#discarded whumpee

[uriswhumpchamber]

Whumpee looking at the camera, mouthing "you hear this guy?" in the middle of one of Whumper's rants.

[justbreakonme]

“The timid student cannot learn.”

That’s what Caretaker had carefully written on their arm, a reminder. That questions were okay.

“Caretaker?”

“Mm?” they looked up from their laptop, taking the pen out of their mouth, “What’s up?”

“Do you-“ Whumpee looked back at their arm, and took a deep breath, “Do you like me? Enough to keep me?”

Caretaker blanked, looking back at them in almost horror, and for a sickening moment, Whumpee was sure the answer was no.

“Whumpee, did you think I was going to get rid of you?”

They nodded, swallowing hard and trying to pretend that they didn’t want to drop to their knees in front of Caretaker and plead that they would learn, they would be a good student forever. “I just…wanted to know when. So I could b-be ready, you know?”

Their voice cracked, but they tried their best to smile.

“Whumpee,” their voice was so soft, so sweet, so genuine, “Never. Never ever. You’ll be with me for as long as you want, forever even. You’ll always be welcome here with me.”

Tears began to fall, and they tried to apologize but nothing came out.

“Come here sweet, I’ve got you. It’s okay,” Caretaker wrapped their arms around Whumpees shaking shoulders, “Let it out…”

[bedtimescenarios]

There's something so terrifyingly beautiful about mind control.

Just imagine- a Whumpee who knows about Whumper's ability. As soon as they end up alone with them and realize what's going to happen, they panic. They attempt to get away, to stay out of Whumper's reach, to fight.

When that fails, they resort to choked pleas, backing away though they know it's futile. Their eyes warily scan the grinning Whumper, who is walking towards them at a painfully slow pace, aware of the fact that they have them cornered. As their back presses against the cold wall, and Whumper's hand delicately makes its way towards their face, Whumpee freezes.

Whumper's fingers gently brush against their face, the cold touch causing them to shiver.

"Don't fight me."

Their voice is sweet as they speak, so much so that, if they didn't know better, Whumpee would think this was their medium. But as Whumper's hand settles on their cheek, and their mind starts becoming foggy, that idea is discarded.

"You'll feel so much better afterwards, you'll see. Just let me in."

Whumpee grimaces, desperately trying to hold onto their thoughts. their thoughts. their, their, THEIR-

"There we go."

As Whumpee's facial features relax, their breathing slows down, and their expression goes blank, Whumper knows they've won.

Whumpee's mind is theirs now.

[cravesunconditionallove]

The pure joy of Caretaker as Whumpee gets their casts taken off, bandages removed, stitches pulled, yet Whumpee isn’t nearly as happy. No, this signals a new era. Whumpee is so used to being hurt. Healing. Pain. That anything different feels wrong, scary, uncertain. They don’t know how to deal with being healthy. Being broken was how they knew they were still alive. A thought nags at Whumpee. What if Caretaker doesn’t want them anymore now that they’re healed? Will they be discarded by Caretaker just like they had been by Whumper? Was Caretaker only around because they felt bad for Whumpee?

[holidayinhell]

CWs: violence, noncon nudity, major character death, vampire Whumper, vampire/ineffective Caretaker, bloodbag whumpee

“Whumpee… don’t!”

Whumpee continued toward the vampire, ignoring his friend's protests.

“Shut up, Caretaker.” Whumper snapped over his shoulder. He shifted his attention to Whumpee, expression softening as he outstretched his arms to the young man.

Wearily, Whumpee took an uneasy step forward, curling into the tall man’s embrace.

“Sweet boy.” Whumper cooed, patting his captive's back delicately.

The vampire nestled his face into the crook of Whumpee’s neck. His favorite spot. 

He was being disarmingly gentle and Whumpee clung to every moment of tenderness with bated breath. The vampire planted small kisses on the bare flesh, goosebumps prickling to the surface of the skin. Whumper drew his captive in closer, tightening his grip until Whumpee’s breath escaped in ragged wheezes. 

Whumper relished the act, all too aware of Caretaker’s vigilant gaze from the corner of his eye. He savored every moment that he toyed with the man, drinking in the drumbeat of Whumpee’s racing heart beneath him and Caretaker’s intense, protective glare.

“Are you scared?” Whumper tucked the hair behind Whumpee’s ear. “Thought you were used to it by now.”

He nipped at Whumpee’s neck, eliciting a sharp gasp when his fangs nicked the surface. But the vampire didn’t clamp down like he normally would, instead he dug his teeth in deep enough for only a small ruby droplet to seep out.

He licked up the pearl of blood clinging to his lip. The vampire’s wicked emerald eyes flickered back to Caretaker, glinting with a hint of warning.

“Do me a favor, Whumpee.”

He smoothed the fabric over Whumpee’s shoulders, tracing the bones that protruded under his thick woolen sweater. 

Whumpee shifted nervously under Whumper’s heavy hands. “Okay.”

“Take this off.”

It was a command disguised as a suggestion. There was no point in fighting against it. 

Whumpee obediently lifted the shirt above his head with frail fingers, revealing his battered torso; a collection of green and blue bruises, a spattering of old and new. His skin stretched tightly over his sharp ribs, pulled taut like a drum. He was startlingly skinny, but Whumper didn’t remark on how emaciated he looked. 

Instead, the vampire bundled up the discarded shirt and hurled it into the corner of the room.

“Pants too. All of it.”

Whumpee’s hands fumbled to find the button of his jeans, dreading whatever came next. He didn't have to look up to sense Caretaker's silent, watchful gaze boring into his spine.

“Whumpee...” Caretaker murmured. His instincts urged him to intervene, but logic told him to bite his tongue.

The pants dropped to the floor, sagging around Whumpee’s ankles. Then he hooked his fingers into the elastic waistband, grimacing as he shimmied out of the garment. His hands rushed to cover himself. The underwear slid down his legs limply, and he stepped out of the puddle of fabric and kicked it aside.

“Good boy. Now put your hands down.” Whumper slapped Whumpee’s wrists with a powerful smack. “Stand in the middle of the room, right there. Under the light.”

Whumpee anxiously shifted into position, forcing his balled fists to remain at his hips. A bead of sweat fell to his collarbone despite the chill of the room.

“Give me a spin now, I want to see you. All of you.”

Hands clenched to the side, his cheeks burned in shame as he spun in a slow circle under the harsh fluorescent light. He could feel both vampires appraising every inch of his naked, battered body, like two butchers eyeing a prize cut of meat.

Whumper’s eyes roved over Whumpee’s flesh, searching intently for the mark he knew was hidden somewhere.

“Hmm. You’re very pale.” Whumper observed.

“He’s a living being,” Caretaker interjected. “He needs sunlight. And food.”

“I’ll tell you when to speak.” Whumper snapped, eyes narrowing at his charge.

Whumper had a soft spot for his protege, but the naive young vampire had a tendency to be unruly. Outspoken. Combative. While this intense nature might one day forge a formidable vampire, training him was a dismal task.

He had plenty of time to straighten Caretaker out. That could wait. Whumper focused his attention again on the gaunt figure shaking in front of him. “Give me your arm, sweet boy.”

Whumpee timidly outstretched his bare arm, mottled with thick, half-moon scars. He yelped when Whumper pressed his wrist to his mouth, this time plunging his sharp fangs deep into the tender flesh. Tension hung thick in the air.

“You taste vile.”

Whumper spat the mouthful onto the floor.

Whumpee instinctively pulled his bleeding arm to his chest, smearing himself with red.

“I--I do?” he stammered. His heart pounded in his ears.

“Why do you taste… like Caretaker?”

The question hung heavy in the air. 

“Please,” Whumpee whispered. The man crumbled instantly, his courage shattering like glass. Silent tears streamed down his face.

A powerful smack sent Whumpee crashing to the floor. 

“STOP!” Caretaker cried.

The back of Whumpee’s head slammed against the concrete with a sickening thud. For an agonizing moment, his vision went black. Groping blindly, his hands cradled his aching skull. 

Without warning, Whumper delivered a powerful kick into Whumpee’s chest, stamping the heel of his boot square against his sternum. The blow knocked the air out of the man’s lungs with a sharp, gasping whoosh, and sent him sprawling across the floor in a convulsing heap.

