#he/him whumpee

[ccieatchildren]

Whumpay 24 Day 1: Strapped to an Operating Table

TW: Experimentation, Eye Gouging , Noncon Drug Use

Whumpee jolted awake.

He tried moving his arms, but found them, and his other limbs, clamped down. Cold metal pressed against his back, and Whumpee still felt groggy from whatever sedatives they were injected with before. He pulled and pulled at the restraints, but they wouldn’t budge. 

A hand knocks on the table next to his head, startling out of his panic. A person moves from behind him to another Whumpee notices standing in the corner, craning his head to watch them. 

They begin to talk, and though he couldn’t hear what they were saying– he never could– but Whumpee had become adept at lip reading. Hyper-focussing on the researchers’ lips he tried deciphering what was said, but the shapes they made were unfamiliar. 

He wished his brother was here. 

Not only was he hearing, but he also understood English. Tears pooled in Whumpee’s eyes at the thought of their brother. 

Shifting in his restraints, Whumpee drew the attention of the people once again. They argued with each other for a few seconds before the taller one grabbed a scalpel. The other hurried to a metal cart covered with various other medical tools and drugs, pushing it near him. 

The one with the knife approached their metal bed, muttering a few words until they realized he couldn’t understand them. Seemingly done with trying to communicate with him, the scientist sighed, turning to their partner and nodding. 

Whumpee did understand this. 

He screamed, tugging at the clamps, trying in vain to break the solid metal. The main one barked some sort of order at the other, who sped to retrieve a syringe. They both held his arm down, despite his incoherent yelling, putting the needle through his skin. 

Immediately Whumpee could feel his limbs slacken, brain becoming foggy. They tried pulling away once more, but nothing happened. His head and arms felt as if made from foam, somehow soft but immovable. They tried blinking the sensation away, but even his lids did not reciprocate. 

He had lost sight of the researchers in his panic, but Whumpee was returned to his situation by the scalpel appearing much too close to his eye. He attempted to turn or scream again, but he laid still and nothing but quiet gurgles came out. 

He could do nothing as the blade pressed against the edge of his optic organ. Could do nothing as they slowly scooped out the ball, and still couldn’t do anything as they carefully severed its long tail. Whatever gods were out there were merciful enough to make it painless. 

After they took the first one, then went the second. Both carelessly thrown onto a tray. The organization had no use for his eyes, powerless and inhospitable. 

Unlike his brother’s. If only the rest of his body could withstand the calamity.

Now Whumpee was the recipient of the twisted experimentation instead. 

The uncomfortable sensation of something he needed being torn from him was horrifying. But, much worse, was right before the nerve was split, when he could still see. In a different situation, when he wasn’t being forever altered and his brother were still alive, he would’ve thought it cool. Looking around the room without being confined to his head. Not staring at the bleach white ceiling and unsmiling scientist, but perhaps behind him, or around the corner. The possibilities endless. 

Not now however. One gone, and his vision halves. It is disorienting how quick it is. As if a light turns off one only one side, before the other endeavors to compensate. Second gone, and he sees nothing no more. Stuck in a black noiseless room. Only touch, but even that was muddled by the slowly dissolving sedative. 

Whumpee was used to being a sense behind others, not having the privilege many others had. However, it was all he had ever known, and he never much minded. He did not need sound as the others did, content in his world. 

But having something he had always had a grasp of cruelly taken from him… it will stay with him for evermore. 

Feeling begins to return to his body, and along with it comes the pain. The pits in his sockets irritate from the air, exposed to an element they never should have. 

Nothing else happens in the dark silent void. Nothing else can happen but to wait.

Soon rubber probes around the holes. It is violating in a way he can not explain, and he hopes he never experiences it again. His thick tongue garbles out a protest. He thinks… There is no way to tell anymore.

The prodding gets more aggressive, the touch turning into burning. He can feel his vocal cords vibrate with the scream.

A tug. The string coming out of his eye is yanked, jerking his head with it, and Whumpee whimpers. 

The room gets slightly hotter, close to his yarn. He wails. 

Whumpee’s vision returns. It is once again outside of himself, literally seeing himself from an angle he never will again. 

The researchers watch him, faces blank, focussed only on their work, uncaring of him.

The new orb is shoved back into his skull. It does not fit correctly, unnatural and clearly not meant for him. It knocks against the top of the socket, lids not able to fully close over it, moving flesh in his skull to make space for itself. Fitting a triangle into a square.

He may have his sight back but not his eyes.

The second follows in a similar way, but he has to suffer more, the drug leaving his system. It is agonizing, forcing an item that does not belong, and he screeches and shrieks throughout the whole process. The shorter one is put off by his reaction, steadying his legs. The taller one seems accustomed to his suffering. 

The feeling of needles poking holes behind his eyes will never leave him. But it is finally done.

They hold up the mirror in front of his face, reminiscent of his mother after she cut his hair. But this is much worse. Much, much worse. Because of what stares back at Whumpee, widened in fear and grief.

His brother’s eyes. 

[pyrepostings]

Whumpee who pulls at their hair like a parrot does their feathers when they're stressed.

Whumper who wants their whumpee presentable not liking the way clumps have been torn out, and blood matting the rest.

Whumper who uses this as an excuse to tear out more of whumpee's hair, or cuts it off.

Caretaker who tries to get whumpee to stop

Caretaker can't just restrain whumpee but it's like every second their back is turned there's another clump in whumpee's hand.

Caretaker who tries regularly brushing whumpee's hair to give them sensation, but gently. Or who pets and scratches their head, but gently.

Caretaker who cuts whumpee's hair too short for them to get a grip on it (consensually or not).

Half starved whumpee whose hair comes out easier than when they were fully fed.

Whumpee who would get punished by whumper for touching their hair, scared of punishment by caretaker for absentmindedly running their hands through it.

[fleur-a-whump]

Overloaded (#4)

Rocky Reunions Pt. 1

Surprise! This shit went FAST.

Guys I’m so excited. Caretaker has joined the chat! Fair warning, our caretaker cusses like a sailor (aka I’m indulging my fondness for the word fuck)

CW: physical violence, electrocution, shock collar, hero whumper, ex-villain whumpee, veiled threats

previous | masterlist | next

Kai was idling in the hall, absolutely dreading the impending meeting. He knew it was important; knew the reasoning behind regular Hero League briefings. But they were just so boring.

