#like one and a half Whumpee

[whumpsoda]

I. I love vampire hunters turned thralls. Brainwashed into adoring little pets to creatures of which they once chased down with the goal of killing… UGH just someone who used to hate the thing they now address as master… bonus points if they get their memories erased and have no memory of their hunter past :3

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

I am at my happiest when I am sopping wet and windblown

[whump-in-the-closet]

Ummm something with the team finally finding whumpee and untying them.

Whumpee repeating "I didn't break, I swear I didn't, I didn't tell them anything, I didn't," while sobbing.

It's true, whumpee didn't tell them anything, but all that caretaker cares about now is trying to calm whumpee down before they bleed out even more.

A Messy Rescue

whumpee slumped over until caretaker grabs their face, desperate to see if they're still conscious

wide eyes and split lip-- a flash of recognition-- and before caretaker can assure them that its all going to be okay, whumpee panics

"I didn't say anything, I didn't, please you have to--" their sentences fragment as they gasp for air. "You have to believe me!"

At first, the team is horrified that this is whumpee's recognition. They feel sick. One teammate turns away, unable to stand it. Unable to watch. It's wrong.

Caretaker snaps out of it first. "Help me cut them down!" Then, they notice whumpee's blood drenching through their once-white shirt

As the team works to free whumpee's wrists from the shackles, Caretaker frantically tries to assess the damage. But whumpee keeps thrashing, jerking out of reach and flinching at their touch.

Alternating between, "I didn't say anything!" and "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry- please don't-- please don't hurt me!"

The teammates all have these grim expressions, mouths in a thin line

A fluttering horror is embedded in caretaker's chest-- this is so much worse than they could have imagined

Even better if Leader, with real pain in their voice, says "We have to keep them quiet."

Caretaker pulls away for a second, hands half-full of bandages. "What're you saying?"

Leader breaks through the last bit of metal and whumpee slumps to the floor, shivering uncontrollably. Caretaker places one hand protectively on their back, rubbing up and down. They don't stop crying. Leader looks away. "Gag them. Or get them to shut up. We don't need them giving away our position to Whumper"

Carrying a gagged and sobbing whumpee out of the building, caretaker can't look them in the eyes. They keep whispering how sorry they are, but they have no idea if whumpee can even hear them or cares. It feels like betrayal, but they can only hope it was worth it.

"We'll get you better, I promise."

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hello! The way you write so eloquently always astonishes me, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of your work. Would you be able to write some hero/villain whumpee/whumper for us? I haven’t seen any of that in a while and I LOVE it! Thanks for all the amazing writing you do, I want to mix it all up in a stew and eat it. <33

"You know, this would be easier for you if you just -" The villain aimed a sharp kick at the hero's ribs - "stayed down."

The hero doubled over to the floor again, wheezing. Dull and not so dull pain throbbed through their body. "Nah," they managed. "You enjoy it too much. Couldn't deprive you."

Before they could claw their way up onto hands and knees, yet again, the villain placed a boot on the side of their head. They didn't put any pressure. But it was there. Ready.

The hero froze.

A moment passed, two, broken only by the sound of the hero's ragged breathing.

"Look at you," the villain said softly. "You're halfway to broken in all but spirit. Isn't that enough?"

"Gonna have to break me the rest of the way if you want to get through me."

"No, darling," the villain said. "To do that I merely have to apply a little pressure."

The hero swallowed.

They felt the villain's weight shift, not hard enough to crack their skull open like an overripe melon, but certainly enough to grind their cheek into the concrete. To make them infinitely aware of the way a melon or a brain might look dribbling pulp.

Their bruised, bloodied fingers flexed on the floor. The villain hazed in their vision.

"To do that," the villain said, "all I need to do is shatter your kneecaps the rest of the way so you can't get up. However hard you try. Crack your spine, perhaps."

The hero shuddered. They wished the fear wouldn't come, but it did, like bile. Anxiety lodged in their chest.

"I could then leave you to the mercy of whoever finds you," the villain continued. "You see your will, indomitable though it may be, cares very little for the limitations of your meat sack. Is that the path we need to go down to make you understand that?"

"Screw you."

The villain laughed, without mirth. "Is that fear or recklessness talking?"

"If you can do all that, why don't you?"

"Maybe I'm enjoying myself too much."

"So what you're saying is..." The hero made a sudden grab for the villain's leg, and yanked, rolling to dislodge their positions. "I could do anything and you wouldn't finish it."

The villain landed hard on their knees. The second after that, they'd snapped both of the hero's wrists.

The hero gasped with pain. Black spots danced behind their eyelids.

The villain grabbed a fistful of the hero's hair, dragging their swaying body up in mirror before they could hit the ground.

"Or maybe my ability and willingness to hurt you does not extend to my fucking pleasure." In an instant, the villain's voice was a growl. "Stay the hell down. What is wrong with you?"

"You're the one keeping me up." The hero's voice slurred. They realised they probably shouldn't say that. Shouldn't admit to that. It was getting a little difficult to focus.

The villain's grip on their hair tightened, pulling their head back further as the villain rose to their feet once more. The hero was left contorted, peering wobbly up at them. The villain's other hand cupped their cheek. The anger faded, leaving behind only implacable waters. A leviathan submerged.

"Not looking to make it easier on me," the hero said. "Looking to make it harder for you. Sorry. Wouldn't be doing any of this for easy. May as well commit, you know?"

They weren't sure if they meant the words as conciliatory or goading, but the villain snorted. They patted the hero's cheek.

"Well, now I could accuse you of enjoying it too much," the villain said.

The hero laughed. Or maybe they just sobbed. Choking on it. On the pain on it.

It would be nice to stay down. To not get up again. To rest. To just...stop.

"You'll pass out eventually," the villain replied. Half kindness. Half cruelty. "And I'll move on. I put in contingency time for dealing with you, you're not saving anything."

"But I'm trying."

"But you're trying."

The villain pressed a kiss to the hero's head then let them unceremoniously drop the floor. They stepped back as the hero wheezed all over again, coughing up a glob of blood.

The villain rolled out their shoulders. They checked their watch. They waited.

The hero forced themselves up again.

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumpee sighed and rolled their eyes as Whumper's friends commanded them to sit. They half-heartedly sat down. Sloppily, the way they knew Whumper hated, but these idiots weren't Whumper.

"No, do it like you're supposed to", one of them crossed their arms, "what was Whumper's command."

Whumpee shrugged their shoulders. They weren't going to talk regardless, not without permission, but they had zero plans on helping these fools with that freaken command anyways.

"It was sit something", a friend thought out loud.

One of the friends got down into Whumpee's face.

"You know what we are asking you to do, so do it already", they spoke gruffly, "I'll tell Whumper you're misbehaving."

Whumpee sat like a statue, looking straight ahead, not bothering to make eye contact.

"Whumper, I think your pet is broken. They won't listen to us", friend D complained.

"What is your command where they sit really nicely?", friends B called.

Whumper came out of the kitchen carrying drinks.

"Whumpee, sit pretty for me", Whumper commanded while passing the drinks to their friends.

Whumpee adjusted how they sat to be more straightened. They puffed out their chest, pulled their knees up, and placed their hands on the floor, palms down. This pose was extremely uncomfortable and took forever to learn. Not from Whumpee being difficult, but their body not liking the stress position.

"That is one of their special commands, meaning I'm the only one they have to listen to for it", Whumper sat down, "Whumpee release."

Whumpee released with a gasp of relief, and sat down their normal way, the way Whumper wanted.

"It's a stress pose and shouldn't be used for a long period of time", Whumper smiled at their pet, "that's why only I can give it to them, so they don't get injured."

Whumpee sighed in relief that Whumper made it clear that Whumpee only needed to listen to them.

"Why do you care if they are comfortable?", friend A kicked at Whumpee playfully, "the little fucker shouldn't be treated so well."

"They're a pet. You wouldn't treat your dog so poorly. Whumpee is no different to me", Whumper frowned, "it takes a while to learn these tricks. Mostly because their body needs to be trained to do it. It would waste the time I've spent on training them if I broke them. You all know I don't like wasting time."

"What's another special trick they know", friend B asked.

"Whumpee", Whumper waited for them to look up. They made their hands into the shape of a gun and pointed it at Whumpee, "bang."

Whumpee dramatically fell to the floor and closed their eyes. They pushed their tongue out of their mouth as a finishing touch.

"Good job Whumpee", Whumper laughed.

His friends also joined in and laughed.

Whumpee popped their head up and looked at Whumper for another command.

"What's your favorite trick?", Whumper looked at Whumpee happily.

That was sneakily a command for Whumpee.

Whumpee got up and crawled away and laid down on their dog bed.

"Wh... what did they just do?", friend A frowned.

"It's a sneaky trick to tell them to go relax", Whumper grinned, "it's just funny to watch them crawl away after asking what their favorite trick is. The command combines bed and at ease."

"Whumpee, do you want a slice of pizza?", Whumper set their plate on their lap.

