsh one", Whumper filled another cup of water and offered it to Whumpee, "get another cup in you before you become higher than a kite."

Whumpee frowned and watched Whumper move around the room, preparing the drug.

"Okay here we go", Whumper sat down and finished rolling their maraujana special, "fresh from my garden."

Whumper took a few puffs before holding it up for Whumpee.

"That's the stuff", Whumper smiled.

Whumpee started to lose consciousness after a few minutes. One final puff pushed them over the edge. They no longer felt anything. A line of drool spilled from their mouth as they fell asleep.

Whumper sat back against the wall to finish out the joint.

"Light weight", Whumper sighed.

"Get some rest, Whumpee", Whumper blew one more puff at Whumpee's face before pushing them to the floor.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

[aspergirl2022]

Where are the Immortal Caretaker?

I see a lot of Immortal Whumpee, but no Immortal Caretaker ?

A Caretaker who did self organ harvest to pay their student's debt and now is doing it for a living?

A Caretaker who transplant one of their organ to Whumpee so now Whumpee share the same ability?

Even just a doctor Caretaker who sell their organs to the Black Market because they want less people on the transplantation waiting list?

[re-whump]

Stolen Light - Caught

A fairy mercenary is caught up in some unknown magic and pulled into the mortal world by a modern witch. This is their first encounter with each other. word count: 785 contents: tiny whumpee, dehumanization (of non-human character), burns, female whumper / female whumpee, manhandling ? y'all I do not know what things need to be warned about or the usual terminology, let me know

A dull gray vortex crackled across the surface of the Syrona River, marring the brilliant blue. It spun like a top about to topple. Jagged streaks of rust-brown lashed out intermittently like lightning. Iolanthe thought that if magic could get sick, this is what it would look like. It repulsed her. She perched on the bridge several yards away.

The client she was meant to protect leaned in for a closer look. As he bobbed back and forth in the air, he came closer and closer to the surface until his toes nearly brushed against the unstable magic. It answered with a clap of thunder and a rusty tendril reached for the curious fairy.

She leaped up to take flight and pull him back, but as Iolanthe reached for her charge, gravity upended itself. She twisted in the air to try and right herself, but didn't have time before she crashed into cold water. She held her breath then smashed into stone not an inch from the water's surface.

Not the river, then.

She shook her wings dry as she sat up and looked around. She was in a dim room, sitting in a shallow, ceramic dish on a table. Across from her was a plain-faced elf in strange garb and oversized glasses. The woman's eyes glittered as she leaned forward over the water-logged fairy. 

Iolanthe pulled herself to her feet with a scowl. There was a horrible smell in the air like an Unseelie meat market, full of decay.

The elf woman spoke in an unfamiliar tongue, but she sounded pleased. Her hand reached down for Iolanthe and pinched an upper wing between two fingers. Iolanthe jerked the limb away and the stranger scoffed and snapped her fist closed around both upper wings, crumpling them in the process. Iolanthe hissed in pain.

"Let go of me! What do you want?" she demanded.

"Mm," the stranger sighed disinterestedly.

She yanked Iolanthe off her feet and held her up off the table for inspection with another comment in her foreign tongue. Iolanthe protested in Common, then Gnomish, then broken Saffen. There was no sign of comprehension in the elf's wide, blue eyes. Iolanthe was out of languages. She drew her daggers and glared. Clearly, the elf understood force.

The woman barked out more of her gibberish language, but the first word was so forceful that Iolanthe caught its meaning. No. The rest was made clear by the elf’s other hand extending, in a palm-up gesture: surrender your blades.

Iolanthe spat at the comparative giant and stabbed both daggers over her shoulders into the fist that held her. Iolanthe faltered as she watched red blood drip from the wound in brief slow motion. An ominous metallic scent followed several drops down into the water below.

The woman threw Iolanthe back down toward the bowl. Between her distraction and her puckered wings, Iolanthe failed to catch herself. She hit hard and dropped a dagger on impact. It disappeared beneath the rippling, reddened water. Her remaining blade lit up like the sun as she decided to switch to magic.

Just as quickly, a shadow overhead poured out a dark cloud of dust that enveloped her. She couldn't even flinch before her magic snuffed out. The black dust bit into her skin and ignited. It was in her eyes, in her nose, in her mouth. Her chest turned molten as the iron filings found their way into her lungs.

