#but yeah i mean i like caretaker and whumpee being close as much as the next person

[erdarielthewhumper]

Caretaker and whumpee pair where there's no love lost between them, but the caretaker still does what they can to help the whumpee is actually a really Good Trope. Like, maybe the characters are rivals, maybe there's something in their past, maybe they just generally dislike each other as people, but one way or another, they're kind of on bad terms.

But whether out of pragmatic necessity (like it's clear they'll have to work together to escape or else neither will, or because as long as the villains are hurting whumpee they're leaving the caretaker alone, or because the whumpee's continued survival just is in some way vital to the organization they work for, or whatever) or simply out of basic human decency, when the two are stuck together in a bad situation and whumpee's badly hurt, the caretaker does what they can to help

[whumpshaped]

tw addiction whump, alcohol, past trauma, pet whump, rocky recovery, flashbacks, emeto, paranoia, self-blame, self-deprecation, dehumanisation

Once Whumpee had gotten out and was allowed to make their own decisions again, they decided it would be prudent to make as many bad ones in as short a time frame as humanly possible. Their first trip out of the hospital had brought them straight to the liquor store, and they bought as much alcohol as their court settlement could pay for. They wanted nothing but to forget. Forget the trial, forget their captivity, forget…

Sit pretty for me. There you go, good boy. Aren’t you a good little pet?

They swallowed and threw the money on the counter, then grabbed their beverages and left without a word. They didn’t give the cashier enough time to recognise them from the news. 

The bottles kept clinking together quite obnoxiously as Whumpee struggled to bring all of them up the stairs to their apartment. They clinked even more as they tried to put them down one by one without breaking any so they could fish their key out of their pocket. They groaned when they realised they would have to repeat the whole thing again; pick up the bottles one by one, bring them inside, push the door closed with their hip, put them down one by one, lock the door.

They stared at the collection of all the different beverages they had laid out in front of them. Vodka, gin, whiskey, whatever they could find on the shelves, they’d bought. They had no idea what they liked. They doubted they liked any of it.

Whumpee glanced towards the window, shame immediately rising in their chest. What if someone saw them? Would the people judge them? Would the knowledge of their trauma make it worse in their mind or better? Would they accept them as just another failure of society, someone who had been too weak to handle the hand life had dealt them? Or would they scream and shout about the unfairness, the fact that someone as useless as them had been given such a large sum of money, only so they could blow it on substances?

They stepped up to the window and hastily closed the blinds. Nobody would see them like this. Not now, not ever.

-

Whumpee’s resolution to avoid others whenever they were wasted had crumbled in the first few days, because they’d thought it appropriate to go out and try to make friends. They had been so desperately lonely.

They’d woken up one day on a public bench, being watched over by a stranger. They had excused themself and rushed home, drowning out the memory with more alcohol right after having thrown up the last of the previous day’s shots.

But it seemed like their drunk mind wanted nothing but the tentative familiarity of that chance meeting to be repeated over and over again, because they found themself back on the bench every other day. Caretaker — as the stranger had introduced themself — was always kind to them, and always made sure no one else bothered them on their leisurely strolls. They were… different, odd, but a safe kind of odd, the kind of odd Whumpee felt comfortable inviting into their depressing little apartment after just a week of knowing them.

One week? Two weeks? Whumpee couldn’t remember. It hadn’t been a long time, probably, because their first supply of alcohol was still going strong.

“I don’t think I should,” Caretaker said awkwardly. “I mean… Are you sure you want me there?”

“Yeah… yeah, I… I don’t have anyone else, really…” they slurred, blissfully unaware of how much of a target they were putting on their back. It was nothing but luck that Caretaker didn’t jump on the opportunity to burgle the victim of one of the most famous legal cases, who, as everyone seemed to be aware of, was sitting on a pile of cash.

“Don’t say that,” they said quietly, and Whumpee instinctively assumed it was out of pity.

“Why? It’s true. Everyone knows, ‘cuz I walk around here every single fucking day, and I’m always fucking alone.” They gave Caretaker a lazy grin. “Not right now, I guess, but it’s not like you’re constantly with me, huh? And eeeeveryone hates me for it, they want me fucking gone, they want me off the public property, and away from their children, and they look at me like I’m no different than the pile of fucking trash they leave out every Tuesday!” 

“Alright, alright, but don’t fucking tell everyone that you’re constantly alone. At least lie about it.”

That made Whumpee stop in their tracks, their dumb smile faltering a little. “Huh?”

“There are bad people in this world, Whumpee. You should know that better than anyone. Just lie and say you’re going to a friend’s place, or going back home to your family. No need to make it known that you’re easy pickings.”

Whumpee stared at them blankly, trying to process the words. “Huh…?” Was Caretaker… not saying it as a means to comfort them? 

“I’ll explain one more time once we get to your place, if you still wanna bring me back.”

Of course they did. They wanted it more now than ever. 

-

“Pet me?” Whumpee asked abruptly.

“What? Like a dog?”

Whumpee tensed. Even in their drunken haze, the comparison sent them back to the place they’d so painstakingly escaped. “I… guess so.”

Caretaker seemed to notice the change in atmosphere too, and they put two and two together. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I was just surprised—”

“It doesn’t matter.” They pushed their head against Caretaker’s thigh. Admittedly, the alcohol made it easier to forget, even if not to forgive. “Pet me?”

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“I’m asking you.”

Caretaker hesitantly lifted a hand and placed it on top of Whumpee’s head. They carefully carded their fingers through the soft hair, gently scratching their scalp as they went. Whumpee had the feeling Caretaker was being overly cautious, so they nuzzled against their hand as a way of encouragement. 

“It’s okay if you think of me as a dog,” Whumpee said before they could stop themself. It wasn’t okay, but they didn’t want Caretaker to hold back on the headpats just because they thought it might trigger something in them. Even if it might.

“It’s not,” they said anyway. “I’d never think of you as a dog.” 

Whumpee huffed. “Maybe it’d make everything easier, honestly. You wouldn’t fault a dog for being useless. You’d just coo at it endlessly, everyone would. ‘Aww, look at that adorable, useless dog. Who cares what it can do for me? All it has to do is lie there and be adorable.’” 

“Do you think of yourself as a dog?” Caretaker asked softly.

“I sank lower than a dog ages ago, I think. I’d have to work really hard to get back up there. I’m more like… a roly poly.”

Caretaker petted them mutely for a while, repeating the pleasant motions and slowly lulling Whumpee to sleep. “I like roly polies,” they murmured before Whumpee could’ve fully drifted off. “And I like dogs too. But…” Their petting stopped, and they let out a heavy sigh. “I like you so much more and so differently than any animal.”

-

“You’re gonna die of alcohol poisoning one day, you know.”

“I’m gonna die of withdrawal…” Whumpee made a half-hearted attempt to get the bottle from Caretaker, but they held it up and out of their reach. “You know you can’t keep it from me if you want me alive…”

“Oh, I can. We’re gonna work on it, bit by bit. And right now, you’re not getting any.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“Nope.”

“You’re gonna kill me.”

Caretaker rolled their eyes. “I know what I’m doing.”

Whumpee rolled over onto their back, trying to ignore the nausea. The ceiling was swirling and morphing, and they had no desire to ever see it come to a stop again. “I’d rather get alcohol poisoning than die of withdrawal, I think. I don’t know how either of them are, but I know I don’t want to be sober.”

“Hopefully, you won’t ever know how either of them are.”

Whumpee scoffed. “I didn’t want to know what being a human pet was like, and here we are. Not only do I know, but thanks to the fucking trials, everyone else knows too.”

“That doesn’t mean everything you don’t want happening to you will suddenly happen. You don’t have to run head first into a wall just because you feel like it’s coming at you and you want to strike first. Walls don’t usually move. Not when you’re sober.”

“Huh?”

Caretaker sat down on the sofa next to them, gently rubbing their arm. “I think you deserve a better life, Whumpee. Even if you don’t want any.”

“I don’t—” The nausea suddenly became unbearable, and they pushed themself off the couch to stumble into the bathroom. They didn’t reach the toilet.

They had no idea what they’d meant to say before the accident. No one would ever know.

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #48: Basement

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: whumper turned whumpee (turned caretaker), whumpee turned caretaker, vampire whumpee, recovery, comfort, nightmares, starvation

sorry this took 10 thousand years. tbf, it’s my longest chapter ever! enjoy!

-

Tonight, just like every night, Jim led Kane back downstairs before sunset. Kane never seemed to have a problem with it. He honestly seemed happier now than he ever had back when he was free, when their positions were reversed. It was weird to think about.

The door swung shut behind him. It’d been doing that lately instead of staying open, but this time it was even louder than it had been the past few days, like it was insisting that Jim remember to fix it. He made a mental note get to it tomorrow.

He unlocked Kane’s ankle cuffs, letting him free of the restraints for the night. “See ya tomorrow. Sleep well and all.”

Kane smiled back at him. “You too.” He went over to sit at his desk, picking up a book and humming pleasantly.

Jim walked back up the stairs, keys in hand, and pushed the door.

It didn’t budge.

Jim stood there for a second, unbelieving. The door had closed behind him every morning and night for the past three days, and it’d always just opened right back up at a push, because it wasn’t locked.

The lock. The lock on the outside. The metal bar that made the sound of the door closing extra loud when it swung down from the force of the door snapping shut.

Leaving him stuck down here with Kane, and no way to get out.

He pushed on the door again, more insistently. But this door was made to contain someone far stronger than him, silver or no silver. He felt his throat tighten. It suddenly felt hard to breathe. Like when he’d said something that made Kane angry and he picked him up by his neck and-

“Jim? Is something wrong?” Kane asked. Jim spun around to see the vampire’s face painted with confusion.

“Yeah,” Jim squeaked, his back pressed against the door’s silver lining. “Yeah, I uh, I can’t get the door open.”

Kane closed his book, setting it down softly on the desk. His brows creased in concern. “Oh. Um, you mean... at all?”

Jim nodded, eyes wide with steadily growing fear.

-

This was bad. Kane liked his routine. He liked his half-half balance of spending the day with Jim and the night to himself in his nice, comfortable basement. Getting blood in the mornings and helping with chores. He liked his life.

But an essential part of his new life over the past four months had been that Jim deigned him fit to be treated well. Jim was kind and caring, but sometimes, it was apparent that being around Kane was too much for him. And at those times, Jim would excuse himself, or send Kane back down to the basement, where he was happy to be. Whatever he had to do to help Jim feel safe. To minimize the damage he’d caused.

Jim couldn’t excuse himself now. Not for lack of trying: he turned back around and continued fussing with the door, pushing and pounding and trying the handle. He let out a sob as the door held fast. “Kane?” he called, his voice pitched with fear.

Kane didn’t dare move from his seat. Not without permission, not while Jim was so scared. “Yes?”

“Can you try? To open the door?” Jim asked.

Kane had never tried to open it himself. For one, he had no desire to escape. For another...

His heart sank. “But... it’s silver.” It was hardly a protest. His voice came out small.

Jim said he wouldn’t be hurt anymore. No more burning. No more silver.

“No, I didn’t mean, like, touch it,” Jim clarified nervously. “You could use the blanket, maybe?”

“Oh.” Kane started to calm down. Of course. “Yes, I can try. If- you’re sure it’s okay?” Fringe nightmare scenarios of him busting down the door and being punished for escaping ran through his mind, as little sense as they make.

“Yeah, go for it.” Jim descended the stairs and stepped out of the way, hugging the wall. Kane didn’t miss the way Jim seemed to shrink back away from him.

He grabbed his blanket and ascended the stairs to approach the door, looking back nervously to Jim before ramming into it full-force, using his blanket as a shield. The entire room seemed to vibrate with the force of it.

The door didn’t budge.

Kane looked back again, and Jim looked much more scared this time, to his despair. Jim backed himself up into the far corner, shivering.

He drew his blanket around himself. “I’m sorry. I- I can’t break it. It’s silver. I was just doing what you said to, please don’t- please.”

“No, it’s uh, it’s all good,” Jim said shakily, arms clutched protectively to his chest the way he always used to do back at Kane’s house. “I mean, you. Not- this situation.”

It was starting to sink in. They were trapped in here together. Jim was trapped down here with him. And...

Kane was strong now. He didn’t need to worry so much that Jim would hurt him, and his tentative trust in Jim had grown enough by now that he was reasonably sure he wouldn’t anyway.

But it was apparent that Jim was really scared. Jim had never hurt him, but Kane had hurt Jim. Over and over and over for years. It was different here because Jim was the one in charge now, he could always get away if he needed to, but now... he couldn’t.

Kane sat down on the steps, hoping to make himself less intimidating. “It’s okay. It’s just like upstairs except... continued, right? I can put the cuffs back on, if you want.”

Jim hesitated, thinking it over. “No, it’s okay,” he decided, his voice squeaky with fear. Kane supposed that made sense: the restraints were to keep him from running, and they were pretty useless when he was locked in the basement anyway. Jim took a deep breath. “Liz’ll realize something’s up when I don’t pick up the phone. It might just... take a bit. Like a few days, maybe.”

“Okay. Um, I know this has to be scary for you. I’m a little scared too?” Kane’s always scared. “But you always make me feel better when I’m scared, and I know that- that I probably can’t do that so well, but I’m not going to hurt you, Jim. Ever.” He tried to emulate the kind of thing Jim always said to him when he was extra scared.

Jim nodded slowly. “Y-yeah. Thanks.” His face reddened a bit, clearly embarrassed for needed to be comforted.

“Usually after you leave upstairs, I spend a couple hours reading and listening to music. Then I wash my face and brush my teeth and go to bed,” Kane recites. “Would you like to, um, do that too? I have- I mean, you know what books I have, obviously.”

“I think I’m just gonna sit in the corner for a bit and try to cool off,” Jim said quietly. His hands were shaking a bit as he slid down the wall in the corner of the room.

It might not have even been him, Kane realized. Maybe it was just the feeling of being trapped again. Kane never had a break in between- he’d just gone from being imprisoned by the hunters to being imprisoned somewhere infinitely better. He’s locked down in the basement every night. But Jim’s been free this whole time.

“I’m sure Liz will realize something’s wrong soon,” Kane assures him. “And it’s not like- you’re still in your own house, right? You’re home.”

That seemed to get through to Jim a bit. Kane could see his shoulders relax slightly with the thought. “Yeah. That’s true, I guess.”

“I’m just going to go to my- to the desk. Let me know if I can, um, get you anything,” Kane said awkwardly. It was his space, but it was Jim’s house to begin with. His home in Jim’s basement.

Hours passed, the evening surprisingly normal despite the tension in the air. Jim stayed firmly in the corner. Kane could see his hands anxiously worrying at his sleeves through the corner of his eye. It reminded him of back then, in the later years after Jim got quiet. He held back a wince of guilt at the thought.

When bedtime rolled around, he took one of his blankets from the bed. “You should take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Oh, uh, that’s okay. It’s your bed. You don’t gotta do that,” Jim said. “I can take the floor.”

“I’m used to it,” Kane assured him. “You’re the one who’s scared this time. You should take the bed... um, if that’s okay.”

Jim hesitated before nodding. “If you’re sure. At least take the pillow.”

Kane took it, suppressing the Yes, sir that he always instinctively wanted to say after an order. “I hope you sleep well.”

“Yeah, you too,” Jim said as he lied down in Kane’s bed, facing the wall.

Kane dragged the rug to the other side of the basement, giving Jim the space he was clearly desperate for, and set up his little sleeping arrangement on the floor. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the bed, but he would still describe it as comfortable after years on his cell’s cold, hard floor. And it was certainly more comfortable than knowing Jim was sleeping on the floor instead.

It was hard to fall asleep with Jim in the room, he soon realized. He’d grown so used to startling awake when he heard a hunter approaching down in his cell that the smell of a human so close was keeping him awake.

Well, it wasn’t like he had plans tomorrow. No rush to sleep, Kane supposed. Jim might even appreciate some alone time if he were to wake first tomorrow.

After a bit, Jim’s sleeping form began stirring with obvious distress, whimpering a bit. He was having a nightmare, that much was clear.

Kane bit his lip anxiously, a drop of blood welling where his fang met skin. What should he do? Letting him stew in the nightmare didn’t feel right. He was probably the one tormenting Jim in his dreams.

“Jim?” he called softly.

He didn’t wake up. Kane hesitantly stood, his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and took a few steps closer. “Jim?”

Nothing. Jim whined pitifully in his sleep, and now only half a room away, Kane could see a tear running down his face in the dark.

My fault.