The vampire took hold of Whumpee’s ankle, hoisting his leg in the air. 

He spread the man apart, putting him on full display, exposing Whumpee’s soft, vulnerable genitals. Whumpee helplessly fumbled to cover himself.

“Put your fucking hands down.”

Sobbing, Whumpee drew his hands back.

A fresh wound revealed itself on the inside of his thigh.

It was a bite mark, deliberately hidden at Whumpee’s groin. The teeth marks didn’t match the others. The mark didn’t belong to Whumper. 

The vampire dropped the leg, sending Whumpee’s leg crashing into the concrete.

“Caretaker.” Whumper snarled.

“D-D-Don’t be mad.” Whumpee stuttered breathlessly, grime cutting into his elbows as he scrambled into a fetal position.

Whumper kicked the frail man again, this time square in the stomach, adding to the ever-growing collection of bruises on his torso. An anguished cry escaped Whumpee’s lips.

“Stop!” Caretaker implored. “He didn’t do anything!”

“You’ve been tasting him.” Whumper snarled.

 “You’ve been drinking from my bloodbag, and you thought you could hide it from me?” His voice grew sharper, edged with betrayal.

Caretaker froze, ears ringing with his friend’s quiet sobs.

“Y-Yes, I bit him.”

“You fucking imbecile.”

“But I--I didn’t drink from him! I would nev--!”

“He’s ruined.” Whumper dismissed, his voice a harsh, guttural growl. His blazing emerald eyes locked on Caretaker with searing intensity, full of unrestrained fury.

 “You tainted his blood with your putrid fucking venom.”

Whumper’s demeanor was radiating with a fury that raged so violently Caretaker could almost feel it buzzing in the air. He was at a loss. He had never seen his master so furious, and his mind raced to find the words that might tamper his wrath.

“I didn’t want to.”

The vampire spat at Caretaker’s shoes, trying to rid his palette of the astringent flavor.

“He was dying-- I had no choice.”

Caretaker side-stepped towards Whumpee protectively, keeping his eyes on his master as he traversed the room cautiously. A knot of uncertainty tightened in his chest.

“The venom is the only thing keeping him alive.” Caretaker tried. “He hasn’t had human food in weeks.”

“He tastes sour.”

Caretaker shook his head. “He just needs food! I’m sure his body will cycle it out. I barely gave him any. In two days, he’ll--”

“This is truly disappointing.” The vampire interrupted. “Even coming from you.” 

Caretaker blinked in disbelief. He’d done exactly what was asked of him, hadn’t he? Whumpee was still breathing, still human. Still alive. How else was a human supposed to survive for weeks without a single scrap of food?

His chest tightened, the gravity of the situation slowly sinking in. 

“Please,” Caretaker tried. 

His hair fell in his eyes as he bowed his head down in contrition, doubling over in the best display of submission he could manage. It was his last chance to diffuse the situation, to have a chance at helping his friend. 

“Forgive me, master.”

Caretaker peeked up at the vampire through his curtain of bangs, but the vampire didn’t budge.

“I crossed a line. It won’t happen again.” He added, “punish me as you see fit.”

“I will.”

Frowning, Whumper sighed deeply. Caretaker was a young vampire, still so naïve in the ways of the world. He wanted to give his protege the benefit of the doubt, but his blood was still boiling from this predicament. Caretaker wasn't getting off the hook that easily.

“So. You’ve developed feelings for poor little Whumpee, huh?”

Caretaker stiffened. Of course he had. But admitting something like that felt like a sure-fire way to get Whumpee killed.

“No. You told me to keep him alive so, I was… misguided, in my duty. I didn’t even think about it.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Please, take it out on me. It's my fault” Caretaker tried. “Whumpee didn't do anything wrong.”

The vampire’s eyes bounced to Whumpee, folded into a fetal position on the floor. The skinny captive was huddled into a tight ball, arms hugging his knees tightly as he fought to steady his breath. He looked so fragile. So pathetic.

“Let this be a lesson to you, Caretaker. You can’t hide anything from me.”

Whumper seized a fistful of Whumpee’s hair, yanking him onto Caretaker’s shoes. 

“And you don’t put your fucking fangs on your master’s property. Ever.”

“Drain him.”

“No. Nono, no…” Whumpee anchored his arms around his friend’s shins. He clawed at the leg of Caretaker’s pants with wide, frantic eyes.

Caretaker blinked, stunned into silence.

“This is your punishment.” Whumper said sternly. “Kill him now.”

“NOOOO!” Whumpee shrieked, voice raw with terror. “Caretaker. H-h-help me. Help me please!!”

Caretaker couldn’t bear to look down at the boy quivering at his feet, eyes wide with desperate hope that his friend could somehow save him. All Caretaker ever wanted to do was to keep him alive, to keep him safe, and in the process he had condemned Whumpee to the very fate that he had so fiercely fought to prevent.

“I’m so sorry, Whumpee.” His heart shattered as he gently ran a hand through Whumpee’s soft, teddy brown hair.

With a cold, sinking dread, Caretaker knew that Whumpee’s fate was sealed. This was the only way Whumper would ever forgive him.

“I wanted you to be strong. I thought I was helping you.”

Caretaker dropped to his knees alongside Whumpee. Taking his face into both hands, he wiped the tears from his sunken cheeks, planting a sorrowful kiss on his forehead.

All hope shattered when Caretaker twisted Whumpee’s head to the side, stretching his neck long. 

“Oh god, god please--” he whispered in a soft, trembling murmur. “Don’t kill me, Caretaker!”

A hopeless sob ached at the back of Whumpee’s throat, but he swallowed against the urge to cry out. He sniffled powerlessly as Caretaker’s tongue swirled along a fresh spot at his neck.

“Be brave,” he hummed. Caretaker’s fangs plunged into Whumpee’s silky flesh. 

He didn’t realize how much his body craved it until he took his first sip. 

Oh fuck.

Whumpee’s pitiful pleas fell silent as Caretaker swallowed mouthfuls of his thick, spicy blood. The human’s heartbeat fluttered like a jackhammer, flooding Caretaker’s mouth with tangy ecstasy. His tongue eagerly lapped at the red that spilled onto the pale flesh.

Was this truly punishment? Before him was a veritable buffet, free for the taking.

Whumpee’s terrified heart beat so quickly that the vampire didn’t need to suck at the wound at all, the blood filled his mouth in time with Whumpee’s ragged pulse, which Caretaker eagerly drank down.

 

By the time Whumpee’s heart slowed, Caretaker had nearly forgotten that he was devouring his friend. Any concern for the human felt like a far off memory, even if he was the one person he’d ever managed to keep alive. Cold realization hit after his pulse slowed to a whisper, and then, nothing at all.

Caretaker gathered the cold, limp body into a half-hearted embrace. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. 

He wasn’t sure if the apology meant anything. He spent the last ten minutes sucking the life out of the human he once called his friend, and he enjoyed every fucking second of it. 

Part of him wondered if there was an ounce of humanity left in him, or if he had finally completed the transformation into a full-blown blood sucking monster. Either way, he pulled away from the corpse feeling rejuvenated. For the first time since being turned, he felt strong.

With a shit-eating grin, Whumper gave his nod of approval.

“Find another.” The vampire reached for the handle of the huge steel door, propping it open for Caretaker to follow.

“And this time, keep your fangs off.”

[whumpfish]

Since we've been talking about it quite a bit recently, let me introduce an underrepresented part of conditioning: stupid shit.

Not everything you've been conditioned to believe will elicit a negative response to is going to trigger a full-on meltdown. Your whumpee likely has habits that only a caretaker who is looking will notice. Your caretaker might even make comments or tease them about it, because they're clearly not upset, so they're just being weird.

I was a prey kid, and my ptsd from that was probably closer to combat fatigue than strictly emotional damage. I did a ton of things nobody noticed, and the people who noticed never suspected why. I never sat with my back exposed, I always took the back row. I packed up all my worldly belongings and took them with me if I had to go to the restroom. I didn't answer to my name in the hall unless I recognized the voice. Failing to do these, I had learned, had catastrophic consequences; my life depended on them.