He had sent his team ahead of him into the massive semi-circle auditorium that was currently filling to the brim with just about every hero in the League. If he already wasn’t looking forward to spending the whole meeting sitting still, he definitely didn’t feel like going in early and suffering small talk with teams he didn’t know.

He was planning to pace the hall just outside one of the main entrances until the meeting started, but the weird looks he’s getting combined with the cacophony of chattering heroes spilling out quickly becomes too much. He wanders deeper into the maze of hallways as he tries not to think about what the meeting will be about. He’s sure it will either stress him out or piss him off. Or both. That’s happened before.

There was a bathroom down this hallway. Figures he’d make his way to water. He lets his core pull him even closer, feeling the water flow all around him through the pipes. Kai turns the sink’s faucet just long enough to manipulate some water flow through the air. He sends it flying back and forth between and around his hands, playing with it like a fidget toy. The water flattens down to a thin disk between his hands before he pops it up to spin on the tip of his finger. It was his newest trick he’d been working on.

Kai is suddenly startled by a rough groan and a shaky, quiet voice exhaling a curse. The precarious disk splashes down over his hand as he loses his concentration. He shakes it off as he peeks down the bathroom corridor. The stalls are all open, but he can make out someone kneeling in the last one.

He sighs as he moves towards it, knowing he’ll probably regret it. He knocks lightly as he edges his way in.

���You good, man?” he calls.

The man kneeling in front of the toilet nods and takes a breath, only to lurch forward, dry heaving. He shudders violently in his crouched position, swaying.

Kai is behind him in a moment, steadying him by one shoulder. He stands there sort of awkwardly while he makes sure the dude isn’t about to crack his skull on the tile.

“Is, uh, is there anyone I could get to help you maybe?” he asks, equal parts concerned and uncomfortable.

It seems like the man hesitates before shaking his head. He spits into the toilet one last time before slowly, shakily rising to his feet. Kai backs off to give him space. He wipes his mouth and flushes the toilet before turning towards Kai.

Time seems to slow as the man turns towards him. Kai’s eyes narrow as he meets unmistakeable bright blue eyes and curly brown hair, mussed and sweaty but recognizable. Despite not wearing his typical gas mask-like villain disguise, Kai’s all but sure he’s looking at a notorious villain.

“Tinker?”

Tinker stiffens just slightly, enough to confirm Kai’s suspicions.

He lunges.

Two pipes on either side of the villain suddenly burst at the pull of the superhero’s powers. Water rushes fast and unforgiving, slamming into the villain’s chest with sufficient force to throw him into the tiled wall. Kai directs the water to pin and encase his charged hands for good measure. He lets out a strangled groan at the pain of being thrown into the wall and gasps to catch his breath.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Kai growls.

He lets out a breathy chuckle as he adapts to the situation, scrutinizing Kai for a moment. “Nalu! I missed you, man. Didn’t you miss me?” the villain jokes with a playful grin, only a slight strain to his words hinting at the immense pressure of water on his chest.

“I'm not fucking playing around, Tinker,” he snaps. “Look around. We're in a bathroom. I could drown you without even trying.” His powers pull at the water just beyond his fingertips, ratting the pipes and fixtures for good measure.

Tinker's grin melts off his face, just fast enough that Kai knows it was a front. “Look man, I'm supposed to be here. I promise, just ask Miguel Toro, ask Shadow.”

“How the fuck do you know that name?”

“I—because, dude!” Tinker bursts, then immediately flinches slightly at his own outburst. Kai raises an eyebrow at him, and Tinker sighs with another little groan.

“I-I know him because, I told you, I’m supposed to be here. I’m on his team,” Tinker says in measured words, clearly trying to control his frustration.

Kai glares down at him, trying to read the kid. He was a few inches shorter than Kai and looked skinnier than he’d last seen him. Dark circles like bruises stained his under his eyes, making his already intense blue eyes stand out even more. He’s slightly green still—a subtle sheen of sweat across his forehead—from being sick. From this close, he could just make out the faint edge of a bruised jaw and cheek covered with makeup. The kid doesn’t look too hot. Weird.

Most importantly, though, Kai can’t see any sign the villain is lying. He is a villain and being a good liar is practically Villain 101, but Kai can’t imagine how he could possibly know Shadow’s real name besides him now, bizarrely, being with the Hero League.

He sighs, easing back on the water pressure. Tinker drags in a deep breath.

“What do you mean you’re supposed to be here?” Kai prods.

“I’m—the new villain reform initiative, I’m the guinea pig. I came to the Hero League; they—they’re giving me a chance,” the villain says quietly.

Kai scrutinizes him one more moment before sighing and pulling the water away from. The kid slumps against the wall when he’s released, breathing heavily. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Tinker was more hyperventilating with fear than anything else. But this is Psychosis’ protege; he’s one of the most notorious new villains in the city. He's bested Kai several times. There’s no way he’s that afraid.

Kai forces the water back into the pipes he burst, wincing slightly at the damage. Two very burst pipes and maybe a dozen destroyed tiles. Plus the holes in the wall. He might’ve gotten a little carried away again. He grabs the villain’s arm tightly, freezing the holes in the pipes shut and making a mental note to let his supervisor know. Mari was gonna kill him. Six pipes this month. He sighs and shakes his head.

“Come on, let’s go find Miguel,” Kai grinds out, frustrated that this was now his problem. He pulls the pliant villain out of the bathroom with a tight grip on his arm.

They make their way through the halls in tense silence, only occasionally interrupted by Kai’s huffing and annoyed grumbling as it takes longer and longer to find Miguel in the maze of hallways around the auditorium.

Kai is just about ready to start yelling again when he suddenly feels a sharp, painful jolt of electricity shoot up his arm. He swears loudly, dropping the villain’s arm as fast as he can. He’s about to burst some more pipes in preparation for a fight when he realizes Tinker has yelped in clear pain and completely collapsed to the ground. The kid’s muscles are so tense it looks painful as he twitches and groans on the floor.

What the fuck, Kai thinks.

He crouches next to the villain, who’s clearly in severe pain, not sure what to do. Since when did Tinker’s electricity hurt him? Kai’s seen him use his powers plenty of times before, and he’s never seen anything like this. Is this some kind of weird trap? He doesn’t touch the kid, not wanting to get shocked himself, but his hands hover over him, not sure what to do.

Eventually, it seems like the electricity that’s rendering the villain totally immobile subsides and he gasps, tears suddenly spilling over. He shakes and quivers through the aftershocks, gulping oxygen. His pain seems too genuine for this to be a trap.