Whumpee looked up and nodded.

"Come here, I grabbed an extra slice", Whumper grinned.

Whumpee quickly got off of their bed and crawled to Whumper.

"Sit", Whumper waited until Whumpee was right in front of them, "good Whumpee."

Whumpee sat excitedly and looked at the pizza.

"Here, don't make a mess please", Whumper handed them the plate.

Whumpee excitedly grabbed at the pizza and took their first bite.

"What food do they eat normally?", one friend watched curiously.

"Normal human food. I'm not a monster. They need to eat food that gives their body nutrients", Whumper watched Whumpee, "normally it's a strict diet. That's how I eat, so it only makes sense to feed them like that as well. They occasionally get a treat though."

Whumpee licked their fingers happily after their last bite. They looked at Whumper, then at their hands.

"You may have another slice if you like", Whumper stood, "but you won't get any more food tonight. Two slices will definitely be enough for your dinner."

Whumpee quickly nodded, and happily crawled behind Whumper as they went into the kitchen.

"Here you go", Whumper handed them a big slice, then patted their head, "my friends will gone in a little while, then we can relax."

Whumpee looked happily at the slice as Whumper talked.

"I may even allow you to eat a cookie tonight", Whumper chuckled, "how does that sound?"

"It sounds good Master", Whumpee giggled.

"Did that thing just talk?", all of the friends yelled.

"Yes, Whumpee can speak. I just don't think they like you guys. They talk to my other friends just fine", Whumper yelled out the kitchen, "my other friends don't call them mean names though or kick them."

"Oh, come on", the friends poured into the kitchen, "make them talk again."

"Whumpee, what's your favorite trick", Whumper turned to grab a drink from the counter.

Whumpee placed their half eaten slice of pizza in their mouth and crawled between the groups legs and to their bed.

"Oh, come on", they complained dramatically.

Whumpee giggled as they sat in their bed and ate.

Whumper came out and sat down.

"I can't get them to do anything", they jokingly sighed, "such a bad pet."

"You're a liar", their friends stared longingly at Whumpee.

"Speak", one of them commanded.

"That's not the command", Whumper laughed loudly.

Their friends turned to glare at Whumper.

Whumper shrugged.

"Should have been nicer to them", Whumper sighed playfully, "maybe next time."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@weirdthingweee @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@risk606 @electrons2006

@paperprinxe @whumprince

@kaz-of-crows @mis-graves

@decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @sausages-things

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@jumpywhumpywriter @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @thenormalestever

@whatwhump @galatic-worm

@starmoon-constellation @bacillusinfection

[rosieposey-torturedpoet]

As someone who has had an 104 (40 for my celsuis folks) fever: I just thought it would be fun to document some things I experienced but never see in fever prompts (also this is all personal experience so I assume it's 'medically accurate' because it literally happened to me but idk do what you want)

-My energy levels were like being on a roller coaster; I would be half dead for an hour or two, laying under layers of blankets and would then have five minutes of energy pumping through my veins. I stayed home from school that day and I remember feeling awful in the morning, I took a nap, and then was up and normal for a few hours. I showered, I worked on school, I scrolled on here, I listened to music. And then it plummeted real fast: I remember trying to focus on an assignment and then getting a massive headache and feeling light-headed so I laid down and covered myself in blankets and I was half-dead for basically the rest of the day

And I think that should be used more often in whump. Imagine Caretaker checking in on Whumpee: who was dead asleep, cold yet sweating, and melting into the bed; only to see them up and about 30 minutes later getting food or a glass of water like they didn't just look like a person on their death bed: then Caretaker's like 'dude what the, get back to bed you idiot, you're sick' and Whumpees just like '???? I feel fine?' and then 30 minutes later Whumpee is back where they started, stuck in a vicious cycle

-I know we've all seen the 'such high fever that they're deliriously emotional' but sweetheart I don't even think I was that delirious and that was probably one of my most emotional days of my life; I would get mad, then angry, then I would want to cry, and then I would just go back to neutral: I think I remember being on the verge of tears because of my covers not cooperating

-I WAS SO COLD. I WAS FREEZING MY BUTT OFF. I always see fevers that make Whumpee feel hot but that was NOT me, I remember literally shivering even though I had MULTIPLE layers on and I low-key don't know why because I also assumed that it would feel hot while being on the verge of being baked alive in your own body but that's just me

And that's all pookies

(If anyone is a medical professional or smth and has the science behind any of my symptoms, please reblog/comment/message me privately about it because I am genuinely curious)

[defire]

Um.. What about some stoic leader, under torture, getting broken down piece by piece... 😈..

Ooo i love this one

Stoic leader slowly breaking under torture

Content: humiliation, restraints, manhandling, beating, noncon clothes off, beating

Wierdly specific, i like it when they have their hands tied behind their back with a t-shirt on and like 1 defining piece of jewelry (necklace, earring, etc). And they're manhandled up to the main whumper with their eyes on the ground, chest heaving with exhaustion and fear.

Getting punched in the jaw and grunting as they fall back. But they get back up, grimacing, trying not to glance behind them at the crew they're trying to stay strong for. and they just get punched again, get back up, over and over, weaker every time.

Tying their hands above their head and walking around their exposed ribcage with a stick dragging over their skin

Tying them up in degrading positions in front of their team to demoralize them.

Chaining their wrists and ankles so their body is exposed and they can't curl in. They stay there on their hands and knees as whumper approaches, talking to their team instead of the leader.

Whumpee clenching their teeth, gripping their chain, hunching their shoulders, anything but let out the scream as whumper's boots batter them

Especially fun if whumper has a whole team of their own come in and give whumpee a beating as they're tied up helpless in front of their caged teammates.

When whumper hits whumpee so hard, the first whimpered curse breaks free. He glances back at the team and the medic has their hand over their mouth trying not to cry. Shit, he has to do better.

Whumper swings the stick and whumpee flinches, just so whumper can laugh. "Look at your leader, he's so scared. Aww, he's crying."

Especially if whumpee really is crying because of pain. They really are that shamefully weak, they think.

Stripping off whumpee's clothes (especially their shirt)

The team hearing the sound of countless blows and grunts, over and over, until one night they hear a gasp, a choked off whimper, and then "no no no I--wait--" sobbing. "Please."

When the leader finally gets thrown in with the others, streaked in tears, half-naked, humiliated, bruised and bleeding. They can't bear to look at the team. All they can say is "I'm sorry."

"whumpee. Leader. Stop. Come 'ere." Their closest friend in the team wraps their arm around them silently, refusing to look at their bruised body. "We don't care. You're still Leader to us."

[whumpsday]

Next of Kin

@medwhumpmay Day 10

Medwhump May Masterlist

content: pet whump, caretaker new master, neglect, rescue, avian hybrid whumpee

-

Inheriting an exotic bird from an uncle they barely knew would already be a huge pain if that bird wasn’t also six feet tall with a wingspan twice that.

Caretaker pulled up at their uncle’s house. They knew, most likely, they’d been chosen because they were close enough physically to make the drive comfortable for the bird, but not close enough emotionally to have already said no. They had been given no instructions other than what they could find on the internet, and everyone seemed to have wildly varying opinions on the best way to take care of these things.

At the very least, hybrids were capable of speech. Not mimicking like a regular parrot, but actual understanding. So the bird could probably just tell them what it needed.

They unlocked the door with the key their mom had given them. “Hello?”

“Hello?” a voice called back, a timid mirror of their own.

Caretaker walked toward the sound–it wasn’t hard to spot him.

The man before her couldn’t be described any way but beautiful, but not the way you’d call a human beautiful. He was covered in colorful feathers from head to toe, only his face and hands revealing that he also had skin. Reds, yellows, greens, and blues blended together wondrously, and it looked so incredibly out-of-place in a cage in their uncle’s old house.

He shied back, massive wings folded around him almost like a blanket. “Hello?” he repeated. The cage was large, definitely the largest of any kind Caretaker had seen, even big enough for Whumpee to stand up or lay down. Though they doubted Whumpee could unfurl his wings in there. It was decorated with various toys and enrichment, which he was wholly ignoring at the moment.

“Hi. I’m Caretaker. I’m going to be taking care of you from now on, I guess?” They spoke softly, trying not to spook Whumpee further.

“He’s not coming back?” the bird asked.

“No. He died. I’m sorry,” Caretaker said, awkward and stiff. How were they supposed to break the news of an owner’s death to his pet, who knew him a lot better than they ever did? “He was my uncle.”

Whumpee nodded slowly. He didn’t seem overly sad, at least. They weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “I can leave the cage?”

“Yeah. You’re coming to my place. Listen–I’ve never met a hybrid before, let alone taken care of one. So you’re gonna have to help me out here. Can you point out anything we need to take with us?” Caretaker asked.

Whumpee pointed to the opposite wall with an uncomfortably human-looking finger. Hanging there was a key rack, only one key remaining on it.

“Oh. Sure,” they said.

