#clone whumpee

[redd956]

Mini Whump Prompt 153

"What am I?" The hollow clone of whumpee inquired to whumper, analyzing themselves through the mirror.

"You are my love of course. You've simply lost your memory."

"I'm sorry that I don't remember you then.", They allowed themselves in whumper's embrace, resting their head against whumper's chest, and listening to the quickened heartbeat. Even the hum of whumper's laughter was warm and full of vibrations, buzzing against the clone's face.

The clone explained, "I want to love you.", while whumpee could do nothing but watch through the screen, still trapped in their restraints.

[whumpy-wyrms]

whumper who kidnaps whumpee and replaces them with a clone to make sure nobody will ever come looking for them because nobody even knows they’re gone

[whumperofworlds]

Whumper kidnaps Whumpee and creates an exact clone of them to send to the team to fool them and to figure out where their headquarters is.

The clone acts and looks exactly like Whumpee, except that they don't have their quirks. No one noticed this... except for Youngest.

Whumpee usually gives them a secret handshake to Youngest, but this clone didn't do it when Youngest asked them to do it. Youngest chalked it up as them being stressed... until it was nighttime.

Usually Whumpee kisses them a goodnight forehead kiss, but they didn't. Or that they look through some of their favorite books to read tonight but Whumpee chose one that neither of them liked. Maybe Whumpee didn't even say goodnight to Youngest.

That tipped off Youngest that this is NOT Whumpee, and Youngest secretly tells the team that Whumpee was acting strange, and that they suspect that it wasn't them, but no one believed them.

Meanwhile, Whumper forces the real Whumpee to watch as their clone acts around the team, and Whumpee's heart sank. Would their team figure out that the clone was a fake in time?

[scratchandplaster]

Imagine a clone Whumpee:

A copy of a gone loved one, artificially grown in a lab and designed to fill the endless void that's left in Whumper's heart. Their child, lover or long-passed family member could be replaced by another version, one Whumper can keep close and safe from the world.

But maybe Whumpee wants to finally have some freedom or learns the truth about how they came to be. What if they don't act like the original; maybe have a flaw in their design?

Whumper doesn't want history repeating itself, so restrictive measures have to happen before anything can hurt their precious Whumpee, much to their discontent. Tension rises and as Whumpee tries to leave, the self-fulfilling prophecy ensues.

So what if Whumper messed up again?! They can always make a new one 🧬

[pixelatedraindrops]

I did a collaboration art with @kazinsblog ✨

She made the sketch and I lined/colored it. I even tried to be a little ambiguous and attempted to make detailed backgrounds for the first two panels. (then went back to simple and flat in the third)

I tried to draw out Makoto’s crazy penthouse in Kanai tower, referencing some screenshots I had on me. First panel is the open door of the bedroom leading to the main area, while the second panel I tried to draw out Makoto’s bed. I headcanon that he uses all the pillows on his side of the bed if he’s unwell, and uses the turquoise ones to prop himself up

Makoto, what is your house? XD

Anyway, the comic illustrates Yuma taking care of a sick Makoto. He runs out to get medicine for him, but comes back to him working despite his poor health, worsening his condition. He looks even more pale, and is drenched in sweat. (I gotta make ‘em look as ill as possible lol) This sends Yuma into a mini fit scolding his homunculi twin endlessly. Then he shoves the medicine he bought down his throat xD (that was a little addition that I made) The brothers are fighting lol

It turns out kazin and I share a similar affinity for sick whump, as well as targeting Yuma and Makoto. So we may make more comic art collabs in the future. I had a lot of fun lining and coloring this c:

[whumpshaped]

caretaker taking care of their own clone, a whumpee

tw self-deprecation, cloning, not-quite-human whumpee

It was jarring. Caretaker was sure that no person on the planet could ever be prepared to see themself battered and bleeding, not even on pictures, let alone in real life. And then to have to take care of– of themself–

"I'm sorry," Whumpee said quietly. "I'm sorry, I know I'm an abomination, I stole your– your face, and, and, I, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"Hey, hey... It's okay. You didn't do anything." They reached out slowly, resting a gentle hand on Whumpee's shoulder. "I'm gonna bring my medical supplies. I'll help you."

Whumpee was very quiet while they worked on them; eerily so. They weren't a perfect replica of a human, that much was clear. Caretaker wouldn't have been able to tell from just looking at them, but now that they were closer, and they took a look at their injuries, they realised that the insides had been modified. Maybe the creator thought those weren't as important as the cosmetics. But other things were amiss as well, like Whumpee straight up not breathing–

They shook their head a little. They could think about that later. For now, they had to save themself– the fake them– the guy. They really needed a name, preferably as far from their own as possible.

Admittedly, it was difficult. The injuries were easy enough to treat, but god, it was mentally tough. They'd spent their life loathing themself, how they looked, how they felt, spent years thinking no one would ever touch them so gently, that they weren't worth it. Now, working so hard to save their replica, it was the ultimate test of self-love. Or at least self-care. Whumpee felt like a separate enough person that Caretaker could take their issues seriously, but they were too similar for them to be even mildly comfortable.

"There. That should do it," they said after a while, leaning back in their chair with a heavy exhale. "You should feel better within a couple days."

Whumpee nodded, but stayed deathly still, as if they were afraid that any movement could be the trigger that finally set Caretaker off.

"Are you... somewhat okay?" they prompted.

"Y-Yes. Thank you."

"I'm not mad at you, you know. For looking like me."

"Oh..." Whumpee averted their gaze, biting the inside of their cheek. "I thought... you might be. You looked... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed. You just looked so... disgusted with me."

Caretaker swallowed. Well, fuck. Maybe they were going to put that 'Journey to Self-love' workbook to use after all.

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Humanity's Collector

TW: kidnapping, cloning, nonsexual objectification, nonconsensual nonsexual touch, sort of doll whump, nonhuman whumpers, multiple whumpers, human whumpee

"Gosh you're pretty," Glade cooed.

Harlow looked around desperately, trying to find escape from the strange realm he had woken in.

All manner of mannequins, mirrors, carpets, vintage clothing, animal skeletons, taxidermy, pin boards of bugs, tables, book lined shelves, rock collections, stoves, paintings, statues, and other beautiful things filled the cluttered room, stretching past his line of vision.

He stood from his wicker chair, ignoring Glade, then turned in a circle, quickly overwhelmed by the sheer size of the room and number of objects held within it.

Above him the color white stretched out into infinitum. True white, not the dirty kind found in snow and house paint.

"Where am I?" he demanded. "Who are you?"

"My name is Glade," xey answered. "You're in my home."

Harlow made the mistake of eye contact.

Glade's eyes shone with the light of galaxies, a dazzling rainbow of nebulae, planets, and suns. The depth of the universe seemed tucked away within not only xeir iris, but the entirety of xeir eyes.

When Harlow finally broke away from the hypnotic sight, he was unsure of how much time had passed. Had he been staring into the cosmos for seconds? Minutes? Hours, even?

"Your home?" he asked, staring pointedly at the ebony wood ground.

His mind raced around in circles. He needed answers, yet he did not know the right questions.

Glade didn't seem human, instead a creature from a story book. And this monolithic hoard couldn't possibly be real.

"I'm a collector," Glade explained, running xeir sharp manicured nails through Harlow's hair.

"What do you collect, exactly?"

Harlow watched a glittering green beetle crawl across the ground, finding a hiding spot underneath a red and purple feathered ballgown displayed on a mannequin.

"All sorts of things," Glade said, flapping xeir hands wildly. "Your world is fascinating. I remember when your kind learned how to create fire and tame animals. You have grown so much since then. I needed to have one of you for my own. Your creations are not enough any more."

Harlow took in Glade's appearance, avoiding xeir hypnotic eyes.

Despite xeir clearly alien nature, xey chose to appear humanoid. Xeir iridescent skin glimmered, changing colors with every movement, no matter how slight, as light poured over xeir body.

Xey was clad in a wedding dress, embroidered with bats, gravestones, and other black threaded Halloween iconography. Over this hung a fur cape, the stitched together pelts of numerous small animals. Xeir heels, as thin as sewing needles, seemed impossible to walk on, granting them half a foot of height.

Behind xeir smiling lips were two rows of pointed teeth, slicing perfectly through xeir pale grey gums. Delicate jewelry of precious metal and gems adorned xeir elven ears. Xeir white hair reflected brilliant light, long enough to almost brush against the ground.

"Don't worry," Glade continued. "I'll take care of you. I have everything you could possibly need. I've been collecting human things for millenia upon millenia. You may use my collection to its fullest extent."