It was possible that Jim could be having a normal nightmare unrelated to him, but he seriously doubted it.

Kane approached further, kneeling beside the bed. Better that Jim doesn’t wake to his tormenter looming over him. He gently laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder, the same way Jim would do when trying to comfort him, and shook lightly. “Jim, you’re having a nightmare.”

-

Jim woke in the dark, The bright-red eyes in his dream fading into the exact same in reality, no more than two feet from his face.

He jerked back immediately, pressing himself back against the wall. His good arm went up to protect himself- never to fight back, that only made things worse, just to be in the way so Kane didn’t hit tender stomach or easily-cracked ribs.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, cowering against the wall, murky with sleep. The dream was fading, the details melting away, but he knew Kane was angry with him. “I’m s-sorry, Master. I’ll be better. I’ll behave. Just gimme another chance.”

Kane didn’t look angry. He looked... horrified, honestly, which was confusing. He shuffled backward without standing.

“Jim,” Kane’s voice came out gentle. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not- I’m not your master anymore. It was just a dream. I know it’s terrifying, I get them too, but it’s not real. I’m not... like that anymore. I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you.”

Jim blinked the sleep away, starting to come to his senses. Kane was letting him off the hook this time. No, wait, what was going on?

“You’re home,” Kane reminded him. “You’re not at my house anymore. We just got accidentally locked in the basement. You had a nightmare.” His face took on a tinge of fear. “I- I’m sorry for touching you. I just thought it would be best to wake you since you seemed distressed, and I know if it was me I’d want- I shouldn’t have, I’m so sorry. You can, um, you can punish me if you like.” He bowed his head down, shivering.

Right. Kane. This was who Kane was now.

Jim smoothed his hair back, the curls bouncing back into place as he did, starting to calm down. “No punishing. ‘M gonna go back to sleep. Thanks for waking me.”

Kane sighed with relief. Jim was glad they’d gotten to this point: it’d have taken ages to calm him down if something like this happened just a few months ago. “Okay. Good night, Jim.”

“G’night.”

...

His next dream was back at Kane’s, again, his mind unable to drop the subject. Unlike the last dream, this one wasn’t violent. Kane wasn’t mad this time. It was a normal, peaceful night.

Kane fed from him, and they lounged in Jim’s quarters for some reason, his dream discarding the fact that Kane wouldn’t do that. There was no hurting or threatening, and though Kane was his usual pompous, aggravating self, it was okay.

Jim hated those dreams the most.

He woke with a grumble, reminded once again all how content he’d been at times to be Kane’s property. How he’d gotten stuck in that rut. Learned helplessness.

Kane was already awake, sitting quietly at his desk. Jim felt a pang of guilt for stealing his bed, but, well, the guy offered. It was weird, to feel like a guest in his own basement. Like it was someone else’s home and not his.

Kane’s home.

Jim pushed the thought aside immediately. Semantic bullshit, his brain making connections where there weren’t any. It wasn’t the same.

“Morning.” He stretched and sat up in bed, at least a little less freaked out than last night.

Oh God. Last night. It was a little fuzzy, but he remembered freaking out. He remembered calling Kane Master. His face grew hot with shame.

Kane looked over. He shrank back a little, obviously a bit scared. “Good morning, Jim. Are you feeling any better? I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. S’okay. You were just trying to help. You don’t gotta worry.” This was better, being the one to reassure Kane. He didn’t want to need to be taken care of, especially by him.

Kane relaxed a little. “Okay. Yes, I just, I just wanted to help. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“Can I ask you kind of a weird question?” Jim blurted out.

“Yes?”

He twiddled his fingers. “You ever get these dreams, like... you’re back at, like, your cell or whatever, but nothing bad’s happening? And you’re kind of just chilling there.”

Kane nodded. “A lot, actually. You... also get those?”

“Yeah.” Jim didn’t know where he was going with this. It just kind of felt nice to know it wasn’t just him, that he wasn’t broken for having dreams where he’s content with his captivity. Kane went through literal torture and he gets the same thing.

They were still stuck down here for the time being. All the games were upstairs, since Jim didn’t hang out in the basement, but luckily, it turned out Kane had brought a deck of cards down for solitaire a couple months ago. He’d almost forgotten Kane asking for permission for that.

While they were in the middle of their third game of gin rummy, Jim started to feel hungry. He’d missed dinner last night, and it looked like he wouldn’t be getting any breakfast today either. He had water from the half-bathroom’s sink, but there was no food down here for him.

There was food down here for Kane.

His hand stalled as he went to draw a card, frozen. There was no blood draw kit, not even a small knife like he’d used before he got the kit, and no bowl to collect it in even if there was. And besides, he’d get dizzy after if he couldn’t eat, and that meant that the only way for Kane to have his breakfast was to-

“Jim?” Kane asked, taking on that timid, concerned tone again, like he couldn’t decide if he was in trouble or not. “Is- is something wrong?”

“Uh, no.” He quickly drew his card. “Just- you know. Spaced out.”

“Oh.” Kane seemed to accept the lie at face value, taking his turn.

-

Kane could tell something was wrong, but he didn’t want to push it. It was probably just that they were trapped, but Jim seemed off.

It finally clicked when Jim’s stomach growled a few hours after they stopped playing, a soft sound that his acute hearing nonetheless picked up despite being on the other side of the room. Of course. He himself was a bit peckish, not that he’d ever think of bringing it up to Jim, but he’d had much worse.

But Jim was human. He’d missed three meals by now, dinner last night and breakfast and lunch today. Humans needed to eat so often, that was the equivalent of three days without blood for a vampire.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, worried. “I- I’m sorry there’s no food for you down here. You must be hungry.” It wasn’t fair. If anyone deserved to never ever have to go hungry, it was Jim.

Jim dropped the pencil, the sound of it clattering to the paper he was drawing on ringing out. He looked up with fear in his eyes, scooting back in the chair. “I’m okay,” he said quietly, trembling a little.

That wasn’t the reaction Kane had been expecting. Jim would get scared of him sometimes, but usually when he’d done something to-

“I know you’re hungry too. Please don’t.” Jim’s hand went to his neck, where his turtleneck covered twin impressions of Kane’s own fangs, holding it protectively. “I just- Kane, man, I can’t. Liz’ll realize I’m not answering the phone and come to let us out in a day or two, and I’ll give you blood then, okay? Please.” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh- no, no, I wouldn’t.” Kane paused the CD player, sitting up with his knees to his chest on the bed. Did Jim think he was going to attack? A flash of panic surged through him. “I wouldn’t attack you, I mean- I wouldn’t ever again, I swear! I wasn’t going to, please believe me! Jim, you, you know I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t. I promise.”

His panicked insistences seemed to calm Jim down somewhat. He removed his hand from his neck, though it still hovered close-by. “You mean it?” he asked, his voice small.

“Yes. I will not touch you,” Kane promised confidently. “It’s okay. You’re- you’re safe.” It felt backwards, his heart still thudding with his own panic, given how many times Jim had repeatedly assured him of the same. But Jim was the one who really needed to hear it.

Jim let out a long, shaky breath. “Okay. Thanks.” He was clearly still on-edge, but starting to relax.

“But- you never answered, are you alright? You’ve missed too many meals,” Kane brought back up.

“I’ll be fine.” Jim wiped his eyes, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Remember that little hunger strike I tried back at your place?”

Vaguely. Kane hadn’t thought about that in a long time. A smaller rebellion, overshadowed by Jim’s ill-conceived attempt to run him through with a knife a few weeks prior. “Um, yes, I think so. That was- the first year, I believe? You were alright after that.”

“You waved a chocolate bar in front of my face and I caved immediately. I was nineteen.” Jim gave a soft chuckle. “I was terrified at the time, but looking back on it now, it’s a little funny when you think about it like that. Oh man.”

Nineteen. So young. Kane had known he was, he looked it, but hadn’t learned just how much until Jim told him on the eve of his twentieth birthday. He was a mere teenager when Kane stole him away from his life. How could he have been so horrible?

He nodded along to Jim’s observation, throat thick with guilt.

They did what they could to pass the day, hunger gnawing at the both of them. Kane was sure that whatever he was feeling, Jim must have been feeling it at least three times worse, maybe more since he was unused to it.

He wished he could alleviate it, somehow, like Jim had done for him. That he could offer Jim his own blood to alleviate his pain. But he was the vampire, and Jim was the human. There was nothing he could do but fetch him a cup of water.

-

It had been three days.

Jim didn’t get out of bed today. He’d gone hungry before, on many occasions. Skipping meals as a kid trying to make sure Liz had enough food on her plate when things were tight. That little hunger strike. The two days he ran from Kane, he didn’t eat until he woke up in the hospital, but he was much more worried about water, then. At least he had that, now.

Three was pushing his limit in terms of comfort. He knew he’d survive it fine, Liz would catch on before he got anywhere close to dangerous, but it was turning out to be a stay-in-bed day.

Kane had taken to doting on him, oddly enough. Brought him refills whenever his water got low. Kept asking him if he was okay. It was... kind of sweet, honestly. His fear slowly lessened the more time they spent down here. If Kane were going to attack him, he probably would have by now.

It only made him feel more guilty for not feeding him. He knew Kane was hungry, too. He’d regretted starving him that first month because he couldn’t work up the courage so much, and now he was doing it again. Kane said it was fine, but Jim was pretty sure Kane would say anything was fine.

He took a deep breath. He’d been agonizing over this since yesterday, and he knew he had to do it.

“Kane?”

Kane was by his side in an instant. “Yes? Do you need anything? Are you feeling okay?”

Jim pulled down his sleeve and held his arm out shakily. “You can feed, if you want.”

He was going to panic. He knew it. There was no way he could feel fangs sinking into his skin and not panic. But he could hold it inside and let Kane feed. He was trained for it, after all.

“Oh.” Kane’s eyes flickered from Jim’s face to his wrist. After a long, long pause, he continued. “No thank you.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What?”

Kane slowly reached for Jim’s sleeve and pulled it back up. “I can wait.”

Jim pulled his arm back to his chest, relief flooding through him. “Oh. Um, if you’re sure.”

Kane gave a small smile, the kind that didn’t let his fangs show. “I’m sure.”

...

It was hours later when Kane perked up. “Phone’s ringing!” he proclaimed excitedly, hearing its soft tone from upstairs.

“Is it?” Jim listened carefully. “I don’t hear anything.”

“It definitely is. It has to be Liz, right?” Kane asked.

“I’ve made damn sure reporters can’t get my number anymore,” he grumbled. “Yeah, gotta be her. Shouldn’t be long now.”

Kane kept informing him each time the phone rang, the spaces in between getting shorter and shorter. Finally, Kane informed him the front door was opening. Both of them ran to the wall by the stairs, to pound against it for Liz to let them out.

Liz watched in astonishment as Jim leaped out of the basement and wrapped his arms around her. “Finally! Am I glad to see you!”

“Jim? What are you doing down here? What happened?” Liz gave him a quick hug before pulling back to check him for injuries.

Kane backed up until he was all the way down the stairs. Liz had never hurt him, but this was an unusual situation. Best not to be in the huntress’s space.

“Door’s fucked. Been locked down here for three days.” Jim walked past her. “If you’ll excuse me, I have got to get something to eat.”

“Shit! Are you serious?” Liz opened and closed the door experimentally as Jim raced past her to the kitchen, Kane watching apprehensively.

Liz looked down at him and sighed. “Guessin’ you haven’t had a lot to eat either?”

He shook his head.

She held the door open. “C’mon. Let’s get you some blood.”

“I think, um, I don’t mean to contradict you or anything,” Kane said nervously, “But I don’t think Jim is-”

“Yeah, Jim’s not bleeding for you today. I’ve got it covered. C’mon.” Liz motioned for him to follow.

Kane’s heart felt warm as he followed her upstairs. “Thank you.”

-

K&J extra content posted between #47 and #48:

Kane & Jim drabble: Spilled Blood

Crossovers K&J x MMSS and Kane & Raiza continue to update!

not K&J related but i also posted a one-shot, Tomcat Disposables

starting a new thing where i add the taglist in a reblog because i think having it in the main post is breaking my links on desktop somehow, so hang tight for that in a few minutes!

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

another idea for the Mermaid Ask Game 👀👀: 4 5 10

(you don't have to do this one if you don't want to. it just seemd to fun to me not to ask about)

Hi, Space Rabbit! Just a heads up for everyone- you all are more than welcome to request as many things as you want! Back to Space Rabbit- I’m happy to do this request for you! Thanks for requesting this, here you go!

From this ask game

Caretaker held their chin in their hands, their elbows propped up on the rim of Whumpee’s bathtub. Whumpee was sitting on the bathroom floor, holding an ancient-looking book that seemed to have been warped by spending many years in saltwater.

“Okay, okay,” Whumpee said, flipping pages, “it says to turn you human, we need water-”

“Check,” Caretaker said, scooping up a handful of water from the bathtub, letting it run through their fingers.

“a mer and a human-”

“Check!” Caretaker booped Whumpee’s nose.

Whumpee giggled.

“And this incantation.”

“Check check check!” Caretaker sang.

“I guess I just recite it then?” Whumpee asked, “you’re gonna love being human- I can’t wait to take you to a theme park, the library, an arcade- just- EEEEEE!”

Whumpee squealed with delight just thinking about it.

Whumpee read over the spell, then dipped their hand in the water. They then took Caretaker’s hand and started to read.

“Worlds collide and worlds divide,” Whumpee recited, “let fins recede and legs merge. Trade skin for scales, and water for air. Let mer become human, and human become mer.”

Whumpee finished, then looked at Caretaker, who was still very much a mer.

“Nothing’s happening,” they said.

Caretaker, however, looked more worried than disappointed.

“Whumpee, I don’t think that incantation was- GAH!”

Caretaker was blinded by glowing white and blue bubbles rising up from the bathtub, as was Whumpee. When the shower of foam faded, Caretaker’s ears lost their webbing, their gills had closed up, and they had a pair of human legs.

“Woah,” Caretaker said, admiring their new appendages.

“Uh, Caretaker?”

Whumpee looked down at where their legs should’ve been. Caretaker followed their gaze.

“Oh fan worms,” they said, eyes wide.

“Yeah, that,” Whumpee said numbly.

“We should’ve read it before you recited it!” Caretaker said bitterly, “check and see if there’s a way to switch us back!”

“I-I would, C-Caretaker, but,” Whumpee swayed in place, “I suddenly don’t feel so-”

Caretaker clambered out of the tub, not quite sure how to use their legs, managing to catch Whumpee just in time.

“You’re dehydrated,” Caretaker noted.

“You sound like my mom,” Whumpee said hoarsely.

“Come on, into the tub with you,” Caretaker said.

It was a struggle, and they fell down several times, but Caretaker managed to get Whumpee in the bathtub. Once that was done, Caretaker sat down on the bathroom floor.

Whumpee stared at them for a moment, blushed, and quickly looked away.

“What?” Caretaker tilted their head.

“You, um, you have- uh, here!”

Whumpee grabbed a towel and tossed it to Caretaker.

“What’s this for? I don’t mind being wet you know.”

“Mhm,” Whumpee said, quite flustered, “but uh, humans these days typically don’t, uh, well they usually wear- I mean-”

Oh. Oh. Caretaker draped the towel over their lower half.

“It’s safe now, Whumpee,” Caretaker said.

Whumpee looked back at Caretaker, breathing a sigh of relief.

“So, about that reverse incantation…”

Caretaker nodded, handing Whumpee the old book.

“No. No. No. No,” Whumpee said, flipping through pages, “oh- what was it you said- fan worms? Oh fan worms.”

“No reverse incantation?” Caretaker asked.

“Oh there is a reverse incantation,” Whumpee said, “but you can only do it under the light of a full moon. That won’t be for another week.”

“Oh fan worms.”

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Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

[pigeonwhumps]

Sarita

Bug and Company masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @whumpinggrounds @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Introducing Sarita, a very mistrustful new rescue who's just woken up at Alix's safehouse.

Sarita appears very briefly in The vet.

1.8k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, dehumanisation, derogatory language about sex workers and sex, past rape, religious mentions (in a bad way), victim-blaming, discrimination against Romantics, self-loathing, stabbing (brief, with a fork), past betrayal, caretaker new whumper, multiple whumpees

When Sarita wakes, she's nowhere she recognises.

So she's not back at WRU. That's good, the handler didn't catch up to her. She's not on the streets, which is odd, that's where she last remembers being. Not back at the safehouse that betrayed her either. So it's somewhere new.

Who the hell's decided they own her or 'rescued' her or whatever this time?