What was the worst that could happen? The bird flies away or something? Honestly, Caretaker half-hoped it would happen. Not their problem and not entirely their fault.

They unlocked the cage, and Whumpee waited for them to step away before cautiously exiting. He shook himself out in the center of the living room, stretching his wings to their full length, managing to touch each wall with the tips of his wings. His arms reached up, reveling in the increase in space.

“Comfy?” Caretaker asked, and Whumpee startled, head whipping around like he’d forgotten they were there.

“Yes.” His wings drooped, brushing the floor, and he hunched over a little, so he almost appeared shorter than Caretaker. “I can take whatever I want?”

“Only your things,” they clarified. “Whatever my uncle got for you specifically. I’ll let you know if it’s something you can’t take.”

“Do I have to take everything?” he asked, head tilted.

Ah.

The cage. It was clear he hated it, and frankly, keeping a depressed man in a cage in their home sounded like the least appealing thing in the world. Not only that, but it definitely wouldn’t fit in their car.

“We can leave the cage,” Caretaker said. “Take everything else, though. Even if you don’t think you’ll need it, better to have it just in case.”

Whumpee didn’t smile, but his eyes widened and gleamed in excitement. “No more cage? Or you have a different one? Is it bigger or smaller?”

“No cage. Just don’t mess with my things and we’ll be fine?” they suggested. Maybe viewing this as a sort of roommate situation would be better. A roommate who doesn’t pay rent and just sits around looking pretty. Something like that.

“I’ll be good,” Whumpee promised. “I don’t pick at things. I don’t take things that don’t belong to me. I’m a good bird.” The way he said it was slightly unnatural, like he was reciting something from memory.

Caretaker gave him two thumbs up. “Awesome. I’ll open the trunk and start throwing in anything that looks obviously yours.”

Together they gathered up bags of food, the toys and water bottle from inside the cage, a large dog bed. “Good bird, good bird,” Whumpee murmured to himself. Whenever he gathered something, he simply left it by the front door while Caretaker carried it to the car.

Guess I don’t have to worry about him running away.

“That’s all of my things.” Whumpee carried the key to the cage, though Caretaker had left it back on the key rack. They didn’t bother to take it from him.

“Alright. Ready to go?” Caretaker asked.

Whumpee tilted his head, gazing out the door. “I’m not allowed outside.”

Caretaker sighed. “I’m allowing you outside.”

Just then, a car drove past. Not even a particularly fast car. Whumpee bristled, scurrying back into the house, eyes wide.

Oh, he was scared.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Caretaker approached him like a frightened animal, which they supposed he was. “It’s safe. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Just gonna walk to the car, and you can have the whole backseat to yourself, and it’s like twenty minutes to my place. When we get there, you can explore your new home. I’ve got a balcony where you can stretch out as much as you want. I even bought some treats you can have.” Though it sounded a little too patronizing now that they’d met him. They reached out a hand. “How’s that sound?”

He didn’t take it. “What is a balcony?”

“It’s like, a little outside platform connected to an apartment. It’s not super big, but there’s no walls, just a railing, so you don’t have to worry about bumping into anything. And you don’t have to worry about anything outside either, ‘cause it’s a floor up and enclosed,” Caretaker explained patiently. “Wanna come see it?”

Whumpee listened to their explanation like a child learning about Santa Claus for the first time. This time, he did take their hand, small, soft feathers fading down the back of his own. “Yes. I would like that.”

-

EDIT: @what-if-i-just-did is adopting and continuing this story! read about fern and quill's new beginning here!

-

Oneshots taglist:

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@reborrowing

@paperprinxe

@what-if-i-just-did

Everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter

@whumpy-wyrms

@all-hail-pigeons

@wolfeyedwitch

@starfields08000

@jumpywhumpywriter

@scoundrelwithboba

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #11 - One Small Step

Previous / Masterlist

CW: whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper, vampire caretaker, reference to vampire whumper, previous abuse torture & captivity, bloodbag whumpee, recovery & rescue, mention of death, paranoia, drugs/medication, medical examination, loss of speech, loss of autonomy, disability/immobility, broken bones (please let me know if I've missed any!)

---

Declan doesn’t remember eating his last few meals. He doesn’t remember much of the past few days at all. It’s all a blur; flashes of movement, dull throbs of pain, voices murmuring through the fog. But the meals must have happened. The tray always comes and goes like clockwork: like the sun rising and setting, like the door creaking open and closed.

It’s always the human - Lucas. Thankfully.

Declan drifts in and out during those visits, but there are moments when he surfaces just long enough to see him. Lucas, perched on the edge of the bed, voice soft and steady. As if he’s afraid to startle a wild animal. While he coaxes spoonful's of food past cracked lips, he talks to Declan. Not at him, not down to him - but to him. Man to man. Even if Declan can’t talk back. Even when he’s away with the fairies.

It’s one of the only things that still makes him feel like a person, and not just a body rotting in a bed.

Lucas never rushes him. He doesn’t flinch when Declan chokes, nor sigh when food dribbles down his chin. He just wipes it away with care, not pity - trying to return a small piece of the dignity the world stole from him.

Declan hasn’t seen much of his new master lately. Not that he wants to. August has become more shadow than vampire - slipping in and out of the room, barely there, never lingering. The doctor (or whatever the hell the bloodsucker pretends to be) only skulks in once a day at best now. Always at odd hours, when the light outside is waning.

He moves with faux concern and hollow pity that boils Declan’s blood. Declan doesn’t need or want August’s pity. He needs humanity. Pity does nothing for him now but remind him how far he’s fallen.

The vampire is eerily quiet during his visits. He doesn’t quite meet Declan’s eyes the way he used to. He goes about his business in that maddeningly clinical silence: adjusting IV lines, checking vitals, swapping out fluid bags to keep Declan from crashing, tweaking the pain meds that dull the edge but never truly take it away.

There’s always this careful composure about him, like he’s trying to be harmless. Maybe the guilt is finally eating August alive. As it should. He thinks a downcast gaze and soft voice will make up for what he is.

It won’t. Nothing could ever make up for what August is putting Declan through.

Declan’s ears prick at the bedroom door groaning open, followed by the jarring squeak of patent leather shoes. His stomach knots so sharply it nearly makes him double over the side of the bed and vomit. Every muscle braces without his permission. Before his eyes even dart to the door, he already knows who is there… or what is there. The chill in the air always slips in with it. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Declan. I hope I haven’t woken you?” 

Oh, he’s sorry. Of course he is. Always so sorry, always so gentle. Declan half wishes August would hurry up and get it over with. Drop the act, stop dancing around, and sink his fangs into Declan’s throat. That would be mercy. Not this cruel charade of safety and freedom they keep peddling. At least then, Declan would know his place, and the rules he’d be bound to obey. Afterall, he knows how to be a good little blood bag. Vince made sure of that.

The leech comes closer, too close for comfort. He drags the chair out from its place at the window and settles by Declan’s bedside. Declan weakly jerks sideways in the bed, every movement igniting pain as he forces his wasted frame as far as the mattress will allow. 

Declan watches, wide-eyed and unblinking. He tracks any and every miniscule movement, from the twitch of a finger to the flare of a nostril. His heart slams against his ribs hard enough to hurt. This is the most attention he has had from the monster in days. So why now? What does August want from him now?

“How are you feeling? Are - Are you comfortable? You seem a little more alert today,” August notes, those beady-red eyes sweeping over him. “That’s good. That’s positive! You’re making steady progress.”

Declan doesn’t blink, doesn’t dare breathe. He’s trapped in the cold grip of fear. Fight is a far away thought. Flight? Impossible. So he freezes. Muscles locked, breath caught. Goggle-eyed and pupils blown to the size of the moon.

August sinks in his seat, fingers raking through his hair as a worn sigh escapes. His gaze lingers on Declan, something like concern flickering in his eyes, but Declan doesn’t believe it. Not even for a fraction of a second. He can’t feel it, and he sure as hell can’t trust it.

“I suppose it’s best if I just get on with it? ‘Rip the band-aid off,’ as Lucas says…”, August muses, rubbing the back of his neck.

Finally.

Relief floods Declan, but then devastation hits him just as fast. This is it. What Declan has been dreading and yet exactly what he’s been waiting for, since the second he was revived. August is going to drink him down to the marrow, wring him dry like a rag. Finish what Vince started. He’s not the human Lucas led him to believe he could be again, but the prey he was always meant to be. He squeezes his bloodshot eyes shut, tears pressing free and rolling down his gaunt cheeks. 

Declan knew it was all a matter of time, the truth would come out sooner or later. At least he can say he never fell for their lies or bought into their make-believe world. How could he? In what world would a vampire have business nursing food back from the dead? It was never out of altruism or empathy. It was always for greed and sustenance. 

His arm - the twig-like arm with cannulas still sticking out - viciously trembles as he lifts it, offering it outstretched to August. God help him, he can’t stop the tears spilling, hot and fast. But isn’t this exactly what he’s been asking for? For the vampire to make this make sense? To use Declan as he was always meant to be used? 