"I want to go home," Harlow said. "Please let me go. You can find someone else. I'm sure there's someone who would love to be here. But I like my life on earth."

Glade paused. "But I wanted you," xey said softly. "I like you."

Glade hugged Harlow tightly, mimicking how xey had observed humans comforting one another. Xeir skin had none of Harlow's warmth, and he found touching xem a slightly uncomfortable experience.

Harlow closed his eyes. "I have to be dreaming. This can't be real."

"Of course this isn't real, but it isn't a dream either. It's my home, far outside of your universe."

"God, please send me back. I don't know why I'm here, or how, but I can't do this."

"Yes you can," Glade said. "It's easy. I will take care of you, and you will be my plaything. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Harlow broke away from Glade, and took off walking. There had to be an exit.He passed statues of marble angels, spinning wheels, shelves of scientific specimens, and surrealist artwork.

"No, that doesn't sound nice," he said angrily, as Glade easily matched his pace, wearing a concerned expression. "I'm leaving."

The room still seemed to stretch on into infinity, but everything had an end if one walked far enough to find it.

"You can't leave," Glade said.

"And why not?"

"Because I didn't steal you. The original Harlow Finch Echowood is still at home. You belong here with me."

Harlow stopped in his tracks, sitting down on an ancient jewelled throne to keep from collapsing in shock.

"Excuse me?"

Glade smiled. "We are going to have so much fun, and no one will ever know you to be here. Come now, I have food prepared for you."

"I can't eat your food," Harlow said. "I'd never be able to leave if I did that."

"I'm afraid you've mistaken me for some of my cousins," Glade said. "You will eat, or you will starve. And you are never leaving because you belong to me. It doesn't matter what you do."

Harlow stood up, seething. "I hate you. Let me go. You can't keep me here."

Glade looked truly hurt, but Harlow knew, within the depths of his very soul, that it was only a mimicry of human emotion.

"I care for you," Glade said. "I couldn't send you back, even if I wanted to. Then there would be two Harlow Finch Echowoods trying to live your life."

"I don't belive you. I'm still me. I still remember my life."

"You are an exact duplication of the original Harlow Finch Echowood. You have the same soul and DNA. Of course you still remember."

"Just combine us again or something," Harlow begged.

With every passing moment, his belief in Glade's words only grew.

"I cannot. I can only make copies of beautiful things."

Glade spread xeir arms, gesturing to xeir hoard of human objects collected in centuries long past.

"Why me?" Harlow asked. "I didn't do anything."

Glade flicked the tears from his face, slightly scratching him with xeir nail, leaving his skin red and puffy.

"You act as though this is a punishment. I have simply added you to my collection. Now come, I have made you good food."

Glade gripped Harlow's arm and dragged him away from where he had been sitting, weaving throughout xeir collection, somehow able to avoid tripping over anything.

Soon enough, they came upon a small 1950s era kitchen. Two counters, a stove, and a sink formed a corner tucked away between a row of unplugged television and a huge crooked stalagmite growing from the floor.

Glade opened the oven and pulled out a pan of fresh bread. Xeir hands were bare, but did not burn on the hot metal dish. Xey grabbed a knife from a drawer and cut a slice, laying it out on a neon green ceramic plate.

"Eat while it's still hot," Glade said with a bright smile. In xeir time spent with Harlow, xeir teeth had dulled significantly, and xeir gums had taken on a pale shade of pink.

Harlow reluctantly tried the bread, finding it to be heavenly. He scarfed it down, suddenly famished.

"Thank you," he said automatically.

"I have much food. It is scattered about my home, and easy to find if you look. It never rots. You may feast on it as you please."

Harlow sighed, and clambered up to sit on the counter. "I'm really never leaving, am I?"

"I am glad you finally understand."

"What happens when you get bored of me?"

"I never get bored of my playthings."

Harlow glanced around his surroundings, then closed his eyes. It was all so overwhelming. More colors and shapes than he had seen in his lifetime now filled his vision no matter where he looked.

"How big is this place?"

"Infinite. If you travel far enough, my collection begins to grow thin. There is a boundary of where my possesions lie, and after that is the abyss. It can be nearly impossible to find one's way back from nothingness."

"I hate it here," Harlow raged. "I want to be around other people. Not you."

"I will bring you some," Glade promised. "Allow me a few minutes to collect them."

Harlow froze. How could he allow more people to be stuck in this horrible purgatory of preserved humanity, just so he could have someone to talk to?

"No. Please. Don't put anyone else through this."

"Oh, how you confuse me." Something odd bloomed over Glade's face. "I see. Come along then."

Harlow hopped off the counter and followed Glade as xey walked under a vast canopy of safety pinned together curtains.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," xey called in a sing song voice. "I've brought a new trinket."

People approached Glade and Harlow from the shadows. Well, not people, exactly.

They were like Glade, monstrous and wonderful, stepping straight from a story book and into Harlow's prison.

A serpentine woman curled herself around a pillar. Her brass scales gleamed in the light filtering in through the canopies. A forked tongue slid out of her open blue mouth and examined the air.

Hovering a few feet above the ground, an unholy sprectre of a fair young woman flickered. Its ratted wedding dress and brilliant smile were smeared with blood.

A demon dressed in full armor, with an iron cap fashioned to fit his horns, stood at attention, a fearsome smile on his smoldering lips. An angel stood to his left, a mirror counterpart, glowing with the cold light of heaven in contrast with the warm fires of hell. Both opposing figures were bound to one another with golden thread.

In a shallow water fountain knelt a person with the wings of a dragonfly. As light flitered through zir wings, blues and greens played tricks on the water, nearly blinding in its intensity.

Still more beings continued to approach Glade, more than Harlow could keep track of, intent on viewing whatever treasure xey had brought back with xem.

"I finally brought a human home," Glade said proudly. "Isn't he just a doll?"

Harlow flinched as numerous hands and insect like feelers crept over his body, Glade's companions examining him closely.

"Get off of me."

The inhuman figures began to undress him, murmuring in appreciation at the new creature in their midst.

Harlow tugged back at his clothing, trying to preserve his modesty in the throng of bizzare creatures, none whom held any care for his feelings nor his arguments.

He tried to break free of them, pushing and shoving, even striking at them with closed fists and elbows. But he was pulled back, the creatures murmuring in apreciation on how bizzarly their newest aquisition behaved.

"Stop touching me," Harlow cried. "God, please. I hate being crowded. What the fuck are you doing?"

"What is it doing?" the spectre asked. It brought its freezing, yet intangible, hand to Harlow's face, as though to seize his tears.

"That is so weird," another remarked, clicking its pincers in an oddly specific pattern.

The different figures murmured to each other, formulating explanations.

"Why is it doing that?"

"Is it because we're touching it?"

"It's water, I think."

"He's crying," Glade explained, flapping xeir hands in mimicry of human excitement. "It means he's upset. Isn't it the most delightful thing?"

"I hate you," Harlow said thickly, as tears continued to stream down his reddened cheeks. "I want to go home."

"You are so repetitive," Glade remarked.

Harlow finally relented. As the sea of hands overwhelmed and violated him, grasping at every piece of his flesh, he only hoped that they would soon grow bored and move on to newer shinier pursuits. He couldn't stand to do this for the rest of eternity.

@little-flame-prince @anomalys-taxonomy @elim-flower @devourerofcheesecake @thedarkmongoose @whumpsday @whumpshaped @stuffbybean @heavenly-whumper

[killacharacterbingo]

Order 66

This prompt is based on this scene from the movie Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. In the Star Wars universe, the Jedi Order was a religious order devoted to the Light side of the Force (an energy field created by all life and binding it together). The Sith was also a religious order, but this one dedicated to the Dark side of the Force, leaving both orders at odds with each other due to their opposing interests.

At one point, Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas came in contact with an ancient artifact which gave him a vision of an impending threat to the Balance of the Force, and consequently the Jedi Order. His concerns were dismissed, so he took matters into his own hands and clandestinely ordered an army of clones be created in preparation for this event. This project included a behavioural modification chip placed in clones with the intent of preventing clones from being given orders by rogue Jedi. Master Sifo-Dyas was later killed by the Sith, who took over the creation of the clone army to modify the purpose of the inhibitor chips so they would instead prompt clones to obey Order 66.

Order 66 was a contingency plan the Sith concocted to eliminate all Jedi. Should a clone be instructed to "Execute Order 66," their chips would compel them to kill the Jedi they had been serving under so far. Order 66 ultimately wiped out nearly all the Jedi and allowed the Sith to gain dominion over the galaxy.

