#romantic whumper

[the-bar-sinister]

Whumper grabs whumpee tightly and sharply by their collar and pulls them close, face to face.

They brush their fingers over whumpee's face lovingly and watch the fear and uncertainty in their eyes as whumpee wonders what whumper is going to do.

And for just a moment whumper wonders. They wonder if they are too harsh on whumpee. They wonder if there is still a chance for them to have a normal, real relationship with them. If there was ever a chance.

But oh, how they love to see whumpee hurting. Oh how they love to hear them scream.

The moment passes.

[favouritefearlesswhumper]

Write about a Whumper who's Whumpee's ex. Who stalks them, day and night. Whumpee constantly looking over their shoulder, feeling eyes on them at every moment, phantom footsteps somewhere from behind with every step they take forward, the ghost of a brush against goosebump-raised skin.

Write about a whumpee who can't sleep at night. Who shivers under the covers- curtains closed, but still unable to tremble away the feeling that there's someone behind them, someone waiting on the windowsill, waiting, waiting, for them to slip up, and fall asleep too early, finally succumbing to their exhausted body and mind.

Giving Whumper time to pick the lock, and do all kinds of things to their beloved, before the sun is even in the sky.

[comfy-whumpee]

Vow

Whumptober 21. CW: forced marriage.

Savvie and Brayden are @ashintheairlikesnow's characters.

@bloodybrambles, @wildfaewhump, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @burtlederp, @rosesareviolentlyread, @eatyourdamnpears

-

The house was quiet as Jax stepped over the threshold out of the bedroom. His foot sank into the carpet, absorbing all hint of sound from his step. He took another, holding his breath. A third step, as soft and muffled as the ones before, and he was fully out.

With one hand on the doorknob, he let the door swing gently shut. He didn’t pull it onto the latch; that would make a sound. He left it almost completely closed, the slight scrape of the door’s edge against its frame barely enough to hold it in place. His fingers slid off the handle one by one, and he held his breath again as he watched to see if it would stay.

It did.

Jax allowed himself a small exhale. He began taking more steps, slow and careful over the carpet, cautious of the memorised spots that he knew would creak. The house was old, and parts of it creaked anyway, even whistled, when it was a windy day. But the weather today was still, the air unruffled, and the only sound was Jax’s own breathing and the distant thrum of the heating.

Each hard-earned step took him closer to safety. He made it across the landing slowly, ears strained at every moment for the sound of movement from behind him. When he reached the lip of the stairs, he paused.

The long, polished banister stretched out under his hand, waiting for him to sail down, but something stopped him. Some instinct, some greater silence, a sound beyond his hearing that had stopped.

He just wanted to go downstairs. He’d just wanted to go somewhere she wasn’t.

Nothing came of the sound, as Jax stood waiting. Nothing happened to unfreeze him from his position. No call back. No grabbing hands.

Whatever had made him stop felt nebulous already in his memory. He didn’t know why that feeling had suddenly sparked.

He tensed a little across his shoulders to hold in the impatience. He wanted to run, to sprint down and get away. It beat in his blood like a drumroll that never reached its peak. Constant danger with no relief.

He took one small movement, foot down onto the first step. His hand rested on the smooth banister, glossy with wax. He was able to grip on because of years of practice and the rough callouses of his hands. He took another step, fully off the landing. No way to deny where he was going. His only defence would be the reason why.

The monster didn’t wake.

I couldn’t sleep, he rehearsed to himself. I didn’t want to wake you. I thought I’d get a head start on cleaning, so I had more free time to spend with you.

He could segue easily there from the truth into the lie. If it was her, she would just wake him. Or she would stare at him sleeping, take photos and crop them to brag on Instagram about her true love.

I don’t know, he’d say, if she asked why he couldn’t sleep. I was just restless.

It’s true that he didn’t know, but he also did. He didn’t know why tonight. He didn’t know why now.

He reached the ground floor. Here, his feet tiptoed more easily on solid ground, and he arrived at the dining room in the farthest corner of the house. He pulled the handle on the door all the way, so the latch was completely inside the casing. He pushed the door shut, slow and ever slower until it came to rest inside the frame. He leant against it to make sure the latch didn’t click, and slowly returned the handle to its resting position.

He exhaled.