No. He’s never wanted any of this. All he’s ever hoped for, begged for, clung to - was survival. Declan isn’t offering his blood out of the goodness of his heart or out of freedom of choice…it’s surrender. It’s all he can do to accept the fate he can’t outrun. If only they had left him for dead. Let mother nature do her work. They didn’t save him, no matter how tightly they cling to that lie. They snatched Declan from the peace of a grave and forced his soul back into the cage of his broken body. 

Declan holds his breath hostage, bracing for the all too-familiar pain of the bite. The pierce of razor-sharp fangs, the dizzying sensation of blood whooshing from his veins, the rush of weakness that comes with it. His body tenses, every nerve wound tight as a wire. When fingers brush his arm, Declan jumps, a choked cry slipping free before he can gulp it down. 

But…there’s no bite. If anything, August’s touch is hesitant and featherlight.

Declan opens his eyes, brows twitched in confusion and blinking through the burn of tears. August isn’t pouncing on him with hunger, tearing him apart like a wild animal. He’s gently guiding Declan’s arm away, and back down. The vampire is so careful, like Declan’s made of glass and with one wrong move, will splinter in his palms.

None of this makes a lick of sense. It’s a nightmare Declan can’t wake up from.

“No-” the vampire’s voice cracks, feigning hurt, “Please don’t. Never that, Declan. I swear, I’ll never ask that of you. Not now, not ever. I’ll say it a thousand times more. Ten thousand times more. For forever. If that’s what you need.”

Declan’s brain is going to implode. It can’t make sense of this insanity. A vampire turning down blood? A lion sparing a zebra? The way August looks at Declan like he’s a small, helpless animal, but not prey snared in a trap?  It should be a relief. It should be comforting. But all Declan feels is deep confusion and disorientation, like the floor’s been pulled out from underneath him. 

He wants to believe it. God, some fractured part of Declan aches to believe August. It would be every prayer answered at once. He can’t. The damage runs far too deep, and the pain is all he has left to rely on. In his gut, a voice screams at him; don’t you dare fall in its trap.

“I - I was only going to ask if I could assess your range of motion today. Only if you’re okay with that, Declan. Just a few simple tests to see how your body’s healing.”

Declan frowns, his face etched with deep suspicion. ‘Assess’? ‘Test’? Like he’s some guinea pig in August’s mad experiment? 

“I’d like to determine where we should begin with your physical rehabilitation,” August clarifies. “What your body can handle, what it’s forgotten, what it can relearn. It will let us see where we need to work on building you back up.”

Ah. Of course. It all falls into place. Build him back up to break him back down again. That’s been the vampire’s motive all along.  It’s no fun breaking something that’s already broken, is it? No-one wants to play with broken toys. Declan remembers Vince telling him that terror sweetened his blood. Adrenaline made it somehow richer. It clicks. This leech only wants to bring the light back to his eyes, so he can watch as he snuffs it out all over again. As if Declan hasn’t endured enough cruelty for a million lifetimes. 

“I’m sure you don’t want to stay bedridden forever.”

No. You don’t want me to stay bedridden. Declan’s no fool, he can read between the lines. August wants Declan to be effortless. He doesn’t want the burden and mess that comes along as part of the deal with his new bloodbag. If Declan gets back on his feet, it will be a breeze from there on out. No complications and no need to pretend to ‘care’. Just a supply to feed from and nothing more - nothing for August to worry about beyond the next meal.

“This will help. We can help. We’ll take it slow, gentle, but we will get you back on your feet,”  August insists, as if willing the words to be true. 

A bitter laugh threatens to rise in Declan’s chest. The idea that August wants to help is so damn laughable it makes his insides twist. None of this is for Declan - it’s all for August’s own convenience. It’s manipulation wrapped in the promise of freedom.

But still... what if? 

The desire to move itches beneath Declan’s skin. He could be more than this shell lying in a bed, idly watching the world pass him by and waiting to be used and abused. What if there’s a chance he could regain his strength? Stand? Walk again? 

Declan nods his approval and August’s face lights up. Good. Let August think his plan is working, and the promise of healing is enough to win him over. Declan will get steadier and stronger, until the trembling stops and the fog lifts. Not because the leech wants him functional, not because he was told to, but because he needs to. Declan will be the one to drag himself out of this pit and no one else. 

He’ll fight his way back, not for August - but for his mum, his dad, Lacey, and finally, for himself.

August rises, knees cracking as he stands. “I’ll need to move the blanket. Is that alright?” he asks, already lowering his hands to pluck it away but waiting for an answer. Declan performs an uncertain nod, even as his skin breaks out in hives. There’s nothing that can prepare him for this vulnerability - to leave himself exposed to the vampire. This blanket has been his one line of defence, albeit a futile barrier between them. And now it’s being whisked from his hands.

August peels the blanket away, exposing Declan’s thin and trembling body to the cold air. Both of them gawk down at his body in horror. It’s a roadmap of all he’s survived. Bruises in every shade that don’t want to fade. Joints swollen and stiff, muscles withered away from disuse. Deep, jagged scars slashed all over. Skin shriveled over bone.

He sees it in August’s face. The moment of pause. The way his jaw tightens. Declan doesn’t need a mirror - he can see the damage written in the vampire’s unease.

“Alright,” August says after an unsteady breath. “We’ll begin small, okay? I’m going to ask you to lift your arms, one at a time.”

Declan’s mind is already spiraling, trepidation creeping in. He can’t help the way his body recoils when the vampire leans the slightest bit closer. Every instinct screams at him to pull away. Where there’s a vampire, there’s always pain. When August reaches out to touch his arm again, that instinct overpowers every ounce of his will. Declan lurches back, flinching like he’s been struck. 

“Hey, hey-” August gasps, pausing mid-reach to hold his hands up surrender style, “I’m so sorry - I didn’t mean to startle you. I can… I can bring Lucas in, if it would help? Would that help you feel more at ease?”

Declan doesn’t want to admit how much the thought of seeing Lucas brings him comfort. For all he knows, Lucas is in on this cruel facade, or at the very least - deep under the vampire’s enthrallment. But it does comfort Declan. More than anything. More than these gentle touches and soft voices, all the apologies and promises he knows August has no plan to keep. Lucas brings the humanity and compassion to the table. He is the only one who could ever begin to understand Declan in ways August never will.

Declan nods ‘yes’, and this time eagerly. 

"Okay. Give me one moment”.  August shuffles to the door but not without casting a regretful glance back at Declan. A few hushed words exchange outside, then Lucas is there with him. And suddenly the room is warm again. Declan can breathe again. As little as he can afford to lend his trust, he trusts that Lucas will protect him. 

Lucas comes and perches on the edge of Declan’s bed, as he usually does. He pats Declan reassuringly on the shoulder, and it’s not lost on him how he doesn’t jump out of his skin at the slightest touch. Not with Lucas. Being this close to him doesn’t feel as suffocating as it does with the vampire. 

“It’s alright, mate. I’m here. You’re safe and sound. Promise”, Lucas vows.

Mate. Is Declan really that desperate for connection that his heart flutters at that word alone? And from a stranger? Despair and isolation is all he has known for a decade. Is it so terribly wrong to want someone to rely on? To believe that someone might be there to catch him when he falls, or as it seems, pick him up from where he’s fallen? 

August crouches slightly, bringing himself level with the bed. “Are you ready to start?”. Declan swallows hard, but nods his permission. “Let’s start with your right arm. Just see where you can raise it to. I’ll help you, but don’t push past any pain or discomfort, okay? Let me know if or when it hurts”. He offers a hand, palm up, open and waiting. Declan doesn’t take it. It just hangs between them. He glares at the vampire’s palm like it will burn him. Instinctively, he edges closer to Lucas, creating more distance between himself and August.

Lucas watches their silent standoff. “Declan? Declan? Do you want to hold my hand?”. He opens his hand, resting it gently on the bed between them. “Only if it helps,” he says, and then adds, with a lopsided cheeky smile, “Mine’s warm. Bit of a novelty, I reckon.”

And then - just barely - Declan’s lips twitch. A small, worn-out smile tugs at the corners. He lets out the smallest breath of a laugh, but it’s mostly just air and exhaustion. He thinks of the touch he’s grown used to; so cold and cruel. Those vicious words and callous hands that have been hellbent on melting his mind and breaking his will.

Slowly, Declan’s fingers unfurl. When his hand finally makes contact with Lucas’s, the world around him seems to pause. This is what he’s been craving. Breath and life, heart and soul. Lucas’s hands are warm - like touch should be. Not ice-cold like the vampire’s when they snatch him by the arm, or squeeze his throat. Declan’s eyes flutter closed, trying to hold onto this feeling. His fingers weakly grip Lucas’s hand, though he can’t make any words form, or voice the desperate longing in his chest. But it doesn’t matter. He knows Lucas doesn’t need him to speak. Lucas understands. It feels like a lifeline.