It's an old-fashioned kind of a room, decorated with sickly green and purple like some weird 70s nostalgia trip. The curtains, mostly shut, are heavy and dark red with patterns.

It's really weird and she doesn't like it.

"Yeah, I know. Not the nicest room to wake up in. But at least you did wake up."

Sarita looks sharply to the side to see a dark-skinned woman watching her intently. She has Bantu knots (at least that's what Sarita thinks they're called) and a braid on either side of her face, beaded at the ends. There's also beads of some sort in the knots themselves.

"Adalia, or Bug. They/them. Do you want some soup?"

Sarita sits up abruptly. Adalia doesn't seem surprised to have an injured woman in their house, and she has a bad feeling about this.

"Where am I?"

"Alix's safehouse. You collapsed on the street in front of me, and I brought you here once I found your barcode. You should really cover that up, by the way."

Sarita snorts under her breath. "Safehouse". Yeah, right. Maybe to someone who's not a dumb slut like her, who didn't give up their life to lie on their back all day. Never mind that she was a receptionist later, never mind that she cared for children and took care of the house and is taught and educated and was trained as a multi-purpose pet. All that ever matters is that she was trained for sex and had sex and so apparently she wants to open her legs for every damn bastard who so much as glances her way.

She doesn't listen to the rules (Adalia just assuming she'll stay for longer than it takes for her to get out of bed, apparently). She knows what they'll be. Don't get too close to people, don't try and have sex, don't lead people on, you can use the common areas but only when the other pets are gone and clean up after yourself (she rolls her eyes at that. It's not like she's going to contaminate anyone), make sure to pray for your soul because apparently being raped every night for years means she's going to hell, and oh yeah, don't even think of getting comfortable because we'll sell you out to WRU at the first opportunity.

She never chose that. She never chose this. She still hurts from the handler. And she wouldn't have even come here if she'd had any sort of a choice. Stupid body, betraying her like that.

She's not surprised. Everyone else has.

"And that's everything. What's your name?"

Instead of answering, Sarita shoots out of bed and dashes for the open door.

"Wait! Calm down!"

Sarita ignores them, running downstairs. It's taking too long, someone will catch her, but she couldn't have jumped out of the window. Not on the first floor at least, not when she doesn't know if there's a flat roof or what the ground's like. Not unless she was absolutely desperate.

She spins around in the hallway. The front door will be locked, safehouses don't like pets leaving without permission, especially her, but the back. The back. There must be a back door.

Where?

Where's the back of the house?

Front door's that way, back door must be the other way. This can't be too different a layout to the other safehouse, it can't be far away. She runs in that direction, ignoring Adalia calling after her.

She enters the kitchen and skids to a halt. It's a nicer room, she recognises vaguely, clearly redecorated recently, but that's not what she's really focusing on.

There's a woman blocking the door.

She shifts to the side and takes a step towards Sarita.

Sarita panics. She picks up the nearest thing she can find – a fork, four prongs, silver steel, gleaming in the sunlight – and stabs it into the back of the woman's hand.

The woman screams, stumbling, and Sarita bolts past her into the small garden. There's got to be– no– fuck, fuck, fuck. There's no exits from the garden.

There's no exits from the garden.

The majority of it is scrubby grass, although there is a shed at the end. It's green, metal, small, old. There only seems to be one exit. That's good and bad. It means she'll be able to see what's coming. There might even be tools in there she can use to defend herself. But she won't be able to escape easily.

She runs into the shed. It's mostly empty, but she dives into the corner, crouching, eyeing the door closely. It hurts it hurts she hurts so much from earlier, it burns, she wants to curl up around herself but it's too dangerous, she needs to be able to see what's coming.

She crouches there for a while, listening to the sparrows and moving leaves outside. It's nice and quiet, and she's not currently being hurt.

Then she hears uneven footsteps outside and scrambles to her feet, legs shaking, grabbing a pair of secateurs and holding them out in front of her.

A young woman limps inside. She has a colourful cane in the opposite hand to what seems to be her bad leg, and is wearing a choker and a knee-length black dress with a long sweater over it, the sleeves rolled up to uncover her hands.

"Hi. I'm Maria. Will you drop the garden shears?"

"Fuck you," Sarita replies vehemently. She's not going to leave herself undefended for this woman and all the rest to betray her.

Maria shrugs. "Okay." And she doesn't move.

Sarita doesn't really want to talk to her but she apparently can't help it. "Why are you still here? I stabbed your stupid safehouse owner. You going to hand me back to the reacquisitions team personally?"

"We're a safehouse. Emphasis on the word 'safe'."

Sarita snorts. "Yeah, right. And you're also safe for dumb sluts like me who chose to be a pampered whore because I couldn't be bothered to do any real work. Pull the other one."

Maria's face is strangely blank. "Do not. Don't say things like that. Please." There's a hardness in her voice that wasn't there before.

"Why? That's what everyone says about me. Why shouldn't I say it?"

"Because you shouldn't talk about yourself like that. And–"

She hesitates. Sarita is listening more closely now. No-one's ever told her that before. They're usually too busy insulting her.

"And I don't want to be insulted like that either."

Sarita blinks. Wait, what?

"Alix – the woman you stabbed – she specialises in Romantics. Those with Romantic training. The non-WRU equivalent. So don't talk about us like that."

That stops Sarita dead in her tracks. She finds herself unconsciously lowering the secateurs before catching herself.

"You're all slu- Romantics?"

"Yes. Well, some of us are joint. O's both Object and Romantic. Max isn't Romantic. But he came with me from the same owner and we weren't being separated."

"How long have you been here?"

"Three years, give or take. O's been here longer and Bug came with Alix."

That seems a bit long if Alix was going to betray them all. But still.

"Are you sure it's not just because it's easier to hand you over if you're all in one place?"

"Yes." Her voice is tight. "I know you don't trust Alix, but can you give us a chance? Or at least stop being so insulting."

Oh, fuck all of this. It's not just Alix, it's everything. She can't trust anyone. How does she know Maria is telling the truth? Sure she doesn't act like an owned pet but that doesn't mean she's not lying. Sarita stabbed Alix, who Maria seems to like (and from Sarita's experience, safehouse owners are not to be liked or trusted). Everyone she's ever met has betrayed her. Safehouses are just another type of trap. Why the fuck would she trust anyone? Trusting people just leads to betrayal. And letting herself get close just makes it hurt more.

"Of course I don't trust you. Why the fuck should I give you a chance?"

"You won't be trapped. There's a loose fence panel behind this shed in case of a raid. Just talk to Alix, that's all I'm asking. Then you can leave if you still want to. Please? At least leave with supplies."

Sarita narrows her eyes, trying to work out if Maria is telling the truth. She supposes she doesn't have to go very far into the house. And the kitchen has plenty of knives she can take. Because she doesn't fucking trust them even if Maria seems determined to persuade her otherwise.

"Fine."

Maria smiles tightly. "Good. Will you drop the garden shears now and come with me?"

Sarita drops them (she can't exactly bring them inside, after all) and edges around the walls of the shed, coming to stand near Maria, just out of arms reach. Maria nods to her and Sarita follows cautiously back to the house.

Alix is sitting on the flaking white step, Adalia wrapping her hand. Maybe the wound isn't too bad then, if they've dealt with it with a first aid kit.

Not that she'd feel guilty if it was. Fucking safehouses.

Alix looks up and smiles as they approach. Adalia tucks in the end of the bandage and looks up too, glaring at Sarita. Alix nudges them.

"Fine. I'll leave you two alone. If you hurt her deliberately again I'll kill you."

That last is directed at Sarita, and she nods. Not that she's planning to, but if she does hurt Alix it'll be because she has to run, so Adalia won't get her anyway. But seeing someone be so protective makes her insides ache.

Maria and Adalia disappear inside.

Alix moves her hand out, winces, and nods at the seat beside her instead. Sarita stays where she is, just out of reach, every muscle tensed, ready to run when she needs to. Alix shrugs.

"Sorry, Bug can be a bit overprotective at times. I'm Alix, she/her. Leader of this safehouse. What's your name?"

"Sarita. She/her." She thinks she uses those pronouns anyway. She doesn't really care. But other people do.

"Nice to meet you, Sarita. I think it's time we talked."

[a-crumb-of-whump]

A New Beginning Drabble: Food Platter

Masterlist

Content: ADHD caretaker, vampire whumpee, it's honestly just fluff.

Ask and ye shall receive

-

Ryker couldn’t figure out how long he’d been sitting at his computer for now. Could have been minutes, could have been hours - even the time that sat at the bottom of his screen meant nothing to him as he continued to play his game.

It was only when he felt the presence of someone standing right behind him and a plate of assorted fruits, biscuits and cheeses being placed beside his keyboard that he finally tore his eyes away from the screen to glance up. Suddenly Carlos’ face was right there, mere inches away from his own and a grin that prominently displayed his two fangs. 

Gentle fingers wrapped around either side of the headphone set he was wearing, tugging them down until they sat comfortably around his neck. “Good afternoon. Havin’ fun?” 

Ryker nodded. “Yeah. How long have I been here for?” 

“You were already half an hour into it when Adam left for work this morning, so… few hours, I’d say.” As he spoke, Carlos set a glass of water down on the other side of him. “You haven’t eaten or had anything to drink since yesterday. I know humans need to eat a lot more than vampires do, so I made you a- I think the internet called it a fruit platter? Except there’s more than just fruits on there, so… let’s call it a food platter instead.” 

Ryker felt himself smile as he examined the hard work Carlos had clearly put into it. It only had the freshest of fruits and berries from each packet and all the cheese had been sliced up already, despite how much he knew the vampire hated the smell. It was a pleasure to receive after such an intense hyperfocus.

His stomach growled almost immediately, as if it was just now starting to realise how hungry he really was.

“You did all this for me?” he asked in hushed awe, already tossing two grapes into his mouth. He could see Carlos practically beaming out the corner of his eye, so proud to have made something worth gushing over. “You said you were looking on the internet, too?”

The vampire nodded. “Yeah! I wanted to make something you could eat while you play your game. It’s not very fancy but…” He trailed off and shrugged. “I was excited to get the opportunity to do something for you, since you’re always doin’ stuff for me.”

“I could not have asked for anything better, man. Thank you.” 

After eating two more berries, Ryker reached out to grab the second wheelie chair beside his computer desk before pulling it towards him until it was positioned right beside his own. “Can I show you what I’ve been doing? I know it’s most likely pointless to you but I’m super proud of what I made.” 

Carlos didn’t even hesitate to sit down, leaning forward in his chair to pay close attention to what Ryker wanted to show him. . 

“It’s not pointless,” he gently argued, and those words were enough to ease whatever concerns he had about boring him with his game. “If it makes you happy, then that means it can’t be.”

"...Besides." He between for a moment, and the cheeky smile that appeared on his face when Ryker turned to look at him only caused him to smile too. "I've been around for every hyperfixation you've had since you were three. What's one more?"

-

Taglist: @choppedflowermuffinchild @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @emcscared-whumps @espresso-depresso-system @inkkswhumpandstuff @pigeonwhumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @roblingoblin285 @sacredwrath @some-thrilling-heroics @stabby-nunchucks @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @trans-writes @whump-blog @whumpsday @whumpshaped @whump-things @whumpycries @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thekittyburger @whumpdreamz

[whumpcloud]

TE | PC: Swap AU - Thrown Away

masterlist

content: bloodbag whumpee, vampire caretaker(s), intimate whumper, begging for death, broken bones + blood, referenced muzzling and beating, very very brief reference to noncon

Vincent is out of it. The world has been a blur for months now, and all he has the strength to do anymore is lie here and wait until he can be useful again. Though he isn't sure how useful he can really be, at the moment. He has no more blood left to offer, no more bones to safely break, not even enough of a mind to make it fun when it gets twisted and damaged like every other part of him.

The door clicks, and Vincent glances up. A vague, familiar feeling of fear grips him.

"Vincent, dear, you look awful," Lyfelde says, faux-softness in his tone. Vincent closes his eyes again as Lyfelde's hand cups his face. "Poor thing. You really have nothing left to give, hm?"

"Do you need something, Mr Lyfelde?" Vincent asks. "I'm exhausted…"

Lyfelde only ever wants two things anymore - Vincent as bait, or Vincent in his bed. Today, Vincent is finding himself hoping it's the former. But at least Lyfelde wants him.

As if Lyfelde ever wanted him at all, and not just someone to take advantage of. But that's not something Vincent lets himself think about.

"Come on, get up."

Vincent knows better than to disobey, but even pushing himself to sit up properly is an effort that makes his body tremble.

"Oh, Vincent." Lyfelde laughs softly as he helps Vincent to his feet. "It's alright. It'll be over soon enough."

Oh. Lyfelde doesn't want him.

Vincent wishes he could wonder what Lyfelde means, but he's known for a while. One day Lyfelde was going to let the bloodbag be killed. Vincent is desperate for that, at this point. For it to just end and go back to the way it was before Clary. But it won't.

So he doesn't struggle or complain, even as Lyfelde lays him in the trunk of a car. He just curls up, knowing what's coming. The car jolts his limp body, and he does an equal amount of nothing when Lyfelde lifts him out of the car. It isn't as though he has a choice, anyway. He doesn't have the strength to make a choice.

Lyfelde props him up against a wall, and pulls out a pocket knife, taking Vincent's hand and gently cutting a line through his palm. These things barely hurt anymore.

"You'll make a nice snack for some lucky bloodsucker," Lyfelde says, like he's stifling laughter. "You did well for so long, dear. But there's nothing much left in that pretty head of yours, is there? No fun at all."

Vincent can't say that Lyfelde is wrong. He bristles at the words anyway, and watches blearily as Lyfelde walks off.

At least he'll spend his last moments being useful. That's all he ever is.

Sunset, he thinks, as he stares up at the sky. Of course Lyfelde wouldn't put himself in danger just to abandon Vincent. And it means there's an entire night left for a vampire to find him and make this stop.

Vincent doesn't close his eyes until the sun is out of sight, and savours the memory.

---

Someone got messy with a meal, Cai thinks. That's what it smells like, anyway. That, or it's vampire hunters again. Cai is getting sick of them using themselves or each other as bait. Humans have such pathetic ideas.

Still, he hasn't eaten in a few days, and he's quick enough that he can get away if it's a trap. So he follows his nose.

Oh. That isn't bait, for sure. That's someone else's sloppy seconds, thrown onto the ground without a thought. If Cai couldn't hear the heartbeat he'd have thought the man was dead.

Cai crouches down. "Hey."

The human lets out a small, pained sound. "Are you a vampire?"

Cai tilts his head. "Yeah. Why?"

"Can you kill me when you're finished?"

Normally, Cai wouldn't bother answering and just do whatever he felt like doing. He isn't in a particularly murderous mood tonight, but that's really besides the point. Something has happened to this human. Whoever had him before did something awful to him.

"I don't want to leave you dead on the street, honestly," Cai says flatly. "I'll take you back with me. I'll bury you in the garden."

"...okay," the human breathes. "That sounds nice."

It probably shouldn't, Cai thinks. But it isn't his business if this human wants to die. He easily hoists the human over his shoulder and walks back to the house.

By the time Cai slams open the door, the human is fully unconscious, and Cai drops him unceremoniously onto the coffee table.

"I got dinner," Cai signs.

Clary freezes completely, her eyes widening. She grips the fabric of the sofa hard enough to tear it. Vincent, her Vincent, passed out on the coffee table, bruised all over, broken fingers and bloodstained skin, bite marks on his neck as though he's been someone's chewtoy.

"Dinner?" Clary squeaks.

"Is there something wrong with it?"

"That's Vincent." If Clary still breathed, she would be hyperventilating. "Vincent w-who--"

"Oh." Cai's face falls a bit. "He asked to die anyway. Do you want to kill him or will I?"

She feels faint. "He asked?"

"Yeah."

She could kill him. She could kill him, and who would know? Who would care? She wouldn't.

Lyfelde might.

"This could be a trap," Clary says suddenly. "By Lyfelde. To get me back. Or kill us."

Cai hesitates. "Would he really do that to Vincent?"

"I… I wouldn't put it past him." Clary looks over Vincent again. He's far too pale. "You have no idea what Lyfelde was like. I-If he was the one who- who had me, I- I wouldn't have gotten out, I--"

"Okay, I understand." Cai sits down next to Clary and squeezes her shoulder. "What are we going to do, then?"

Clary stares at Vincent, a million thoughts in her mind, and only one seems like the right answer. She thought she'd feel something if she saw him like this. Broken and battered. But there's no catharsis, no relief. He just looks older and more tired and less like the Vincent she knew and more like a dead man walking.