She gasped for enough air to scream and fell blindly into the water to try to wash herself clean, but it too was inundated with the cursed metal. She flailed towards the wall of the dish in hopes of an escape from this agony. 

The mortal—for what else could wield iron so casually?—huffed something in her foreign tongue and lifted Iolanthe by her wings once again. There was no fist this time, but she gave the fairy a hard shake. The base of Iolanthe's wings screamed in complaint as her meager weight swung back and forth. Some of the horrid, metallic sludge sloughed off, but the rusty burns had already seared across her lilac skin.

The mortal ran a finger over the tender flesh, then sighed as if inconvenienced. Iolanthe let out a shaky moan, and urged herself to fight back. As she struggled, the mortal’s hand closed around her chest and squeezed until all Iolanthe could do was hang there, limp and passive.

She could hardly believe this monster was a mere mortal. Iolanthe had never even bothered to study how mortals might fight, she had never before seen one not puppeteered by a superior will. She'd never realized they could be dangerous on their own volition.

[isntitwhumperful]

The Tables have Turned -2

Warnings: Graphic, descriptive mentions of a vivisection, heavy gore, delirious whumper turned whumpee, sickness, medical mention, needles tw, cauterization tw, stitches, fear, begging, past kidnapping tw, IV antibiotics.

Tags: @whumpwillow, @shydragonrider, @whumpsday, @purple-heart-x

Character picrews and info here.

It had to be a dream.

Kyra looked down at the horrifying scene before her, bile rising in her throat. She knew in an instant, from the dyed red hair, that the man lying cut open on the metal table was Zayne Kamren.

Under normal circumstances, she would have been anxious seeing him in the basement of the cottage, but nothing about this was normal.

“What have you done?�� She repeated, looking at Harry.

Her brother looked stunned.

“Kyra- I- I thought you were out with your friends.”

“I came home.” Kyra said simply, pulling out her phone.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, nervously.

“I��m calling 911.”

“You can’t! Do you have any idea what will happen? I’d be arrested.”

“You fucking should be.” Kyra hissed.

“Kyra, he deserved it.”

“He kept us in a basement until our parents paid our ransom, beat you up once, and fractured your knee. He did not cut your fucking guts open.”

“Kyra, wait! Wait.”

She paused, finger hovering over the call button.

“I... Fuck, I know a surgeon. One who won’t ask any questions. Don’t call the police. I can... I’ll pay him... If it will stop you.”

Kyra hesitated.

“Just this once.” She said coolly. “Just this once, I will agree to this, because our mother has suffered enough, and so has he.” She said, gesturing to the shivering man on the table. “You will call this surgeon, tell him where to come, and pay him. Then you will leave this place, and go far away. If you ever hurt another person, I will kill you myself.” Kyra hissed.

Harry swallowed. He may have been older, but Kyra had gone through military training.

He knew she meant it.

With a nod, he took out his own phone, dialing a number.

Kyra was only half paying attention to what he was saying, stepping closer to Zayne, shuddering as she looked down at his exposed innards, at the flaps of flesh and muscle that had been folded back over his sides.

She swallowed hard, putting on a pair of rubber gloves. Her hands shook as she gently lifted the fold, putting it back into it’s original position.

Zayne twitched under the restraints, a weak moan emitting from his throat.

Fighting nausea, Kyra repeated the process with the other fold of muscle.

“He’ll be here in thirty minutes.”

“Good. You should leave now.” Kyra said flatly.

She had to keep him warm, but she couldn’t exactly just throw a blanket over him. Not with his abdomen sliced open the way it was.

Kyra grabbed an armful of blankets from the closet anyway, covering his legs with one, and placing another under his head like a cushion.

Zayne moaned when she touched him, the sound helpless and terrified.

“I know, I know.” Kyra murmured, gently stroking his rich red hair. “Just hang on. Help is coming.”

“N-no.” He groaned. “Ple-please...” He trailed off again, shivering.

In the end, Kyra ended up grabbing the space heater, and setting it up on a chair next to the table, in the hopes it would help keep him warm.

The black-market surgeon her brother had called arrived soon after. The man was in his fifties, she would have guessed, with black hair, steely grey blue eyes, and a stern expression.

Only the faintest flicker of alarm flashed through his eyes when he saw the wound.

“I will assume, since he is restrained, that you did not actually find him abandoned by the river in such a state.”

“I thought you didn’t ask questions?” Kyra said, stepping back to allow him full access to her former kidnapper’s shaking form.