Conditioning changes your perception; it changes how your brain registers sound, for example. My brain just straight up discarded the sound of my name if it was someone I didn't know. I had no conscious idea that I was walking away from perfectly harmless people who were just trying to get my attention. I just didn't hear them.

Then I went and got myself an abusive girlfriend, because why not... and the opposite happened. I got told multiple times a day that I was walking wrong and sounded "like a herd of elephants." I didn't realize til we stayed with my aunt who has new hardwood floors that my footsteps sound WAY louder to me than anyone else's, and I wasn't taking actual steps but instead sort of sliding my feet along. I didn't notice until I tripped on a rug that nobody else was moving like this. This was weird. And I'm working on it, I've started to walk with the ball of my foot first like a Degas dancer. But if my heel hits the floor first it sounds like an earthquake to me.

Give your whumpee stupid shit that stays with them even as they recover from the big stuff, not worked on or even noticed by their caretaker and maybe the whumpee themselves. Make it an inconvenience. Make it instinctive. Make it awkward. Conditioning is a spectrum of survival behaviors, and the milder end of that spectrum is just as important as the more severe end if you want to write it realistically.

[whumpshaped]

whumpee whos been trained and conditioned to have one single purpose. and then has that purpose taken away

a pet who lost its owner

a slave who lost their master

a weapon that lost its wielder

unused/discarded human furniture

guard dog that lost its charge

bonus: caretaker whose only purpose was caring for whumpee but whumpee is now independent. or worse

[fern-writes-whump]

I want... disposable whumpees :]

Whumpees who know they're one of many, many others. Who know they're not special or useful. They know their time is running out. That getting too damaged means getting discarded.

[whumpy-wyrms]

Blood Runs Cold #1: You’re All Mine

masterlist | next

content: death, gore, dead bodies, blood drinking, cannibalism, cold whump, claustrophobia, nonsexual nudity, begging, manhandling, invasion of privacy, drugging, defiant immortal whumpee, creepy possessive vampire whumper

NEW SERIES!! very excited about this :D i explained a bit about it here if you wanna read that, but you don’t have to!

— 

It was just another normal night at the morgue for Silas. There must’ve been an accident earlier, leaving two humans dead and transported straight to his doorstep, lifeless and completely at his mercy.

Two humans. One male, one female, both seemingly in their early 20s with no obvious signs of death. Their clothes and possessions were tossed to the side, discarded and unneeded. Silas began his work, filling the air with the sounds of pens on clipboards and scalpels on skin. His work was meticulous, practiced, quick. The causes of death was something he had never cared to ponder over; just an observation, just another thing to write down in the reports.

No, there was something else about this work that captivated Silas, something that was only reinforced by these two humans. The work was morbid, dark, disturbing. He wasn’t in it for the money, or for some strange fascination he had with the human body, no. He was in it for the blood, and these humans would provide him with more than enough.

Two perfect humans. They had been delivered by the hospital, but there was nobody here to claim them, to name them. These bodies were without a family, without anyone to identify them, or plan a burial for them. These bodies had been abandoned by their own kind. And that’d only meant they were free for the taking.

Two corpses: flesh, guts, bones and all. Nobody would come looking for these poor souls. They were all for him.

Just like every time he had finished the proper paperwork and preparations, Silas dug into his new meal. In ravaging hunger, the vampire teared through the flesh of the corpses, savoring every moment. His glowing red eyes turned to slits, wild and monstrous as he fed, losing every sense of humanity he had left. Nothing about this was clean, tidy, proper. Silas was a vampire– a monster– and he would feast like one.

As he sucked both of the corpses dry of their sweet blood, he couldn’t help but savor the shorter one’s taste. It was delicious. It was divine. He couldn’t imagine what it would've tasted like when they were alive. But it was too late now, he supposed.

Silas picked up the smaller human’s body, brushing his hand over the other’s cold, unmoving face. The thing’s eyes were wide and lifeless, but full of color in this dull place. Silas stared for a moment, noticing something unique about this human; that one eye was green, the other blue. What fascinating, yet helpless creatures, they never ceased to surprise him. He laid the bloody body in one of the mortuary freezers, gently shutting their eyelids closed, and did the same with the other.

Silas licked his lips, relishing the last of his free meal. Sure, the blood of all the corpses that came here was always stale, old, dead. But it was far safer than hunting for humans in town and risking getting killed by the vampire hunters that lurked in the shadows. Of course, Silas couldn’t always hold back his yearn for fresh blood or the thrill of the hunt, but the corpses here held him off and kept him safe.

Silas, well fed for the night, went to sleep as the sun rose over his graveyard.

. . .

Aspen woke to dead silence. And cold. His limbs felt frozen, numb, hard to even move from their position. He was so cold that he felt like it was a miracle he was even alive.

The next thing Aspen noticed was that he was laying flat on a hard surface, which was also ice cold to the touch. He blinked his eyes, but found nothing but complete darkness all around him. Trying to sit up, Aspen bumped his head on a surface only inches above him.

Aspen’s heart started racing. He felt around with his arms, and realized his entire body was completely enclosed, metal walls surrounding every side of him. He was trapped.

“H-hey!” Aspen called out, his voice feeling strained with disuse, but loud and echoey in the quiet air. “Help! L-Let me out! Is anybody there? Hello?” Aspen’s pleads were met with nothing but an eerie silence.

Tears pricked in Aspen’s eyes when he realized nobody was coming to help. His chest heaved rapidly, breath hitching in his throat. He needed to get out of here. Aspen panicky kicked and scratched against his cold prison, but nothing budged. His heartbeat quickened when he realized he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

He was covered in nothing but a thin white sheet that was draped over his head and ran all the way down to his ankles. It did nothing to drown out the chill, so all he had left was to weep in despair. “Let me out! Anybody! Lyle! Please!” Aspen continued to kick and struggle, but it was no use.

Nobody answered his calls. Nobody answered his pleads for help. Aspen was all alone.

. . .

Silas woke to blood-curdling screaming. And living in a morgue that was always filled with lifeless, decaying corpses, this was a bad sign. Silas made sure nothing ever made any noises in this place because he preferred the dead silence. Nobody else was even supposed to be here.

Silas slowly climbed out of his coffin, covering his ears from that annoying, incessant screaming. He pointed his nose upward and sniffed through the air. Human.

Well, whatever poor soul that had happened to wander into this place after hours was fair game to him. It was the vampire’s dinner, now. Silas licked his lips and began making his way down the stairs.

Once he reached the main floor, Silas could hear the human’s rapid heart, beating through his ears. He could practically smell their fear, but they were nowhere to be seen. Surveying his surroundings, Silas realized the banging and scratching was coming from one of the freezer cabinets, the ones that stored corpses.

But whatever was in there was alive.

Well, that wasn’t right. The two humans from last night were long dead, and Silas had made sure to bleed them both dry. There was no possible way for another human to get in here without alerting him, especially since those freezers were locked shut.

Silas walked through the room, his footsteps echoing off the walls. The vampire couldn’t help but smile; the soft whimpering and cries for help sounded like music to his ears, he almost wanted to leave the human locked in there for a little while longer. It wasn’t often he had live prey.

Silas plucked his keys from the wall, and walked lazily to the freezers. The human’s helpless little noises came to a stop, as if whoever was in there noticed there was someone else in the room and was waiting patiently to be let out. Now standing right outside his little accidental captive, Silas recognised their scent as a corpse from the night prior.

Silas was a few hundred years old. He’d seen the undead– he was the undead– something like this wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibilities. But he’d usually be able to tell if someone was a supernatural creature like him. They looked human, smelled human, tasted human, but may have just cheated death itself. Something strange was happening here, and Silas was thrilled to get to the bottom of it.

He clicked the key in place, unlocking the freezer and hearing the human’s heartbeat speed up in anticipation. Silas quickly pulled out the drawer with a whoosh, the sudden motion causing the human to shriek in surprise, falling out of the shelf and landing roughly on the floor.

Silas tilted his head, intrigued. This was the human from last night, without a doubt. But their body was completely intact, to the looks of it. Their heart was still pumping, blood flowing through their body and eyes filled with more life than Silas had ever seen. His little snack really had come back from the dead.