He puts his hand on the kid’s arm and he flinches like he’s been burned. The kid whimpers in pain, eyes glazed over and not quite there. Kai realizes he’s mumbling something under his breath and leans closer. He can just barely make out what the kid is saying.

“I-I’ll be g-good, I’m sorry. I’m trying, p-please, I’m s-sorry,” he stutters.

Kai grabs his arms a little more firmly this time and doesn’t let go even when the villain flinches again. He shakes the trembling kid lightly, trying to get him to snap out of it.

“Tinker? Come on, man. What the hell is going on?”

Tinker’s eyes eventually clear. He blinks up at Kai—so openly vulnerable and confused and scared that it startles him. He’s not sure what to do with that, so he decides to focus on anchoring Tinker in the moment, clearing his throat.

“There you are. You good?”

Tinker gives him a hesitant and shaky nod that’s not really convincing. Kai watches as the kid blinks a few times and a clearly well-practiced mask slips into place, hiding the raw emotions he just witnessed. He struggles to push himself into a sitting position, and Kai helps him sit up.

“What the fuck was that?” Kai asks when he seems more lucid.

“Uh, it’s—well, it’s a warning. Miguel must be l-looking for me. I-I have to get back to him, like now,” he says, a little panicked.

He struggles to his feet before Kai can do anything to help. He has to stand quickly himself to steady the villain before he crashes to the floor again. His steps are clumsy and unsteady, but urgent as he looks around, trying to find his way back to Miguel.

Kai hurries after him, even more confused and alarmed now.

“Wait, what the fuck do you mean ‘a warning’? Was that not your powers?”

Tinker shakes his head, pulling the collar of his shirt to the side wordlessly to expose a thin metal ring around his neck. Like a collar.

“Again, and I cannot stress this enough, what the fuck?” Kai exclaims.

The villain shakes his head, dismissing Kai’s question, and suddenly lets out a very relieved sigh when he peaks around the corner.

“Miguel! I’m right here!”

Kai follows after the villain, now jogging towards Toro.

Miguel does not look happy. “Get the fuck over here, Jasper. Where the hell did you go?”

Jasper? Kai thinks. It’s strange to think of the villain as anything other than his villain moniker.

Jasper slows slightly, nerves returning to his shaking frame. “I-I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I was sick and, and then, uh,” he breaks off, looking back pleadingly at Kai for support.

Kai’s really not sure why he opens his mouth. But he does.

“Yeah, I, uh, held him up. That’s my bad.” It wasn’t technically a lie. He fixes his gaze on the team leader, “Um, he’s on your team, Miguel?” he asks.

“We’re keeping an eye on him.”

Kai could swear he sees Jasper deflate a little out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re getting ready to hear about it. Why don’t you head in to sit with your team, Kai? We’ve gotta go get Tinker here set up,” Miguel says, stiffly, grabbing Jasper’s arm tightly and starting to tug him away.

Jasper looks back at him once more, gratefulness and something else hard to read, something maybe like resigned fear, swirling in his eyes.

Kai watches the pair go, Miguel pulling Jasper close by the collar of his shirt as he drags him down the hall, whispering something sharp and terse in his ear. The villain tenses, stiff but yet still pliant in Miguel’s grip.

Kai sighs to himself.