“I dislike the idea of using the resources it will take to save him simply for him to go through this again.”

“I didn’t put him through his.” Kyra snapped. “And it will never happen again.”

“Why not simply take him to the hospital? I would like to know what I’m getting into.”

“Listen, as I said, I wanted you because I was told you don’t ask questions.”

“If you wish.” The man said, removing several tools that Kyra couldn’t name if she’d wanted to.

“What I’m going to do, miss Fielding, is electro-cauterize this wound, and then stitch it up. The cauterization will prevent excess bleeding and allow the flesh to knit itself back together, with the aid of the sutures. Then, I’ll put him on antibiotics.”

Kyra sighed, sitting down, on the couch, and watching as he prepared a needle, sliding it into Zayne’s arm.

Zayne whimpered, his head lolling sideways.

Kyra said nothing as the Surgeon worked, cleaning the wounds, cauterizing and stitching it.

It took three hours before the surgeon finished. To Kyra, if felt like years.

“My brother will have transferred money to your account.” Kyra said, standing up.

“Can you... help me move him upstairs?” She asked quietly. Zayne was 6′8, there was no way she could move him by herself.

The surgeon tilted his head, then nodded once.

After they’d gotten him into the guest bedroom, the Surgeon turned to Kyra.

“His core temperature has been compromised. He will need to be kept warm. And be prepared for a fever. It’s going to be a long road to recovery for him.”

Kyra nodded, thanking him quietly, and watching him leave. Before she sank to the floor, and buried her face in her hands.

____________

Zayne felt both hot and cold, nausea washing over him. 

He was disoriented, his mind plagued by memories of terror and pain. He tried to squirm, but it was difficult, and it hurt.

Distressed, he shifted weakly with a hoarse whine.

He heard a voice, and strained to connect with it.

“Wh-what’s happen’ng... where ‘m I?” He slurred, struggling to open his eyes.

 The voice continued, and Zayne squinted, unable to make out any clear shapes.

“Please.” He moaned. “D-don’t hurt m-me...”

Something touched his forehead, and he flinched, terrified.

“Please...” He whimpered again. “I-I can’t... D-don’t- nnggghh- c-cut me o-open a-again. Please...” He begged.

“No one is hurting you.”

Zayne had no choice but to hope that was true. With an exhausted sob, he slipped back into darkness.

[pigeonwhumps]

Cian and Row masterlist

In a world where superpowers are real, heroes and villains exist, and there's a large black market in powered people, Rowan's been enslaved for as long as they can remember. They're befriended when they're three by Cian Sinclair, a local empathic five year old, and at the age of eleven is rescued and adopted by the Sinclairs. Years later they become a supervillain, disappear for five years and reappear to reunite with their family, and attract another enemy, one far more powerful than their previous captors and obsessed with their healing powers.

Masterlist now includes adult rescue AU!

General cws: slavery, PTSD, past minor whump, immortal whumpee

Character intros (including art/picrews):

Cian, Rowan, Leo, and Marcia Sinclair

Dr and Mrs Leach

The Osprey

Chikondi

Prequels:

Ask: 22: tied to something

Main arcs:

All arcs can be read independently.

Rescue

In which Rowan's rescued and, with help from their new family, begins to build a life. Mostly caretaking and recovery whump, minor whumpee

Character ages: At the start, Rowan's 11 and Cian 13.

#1

#2

Cian at university

Pretty much what it says on the tin – this is the four years Cian's at university. This contains the early years of Cian and Chikondi's relationship. Mostly emotional whump.

Character ages: At the start, Rowan's 16 and Cian 18.

#1

Reunion

In which Rowan, now a supervillain (if not a particularly dangerous one), is reunited with their family after five years away, and now has a powerful enemy. Hero/villain whump, villain whumpee, hero whumper, immortal whumpee, characters dealing with guilt and misplaced grief, lots of comfort

Character ages: Rowan's 28 and Cian 30

#1

Kidnapping

Cian and Rowan are captured by The Osprey. Hero/villain whump, villain whumpee, hero whumper, carewhumper, lab whump, caretaker turned whumpee, mutual caretaking, immortal whumpee, multiple whumpers, multiple whumpees, BAMF Leo and Marcia

Character ages: Rowan's 29 and Cian 31

#1

#2

Adult rescue AU:

In which Rowan and Cian don't meet as children, and Rowan's not rescued until they're in their early 20s.