“Agh! H-hey…” The human stammered, holding the white sheet tightly over their body. They looked around the room with a wary expression, eyes wide and alert. Using the wall for support, they stumbled up on shaking legs and slowly started backing away from Silas. “Wh-what’s going on? Where am I? Who are you?” The human asked in their soft, shaky voice.

Silas ignored their questions and started slowly creeping towards them. The human’s breath hitched and they scurried away in fear, sheet dragging behind them. Despite it being mid-day, the room was completely dark; windows covered in thick curtains to keep out the sunlight, but Silas could see everything just fine. The human ran blindly through the room until seemingly tripping over their own feet.

Silas smiled as his captive gasped in pain, landing roughly on the cold floor. He flicked on the light, and watched their wandering eyes land on a small piece of paper attached to their foot. They ripped it off, looking it over in their hands confusingly. It was a tag. Silas could almost see the gears turning in the poor thing’s little head as their eyes went wide in horrified realization.

Once the human had noticed Silas stalking towards them, it was too late; they were already cornered. They pulled the sheet tighter over their body and curled up in a trembling ball.

Silas loomed over his prey, taking in their shivering form, and they looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “What’s a little thing like you doing in a place like this?” Silas teased, face filled with mock sympathy, already knowing the answer.

The human cowered under the vampire’s predatory gaze. “I– I don’t… I just woke up in there…” They whispered. “What’s going on? Wh-Where are my clothes? It’s– It’s freezing in here.”

Silas smiled and crouched down in front of them, making his prey squirm under his stare. “Aww, you don’t remember? I ripped you to shreds last night.” Silas hummed, smiling menacingly. “I tore your body inside out. You should not be alive right now.”

“What–”

Faster than the human could comprehend, Silas ripped the sheet away, needing to get a look at their body. To his surprise, they were completely healed. No wounds, dried blood, or scar in sight. It was as if they had never been dead in the first place.

“Hey!” The human exclaimed, horrified, and yanked that flimsy thing back– as if that would keep them safe. “What the fuck?!”

Silas smirked. “Feisty one, aren't you?”

“What– just stop! Tell me what’s going on!” The human looked around the room in a panic, seemingly searching for something– or someone. “And where’s– where’s Lyle?”

“Who?”

“My friend.” They seethed, but their anger couldn’t hide their fear. “S-Something happened. I don’t… Just– tell me why I’m here! I wanna go home. Tell me what’s happening!”

The human let out a gasp as they felt a sudden sharp sting on their cheek. Silas had slapped them. “Shut up.”

The human brought their hand to their cheek, fresh tears forming in their eyes. “B-But–”

Silas wrenched his fist in the other’s hair, yanking their head back. “You want me to tell you what happened? You died, human,” The vampire hissed. “You’re in a morgue. You were brought here yesterday by the hospital. Nobody identified you, nobody claimed your body, nobody came to pay respects. So I drained your blood like I do to every corpse.”

Silas smiled and poked his captive in the stomach playfully. “As well as take a bit more than what I normally do. It was the most delicious blood I've ever tasted, and it smells even better now that you’re alive. I can’t imagine what it tastes like now.”

“Wait, y-you… You’re a–”

“Yes. I’m a vampire. Took you long enough.” Silas grinned, showing his fangs. “And you wanna know what? I can hear your little heart racing, human. I know how terrified you are of me right now, and that fear is intoxicating.”

“You– You’re lying. This isn’t real, I didn’t die. Just leave m-me alone.”

“Oh, human, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Silas said in a sickeningly sweet voice. “This is as real as it can be. You came back from the dead, and I am going to savor every moment of draining the life back out of you.”

Silas crawled closer, gaze turning predatory and deadly. Despite being locked in a cold freezer all day and night, the little thing’s heart was still pumping warm blood through their veins. All for him. Silas couldn’t wait to get another taste.

His prey scrambled backwards, wincing as they backed themself against the wall. “St-Stay away from me.”

“You’re in no position to make demands, little one. I can do whatever I want with you. You’re all mine.” Then, the vampire pounced, eyes wild and animalistic. Silas dug his nails into the human’s back, holding them close and making them scream in agony. With his other hand, he gripped onto their hair and wretched their pale neck to the side.

Being this close to a live human, it was hard to resist the warmth that radiated off of them. Silas’ usual prey was cold, dead corpses, and he’d never had enough time to relish in the warmth of the human body while hunting outside. But this? This was a real treat. And hearing the little thing’s heart flutter in terror was always the best part of the hunt.

His human struggled against Silas’ grip, kicking and scratching in a futile attempt to get away. That only made this feast more thrilling. Silas clamped his fangs into their neck, tearing into their flesh as if they were nothing but a piece of meat made to be eaten.

His prey screamed in excruciating pain, pushing their weak arms against Silas’ body, fighting with everything they had. Which, unfortunately for them, wasn’t even close to enough. Silas yanked his hand from their back, licking the blood from his fingers and using that hand to muffle the human’s screams.

Silas bit down again, sucking more blood from the human’s veins. They were sobbing into his hand, salty tears running down their chin. This only made Silas squeeze harder, his nails breaking their skin and drawing more blood.

He couldn’t take it anymore, it was time to dig in. Silas pushed the human flat on their back and crawled over them. He clawed into their chest cavity with superhuman strength, tearing through flesh and muscle and bones until he got to the heart. Silas paid no mind to the human’s sputtering breath as he reached into the viscera and pulled out their beating heart. He slowly squeezed the life out of it, watching the light fade from the human’s wide eyes, and took a bite.

After a while, Silas stood, panting, and wiped the blood from his face with his equally bloody sleeve. He laughed softly to himself, it had been a long time since he’d experienced a feeding that exhilarating. He needed more.

Silas left the corpse slumped against the wall as he fetched the little thing’s belongings, the sound of blood splashing under his boots echoing through the room. Only a couple things arrived with them the day prior; their phone, wallet, glasses, and of course the clothes on their back. Silas grabbed their phone and walked back to the corpse. He held their head up with their hair, and unlocked their phone using face ID. Silas smiled; he was in. This human was making this so easy for him.

Silas had usually never cared about the bodies that were transported here, and the lives that they had lived. They were nothing but food to him. But this was a special case. Silas wanted to learn as much information about this human as possible, and what better way to start than their name?

Aspen. Aspen Marlow. Cute.

Looking through Aspen’s phone, Silas found no new messages or calls, nobody checking in to see if they were okay despite being gone for well over two days now. In fact, the poor thing only seemed to have one close friend; a girl named Lyle Berkley. Neither of their names supposedly reflected the names on their legal documents, but that didn’t matter. Looking through Aspen’s photos, Silas found that the two of them did everything together.

They were inseparable, even up until their mysterious deaths, the two of them never left each other’s sides. It was obvious now that Lyle had been the other body transported here with Aspen. But unlike Aspen, she had never woken up.

Silas sauntered over to Lyle’s body, but before he even arrived, he could tell just from the smell that she was still dead. Ah, no matter. Silas only needed the one human anyway. He locked the taller corpse away in a freezer and went back to the main attraction.

Silas sat and observed Aspen’s corpse for hours, watching in morbid curiosity as their body began to heal itself. The blood eventually dried over his wounds, and the flesh mended itself back together. It took all day, but when all the scars but one faded, the human looked good as new.

Aspen was still dead, though. Silas picked up the body and moved it away from the puddle of blood. He retrieved their clothes— a green dinosaur hoodie and baggy blue jeans— and put them on Aspen.

Then, Silas continued scrolling through their phone, waiting for his little human to wake up.

. . .

After only a few more hours, the human began to stir. Silas dropped everything he was doing and kneeled beside Aspen, staring at the boy intently. His heart had started beating, slowly and faintly at first, hardly noticeable. But now, the little thing’s heart was racing.

Aspen turned over in his sleep, groaning in pain and mumbling to himself. Silas scoffed and roughly shook the human awake, watching him blink up at him with those weird eyes of his.

Aspen immediately flinched back, eyes going wide in the terror Silas loved. “Y-You! Get away from me!”

Silas only inched closer, the maniacal look on his face filling Aspen with dread. The vampire was giddy with excitement. “You’re awake. You’re alive!”

“Y-yeah, I am! So- so just leave me alone! Please! I don’t know what you want from me!” Aspen had barely been awake for a minute and he already wished he could disappear. His head ached, his memories felt foggy and far away. Thinking back, all he could recall was pain and agony. And…

Death. He had died.