What the fuck.

~~~

Grumpy caretaker is grumpy! Not sure when or how that happened because I really didn’t plan on him being grumpy he just kinda manifested that way lmao. He a little confused but he’ll get the spirit I promise. Elijah might have to bully him into it a little bit tho.

tags!! hello again!! I love you!! I hope this actually works this time!! lmk if you wanna be added or removed anytime :)

@whumpsday @sergeant-jasper @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @crystalrose141 @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

@paingoes @elizaisnotokay @quaggasus @defire @tonystark604

@writereleaserepeat @whump-queen @clickerflight @gliittergelpens @kawaii-cakes

@whump-in-a-million @scoundrelwithboba

[where-is-my-whump]

Lost in Fuseta 1x01/02 Part 1 Part 2

Added the video for the sounds from the whumpee😫😩🤤😌😏☺️

[ayushsan]

The Killing Vote, Ep 07

[pixelatedraindrops]

Happy Birthday Yakou! 🚬💙🎉

The best roommate, mentor, boss, father figure and caretaker Yuma could ask for💕

I had to try to make something for him. I’ve grown to adore him almost as much as yuma as I kept putting them in various scenarios the past half year.

(its kinda for both of them since their birthdays are only a day apart from each-other??)

So yeah, birthday cuddles for them both~ 💜💙

[cepheusgalaxy]

Me, watching Castlevania Nocturne first episode: So, let's get something straight. This guy's not.

My brother: Stop saying everybody's gay

My dad in the kitchen, who's a huge Castlevania nerd and has already watch the series: No, no, she's right

[paingoes]

Rubies

Asking

“Aegre fero” here has a double meaning of “I’m sorry” and “It hurts”. Taking some license with the Latin I think. Forgive me.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, comfort!!!, crying, past trauma, conditioning, malnutrition mention, emotional whump, abuse mention, rocky recovery)

=========

Apollo readjusted the dials on the old receiver. He clicked in between the channels of the small device, listening in as best he could through the static. The sheer range of Galatea’s radio always impressed him. 

“-off the Western side now, escalating-“

“-running out of provisions! Just a reminder-“

“-tell Contra if she doesn’t fix her damn-“

“-worst summer in years, but not like-“

“-does anyone not need their kidney-“

Delta came out of his room, slipping quietly out into the hall. His short hair was hard to get used to. It was actually kind of curly when it wasn’t weighed down. Apollo thought it was cute. His expression was totally unreadable, but that was about typical for him. 

“Hey.” Apollo pulled one of the earbuds out. He didn’t move much beyond that. Delta had gotten comfortable enough that he didn’t feel the need to fuss after him nor the impulse to coax him out of hiding. It’d be better to stay still, not spook him too much.

Delta skirted the edge of the couch carefully and knelt down onto the carpet. He folded his arms on the cushion, resting his head down on top of them. It hid his face. Apollo took out the other earbud, leaning forward.

“You okay, bud?” Apollo’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. Delta hadn’t knelt for him in a while. He’d thought that he was getting out of the habit. Delta nodded, his face still buried in the cushion. Not speaking, but that was also to be expected.

“Do you want to sit up here?” Apollo offered, just in case he needed to be reminded that he was allowed to. He shook his head for no.

“…Okay. Let me know if you need anything, alright?” He only put one earbud back in. Delta spoke so softly, he didn’t want to miss it. He wasn’t going to force him to talk about it, if there was anything to talk about at all. Delta needed to do what made him feel safe. As odd as the behavior seemed to him, he wasn’t going to correct it. 

He turned his attention back to the radio, but kept his sights on Delta to see if there was any change. His eyes widened as he noticed the small hitches along his shoulders. He was definitely crying.

“Hey, hey.” Apollo put the radio aside on the couch, sliding down onto the floor. He touched Delta’s arm lightly, “C’mere.”

It was all the invitation he needed. Delta shifted off of the couch and into Apollo’s arms, burying his face in his chest. Small sobs wracked his body. Apollo was surprised at how silent he was being in spite of this. He made shushing noises reflexively, even though there was no sound. He felt the fabric of his shirt marginally tighten as Delta gripped it. 

“Aegre fero.” Delta’s voice wavered. It was only when he spoke that Apollo could hear just how much trouble he was having breathing. He carded his hands through his hair.

“It’s okay. Deep breaths, yeah? Four-seven-eight,” he said. Delta knew how. Apollo had caught him doing them alone before, unprompted. He was clearly used to being the only one to calm himself down. Apollo’s heart ached at the thought of him sitting up whenever they had kept him, forcing himself stable for somebody else’s sake. Still, he slowed his breathing, picking up the pattern. From where Delta was curled into his chest, he should’ve been able to hear it well. His shoulder blades gradually steadied. The shaking stopped. He didn’t let go.

“Do you…like when I play with your hair?” Apollo’s hands stilled. He realized he’d never actually gotten permission to touch it. He probably should have. Delta nodded slowly. His face was still hidden. Apollo continued to run his hands through it. It was very soft — and seemed to be a lot healthier than it had been when they’d first picked him up. He was proud of that, the way the malnutrition symptoms were gradually fading. He had missed cooking for people.

It took a while before Delta would pull away. His face was flushed when he did, eyes bleary. He looked down like he was ashamed. Apollo patted the couch cushion.

“Sit up, sweetheart.”

Delta climbed onto the couch, pulling his legs up to his chest. He was always more responsive when given direct orders. Apollo didn’t want to force him, but honestly, his joints couldn’t take any more time on the floor. He stood up himself, disappearing briefly to retrieve a cup of water. He brought back the burner phone too, passing both of them to Delta.

~

It was mortifying. When had he ever cried? He could count on one hand the number of times he had done it over the last two years. On two hands, he could count the last decade. Now it was like he couldn’t stop. He wasn’t supposed to behave like this. He had learned, so early on, that he was not supposed to behave like this.

It had felt so nice to be held for a second.

Mortifying.

Apollo sat back down on the couch and opened the IRC program. The burner phone buzzed in Delta’s hand. He unlocked it.

sunspot: Hey

nodiving: hi

nodiving: sorry

sunspot: Do you want to talk about it?

nodiving: i dont know

nodiving: i dont know whats wrong with me

nodiving: im not supposed to be like this

sunspot: Be like what?

nodiving: pathetic

sunspot: Why do you think it’s pathetic?

nodiving: because it is

“That’s circular logic,” Apollo said aloud. Delta typed faster.

nodiving: im not supposed to need anything and i usually dont

nodiving: now i have to keep bothering you for everything even things that dont matter

nodiving: im sorry

He began to type something else, but couldn’t bring himself to. He knew he should be punished for it. For having the audacity to even take notice of the emotion, let alone make it someone else’s problem. He should’ve just stayed in his room until it passed. 

sunspot: Everyone needs things. 

sunspot: I’ve been telling you this entire time to please come to me if you need anything

sunspot: Thank you for trusting me enough to take me up on that

Delta blushed, his fingers idle about the device. Apollo looked him up and down.

“When you say ‘things that don’t matter’,” he ventured cautiously, “You mean your own feelings?”

Feelings. The word itself sounded childish to him. He was supposed to be above it, as cold and mechanical as they’d trained him to be. But his skin was still damp where he’d been crying. It was a little late for that.