"Keep him," she says, finally. "If it's a trap, we'll be hurt worse for killing him. If it isn't, then there's no point in killing him like… this. It wouldn't feel any good."

The only way she will get any catharsis is with her own two hands wringing Vincent's neck.

"We can leave him on the couch," Clary mumbles.

---

Vincent… wakes?

Fear sets in. He asked to be killed, he knows he did, why would they keep him? He's a stupid, broken bloodbag, and he's barely even useful for that. A panicked sob escapes him.

A moment later there's someone looking over him. Same blonde hair and brown eyes, but the face is far, far more familiar this time, and Vincent squeezes his eyes shut again.

"Oh no, Clary," he whimpers.

He's utterly defenceless. She could rip his throat out with her teeth right now and he could do nothing to stop her. Tears stream down the sides of his face.

"Vincent," she says, and Vincent feels as though if he opens his eyes, he's going to see hers blazing in anger.

"I'm sorry!" he blurts out, bracing himself to be hurt. "I'm so, so sorry, I'm- I--"

"Stop talking."

He promptly shuts his mouth. He'd never speak again if she asked it of him.

Clary sits on the coffee table. She looks nice. He got so used to seeing her muzzled and bound and beaten that it's odd that she's simply… sitting there.

"Are you just apologising because you think I'm going to hurt you?" she asks, almost hisses it.

"N-No!" It's not quite the truth, and Clary only has to glare at him again to get him to admit it. "Yes! I'm sorry, please don't kill me, please, I- I can be useful, I--"

"Useful?" Clary snaps. "How exactly can you be useful to me?"

"M-My blood, my blood, you can feed from me!" Vincent tilts his neck, and Clary can only see even more scars and bruises that make her insides twist. "I'm j-just a bloodbag now anyway, I can- I can take it!"

Clary doesn't even know where to begin. Vincent, a bloodbag. If he didn't look the same, she would wonder if he was Vincent at all.

"I'm not going to feed from you." Clary folds her arms. "You look like shit and your blood smells gross."

Of course. He's only a bloodbag for vampires who can do no better. "Y-You can hurt me! I deserve it, I d-deserve it for everything I did to you."

"Stop babbling, I swear to God," Clary snarls. "What happened to you since I escaped?"

Vincent swallows. A lot of things he doesn't want to repeat. A lot of crying, and screaming, and begging. Being alone. Not being alone enough.

"M-Mr Lyfelde…" is all he manages to say, and Clary hates it, hates it, because the only thing in the world that can make her feel bad for Vincent is a bastard named Ambrose Lyfelde.

She hides her face in her hands. "I hate you."

"I…" Vincent swallows. I hate you and me, too. "I know."

A short, tense silence ensues.

"When was the last time you ate?" Clary asks, eventually, her voice softer than she expected it to be.

"U-Um…" Vincent tries his hardest to remember. "Last… night."

"...I'll send Cai out to get you something to eat," she sighs. "Maybe your blood will smell nicer after that."

So he can still be useful. She's caring enough to give him food. He's trapped here, he accepted that reality as soon as he saw her, but he might be okay. He wants to die - who wouldn't want to die by now? - but he knows Clary wouldn't be merciful enough to give him a death that wasn't excruciatingly painful.

That's something. It's good enough. Vincent lets himself pass out again.

(not sure if i'll write/post more, but if i do, please let me know if you don't wanna be on au taglists!) taglist: @whumpsday @whumpycries @whumpwillow @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @whumpshaped @suspicious-whumping-egg @chiswhumpcorner @melancholy-in-the-morning @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @bloodinkandashes @whump-me-all-night-long @sickophantic @itsmyworld23 @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @annablogsposts @whumpdreamz @thebirdsofgay @sonder35

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Foolish Dreams

TW: Implied past torture & captivity (choking, bruises, scratching), touch-starvation, being guarded due to past trauma, kinda emotional???

Full credit to @shywhumpauthor for this prompt. I hope this is a good read!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♤♤♤~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They thought they were over it. That it was just another fleeting emotion they could ignore. A frivolous want they could quite easily live without. After all, Whumpee had managed to function even with a scarce amount of their basic needs.

Sure, they'd already been with Caretaker for well over six months, but that didn't mean that all the scars from their past had been completely erased. Time isn't magical enough to make everything fade. This time; however, it wasn't thet they were in physical pain, aside from the usual come-and-go tension in their muscles, partially from apprehension and totally from their past torment.

It was a different kind of ache, something that plagued their soul, a monster lurking in the darkest corners of their mind. It made their chest tighten and their breathing go shallow just thanking about it. Like an itch they couldn't scratch.

They longed for a gentle touch. They didn't have anything specific they wished for, just whatever they could get to cater to their insatiable craving. It was something they could never do for themselves. It made them feel weak and desperate. Much like an animal trapped in a cage trying to claw its way out to no avail.

All they had to do was ask Caretaker. They'd gotten better at that. But they'd only ever asked for things they'd needed. Like help with stitches where they couldn't reach because the consequence of attempting that by themselves would be their death or severe blood loss if they were fortunate. Dire needs.

Caretaker had managed to slowly coax some of their wants out of them, but there was a major difference between what they liked on their pancakes and. . .this.

It wasn't just their pride that stood in their way, rather, it was a much deeper concern. The thought of someone else touching them for longer than was needed, for something unnecessary, made their skin crawl. It felt far too reminiscent of their time with Whumper, where they would have given anything to be free of that monster's touch, of the nails that dug into their fresh cuts, the fingers that wrapped around their neck, leaving deep purple bruises in their wake. They'd come to make synonyms of the words 'touch' and 'pain'.

But today, even the memories of their captivity couldn't torture them out of this.

"Whumpee? Is everything alright, love?"

Caretaker's gentle voice snapped them back to reality, and they turned their attention to them instead of the movie they'd pretty much drowned out anyway.

"Yeah. I'm fine," they replied evenly, their voice a million times calmer than the crashing waves of an overwhelming amount of emotions in their head.

Caretaker sighed deeply, the look in their eyes a clear indication of the number of times they'd had to deal with Whumpee's well-feigned stoicism. "Whumpee, you know you can talk to me about anything that troubles you, right?"

"Yes, I know," they snapped, and it came out much harsher than they'd intended. "This is just. . ." they faltered, and finally whatever resistance inside of them was obliterated.

"I-I know you'll probably think I'm just pathetic, but I don't care. I'd do anything for it, but please, please just hold me. Just a touch beyond necessity, anything, please. I'm not picky, jus-just PLEASE DO IT! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE, CARETAKER, PLEASE!"

Their lip quivered violently, and it had taken them a moment to register that they were crying as fresh, hot tears rolled down their cheeks and wet their shirt.

It had been so long since Caretaker had seen Whumpee's gaze fall downcast or heard them beg for something. It broke their heart, but they couldn't just watch.

Slowly, with just a small amount of trepidation, they reached out for them, pulling them close into their arms, letting them rest their head into the crook of their neck. As expected, Whumpee flinched violently, but they actually made no effort to leave Caretaker's embrace.

After a few solid minutes of crying, Whumpee let go, pulling out some tissue paper from the box near them and wiping their face.

Once they'd calmed down, Caretaker put each of their hands down on their shoulders, exchanging glances with them to silently ask if it was okay.

Whumpee flinched again, though less intense as the first time, but they nodded their affirmative, and Caretaker gently began to knead the corded tension out of their shoulders.

Even Whumpee themselves was shocked at how fast they melted into the touch. They couldn't actually believe what they'd been depriving themselves of, for so long, when it had been at their fingertips this whole time, all they had to do was ask. Okay, to their credit, maybe it wasn't that simple. It had felt like having to move mountains of trauma. But the way the tightness blissfully dissipated from their muscles and how Caretaker was concerned enough to ask what felt too soft to be relieving and what felt rough enough to be slightly too painful, just the fact that they genuinely cared made it seem all the more worthwhile.

Whumpee had relaxed enough to close their eyes, to go completely boneless under their touch. . .the same Whumpee that still slept with one eye open and a penknife near them on their worst days. It sparked a few tears of joy to prick at Caretaker's eyes.

Whumpee turned to them, and a rare smile found its way onto their lips. "Thank you," they breathed out, and they meant it with every fibre of their being.

"Don't mention it, lovely. Anytime you need this, just ask me. I've been meaning to for a while actually, but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. You're never a burden, Whumpee, especially not when it comes to something like this," they replied, voicing out Whumpee's internal fears.

"Besides, you look adorable like this, so why wouldn't I want to?" they added, grinning.

Whumpee laughed softly as Caretaker continued rubbing their shoulders.

Sometimes, it was okay to let down your guard. To break down reinforced concrete walls of indifference built by years of pain. With the right person, you could learn to live freely again, without the shackles of constant anxiety and apprehension. It is true that a simple touch does not possess the power to erase all the scars of the past, but it could tremendously improve the present.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @catsarecool00 @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptember 2023, Day 18

“You said I’d be safe here”

Ambushed | Paranoia | Being watched

The Bee's Whumptember Masterlist 

~1720 words

CW: “bad” caretaker (literally, you’ll see what I mean), mermaid whumpee, “it” as a pronoun, kidnapping, implied mermaid trafficking

------------

"Caretaker? Where, uh… where exactly are we?"

Caretaker looked back at the mermaid that haphazardly clung onto their shoulders.

“Almost home.” They grunted, hiking the mermaid resting on their back up so their tail wasn’t dragging on the ground again. Caretaker was decently strong, but lugging a mermaid from the docks where they had been captured all the way back to your house would have made anyone's body protest and ache after a while. Theirs was no exception.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Whumpee whispered. “You should have just let me go… Someone could have seen us. I think I saw someone following us!”

“Yeah, well I couldn’t just leave you there, and I couldn’t just let you go. They’ve got hunter ships covering half the gulf, you’d never make it.” Caretaker spotted their house in the distance, the single lit window a shining beacon through the oppressive darkness surrounding them. A second wind graced them with new energy. Almost there… Almost there. God, their back was killing them. “And if someone’s following us, then I’ll kick their ass and we’ll keep going.”

The mermaid sat silent for a moment, the day's events flipping through their mind like an ancient film reel. Their eyes flicked around the darkness pressing in on them, odd shapes morphing and charging in the blackness and making their imagination run wild. Goosebumps prickled up their arms and back. 

“How… How do I know I can trust you?”

“Does it really matter? Not like you could do anything about it one way or the other.”

The arms clutching around Caretaker’s neck grasped themselves tighter, and Whumpee went silent, leaving only the sound of gravel crunching under Caretaker’s feet as they continued their trudge to the cottage. Caretaker sucked in an extra deep breath and let out a small groan. Maybe that response wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been.

“... look, I promise you can trust me. You’ll be safe here. We’ll get you in a bathtub with some water, and figure out our next steps together, okay?”

Whumpee took in a raggedy breath near Caretaker’s ear, one that Caretaker knew was in a vain attempt to hide their dangerously dried-out state. “Yeah… thank you.”

A sudden beam of light cut through the night from down the path they had just trekked, swooping over their heads as it slowly came up over the hill.

“Shit…”

Caretaker ran the rest of the short distance to their house, much to the dismay of a very jostled Whumpee, and they quickly locked the door behind them, turning off the light and running to the bathroom to turn on the water before sloughing the now wide-eyed mermaid into the filling tub with a small yelp.

“What’s going on?” they whispered, as if the danger would be able to hear the conversation and snatch them away again with yet another net.

“You know how to work the spigot? Turn the knob to make it hotter and colder?”

“Uh, I do now… But–, but what’s happening, please?”

“I think you were right, someone followed us.” Caretaker held their hand under the water for a moment before adjusting the knob as the blood drained from Whumpee’s face. “I saw a light coming up the trail and my house is the only one up this way, so it couldn’t be for anyone but me. I’m gonna turn off the lights in here, and you’re gonna have to pretend you’re not here while I deal with… whoever.”

“They’re coming for me!” the mermaid squeaked, clutching at the sides of the tub.

“You don’t know that, it could just be someone on a late-night visit.”

“That’s not a thing that people do!” 

“Actually, my friends do sometimes–”

The mermaid grabbed Caretaker by the lapel and pulled them in close. “You said I’d be safe here,” they breathed, serious as the grave, practically shaking as they held themself up. “You just promised me.”

Caretaker cupped the mermaid's hands in their own and pulled them off their shirt, firmly setting them back down on the edge of the tub. “Sometimes people break promises. I’ll do my best to keep this one.”

A hard knock at the door echoed through the house, sounding out over even the noisy water hitting the porcelain of the bathtub. Caretaker jumped up to the door and quickly flicked off the lights.

“I’ll go deal with this then come back to get you as soon as we’re done. Don’t make a sound.”

“Wait!” Whumpee called. “Should I turn off the water?”

“No, you need it, I’ll just say I’m drawing a bath for insomnia or something. Don’t let it overflow.”

“Oh, uh–” The door slammed shut, plunging the mermaid into near-complete darkness with the click of a lock. They tensed up even more, if that was even possible, only kept company by the gushing sound of water and the sliver of light peeking under the door. Their head whipped around in the darkness, looking for any signs of someone watching them even though all logic said that was very much impossible, and they felt their eyes starting to burn. They weren’t even sure if it was because of held-back tears or their sorely dried-out face. Probably both. They could barely breathe. The bathtub wasn’t large enough for them to be able to dunk their face down, so they had to resort to splashing water onto their face and hoping a more sufficient solution would come along once Caretaker came back…

 If it was Caretaker who came back… 

Whumpee didn’t want to consider it might be the very hunters who had captured them who might be the next ones to grace the bathroom doorway.

They leaned back, biting their lip as they death-gripped the sides of the tub. Someone was going to find them, they knew it. If not now, then soon. It was impossible to smuggle a mermaid across land, especially such a ‘prize’ like Whumpee, so they’d been told. So many people would be searching for them. It was only a matter of time. 

They’d never be able to feel the water rush against their face again, the briefest moments of euphoria when they jumped out of the water and felt gravity take hold, pulling them back down into the water’s cool embrace. They’d never see the vibrant colors of the coral again, the fish all around them, darting this way and that without a care in the world, before becoming one unified entity and moving as one away from some predator. They wouldn’t even see any more of those stupid eels that they hated when they were a child, the eels that still creeped them out to this day. Their heart hurt for the eels.

Tears sprang to their eyes, which just alarmed them more because they’d never cried above water before, and then they started crying harder. They just wanted to go home. Just one more time. Just one more time, that’s all they asked.

------------

Caretaker gently closed the bathroom door and clicked the outside lock into place just as another knock echoed through the house, making their heart nearly seize out of their chest.

They stormed over to their front door, slamming it open to the sight of a person leaning against the doorframe, one foot pressed up under them, arms crossed and head tilted down in a vague caricature of a… mobster? Hardened detective? Caretaker narrowed their eyes, aggressively unamused.

“Ya got the goods?” they grunted in a very bad approximation of an accent. They looked up at Caretaker through eyebrows and half-lidded eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing, Partner?”

Partner straightened up. “Uh… you said to meet you here at midnight?”

Caretaker clapped their hands together as they stared at Partner with dinner plate-sized eyes and gritted teeth, in a vague attempt to not throttle them. “First of all, it's almost two, and second of all, no I did not.”

“Right, whatever.” Partner cooly walked past Caretaker into the house, flicking the light switch and bathing the living room in a warm glow. “You got the mermaid though?”

“You were supposed to wait for my call, which I said would probably come tomorrow morning and then you’d come over and I’d introduce you. No one ever said anything about meeting at midnight, and especially not at 2 a.m. in the middle of the heist.”

“Right, yeah, but did you get the mermaid?”

Caretaker slammed the door and growled. “No thanks to you.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is. You got the mermaid, and no one’s following you, ‘cept for me, of course, because I was looking out for you and trying to make sure you weren’t being followed.” Partner lied halfheartedly. “Everything’s going great. We already got the hard part done, now we just need to smuggle it across the border and sell the damn thing.” 

Partner flopped down on the couch and patted the seat beside them, an invitation which Caretaker ignored in favor of standing directly in front of them, seething.

“The problem, Partner,” Caretaker growled. “Is that we saw your light coming up the road, and now it thinks the hunters are onto us. I mean, hell, I did too, I was fully ready to cave your face in. It's probably having a panic attack in the bathroom now, and it’s gonna be a nightmare to calm down. We need it to trust us.”

“Who cares if it trusts us?” Partner groaned. “Not like it can run. And even then, there's two of us and one of it, we can just knock it out and be done.”