Aspen blinked. His death hurt to think about, so he didn’t. He’d also rather ignore the vampire’s ecstatic expression and blood red eyes piercing into him.

Looking past the vampire, Aspen realized he was still in the same room, just stuffed in a different corner. He was thankful to have his clothes back, though. Aspen pulled his hoodie strings tight, relishing in the small comfort it gave him. Though, nothing could beat the cold.

“Aspen,” Silas hummed. “You’re not going to just ignore me and expect to get away with it.”

“Huh?” Aspen mumbled into his hoodie. “How do you even know my name?”

The vampire chuckled deeply. “I know everything about you, Aspen.”

Aspen looked up. “What? H-How?”

Silas smiled mischievously and pulled out Aspen’s phone from his pocket. “I’ve seen what you post on social media, human. And I have your wallet.” Silas’ smile widened as Aspen’s face warped in horror. “Aspen Marlow. Age twenty, born and raised here in Toronto Canada. You were born July 25–”

“Hey!” Aspen exclaimed with a shaky voice, sitting up. “That’s private! Give it back! It’s mine!” Silas stood, towering over him.

“--And you died yesterday, October first. You’re supposed to be dead, Aspen,” The vampire said in a sickeningly sweet voice. “Dead people don’t have possessions.”

“Please just give it–” Aspen tried to grab his phone, and Silas swiped his hand away, lazily walking around behind him. Aspen turned, glaring at the vampire in a fiery anger. Silas looked the human up and down in consideration. “Still have some spark left in you, do you now?”

“I– Just give me back my stuff!”

Silas tapped Aspen’s phone with his nails, and continued talking in his smooth tone. “Your entire life’s in this thing, huh? Seems so. I know all about you now. All your darkest secrets, all your deepest desires. Your hobbies, your dreams, what you love, what you hate.” Silas smirked wickedly. “Your nightmares, your weaknesses, your fears…”

Aspen’s voice wobbled. “Hey–”

“You wanna know what else I know, Aspen? You’re a nobody. A complete fucking nobody. Nobody’s looking for you. Nobody cares that you’re dead. I’m surprised you managed to have such a close friendship with, ah, who was it? Lyle? I feel bad for her for–”

“Stop!” Aspen shouted, attempting to push Silas to the ground. The vampire didn’t even budge.

Silas blinked. “Wow. Okay. Here you go.” Silas held out the human’s phone in his hand lazily. As Aspen reached out for it, the vampire swiftly snapped the thing in half before Aspen could grab it, dropping the pieces to the ground.

“Hey!” Aspen cried. Silas smirked as the human dropped to his knees, picking up the remains of his phone. “No! Why did you do that?!” The human babbled incomprehensible nonsense about his friend, looking up at Silas with tears in his eyes as the vampire circled him. It was pathetic.

Silas sighed and knelt down, cupping the human’s face in his hands. “Calm down. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“What– what happened to Lyle? Where is she? What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” Silas cooed, patting Aspen’s cheek. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Don’t worry about her.”

“Just let me go. What do you even w-want with me?”

Silas grinned. “Don’t you see, Aspen? I finally have a solution to all of my problems. You can’t die! No matter how much blood I take, you’ll just keep coming back and giving me more.”

Aspen’s face fell in despair. “N-No. You can’t.”

“I won’t have to drink the disgusting blood from the corpses anymore, or hunt and risk being killed by those incessant hunters. I have an infinite source of the most fresh, tastiest blood I’ve ever had right in the palm of my hands. Nobody will be coming to look for you because you’re dead, Aspen. I will never let you go.”

“No, p-please,” Aspen cried. “You can’t do this. I wanna go home.”

“Shhh,” Silas cooed. “You’re mine. This is your home now.” Silas chuckled deeply, voice getting darker. “And you’ll learn to like it here.”

Silas grabbed the human’s wrist and yanked him forward. Aspen whimpered, feeling a deep sense of dread in his stomach. Silas considered him a moment, and gently sunk his teeth into his veins. But this feeding felt different to Aspen. His neck started to feel numb where he had been bitten, and that feeling slowly spread to the rest of his body. After a moment, Aspen slumped forward against Silas’ body, mumbling broken pleas under his breath.

“Wh… what’s happening to me?” Aspen whimpered, eyelids drooping. He pushed weakly against the vampire, but he was far too cold and sleepy to fight back.

“Don’t struggle, Aspen. Let me enjoy this.”

“P-please…”

“You like it, don’t you? I told you you would. Just relax, Aspen. Let the venom do its work.”

Aspen struggled to keep his eyes open, blinking rapidly through tears. He shivered against the vampire’s cold body. Then, the poor thing finally succumbed to the venom, all the fight left in him completely drained. His head slowly lolled to the side as he lost consciousness. Silas continued drinking, basking in his sweet blood, until he felt Aspen’s little heart beating no more.

Silas smiled, licked the wound closed, and ruffled the corpse’s hair. He had almost never used venom on his prey, but playing with his food was all part of the fun.

Silas hauled Aspen over his shoulder and walked across the room. He wrenched the door to the basement open, and shoved the corpse inside. The thing toppled down the stairs like a stack of bricks, blood painting its path. The corpse landed on the concrete floor, pale and lifeless.

The vampire shut the door. The sound of a lock clicking shut echoed through the room, and Silas once again trapped Aspen somewhere cold and dark, all alone.

— 

hope everyone likes the first chapter!! i have sooo much planned for this series so stay tuned :) i don’t mind being sent requests about what you wanna see with these characters either!

Taglist: nonexistent so far, let me know if you wanna be added :)

[kabie-whump]

Those Febuwhump posts, part 1.5

aka this goes between day 17 and day 27

Content: stitches, needles, field medicine no painkillers, blood, bondage, very slight reference to non-con, defiant whumpee, idk what kind of whumper this is lmao

~~~

"If this is some kind of trap I really am going to kill you."

Whumper kneels in front of Whumpee, deftly undoing the miles of blood-slick chain that keep them bound to their chair.

"Just do me a favor and keep being completely helpless for a little while, alright?"

Whumpee nods listlessly. The blood loss has really gotten to them. They're pale and trembling and their breathing is shallow and erratic.

Chains fall to the concrete floor with a loud clanging sound, leaving Whumpee unbound and shivering in their underwear.

Then Whumper stands and unbuckles their belt, and Whumpee's eyes go wide with fear. They jerk one leg away as if they're about to bolt, then seem to force themslves to stay put.

"What are you- oh!" Whumper shakes their head with a scoff, realizing what Whumpee must have thought they were going to do. "Don't flatter yourself, kid. I'm not that kind of evil."

They move in close, Whumpee's terrified eyes trained on every movement, and hold the belt up to their lips. "It's for you to bite."

Whumpee keeps staring at them, their mouth firmly shut.

"Unless you want to risk losing your tongue."

"Fine," Whumpee hisses. "But not cause you told me to." They open their mouth, allowing the belt to be placed between their teeth.

Whumper sighs. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

They find their kit and retrieve the necessary items: antiseptic, gloves, needle, thread. The painkiller bottle is empty. Oh well.

"Alright. Let me see."

Whumper puts on gloves and examines the wound: a gash on Whumpee's side that is definitely bigger and deeper than they'd intended it to be when they made it. Maybe if Whumpee had just held still like they'd been told to...

Whumpee whimpers as Whumper applies the antiseptic, their whole body jerking away from the sting. Whumper bites back a string of frusterated threats. Words aren't going to be enough to keep them still in the face of physical pain.

Then they start with the stitches. The first pull of the thread has Whumpee gasping and writhing in the chair, their hands frantically going to push Whumper away. Whumper just sighs and puts the needle down in favor of crudely tying Whumpee's hands to the armrests of the chair, something they should've done from the start.

Maybe Whumper had noticed how red and raw Whumpee's wrists already looked and had wanted to give them a break. Is there something wrong with that?

The rest of the stitches go much smoother for Whumper without Whumpee trying to intervene. Whumpee clearly hates them though. Their head is tilted back on the backrest of the chair, tears streaming down their temples and helpless muffled whines of "stop stop stop" escaping through the belt.

Whumper ignores them, tying off the stitches with practiced ease. "Done," they say, discarding their bloodied gloves. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Whumpee spits out the belt. "Fuck you."

"You pronounced 'thank you' wrong."