He nodded. Apollo couldn’t be mad at him for it; Delta already acknowledged their own worthlessness. It wasn’t a lie.

“Okay,” Apollo said softly, “I understand why you would think that. Nobody’s had much regard for them throughout your life. But it’s not true. Your feelings do matter. It was wrong for anybody to make you feel like they didn’t.”

No they don’t. Delta hid his face in his hands. He shouldn’t need this. He recoiled from the words as if they had burned him. No they don’t.

“I know you might not believe me right now. That’s okay. I’m still really proud of you for coming to me with this instead of trying to deal with it alone. Even if you think it’s not important, I still want to know what you’re feeling. It matters to me.”

Awful.

“Delta?”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded, showing he had heard. Not that he agreed, just that he’d heard.

Apollo paused while he caught his breath. It took a lot of effort to try and recover from what he’d just said. It still burned.

“Do you want to try?” Apollo encouraged.

Delta nodded, picking the phone back up. He typed slowly and decisively.

nodiving: nothing caused it

nodiving: im just sad

“Thank you. That’s a really good start, Delta. I know you’re not…used to talking. So maybe you don’t have all the vocabulary you need for it right now?”

Delta’s eyes narrowed at that, the mention of vocabulary. He wasn’t stupid. He read books.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know you’re smart.” Apollo raised his hands in mock surrender. “Your technical skill is advanced. You’re great at arguing. I know. All I’m saying is that you probably don’t have a lot of practice talking about this kind of thing. It might be difficult at first. And that has nothing to do with your intellect.”

That was objectively true. He had no idea what to describe what was happening to him, not with all the words he knew. He thought of the one that had shocked him most when they first suggested it. Abuse. He knew the definition. He did not see how it could slot into his life. Many of the words they used triggered that same uneasy feeling in him. Chess-piece. Feelings. Love. 

Most days, he could barely talk at all.

“I’m...gonna get you some CBT workbooks or something. We can work on it more later. Is there anything you need for right now though? Anything that normally helps?”

He didn’t know anything that would help. He’d never felt like this before. Whatever it was, it seemed like it was receding. The mood had passed.

He realized that crying might’ve helped. Touch. Talking. All the things he’d never been allowed before. All the things he thought he didn’t need.

Mortifying.

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[whumble-beeee]

Yur Gonna Get Murdalated, Rookie

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 15.5

Content: adult character perceived as a minor, kidnapping/captivity, noncon drugging, guns, recreational drug use, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, past captivity references

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The Law Enforcement Policy Handbook, Chapter X: Superhumans

[Officers of the law have the right to ask any civilian to show their upper right arm to verify whether or not the civilian bears the ‘General Super Brand’. If the civilian does possess such a marking, they are superhuman; the officer has the right to use whatever superhuman training they may possess. 

If the brand indicates that the superhuman is also a ‘Latent Supervillain,’ ‘Supervillain,’ or Test Subject,’ the officer is also compelled to check the superhuman’s upper right shoulder blade for the ‘Hazardous Super Brand,’ colloquially known as ‘The Villain Brand.’ Depending on the contents of the brand, the officer may be required to arrest or otherwise subdue the superhuman. They are advised to use their best judgment to subdue the superhuman or hide and call for backup.]

* * * * * * * *

The night was peaceful. Boring, even. The type of night where you’d wanna just sit back and smoke a cigar in the amber-dusking twilight that spilled through the half-closed blinds of your office. It’s filled to bursting with old bookshelves sworn by the tests of time, a single chair for you to sit in as you work, and a sprawling, book-laden red oak wood desk, surrounded on all sides by stacks and stacks of notes, files, crucial evidence about your latest case. The scent of cigars burns your nose. You’re so close to a breakthrough, you could just about taste it on the tip of your tongue, You would find it, you always did, and you could feel it now, edging ever closer after a tirelessly rewarding and sleepless night.

And yet here Officer Kalis Brooks sat instead, bored out of her skull watching some dinky ass highway that was lucky if a car graced its beaten roads once every twenty minutes. 

If only she were a film noir detective. Truly an unfair life she led.

It was a suspicious sort of fellow she finally spotted slowly making his way down the highway. A scoundrel who wore a bandana over the lower half of his face.

A person with something to hide.

Of course, she pulled him over. Simply her duty as an officer of the law.

She approached the truck and rapped lightly on the driver’s side window, and it rolled down with a gentle whirr. She shined her flashlight into the vehicle, and the view to greet her was almost something of a–

Holy shit.

The driver sat there, lazily gripping the steering wheel, looking like some sort of modernized pseudo-cowboy with a buncha scary lookin’ gadgets. A burn scar ran all the way up the side of his face, down his neck, and reappeared on his arm where his leather jacket rolled up to his elbows. His eyes were dilated, every movement markedly relaxed. Disjointed. Uncanny even. 

He was definitely high. But at least he’d had the forethought to take off that bandana concealing his identity. That was a good thing, right?

Then her jaw nearly dropped when she registered the passenger. He didn’t even look at her, his gaze stiff and unseeing. Very obviously also high on some sort of drug, though Kalis reckoned this high was less than consensual. Not to mention the super-power suppression collar wrapped around his neck. 

He was a super. 

She wasn’t trained to handle cases like this. Was this a super kidnapping in progress?! Something more?

Shit, no time for film noir roleplay bullshit, this is serious.

This is a villain.

Her gaze snapped back to the driver, just as her hand unclipped the gun holstered at her hip.

“Sir, please step out of the car slowly with your hands up. You’re being detained under suspicion of committing an in-progress felony.”

The driver’s gaze immediately shot to his passenger. “Officer, there uh… seems to be a misunderstanding–”

“Step out of the car or I’ll have you arrested for disobeying an officer of the law.”

That got his attention. The driver blew his bangs out of his face with a slow, deep sigh, and equally slowly reached down to open the door. The metallic creak of the door swinging open was almost deafening in the moonlit night. 

“I should mention I have a gun holstered on my belt,” he drawled inattentively, boots crunching the sparse gravel scattered across the shoulder of the highway. His arms stayed firmly raised, thankfully. “A revolver. Left side.” 

“Thank you for informing me,” Officer Brooks said quickly. This man seemed to be an easy-going fella, thankfully, but air around him stank of danger, like the haze of the walking dead. She slipped the ornately decorated gun out of its holster and slapped all the bullets to the roadway with 6 distinctly clean clinks. Then triple-checked that the safety was on. Then a fourth time. The matching knife too, for good measure. 

“I’d like to ask you some questions,” she stated, barely halting her transatlantic accent from slipping through. Stop it with the film noir. “Show me your upper right arm, please.”

He sighed, then nodded, then struggled to push up the leather sleeves of his jacket enough to show her the clear absence of a super brand. 

Good, one less thing to worry about. Not a supervillain.