He sat down at the table where the cameras wouldn’t be able to see his face. He set his hands in front of him. He turned his left hand upward and slipped the wedding band off his finger, and placed it between his hands. He covered it.

He didn’t know why tonight. They’d been married, or so she insisted, for at least a couple of months. The whole exhausting process was done with. The judge in Isaac’s pocket, the witnesses he didn’t know, the signing, the rings, the fucking vows.

For better and worse. For richer and poorer. In sickness and health.

Her eyes, wide as the sky, waiting for him to say it.

To love and to obey.

Nobody had said a word. Brayden might have sniggered.

The ring on his finger often feels like just another collar he can’t take off.

He puts it back on. He gets up again. There’s no fucking point sitting there; he can’t do that even when he tries. A moment of quiet reflection just makes him feel worse. He’s married to her. Whether it’s properly legal or not – and he’s pretty sure not, despite her claims – the law doesn’t bloody matter here. Reality doesn’t matter. He lives in her fantasy world and here, he’s her one true love.

She said she would love and cherish him. He’d wanted to scream in her face. He’d waited the whole way through for someone to at least pretend they were going to do it properly. He knew there were interviews before a marriage could be properly made.

It wasn’t real. Fake as her fucking eyelashes. But nothing about his life felt real.

He turned the handle and opened the door. He walked, slowly and silently, back up the stairs. He nudged the door open. He slipped back between the covers.

She didn’t wake, but her arms reached out for him. Till death would they part.

[whumpy-wyrms]

The Last Lab Rat #14: Time Flies

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

YAY!! YIPPEEEE!!!!!!! 😈😈😈😈

— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sasha giggled. “You’re welco—”

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who are you?” Dew asked brokenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does it say?” Dew demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you real?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Back to the lab?” Dew whimpered.

“Yeah? Where else would we go?”

“I-I can’t go back there. Please.”

“You can. You will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

“I– I escaped.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— 

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

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

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

[whumpetywhump]

Whumptober Day 24 (Alt) - Reluctant Whumper

Dr Romantic 3 - Ep. 10

Stand By Me - Ep. 5

The Lies Within - Ep. 16

The Mystic Nine - Ep. 6

The Ultimate Note - Ep. 6

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

hey that's a really nice lady whumpee you have there, is she single? ready to mingle maybe? yeah...yeah, no totally. i will absolutely not be treating her any better. in fact i may treat her worse. but would you say her options are open or

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🔪 for Chris!

🔪 Awake surgery

CW: Referenced hand whump, blood, sadism, reluctant whumper, facility whump, BBU

"You have got to be joking." The doctor dried his hands off on the single-use towel he held, watching through the one-way window as the trainee inside sat, shaking his head at a nurse who was speaking to him in a low voice. He shook it less like he was saying no and more like he was simply denying that she was speaking at all. "Him again? What the fuck is Petrus doing to this kid? It's only been, what, four days since I got him out of the clinic in the first place!"

"I mean, you know what he does to him, he's one of the little sluts." The handler rolls his eyes. "Petrus fucks him stupid, not that any of them have brains to begin with. But this time 223499 dropped a glass during his Mixology class. Can't pin it this one on Petrus, it's all on 499 being a little bitch again. His Mixology instructor says he's a clumsy little shit."

"Great. Okay." Dr. Ross has a headache already. He hates this place, hates the crude, aggressive handlers and the way they talk about - and to - the trainees. He hates sewing the injured trainees up only to see them again, with new wounds needing dressed and new terror in their eyes. He hates everything about this job except the paycheck.

He can't wait to get another job and get the hell out of here.

The Facility gets to him - it works its way down under his skin, seeing the haunted, nervous way the trainees looked around all the time, trying to guess where pain would come from next. Trying to curry favor, to avoid the torture constantly forced on them anyway. He's been seeing their frightened faces and hearing them beg in his dreams far too often. "So he's here because..."

"It's a deep cut." The handler shrugs. "He needs stitches."

Dr. Ross looks back at the trainee. 223499 is holding perfectly still while the nurse turns his hand over. His palm is a mess of blood, darker than the new-penny shine of his hair. The trainee's stained fingers twitch nervously.

He's just a kid.

The same kid who'd automatically gone to his knees just a week ago, ready to do whatever he was commanded to, thoughtless obedience making the doctor's stomach turn.

He has to get out of here.