Mind control, hypnosis, programming, and anything conceivably related to this fictional event or any of its characteristics falls under this prompt.

[zeiniszein]

So I was thinking about clones and i found out that... wow, they're such good whumpees!

- They have been raised in labs, no home.

- No mom and dad. only scientists.

- Deprived of love.

- Have been poked with needles and syringes their whole life.

- scientists performing endless experiments on them, curious eyes burning their skin.

- Maybe the tests are painfull.

- No will power of their own. always the other's puppet.

- '' I deserve a life too!''

- Maybe they have some disease since they were literally made in a lab

- " What do YOU have to say, huh? You're just a fake whumpee. That's it. That's all you'll ever will be!"

- maybe the person who whumpee has been cloned from ( excuse my grammer if it isn't right!) feels threatened by whumpee's existence and they try to kill them.

- Whumpee to the person they've been cloned from" you have a life! you have parents! you have a wife/husband! you have children! you have a job you love! Damn you ARE loved! why is it so wrong for me to want those things?

- Maybe they don't even have a name. Maybe they're just called subject (insert number/code here)

- Maybe one of the scientists feels kind of an empathy for them. So they became their caretaker

Feel free to add.

[snakebites-and-ink]

Prompt: whumpee is actually made of whumper's dna. whumper is doing all these experiments on someone who looks exactly like themself. whumpee doesn't even realise this because there are no mirrors- they have no idea what they look like from this list by @whumpshaped

CW: Panic attack, referenced lab whump, referenced emotional invalidation

Whumpee had been with Caretaker a while, and was slowly getting more comfortable. Caretaker had given them free reign of the house, but Whumpee mostly stuck to the living room and the bedroom Caretaker was letting them use. The soft carpeted floor, warm lighting, and cosy atmosphere was so different from anywhere Whumper had kept them that it helped them to feel safer. They were gradually branching out, though, and encountering more environments.

This time, when they walked into a new room, they were greeted with a sight they’d hoped to never encounter again. It was Whumper, unmistakably; the same exact features Whumpee had seen day in and day out in the laboratory. Whumper had been the only face Whumpee had seen for so long, and the intensity of their bad experiences only served to further burn the dreaded face into Whumpee’s memory. They would recognize it anywhere.

“No!” Whumpee cried out. Their sudden panic caused them to stumble and fall into the wall. They clung onto it, gasping for breath. The world seemed like it was swimming to their senses from far away. Their eyes were wide and their breath was coming too fast. Caretaker would call this a panic attack; Whumper would call it an overreaction.

“No, please no,” Whumpee half-whispered, half-wept. This was supposed to be a safe place. How could Whumper be here?

“Whumpee?” Caretaker’s concerned face appeared around the door, growing more worried when they saw the state Whumpee was in. “What happened?”

“I saw them, Caretaker, I swear I saw Whumper, they’re here—”

“Whoa, hold on,” Caretaker said gently, crouching to place a hand on Whumpee’s arm. “Whumper can’t be here. No one’s in the house but the two of us.”

“But I saw Whumper, really, over there.” Whumpee gestured in the direction they’d seen Whumper in, and scooted closer to Caretaker for some modicum of protection.

Caretaker’s brow furrowed. They stood up, not actually believing that Whumper was anywhere near here, but figuring it couldn’t hurt to look into Whumpee’s claim. Caretaker looked behind the door: nothing. On the other side of the cabinet: nothing. The only other thing in the area Whumpee had indicated was a wide mirror mounted on the wall.

Caretaker looked towards the mirror with a bemused frown. “Whumpee…Do you and Whumper…look alike?”

Whumpee automatically opened their mouth to say no, of course not, they were nothing like Whumper. But then…they realized they had never seen their reflection clearly before. There weren’t any mirrors in the lab—Whumper never needed any for what they were doing. What reflective surfaces there were had been imperfect enough to leave the reflections badly blurred or distorted. “I don’t know,” Whumpee said honestly.

“I can definitely tell you that Whumper’s not here,” Caretaker said. “But…you might’ve gotten startled by your own reflection.”

Whumpee stared silently at Caretaker, thinking. They definitely knew Whumper’s face, but they didn’t know their own. Caretaker could be right.

“Why don’t you stand up and take a better look,” Caretaker prompted. “I’ll be right here with you.”

Whumpee slowly nodded. “Okay,” they said quietly. They held onto Caretaker with one hand and pushed against the wall with the other as they stood, warily looking towards the mirror.

Their reflection came into view, and it looked exactly like Whumper. Whumpee gasped and grabbed onto Caretaker. Even if the logical part of their mind understood that this was a mirror, they couldn’t stop the visceral terror they felt at seeing Whumper right there.

As they looked longer, small differences started to register. The face looked younger, the body a bit weaker than Whumper’s. The hair was far less neat: Whumper had always gotten their hair cut at a salon, while Whumpee’s hair was always chopped to a convenient length by Whumper with a pair of scissors.

But the thing that convinced Whumpee they were truly looking at themself, and not Whumper, wasn’t any of the physical differences. It was the fear in the reflection’s eyes. A fear Whumpee knew well, but had never seen on Whumper.

Caretaker was right, of course: Whumper wasn’t here. But anytime Whumpee looked in a mirror, they would have to see Whumper again anyways.

Whumpee buried their face in Caretaker’s shoulder so they wouldn’t have to look at the face that was and wasn’t the face of the person who had tormented them.

[whump-queen]

someone just gave me the amazing idea of multiple whumpers but it’s all clones of me

imagine how fucked you’d be with multiple clone!akias

[whumpy-wyrms]

The Last Lab Rat #14: Time Flies

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content: lab whump, captivity, sleep deprivation, escape, derealization, gore, gruesome murder, death, needles, mind control, defiant winged test subject whumpee, creepy scientist carewhumper

YAY!! YIPPEEEE!!!!!!! 😈😈😈😈

— 

Tonight was the night, Dew decided. Tonight was the night he’d finally escape.

Earlier that day, he and Sasha silently communicated that they were ready. All Dew had to do now was wait until the snake slithered through the vents and into his room once Anton had gone to sleep. And then… Escape. Their plan was flawless: Crawl through the tight, dark and claustrophobic air ducts, as quiet and quickly as possible, all the way up to the surface.

All he had to do was exit the vents into Anton’s cabin, a place he was only somewhat familiar with, and steal that mind-controlling device from the scientist, then make his way outside as quiet as he’d ever have to be. All he had to do was not be seen, or heard, or caught, or hurt. All Dew had to do was escape, and then he would be free.

Dew had the relatively legible map of the air ducts memorized by now, but Sasha knew it best, so they would lead the way. Dew wasn’t going to bring anything with him. As much as he loved his music, and his sketchbook, and his ghost light, and his… chicken, it was all too much of a liability. All Dew would have with him were his glasses, clothes on his back, and his wings that made the whole escape possible.

He didn’t care if Anton found his plans in that notepad; he’d be long gone by then. He didn’t care that, technically, he’d have no evidence of ever being friends with Sasha, except the memories to hold on tightly to. Dew wished he could bring his sketchbook, wished that it wouldn’t be doomed to be buried deep underneath the ground in the lab forever. Dew’s art was a part of him, does that mean a part of him would always be stuck down there too?

…Dew supposed that whether or not he brought his sketchbook with him, it was true. A part of Dew would always be stuck in that lab. But the rest of him deserved to be free. He wouldn’t let himself be stuck in the past and let the scientist continue to ruin his life.

So that night, after Dew had fallen asleep on the couch and was carried back to his room by Anton after a surprisingly fun birthday party, Dew woke up. He lay awake waiting for Sasha to show up. And as it turned out, they slithered through the vents a lot faster than Dew thought.

“Ssspp!” Sasha hissed, getting Dew’s attention from the vents. “This is it, Dew! Are you ready?!”

“Yeah,” Dew whispered, more determined than he’d ever been. “I’m ready.”

“Sweet! Anton’s sound asleep, so this should be easy!”

“Sasha,” Dew whispered, voice shaking. “You really sure this will work?”

“Of course it will!” Sasha unlatched the vents with their tail, and peaked their head through. “Now hurry up, the sky is waiting for you!”

“O-okay! Let’s do this!” Dew took one last drink of water from the sink, and looked around the room he’d spent the last few months trapped in. He glanced out the window to the dark and empty lab and shuddered. He wouldn’t miss this place. Dew flew upwards, through the vent and into the air ducts.

The journey to the surface was simple and familiar; it was what Dew and Sasha had been practicing for the past few weeks now. They knew all the twists and turns and dead ends and drops and exits. They knew the way out, so they made no detours. They kept going.