“Alright then, what’s going on with that boy in the truck, friend?”

“Nothin’ much. That’s Stan. He’s my ward.”

“Your ward?”

“Yuh. I have custody over him. He’s a test subject.”

“Really?” She said, voice full of faux intrigue.

“Really.”

“And who are you, exactly?”

“Handler, of sorts. A bounty hunter. I work with the police sometimes, actually, we have an arrangement.”

“Oh? An arrangement?” she asked, as if daring him to tell her all the illegal dealings he held in his hidden hand of cards.

He just shrugged.

Ugh, she hated these types.

 “Fine. You have any proof?”

“Think I left my bounty huntin’ papers in my other pants,” he quipped. “Check the kid's villain brand, call in my ID, talk to your boss. Should be proof enough.”

That was absolutely not how that worked. Though she did feel a slight vindication in her chest that she would actually probably arrest this man.

“You have your ID on you?”

“Mhm.” 

He flicked out his ID between forefinger and middle to the officer, seemingly plucking it from thin air before she snatched it out of his hand, noting every piece of identifying information, checking for signs of a fake. Nothing seemed to be out of order… Had he really just handed her his real ID?

“And you said something about the boy having a villain brand?”

The man– Declan Cansano, so said the ID– nodded. Then rolled his damn eyes.

“Oh, I'm sorry, am I boring you?” She smiled sarcastically. “Need I make it obvious that you are suspected of kidnapping?” 

“I just have somewhere to be. It’s late. If you’d call in to ask about–”

“Are you telling me how to do my job?”

“No ma'am, I'm sayin’ you'd save yourself a lot–”

“Well stop ‘sayin'’ or I'll be ‘sayin’’ that you resisted arrest when I’m writing up your arrest report. This way.” 

She had to keep from grabbing his arm and yanking him as she led him over to her cruiser and deposited him near the passenger side door. Only after ordering him to turn around so she could cuff him behind his back of course.

“Stay here until I come back,” she ordered. “And remember that running from a uniformed officer is a criminal offense.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he lulled back, almost sing-songy while leaning nonchalantly against the car. “Keep an eye on the kid, he's the type you’d have to worry about.”

Because you kidnapped him? God, she couldn't wait to throw the book at that man. 

Kalis pressed the talk button on the radio clipped to her shoulder. “Officer Brooks reporting, I have a man pulled over here named Declan Cansano, roughly 6 and a half feet tall, blond, possibly… Latino? I have him detained for suspected kidnapping of the boy he has with him, a white brown-haired male, very battered and bruised and likely drugged who looks to be about… sixteen-ish? The man claims the boy is a super with villain status, and that he has jurisdiction over him as a ‘handler’ or ‘bounty hunter’ or something. Can you look him up for me?”

There was a moment of silence, then the radio crackled to life. “Report received, I'll look into a ‘Declan Cansano’ for you real quick. Do you have a name for the white male I can look into as well?”

“Not yet, I’m going to check that out now and get back to you shortly.”

“Wait,” A third voice interupted, familiar in just the right way to make Kalis’ heart flutter in her chest. Officer Frida Galleta. Her mentor, her favorite person on the force, one of the people she trusted most in this world. And… well, it didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes as well. “Brooks, did I hear you right? You said last name Cansano?”

Just as fast as it had soared, her heart dropped like a stone in a vacuum. She’d never heard that tone from Frida before. “I– I– Uh... yes. Why?”

“Oh god, I… Brooks, don’t engage with him– Look, I’m gonna call you on your personal cell–”

“Wait, Frida, what do you mean ‘don’t engage with him?’ I have him detained, I can’t not engage with him.”

“Officers, please keep small talk to a minimum over the radio,” Dispatch interrupted. “Officer Brooks, I couldn’t find anything on a ‘Declan Cansano’ anywhere, not the super or villain database, the criminal database, the employee database. But uh… to Officer Galleta’s point, if he said he’s a bounty hunter... Well, let’s just say you might wanna follow up with the chief about that before you make any decisions. They might have some sort of arrangement, so to speak.”

Arrangement…? Like a… Like…

Officer Brooks smelled the stinking injustice of a rat.

“Co–... Come again, dispatch?” she breathed into the radio.

“No!” Officer Galleta’s voice interrupted. “Dispatch, I’l’-I’lll handle this, no need to get the higher-ups involved. Please.” 

Then her phone rang. Officer Galleta’s beautiful profile photo graced her periphery as she pulled out the phone and promptly sent the call straight to voicemail, eyes straight ahead and staring into the pitch-black night. At the car that a captive was waiting for her in.

“Kalis, please answer your phone,” Galleta pleaded.

Officer Brooks silenced her radio, that wretched squeal, and started toward crime scene in the making.

It was a pig-filled world out there. She wouldn’t stand idly by as they made the entire world their mud pit.

Her phone rang again.

A single deep breath to steel her razor-sharp wit, then slammed open the passenger side door, preparing for the occupant to do anything from attacking like a spit-fire to running for the hills to grasping onto her and holding her close as the first friendly face this boy had seen in years.

Somehow, she didn’t expect the boy inside to startle and struggle, legs scrambling and weakly kicking at her to put distance between them. He leaned precariously back on the console of the car, shaking as if he were in hell when it finally froze over, and only then did she realize his hands were restrained behind his back.

Now that she wasn’t looking at him over the angry presence of a kidnapper, she could see clearly now that her first impression of him was so very wrong; He was so much worse off than she could have imagined. Deep-set dark circles under his eyes, so many bruises lining his skin, specks of dried blood flakes dotting his body, cuts caked with disgusting oozing brown, eyes dilated and bloodshot, angry red welts peaking out from under the power-suppressing collar that only could have been from being yanked around or choked, and dried blood-stains that drip-drip-dripped down the front of his oversized white t-shirt.

Her face went ashen at the ghastly scene. What had that man done?

Her phone rang once more. She muted it. It still buzzed in her pocket.

“Hi,” she started slowly. Her voice cracked slightly. “My name is Officer Brooks, or Kalis. I'm here to help you. What's your name?”

He simply returned her a wide-eyed stare. Then glanced over to her cruiser. At the man leaning on it. Then at her badge. Then down to his lap, not a single word uttered.

The phone buzzed with another call.

“It's alright,” she soothed, like a mother beckoning a lost child home. “He can't hurt you right now. I'm here to help you, but I need you to talk to me or else I can't help you. I need to know your name. It’s Stan, right? Stan? That’s what I heard from him.”

He looked up, staring into her as if she wasn't even there again, eyes so wide, so dilated. No words. He frowned, considering for a moment. Then a vindictive determination spread across his features and he moved his gaze right back to his lap.

“Alright, that's uh… that's alright.” She felt like a kindergarten teacher with the way she was talking. Her phone buzzed with yet another call. “Can I… can I at least see the super brand on your back? Can you do that for me, Stan?”

He jolted back. “No.”

More phone buzzing. Adrenaline surged in her chest. “Stan, please. I can't get you back to your family if I can't find out who you are.”

“... fam–... family?...” His eyes widened, pupils somehow blown even wider, unfocused into the middle distance.

“Yes, Stan.” She very carefully reached for the collar of his shirt, ready to pull back at any time. The boy didn’t react. “I just want to get you back to your family.”