Caretaker snatched the back of Partner’s jacket and dragged them off the couch toward the bathroom.

“Right, I’m gonna tell the thing that it was just my friend after all, then you’re gonna introduce yourself and be so nice and believable and you’re gonna help calm it down. And it’s going to trust us.” Caretaker hissed in Partner’s ear, the sound of the still running faucet growing louder with each step. “Got it?”

Partner rolled their eyes with a sigh. “Got it.”

“Good. You better pray to whatever god you believe in you haven’t ruined this.”

“So dramatic, Caretaker. We’ll be fine.” Partner jumped in front of Caretaker and unlocked the bathroom door, slamming it open with little care.

“What could go wrong?”

Whumpee let out a terrified scream.

@whumptember

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

whumptober day 17

don't talk to me about what month it is I still feel like I'm in august. also ik the last whumptober I posted was day eight but I just really wanted to post this one. also I might be done with whumptober this year after this? not because I finished the prompts but because I don't want to keep going. so. but anyway!!

No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.” Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”

cws: thinking new caretaker is a whumper, whumpee trying to figure out what they're "allowed" to do, themes of whumpee being owned and referring to themself as a pet, collars, caretaker is trying his best but he's not doing great

1.4k words

Caretaker had told me that I had a room of my own, here. It was an odd statement. Did he mean that I was supposed to retreat here when he couldn’t stand to see my face anymore? That I would only ever be punished here so that this was the only room that needed blood cleaned out of it? That I would be confined here indefinitely, unable to see the rest of the house?

Likes and dislikes were dangerous territory for pets. Still, I thought I’d be very grateful if that last one wasn’t the case and I would be allowed outside (maybe, sometimes, if it wasn’t too much trouble). I would not be ungrateful if I was kept in this room forever. I would never be ungrateful, ever. Especially not in a room with glow in the dark stars on the ceiling and a window. I’d still see the sun sometimes, even. Not today—it was raining, but the rain wasn’t bad either. The soft pitter-patter was oddly soothing.

I moved closer to the window, hoping that it was a thing I was allowed to do and I hadn’t misinterpreted anything. There was a thick blue curtain covering most of the window, and I hesitated. Caretaker had not clarified if I was allowed to touch things in this room, just that I was supposed to be here.

Would it be overstepping to move the curtain enough for me to watch the rain? I could just listen. The sound wasn’t bad. I would be grateful to see, but listening on its own wasn’t bad, and I didn’t know if I was allowed to touch things.

My dilemma was interrupted by a sharp tap at the door, and I spun around to face Caretaker standing in the doorframe of the room. He looked vaguely uncomfortable. Had I been supposed to close the door?

“Dinner’s ready,” he told me after an unnecessarily long pause where I was probably supposed to say something. “Do you, um. Do you like beef stew?”

Likes and dislikes were for humans. “I will eat whatever you see fit to serve me, sir.”

“Right,” he said softly. “Right. I’ve- yeah. Beef stew. In the kitchen.”

The kitchen was blue, mostly. There was galaxy wallpaper behind the stove, and I found myself hoping that Caretaker would give me kitchen duty sometimes, in this pretty place. (Nope- no, I didn’t hope, I just thought I would be very grateful if I was given kitchen duty.)

Bowls (which were purple, in case I decided that it mattered somehow) were already set out with food in them. Caretaker sat down and gestured for me to sit down too, and with the way he alternated between staring at me and avoiding eye contact, I guessed that he usually ate alone.

“I, um. I might just need to mind my own business, Whumpee, but is your collar too tight?”

Yes. That was how they sent us, to prevent running in the beginning if anyone got spooked by their new owner. Loose enough that it wouldn’t affect breathing if you focused, tight enough that it would affect breathing if you tried to fight or run or any of the things pets aren’t supposed to do. I was almost certain that Caretaker had been sent this information, and I didn’t know what he’d define as too tight. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Is it uncomfortable?” Of course it was uncomfortable, but I couldn’t just say that. How was I supposed to phrase it in a polite way? “Just, you know, because we’re eating, and I feel like a tight collar would be uncomfortable to eat with, but I really don’t understand how these things work, I just. I wanted to tell you that if you wanted to loosen it, that would be okay.”

Okay. Okay. Caretaker was- he was testing me. I was not supposed to touch the collar; I knew that. I knew this game. This was a test I could pass. “I would be happy to wear the collar however tight you’d like me to, sir.”

“… Thank you,” he said slowly, which meant I said the right thing, but his tone didn’t really sound like I’d said the right thing. “Would it be uncomfortable to eat in a collar that’s too tight?”

I had not thought about that. Probably, yes, but I was uncomfortable all the time, and I was not going to fail whatever this was so that I could be comfortable. “I understand that I’m not allowed to touch my collar, sir.” I promise I understand, you don’t have to test me on it. “It’s not my place, and I’ll accept however the collar fits.”

“You aren’t allowed to touch it?” He looked confused. I wondered if he somehow missed all the information that should’ve been sent to him. “What if you grew and it didn’t fit anymore, what would you do then?”

“It would be up to my owner to decide when I needed my collar adjusted, and to adjust it.”

He frowned. “Okay. Do you want me to adjust your collar so that it’s looser?”

Pets didn’t want, but- “I would be very grateful if that was the decision you made, sir.”

“Okay,” he said again. “Yeah, I can do that.” And he stood up and walked around to stand behind me, which, shit. I had not followed this thought through. Because now Caretaker was behind me, where I couldn’t even see him and didn’t know what he was doing. Of course, he was allowed to do whatever he wanted to me, and he wasn’t required to warn me, but I liked- I was very grateful when things happened to work in the favor of me being able to see.

Caretaker’s fingers brushed against the back of my neck, and I did my best to keep from flinching. That wasn’t even unexpected; he’d stood up after saying he was going to touch my collar, and even if he hadn’t warned me, I shouldn’t be flinching away from my owner. Good pets didn’t flinch away from the people that tried to touch them.

I was careful; I didn’t flinch and I didn’t recoil and I didn’t arch my back away from the touch. But I must not have stayed quite still enough, because Caretaker hesitated and lifted his fingers and cleared his throat. “I- just. I’m just gonna grab that collar, okay?” I swallowed, hoping to somehow fix my dry throat, but it only served to push the limits of the collar more. Caretaker reached for my collar again, and I was still and his fingers were steady, pulling the collar off, loosening it a generous amount before clasping it again.

I blinked while Caretaker sat back down. The collar was, it was… very loose. Which was what I’d kind of almost asked for, and a perfect example of why I wasn’t supposed to ask for things. This was looser than collars were supposed to be. This would chafe, when I slept, and Caretaker had been kind and given me exactly what I wanted so who was I to complain?

“Is that any better?” Caretaker asked, and I refocused on the face in front of me.

“Yes, sir. Thank you for your kindness.”

He nodded slowly, eyes skimming over my face, looking for something, but I couldn’t tell exactly what. “Of course, Whumpee. If you ever need the… tightness of your collar changed, I can fix that up for you.”

Trap, trap, trap. “Thank you, sir.”

“Mhm.” He pushed one of the bowls of soup to me. “I don’t know if you’re used to eating with other people or not—I’ve lived alone for awhile, but we can eat together if you’d like. Anyway. It’s beef stew, tonight. If you don’t mind.”

I didn’t. I’d never mind what food got handed to me, especially if he was telling me that he wanted me to eat whatever he was eating every night. He was usually vague, I’d learned, but I was fairly certain that I’d found the right takeaway from that statement. And I lifted a spoon of the stew to my mouth, and it was seasoned well and tasted wonderful. If I was eating like this every night, well, I could handle this stranger being vague and uncertain sometimes. This could be a survivable thing.

[serickswrites]

Consider this : two or more whumpees being taken care of by different caretakers. And when the caretakers bring them to meet for the first time it turns out they already met before and are really happy to see each other. When one caretaker asks how they met they just say " oh we were torture buddies "

Oh, this is such a sweet idea! I love it. I hope this is what you were envisioning.

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, referenced pet whump, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretakers and whumpees

Caretaker stood at the end of the bed, breakfast tray in hand. Whumpee was hunched over on themself. Had been hunched over like this for days. They would eat. They would sleep. But they would recoil from Caretaker's touch. And they would barely talk.

"Whumpee, honey, you don't have to do anything just yet."

"I want to see them, Caretaker. I need to see them." Whumpee's voice was barely audible.

"Are you sure?"

Whumpee looked up at Caretaker with tear-filled eyes. "Absolutely."

Hours later, Caretaker was walking closely with Whumpee to the park. They had made a few calls and arranged this meeting. But they were worried. There was so much potential for this to go wrong.

They could see two people sitting on the park bench, looking out over the stream that ran through the park. One of the figures rose and ran straight for Whumpee. Caretaker stepped in front of Whumpee, putting one arm out to stop the person.

"SECOND PET!" The person shouted as they ran.

"First Pet!" Whumpee replied an ducked under Caretaker's arm and ran to embrace the person.

"Jesus Second Whumpee, you can't run off like that. I thought something terrible had happened." The second person came up.

"Sorry Other Caretaker. I couldn't help myself. Seeing Second Pet. I had to," they sobbed.

Whumpee held their hand and squeezed. "My fault, Other Caretaker."

Caretaker held out their hand to Other Caretaker. "My name is Caretaker. I'm Whumpee's partner."

"I'm Other Caretaker. I'm Second Whumpee's partner."

"Your name is Whumpee?" First Pet Second Whumpee whispered.

"Yeah. It's nice to meet you, Second Whumpee." Whumpee smiled through their tears.

"You mean to tell me you didn't know each other's names?" Other Caretaker looked at their partner.

Whumpee shook their head. "The Master," they swallowed. "The Master wouldn't let us. We could barely speak to each other. We could watch the Master hurt each other. But we weren't allowed to speak."

"But it was their kindness that helped me make it through and back to you, Other Caretaker."

"Well, I'm glad both of you made it out," Caretaker said as they watched their partner embrace their friend.

"We're torture buddies," Second Whumpee joked.

Whumpee gave a bark of laughter. "Yeah, I guess we are."

[hurting-fictional-people]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a continuation to “Begging to be hurt + starvation” set some time after whumpee has been rescued and caretaker finds out about whumpees conditioning after trying to give them food?

Hii, yeah of course I can! I’ve reread this so many times that I can’t tell anymore if I like it, but I did my best haha... hope you like it, Anon <3

(this one, just like the first part, is pretty much all @boxofsilence’s idea, I just made it into a drabble :) )

CW: self harm tw, food tw, starvation, conditioned whumpee, aftermath of whump

Continued from here

-

“C’mon Whumpee, you have to eat something, please.”

It’s been a week since they were found in Whumper’s house, kneeling in a cell, more scars than Caretaker could count littering their body.

And they haven’t eaten since.

“You can’t go without food for this long, love. I can make you anything you want, just tell me what and I’ll get it for you.”

Whumpee raises their eyes, and Caretaker fights the urge to look away from the hollowness lurking there. No more glowing smiles or hearty laughter resides behind their gaze – there’s only fear and submission where there once stood happiness and curiosity.

“Please, I don’t want to be h– I, I just don’t want to–” Whumpee closes their mouth and lets the words die unspoken, face falling as well as their head when their stomach growls.

“Whumpee, please. If you don’t eat soon, I’ll have to call the doctor. I don’t want to force you to do anything but we’re running out of options here and letting you starve isn’t one of them.”

Wrong choice of words, Caretaker realizes as soon as they leave their lips and Whumpee’s face goes completely pale. They hug themself tighter, and Caretaker could cry at the fear on their face. Fear of them.

“Whumpee, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“Okay,” Whumpee whispers. Caretaker’s heart leaps at the sound, even though Whumpee seems to be talking to themself more than anyone else. “Okay.”

Caretaker is ready to get up and go to the supermarket when Whumpee drops to their knees.

“Please Caretaker, hurt me.” It is said in such a meek, lifeless voice, they are sure they misheard. And then Whumpee says it again, louder, a little more firmly. “Please, hurt me.”

“What?”

When they look up at Caretaker’s horrified eyes, there’s only blank resolution on their face.

“I can be good. I’m sorry for resisting so long. Please punish me.” And then lower, whispered, scared, “I just, just wanted to not… feel pain for a while. I am sorry.”

Caretaker falls to their knees in front of Whumpee, trying to hold the alarm off their face, knowing that this much horror couldn’t possibly be held back. “Whumpee, I will never hurt you. I don’t, I don’t know what happened, but I promise, I won’t ever cause you pain.”

“Please,” they say again, defeated tears slipping down their cheeks. “I’m so hungry. Please hurt me.”

Caretaker can almost hear their own heart shattering into thousands of pieces as they take a deep, shuddering breath. “Is that, is that something Whumper did to you? Hurt you for food?”

Whumpee simply stares at them and offers their arms, filled with scars in all stages of healing.

Caretaker feels sick.

“We don’t do this here, love. You can eat as much as you want to, whenever you want to. You don’t have to trade pain for food, Whumpee. Not here, not ever again.”

But if anything, Caretaker’s words only seem to make Whumpee cry harder.

“Please. What, w-what do you… want then? I can be good, just please, please I’m so hungry.”

Caretaker holds their breath at the desperation in Whumpee’s face, the way they search their eyes for what condition Caretaker will offer in exchange for something no one should ever be deprived of.

“Nothing. I promise, I don’t want anything but you being okay.”

But Whumpee’s crying doesn’t abate, and they seem to have neither heard nor believed them.

-

The plate is set in front of Whumpee an hour later, a complete meal of what Caretaker knows are their favorites. Still, when they look at it, it's only to look back up at Caretaker with wide, pleading eyes.

They don’t say anything. Whumpee stopped begging right after Caretaker asked them to, on their very first day back home. But their eyes didn’t – the words are still there, written for the world to see even if they aren’t being voiced.

Please hurt me, I’m hungry.

Caretaker shivers and pushes the plate closer to Whumpee.

“Go on. I made it for you, eat up.”

Tears well up in their eyes, but they still make no move to reach for the fork.

“Whumpee I don’t know how else to say it. I won’t hurt you. You don’t have to– you can eat. Please.”

They look up again, but there’s only hopeless pleading in those eyes, and Caretaker can’t help but get up and turn away.

“The food is yours whenever you want it,” they say from the kitchen threshold, not daring to look back. “You don’t have to eat it in front of me. Just please, eat.”

Caretaker leaves, and does their best to keep quiet when they close themself in the bathroom and weep.

-

When they go back to the kitchen, the plate is empty, barely any scrap left. Caretaker’s gaze dances from the plate to Whumpee, who simply stares at them with a not-entirely-here look.

“You did it!” they breathe, a weight lifted from their shoulders as Caretaker steps closer, a smile spreading across their face. “I’m proud of you, love.”

“Thank you,” they murmur, and Caretaker tries not to flinch at the lack of emotion behind the words. “Can, can I have some water? Please?”

“Yeah, of course. Hm, I thought I’d given you a glass, sorry,” they say with a shake of their head towards the table.

Caretaker is reaching for the cabinet when they hear it – drip drip drip. They have their hand around a mug when they remember they did, in fact, give Whumpee a glass.

When they turn their head back, from a distance, they find what they hadn’t before. The source of the dripping.

A puddle of blood surrounds Whumpee’s chair, more trailing down from the deep gash across their arm and falling on sharp pieces of broken glass.

The mug slips from Caretaker’s fingers and shatters on the floor, broken in thousands of pieces as they cross the kitchen and crouch down in front of Whumpee, grabbing their wounded arm and, as gently as they can, opening bloodied fingers that still hold on to the shard they sliced their own skin open with. 

“W-w-why? Why did you do this?”

“You only get to eat if you hurt first,” Whumpee says, voice breathy and distant, words from a past Caretaker would do anything to save them from.

“You didn’t–, didn’t have to–, I told you–“

But Whumpee isn’t there anymore to listen to Caretaker’s stutter. Their eyes grow unfocused before they even start, and by the time Caretaker dares look into their face, it is to see them passing out, slipping from the chair and into Caretaker’s arms as their body goes lax.

With trembling fingers and Whumpee’s limp form in their arms, Caretaker calls for help while staring at their pale face, peaceful in unconsciousness in a way they aren’t anymore when awake.

As they wait for the ambulance, Caretaker can only hug them closer and imagine every single way they can make Whumper pay for this.

[shydragonrider]

When the Darkness Comes -2

Warnings: Poisoned, respiratory distress, high fever, needle tw, nausea, begging, scared whumpee, harsh caretaker, parental death mention.