~~~ <Prev | Next> ~~~

@unicornbeck @the-art-of-trepetnoi @altvaggie @whumped-by-glitter

[a-living-canvas]

Part I

Little Italy II

"Dad…it hurts…"

Whumpee clung onto Whumper, straddling his lap as Whumper pressed the knife against his side. The other hand gently caressing Whumpee's back.

"Shh…boys should be strong. You don't cry over something like this."

Another cut and Whumpee winced in pain. He gripped tight on Whumper's flannel shirt, burying his face against his chest as he smelled the familiar scent. It comforted him somehow.

"There, there. I'm here for you. Just take a deep breath, okay?"

Whumpee nodded shakily, "O-okay…"

Whumper hummed in approval, he put the knife down before digging the wound with his nails. 

"Ouch! Ouch!" Whumpee shrieked in pain, his fingers loosened the grip on the shirt from exhaustion. Whumper smeared the blood across Whumpee's skin, looking down at him with an empty expression.

He wiped the tears gently with his thumb before cupping Whumpee's cheek and brought his face closer to him. "Come on, let's clean you up."

As they both entered the bathroom, Whumpee sat on the toilet seat. He was still crying and trembling as he watched Whumper discarded his own shirt that was stained with blood. And that's when he saw it, Whumper's back, full with scars and bruises. 

Burn marks from cigarettes and a few degradation words that almost faded.

The sight…tugged Whumpee's heart in a strange way.

"Dad…?"

Whumper hummed in acknowledgement. "Yes, son?"

"What happened to you…?"

…

…

…

"Don't worry about it."

~

@nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @failgiao891 @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @possumhoe @heyyitsworld @risk606 @jennyyy007 @theforeverdyingperson @valravnthefrenchie

@electrons2006

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Can you please write a whumpee that was locked in their cell to starve for weeks and weeks when they were with whumper, and now they're safe at caretaker's house, but they refuse to eat because they think they don't deserve it

They wait for the middle of night where they're sure caretaker is sleeping and go to the kitchen to raid the fridge, desperately eating like they were never going to eat again

Caretaker walks on them mid act and comforts them, reassuring them that they will never starve again

Thanks in advance <3

aghh love this idea! pls enjoy <3

cw starvation, past trauma/abuse, whump recovery, hurt/comfort 

Caretaker slowly crept into the kitchen after they had been woken by the noise. They didn’t know what to expect, but when they stumbled in half asleep, rubbing at their bleary eyes, they certainly weren’t expecting to see Whumpee sitting on the floor, devouring a container of leftovers. 

“What’s going on?” they muttered. 

Whumpee looked up in shock. Empty Tupperware and snack bags were discarded on the floor next to them. “I—I’m sorry,” they gasped, eyes wide with horror. “Caretaker, I'm sorry, I just—I couldn’t...” 

Caretaker rushed to kneel beside them. “Hey, shh. It’s okay.” 

Whumpee set the food they were eating aside as they began to shake. “No, no, it’s not okay. You’ve been so kind to me a-and I’m so ungrateful. J-just eating your food without asking, I’m sorry.” 

“Whumpee, it’s alright. Breathe, okay?” Caretaker said softly, pulling Whumpee into their arms. They recalled the last couple days, and how Whumpee had refused to eat anything—it suddenly made sense. “Were...were you not eating because you didn’t think you were allowed to?” 

Whumpee sniffled, clinging to Caretaker’s shirt. “I don’t deserve it,” they whispered. “I don’t deserve any of the kindness you’ve shown me. B-but I just couldn’t—I was so hungry...” 

Caretaker’s fingers stroked their hair, gentle and comforting. “Of course you deserve it. You deserve to eat, Whumpee. I don’t care if anyone’s told you otherwise. From now on, you can eat whenever you want.” 

“Really?” 

Caretaker nodded. “Yes. Now come on—if you’re still hungry, I’d be happy to make you something. I think I have some brownie mix around here, as well.” 

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Can I request recovery 🛌 or lonely/touch starved 🥺 for Cloe? I know you said they were one of your OCs that you didn’t really feel creative about so if you don’t have any inspiration, don’t worry!

Prompts from Nonhuman Whump Emoji Prompts

Aww thank you!! Mostly I don't have a solid plotline in mind for Cloe, he's more just a concept I thought up but didn't do much with. But I'd like to write more of him so I'm going to try!

About Cloe: he's a winged character. In his world there are a few different species of winged folk whose evolution diverged to suit different environments. Cloe's species are short, slender, lightweight, they're quick and nimble but fragile. They have small feathery wings that are only good for low gliding over short distances. They live in grassy and sparsely forested areas, are generally mild-mannered, peaceful, and are vegetarian.

There's another species that evolved to live up in the mountains. These ones are tall and strong with huge wings, they can soar really high and far. They're predatory and aggressive as a species and don't think much of Cloe's species, sometimes going so far as to capture them to keep as pets or slaves or just to torment. Many of their captives die from poor treatment.

Oops this got long

Content Warnings: winged whumpee, captivity, mentions of pet whump, enslavement, torture, and death, broken bones, bruises, blood, stabbed, painful restraints, passing out, starvation, exhaustion, rescue, female caretaker, reluctant caretaker, 'it' as a pronoun

----

"I'm getting a new one tomorrow. This one is no fun anymore."

"What are you going to do with it?"

Omeron snorts. "Dunno. Don't care. You want it?"

Galea makes a face at the suggestion. "Me?"

"Why not? They're easy to care for. Don't eat a lot, don't take up a lot of space."

"I just don't see the point."

It's true, she never has. The smaller winged folk are too weak for hard labor, too timid to make good companions, and can't even fly properly. Galea has no use for one, and lacks the sadistic streak to want one just to push around.

"How about this. You take it for a day. See if you like it. If you don't, I'll toss it."

He means, quite literally, to throw it from the mountain, the fate of many a discarded pet.

"Fine," she concedes, just to get Omeron to leave her to eat lunch in peace. "I'll pick it up later. Now shut up."

-

That afternoon Omeron is out hunting. True to her word, Galea goes on her own to his home for her secondhand small-wing. He told her it would be out back, and sure enough there it is.

Unsurprisingly, the creature is in awful condition. It is pinned to the back wall of the hut by daggers through its little wings, which are mangled and bloodstained. It is malnourished, sunburned, coated in dark bruises, a broken arm hanging limp at its side.

Broken is the wrong word. Crushed is more like it.

"What am I supposed to do with you?" she grumbles.

The creature startles awake at the sound of her voice. It whines softly and cradles its arm but doesn't attempt to move beyond that. By now it must be used to this.

Big, sorrowful gray eyes stare back at Galea, only at eye level with the much taller winged woman because it is pinned up on the wall. Galea stares back, taking in its weak breaths and red-rimmed eyes. Only then does she realize she has never seen one of these up close.

Curious, she reaches a hand out. The small-wing flinches and squeezes its eyes shut, expecting a blow or tight grip. But Galea just wants to feel its silky hair. She pets it a few times and the creature gradually relaxes. It even nuzzles at her hand.

Omeron definitely doesn't pet it, she thinks. That isn't his style. The hand-shaped bruises around the creature's wrists and neck...that's more what she expects. The qualities that make him a formidable hunter and warrior don't exactly make him a doting pet owner.

"Can you speak?" she asks.

It flinches again at her firm tone and averts its gaze.

"Yes," it whispers.

"Do you have a name?"

It hesitates.

"...Cloe," it replies softly.

"Looks like you're mine now, Cloe," Galea says. She is still reluctant about all of this but she never says anything she does not mean, and she said she would take in this battered little thing for a day, so she will.

Galea removes the knives from its wings, neither cruel nor gentle, just quick and efficient. Cloe gives a feeble cry and faints into her waiting arms.

It - he - is even lighter than she imagined; she cradles his broken body effortlessly. She can feel every little quiver and hitched breath he makes, troubled even in unconsciousness. His skin is hot - whether from sunburn or swelling, bruises or fever, or all of the above, she can't tell.