Kalis pulled the shirt down just enough to reveal that awful blue of the villain brand. The blue that signified a test subject.

Shit, the bounty hunter had been telling the truth.

The phone buzzed once more. Kalis snatched it out of her pocket. Turning around swiftly so Stan wouldn’t think what was about to happen next was directed at him.

“What do you want?” She hissed. “I’m trying to talk to a kidnapping victim.”

“Oh thank god, you’re alright,” Frida's tinny voice came through the speaker.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I– Look, Kalis, I know this sounds bad, but I need you to let the bounty hunter go. Now.”

Officer Brooks grit her teeth. This was exactly what she was afraid of. “Why.”

“He’s… look, alright, I’m surprised no one told you before, but the police have a sort of… deal… with certain criminals and organizations. Mr. Cansano is one of them–”

“So you’re a dirty cop, then?” Kalis interrupted, voice strained, chest tight. “And– and you’re trying to bring me down with you, now? Frida, I–...  You should see what he’s done to this captive. I can't let him go.”

"I’m not a dirty cop! Not the way you’re thinking at least, I– just trust me, I can't even say over the phone but I'm on my way and I’ll tell you when I get there, I swear. Please don't do anything, for both our sakes.I know him, he's–”

“You know him?!”

“Yes, he’s–”

“How do you know him?!”

“Kalis. Listen to me.” Her voice turned deathly serious. “He's got ties everywhere. Hell, he does jobs for the police sometimes, they won't protect you if you get in trouble. He might try to kill you, and even if he doesn't and you get him arrested, now you have a target on your back from both the mob AND the corrupt police. If you try to arrest him, you're going to die. Please just leave him alone. Please."

She grit her teeth. “So that means he doesn't have any… official paperwork to prove he has authority over the super?”

“I– uh… probably not? They don't work within the law, that's why you need to let him go.”

Well then…

That’s all she needed to hear.

“I’m arresting him.”

“No! No, Khalis, I'm on my way, I'll-I’ll be two minutes, just wait–”

She slammed her phone down and turned back around to Stan, only then realizing that the poor boy probably heard everything she just said–

Nope, he was off in his own little world again.

“Stan?...”

No response.

She waved her hand in front of his face. “Stan!”

He startled back to himself, terrified, scrambling to get away from her just like the first time she'd walked up to him.

She didn't have time for this.

“Stan, honey, I'm going to arrest the man who hurt you alright? He won't hurt you anymore. I have to leave now, but one of my friends will be here very soon. She'll help you out, alright? Everything will be alright. Just please stay here. Hopefully I'll see you soon.”

Officer Brooks closed the door of the truck before she could catch a reaction, hoping that ditching Stan to be found by Officer Galleta was the best choice here.

It had to be, it was the only choice.

She steeled herself, resting her hand on her gun once more, and walked back over through the oppressive black night and into the spotlighting brights of her police car. 

To face down the bounty hunter.

“Mr. Cansano, you're–...” 

Then all of her built-up courage suddenly burst. What the hell was–...

She gaped.

Then scoffed.

Really?

“Are–… are you… smoking a blunt right now?”

The bounty hunter’s hand withdrew from his mouth, followed by a puff of dark white smoke. His gaze never once broke from the bright dot of red-yellow ash that oh-so-subtly lit his face. “Yup.”

She just stared at him for a moment. Then shook her head out. Whatever.

“Mr. Cansano, you're under arrest for suspected kidnapping of a super and illegal bounty hunting.” He didn’t so much as blink. “You have the right to remain silent, as anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you.” Crickets chirped somewhere in the forest sidelining them. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve spoken them to you?”

He didn’t move in the slightest through her whole spiel. He almost seemed to have paused time around him, actually, a frozen snapshot.

A pause as Kalis stood ready to arrest a few feet away, yet unable to move closer as the air turned sticky with his low chuckle.

A pause because, only then, did Kalis realize that when she last left the man, she'd left him in handcuffs.

The bounty hunter shoved the burning tip of the blunt into the metal siding of her cruiser, instantly extinguishing the bright ember. “You talked to your boss?”

She clutched her gun. “I've been made aware of the situation.”

“Brave one, you are.”

He pushed up out of his lean. She whipped out her gun and aimed it squarely at his chest. “Freeze.”

He stopped, staring at her gun hand, eyes narrowed, hands shooting up to show he wasn’t a threat.

Yeah right.

Police sirens in the distance. Couldn’t be anyone but Frida.

“Put your hands on the car. Slowly.”

He looked her up and down. It was funny, his eyes almost looked red, with the way the headlights shined off his eyes.

“Hands on the car.”

The hunter almost seemed to think about it for a moment. Then he laughed, pulled his bandana up over his face, and took a step forward. 

Her vision tunneled, heart pounding in her ears. All she had to do was pull the trigger.

“Shame,” he drawled. Now he had… a string? A metal string, the type used to cut clay. Held taut between his hands. “I’ll try not to make this hurt, youu seem lie one of the good ones.”

Kalis’s gun hand shook. She should shoot him. She’d never shot anyone before. Shoot him. Shoot him. In the chest, in the leg, somewhere, shoot him, shoot him, you’re going to die shoot him shoot him do it fucking SHOOT HIM–

Her finger squeezed the trigger as he lunged forward, a flash of light, everything bright white and hot and blinding as a loud CRACK split through her eardrums, her very skull. Her gun arm knocked to the side, the gun flew from her hands. Her only chance at defending herself disappeared somewhere into the inky black night.

Suddenly she was staring right into his dark brown eyes that seemed to gleam red. His hands slammed just short on either side of her neck, the wire held gingerly between them pressing into the hard muscle of her larynx.

Just the two of them. 

The crickets, the trees.

The stars, shining above so sweetly.

Her last witnesses.

She was going to die here.

“Sorry about this,” he whispered, a low grumble that reverberated her entire soul. She couldn’t look away from those blood-red eyes. Would her blood be added to that as well?

A deafening screech of tires.

His brow furrowed, gaze stuttering elsewhere. A new set of headlights spotlighted them like startled deer, two omens of death and justice heading straight for them, night turned into a shining white day. 

 Brighter, brighter.

“Holy shit,” the bounty hunter yelled. Low engine revs turned into deafening roars that wholly swallowed any screams that ripped from Kalis’ or Declan’s throats, right before a hand yanked off her feet, just barely heaved over the hood of the car and tumbling jarringonto the ground next to the man who had apparently saved them both as a giant mass of immoveable flashing red and blue and black and white metal screeched past them as it attempted to grind to a stuttering halt before flying into the ditch that sidelined the highway.

Kalis slammed into the ground.

The world spun around her.

Frida.

Frida.

Ow, FUCK–

What’s–

It was Frida!

She was saved!

Or wait, was Frida trying to kill her now?

Why had the bounty hunter saved her, were they on the same side now?

What was happening?!

The door of the cop car flew open before the car even fully screeched to a halt, and there she stood in all of her gorgeous, life-saving, terrified and anger-filled glory, pointing her gun over the top of her cop car right at the man in the cowboy hat sprawled dazed on the ground next to her.

“DECLAN CANSANO, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

* * * * * * * *

Next (when posted)