#1

#2

Extras:

Art of The Green Demon (Rowan's supervillain persona)

Character height comparisons

Rowan vs The Osprey (art)

Incorrect quotes

Character asks

Rowan (child):

🎃 Do the Leaches ever do fun activities with you? When they do, do you have fun?

🍭 Do the Leaches feed you often?

🪦 If something went wrong, how would you want the Leaches to lay you to rest?

🤡 Do the Leaches pull tricks on you? What's the meanest they've done?

🧠 Have the Leaches used conditioning/brainwashing on you? If so, how much?

Rowan (adult):

🎃 Does The Osprey ever do fun activities with you? When she does, do you have fun?

🍭 Does The Osprey feed you often?

🪦 If something went wrong, how would you want The Osprey to lay you to rest?

🤡 Does The Osprey pull tricks on you? What's the meanest she's done?

🧠 Has The Osprey used conditioning/brainwashing on you? If so, how much?

The Osprey:

🦷 Are Rowan and Cian allowed to speak freely?

🔪 Do you have a favorite weapon?

🎭 Do you lie to Rowan or Cian or put on a false persona around them?

[clickerflight]

Esial: Part 9 - Glass Shatters

Masterlist

Part 8

I accidentally put this on the wrong account at first. I am so mad. Something something glass houses Me standing at the whump counter: Yeah I'd like uhhhhh extra crispy Esial?

Content: Vampire whumpee, descriptions of burns, blood lust and blood lust guilt, accidental self injury to the lips

.................................

Anastasia let Esial eat in silence as she drank her own cup of blood. Esial had been a bit worried that the blood wouldn't satisfy him. He felt like something changed in him when he nearly drained Joanna. 

He'd never had human blood before, but it was so much richer and it filled up parts of him he didn't even know he had. He'd felt stronger, almost. Warm and thrilling. 

As he lifted the cup to his mouth, he realized the blood was a mixture of animal blood and human blood. He drank it down quickly, licking at the blood that dripped down until he felt satisfied enough to leave the small remainder be. 

He put the cup down, licking his lips. The animal blood didn't taste familiar, but it had certainly been good. 

"How many days have you been here, Esial?" Anastasia asked, finishing her own cup. 

Esial frowned. "One, I think."

"Mm, I will give you tour."

Esial nodded and she stood up. He followed, putting his cup on the counter where she put hers. She picked up his cup and slotted it inside of her own cup. "The cooks like them stacked."

Esial nodded, mouthing the word 'stacked' to himself. 

Anastasia turned, waiting. Esial realized she was waiting for him to catch up so they could walk side by side, rather than following her, and he did so, a little distracted in doing so, especially when they got into the halls where there were other people.

Walking alongside someone when you hadn't done so since you were a child was more of a task than one would expect. It was difficult matching her pace and keeping from bumping into others.  

Anastasia seemed to notice and reached out, hooking his arm with hers to make it easier. Esial relaxed a little. 

"Who was the Anastasia that you are not?" he asked, tucking his crocodile farther up his side. 

"Mm, she was a princess born in the same year as me," she said, waving her hand dismissively. 

"Princess?"

"Yes. Like daughter of Pharaoh, though we called them Tsars, in my country."

"This is not your country?"

She gave him a faintly amused look. "It is now, droog, though it has not always been."

Esial nodded as they entered one of the glass hallways. He jumped when he felt warmth on his skin, but he was not burned by the sun. He relaxed and looked out at the people walking along pathways. 

"What is this place?"

"Dalton Rehab Center," Anastasia replied. "Before stasis, I never thought there should be such place. Or that vampires would not have to hide. Time washes away mountains eventually, it seems."

And that was a lot to unpack. Esial didn't even know which question to ask next, but Anastasia was already speaking again. 

"From the story I was told, there was vampire who had been in stasis for good long while. When he was found he was sold through the black market until he escaped, only to find there was nowhere for him to go. Apparently, he went mad and killed a bunch of people and they built this place to house vampires just out of stasis to get them on their feet again and keep them from murderous rampages."

Esial nodded along, though there were a lot of words he didn’t understand. Still, he got the gist of them and he was content with that. 

Silence fell between them again as they passed into a new building, this one full of doors marked with strange symbols like the ones on the door of the room he had slept in, though this wasn’t the same building. 