“You’ve got this. I’ve got you. It’s all gonna be okay,” Lucas reassures, “and please - trust me when I say you can trust August. We’re on your side, both of us are. ”

Now that can’t be true. Lucas can’t be on his side and August’s side at the same time. He’s either with him, or against him. Humans or vampires. There’s no inbetween, there can’t be.  If Lucas were truly on Declan’s side, he would have helped him escape by now. He’d be home, nursed in the comfort of his own bed, with his loved ones by his bedside and not this parasite. The dam breaks, the doubt seeps back in. His fingers twitch loose in Lucas’ hand. Not quite letting go, but not gripping for dear life anymore.

"Whenever you’re ready, Declan. Try to lift your arm slowly now, straight up towards the ceiling, as far as feels comfortable”, August instructs.

Declan grits his teeth and tries. It feels like dragging dead weight. His shoulder aches in protest, muscles fluttering and resisting the motion. The joint feels stiff and foreign. Through a surge of determination, he stretches his arm overhead, even as it trembles from the strain.

"Good job! You’re doing well!" August praises, though it lands wrong and comes off patronising. Like he’s talking to a pet. "No sharp pain shooting down your arm? No numbness?"August checks, watching carefully.

Declan shakes his head, his jaw clenched so tight it’s a wonder his teeth don’t crack. Of course it hurts. Everything always hurts. But it's nothing new. Nothing he can't handle. Pain is baseline now.

August lightly supports Declan’s forearm, guiding the movement back down with a steadier hand. “Let’s try again, together this time. Follow my lead.”

They repeat the motion with each arm - once, twice, three times - August feeling for resistance, gauging Declan’s strength and coordination with each attempt.  Sweat beads along Declan’s brow, and his body shakes with effort, but he doesn’t quit. August bends and straightens Declan’s elbows, then moves to his wrists, turning his palms up and down, checking the stiff joints. Finally, he tests each finger, guiding them to flex and extend. 

Next, August shifts his support, one hand braced at Declan’s lower back, while the other slides around his waist to help lift him up in the bed slightly. “Alright, we’re going to sit up now. I’ve got you, you can lean on me for support.”

The weakness in his spine and slowness in his muscles make the simple act of lifting his chest feel like a monumental task, leaving August to compensate and haul him upwards. Sitting upright doesn’t feel nearly as unbearable as it once did. It’s almost... comfortable? No, not comfortable - he’s so used to agony, anything but feels like bliss. But not excruciating, either. His chest expands with air that doesn’t feel quite as suffocating as before. He’s not sure how long he’s been here in his new prison - days, weeks, maybe more? But he knows he’s not the same as when he first arrived. 

“Lean forward for me?”

He doesn’t really wait for Declan’s approval this time; August is already slowly guiding him through the motion. Declan’s back arches unwillingly, pulling at scarred, stiffened muscles. A flash of sharp pain tears through his abdomen, and he gasps out involuntarily.

August stops immediately, easing him back.

Declan feels more fragile with each passing second. Energy drains out of him like water through a sieve. Every inch of movement feels like an assault - joints grinding, muscles shrieking and bones threatening to shatter. His body is a wreck. But at least, it’s a wreck that still moves, even if only just. 

“May I examine your legs now, Declan?”  August asks. 

Declan steels himself, forcing his body to turn and attempting to swing his legs off the side of the bed. Every movement is sluggish, like wading through mud. His arms tremble under the weight of his own body. There’s not an ounce of strength left in them, no leverage to lift or balance himself. He falters, shoulders slumping, and before he can tip sideways, Lucas is there on one side, August on the other. Together, they maneuver him into place. Humiliation flushes Declan’s cheeks. 

“Can you try to bend your knee?” August asks, his voice soft as his hands guide Declan’s leg into a half-bent position. His muscles refuse to cooperate. It takes everything in him to move his leg at all, and when August applies the lightest pressure to coax it further, Declan’s body refuses. His muscles spasm without warning, shaking under the stress of such simple movements. His knees threaten to lock out, his feet twitch weakly. 

“I know,” August murmurs apologetically, sensing his resistance. “I know. I’m so sorry, I know this is a lot. You’re doing really well.”

There’s no trace of impatience or irritation but Declan knows it’s coming. The moment when his body completely fails him, when his weakness shows itself too plainly. And that’s when August will... what? Discard him? Hurt him? He doesn’t know. August hasn’t hurt him… yet. 

Declan’s breath hitches as August continues, carefully working his leg a little further with gentle manipulation. Every push is met with the same resistance, his muscles tremble in frustration, barely yielding. The ache in his thigh intensifies ten-fold.

“Just a little more, Declan. I know it’s hard,” August encourages, moving to the other leg to repeat.

But he doesn’t know. August couldn’t know. How could August ever begin to understand what Declan is going through, what his kind has put Declan through? What does he know about waking up in a body that barely feels like yours, about dragging yourself through the wreckage someone else left you in?

And with each movement, Declan feels bottomless frustration. He wants to push through it all, wants to prove to himself that he’s still capable, still him. But with every bend, every stretch, the body that was once his home feels so distant.

"Okay," August says, adjusting Declan’s posture with a steady hand at his back. "We’re nearly done. Now we’re going to try something a little harder, I’m afraid. I’m going to help you stand - just for a few seconds, to test your balance."

Stand?! Declan’s pulse spikes, panic flashing through him. He desperately shakes his head, eyes wide, pleading ‘please no’. There’s no way. Not yet.  His legs feel like jelly. He’ll collapse like a tonne of bricks. He looks to Lucas in search for an ally, for someone to defend him and put a stop to this madness.

Lucas steps up and moves to stand in front of Declan, gently taking his shaking hands. “I’ve got you. We won’t let you fall. We’ll do it together. Lean into me as much as you need. Even if you can only use your legs a little - I’ve got the rest.”

Slowly, painfully, with Lucas bearing more of his weight than Declan cares to admit, his body shifts. Every muscle screams in agonised protest. Before his feet even touch the floor, both Lucas and August are on him, hands steadying and lifting. It takes all three of them, working in sync, just to get him upright.

His feet find the ground. His knees buckle beneath him. His core shakes, chest heaving. But somehow, impossibly, he’s vertical. Assisted, swaying, gasping for breath…but miraculously, standing up. 

Then it happens. 

The second Declan tries to bear any weight on his right foot, white-hot pain shoots up his leg like a live wire. His body instantly crumples, the ankle twisting uselessly beneath him. A strangled noise; half gasp, half growl - tears from his throat as he collapses. August moves fast, dipping to catch him under his arms before he hits the ground hard.

“Easy, easy! Don’t try to move, Declan!” August frets, voice full of urgency, “Lucas, I think - I think it’s his ankle. Help me lift him back up, slow.”

Declan can barely breathe, each ragged inhale a struggle. The busted ankle pulses and throbs with fresh agony. Failure overwhelms him as Lucas and August haul him back onto the bed. The reality of it sinks in deeper - he’s not where he thought he’d be, not even close. He’s trapped in this broken body. He’ll never be whole again. He’ll never make it home. 

August doesn’t let go immediately. He keeps one steadying hand on Declan’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. That’s why we test these things. Now we know.”

Declan squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself not to react, not to show how much it feels like he’s drowning. He used to stand without thought. Walk without hesitation. Run like the wind to catch the bus when he was late for his university lectures. He can barely remember what it feels like to be alive in his own body.

August kneels by the bed again, rolling up the loose fabric at Declan’s ankle. His fingers gently press against Declan’s foot, careful not to aggravate any injury. He seems to know exactly what he’s looking for. Feeling for crooked bones, how the scar tissue has thickened in places and how his ankle is slightly tilted. August’s fingers trace the uneven contours of poorly knitted bone. Even through gentle pressure, Declan winces and whimpers. 

His foot is too stiff, the tendons too tight. When August shifts his grip, Declan's ankle fights against him.

"Did you break your ankle quite a while back, Declan?" August questions. Declan doesn’t look at him. Only nods solemnly.

"It's not just weak," August mutters, half to himself, still feeling pressure points. "It’s completely misaligned. This was never treated. It hasn’t healed correctly-”

But Declan doesn’t hear the rest. He’s already gone. Dragged under by the memory that claws him down without warning.

Suddenly, he’s back down in that basement. The stench of mildew and iron infests his nostrils. He hears it again - the wet, splintering crack of bone shattering under his own impossible force, the sound that never really left him. All-consuming pain rips through him. His screams choked off by the cloth stuffed in his mouth, his wrists shredded raw against chains that wouldn’t give, no matter how hard he fought. The terror and the helplessness - it never left him.

Declan blinks hard, dragging himself back to the present. August is glaring into his soul. His brows are drawn tight, and his eyes are wide with a kind of dawning horror? Like pieces are falling into place, and he doesn’t like the shape they’re making.

“...Did…Did you? Declan, was it an accident? Before? Or…Or was it…was it him?”