Poor thing...

-

Galea takes care of her things. Her home is well kept, her wings well groomed, her weapons sharpened.

Now Cloe is hers too, if only for a short time.

She lies him on a large cushion in the corner. Against the dark fabric he seems even paler, scrawnier, more pitiful. Feathers fall from his damaged wings, the surest sign of poor health for their kind.

Uncharacteristically, Galea didn't plan this far ahead. She sort of hoped Omeron might change his mind and decide to keep his pet a little longer. But now the small-wing is here and she has to decide what to do with him.

He is in no shape to work and she has the feeling that was never why Omeron kept him in the first place. Still out cold, he isn't much good as a companion, either. And she has no desire to harm him.

Instead Galea finds herself examining the wounded creature more thoroughly.

Beyond the most obvious injuries there are many other, subtler signs of his mistreatment. His hands and feet, once soft from a life spent on grass and dirt, are scraped, calloused and blistered from the stone and wood surfaces of mountain living. Bones in his right ankle, left hip, and sternum feel at least fractured if not worse. His breaths are thin and labored, suggesting internal damage. On his back there is a barely healed scar that she recognizes as caused by a spear. That must be how Omeron caught him.

And then there are his wings.

Cloe's brittle wings are broken in more places than she can count. They are punctured clear through in several places, leaving the white feathers stained red. When she runs her fingers through them they shed easily.

Galea pulls her hand away with a shudder and shakes off the feathers. She tucks her own large, powerful wings closer to her back, fearfully imagining them as ruined as Cloe's. It would be a fate worse than death.

-

Galea continues the rest of her evening like normal - dinner in the hall, her evening patrol, sparring as the sun sets, a bath in the spring and grooming her wings. By the time she returns home she has nearly forgotten about her new 'pet'.

Cloe's eyes are closed, but when Galea shuts and locks the front door he jolts awake. Immediately he groans and cradles his shattered arm again.

He watches Galea approach with bleary eyes, labored breaths, little quivers. He knows as well as she does that he is completely at her mercy.

The pitiful sight should repulse her, a warrior who wouldn't dream of looking so helpless, who would die fighting rather than submit to the whim of a captor.

But instead it presses on something inside her like a thumb on a bruise. It comes with the overwhelming urge to soothe the frightened little thing rather than punish or mock him. Unsettled by the feeling, she clenches and unclenches her fists a few times and breathes slowly, grounding herself.

Mere minutes later she is sitting cross-legged beside the cushion with her medical kit, smoothing a numbing salve over his broken arm. Cloe bites down on his lip to keep quiet despite what must be excruciating pain as she maneuvers the limb around. She efficiently splints and bandages it.

Galea silently treats every break, bruise, and cut to the best of her ability. Even at her gentlest, Galea's grasp is firm; she isn't used to handling something so fragile. Cloe winces and whimpers but never complains. Gradually the medicine dulls his sharpest pains and tension eases from his body. Soon he can barely keep his eyes open.

"Don't sleep yet," she instructs him.

Cloe nods, visibly forcing himself to stay awake. Galea pours a cup of juice. Then she cups Cloe's head with one hand and easily sits him up. She holds the cups to his lips and waits until he drinks the whole thing.

"More?" she asks.

"I can have more?" Cloe whispers.

Galea answers by pouring another cup. She indulges herself by indulging him - allowing him to drink to his heart's content. When he's finished his head lolls to one side and he gazes up at her with reverence.

"Thank you."

"Don't," Galea insists.

And she means it. For now there is a sense of ownership. She agreed to have Cloe for a day and leaving him in that state was unacceptable. Tomorrow, who knows.

Cloe is asleep the moment Galea settles him back onto the cushion. She covers him with her cloak and prepares for bed.

As she falls asleep she can't help but picture Cloe thrown from the mountain, disappearing into the fog below as he falls to his certain death. The image follows her into her dreams and makes a home at the back of her mind.

[deluxewhump]

The Scry

Chapter Fifteen: the Hearts and the Brains

CW: whumpee with powers, medical whump, needles, drugging, mention of surgery, captivity, nsfw mentions (not explicit)

“It was a crazy thing to do, you know. What we did.”

Carlo moaned. There was blood in his mouth. He was sure that if he opened it, it would come pouring out. His jaw felt wired shut.

“Do you feel the lack of its presence? Can a creature like you tell when such a gift has been snuffed out?”

He hated that gift. And he hated Erik Holstrom, even though he was the one who took it away. He had the wherewithal to hate both.

He managed to get his jaw apart enough to ask for water in a whisper. There was no blood after all. Only the taste of it. Please, he added. Always a good boy for the men in the white coats.

Erik placed a straw between his lips so he could weakly pull a sip of water. He whimpered when it was taken away.

“More soon,” Erik promised, and touched his cheek, almost lovingly. Carlo frowned, lost in memories of Max’s unassuming and harmless touch. He missed those hands, those gray eyes. These ones were heavy and authoritative, petting harder and with some purpose he didn’t quite understand.

“They may have no use for you now,” Erik was saying. “But I won’t discard you just for that.”

“So it worked?” he asked.

“As far as I can tell. Only you can tell us that for sure.”

Carlo tried to send a telepathic feeler into the region of himself it felt like the scrying power came from. But he didn’t know if that was something he could really do or not. Didn’t the ancient Egyptians believe thought and therefore consciousness came from the heart? Didn’t they toss the brains out like bathwater when they did their embalming? Some doctor had told him that once as he lie shivering on their operating table…

“I can’t tell,” he whispered, head falling back in exhaustion.

“It’s alright,” the doctor told him, and fed his arms through the holes of a T-shirt like dressing a rag doll. “You need to recover first.”

-

And he did recover. It was slower than he would’ve liked, and he had the suspicion it was the special cocktail of drugs Erik had given him to sedate him that was keeping him feeling lethargic and confused rather than the small incision and minor surgery itself.

Even so, he knew he should be grateful Dr Holstrom kept his word on that, at least. There was no trace of his power anymore, only a vestigial tingling in his fingers and a pain at the back of his neck when he tried. Even though he was relived it was gone, it felt strange to be all alone in his body.

When he was well enough to come downstairs for dinner, the doctor made him an offer.

“You can stay here, if you like,” he said, slicing expertly through a piece of meat as pink as a tongue. Carlo was reminded of the way those same hands had been inside his skull, double surgical gloves Valentine red with his blood.

“Why?” he asked warily.

The doctor gave him a performatively wounded look, and forked the piece of meat he’d been cutting into his mouth.

“You wouldn’t offer me that if there wasn’t something in it for you,” Carlo said. “And I can’t think of what’s in it for you.”

“You’re not very imaginative then.”

“Sorry,” Carlo answered sarcastically. “I never had to be before.”

“Because of your gift,” Erik laughed, and took a sip of bourbon. “Of course. So many things you’ve never had to do, or worry about.”

“So what is it you want?”

“Just your companionship,” answered the doctor. “I can still think of a use for you. Several.”

Carlo wondered if he’d imagined the tone that came into the doctor’s voice at that last. If he’d imagined the flicker of lascivious want in his dark eyes.

He stared in disbelief. Sure, he’d thought of it himself. But only in a passing, vague way. He thought of all the reasonably attractive doctors that way, and even some of the unattractive ones. It was likely some sort of backfiring, pathetic survival instinct of his, telling him to try to fuck his captors. His torturers. As if it’d make them like him, and subsequently make him safe.

“Are you—?”

“Propositioning you. Yes.”

Heat rose in his face and he looked down to hide it.

“Are you simply surprised, or offended?”

“Both,” he said without conviction.

The doctor set down his utensils and smiled his benign smile. “Think about your current lack of alternatives before you have a knee jerk reaction.”

“I have an alternative,” he answered, anger coming in hot on the heels of his flustered embarrassment. He didn’t realize it had been like that. How many times had the doctor dressed him, touched him, carried him barely conscious from one room to the next?

“Max and Ingrid would take me in, in a heartbeat. I wouldn’t have to stay long, just long enough to get a job.”

“Doing what?” Erik asked, falsely genuine.

“I’m not useless. I have experience, even without the scrying part.”

“Of course, but I’m afraid on paper you don’t. You’ve been detained as a scry for over five years. Do you even have a high school diploma?”