Dr. Ross swallows, feeling like there's a lump in his throat he just can't quite get rid of it. "Fine. I'll prep something to numb his hand, we'll give him a little bit of-"

"Nah." The handler shrugs, looking bored. "His primary's got a note on his file, didn't you see it? No painkillers for three weeks. Not even topical."

Dr. Ross watches 223499 flinch away from the nurse, who slaps him, making him cry out. The sound is muffled through the one-way window. As is the apology the boy provides immediately, stammering through it, only to be slapped again. This time, he doesn't cry out. He only cringes back, hunching into himself, and keeps his eyes down.

It makes Dr. Ross feel sick.

"... fine," He says, realizing the silence is drawing out too long. "I'll get him sewn up. He can go back to his room once it's done. Tell Petrus to leave him alone for one night, at least?"

The handler snorts with dry humor. "Yeah, good luck on that. But I'll tell him you said so. You want me to help you strap him down?"

Dr. Ross doesn't let himself look at the trainee again. "Yeah. Come in and strap him down while I prep."

"You got it, Doc." The handler gives him a lazy salute.

The kid doesn't fight being strapped down, but it doesn't matter. Once the work begins, the kid's back arches, he screams and thrashes wordlessly, then... even worse, he makes noises after like he's dying, low moaning sounds that seem barely human. He's shuddering, whispering apologies when all he'd done was drop a glass and try to clean it up too fast.

Dr. Ross goes home that night with the trainee's screaming in his ears. He hears the sounds the kid makes once the needle goes into his skin all weekend in his nightmares.

On Monday, he emails his resignation, effective immediately.

He's smart enough to have a one-way ticket booked for a country WRU isn't operating in before anyone reads it.

[whumperer-86]

Bloodhounds kdrama ep06

[the-bar-sinister]

"You don't understand!" Whumper grabs whumpee by the collar with both hands and forces their back against the wall, pinning them there under whumper's body.

Whumpee cringes as whumper snarls in their face.

"You don't understand and so help me I am going to make you understand!"

[echo-goes-mmm]

Anniversary Present (Oneshot)

My Writing Masterpost

Warnings: slight dubcon, manipulation, minor character death, blood, past stalking

“I’m hungry,” complained Victor. 

Henry glanced at the vampire, then into his side mirror. “I’m driving.”

“So pull over.”

“I can’t,” he protested. “There’s no place to park.” They had circled the lot once already, but there were no spots. If Victor hadn’t insisted on spending the weekend at the beach of all places, this wouldn’t have happened.

“It’s a Friday evening on a holiday,” he explained. “It’ll be a while.” Victor grumbled, but at least he seemed placated. 

It had been three years since Victor ‘claimed’ him like some sort of stalker, and Henry hadn’t been able to shake him. Now he was stuck with Victor, and sometimes he could fool himself into normalcy. Like some kind of fucked-up sitcom. See the vampire and his unwilling roommate, every evening at 7pm on FOX! Or something. Henry didn’t watch cable.

“Look,” said Victor, “there’s a spot.”

“Finally,” groaned Henry. Another car came down the aisle, and he put on the turn signal and waited for them to pass so he could pull in. But instead, the BMW swerved into the spot, nearly dinging him in the process. Asshole.

Victor hissed. 

“Don’t,” Henry said. “It’s literally okay.” 

Victor sighed. “Fine.” 

Eventually, they found a spot in another lot, but there was a fee. Henry grumbled as Victor drank an evening snack from him. What a jerk, and of course it was a BMW. Brand new, too. Henry thought of his 20 year old beater and tried not to be jealous.

Whatever.

Victor had made reservations to a nice restaurant on the boardwalk for the two of them, which was hilarious. Victor could eat human food, it just did nothing for him except taste good. He was always dragging Henry to fancy places.

The perks of having a rich vampire eat off him, he supposed.

Victor disappeared after paying for dinner, with a promise to meet him at the rental later. Typical. 

But Henry had a little cash to burn, and the boardwalk was fun. He ate frozen custard (peanut butter and chocolate) and looked at ridiculously priced swimsuits on sale. He watched people come in and out of novelty stores, and got himself a box of saltwater taffy. It was nice, he thought, as a charming family went into the amusement park.

Of course, the downside to this little vacation was Victor. He was going to do something this weekend, he could feel it. 

Henry was a snack, a little amusement that Victor liked to keep under his thumb.