The word lands hard. It’s not what August said, but how he said it. Spat it out like poison, like he won’t even dare speak his name. It seems so personal? Declan’s never heard that from him before. Contempt. Hatred, even. For Vince? What reason could he possibly have to hate Vince? Do they have history?

A tear slips down Declan’s cheek, the memory won’t stop playing over and over in his head. He quickly dabs his wet cheek with his sleeve.

“H-....H-im,” Declan croaks, his voice strained and Adam's apple fluttering.

August’s expression changes in stages. First, horror. Then it morphs to anger. He turns his face away for a second, breathing through it. When he looks back at Declan, the storm is still there although buried beneath a mask of calm. His posture straightens. His voice, when it comes, is quieter. Measured. But there’s a tension in it, a tightness in his throat that he can’t hide. 

“This injury, this kind of misalignment - over time, it ruins your balance, wears on the joint, builds pressure in the soft tissue. That will explain why it’s still so painful. Why it gave out on you. It can be corrected. But not easily. The bone would have to be re-broken, reset, and then bound and supported properly-”

August pauses. Declan’s eyes are already glassy with panic. He flinches at the word re-break. He already doesn’t trust August as far as he could throw him - less than that. He fears every word that leaves the vampire’s mouth, every slight movement could be the next time pain comes disguised as help.

And now August is standing there, calmly suggesting they break his already broken bone. Never. Never in a million years would he let August touch him like that. Let him hurt him under the guise of healing. Let him have that kind of power over him. Not again.

“But we won’t even think about touching it until you say so,” August continues, “And even if you never feel ready for that, that’s okay too. I just want you to know that it is an option. Down the line. Until then, we need to work around it - strengthen everything else. Protect it as best we can."

“I know it’s a lot to take in, mate,”  Lucas chimes in, “And we know how shit-scary this all is for you. But August is right. We’re not gonna force you into anything. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. We’ll find ways to work with what you’ve got for now.”

Declan collapses, mentally and physically spent, the last of his strength seeping away.  He slumps back against the pillows. His entire body hums with exertion and exhaustion, as if he’s run a marathon while barely moving at all. The wreckage of his mind and body just feels neverending.

"We'll figure it out," August says simply. "One small step at a time."

“D- D - o…ne?” Declan rasps, voice scratching his throat on the way out. 

August nods, a small reassuring smile on his face. “All done. Thank you, Declan. Truly. I know how utterly exhausting and testing that must have been for you. But I have a clearer picture to work with now. We can begin working on some exercises together to build your strength and mobility. It’ll take time, but we’ll move at your pace. And we’ll get there.”

---

Declan will work with them. Not because they’ve earnt his trust, and certainly not because he wants to work with them. But because he has no choice. His survival demands and depends on it. He’ll bite down the pain, suffer whatever humiliation and put up with the vampire’s constant prodding and poking. He’ll let them test his limits, and then push him past them - if it means getting him closer to normality.

Because when he can walk, he’ll run - and he’ll never look back.

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[holidayinhell]

Whumper leaned against the counter, sliding a small box across the surface.

“You know Whumpee, I always thought you were gonna be a screamer.”

He fished a glove from the box, latex smacking against his skin as it slid onto his hands. His eyes flicked to the figure in the corner.

In the corner of the room, Whumpee crouched against the wall, a limp, shivering heap of bare skin and bone. There was no shape to him anymore, just a mess of limbs folded tight, trying to disappear into the concrete. 

He’d told himself he could endure this. That he had enough strength left to fight. But now he was just cold and broken.

Whumper smirked at the sight, stifling a laugh. It was pathetic. Whumpee looked pitiful—scrawny, naked, and hunched over like some half-dead thing.

“You’re so quiet tonight…” Whumper crossed into the light, casting a shadow over the smaller man.

Whumpee didn’t respond. His arms wrapped tightly around his legs, trying to hold onto what little warmth he could.

“You’re not holdin’ out on me, are ya?”

Bootsteps clapped against the concrete floor. Slow, unhurried. Each one rang hollow-- a countdown to the inevitable. Of course, Whumper was in no rush. He allowed the silence to stretch.

Whumpee kept his eyes down, burying his chin into his chest.

Then—pain. A gloved hand tangled deep in his hair.

“You know, being quiet won’t make it hurt less.”

He yanked hard, fisting a knot of Whumpee’s chocolate brown curls. The rubber gloves snapped tight around the strands, dragging scalp and skin with them. Whumpee gasped through clenched teeth.

“Aw. Poor Whumpee.” He mocked. “Did that hurt?”

No response. Whumpee stared blankly ahead, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“C’mon. Are you scared?”

Slowly, Whumpee turned his head just enough to meet his captor’s eyes. His stare was dull—but cold, steady. He wasn’t completely broken yet.

“Christ you’re no fun.” Whumper dropped the man’s head with a shove. “Get on your knees.”

Whumpee didn’t want to, fuck he didn’t want to-- but his body betrayed him, yielding to Whumper’s will like it had been trained to do. 

He shifted onto his bruised knees, grimacing as they dug into the gritty concrete. The pain was sharp, but he bit down and took it. There’d be worse soon enough.

“Good. Looks like some part of you remembers who’s in charge.”

Turning back, Whumper retrieved an instrument from the metal tray on the countertop. The tools clinked faintly as he selected one, holding it up to the light. “I was gonna be nice to you. Make this quick and clean.” He chuckled under his breath. “Heh. But now… it’s like you’re begging me to make you scream.”

Whumpee balled his fists. If he was going to die here, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Whumper get the better of him.

He spat on the ground by Whumper’s shoes.

“You’ll never hear me scream, fucker.” Whumpee snarled.

Whumper sighed—long and slow. The scalpel glinted under the harsh overhead light as he turned it between his fingers.

“That sounds like a challenge,” he murmured.

He crouched behind Whumpee, moving with casual confidence. One arm slung around Whumpee’s shoulders. His other hand brought the scalpel up in front of Whumpee’s chest, letting the blade hover just close enough to feel the heat of his skin.

The cold edge teased his collarbone as Whumper leaned in, his breath warm and deliberate against Whumpee’s neck.

“No one can hear you scream down here,” he whispered, voice low and intimate. “So it doesn’t matter one way or another.”

The scalpel kissed the side of Whumpee’s neck—

A shallow drag. A hiss of pain.

Whumpee flinched, breath catching in his throat.

Whumper smiled against his ear.

“Scream if you want to.”

((more whump))

[melpomenelamusa]

Melpómene´s whump stories archive

To celebrate the new year, I've decided to share with you some of my favorite whump stories I read this year as a thank you to all the authors who share a little bit of their world with us 💜✨

My plan is to update this list annually and have it function as a sort of personal archive for me, hehe, but you can use it too if you'd like! 😁

Melpómene's personal favorites:

🩸Shattered (by @oddsconvert): An anti-human-blood-drinking vampire doctor tries to save the life of a human who for years was the bloodbag of a vampire I really hate.

🔪Total $hit$how (by @befuddled-calico-whump): 5 misfits escaping prison for their criminal records are hired by a mysterious organization to stop another mysterious, but more evil, sci-fi organization (Benji, my son).

🩸Blood and tears (by @whumpisgoodwhumpislife): A little half-vampire is suffering too much and a human decides to take care of him and protect him (They are both my babies).

🪄Forsaken (by @inhurtandincomfort): A young wizard, condemned by a pact he made with a misterious entity in the past, is trained and used as a living weapon by a malevolent institution in a fantasy world. Ft. some loser boy mad scientist.

🎣In troubled water (by @whumpisgoodwhumpislife): A little mer anglerfish suffers. That's it. Also known as "my poor fish baby".

⛅Worthless (by @livelaughwhump): The best example of "trauma changes you". (P.S. When I catch you, Christian...).

Others amazing stories I've read/I'm reading:

📸Smile for the camera! (by @morning-star-whump ): A boy is kidnapped by a psychopath from the deep web. His parents and his little boyfriend try to find him (Andre Vazquez is the best character).

👑Darius & Mianu (by @geode-crystal): A traumatized prince and his faithful knight/boyfriend want to live happily ever after, but something always happens.

👹The Bahkauv (by @deluxewhump): Three friends decide to buy a magical creature to study; but what seemed like nothing more than a monster or an animal may turn out to be a companion.

⚡Overloaded (by @fleur-a-whump): The son of a supervillain wants to join the good guys, but discovers that "heroes" can be just as cruel as villains.

⚓Voyagers (by @sorrowful-hyacinth): A jerk sea captain captures a jerk mermaid prince and they torture each other. They both deserve it because they're such bastards, but you also feel bad for them and it's complicated.

⛓️A taste of your own medicine (by @oddsconvert): Whumper gets kidnapped and torture along with his ex-whumpee by an even evil whumper. Only one person is having fun here.

👨‍👦With me (by @greatgigintheskiess): A bitter guy living in the woods accidentally rescues a little boy who escaped from an evil laboratory. Parental caretaker my beloved.

🪐Humanity Collector (by @rabbit-flaying): A cosmic creature who likes to collect human things decides to add a real human to its collection (A cosmic horror one-shot).