Dew ignored that feeling of dread deep in the pit of his stomach, like something bad was going to happen, because it didn’t matter. He couldn’t go back now, and he wasn’t going to.

Dew couldn’t wait to see his friends, especially after his birthday yesterday. They were all probably so worried for him, wondering where he was. But he’d surprise them tonight!

They made it to the exit after about an hour of crawling through the cold metal tunnels. Dew never knew how claustrophobic he could be, especially with the hope that he’d soon stretch his wings and fly through the sky.

Sasha opened the latch with their tail and slithered through, letting Dew into the living room of Anton’s cabin. They were both silent, as if they rehearsed this situation countless times in their minds, and knew that any sort of talking would only reveal themselves. But that was okay, because Dew knew exactly what he had to do next.

And he was more terrified than he had ever been in his life.

Dew tiptoed to Anton’s room, taking anxious glances at Sasha on his shoulders every few seconds. He passed a few large windows, but held back from hopping out just yet. He didn’t want this to end exactly how it did last time. Sasha told him Anton was not a light sleeper, and that if they both kept quiet, this would be easy. Just in and out, quick and easy, no need to get worked up about it.

Dew twisted the doorknob, and pushed the door open with a creak. He winced, but peaked his head into the scientist’s bedroom. It was too dark to notice anything; the blinds of the window were closed, letting in very little moonlight.

Sasha slithered down Dew’s body and onto the floor, quietly moving across the light green rug and climbing onto Anton’s nightstand. They gestured with their tail to what drawer the scientist kept the mind-control contraption in.

Dew nodded and started tiptoeing closer, as quietly as he could. Dew could tell the carpet was soft, softer than anything he’d touched recently. The thought made him want to snuggle up under the covers, safe and warm with no fear of being caught. But instead, he was walking across his captor’s room— while the man slept just a few feet away from him— planning to take back what was his.

Dew arrived at Sasha, who had opened the drawer that held the device. Dew swallowed thickly, glancing at the scientist sleeping next to them. Anton was facing away, curled up in a ball under the covers. The blankets shifted up and down as he breathed, blissfully unaware of what was happening next to him.

Dew reached his hand into the drawer and pulled out the device. With a click of a button, the chip in Dew’s brain would be activated, allowing Anton to control his every action with a small murmur of a command.

He held it in his hands, close to his chest as if any wrong move would activate it and wake up the scientist, leaving Dew frozen in place, caught red handed, in Anton’s own room.

Sasha saw the fearful look in Dew’s eyes and slithered up his arm and onto his shoulders, beckoning him to get the hell out of there. Dew turned around and began to tiptoe across the floor, too afraid to look back.

There was a shift, a sound of something moving behind him, and Dew all but had a heart attack. Stomach dropping, assuming he was done for, Dew peaked over his shoulder.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Anton had only rolled over in his sleep. Still, it was enough to make him book it out of there. He shut Anton’s door and raced to the front door, flinging it open and stepping outside.

“We-we did it,” Dew cried happily. “We did it!”

“Not yet, destroy the thing now!” Sasha hissed.

“Right.” Dew held the device tightly in his hand, raised his arm, and smashed it into the ground. Pieces of metal and wire exploded beneath him in every direction. It was completely destroyed. Just like that, Anton couldn’t mind-control him anymore.

Dew smiled, and looked up at the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, and Dew didn’t remember the last time he saw so many stars. He giggled, looked back down and kicked pieces of the device across the grass. He took a deep breath of the cool, fresh autumn air and stomped on the pieces, jumping up and down, laughing happily. He missed the sound of the fallen leaves crunching beneath his feet, and kicked them in the air like confetti. It was the middle of the night; the moon was full and bright, allowing Dew to see everything in the darkness. Dew loved full moons. It was beautiful.

Once he was calmed down, he turned to Sasha, who was coiled around the porch railing. “I can’t believe I really did it,” He said, smiling and sniffling.

“Please, Dew, fly away! Be free!” Sasha exclaimed happily.

“I… I will.” Dew took a glance at the sky, and looked back at Sasha. “I-I’m gonna miss you so much. Th-thank you. Thank you Sasha.”

Sasha giggled. “You’re welco—”

The front door suddenly slammed open. Anton stepped out, hair disheveled. He raised a tranquilizer gun.

Dew jumped, his wings taking full control. Sasha sprang towards the scientist, coiling their body around Anton’s face and briefly blinding him. Dew’s wings flapped rapidly through the air, mimicking his terrified, racing heart. Sasha grabbed Anton’s gun with their tail, flinging it away into the grass. Anton took a few steps forward. Dew was flying. Sasha coiled around Anton’s head, muffling his calls before he could yell out.

“Fly Dew!” Sasha cheered, ignoring Anton’s attempts to pry them off his face. “Fly!”

Dew blinked his tears away, and darted off into the sky.

. . .

Dew never looked back, scared that if he did, he’d wake up, and all of this would turn out to be a dream.

But it really was real this time, wasn’t it? Dew was flying. Dew was finally, finally free.

He cried for what felt like forever, fueled by adrenaline as his wings did all the work on spreading as much distance from him and the lab as possible. It was the fastest he’d ever flown before, and the highest. After an hour, he flew higher, away from the trees and into the clouds. The further he flew, the more clouds there were and the darker it got. Was it going to rain? Dew was giddy at the thought. Flying in the rain. How much fun would that be?

Dew soared through the forest, doing loop-de-loops in the sky. He loved the feeling of wind in his hair and space all around him. There was a flock of nighthawks, and Dew flew with them. He giggled as the birds squawked at him, as if he was one of their own.

Anyone walking through the forest would have heard loud laughter from above them, cries of happiness through the trees. Dew was celebrating his freedom with his fellow winged friends, and he couldn’t be happier.

Dew never got tired, and he never stopped. He wanted to look at the sky, at the bright full moon, but there were clouds. So he flew above the clouds, higher than he ever had, until he couldn’t see the ground. Dew looked around himself and was surrounded by complete nothingness; a vast abyss; a void. He was completely alone up there. It was only him, the beautiful moon, and the infinite stars above him to keep him company. It was the most at peace he’d ever felt with the universe. Up here, he was truly free.

Dew fell down into the clouds again, getting misted by the water droplets inside, and fell towards the trees. Catching himself at the split second, Dew did it again. And again. He was ecstatic! He was flying! This was the best day of his life!

As he soared through the sky and took in the amazing sights of everything he’s always wanted to see, always wanted to experience, Dew realized he was getting thirsty. He was still in the woods, so there was surely to be a river down there he could drink from.

Dew dropped down to the ground and landed gracefully into the dead autumn leaves. The second his legs touched the ground, he stumbled, grabbing a tree to balance him.

Oh. He was tired. As the adrenaline of escaping started to wear off, the events of the night started to catch up to him. Dew was tired, hungry, and his entire body was sore after flying that much. His wings were burning, begging to rest. His entire body was begging to rest after barely getting a few hours of sleep the past few days.

Dew walked through the forest, listening to the sounds of the wilderness. He missed the summer, having gotten it cut short. But fall was his favorite season. And hey, at least he’d be home for Halloween! Maybe he’d even get a costume in time.

He heard rushing water, and knelt down next to the creek. Dew cupped his hands and lapped up as much cool water as he could, then stood up.

Even though he had never been anywhere near this place before, he turned to a direction and started walking. And after a little while of gaining his energy back, he flew.

. . .

After what felt like forever, Dew had spotted civilization. He realized very quickly that there was a problem.

He couldn’t let himself be seen. Not by anyone. Not yet.

He’d been missing for months and would suddenly return with giant wings. No matter what sort of attention he’d get, none of it would be in his favor. He wasn’t stupid; he knew that scientists all over the world would kill for a chance to study his wings. There’d be no point in escaping just to be sucked back into another hell. Dew kept close to the clouds, hoping that if anybody looked up, they’d think he was just another bird.

Dew couldn’t believe how amazing flying felt, he almost didn’t want to stop. In the back of his mind, he’d thought about eventually having to convince his friends to move out to the countryside with him, so that way he could fly all the time without being seen. He was giddy at the thought that maybe, he’d eventually find a way to bring his friends into the sky with him.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He didn’t even know where he was, after all. But he followed the birds, and continued on his journey.

And then, high up in the night sky with the autumn air flowing through his wings, Dew spotted it: his house. His home. Where his friends would be waiting for him! Dew cried in joy as he soared downward, racing to the ground like a meteor, like a shooting star. Once he landed on trembling legs, he stumbled up to the front door.