Carlo looked down at his hands.

“I don’t know what you think is going to happen now, but you’re going to want to play your next hand very strategically,” Erik said gently. “I can get you positive press coverage, friends in the places you’ll be needing them… I can get you paid for all the necessary testing and monitoring they’ll be dying to do in the coming months.”

Carlo made a face of disgust. “I don’t want any of that,” he said. “You offered to help me. I did this so I could be left alone and do what I wanted.”

“What is it you want?”

“I…” he closed his mouth before anything stupid came out. He didn’t know. How could he? All he knew was what he didn’t want. “I don’t want to be monitored, or studied, or tested. I don’t want to tell anyone my story, or talk to press. I want the whole scry thing to stop.”

“The whole scry thing,” Erik repeated thoughtfully. It sounded utterly stupid and childish coming from his mouth.

“I have some friends…”

“Oh, Carlo.”

“No, don’t do that. I do.”

“You have nothing,” Erik said calmly. “Do you understand? You let me take from you the only thing you had that kept you off the streets and fed. Without it you have no value, no experience, no credentials, no family, no idea what the world actually looks like for someone who isn’t a precognitive. It will eat you alive. I just gave you a hundred thousand dollar procedure pro bono because I believe in it. Because I believe in you. But you have got to grow up and play ball.”

Carlo pressed his shaking hands into his eyes. “Listen…”

“You listen, ungrateful little wretch. That man, Max? He owes you nothing. You think he really wants some homeless kid at his doorstep because he was nice to you back when you were actually worth something? You think he’s gonna take care of you now like a three legged puppy? You think he and his wife won’t be immediately conspiring on what the hell they’re going to do to get rid of you?”

Carlo rolled his eyes, but the words stuck to him like flypaper. He had assumed Max would be relived to see him. Why? He was probably relieved the problem resolved itself when Carlo disappeared. He never wanted his doorstep darkened by a scry anyway, why would he want to ever see him again? Things would be different. Feelings change.

For the first time he imagined the sting he would feel if Max Kelly looked at him with awkward disappointment, like what had happened between them in his office last spring was just a distant bad dream.

Carlo got up and walked around the table. He felt strangely optimistic, like he could walk out of the dining room and the front door would be waiting at the end of the hall, unlocked.

But Erik grabbed his wrist as he passed like a striking viper. He wheeled him back around so hard he lost his balance and slammed into the table. A plate fell to the floor and shattered. He tried to right himself but the doctor had his arm pinned strategically behind his back in a way that felt very precarious, like any real pressure or struggle would snap it very painfully. Irritated nerves flared in the back of his skull and radiated down his spine in waves. He made a noise of protest, cheek pressed into cool mahogany.

“We’ll get along eventually,” Erik said mildly, as if to show him it took very little effort to subdue him. But Carlo could see where the doctors pressed, dry-cleaned shirt had come untucked from the commotion, and a green vein was raised and taut in his neck. Something about this reminded him the doctor was mortal and fallible, and he vowed to remember this no matter what happened next.

He cried out when he felt a needle stick his arm.

[painonthebrain]

JuneofDoom Day 19 - “This can’t be happening!”/Sobbing

Part two of two - Reverb gets exactly what’s coming to him… but he also gets a second chance. (Previous.)

Content: Demon whumpee, whumper-turned-whumpee, whumpee-turned-whumper, demon hunter whumper, female whumper, forced transformation, forced humanization, threatening to kill, gun use

The gun fired, blinding him with a flash of light and throwing Reverb backwards into the wall behind him. He was left in a crumpled heap on the ground. The hunter had fallen to the ground too, but she’d fallen in the way someone who knows how to break their fall does, and returned to her feet in the blink of an eye.

Reverb choked, trying to ask What the fuck was that? — but nothing came out of his mouth. His wings twitched, and the skin between them felt stretched too tight, wrong.

“Uhh..nnghhh..”

His entire body was too small, prickling and twisting and he couldn’t move during it all, he could only watch as his talons shrank away, as his tail disappeared and he lost feeling in his wings, as every little thing that made him him vanished.

Everything became duller, muted. Fuzzy.

He brought a heavy hand to his face, feeling his cheek. It was soft and squishy. Fleshy. He felt his scalp. There was hair there now — and where were his horns!

No, no… this couldn’t be happening —

No fangs, brownish skin, dulled senses, short nails —

The hunter had made him human.

He gasped for air.

… Air?!— He even had to breathe now?

He coughed, gasping for more.

“Wha.. th’ffuck?!” He tried to say, unused to using muscles that were supposed to be his own.

He lifted himself up with shaky arms, looking up.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

The hunter was right there.

His heart beat faster and faster, and he breathed harder, his head spinning from how fast he was taking in oxygen. Reverb felt as though his ribcage was going to break.

The hunter looked down on him.

“Say, maybe I’ll give you a chance — I count down from ten, you run for your life, and if I don’t find you afterwards, then you get to live.”

“Got it?”

Reverb sat on the ground, staring up at her, pathetic in the way he backed away.

Everything shook. He didn’t even nod. He bolted.

The hunter watched him go.

“One.”

Reverb stumbled, not used to running. He couldn’t take flight and it was an awful feeling, being stuck to the ground.

“Two.”

He could still hear her voice. Dammit, he wasn’t far enough —

He scrambled past a dumpster, wondering if that would be a good hiding place but discarding the thought. He ran out into the street, dodging cars and weaving through the city.

“Three.”

He could barely hear her voice anymore, but the countdown continued in his mind. He pushed through pedestrians on the sidewalk who were still out at this hour, ignoring their angry shouts. Who cared that he was inconveniencing them anyway?

Four.

He was sure he’d lost her now. But how sure could he really be? … He continued running, aimless, deeper into the city.

Five.

He’d slammed into a lamppost.

Six.

He held his head, aching.

Seven.

Shit, it hurt!—

Eight.

He turned and on a whim, entered a bar, still clutching his head, avoiding the windows.

Nine.

The door closed with a thud, and he pressed his way deeper inside, desperate.

Ten.

He held his breath.

Nothing happened.

He stumbled his way further into the building, entering the bathrooms and locking himself in one of the rooms.

When he did, he could glimpse a reflection of himself in the mirror.

His breathing quickened again.

He looked disgusting. Pathetic and disheveled and filled with terror.

Something tightened in his throat.

… Reverb watched as the version of him in the mirror started crying.

His vision blurred, and he grabbed his chest as it heaved, sucking in deep breaths, sobs leaving his mouth.

Oh god.

He shuddered, sniffling.

He was stuck like this.

[whumplump]

Day 18 of @augusnippets

Prompts used: infection / self-administered medicine

Not used: apocalypse (I had an idea, but I thought it would be lame.)

CW: stoic whumpee, heavy injury (infection, blood), field medicine, on the run, use of swear words

Despite the unbearable pain in their right thigh, Whumpee continued running, even if they were limping, to a distance they considered safe. They supported themselves by leaning their backs against the wall and sliding until they sat on the floor. They looked at the injured leg. Other small cuts were still bleeding, starting to create pus around them, and there were still thorns stuck. They tried to take some out, until giving up when the pain became too much. A large tear was open on the surface of their right thigh, made when they tried to free themselves from the thorn bush and their leg got stuck; they pulled it desperately, without thinking about the consequences. And it ended like that.

They took advantage of the fact that their pants were destroyed and ripped out a piece of the fabric. They wrapped it around their injured thigh, above the wound, like a makeshift tourniquet.

"Ah, this'll have to do," they said to themselves with ragged breaths. "Crap..."

They took out one of the syringes they kept in a little bag on the side of the other leg. They took a few deep breaths before burying the needle in the injured leg. They held on tight to not scream in pain. When they were sure that all the analgesic contents had been fully injected, they carelessly discarded the empty needle on the floor.

They waited a few seconds, breathing deeply, until the medicine took effect. Impatient, they tapped their fingers on the ground. When they felt the slightest bit of relief in the wound, they didn't wait for the rest and got up.

"Fuck it, it's going to have to be like this…!”

They started walking again, which somehow helped the anesthesia take effect faster thanks to the blood pumping. The brave Whumpee continued on their way. Even with all the pain, they didn't shed a single tear.