Tagging @whumpwillow and @thelazywitchphotographer

“How does the poison work?” Hero asked.

Superhero frowned. “It will cause his organs to shut down.”

“But you have the antidote?”

“Yes. Though if we don’t find him soon, it will be too late to matter. Maybe it already is.”

They had spent nearly five hours searching for Supervillain. And of course, he had run off towards the woods. Hero tried her hardest not to jump at every shadow, the memory of his hands around her throat still fresh in her mind.

“He couldn’t have gotten far. It incapacitates quickly.” Superhero called.

Hero continued down the footpath, shining her flashlight through the dark trees.

A new sound, one that had nothing to do with the sleet, reached her ears. It sounded like... Breathing?

“Superhero. I think I’ve found something.” Hero called in a hushed tone, and crept off the path, rounding a tree.

Supervillain was sprawled out on his stomach, his ribs heaving with each labored breath.

Hero hesitated, remembering how he had tried to strangle her. Then, she crouched by his side, and, bracing herself, she flipped him over onto his back, even as her sister joined her.

His heavy breathing hitched, and he struggled weakly, eyes rolling wildly in his head.

“Lie still.”

“H-hero?” Supervillain stuttered, his already labored breathing increasing to the point that he was gasping.

“Calm down.” Hero said quietly, but Supervillain was in no state to see reason.

Superhero crouched beside him, grabbing one of his arms, and uncapping a syringe.

Supervillain whimpered, trying to tug his arm free.

“N-no. You- hnghhh, y-you don’t- I c-can’t...”

“Shut it.” Superhero snarled, ignoring Hero’s glare, and jabbing the needle into Supervillain’s arm. The man whimpered, struggling feebly.

“Pl-plea-please.” He stammered. “I- nghhh, It’s n-not, I-I don’t-”

“I said shut up.” Superhero snapped.

“Don’t be so harsh.” Hero said quietly.

“This fucking bastard tried to strangle you a few hours ago, Hero. Do you really think I care about his well-being?”

Supervillain whined, shifting weakly on his back.

“Just because you inexplicably want to save him doesn’t mean he deserves it. Just because he’s hurt now doesn’t excuse anything that he’s done.”

“No. It doesn’t.” Hero agreed.  “But he’s hurt and sick and terrified. You don’t need to make it any worse.”

“Why do you care so much about the man who tried to murder you?”

At the words, Supervillain whimpered.

“I-I-I’m -hnnn- sorry. So, so s-sorry.”

Superhero glared down at him.

“Sure you are.” She sneered, and Hero clenched her teeth.

“Now what?” She asked, voice tightly controlled.

“Now, we wait. If he makes it through to sunrise, he may be able to pull through. But even if he does...”

“What?”

“He’ll be sick for days. Weeks even. And there’s nothing that can be done about it. But then, it’s not our problem. We just take him to jail, and be done with him.”

“We can’t.” Hero whispered.

“Why not? What’s the problem now?”

“They’ll leave him to rot if we turn him in.”

“Is that less than he deserves?”

Supervillain shivered, a broken sob wracking his body.

For a long moment, Hero didn’t answer. After all, didn’t he deserve it?

She shook herself. “Mom wouldn’t have-”

“Mom is gone, Hero.”

“Yeah, but what she taught us isn’t. She wouldn’t have left him to rot in a cell.”

“Hero. People like him are the reason mom is gone.”

“It wasn’t him, though.” Hero said, gently brushing Supervillain’s soaked hair off of his scorching forehead.

Supervillain moaned, closing his eyes.

“What do you propose we do. Take him home?”

Hero looked up at her sister.

Superhero shook her head. “No! No! I won’t allow it. We are not bringing this bastard home.”

Hero sat back, crossing her arms, glaring at her older sister until she relented.

“You’re lucky I love you.” She hissed, and took her phone out, calling their brother.

**************

It was 5:30 in the morning when Hero unlocked to door to the conjoined house she shared with her siblings.

Behind her, Brother came in, the shivering Supervillain slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

He walked right through to the guest bedroom, and more or less dropped Supervillain on the bed.

Hero looked over at her brother.

“Why the hell do you want to save this monster, Hero?” He asked.

Hero said nothing, and he shook his head, walking out and closing the door.

Hero sighed, walking into the bathroom, and stripping off her wet clothes, once she had changed, she went to her Brother’s room, and grabbed a pair of boxers, a t-shirt, and a first aid kit, before walking back to Supervillain’s side.

It was hard to believe that mere hours ago he’d tried to kill her. He’d been so smug and cruel.

Now he was lying in her spare bed, trembling all over.

Hero picked up a pocket knife, cutting the man’s soaked shirt off.

He groaned as she wiped a disinfectant over the puncture wound in his side, and the exit wound on his back.

“Pl-please...” He rasped, picking his head up, only to drop back to the pillow, whimpering in pain.

Hero said nothing as she bandaged him. She didn’t know what to say. After all, he had tried to throttle her.

Maybe Superhero is right... Maybe I should just take him to the authorities.

But she knew that there was no way that ended well for Supervillain, and as of now, he was her responsibility.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Nemesis - Part 8

This one is... something. I was supposed to be asleep hours ago. The sun has come up. But it was all more than worth it, and now I am going to pass out.

Based on votes from last time, option B was chosen-- speak to Leader and Hacker. There’s going to be a little flip in allegiances this time around, and some questions will finally be answered! The choose your own adventure aspect is going to be a bit different too, this time around, but more detail about that at the end.

For now, I hope you enjoy!

CW//Drugged whumpee, confusion, nightmares, past trauma, murder, strangled to death, minor body horror (shapeshifting)

The wave of cool water felt heavenly as it washed over Villain’s throat. Even as the movement exhausted them, they drank every drop as if it would be their last, and, when the last drop was at last reached, they whined.

“There you go.”

The voice felt closer, this time, coming from behind only one layer of fog rather than a thousand. It was close, just like the warm hand, wrapped around their shoulders, keeping them upright.

Everything was so warm...

“Hero... Hero warm...”

A slight chuckle replied to that, the hand on their back gently rubbing between their shoulder blades. Making them feel like they had blood, like there was something inside them other than dry ice.

They had been so cold, just a moment ago, mind spiraling with something... something bad. What had it been? Had it been anything at all?

Did it matter, now that Hero was here?

“Yeah. Hero warm. Are you warm enough?”

“Mhm.” They purred. The silk webbing wrapping around them, that which had once been uncomfortable, restraining, now felt so soft. They could sink into it forever...

“Do you need anything?”

“Tired.”

“You want to go back to bed?”

“Yeah. Hero stay...”

“Yeah. Yeah, Hero stay.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Hero.”

“Yeah. Goodnight, Villain.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

The warm body in Hero’s arms, hardly recognizable beneath layers of fleece and fabrics, took only a moment to turn heavy and limp, breathing slowly until it was only shown by the slow rise and fall of their chest.

Even as exhaustion tugged at their own limbs, even as they wanted more than anything to curl up in those blankets themself, they knew they couldn’t. Hero couldn’t stay.

As gently as they could manage, given Villain’s limp weight, they laid their ward down on their side. The unconscious person murmured and twitched as the blankets were readjusted, but did not stir.

Villain was comfortable. Villain was safe. That was what mattered. Even though...

Hero took their phone from their pocket, flinching at the blazing screen light.

Seven in the morning. They had hoped to be able to claim a few hours of rest alongside Villain, but their own worry had made that impossible. Now, it was already morning.

Hell, they were supposed to be eating with their team by six thirty. Yet, no one had knocked to awake them, yet.

Hero hauled themself to their feet, limbs aching and joints popping all the way. They hardly registered the chill beneath their feet as they made their way to the door.

Only for it to nearly slam into them. They leapt backwards, barely catching themself.

“Oh, shit, sorry!” Leader’s wide eyes showed that they had been expecting Hero just as much as they had been expecting them. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, you didn’t hit me.”

“Good.” Their gaze cast downwards, to the item carried in their arms-- a platter of food. Fortunately, none had fallen.

“Is that for Villain?”

“No, dimwit. I don’t think they could get anything down if you forced it down their throat. This is for you.”

“Oh.”

“When is the last time you ate?”

“Um...”

“Lunch yesterday, got it.”

“It’s... Isn’t everyone else already eating?”

“They’re already done. I told them you needed your rest. Thought you’d prefer eating in here.”

Hero shook their head, pointing back at the snoring pile of blankets.

“Can’t wake them up.”

“Oh.”

“I can just, um, eat out there.”

“No, you’re going to-” Leader bit their tongue, reformulating their sentence. “Um, how about you come and eat with me in my office? I haven’t eaten yet, either.”

Hero was in no way used to such a delicately formatted request.

“Sure.”

“Alright.” Leader nodded, handing over the platter, which they gratefully took. The two moved out of the room-- the former taking surprising care to close the door gently, so as to not make any noise.

The common room was deserted, thank the heavens. There were no distractions as they moved to Leader’s office. The chairs still hadn’t moved since their discussion last night. Hero sat.

“So...” Leader maneuvered around their side of their desk, seating themself. “How did you sleep?”

“Didn’t.”

“Not at all?”

“Maybe a bit. I’m not sure. Villain woke up and...” They trailed off.

“And?”

Leader had no need to know of Villain’s words.

“I had to get them back to sleep. They drank some water, too.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Hero perked their ears, hearing a noise beyond the office door. “I’m surprised that they’re leaving us alone.”

“I told them to.” Leader speared a chunk of scrambled eggs with a fork, raising it to their lips.

The events of last night came flooding back.

“What did you tell them? What did you tell everyone? I thought they’d have been all over me once they knew I came back. They do know, right?”

“They certainly wanted to bother you.” Leader swallowed the chunk of egg. “I didn’t let them.”

“So they do know?”

“Kinda.” They straightened themself, playing with the food upon their plate momentarily. “I told them that I came back last night, and found you here. As far as they know, you escaped on your own, and Villain’s whereabouts are unknown.”

“And they believed you?”

“I think they were just glad to know that you were okay. And, y’know, not dead. You’re probably going to get hounded with questions later, but, for now, I made it very clear that you’re to be left alone.”

“Thank you.” Hero spoke half-breathlessly.

“It’s not a problem. You’re officially relieved of mission duty until you’ve recovered.”

“R-Really?”

“You need to rest. Even if you aren’t injured, you’re exhausted.”

“Yeah...”

“So, until you’re feeling better, let me handle that.” They took another bite, making Hero note the fact that they hadn’t so much as looked at their own food. Even the thought of eating something made their stomach twist.

“Thank you.”

“Really, it’s fine. So... How is our, y’know, secret?”

“Villain?”

“Duh.”

“They’re... they’re fine, I think. Still out of it. But, like I said, I got them to drink some water. And they seemed to recognize me.”

“They didn’t recognize you before?”

“No. I don’t think so, at least. They were really out of it.”

“Are you ever planning on telling me what happened to them?”

Hero had almost forgotten that Leader was in the dark about the whole thing. Yet, they were being so trusting. Hell, they hadn’t even trusted Hero when they hadn’t been lying to them.

“Um...”

“You don’t have to.”

It was the first time they’d ever heard Leader string those particular words together.

“But, I would like to know. You need your rest, and Villain needs a caretaker. I was a nurse once, y’know.”

“You were?”

“I don’t know if your surprise should insult me. But, yes. I can keep watch over them while you sleep, but it would help if I actually knew what was wrong with them.”

“Yeah.” Hero scratched the back of their neck. “Thing is, um, I don’t really know?”

“Well, you said they were drugged, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know that for sure.”

“Do you know what with?”

“About that...”

Leader raised a brow.

Hero let their next words tumble out of their lips like a waterfall, unable to stop once it had begun to flow.

“Villain has been kept sedated to unconsciousness for the last year. They were supposed to be rehabilitated, but they were drugged instead. I don’t know why.”

Leader dropped their fork.

“Oh.”

“I don’t know what drugs they were given. Just that they were sedated.”

“I see. How did... How did they leave the rehab facility.”

Hero diverted their gaze.

“That’s not really important.”

A sigh.

“Okay. We can talk about that later. Thank you, for telling me. Was there... Was there a reason? They wouldn’t just be drugged for no reason.”

Hero shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t know.”

Leader bit their lip.

“With everything going on recently, I hesitate to ignore the possibility that Director had something to do with it.”

“You really think so?”

“Maybe. You aren’t planning on eating, are you?”

“I...” Hero felt their face flush. “I don’t feel too well.”

“That’s fine. I’ll clean up. You go get your rest, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll keep everyone away from your room. And, Hero?”

“Yeah?”

“Sleep in your own bed. I can keep an eye on Villain.”

“Thank you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Collapsing onto their own bed felt like falling onto a cloud. The mattress curved, shifting to cradle their aching body. For a moment, Hero could not help but nestle themself in it, letting their pillow almost envelope their head.

Birds had long since begun their outside chirping, but that was inconsequential. At that point, Hero could have slept through an earthquake.

But, apparently, not through a phone call.

The ringing noise jolted them from their blissful repose. Without thought, their hand blindly searched for the vibrating device on their nightstand. They blinked against the screen’s bright light.

Hacker. A wave of relief filled their chest-- they were okay. Without thought, they accepted the call, placing the phone to their ear.

“Hero?”

“Yep. Hey, Hacker.”

“Oh, thank god you’re alright! Though you do sound a little bit like garbage.”

“Hey.”

“I’m just saying, just saying. Oh, you have no idea how worried I was. The news only just broke this morning. I could hardly sleep, last night.”

“I thought you were like, nocturnal.”

A stutter.

“I mean, you kept me up all day, so. You know how it is. But I’m just really glad. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. Just tired.”

“You must be. The news... that wasn’t right, was it? They said you escaped from Villain.”

“The reports are wrong. I never got captured in the first place. But, I’m just fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it. How is...”

“Villain?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine. Really out of it, but fine.”

“That’s good. Look, I know you’re tired, but I just found something that... Well, I think you’re really gonna want to hear it.”

“What is it?”

“Not here. Not over the phone. Too dangerous.”

“You want to meet up again?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you sure that’s, like, a good idea?”

“Not in public like before. That wouldn’t be good for either of us, I don’t think. But I know another place.”

“Oh?”

“It’s, um, so, this is gonna sound bad. It’s this abandoned warehouse thing. And I know that sounds sketchy as hell, but it’s fine, I promise. I’ve been to a few parties there. The underground kind of people use it a lot, so it’s perfectly safe.”

“Um... Okay. Where is it?”

“Ashworth, on the East side. It’s pretty obvious once you see it, but the number on it is 62.”

“You’re sure this is a good idea?”

“Yeah. It’s not exactly, like, it’s abandoned, but there’s parties there all the time. And it should be empty during the day. How fast can you get there?”

“Um...” Hero blinked with leaden eyelids. “Does it have to be right now?”

“I guess it could wait. Why?”

“I feel like I’m going to collapse. I’m exhausted, Hacker.”

“Oh. How about tonight?”

“Tonight is fine.”

“Does eight sound good?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay. Uh, sleep well.”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

And, with a collapse onto their pillow and the click of a hung-up phone call, Hero was out.

Yet, as they fell into unconsciousness, a single thought couldn’t help but worm its way into their consciousness:

Hacker hated other people. They wouldn’t be caught dead going to a party.

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“Villain?”

It was a soft voice, yet marked with a distinctively higher pitch. Villain stirred, kicking at their layers of blankets.

“Hey, Villain. Can you open your mouth for me?”

The voice was odd, yet warm. They blinked their eyes open, letting the world come into focus around them.

A figure, kneeled down in front of them. A face...

They knew that face.

Someone familiar. Someone they’d fought before...

Leader. Why was Leader here?

“You need to open your mouth for me, okay?” It was Leader’s voice, but not their tone. It shouldn’t have been that soft, right? Or maybe their memories were simply foggy.

Regardless, they allowed their jaw to fall open. The taste of plastic filled their mouth as an eyedropper was placed upon their tongue, followed by the bitter taste of medicine, sliding down their throat. Villain struggled to cough up the liquid, but their jaw was gently held in position until they had swallowed every last drop.

“There.” The taste of plastic retreated, disappearing as a few sips of water were washed down after. “Thank you.”

“W- What is...”

“It’s gonna make all that drug withdrawal easier.”

The face went out of focus, replaced by a black dot, in the center of Villain’s vision. A spoon.

“Can you look at this?” A fingernail tapped the plastic dinnerware. They nodded.

Slowly, at first, the spoon began to move. First left to right, then up and down, before moving around more erratically. After a few moments, Villain blinked, shaking their head, eyes exhausted.