Henry hated when Victor dragged home a meal.

He shuddered, the warm night air suddenly suffocating. He took another bite of his frozen custard and told himself not to think about it.

He got to the rental house hours later (after somehow mixing up where he’d parked) and Victor was there as promised. 

“So,” said Victor, “there’s this cute little diner in town. We should go there for breakfast.” 

“Yeah, sure.”

Victor frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I guess. Just tired.” 

“Oh. Well, the bedroom on the right is yours. Goodnight.” Suspicious.

“‘Night.” The drive was pretty draining, so Henry fell asleep quickly.

___________________

Victor dragged him to the diner around nine. He looked a little funny dressed in pants and a hoodie in this weather, but it was sunny out and, well, vampire.

Henry woke up in a much better mood than yesterday. He ordered a short stack of blueberry pancakes with a side of sausage and it was divine.

Victor bid him a good day after breakfast and went to sleep. Henry took the opportunity to spend the rest of the day at the beach. It was a great weather out, and he swam in the ocean a couple times before making it back to the rental. He even splurged and got some barbeque from a place on the boardwalk for lunch.

But soon the sun would be down, and Victor would be hungry. He headed back to the rental house.

After the feeding, he was more worn out than usual. He hadn’t been on a vacation in a while, and he’d forgotten how tiring it was to relax. He went to sleep soon after.

___________________

“Henry. Hey, Henry!” Victor whispered. He groaned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“What?” Victor’s red eyes glowed down at him. Victor flashed him a toothy grin. He glanced at the clock. Midnight. And why could he smell pizza?

“I got you a present.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just come see!” Henry stumbled into the living room and flipped the switch.

“Oh my god!”

A guy was tied up and gagged in the middle of the floor. Pizza boxes sat on the table, with a bunch of booze and soda. The man made a frantic sound from behind the gag.

“What the fuck?” he said. Victor flopped on the couch. He titled his head and grinned.

“It’s the man who cut you off earlier. And I also got dinner and that novelty soda you like. The one that tastes like sour candy.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Fuck. Again? Victor had never been caught before, but this was insane. 

Why was his life like this? Ugh. Whatever.

He crossed the room and took a slice of pizza. It was amazingly good, actually. It really was true that the best New York style pizza was in New Jersey. He ignored Mr. BMW struggling against the ropes.

He twisted off the cap to the soda and some vodka. He was gonna need it. Henry turned back to the scene to see Victor teasing Mr. BMW. Muffled shouts came from behind the gag.

Henry knew how scary it was, seeing a vampire for the first time. But he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. It was normal, now.

“I think he wants to say something,” grinned Victor. He plucked the gag from Mr. BMW.

“I- I’m so sorry,” he said, looking back and forth between them. “Please don’t kill me!” he sniffed. Henry shifted, uncomfortable.

“You’re not sorry,” snarled Victor, “You’re just sorry you got caught. Nobody gets to be an asshole to my human. Nobody.”

“It’s just a parking spot, Victor. Not a big deal.” Victor turned to him. He shrank back. 

“You don’t get to decide that,” he said. 

“What-”

“I’m making your life better. Remember that boss you hated? I took care of it. And now you don’t hate your job. This is for you, Henry.” He yanked the man’s hair, baring his neck. 

He sank his teeth into the man, drinking long and deep. Henry’s mind whirled. Had Victor really been killing off everyone who was mean to him? 

Victor finished, the man’s head lolling. 

“Look at him,” purred Victor, voice husky. “He’s still alive. Think he’ll chalk it up to a dream, or pass on to the next life?”

He came close, blood smeared over his mouth. He stepped right up to Henry, taking his chin in hand.

Henry whimpered.

“Don’t be scared,” cooed Victor against his lips. Victor kissed him, copper on his tongue. 

What was happening?

Victor pulled away, pupils blown. His cool hand came to rest on his ass.

“Victor-” he started, but for some reason he couldn’t, didn’t, pull away.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. A curl of heat smoldered in Henry’s gut. “Three years,” continued Victor, “and I never told you that. Isn’t that strange?”

“Ye- yeah.” Victor pressed a kiss to his throat, mouthing up to just under his jaw.

“Wait-” he said, regaining himself. Victor paused, pulling away. “All those restaurants, all those presents, were- were they-”

“Dates? Yeah,” admitted Victor. “You needed a stronger hint.”