Dew couldn’t believe it! He was out! He was back! He was home!

It had to be around 3 in the morning by now, so nobody was around to see him and his wings. Dew looked at the house; the place he’d been dreaming of coming back to for so long, and it didn’t feel real. Dew tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

Of course it was; his friends knew how to keep themselves safe, unlike him. If only he knew of the dangers of the night, maybe he never would have been kidnapped by the scientist. But it was no use contemplating the past. Dew instinctively checked his pockets; empty, of course. So he fished out the spare key from under the doormat, and unlocked the door. Dew didn’t bother knocking, or ringing the doorbell, or even announcing his return when he opened the door and peeked inside. He lived here too, after all.

Dew was still standing in the doorway. He took a deep breath, and then a careful step inside as if the floor would drop out and he’d fall into the vents back at the lab, as if he was still crawling through them like he’d been doing every night and all this was just his mind playing tricks on him.

But that didn’t happen, so he took another step. And then another. And then he whipped around and slammed the door shut, wincing at the loud noise it made, but quickly locking it closed. There! The scientist couldn’t get him in here! He was safe!

Dew laughed quietly, wiping the tears from his eyes. He was really home. He was home!

Dew wanted nothing more than to collapse in his warm bed and snuggle with his friends and pets in the comfort and safety of his home, because god, he was so fucking tired.

Dew took a few more steps though the house until he smelt something strange. Cake? He sniffed into the air. That was odd, but he ignored it. He walked down the hallway, not bothering to kick off his shoes he no longer had, so he didn’t notice his old pair lying next to his friends’. Dew entered the kitchen, and stopped in his tracks.

All around the room was a mess of colorful streamers and confetti. There were balloons littered around the floor and some floated to the ceiling. A half eaten birthday cake sat on the counter. Dew tripped on a piece of stray wrapping paper as he walked up to it. Written on the cake in light blue icing were the words, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY…” and he was sure there was supposed to be a name on the other side, but it had been eaten.

Right away, Dew realized there was something wrong. He expected to find his friends waiting for him, excited to finally see him after so long. He expected a reunion filled with tears of joy and happiness. But he instead got birthday party decorations, and his friends were nowhere in sight.

Dew walked further inside his house until he entered the living room. The TV was still on, playing episodes of his favorite show— the same one he had watched last night— but the volume was turned down so it could hardly be heard. Hanging on the walls was a sign that also said happy birthday, with balloons in the shape of a two and a three floating next to it. 

Dew frowned, racking his brain on what all this could mean. Sure, his birthday was yesterday, but Dew had been gone— missing— for months. Surely his friends weren’t just celebrating his birthday without him. That wouldn’t make any sense. And why do all this when they could be looking for him? Why waste time with cake and… a pile of opened birthday presents… when he wasn’t there with them?

Dew’s mind raced. What the fuck was happening? Who was this all for? Why was his birthday celebrated without him? Who had opened his presents? Eaten his cake? Who did they sing to? Who made his wish?

His head pounded. He had been awake for… a very long time. Dew hadn’t gotten a full night's rest in who knows how long. Was he hallucinating? Had his sleep deprivation finally caught up to him?

Dew looked down, and his eyes widened. Sleeping on the couch, snuggled up close in a warm blanket and Sir Bonkles sleeping between them, were Dew’s best friends Hayden and Layla.

It was the first time Dew saw his friends in months, and all he wanted to do was hug them. But now, Hayden and Layla looked so peaceful sleeping there, he didn’t want to wake them up. So he didn’t. Dew was so tired now, maybe he should just ignore all of this. Maybe he should just go to sleep and pretend everything was back to normal. Besides, he didn’t feel like explaining how he got his giant wings right now. He’d rather sleep in his own bed, and rest now that he was home and safe.

Dew numbly walked to his bedroom and shut the door. Everything felt like a haze. He slid down the wall and curled up on his soft carpet. He couldn’t bring himself to cry, he just wanted to sleep.

Dew pulled himself from the floor and walked to his bunk bed. He climbed his ladder, and was just about to collapse into his soft bed when he froze— almost falling backwards onto the floor and needing to flap his wings to keep himself from losing balance.

“W-what?” He breathed. The blankets in front of him were clumped up as if there was a body underneath. As if he was sleeping there already. Dew raised his arm and poked at the lump, then shook it, then squeezed his hand and ripped the blanket from the sleeping form.

For a split second, Dew thought his friends had replaced him. Let a new friend move into their home and take his place, take his role and name and identity and birthday. But they would never do that. They loved Dew.

…But apparently not enough to tell apart the real one from the fake.

His sleep deprived brain must be making him hallucinate; that was the only explanation. Dew blinked a few times, wiped his eyes, and even pinched himself. He was still there. He wasn’t hallucinating, and this wasn’t a dream.

“Hey,” Dew said quietly, voice cracking. The body stirred, but didn’t wake up. “Hey!” He said, loud enough to wake himself up but quiet enough for his friends in the living room not to hear.

There was a sleepy murmur. The blankets shifted again as whoever was there rolled over and opened his eyes sleepily, just waking up from a peaceful slumber. And then he noticed Dew, and his entire body went rigid.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, both frozen in time taking in each other's identical features. The person in front of Dew had his same brown eyes, his same wavy brown hair, his same dark freckles, and the same look of pure terror and confusion on his face.

But there was something different. Dew looked at the man and saw himself, sure, but before. The person he saw was full of innocence and obliviousness. He did not know the horrors that Dew had faced during the last two and a half months. He did not know the pain and agony and fear Dew had to endure. He did not know the escape attempts and homesickness and how much he could possibly miss his friends. He did not know what Dew had fucking gone through.

“W-what? What the fuck? Who are you?” The fake Dew asked, sitting up and wincing as he hit his head on the ceiling. Dew was frozen, staring back in disbelief. His stare must’ve been intense, because it caused the person on his bed to back up into the corner, afraid. He was scared of Dew.

That’s right. Dew probably looked much different, didn’t he? Eyes tired and sunken from his lack of sleep, and face filled with months worth of constant fear and pain. The giant white wings protruding from his back, along with a strange blue sweater. His pants and socks were now muddy and torn from hours spent trekking through the forest.

Looking at the “Dew” on the bed was like looking into a mirror of the past. A past so far gone that Dew could hardly recognise himself. It was as if nothing had changed. As if nothing bad had ever happened to him. As if the past two and a half months were completely erased.

Dew caught himself staring— almost similar to how Anton always stared at him— because there was no fucking way any of this could be real.

“Who are you?” Dew asked brokenly.

“What? I– I’m Dew!” The man exclaimed, looking even more confused. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing in my house? Why do you look like– like… What’s going on?”

Dew ignored his questions and hopped off the ladder onto the carpet, wanting to get some space to think. He looked around the room numbly, ignoring the other Dew who had started crawling closer to the edge of the bunk bed, watching his every move.

Laying on the floor was his old hoodie, the one he recognised instantly because of the patches that were sewn into the fabric. It was the hoodie he was wearing when he was taken to the lab, the hoodie that Anton had to “throw away” for an unknown reason and replace it with hospital gowns and blue sweaters.

Dew turned his gaze elsewhere in his bedroom. There were new polaroid photos hanging up on the walls, likely taken by Layla. Dew walked closer to inspect them, noticing that he, Layla and Hayden were all in them. But Dew never remembered getting those photos taken. And he knew for sure they had never gone to whatever amusement park they were at in those photos.

He looked so happy, they all looked so happy. There were no photos of just Layla and Hayden, it was all three. Even in some love boat ride, it was the three of them. Dew’s stomach turned.

Dew ignored the sound of movement from behind him, the sound of somebody slowly and carefully crawling out of the top bunk and down the ladder. He ignored the fearful and curious eyes staring directly at him, staring at his wings. He ignored the other man standing there silently, unmoving and afraid.

Sitting on the nightstand was Dew’s old headphones and MP3 player. He could tell because they still had old, faded minecraft stickers on them, unlike the ones Anton had given him. The only thing that was different— new— were the glasses sitting on the nightstand. Anton never had taken Dew’s glasses away.

There was a card on the nightstand as well; a birthday card. Dew reached for it, and looked inside.

“Hey!” The clone said, marching closer to him and snatching the card from Dew’s hands. “That’s– that’s mine…” His voice trailed off once Dew snapped his head in his direction, silenting him with his gaze.

“What does it say?” Dew demanded.

“It– It doesn’t matter! What even– can you just tell me what’s going on? Why are you here? Who are you?”