“Thank you.” The spoon lowered out of view. “You’re gonna need a bit more time to recover, but you’re getting there. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay. Goodnight, hun.”

Villain let their heavy eyelids fall closed, barely registering as their blankets were tucked back in around their chest. Warmth enveloped them, mind wrapped in blissful heat, until...

Chill. An unmistakable chill biting their skin, nipping at their reddened nose. They blinked, rubbing their eyes with one hand, the world around them taking shape.

Taking shape...

Taking the wrong shape.

Where were...

They blinked once more, their surroundings coming into focus. Far more focus than their vision had permitted them in a very, very long time.

The building before them was large enough to block out the sun.

It could only be described as a brick-- that was what it was, a brick of concrete, marked by little more than faded graffiti and tattered signs that may have once warned against trespassing. The only marking that remained clearly visible was the number-- the building number, sticking out in brown-painted metal.

62.

Villain felt bile rise in their throat. They knew exactly where they were. The car they’d used to get here was only a minute’s walk away. They needed to get to it, to run, to turn and leave as fast their legs would take them. This was it! Their second chance! Their chance to leave, to make everything right again. To unmake the decision that had ruined them.

But they could not turn. Their legs would not move under their command, instead, alien limbs began to move forward. Towards the building’s entrance.

No, no, please no!

They needed to turn, to leave, but...

They did not have the power to make that decision. They could only watch.

Why had they been here in the first place? All that time ago... To confront someone. To find Supervillain. They’d done something. Hurt someone, maybe?

Panic twisted their thoughts far too much to allow them to focus on such far-away memories. The panic of moving, moving eternally forwards. To the entrance, through the doorway.

Into the warehouse.

Inside was terribly dark, small slivers of light illuminating only an expanse of boxes long since left abandoned, their cargo doomed to rot. They had never understood why Supervillain spent so much time here. Certainly they could have found a better hideout.

But, Supervillain was strange. No one understood them.

They were here, though. Villain could feel them, hear heavy breathing, sense the way their presence disrupted the psychic landscape around.

Villain stilled.

Leave. Turn around. Go! It’s not worth it, they begged themself. But...

But their hand reached for their pocket, producing a phone in trembling hands. They tapped the screen, activating the flashlight, flooding the concrete floor with illumination.

However, they hardly needed the light to remember what came next. The image would never leave their mind, they were certain of it. Never remove itself from where it was burned irreversibly into their corneas.

One figure, leaned over another. Holding them to the ground.

Hands over their neck.

If Director had at any point struggled, their straining had long since ceased. The only sign of life they displayed came in the way they weakly kicked against Supervillain’s unyielding grip.

Villain was not the one being strangled, but they could not breathe even so.

“Who the hell is there?” The voice, that furious, terrible tone, echoed off of every concrete wall and rotten crate.

Supervillain looked up from their victim, gaze meeting that of their newfound witness.

“Who!”

Villain’s legs went stock-still. They could have run, at any point, they could have run, they could have run.

But...

Director stopped struggling. Supervillain stood, rolling out their shoulders.

For a moment, their body twisted, snapping and curling in on itself. Bones morphing, shrinking or extending, muscles rearranging themselves in a horrible scene.

Villain had forgotten just how horrible it was, to watch Supervillain use their powers.

When, at last, their transformation was complete, Villain was staring back at the living face of Director.

Cold, grey eyes met theirs.

“Villain?”

Supervillain, the new Director, grumbled, moving over to the corpse of their victim. Prying a walkie-talkie from their belt.

Holding it to their own mouth.

“Hello, HQ? I’m going to need some backup, here.”

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Inside the warehouse was terribly dark.

Hero’s legs felt nearly numb, wandering within, only the slightest slivers of light able to creep in through the door. They walked by those shreds of light, though they hardly did so much as allowing them to see their own feet before them.

Still, they walked. The building smelled terribly of rotten wood.

“Hacker?” Their voice echoed off of every concrete wall and rotten crate. “Are you here?”

“Over here.” The voice called from the other side of the building-- how had they gotten all the way over there?

“Where? Is there a light in this place?”

“It’s been abandoned for half a century. No, there are no lights. Doesn’t your phone have a flashlight?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Hero fumbled in their own pocket for a moment, taking out the device. Even with the flashlight, however, the darkness still seemed to envelope the whole world. They cast the beam of illumination around, scanning, yet finding nothing but crates and graffiti. “Where are you? I can’t see you.”

“Here.”

A figure stepped out from behind a support beam. Hacker’s small frame looked even more minuscule, surrounded by crates twice their height. They were half-hidden by an oversized hoodie, yet, their hood was not pulled up.

They always pulled their hood up.

Hero shook their head. They were being paranoid.

“I’m so glad to see you’re, like, alive.” Hacker smiled, approaching at a quick clip. Their laptop bag was hung across their chest, bouncing with their movements. “You aren’t hurt or anything, right?”

“No.” Hero shook their head, moving forward to meet their friend in the middle of the building. “I’m okay.”

“That’s too bad.”

“What?” Hero rubbed an ear-- had they heard wrong?

“I always heard you were a fucking idiot. Guess I just never realized to what extent.”

That... That was not Hacker’s voice.

Hero took a step back, a chill filling their chest.

Hacker’s form quickly began to fill their formerly oversized hoodie as, below them, their legs extended with a horrid noise of cracking and popping. Their facial features did the same, shifting as though molded in putty.

Director was taller than Hero.

Hero gulped.

Director took a step forth-- polished shoes clacking against concrete. How had Hero not noticed the shoes? Hacker would never wear something like that.

They...

Director held out a hand. To shake.

Hero raised an upper lip, baring their teeth.

“Where is Hacker?”

Laughter echoed against the walls.

“That’s what you’re worried about, right now?”

“They’re my friend!” Hero stomped. “And a civilian. Don’t bring them into this.”

Director smirked.

“I assure you, your friend is fine.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Well, right now, you’re going to have to.”

Hero took another step back, turning to run, already feeling their heartbeat elevate to a quick tattoo in their throat.

But...

There was nowhere to go.

“I didn’t bring you here for no reason, dear.”

There must have been a dozen of them, if not more. A dozen figures, scattered in loose formation, blocking the entrance. Surrounding them.

Hero spun back around. They were there now, behind Director, too.

And they knew every last face. Every reformed villain. Every rehab center graduate.

They gulped.

“Now.”

Hero didn’t realize how close Director had gotten, not until they laid a massive hand upon their shoulder.

“We are going to talk.”

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Thanks so much for reading! This time, the choices are going to be a bit different. In the way of, there are no choices! At least, none that I am coming up with. You guys have given so many amazing suggestions in the past, so I thought, how about you suggest what happens next in our story.

Instead of giving you guys choices, its up to you to decide what our Hero will do next. If you really like another person’s suggestion, you can vote for it! Otherwise, I will choose what I find the most interesting.

I’m hoping that this will be fun. If it proves to be difficult/complicated/etc, I can certainly add choices, but I thought I’d do something a bit different this time around ^^

[rat-father]

Had to build up some confidence but finally decided to write some scp whump <3 well d-class whump more specifically

for my whumpers who aren't in the scp community : scp 012 for more context

Tagging; @sideblogformindtrash

-- tw;; blood mention / unintentional self harm, blood loss, passing out, lab whump, multiple whumpees, panic, mild implied dissociation / derealisation, implied previous child abuse, temporary whumpee turned caretaker, miscommunication, multiple whumpers / caretakers --

„I said that I was cold, not that I wanted to cuddle.“ Vivek complained.

„Well, this is what my dad would do in the winter when it got really cold. We would sleep in the same bed and share our body heat to keep us warm,“ Sakari said. „And considering the fact that you're hugging me back, I don't think you're against it.“

He huffed, chin resting on top of their head as they hid in the crook of his neck. Their hair was still damp from the shower, smelling mildly of cheap shampoo. „I guess it does help,“ he begrudgingly grumbled.

„See!“

„Doesn't mean I like it! And don't you dare say that I do.“

Sakari's laugh got muffled by the fabric of his shirt. A mix of feelings stormed inside their brain, feeling that everything went by too fast those 3 short days. From the invitation with promise of money, to the pick up in the lone street, the pain of fresh ink burning letters into their skin, and now laying in bed with a murderer. Ultimately, their thoughts kept bringing them back to their dad, sick on the streets with nothing to help. It was stupid accepting such a sketchy thing, 30 days of work for 50k, it was too good to be true. But what other choice did they have?

A hiccuped sob escaped them, accompanied by silent tears.

„I miss him,“ they admitted, more to themselves then the prisoner next to them.

He hummed sympathetically. „Homesickness is something you'll get over.“ He was quiet for a couple seconds, quickly adding. „Maybe 'home' isn't the best word, uh.“

They gave a small smile. „I get what you mean.“

„If they take you for testing, then,“ Vivek inhaled deeply. „You don't have my permission to die.“

„Wasn't planning to, but I'll keep it in mind.“

~-~

Vivek attempted to focus on the words coming from the blabbering prisoner sitting in front of him. He was more interested in whatever he was going on about than the mushy food they expected him to eat. It was better quality then other prisons he'd been to at least, and didn't taste like salted cardboard. He couldn't ignore the other's foot constantly tapping against the ground, leg twitching in sync. He looked like he had to much sugar and caffeine for breakfast, words rolling off his tongue non stop while making wild gestures with his hands. Vivek didn't even know his name, he hadn't bothered introducing himself before starting his rant.

„Were you zoning out just then, Vi?“ 83' chuckled.

83' didn't care to give his name either, but he was distinct enough to recognize even without proper name. Significantly older then everyone else, hair whiter then his skin and surprisingly fluid in his movements. He wondered how his muscles still worked so well. His voice was gentle, albeit croaky.

Vivek glanced at the others, deep in conversation. „Yeah. Don't care for what he's saying.“ He leaned back, reading the numbers on the shirt of the guy in front him. 6499.

83' clapped him on his back. „He is a talkative young man for sure. My son had ADHD. He also used to talk for what felt like hours on end sometimes.“

He nodded along, mind drifting back to Sakari. They certainly enjoyed starting conversations as well. He remembered seeing them talk to minimum 4 different people before the introduction speech.

„You don't have my permission to die.“ His own words echoed in his head, replaying like a broken record. Those words meant nothing beyond the surface, it wouldn't stop them from getting killed in this place. Permission to die was stupid. He might as well pretend to put a spell on them to make then invincible, that would be about as useful.

~-~

Sakari's heart pounded in their chest, deafening the voice attempting to reach their ears. Worry and dread knotted together in their stomach, confusion blanking their mind of rational thought. Their stayed fixated on the paper in front of them, stepping forward without a choice. It was harder to breath. Humidity around them heating their body. They felt awfully aware of their own existence, yet distant from the world. It was one blur, except for the urge to finish the song. That one. That song. The song and dance they played. The one their dad played. Pain seared through them as he hit them, as blood trickled down. Clotted blood running down their arm. Seeping in their fingernails, burning through paper like acid. Acid he spat as he insulted them, cutting deeper inside. Pounding got louder to the beat. It was a joke he was. A small joke. A small note on the page. The face they saw, they closed their eyes. The skulls were nice. The bunnies weren't prevalent. Speedy bunnies running, hitching their breath, invading their lungs. Those unwritten notes, unwritten until end of time. Their legs felt weak under them, fountains of water rolling down them. Written welcoming warmth.

~-~

Vivek held back a sigh hearing the metal door open once more. He sat up in his bed, expecting to see another guard there to take him. He nearly jumped in relief instead seeing Sakari walk in, clutching their lower arm. They meekly smiled at him, sitting down next to him. They curled up on their side as he moved to give them more space. Their feet were inches away from his leg, digging into the hard mattress.

„Are you okay?“ He asked. A stupid question, he thought to himself, the answer was pretty clear.

„Could be better,“ they mumbled, thumb absentmindedly rubbing over their arm.

„What happened? You look like you're about to pass out.“

„Lost a bit of blood is all. Wouldn't be an issue if I had eaten beforehand. But alas.“

„Let me see,“ He didn't wait for them to react, pulling their arm away from their chest. He rolled up their sleeve, inspecting the bloodied bandage wrapped around them. They sat up, wincing at the grip.

„What did they do?“

„Would you believe me if I said I did it to myself?“

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shook his head. „You wouldn't do that.“

„You haven't known me for that long, I very well could be someone to do that,“ Sakari paused. „But you're right, I wouldn't do it. I'm not entirely sure what happened. I do remember waking up in some infirmary, and getting a cookie.“

„A.. Cookie?“

„Yeah! And apple juice. That was good. Turns out you pass out faster from blood loss if you haven't eaten for hours.“ They laughed.

Vivek sat appalled, staring at them with wide eyes. „You nearly died and you just.. Don't care?“

„I'm not dead, am I? After all,“ they leaned forward. „I don't have your permission to. So what's the point in worrying about something that could've happened, but didn't?“

He rolled his eyes. „Alright. Fair point. I guess I'm just worried about you,“ he mumbled quietly.

„You? Worried about me?“

„Shut the fuck up.“

His words cut them deeper then the wound, flinching before they could stop it. They silently climbed out the bed to move up to their own. He called after them, grabbing them by their sleeve to hold them in place.

„What's wrong now? I wasn't being serious!“

Sakari glared at him through the corner of their eye. He groaned.

„I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know you were sensitive.“

He caught a glimpse of their teary eyes as they shook their head. They pulled themselves out his grasp, entering the small bathroom off to the side. He stood in place, baffled by what happened. Reluctantly he jumped back onto the bed, crossing his arms. The shower turned on, steaming water filling the empty silence for the rest of the night.

[whump-me-baby-one-more-time]

They deserve better than this. Both of them. But this is all Caretaker can give Whumpee. (Cut because of length, TWs for forced pill taking, psychotic behaviour, mild violence, pinning down, implied waterboarding/drowning)

  Whumpee is back on their knees again. Their eyes are wide and unfocused and they're shivering with the kind of fear that makes them nauseous. A twisted kind of sickness churns in their empty stomach. Caretaker is crouched before them. In their hand is a little pill and they placed the glass of water on a nearby dresser when Whumpee started thrashing.

Their face is lined with exhaustion.

"Open your mouth, Whumpee," they say. They've given up on trying to soothe Whumpee when they get into this state. No assurances of safety or care ever seem to penetrate these panic induced fits. It's like talking to a frightened rabbit. It doesn't understand your language and the closer you try to get the more likely it is to die of a heartattack.

Caretaker never liked rabbits.

But they like Whumpee. Or they used to, anyway. They still care for them, and if anyone were to ask they'd vehemently deny any feelings of ill-will towards them.

But Caretaker is tired. And Whumpee... Whumpee isn't who they used to love. Not anymore. Occasionally the person they once were will peek through on good days, but it's a cheap reward for all the rest. All the breakdowns and the night terrors and the screaming and, somehow even worse, the silences that can last for days - after a while that old familiar smile just isn't enough to compensate Caretaker anymore.

They don't get paid to do this, either. Every time Whumpee throws up food or spits out their meds it comes out of Caretaker's own pocket.

"This is going to help you calm down," Caretaker says, offering the pill to Whumpee. "Come on, just take it. Open up."

And Whumpee flinches away, shoulders pressed into the walls of the corner they backed themselves into. Their jaw works as they press it together. Stubborn tears glisten in their eyes but they refuse to make a sound.

Caretaker grinds their teeth.

"We've been through this a dozen times, Whumpee. I don't want to hurt you, I'm trying to help you, so please, please don't make this so hard on us both. Be good, just for once."

Whumpee's breath stutters. They always try to be good, don't they? They always try. But Whumper is never satisfied, never satisfied, never, and the only thing Whumpee can expect is pain. Every time Whumper chirps at them to "be good" it's almost immediately followed by agony.

Whumpee curls up on themselves a little more.

"Okay," Caretaker says in a way that gives that word every meaning apart from "okay." They pick the pill from their palm and hunch their shoulders.

"Last chance, Whumpee. Just level with me, yeah?"

But they're not even sure the words filtered through to Whumpee.

"It's alright," they say as they approach the jittery creature. "You'll feel better in a moment. This'll help you come back down to reality."

They're in Whumpee's space now but they don't let themselves be deterred by Whumpee struggling when they touch them.

They hold the pill up to Whumpee's dry lips. Whumpee flinches violently but Caretaker expected it. Their hand is firm but not unkind as they grip Whumpee's jaw, shushing their hoarse whimpers of terror.

"It's alright, Whumpee. I won't hurt you. Just open your mouth."