Fuck. He’d seen the way Victor looked at him, the way he waited in the car under a blanket for hours just for Henry to get off work. He thought it was just hunger, and it was, but it was more than that. And Victor was attractive, and mostly kind-

The dying man behind them groaned.

And it was too much. “I don’t want this,” he whispered. Victor stepped away, turning from him.

“Please,” said Henry, “I’m sorry-”

“No, you’re not,” said Victor. His heart sank. Victor was finally going to kill him. 

But then Victor turned, and he didn’t look mad at all. 

“It’s okay,” he said, stepping close again. And his eyes, they were so pretty now. So big and deep, and what was he thinking about? “You just need a little nudge.”

Oh yeah. 

Victor was attractive, and mostly kind, and took him to places he never could have afforded and-

He snorted. His life was already so goddamn weird.

“Sure, why not? It’s not like you’re going anywhere,” said Henry. “Might as well make the most of it.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” agreed Victor. 

Victor kissed him again, and they fumbled their way to the couch. He wanted Victor, and he wanted him now, witness be damned.

The man was dying anyway.

___________________

Henry woke up the next morning in a great mood. Last night was just… incredible. It was so obvious, he couldn’t believe he missed it.

He snuggled back into Victor’s cool arms. 

Sure, it was fucked up, but who cared? Victor was hot and financially stable (aka rich as hell) and took care of him.

It just made sense.

Maybe he could get a nice car if he asked Victor.

___________________

He was a genius. Just a little nudge. Wasn’t even cheating, really. Charming never worked for so long.

Henry still had his personality the whole night, so it didn’t even count as Charming him. Just a tiny, itty bitty nudge, and his precious little human had finally given in to his wooing. They had a wonderful night of pizza, drinking, and sex. 

So good.

Draining that pesky little boyfriend four years ago had finally paid off. 

He was an asshole anyway.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

[whump-blog]

The Name of a Stranger

Ch.1 - Masterlist

CW: BBU, slavery, implied sex trafficking/prostitution, nudity, abuse, low self-esteem, alcoholic character, dehumanisation

============

It was 4:50 p.m. and Trevor was leaning against his car waiting for Ray in the bar's parking lot. The last rays of sunlight were shining on the horizon and the sky was beginning to turn a bluish violet. The cold seeped through his jacket and with every breath steam escaped from his mouth.

As they had agreed the day before, at 5:00 p.m. he saw the guy coming out of the place dragging a dog carrier.

Through the metal bars of the cage, he could see that inside was the man he had seen the day before tied to the bed. As he relived the horrible memory, the anger, and the indignation he had felt also returned. But he needed to stay calm. He couldn't screw it up, not this time. So Trevor clenched his jaw and took a deep breath.

When Ray was standing just a few feet away from him, he let go of the dog carrier, causing the slave to whimper. The guy's response to this was to annoyingly kick the crate.

Before he lost his temper, Trevor interrupted the situation and asked Ray, "Do you have the box boy's documents?"

Ray took his attention off the person in the cage, turned to look at him and grinned, "I see you're hurried mate."

But the smile was short-lived as he saw the storm on Trevor's face. Ray promptly pulled several crumpled papers out of his jacket and handed them to him. "Here you go."

Trevor practically ripped the papers out of his hands and quickly read them. Once he was sure they were signed, he took a bag of money from inside his truck and shoved it into Ray's chest.

Ray didn't seem bothered by his attitude and opened the bag, smiling when he saw the content. "Hahaha, that's a lot of money for a fuck-toy! But," he chuckled, "you wanted this whore."

"Oh, by the way I almost forgot; here," from another of his pockets the guy pulled out an envelope and handed it to Trevor who looked at it confused, "What's this?"

"It's a little courtesy gift… I think you'll enjoy it" and without another word, Ray turned around and walked back inside the bar, counting the money as he smiled.

After that unpleasant moment, Trevor kept the envelope and took a few seconds to calm down with one of the exercises he had been taught in therapy. Once he could think a little more clearly, he focused on what he had to solve at that moment, and that was to free the box boy from his prison.

The poor thing was crumpled inside the cage, and like the day before, he had nothing on, except for a pink collar. Trevor was glad he had brought a blanket, which he was quick to fetch.