“I’m you!” Dew exclaimed. “Can’t you tell?! Can’t you fucking recognise me?! Or did Anton take away every sense of self when he made you?!”

“I– I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You’re– You’re a clone of me! Y-you have to be! Probably made by the scientist after he took me! This is my house! This is my room! These are my things! This is my fucking life! You can’t just– you can’t– just pretend to be me! Pretend to feel how I feel, and act how I act! You can’t!”

Dew exploded in pent up tears and rage. He felt like this must be a dream, because the other Dew looked so scared, and Dew only ever looked like that when Anton was around. But he wasn’t here, because Dew was home.

“Am I dead?” The impostor asked. “Are you an angel?”

“No,” Dew spat. “We’re– we’re not dead. Everything’s fine.”

Nothing about this situation was fine. Not only was Dew sleep deprived, tired, anxious, confused and afraid, but he was also standing face to face with some sort of clone that had taken his place.

It was silent for another moment, and then, “Are those wings real?” The clone asked.

Dew’s eyes shot up, glaring at him. “It doesn’t matter,” He gritted between his teeth. This person– this thing had no idea what Dew had been through; the pain getting those wings had caused him. And this man was staring in awe at something he would never begin to understand, as if Dew was just some animal to gawk at.

"Are you real?"

Dew wasn't the only one wondering that, then. “I’m not sure,” He said blankly. Because it was true. For all he knew, this could all be a dream— hell, it felt like that more than reality. Dew would be more surprised if this was real.

“Are you me? Like, like from the future or something? Really, what’s going on?” 

The questions didn't cease, and when the clone reached out to touch Dew's wings, he finally snapped.

“NO!” Dew exclaimed, slapping the man’s hand away. “Don’t you fucking dare touch my wings! You don’t know anything! You don’t know what I had to go through to get here, to– to get here and find you in my place!

“You’re not me! You’re nothing like me! You’re just– just a lie! Just a fake! You’re– you’re not su-supposed to be here! You’re not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to- to be free and with m-my friends an-and—” Dew’s words trailed off into sobs.

“...Are you okay?” The clone asked softly. Dew looked up, not realizing he was sobbing uncontrollably until his wings wrapped around his body in a tight hug. He was asking him if he was okay. After everything, after stealing his life, his clone was asking him if he was okay.

Dew’s sobs came to a stop in disbelief. He looked up, and saw the clone standing there with a thoughtful expression, someone who was trying to be nice. Pity.

“Do you want a hug?” The other Dew asked, so so gently that Dew forgot about everything and decided that, yes, he did want a hug, a hug from anyone else that wasn’t the scientist. It had been so long since the last one.

Dew nodded, wiping his tears as best he could and opened his wings. The clone stepped closer tentatively, and wrapped his arms around the other. He squeezed him tight, and Dew hugged him back, his wings wrapping around them both in a comforting embrace. Dew sobbed into his own shoulder, hugged his own body, and felt his own heart beating in a chest that wasn’t his.

But this wasn’t real comfort. If this was real, Dew couldn’t go on like this anyway. The world wasn’t big enough for two Dews; his friends wouldn’t be able to adjust to being friends with two of the same person, much less while having to adjust to… everything that had happened to him. Like having wings, for starters.

And Dew couldn’t forget what this impostor did. He stole his friends, he stole his life. He was the reason nobody was looking for him, and probably never had been. He was the reason Dew was trapped in that hell for so long, filled with a false hope that eventually, somebody would find and rescue him! But because of this clone, nobody even knew Dew was gone in the first place.

Dew’s eyes opened and drifted to his nightstand. He reached towards the drawer, and opened it quietly. There sat a small pocket knife, one he had always kept for self defense, in case anyone ever broke into his room during the night.

He never thought he’d be using it against himself, as the person who had broken in. But he also never thought he’d be experimented on by a mad scientist for two and a half months straight, and yet here he was.

Dew didn’t hesitate. He stabbed the knife into his clone’s back, making him gasp out in pain and push his arms against Dew’s body. Dew tightened his grip around him, turning the hug that had just been something comforting into something that would lead to his demise.

“St-STOP!” The clone shrieked, and Dew twisted the knife deeper into his back. The clone hissed in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and flailing under his grip.

Dew pushed his clone to the ground and pounced on top of him, planting a hand over his mouth to muffle the screams. The clone let out more strangled grunts as Dew pulled the knife out from underneath him, causing blood to spray all over them both. He stabbed him again. Tears and blood painted both of their faces until they couldn't tell who was who or what was what anymore.

Dew dug the knife into his chest and stared into those identical, wide and scared brown eyes until the light behind them went out, and he was once again the only Dew left in the world.

Dew didn't realize he had killed the man until he found his room eerily silent. The body lay still on the floor, limbs sprawled out in what one can only imagine as a desperate but futile struggle to get away. Dew sat in shock on hands and knees over his own body, tears dripping onto his own face until his sleepless brain started to register what had just happened.

Dew stood up, rapidly trying to get away from the corpse when he forgot he was still holding the knife to his chest, pulling it out of the body as he stood. Blood sloshed out and around the corpse in a pool or red.

Dew dropped the knife to the ground in disgust and horror, terrified about what he had just done. The knife clattered to the floor, laying neatly in the bloodied carpet glistening in the moonlight that shone through the windows.

Dew collapsed to the floor in despair, curling into a ball and staring at his own corpse for what felt like forever. Time and space blended together in a haze and Dew clutched his pounding head in his hands, wishing for his suffering to finally end.

He killed him. He killed him. He never wanted to kill anyone! This wasn’t supposed to happen! He wasn’t a murderer!

Dew was so lost in his own mind that he hadn’t heard the footsteps making their way through the house and to his room.

“Well…” Dread panged in Dew’s chest when he heard a familiar voice coming from the doorway. “I see you’ve met the clone.”

Dew’s blood ran cold. There was nothing else he could do.

“Dewey, Dewey, Dewey…” A dark chuckle. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” Dew tearfully looked up to see Anton, standing in his doorway.

“No,” Dew choked out, hyperventilating. “No, no no no no!” He backed up with frantic pleads, all in a hushed tone as to not wake his friends in the other room. “No, g-go away. Plea-please go away.”

Anton didn’t stop walking, and Dew was quickly backed into the wall. He pressed his back against it, ignoring his wings’ protests, just wishing he could disappear and never come back. His hysterical sobs didn’t cease, and Anton was now standing only inches away.

“L-l-leave me alone,” Dew cried between sobs. “Ge-get out, go aw-away. Please please just go away.” Dew saw Anton’s hand move from the corner of his eye, and he slid down the wall in defeat, expecting a needle to be drawn.

Instead, Anton knelt down and put his hands over Dew’s mouth, hushing his cries. Dew looked up in surprise, his wide eyes filled with fear and desperation, silently pleading up at the scientist.

“Shh,” Anton cooed. “Wouldn’t want to wake up your little friends.”

Dew blinked heavily, more tears falling down his cheeks and all over Anton’s hand, but he didn’t pull away.

“Nice room you got here.” Anton spoke quietly, almost gently, but there was a venom in his voice. He clicked his tongue. “Too bad everything’s covered in blood. Do you realize the mess you’ve made?”

Dew sobbed harder into Anton’s hand. He squeezed it tighter. “Be quiet, Dew.” Anton warned. “If your friends wake up, they won’t get out of this. Behave. You can do that, right?”

Dew squeezed his eyes shut, more tears falling, and nodded his head.

Dew felt more terrified than he had ever been in his life, which made his next moves strange. He slowly brought his hands up and put them on Anton’s wrist, slowly pulling the man’s hand down from over his mouth. Anton let him.

“P-please,” Dew whimpered. He spoke as quiet as he possibly could, leaving his voice as nothing but a small squeak. He was completely covered in blood, both his own, and the other’s. “Please, An-Anton. Please don’t hurt m-my friends, I’ll– I’ll do anything.”

Anton sighed. “What am I going to do with you? I won’t. Let's go back to the lab, I'll clean up your mess later.”

“...Back to the lab?” Dew whimpered.

“Yeah? Where else would we go?”

“I-I can’t go back there. Please.”

“You can. You will.”

Dew didn’t have the energy to argue with the scientist, and he didn’t know if he ever could again.

Anton patted his head. “Good,” He said, and smiled. Dew looked to the ground in utter defeat.

The scientist stood up and stretched. “Your sense of direction is astounding, I'm surprised you found your way back.”

Dew stood up on wobbly legs after him, sticking close to the wall. “...How- How'd you get here so fast?”