A phrase Anastasia had used came back to him. ‘Time washes away mountains.’ Did it? She’d said it with such certainty, like it was common knowledge. Was 5000 years really enough time to wash away a mountain? But where would the bits of mountain go? Would it just flatten, the land around it rising to meet it until it was a plain? 

And if time could do that to mountains, what would it do to forests? To rivers and lakes and buildings? Well, he already knew that just a decade was enough to bury a village.

He was so deep in thought, he didn’t notice the rambunctious vampires and humans playing together just outside the glass hallway he and Anastasia were passing through. He didn’t notice as they threw a ball back and forth between them, the humans using bats while the vampire used their bare hands. He didn’t notice the ball go flying, though he very much did notice when the glass above shattered, raining down on him, and making him look up before he was burning. 

He screamed, dropping his crocodile as his flesh burned and melted. He could feel the phantom sensation of chains digging into his flesh, creatures with sharp teeth biting into his legs. He screamed, searching his person for the amulet that his father had made him. The one his father enchanted to protect him from the sun when he was bitten and fed and turned, but it wasn’t there. All there was to find was burning, and melting, and pain so violent it tore at his soul and gouged at his eyes and his sanity. 

Then he wasn’t burning. Esial gasped, laying on the floor, shuddering and trying to flinch from the sun he could feel on his burned arms, though it wasn’t burning him anymore. Someone was on top of him, yelling in another language, rage clear in her voice. 

Esial twisted on badly burned and bubbled flesh, trying to see through the haze that had taken his vision. Anastasia wasn’t as badly burned as he was, but her skin was red and blistered. She was shouting at the people through the glass, who all looked horrified. 

Someone in the same clothing as Callum and Laura, one of the scrubs, came running, kneeling beside Esial. They were human and, through the lingering pain in his burns, Esial could feel the hunger just as powerfully when he smelled her blood, the itching in his mouth to sink his fangs into her arm and heal himself through her blood. 

He tried to open his mouth to bite as she put a hand on his shoulder, but they had been sealed together, melted and burned. He whimpered at the pain that lanced through his lips, down to his chin and up through his cheeks.“It’s okay. Try not to move,” she said, bending to look at his eyes. 

“It’s going to be alright,” she said seriously. “Anastasia. Could you help me carry him?”

Anasasia looked like she very much would rather go out and murder the people who broke the glass, but she nodded anyway. “Bring the crocodile. It is his.”

The woman nodded and went to pick Keta up from the patch of unfiltered sunlight as Anastasia picked Esial up. 

“You burned very badly, droog,” she said. “You really are old vampire.”

Esial closed his eyes against the haze, tears picking ways down his face as his burns were jostled. He wailed through closed lips as he was put down a little too roughly on a plush table.

“Prostite, Esial. I did not mean to hurt you,” Anastasia said quickly, cupping the top of his head gently with her hand. 

The human woman was back and she had something small and shiny in her hand. She quickly sank it into his arm and he flinched, though he couldn’t feel it through the pain of his burns. Anastasia put the crocodile toy against his side and he tried to grab at it with fingers that had sealed together when he put his arms up to protect his eyes. 

The pain started to fade, the effect radiating from where the woman had stabbed him with the small tool. 

“He’s just going to need to heal,” she said. “When did he last eat?”

“We were coming from the cafeteria,” Anastasia replied. 

“Okay. When his mouth is formed back up a bit, there’s some blood in the cupboard over there. Can you sit with him? I’m not technically supposed to be in the same room as an injured vampire for safety reasons.”

Anastasia nodded and stroked a hand through Esial’s hair as the human left. Esial twitched, unsure if he liked the sensation or not. 

There was a dark look in Anastasia’s eyes as she got a chair to sit down next to him, like she was still planning out the ways she was going to murder those people who broke the glass. 

Esial was honestly touched. She didn’t seem mad at all about her burns and they were mostly healed already, but her anger seemed to burn brighter in her eyes when she looked at him. 

Esial closed his eyes again, feeling relaxed and a little sleepy as the pain faded to a dull ache. 

He had wanted to bite the woman who had come to help him. If his lips hadn’t been melted shut he would have bitten her and he would have tried to drink her dry. He knew what it was like to bite a human now, to drink their blood, and it was a powerful urge now. The exhilaration of feeling someone’s life force ebb out onto his teeth was forefront in his mind, remembering how Joanna had struggled, how she screamed, how she shook and grew pale and collapsed. 