🧵Writemas 2024 (by @tildeathiwillwrite): A woman suffers the mysterious death (or murder?) of her husband. This is the kind of story I would love to read in a printed book and recommend to my entire family.

🦌Whumpcember 2024 (by @kabie-whump): An evil wizard has turned Santa's reindeer into humans, who now have to live with their new bodies. A series of shorts with very interesting and cute characters that I definitely need to keep reading if I could.

🪢My favorite stories by @writinglittlepains: Speedster, Aleksander's Plight and Sweet Fins are my favorites!

⚖️Guilt & Revenge (by @what-if-i-just-did): A traumatized ex-bully is kidnapped by the kids he used to bully as a kid because he couldn't afford therapy and is brutally tortured by those who actually happened to be the ones who needed therapy.

🫂We Are TroubleD (by @whumpty-dumpty-doo): Two best friends are kidnapped by a guy who originally planned to capture one of them for ransom, but now is just torturing them for fun.

⛈️Ventis and friends (by @kabie-whump): A half draconic half air elemental and his varied adventures in a fantasy world *kindly slaps Ventis* This bad boy can fit so much trauma in him.

🛡️Drusus & Keme (by @whumperofworlds): Don´t know why it took me so long to add the whumpable husbands to the list. There´s whump! And fluffy married love! And used as bait!

🪦Curse of Withering (by @sir-fenris): A magical boy with the power to kill everything he touches is imprisoned and used as a living military weapon.

🎀Pretty whumpee (by @string-of-broken-hearts): Pretty whumpe and carewhumper. I really need to know the context, I'm so intrigued.

👿Karma's B*tch (by @whumpthusiast): A pathetic guy kidnaps the wrong woman and now it backfired.

👥Group Whumpees (by @haro-whumps): A young man inherits his eccentric aunt's house after her death and discovers that she had enslaved and tortured five servants. It's now his job to try to restore them to a sense of humanity.

🧜‍♀️Fish out of water (by @bilightningwhumper): The unluckiest mermaid I know. This story gives me the vibes of a dramatic soap opera, in a good way.

[whump-queen]

I like the idea of a shock collar being like training wheels for a whumpee.

It’s a big deal when whumper can finally switch it out for a silken new one or even a sturdy leather one. 

Imagine the reveal of a whumpee’s new collar. The praise they’d receive from the other whumpers at a fancy event—for being such a good boy. Perhaps it makes their skin crawl. Or maybe it makes them proud.

Imagine whumpers at the party seeing a pet with an ugly shock collar still locked around their neck and judging instantly. They know it’s been bad. Maybe the pet had messed up that week. Maybe it’d been a bit too clumsy or a bit too stupid. Maybe disobeyed orders, or god forbid tried to escape. Rumors spread quickly amongst a half-drunk, gossiping crowd. 

Whumper blames whumpee, of course, saying it’s all their fault. How bad they are for forcing whumper’s hand, for making them lock that ugly thing back around their pet’s throat. How useless and worthless they are, that they have to embarrass whumper like this. 

But they will wear their shame. And they will bear the painful consequences of that tempting little remote in whumper’s pocket. All. Night. Long. 

[whumping-in-the-dark]

~Fun Things To do With Your Whumpee~

CW: dehumanization, general cw for torture, manipulation, drugging, etc etc

So, just got a new whumpee? Or maybe you're looking for ways to engage with an old one? Either way, some of these may prove useful to you :)

Don't do any of these irl. I'm watching you >:(

If you consider yourself a 'nice' intimate whumper~

1. Good ol' freezing the shit out of your darling whumpee so that they cling onto you for some warmth :)

2. No? How about sensory deprivation? If you use it the right way they'll be putty in your arms in no time :)

3. Some good isolation works wonders too! Pair that with starvation, thirst, heat/cold, etc and you've got yourself a treat :)

4. Maybe your whumpee is just oh so stubborn :( but that's nothing a nice little drug dosage (or about nine) can't fix :)

5. Finally, if nothing else works :( just beat them up and then treat their wounds. Show them that YOU are the only source of comfort in their silly little life! It's a little more time consuming than others but frankly more long-lasting too :)

6. Here's a bonus round- paralysis! tie them up and watch a movie together! gags gags gags!! for all the back talking you'd hate for them to do! tattoo your name onto them! brand your initials onto them! and soo much more!!

OR

If you consider yourself a more stoic whumper~

1. Either keep them on a strict schedule or no schedule at all, whichever is more convenient for you :)

2. Force them to do your house chores and then punish them for not doing them properly (yay!) :)

3. Force them to pick their own punishments or maybe pick out how many of X they will have to endure! If they go too easy on themselves just punish them more :)

4. Force them to clean up all of the blood and gore once you're done torturing them. After all they are the ones who made that mess in the first place :)

5. Force them to address you respectfully, thank you after every torture session, give verbal answers each time, etc :)

6. Here's another bonus round- hose them down instead of giving them a shower! keep the naked or half-naked all times! NEVER use their name! collars collars collars!! Bonus points if they are shock collars with 'slave' tags! And soo much more!!

OR

If you consider yourself to be a pure let's torture the shit out of this whumpee kinda whumper... well~

HEY

WAIT

:0

MAJOR

torture and gore tw for this one~

it's the last one so skip it if you'd like~

1. Make sure they KNOW the consequences of their actions- do you pour hot glass/wax/etc into their ear for not listening to you? do you burn their tongue for talking back? or sew their eyes shut for glaring at you? :)

2. Track every torture session you put them through to find ways to slowly drag it out and increase their tolerance. After all, do they really deserve to faint when you're having so much fun with them? :)

3. Force feed them at all times or feed them icky liquids or pastes or maybe cut open their stomach and directly force food in through a tube? :)

4. Rub salt into their wounds! Pour alcohol over their wounds! Press into every little welt and twist your fingers into those cuts! :)

5. What? Still bored? Just pierce any body part of theirs you'd like and hook them up to the ceiling with that! do they get to stand on their toes? You choose that :)

6. A bonus round for y'all too ofc- manhandle them around by their hair! film their torture sessions to show them off to them later! pictures pictures pictures!! cages cages cages!! Torture their loved ones in front of them! Or force them to torture their loved ones! And soo much more!!

Feel free to suggest any additions :)

[whump-in-the-closet]

for the anon who asked for sidekick whump with Stockholm syndrome...tumblr ate your ask but I SAW IT

so here you go

CWS: stockolm whump, branding, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, uhh its psychological whump, very very bad situation, read at your own caution, whumpee is manipulated into thinking they want this

Sidekick lay on their cot and studied the ceiling. They closed their eyes and let themselves slip. Just a little. And in the static of their mind, they began to put two and two together.

The “Hurry up.” from Hero during training and the sharp slap that followed when they hesitated. The way they’d flinched once, just once, and Hero hadn’t even noticed. Bitter, cynical Hero who claimed to care about those who couldn't protect themselves but didn't pause before chewing out Sidekick for messing up on the mission.

And then there was Villain.

Villain, who sat beside their cot now, watching them with the same unnerving calm they always did.

“You’re thinking again,” Villain murmured. Dark wisps of hair hung over their eyes and they brushed them back to study Sidekick.

Sidekick blinked, returning to the here and now, “No. Just… tired. Sorry.”

Villain tilted their head, amusement flickering faintly in their glass-blue eyes. “Tired people don’t furrow their brows like that. You’re remembering, aren’t you?”

They could read Sidekick like an open book.

Silence. Sidekick turned their face to the wall.

Villain leaned closer, voice soft. “What did they do this time?”

“Nothing,” they whispered. “It’s not like that—Hero just wants me to be better. That’s all.”

“Sweetheart,” Villain exhaled with a smile, “We've been over this. Hero doesn't care about you.”

Sidekick still didn't look at Villain but their shoulders tensed. They knew that.

“He doesn't get to train you like a dog. You’re not Hero's.”

“…I’m not yours either,” Sidekick said, small and brittle.

Villain’s eyes darkened with something unreadable, then softened. “No,” they said. “You chose me. That’s different.”

The room was quiet but for the steady hiss of the brazier behind them.

Villain reached out and brushed their knuckles over Sidekick’s collarbone, lingering.

“You’ve come a long way,” they murmured. “Do you remember when you could barely look me in the eye?”

“I still can’t,” Sidekick said, half-laughing, half-breaking.

Villain smiled. “But you trust me now.”

A pause.

“…Yes.”

Another pause.

Villain’s fingers traced a circle on Sidekick’s chest. “Then let me give you something that no one can take away. A mark. Right here. Mine.”

Sidekick’s breath caught in their throat. Slowly, desperately, they turned around to look at Villain with wide eyes.

Villain leaned in, forehead touching theirs. “It’ll hurt. But you’ve already survived worse.”

“Like Hero,” Sidekick said.

“Exactly.” Villain’s voice dipped to a hush. “But this—this is your choice. You get to say, this pain is mine. I claimed it. I wore it."