Also linking this rq for anyone who didn't see bc I think I'm hilarious

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything

@paperprinxe | @tippytappytyping | @chaotic-orphan | @notactuallyluska | @lumpofsand

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees | @whumpwhittler | @thelazywitchphotographer

(If you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

[ccieatchildren]

Whumpay 24 Day 4: Vivisection

TW: Detailed Autopsy

The scalpel cuts through the soft meat of Whumpee’s chest. First trailing from each shoulder to the middle of his collarbone, then slicing down through their pelvis. Little blood spills from the long dead corpse, and Caretaker is thankful for the small mess. 

Caretaker recognizes the man. He had stopped and harassed her after a long night clubbing a week ago. Her only saving grace was the taser she always kept on hand and her ability to run in heels, otherwise the night would have ended in a much less tasteful way. She never reported the man, because at the moment she didn’t remember much of what he had looked like. And, despite working for them, she knew how lax the police could be with reports of unsavory men, especially when they technically never did anything. 

Looking at Whumpee now, she could not muster any sympathy for him. 

Before she continues, Caretaker catalogs what she found initially on his body. There were marks along his wrist and ankles, leftover from being chained. Along with uneven cuts across his arms and thighs, and, unnervingly, bites everywhere, but with no indication they were for any sexual reason. She had checked the man’s mouth, finding bruising along the inside, proof of something being shoved down Whumpee’s throat before his death.

A saw is then forced through their ribcage, neatly cracking each rib, which are to be placed in a metal tray, stored for later. It freaks her out that somehow two of the left ribs are already missing. Though, she supposes, it explains the two holes on Whumpee’s side. 

Next, Caretaker begins to remove each of his organs. First the lungs, then the liver and kidneys, his heart, and finally his intestines and stomach. With each removal, Caretaker inspected the part for any signs of disturbance. None of them showed any obvious causes of death until the guts.

The intestines had scarring from poison, though she would have to send the organ to toxicology to find out what exactly. Caretaker took the stomach, cutting it open to see if she could see the extent of the damage and any more clues on what the chemical was. But, she stopped upon seeing a large clear pill stuck inside. Caretaker peeled the item out, blue gloves protecting her from the crimson gore sticking to the capsule. Upon further inspection, Caretaker realized there was a scrap of paper inside. 

Popping it open, she unfurled the note, disturbed at the message.

‘Don’t worry my Ixchel, I will always protect you.’

[whumpwhumpwhumpwhump]

Living weapon whump but after the war the weapon was created for

What do they do now their purpose is gone? Do they go on loyally serving the people who made them, waiting for the possibility the threat will return? Or do they become a mercenary, driven by their desire to continue to be useful and live out their purpose for anyone who is in need? Or do they try and start a normal life, feeling like they've done their duty for the people who made them? And if they do choose to stop, are they resented for betraying their people, and not using their powers for the service of the group, country, race, species, that created them?

[deluxewhump]

Nightfall

When the moon is in the ditch and the hour is none

A bloodbag must remain useful to a vampire.

CW: vampire and bloodbag, recent kidnapping (by other vampires), very light blood drinking, comfort and reassurance, fluffy vampire content, platonic hand and forehead kiss

There was a time he would have been indescribably relieved that a vampire showed no interest in feeding from him.

Now it was a source of unease. Carlo could not get through a night without a strong sense of uselessness. It had been several weeks since Erik took him, and he and his revolving door of friends and followers had made him their chewtoy again.

He was grateful that Maxim took him back at all. But this prolonged period of abstinence was agonizing to him now. It was just past eight when he worked up the courage to offer himself— an hour that in the dead of winter was indistinguishable from midnight. Outside, snowdrifts climbed the house’s exterior, and icicles as long as five feet had formed in the eaves.

“I’m ready now,” he said as casually as he could. “If you’d like.”

“There’s no rush,” said the vampire, whose nonchalance was more convincing than his own. “And you need to recover.”

“I am recovered.”

“Physically, maybe,” Maxim said. He was copying a pile of letters, yellowed and cracked with time, into a document on a laptop. The light from the screen made the reflective sheen of his eyes more noticeable than usual, like shining a light at an animal in the dark. “Your bruising hasn’t even had time to fade yet.”

“I still need to do my job.”

He kept on typing. “Why?”

“Because it’s why I’m here. What good am I to you just freeloading? Why am I here if I am not being fed from?”

The vampire stopped typing and turned to him. “So I can feed from you later.”

Carlo stared wordlessly. It was uncharacteristically direct of him to put it that way.

“You’re thinking of this on your own timeline, not mine,” he continued. “It’s only been three weeks. You’re rattled. You try to hide it but I can hear it. And why wouldn’t you be? You’re not going to be discarded or replaced because of a few months of recovery. What’s a few months to me, do you think?”

He knew he’d lost, but he answered to be polite. “Like how a few nights is to me, I guess.”

“Exactly. Come.”

Carlo obeyed and curled up next to him. He was heatless but solid, inhuman and yet adept at all the motions with which humans show affection to one another. He tilted Carlo’s face in his hands and kissed the crown of his head. “I enjoy your company, too, you know. You’re not a vending machine.”

“I have good dual use as a lapdog, Erik says,” he said darkly.

Maxim sighed. “My maker has a way of perverting even the simplest pleasures in life. A gift he’s always had.”

“Do other vampires do this?” Carlo asked, resting himself against Maxim. “With their humans?”

“Plenty do. There’s as much variety in those relationships as there is in human ones.”

“I really feel fine. It’s just the bruises that are left.”

“I almost think you enjoy being turned down.”

“I do not, no,” Carlo answered, not entirely without humor.

“If you insist, I’ll show you a trick.”

Carlo turned to look at him. “Okay.”

Maxim smiled. “Your trust is flattering. Give me your hand.”

He did.

“Just a pinch,” said the vampire, and nicked the tip of his index finger with the scalpel tip of a concealed fang. Carlo flinched lightly, but did not pull away. Just a finger prick, he thought. Anxiety swelled in him but subsided when he reminded himself whose arms he was in. The vampire squeezed his hand until a red drop of blood pooled at the tip of his finger. He put his mouth over it in a swift but gentle motion and the blood was gone.

Carlo was skeptical. “Does that do anything? A drop?”

“Think of it like drag off someone else’s cigarette,” the vampire said with a grin.

“You did that to shut me up.”

“Yes, little mortal, I did.” The creature kissed the back of his hand and gave it back to him. “Now be quiet about it or I’ll give you nine more sore fingers before I feed from you properly again.”

[whumpy-wyrms]

we need more Anton whump… i wanna do horrible things to that man… (no pressure ofc)

i gotchu

[befuddled-calico-whump]

If you celebrate the winter holidays , maybe uriah wrapped up in ribbon on someone’s doorstep , as a gift?

If you don’t celebrate them , maybe Uriah left in the snow?

2pm vs 2am

[cyberwhumper]

will whiskey get a good ending?

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

your new bank robber boyfriend kidnapper btw. if you even care.