But on top of it was a feeling of revulsion. He would have bitten that woman and she was there to help him. It made him sick to his stomach. He’d never felt like that before. Before he’d had human blood. Was he cursed now? How was he supposed to control himself in the future?

Anastasia’s hand ran through his hair again and he leaned into it this time, letting it comfort him. Esial would figure this out. This was his body and he would learn to control himself. He had to. 

Esial startled as the door slammed open, lifting his head to see a shaggy haired man standing in the doorway. He was tall, and his shoulders were probably twice the width of Esial’s. 

“Anastasia!” the man said in an accent of his own, though it wasn’t as thick as Anastasia’s and it wasn’t the same. He was wearing a shirt, but instead of pants he was wearing something that looked like the child of a pair of pants and a robe with intricate lined patterns crossing each other. “There yeh are, lass! I heard yeh were burned.”

Anastasia shrugged him off. “I am fine, Ciaran. Esial took it much worse.”

Ciaran looked Esial over, wincing. “Ach, that’s not good. You alright there, lad?”

Esial shrugged and Anastasia chuckled. “Not lad. He is older than both of us combined.”

“Is he now?”

“Da. He was around for the first Pharohs.”

Ciaran whistled, impressed as Esial worked his lips loose, the corners pulling free first as he got his elbows under him to slide up. 

“It’s good to meet yeh,” Ciaran said, giving Esial a firm nod. 

Esial felt skin tear as he pulled his lips free, though it didn’t hurt. “And you,” he replied as Ciaran winced at the sight. 

Anastasia reached out and caught the drips of blood dribbling off his chin in her hand before they could land in his clothes. “Careful!”

Ciaran turned and pulled a white sheet of something off of a roll and handed it over to Esial. It felt like a mixture of forms and fabric, but didn’t seem to be either of them. He pressed it to his face, wiping up the blood. 

“What is this?” he asked, muffled a little as he pressed it to his lips. 

“Paper towel,” Anastasia replied. 

“I thought towels were made of cloth?”

“Hence the modifier ‘paper.’” Ciaran said, amused. 

Esial was getting annoyed with how people just used more new words to describe things he didn’t know. 

“What is modifier? And Paper?”

“Ah, modifier is somethin’ that changes the meanin’ or state of somethin’ else. In this case changin’ the meanin’ of ‘towel,’” Ciaran said rather slowly, as though making sure he was explaining it right. “And this is paper.”

He picked up a form from the counter and Esial frowned.

“No. That is a form.”

“Well, forms can be on paper, but this material is paper.”

Esial groaned, leaning his head back into the wall behind him. 

“It is okay, droog,” Anastasia said, standing up and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Learning new language is hard.”

She stepped over to a counter where she turned a knob and water gushed out to clean his blood from her hand. There were a lot of water summoners around. He wondered where all the water was coming from. 

“So, I suppose we’re keepin’ him then?” Ciaran asked. 

Anastasia nodded. “Da. He is friend now.”

“Right… what’s up with the alligator?”

“Alligator?” Esial asked.

“Your Crocodile.”

“Oh. I used to have crocodiles I looked after. I told Joseph and he got me this one and Jesep as a gift.”

“Yeh looked after crocodiles? In Pharoh times? What else did yeh do?” Ciaran asked, intrigued.

“Killed hippos.”

Ciaran looked over at Anastasia, excited and she nodded. “Impressive.”

Esial just shrugged. 

Anastasia finished with the water and opened the blood cabinet, pulling out a bag and poking some sort of long hollow thing in. It looked a bit like the hollow reeds Esial sometimes cut down around his edge of the river to help make crocodile nests. 

“There. Suck the blood through that.”

Esial frowned and wrapped his lips around it, but figured it out and drank the whole bag very quickly when he tasted it was human blood, even if it was a bit stale. 

“I plan to stay here till he is ready to leave,” Anastasia told Ciaran. 

Ciaran nodded. “Alright. I have te get back te class. I left in the middle when I heard somethin’ happened.”

“Then don’t waste time. Go!”

Ciaran laughed and turned, leaving just as quickly as he came to appease Anastasia.

Part 10

Esial: @whumpsday @honeycollectswhump @writereleaserepeat @tragedyinblue @hyrules-sleepiest-knight @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question

From Dust to Ashes: @whumpsday @writereleaserepeat @currentlyinthespiral @pigeonwhumps