Anton shrugged, “Doesn’t matter.” He looked down at the dead body in curiosity and amazement. “Man, you really did a number on that guy, huh. Oh well. I can always make another one.” Anton chuckled.

“You cloned me.” Dew’s voice broke, face full of betrayal.

“I did tell you nobody would be looking for you, didn’t I? I know you have a lot of questions, and I don’t blame you. But I’ll answer them when we get back to the lab, alright?”

“...What are you gonna do to me?” Dew whimpered.

“What do you mean?”

“I– I escaped.”

“Ohh.” Anton sighed and ruffled his hair. “I knew about the vents, Dew. I know how hard you two worked on your little scheme, and I didn’t wanna ruin the excitement.”

“Y-you…” Dew felt sick to his stomach. “You knew?”

“Of course. I decided to play your little game. I wanted to see what would happen if I let you have some control.” Anton chuckled. “I didn’t think it’d be murder. I can’t say I’m not impressed. But you had to leave right after I threw you a whole birthday party? That hurts.”

Dew didn’t know if this could get any worse. His life was over, in more ways than one. Anton knew he was lying the whole time. There was absolutely nothing he could hide from him. There was no point in fighting anymore, Anton would always win. This was the worst day of his life.

“Like I said, I’ll answer your questions later. Let’s go.”

Dew tried to walk out his bedroom door, but just thinking about walking past his sleeping friends made him feel sick. He leaned against the doorframe, trying to gain his balance again. Anton noticed his struggles and walked up to him.

“You must be exhausted, huh? C’mere.” Dew didn’t resist as Anton picked him up into a bridal carry. The scientist walked out of Dew’s bloody bedroom and passed his friends on the couch. Dew sobbed louder when he caught sight of tranquilizer darts sticking out of their necks.

Oh. That’s why they didn’t wake up from all that screaming. Oh. Anton had been there the whole time.

“C’mon man,” Anton sighed. “I thought I told you to be quiet? Your friends are fine. I’ll get everything cleaned up before they wake up, promise.”

“Okay,” Dew squeaked. He hoped, with every ounce of hope he had left, that Anton was telling the truth.

Anton looked down at his test subject and tilted his head. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” Anton asked, though he already knew the answer. Dew nodded numbly. “...I can help you sleep. If you let me.”

Dew looked up. “Just– Just make it stop. Make everything stop.”

Anton nodded thoughtfully, pleased that his test subject was finally on the same page. “Sleep, Dewey,” Anton whispered into his ear, and continued walking.

And just like every other time Anton decided to control his mind, Dew started to succumb to sweet unconsciousness. His eyelids were growing heavy, and it was hard to keep his head up as he was carried out the front door. Dew’s frantic thoughts began to disperse, and his breathing grew slow and even; relaxed. His head lolled to the side, resting on Anton’s shoulder as he felt rain pouring down on them both. He looked to the sky, the stars, the moon, knowing he’d never see them again.

Dew could hardly keep his eyes open when Anton arrived at a car, which was parked on the street in front of his house. He couldn’t move his body when Anton laid him down on the backseat, and covered him with a blanket. The only noise he could hear was the rain pouring down as they drove into the night. And then, Dew finally fell asleep.

. . .

Sawyer had spent all night thinking about what Dew had told him earlier, at the surprise birthday party he and his friends had thrown for him. Sawyer missed him too, more than anything. Sure, Dew was happy now, with Hayden and Layla. He had confessed his year long crush on them only a few weeks ago at that amusement park they went to, and they took it as well as they possibly could. Dew was happy now, and he didn’t need Sawyer.

…But that didn’t mean Sawyer couldn’t still try. They were all polyamorous, surely they’d have room for one more, right?

Sawyer would tell Dew how much he means to him, like Dew had told him earlier. It would probably be awkward– because Sawyer was probably the most socially awkward person ever. But he couldn’t stand to hide his feelings any longer, even if it did ruin a lifelong friendship with his favorite person in the world. But knowing Dew, he’d never let that happen anyway! There was really nothing for Sawyer to worry about.

Sawyer ran through the streets back to Dew’s house, choosing to wait no more. If he wanted things to change, he would make them change himself.

Sawyer arrived at the front door, but hesitated when he heard talking coming from the other side. Sawyer wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but the voices sounded… off. He recognised Dew’s in an instant, of course, having spent his entire life listening to him talk about anything and everything. He knew Dew like the back of his hand, which made what he was hearing horrifying.

His friend sounded utterly terrified. He was crying– no, sobbing. Sawyer hadn’t heard Dew cry like that since his parents passed away years ago. Something terrible was happening and Sawyer was ready to break down the door just to comfort his best friend. But then he heard another voice, this one unfamiliar.

Sawyer put his ears to the door, trying to listen in. But the words were hushed and muffled. His heart sped up. What did this mean? What was going on in there? A very intense gut feeling stopped Sawyer from opening the door to find out. He backed away from the door when he heard the footsteps and voices getting closer. And when the doorknob started to twist open, Sawyer leaped into the bushes.

He cursed at himself. How anti-social could he be? To hide in the bushes at his friend’s house to avoid confronting him– while he was obviously going through something terrible, no less? Fuck, Sawyer wasn’t ready for any of this. It was best to just go back home.

He started crawling out of the bushes, heading towards the back of the house when he stopped in his tracks. He noticed the voices had stopped talking, but they were outside. Shit– did he get spotted? Sawyer cringed. How embarrassing…

Sawyer peaked over his shoulder and saw somebody facing away from him, walking towards the street. He crawled forward to get a closer look, stomach dropping in horror at what he saw.

It was Dew– it had to be! But he was drenched in blood and had two giant wings sticking out of his back. He was crying. But he looked so tired, resting his head against the shoulder of the person carrying him– someone Sawyer didn’t recognise.

Something was very, very wrong. Sawyer decided against confronting them, or going inside and making himself known to whoever else could be in there. He had to get out of there, or he felt like his blood would be added to the mix. Sawyer ran through the rain, back towards his home.

Sawyer and Dew had been best friends since childhood. Sawyer still remembered the day they met on the playground during recess. He couldn’t imagine a life without Dew. But now Dew was in trouble, and he was the only person who could save him. Sawyer knew something had been off with his friend the past few months, but he didn’t know what. Now, his suspicions were confirmed, and he was terrified.

The only thing Sawyer knew for sure, was that no matter what it took, he’d get his best friend back.

— 

fun fact: this was one of the first Dew and Anton scenarios i ever came up with, way way back before they even had names! hahahaha! anyway i think this is like the best thing i’ve ever written i hope u all liked it hehehe :)

taglist: @whumpinthepot @shywhumpauthor @whump-me-all-night-long @whump321 @fuckcapitalismasshole @sorry-i-spaced @theelvishcowgirl @catnykit @tettlod @delicateprincepaper @rejectedbytheempty @mijajaj @anothertawogsideblog @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox @parasitebunny @bottlecapreader @thecareandkeepingofwhumpees @inkwell-and-dagger @vidawhump

let me know if you want to be removed or added to the taglist!

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Dialogue Prompt

"It's over."

"No, it isn't."

"A, what are you talking about? We made it-"

"You lied to me, B"

"A-"

"You lied to me. You helped create me. My whole life is a lie, and you! You helped create it. You betrayed me, again and again."

"I helped you!"

"You knew what happened behind closed doors, B, and you did nothing! You let it happen!"

"A, please, don't act like I don't care. I-"

"Everything you are, it's all an illusion. A deception. A lie. You've never cared about anyone but yourself, much less me."

"..."

"You're as much a lie as I am."

[chasingmidnights]

Today's Special: Torture

Title: Today’s Special: Torture

Summary: Ever since you landed on Geonosis, you’ve had a bad feeling, one you couldn’t shake. But you trusted Master Kenobi and followed his lead. Turns out though, you should’ve listened to your gut feeling. 

Warnings: torture/being whipped; character injury; being captured; losing consciousness; and I think those are the major ones. I apologize if I missed anything but you are responsible for what you read. 

Author's Note: The Mandalorian in this is just kind of a generic Mandalorian, it's none of the ones that we've come to love & adore.

Wordcount: 1,274

You had been knocked unconscious and badly injured during the battle at the colosseum on Geonosis. You groaned as you sat up, gently placing your hand to the side of your head. Before you could react, you were instantly surrounded by droids and Geonosian soldiers. With their weapons still aimed at you, they part a path for Count Dooku. You immediately tried to reach for your lightsaber but he was quicker and he used the force to pull the saber towards him, catching it with ease. He begins to click his tongue in disappointment. 