Whumpee lashes out, once, hitting Caretaker in the chest, but it's weak and useless and they start shivering even worse from the anticipated punishment.

The tears are spilling freely now, but their lips are still pressed together tightly.

Caretaker closes their eyes for a moment.

They're so tired. Physically and mentally and emotionally, it all just seems to drain out of them a little more with each day. And Whumpee doesn't seem to be getting better. At first it was fine, but then they started having these fits and Caretaker doesn't know how to deal with that. The doctors say it'll pass with time. Maybe. Eventually.

Just give them the meds, that'll calm them down. Oh, and drive them to therapy, too. Can't get Whumpee into a car without alerting the whole neighbourhood to the shrieking and sobbing person you're apparently trying to kidnap? Don't worry, we have drugs for that, too! They'll make therapy impossible, but hey, maybe go for a picnic in the park instead, fresh air and good food can also aid in recovery. Whumpee keeps throwing up from the meds you gave them? We have a pill for that. Whumpee is barely capable of walking back to the car now? Who cares, as long as they're not screaming! You should be glad we've been able to help you out at all. Don't be so impatient. Just be happy you have them back, who cares that they can't feed themselves? Who cares that you haven't slept through a single night in two weeks? Who cares that you haven't had any time of your own lately? Who cares? Don't be so ungrateful. You love them, don't you?

Sometimes Caretaker wants to scream, but they don't. Sometimes they want to push a pillow down on Whumpee's face until they finally go to sleep for good and save themselves the pain of watching someone they used to know thrash and sob from a pain that Caretaker can't do anything to fix. But they don't. Because they do love them. And somehow that makes everything worse.

Because sometimes Caretaker will remember how it used to be. Sometimes Whumpee will wrap their arms around them in a hug or grin at them or look up from a puzzle with their head cocked the same way as it was before. Sometimes Caretaker watches Whumpee sleep, too worried to sleep themselves, and recognizes the face they used to love so much back when it was free of the strain of anxiety and pain.

They love Whumpee and that is so much worse than indifference because it hurts every time Whumpee lashes out at them or flinches away from them or looks at them like they're no better than Whumper at all.

And sometimes, some evenings, deflated on the couch with the Whiskey on the table and the bad thoughts in their head, they're not even sure if they're any better than Whumper themselves.

Maybe Whumpee is right.

But worst of all is how angry it makes them. Indifference would be a gift, because indifference has never bred hatred. Love on the other hand... Sometimes Caretaker isn't even sure who they're angry at. Whumper, they told themselves in the beginning. And that particular rage has never faded, that's true, but it's amassed companions over the months. Anger at Whumpee for being so uncooperative. For being so difficult. For being unreasonable. For being ungrateful. Annoyance at their antics. Their fits. Their night terrors. Their nervous habits. Their broken language. Disgust at the skin they scratch bloody. At the imbecilic way they can stare off into space for hours at a time. At the teeth starting to dissolve at the back of their mouth from all the acid they throw up. Disgust born out of frustration. Frustration, anger, sadness, despair, pain, rage, bargaining, annoyance; Caretaker goes through fifteen stages of grief every day and it's slowly wearing them thin.

Especially because all of these feelings are also directed towards themselves. Even when Whumpee has gone to sleep and the world should be okay, it isn't, because Caretaker and that bottle of Whiskey will stay up for hours trying to justify the thoughts and feelings they had that day and why it didn't make them a bad person, and fail miserably. Somehow the excuses will make them feel even worse and they'll go to bed drunk and wishing to be a better person. To be the one Whumpee deserves.

But in the morning they're still the same.

"Please," they whisper, looking at Whumpee's unsteady, fear-stricken eyes. "Please don't make me hate you."

Please, don't make me hate myself.

But Whumpee only whimpers. Caretaker exhales tiredly.

"Open your mouth, Whumpee. I won't ask again."

Whumpee scrunches up their nose as they try to wriggle out of Caretaker's grip, and Caretaker twitches in a spot deep inside. They're done asking.

With a decisive hand they grab Whumpee's head, thumb digging into the back of their jaw, forcing it open at the hinge. Whumpee yells and thrashes and tries to push Caretaker off.

Caretaker grabs their arm, their skinny, concerningly pale arm, and shoves their body roughly into the wall. Their fingers are leaving red welts on Whumpee's skin

"Stop fighting me, Whumpee," they say, voice coiled tight with suppressed anger and frustration and annoyance and-

Whumpee whimpers. Caretaker bares their teeth in a snarl.

"You need to take this and you will. Don't make me hurt you. You're out of your mind and you need. to. just. stop. fighting. me."

Their last words are punctuated by Caretaker smacking Whumpee into the wall by the shoulder repeatedly. Not violently, but harshly enough to make Whumpee dizzy enough to submit. Whumpee's chest is heaving with stifled sobs.

Caretaker forces their mouth open and drops the pill on their tongue. Whumpee's nails dig into their own arm.

"Good Whumpee," Caretaker says, relief blossoming in their stomach. They reach for the glass of water and hold it against Whumpee's lips. They're bleeding again, Caretaker notices with a worried sting.

"Drink. It'll help you swallow."

Whumpee struggles weakly, but eventually takes a sip. Caretaker watches them until they gulp it down, throat bobbing with effort.

They sit back on their heels with a sigh. Soon the drug will kick in and Whumpee will either space out or regain some coherence, depending on their state of mind. Either way is better than this. Last time they let this go on for too long Whumpee broke two ribs and a nightstand.

"You did good," they say, lying to themselves and Whumpee in a desperate attempt at making Whumpee feel better. Whumpee has always responded well to praise.

They look at Whumpee's face, streaked with tears, lips quivering, and their body sags. Whumpee never meant any harm.

"It's okay. You'll feel better in a minute. I promise." Their hand is soft when they caress Whumpee's cheek, pushing a damp strand of hair out of their eyes. Whumpee flinches but their head is already pressed against the wall on one side and they can't pull away any more, as hard as they may try. Caretaker tries their best to fight down the irrational bitterness of being rejected over and over.

"We're gonna figure this out, Whumpee," they say gently. "I just- I need you to stop fighting me, okay? We used to be a team, sweetheart. Remember that? I need you to work with me to beat this together."

I can't do this on my own.

Whumpee's head moves in what could be interpreted as a nod and Caretaker takes what they get. Whumpee always used to be the strong one, the one tempering Caretaker's storms and easing the weight of the world off their shoulders. It would make sense for them to at least try to be helpful now, no?

They smile weakly. "That's the spirit. We'll get you cleaned up in a minute, okay? Once you've calmed down."

Caretaker pulls away, leaving Whumpee to collect themselves. They don't even wince when Caretaker squeezes their arm reassuringly.

Maybe they're making progress.

They're about to stand up when Whumpee spits. The pill hits them in the face, sticky and partially dissolved and holding on to their cheek with sheer spite. Whumpee's mouth is set in a stubborn, suicidal, quivering line.

Caretaker blinks.

It takes a moment for them to react. When they do, it's with a deadly calmness.

"You don't like the pill," they say, words as dull as a razor blade. "You don't like the meds." They pull the pill from their skin. "I get that. I don't like it either. But you don't have a choice."

I don't have a choice.

"This isn't going to change anything, Whumpee. You are going to swallow this and if I have to push it down your throat for you to finally take a break I will."

Their eyes are glinting with sharp, bubbling anger badly kept at bay by unravelling patience.

When was the last time they slept for six hours straight? Or had been out with friends? Or done anything relaxing that didn't involve getting drunk?

The pill is gluey between their fingertips, its green outside coming off in smears. They just want a break.

"Open your mouth, Whumpee."

Whumpee spits again as Caretaker reaches for their face. It's a gesture born out of fear and the incapability to put their feelings into words, but it enrages Caretaker more than it ever did Whumper. Whumper liked Whumpee fighting back. It kept the game from becoming boring. And spitting was always such a childish thing to do that it heartened Whumper to see that they had reduced the once proud Whumpee to such base, helpless acts. You see, Whumper didn't love Whumpee.

But Caretaker does. And their anger burns all the brighter for it.

"Open your fucking mouth."

They're yelling now. Their voice is raised and cutting the air with inevitable self-contempt, but for now Caretaker is drowning in the rush of anger, hanging on to the couple of minutes before they consume themselves with regret.

Whumpee yells back when they grab their jaw, half of it slurred words telling Caretaker to back off, and the other half unintelligible gibberish whipping back and forth between begging and cursing. They flail, fists striking Caretaker's chest and arms, trying to push them off. The spittle that flies from their lips is red and leaves spots on Caretaker's shirt.

"Stop fighting me!" Caretaker roars, using their free hand to catch one of Whumpee's fists before it strikes their face.

They force Whumpee's jaw open again, but lose their grip as Whumpee bucks. They shove them back down into the ground and wrap their fingers around Whumpee's biceps so tightly that Whumpee yelps.

"I'm helping you," they grind out, trying to push the pill past Whumpee's lips. "Just take it!"

The tips of their fingers force themselves in through the cracked flesh, pill butting against Whumpee's teeth before Whumpee's jaw opens up a fraction and they bite down hard. Caretaker screams.

Whumpee lets go almost immediately, face white in shock, and Caretaker pulls their hands back. Both of them, one clutched against their chest and the other one flinging itself outwards for a moment.

It comes back down with a crack across Whumpee's cheek.

It's a hard, angry strike that sends Whumpee toppling onto the carpet, splitting their lips even further in the process. Bloody drops of saliva trickle down onto the fabric.

Whumpee sobs out loud. They're sorry, they're so sorry, they'll be better, they'll be good, please-

Caretaker flips them onto their back. Their fingers are bleeding as they pick up the pill from where they dropped it. They don't waste time asking Whumpee to open their mouth.

"Please don't," Whumpee hiccups, nails scraping at Caretaker's wrist. They squirm but Caretaker has them pinned down between their legs now, weight coming down heavy on their hips, and their mind floods with memories of Whumper.

"This is for your own good, Whumpee," Caretaker snarls, trying to fend off Whumpee's frantic scratching long enough to get a thumb into their jaw.

"Please don't," Whumpee whimpers, shaking their head in an attempt at fighting off Caretaker's grip. "Please, Caretaker, please don't."

Caretaker freezes. When was the last time Whumpee called them by their name? It happened so rarely that every instance burned itself into Caretaker's soul, like little lights of flickering hope. Little signs that maybe Whumpee could come back after all.

But this?

It was always "Master" or "Whumper" or "Sir/M'am" when Whumpee had fits like this or woke up from nightmares or was otherwise detached from reality and couldn't understand that they had no master now. Caretaker hated hearing that name on Whumpee's tongue like a prayer, those syllables whispered in pained pleas as if their tormentor was still with them.

Caretaker never once imagined how much worse it would be to hear their own name from Whumpee's cracking voice.

"You need to take this," they say, looking down at Whumpee in helpless despair. Their cheek is blossoming a violent red from where Caretaker struck them and somehow that makes Caretaker even angrier. If they're coherent enough to recognize Caretaker, then why are they fighting them so much?

"The doctor said- Stop scratching me, Whumpee." They push Whumpee's hand aside, then think better of it and push it down until they can pin it beneath their leg. Whumpee thrashes in response but Caretaker doesn't budge.

"The doctor said you need to take this when you get worse. It helps, okay?"

"No," Whumpee says, word barely audible between their sobs. "I don't want it, Whumper. I don't like it. Please, Caretaker, please don't. Please, I'll be good, Whumper, I'll be good, I don't want it, I don't need it, I'll do anything, please, please, Caretaker."

Caretaker watches as Whumpee dissolves into tears and their own heart breaks a little more.

"You're sick," they whisper, cradling Whumpee's throbbing cheek in their palm. "Whumper isn't even here, Whumpee. It's just me. Just me. And I don't want to hurt you, but you're out of your mind. Please, sweetheart, open your mouth."

Whumpee bucks their hips as Caretaker holds the pill against their lips. Their one free hand is scrambling to keep Caretaker away, fingers leaving angry streaks on their arm and tearing at their shirt.

"Get off of me," they say, nay, scream, and Caretaker cracks. If Whumpee thinks that they're the villain, then what's the point in playing nice?

Their hand is brutally rough as they force Whumpee's jaw open for good this time, pushing the sensitive spot until Whumpee's muscles give in to the pain; Caretaker is quick and the pill lands in Whumpee's mouth.

They don't get a chance to spit it out again. They try, tongue flicking in protest, but Caretaker snaps their jaw shut, hand over their mouth. They reach for the water glass, but Whumpee's fingers dig into their skin.

"Don't make this worse than it already is," Caretaker growls. They grab their wrist, trying to push it beneath their other leg, but Whumpee fights like an animal and it's all Caretaker can do to make sure their pinned arm doesn't slip free.

At last, out of options, they smack Whumpee's head against the floorboards. Once is enough. Whumpee stills, eyes glazed over with pain, and their arm drops down. Their fingers curl into the carpet as if trying to find support.

Caretaker's hand is slick with blood and tears.

The water glass is cool to the touch and they move quickly before Whumpee regains their bearings. They let go of their mouth, instead grabbing the back of their head and pushing it up, taking a hold of their hair when Whumpee tries to pull away. Their mouth opens, pill protruding slowly, but Caretaker quickly holds the glass against their lips.

Whumpee whines. The liquid pours down their chin as they clench their mouth shut.

"Drink," Caretaker says, tugging at Whumpee's hair in the last throes of patience.

Whumpee flares their nostrils. Their eyes are wide and panicked.

"Okay. You wanted it this way."

They release Whumpee's head and let it fall back down onto the floor, then wrap their hand around their jaw once more, keeping them in place.

Whumpee struggles sluggishly. Their thumb swiftly pushes inside Whumpee's teeth, bearing the risk of being bitten again, and they pour the water through the small gap created. Before Whumpee has a chance to react, Caretaker has already clamped their palm over their mouth.

Whumpee chokes. The water's running down their throat, burning in their nose as the pressure of their struggling pushes it out through any  available orifice, and all they can think of is how smug Whumper always looked when Whumpee begged for mercy when coming up for air.

They flail, body convulsing in anguish and panic, but Caretaker keeps them down, mouth set into a grim line.

"Swallow it, Whumpee. Swallow."

Whumpee does, eventually, their throat flushing it all down involuntarily, including the pill.

They fight to breathe through a runny nose, whistling in the process, and Caretaker finally lets go of their mouth.

Whumpee gasps and coughs and turns their face away.

"Show me your mouth. Whumpee, show me- Show me your goddamn mouth."

Caretaker's hand is harsh as they yank Whumpee's head up. Whumpee lets them pry their mouth open, defeated and aching, and Caretaker swipes a finger beneath their tongue and inside their cheeks before finally being satisfied.

They sit back up and release Whumpee's arm.

"Was that so fucking hard?"

Caretaker doesn't know who they're talking to. Whumpee's crying quietly and seems too incoherent and beaten to still be paying attention to anything said around them.

Caretaker wants to hit Whumpee. They want to pick them up and kiss them well. They want to crack their face into the wall. They want to apologize and comfort them. They want to kick them until they're screaming.

They love them. They hate them. They love them. They hate them. They- They ha-

And Caretaker's hand shakes as they try to decide who they want to be. Who they can be after all this.

At last, they get up. They leave Whumpee on the floor, bleeding from swollen lips as they curl up into a sobbing ball of misery.

Pathetic. Lovable. Disgusting. Innocent.

Caretaker's hand clenches into a fist and they walk away.

The door slams shut behind them. Whumpee's soft, pathetic noises can still be heard as they pour themselves a drink in the kitchen and try to calm their shaking hand.

They should go back in.

Maybe they'll pick Whumpee up. Maybe they'll be strong enough to overcome the festering rage in their chest. Maybe they'll clean them, caress them, rock them until Whumpee stops crying and falls asleep.

Maybe. Maybe not. They don't want to take the risk of finding out what kind of person they really are when the threads are severed.

Instead they take a sip. It burns and they let it sit in their mouth for a moment, relishing the pain. They deserve it. Whumpee deserved it. ...no, they didn't. They did. They didn't.

Caretaker closes their eyes and tries to breathe against the turmoil in their head. In their chest. Their hand.

They all want different things and Caretaker isn't sure which one will win, just that all of them will suffer if they make a decision.

So they won't. Not until the Whiskey has dulled the edge enough to make Caretaker less afraid of themselves.

Maybe by then the drugs will have kicked in and Whumpee will have stopped crying. Maybe by then Caretaker's compassion will have surfaced from the vat of ugliness they feel twisting inside them. Maybe it will even be strong enough to overshadow their self-contempt. Maybe.