Sidekick hesitated, chest rising and falling fast. “Would it make you proud?”

“Oh, darling.” Villain gently cupped their face. “I’m already proud. This would just prove what I already know. That you’re brave. That you’re mine.”

Sidekick closed their eyes, trembling. Then a soft, “Okay.”

Villain moved slowly—no sudden gestures, nothing that could be mistaken for aggression. Just tenderness. Ritual. The leather straps tightened around Sidekick’s wrists and ankles, pulling them down onto the cot, and Villain whispered reassurances with every cinch.

“You’re doing so well.”

Sidekick managed to nod. A new emotion, bright and twisted, rose in their chest. This was good. They wanted this.

Villain stepped out of their line of sight and returned with the brand, careful to keep it where Sidekick couldn't see it.

But they could smell the burning metal-- flinched involuntarily--Sidekick’s voice cracked. Oh god. They were really doing this. “Will it always hurt?”

Villain smiled gently and unbuttoned Sidekick's shirt to reveal skin. “Only for a moment. Then it’s just warmth. Then it’s belonging.”

Sidekick's lower lip trembled. "Okay."

"You ready?"

Sidekick nodded, something stuck in their throat.

"I want you to say you want this. Otherwise, I won't do it." Villain was oh-so-kind.

Sidekick's eyes filled with tears, salty and sharp. They blinked them back. "I- I want this. I do. Please."

Villain smiled and a flood of relief filled every fiber of Sidekick's being. Then Villain placed their hand over Sidekick's eyes.

They didn't see the brand coming.

But they felt it.

A visceral moment where everything fell apart. The sickening smell of burnt -- burning-- flesh.

Sidekick screamed—sharp and guttural, bucking against the restraints—but Villain didn’t flinch. They moved their hand to cover Sidekick's mouth, cutting their scream off. "Quiet."

Sidekick whimpered.

There was one long, long moment when all they could see was red, red, red, and then it was over.

Oh god.

Villain pressed a cool cloth over the mark. “You did it,” they whispered. “You’re perfect.”

Sidekick sobbed—not from pain, but from relief.

“Thank you,” they gasped out.

Villain stroked their hair and they leaned into the touch, trembling. “You're quite welcome."

I asked for this, right?

[chaotic-orphan]

That’s Enough

“Stop it,” Caretaker said once the sound of knuckles thudding mutely turned to squelching. Caretaker stared at Whumpee, the sweat flying from them as they continued to punch the punching bag. “Hey. Whumpee, that’s enough.”

Whumpee didn’t listen. They just kept jabbing in the one two movement they had been doing for the half hour. Caretaker let go of the bag but Whumpee moved with it.

“Hey! Whumpee,” Caretaker hissed, stepping in front of Whumpee, hands up palms facing Whumpee. “That’s enough, you’re hurting yourself.”

Whumpee didn’t listen. Instead, they started punching Caretaker’s hands. Caretaker snapped their hand closed but Whumpee retracted their arm swiftly to their chest to punch again, their eyes distant and hard.

“Whumpee! Whumpee,” Caretaker snapped as Whumpee’s fists started coming harder on Caretaker’s palms. Caretaker stepped forward into Whumpee’s punches and reached a hand up, locking it around Whumpee’s wrist. Whumpee yanked it back but Caretaker held firm.

Only then did Whumpee seem to snap back into themselves. “Let go of me.”

“I said that’s enough, Whumpee. You’re bleeding.”

Whumpee yanked their wrist back towards them but Caretaker didn’t let go. Instead they grabbed Whumpee’s other wrist and clamped their fingers around it too, stopping Whumpee from hurting themself anymore.

Whumpee’s eyes narrowed. “Let go of me, Caretaker! I can look after myself.”

“Clearly you can’t!”

“It’s just a bit of blood!” Whumpee yelled, spit flying from their mouth in anger. “What does it matter?!”

“Blood is meant to be inside your body, Whumpee, not outside.”

“It’s my body,” Whumpee told Caretaker, yanking one of their wrists free. “I’m allowed do what I want to it so let me go.”

“I’m not gonna just stand here and watch you hurt yourself.”

Whumpee let out a crazed, humourless bark of laughter. “Oh, what?” Whumpee asked, eyes glimmering with cruelty. “You want to make me stop, huh? You gonna tie me down like Whumper did because I’m not following your orders? You want to participate like Whumper did?” Whumpee demanded, squaring up to Caretaker, taking a step forward forcing Caretaker back. Whumpee’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Or maybe you want to be the one to make me bleed.”

The question made Caretaker sick. Comparing them to Whumper when all they’ve done is try and help Whumpee? The fact that Whumpee could even make that comparison at all… It was too much. Looking after Whumpee was too much. They let go of Whumpee’s wrist and turned away, walking towards the doors of the gym.

“What? Where are you going now?”

“I told you to stop, Whumpee,” said Caretaker without turning around, pulling off their own gloves. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. Not my problem.”

Caretaker turned and looked over their shoulder at Whumpee as they opened the door. “But I won’t stand here and watch you finish the job Whumper started. Destroy yourself, why don’t you? You’ll do it on your own.”

[whumblr]

It's the same

“I missed you, you know,” Caretaker said, beaming a smile and throwing an arm around Whumpee’s shoulders as they walked up to the tall office building together. “Doing these visits alone is just no fun. This is how it should be. You and me. Taking on the world.”

“Meeting a new client isn’t exactly taking on the world,” Whumpee said with a small scoff, but he also couldn’t help a broad smile. He had missed this, too. Or rather, had desperately needed it to get back into the rhythm of his old life. It had taken weeks of recovery before he was even allowed to set foot into the office and this was the first time he was thrust into his old life again. A sliver of how things used to be. He just had to hold on tight to this and prove to both himself and Caretaker that he was up to this. As before. Forget what had happened.

Caretaker untangled himself from him. And a hand smacked against his upper back.

The gesture was friendly, encouraging. But Whumpee couldn’t control his response. He almost skipped a step as his muscles paralysed for a second. His shoulder blades tensed and his breath stalled high in his throat before he could relax again.

Caretaker didn’t seem to notice, luckily. Or if he did, he overcompensated quickly, stepping away from Whumpee to give him some space and he entered the building first, holding the door open for him.

Whumpee shook it off. It’ll be fine. You and me. Me and him. Taking on the world. One step at the time. Slower than he’d liked, actually. He didn’t want baby steps. Working half days. Having his client list taken over by various coworkers because ‘well you were… away’. He just wanted to jump back into things. Needed to go back to this, a normal life.

They crossed the lobby, Caretaker leading him into the elevator as he’d been here before. Inside though, Whumpee could feel his gaze on him. He flashed a quick reassuring smile and looked him briefly in the eye. He’s fine. He’s been waiting for this. Don’t worry.

They were led to one of the meeting rooms where a jovial, tall man welcomed them enthusiastically.

Whumpee observed the banter between the man and Caretaker with a smile, the ‘How are you’s’, ‘Find the place okay?’.

When Caretaker turned to him and waved an open palm towards him as introduction, he took his cue. He brightly stepped forward to shake the man’s hand.

He got a firm handshake in reply. Nodded. Opened his mouth—

But before he could even utter a ‘good to meet you’ he completely froze up. Something washed over him and it felt like time stood still. Or rather, rewinded. His eyes went wide, his hand went limp in the man’s grasp. Fear rose up like bile, literally. He clamped a hand around his mouth, fingers trembling against his cheek, and he swallowed hard. But couldn’t force the ball of mingling fear and acid down.

“Excuse me—” he barely brought out. And he bolted from the room.

“Whum—” Caretaker stared after him, lips stuttering unvoiced questions and concerns, eyes shooting from the door, to his client and back. The man stood equally bewildered, his hand still half raised, lips parted in confusion.

Their eyes met for a second. “Excuse me,” Caretaker said, firmly, already taking a step towards the door and the man nodded before he even had to explain.

His panic rose with every step, with every glass meeting room that he passed that was empty. Had it been too soon? He wanted to believe Whumpee, wanted to believe that he was okay, but—No. Come on. He had to find him first. See what’s up.

He legged past the washrooms. Stopped. Took a step back. Added one plus one. And opened the door.

A retching sound greeted him as soon as he opened the door and relief washed over him. Immediately followed by fresh concern.

Whumpee stood over the sink, hands clamped around the edges, knuckles white, head down.

“What’s—What’s wrong? Are you okay?!”

Whumpee didn’t look up yet, just stared into the sink like there was a mirror at the bottom. “Yeah…” he started. “Yeah, I just…” He wiped at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t look okay. But he did sound okay. Just a little shaken. Maybe even a little confused himself.

He took a shaky breath and straightened up. His face was pale and there were tears in the corners of his eyes. Before he turned to face Caretaker he quickly wiped them away. “It’s just… It’s the same.”

“What is?”

“His cologne,” Whumpee said, stronger now. “It’s the same.”

-

General tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @treasureguardingdragon @morning-star-whump