“Y/n, Y/n, Y/n. I’m so very disappointed in you.” Count Dooku admits but you could care less what he thinks. 

You narrow your gaze at him. “Bite me.” 

He feigns that your words hurt him before making his own remark. “You kiss Obi-Wan with that mouth?” He quirked an eyebrow up at your shocked expression. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You snap back, clenching your jaw as you do. 

A smirk tugs up at the corner of his lips. “Oh, but I do. You see, I’ve been having you followed and I know all about your little affair with General Kenobi.” 

“What do you want, Dooku?” You grit out. 

“I want you to join me, join the dark side. Then, you can show General Kenobi what a mistake it was to leave you behind. To leave you as if you meant nothing.” He emphasizes every word and holds out a hand for you to take. 

Your gaze drifts down towards his hand in disgust before looking back up to meet his gaze. You practically growl the next words that come out of your mouth. “Never. Obi-Wan will come back for me.” 

Count Dooku shakes his head in disappointment. “So be it then. Take her away.” 

You were then yanked up to your feet and dragged away by some of the Geonosian soldiers. When they reached the prison area, they tossed you into a cell. You grunted as you made impact with the hard floor. The door slid close and locked automatically. You slowly stand up, holding your left side as you do. Looking around the small cell, you see no way out and let out a huff of air, annoyed that you’re in this mess. You notice the bench jutting out of the wall and decide to take a seat, you’re more than likely going to be here a while. 

The longer they kept you waiting, the more impatient and restless you became. You tried to meditate but it was useless, you couldn’t focus. Countless possibilities ran through your mind on what they could and would do to you. Each thought worse than the next and each one sent a shiver down your spine. You’re brought out of your thoughts when the cell door slides open and two Geonosian guards stand there. They enter your cell and grab you forcefully to lead you elsewhere.

They bring you to another part of the massive compound and shove you into a dingy room. In the center of the room a containment field and your gut twists. You begin to fight against the guards but it’s no use and they push you forward. Once they have you locked in place in the containment field, a blue-colored field surrounds you. The guards go to stand by the door and all you can do is listen to them click in various ways as they talk. You, of course, have no idea what they’re talking about. After what felt like hours of waiting, you notice how the guards straighten up their posture just as the door slides open. You’re not surprised to see Count Dooku enter the room but you are surprised by the Mandalorian that follows in after him. Great, your day just keeps getting better and better. 

“I see you’ve already noticed my companion. And yes, he is a Mandalorian and he has quite the disdain for the Jedi and the Republic.” Count Dooku informs, he was just as arrogant as ever. 

Your eyes glance over to the Mandalorian and a shiver crawls up your spine as you watch him crack his knuckles. You can only imagine the kind of evil grin that he’s wearing underneath the helmet. 

“It will bring me great pleasure to torture you, Jedi scum.” The Mandalorian says through the modulator. 

You narrow your gaze at the bounty hunter. 

“And so you shall. Remove the shield but keep the binders on.” Count Dooku orders one of the guards and they do as they’re told. “Since you refuse to join the dark side, maybe some torture will change your mind.” 

You do your best to keep your emotions in check but you know your eyes deceive you. An evil smirk curls up on the corner of Count Dooku’s lips. He then excuses himself to let the Mandalorian do their job. You watch as the armor-covered man pulls out what looks to be a baton. But you were greatly mistaken. He presses a button on the handle and it hums to life, releasing nine electrified whips. Your eyes widen in fear at the device. He gives the whip a few twirls, low to the ground and they cackle when the whips come into contact with the floor. You watch him as he begins to walk behind you. 

“I’m gonna enjoy this.” 

You hear the electricity from the whips meet the ground once more causing them to sound irritated and angry. You try to brace yourself for the first impact of the whips but no amount of preparation could’ve been enough. The sharp metal teeth that were at the end of each whip went straight through the fabric of your tunic and connected with your skin. You cry out in agony and curse at the same time, the intense feeling being too much. Electricity ran through your body causing you to spasm. The Mandalorian left the teeth of the whips in your flesh for a few minutes before yanking them out harshly. This action alone causes another scream to come out of you. It’s not long before your tormentor is digging the nine-tail back into you. 

Hours ticked by as scream after scream left your fragile body. To say you were exhausted would be a huge understatement, you’re pretty sure you went unconscious a few times. You didn’t think that it was ever going to end. Just then, the door slid open and Count Dooku entered the room. He didn’t say anything, he just eyed you up and down as he took in your beaten body. You could barely hear the wind of the whip as the Mandalorian readied it to strike you once more. But before he got the chance to, Count Dooku stopped him. 

“That’s enough.” He pauses as he examines your nearly unconscious body. “So, would you like to reconsider my offer?” 

Somehow you manage to muster enough strength to lift your bowed head. You narrow your gaze at him before huffing a single word out. “Never.” You then drop your head back down. 

Count Dooku clicks his tongue as he shakes his head in disapproval. “Stubborn girl. Take her back to her cell, we’ll try again tomorrow.” 

Tomorrow? You nearly fainted at the word. You’re not sure if you can go through another day of this torture. The Mandalorian took too much pleasure in doing this task assigned to him. You prayed to the Maker that Obi-Wan was on his way to rescue you, as you were being dragged back to your cell. Surely he didn’t abandon you and left you for dead… Right?

[pixelatedraindrops]

(≧///﹏ ///≦) 💦 💫

[carrion-carry-on]

Whumptober No.5

Every whumpee’s needs - Blood loss

This is a follow up/continuation of my previous post. Tech starts getting delirious from loss of blood and realizes, somehow, that things are much more serious than he first thought.

Warning: description of injury and field trauma operation (somewhat); I have an interest in human and animal medicine and know how to use it (somewhat)

AO3 Link

Tech’s first guess... No, second guess? Whichever one - it’d been right. He’d been hit much higher up than he’d first thought. It was also bleeding more than he thought. And it was much more noticeable than... Maybe he’d been wrong a lot today.

The blood is deeper in color, darker. It’s still coming out at a relatively fast rate. Probably due to his racing heart and the sizable slice in his abdomen. How had a blaster managed that?

More information began to pour in - his brain filtering out less “noise” in his time of crisis. It’s not an unfamiliar sensation. Time slows, and he sees it suddenly. Projectiles. Long, thin, blade-like projectiles firing from these junkers’ weapons. Who uses projectiles? Savages and, apparently, two-bit scrapyard osi’kovids. Wow, he must have picked up more from Cross than he’d like to believe. He always was muttering curses under his breath - words they were not supposed to know, things they weren’t supposed to say.

Focus! From the amount of blood, the depth of the wound, the placement in his body, it must have cut somewhere close to the liver. Definitely not good.

Medical scans, anatomy, it all comes bombarding him all at once. Hunter is speaking to him, and Tech tries to reply, but he doubts it would make sense. His brain is functioning at a heightened capacity, trying to save itself. Himself?

Tech feels cold. Far too cold, far too fast. He’s losing blood fast. Funny, he hears Hunter say something similar. Or maybe his ears are playing tricks.

Maybe it’s a portal vein. The hepatic portal vein. Yes... That would account for the darker color, veins carry deoxygenated blood, and so the hemoglobin appears desaturated. There are few ways to repair injury to such a vein. Death by traumatic hemorrhage is not a pleasant way to go, but not the worst. You could suture the vein closed. Or try grafting. But ligation is also viable. In this instance, perhaps ligation would be easiest (by which he means, more manageable).

“Ligation? What the kark is that?! Tech, you have to tell me!”

That’s Hunter’s voice. Has he been speaking out loud?

“Yes, Tech! Just - I don’t know how to-!”

There’s more pain and a shadow overhead of him. When did things get darker? Hazier? Application of pressure slowly seeps into his nearly unconscious mind. Hunter has little to no medical training. What little he does possess has mainly to do with lighter trauma than this. At least, Tech believes so.

Tech has to make a conscious effort to talk. But his head is full of cotton, his tongue is a useless chunk of flesh that stuffs the bottom of his mouth. He sees the pain in Hunter’s eyes, the fear in Omega’s. Wrecker is somewhere close, as is Echo. He can feel them, just can’t see them. “Close... vein, pinch... it shut.”

Hands nowhere near Hunter’s in size are slowly guided through the blood pool that has become his abdomen. Tech isn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of Omega’s time in the labs. Yes, it makes sense she’d know how to help.

Tech cannot tell when, or even if, Omega succeeds, as he begins to fade towards unconsciousness. All he can hope is that he reawakens to his family. Sans one brother, but still his family.