He approached the dog crate and struggled a little with the lock, trying to open it. From inside it, the man stared at him with large hazel eyes, framed by deep shadows that contrasted with his pale skin.

"Nice to meet you, sir" the pet greeted him timidly as he continued to struggle with the lock.

"Hi buddy," he replied nervous, "I'm going to get you out of here, just… just give me a sec-" The door opened with a clack, and Trevor hurried to place the light blue blanket around the man, trying not to look at him too much.

The pet clung to the blanket with one hand and crawled hesitantly out of the dog crate.

Once outside, Trevor offered him his hand. But the man looked at it, unsure whether to take it or not. He almost felt offended. But Trev thought that if he were in the pet's situation, he would also be cautious.

"Let me help you," Trevor offered, keeping his voice gentle.

When the pet finally took his hand, it felt cold and bony, like the hand of a corpse. And with that lifestyle, the poor thing probably hadn't been far from becoming one. Trevor said nothing and helped him to his feet.

Walking the few steps to the car was a slow process. The man was struggling to walk, and had only managed to reach the vehicle because he was leaning against his shoulder.

Once the pet was in the back seat, he asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes sir. Thank you for your help, and… sorry for the inconvenience, it won't happen again," the slave replied politely, behind which a hint of nervousness was barely noticeable.

"You're all right, don't worry," he reassured him "make yourself comfortable, we're leaving" But as Trevor was about to close the back door the man raised his hand as if asking permission to ask a question.

"Yeah?"

"Erm… sir, don't forget the…" and without finishing the sentence, the pet pointed a slender finger in the direction of where the dog carrier had been left.

Although what he was really thinking was why a person would want to bring the object that was used to keep them trapped, he just replied "Oh, yes". Trevor closed the back door, picked up the dog carrier from the ground, placed it in the trunk and hurried into the car and out of the freezing weather. All he wanted to do was get out of there and go home.

He was in such a hurry that when he sat down in the driver's seat, he didn't notice an empty beer can he had left there. "Fuck," he cursed, throwing the can aside. I should clean the car, he thought as he observed how the rubbish had been piling up.

But more important, behind him, he heard the slave shifting nervously and hit himself mentally for acting like a noisy idiot.

Turning around and trying to play down the incident, he said, "By the way, my name is Trevor, Trevor Hale," his voice wavered for a moment, afraid he'd screwed up; worried that he'd scared the pet somehow, as he had done with others in the past.

When a few seconds passed without an answer he went on with a question "Do you have a name or… is there a way you would like me to call you?"

"Well, they call me Nicky sir," the man replied eagerly, "but if that name doesn't please you… you can call me whatever you wish, sir," he continued a little quieter.

"…well, I don't have a preference. If you like that name, that's fine with me."

After that statement, he seemed to have lifted a huge weight off Nicky's shoulders. As he was able to confirm with the pet's enthusiastic reply.

"Thank you sir, for granting me the privilege of a name."

Trevor opened his mouth to speak, but did not know what to say. He simply looked at Nicky in the rearview mirror and nodded. He put the keys in the ignition, the engine roared to life and the car shuddered. Trev turned on the heater and began to drive.

"Okay, we have a while until we get to the city, so if you want to lie down and sleep, that would be… fine."

Nicky didn't seem convinced by the idea at first, but it seems that exhaustion got the better of him. Not ten minutes into the drive and as he looked back once again, he could see the man asleep; clinging tightly to the blanket.

At some point it had become so dark that the road lights came on, adding a yellowish glow to the dark atmosphere.

============

Special thanks to @whumpinthepot for proof reading this chapter.

Here is a drawing of this chapter :)

Taglist: @whoopsitswhump - @winedark-whump - @whumpzone - @littlefantasiesofalittlegirl - @guachipongo - @batfacedliar-yetagain - @deusmor - @whumpinthepot

[whump-queen]

“I say this all the time, but you’ve got the most beautiful instincts, my love.

now the only question is what to carve into you…

I’ll have fun coming up with a few designs,

but my name is a requirement.”

[cepheusgalaxy]

BBU Whump

What if whumper is a very rich person and also great fan of greek mithology and names all their pets after greek myths/constellations.

Like, whumper has a three Guard Dogs; Arthemis, Ares and Orion. Whumper's Romantic name is Callisto.

A domestic: Ganimedes

I just had this idea

Which greek tragedies you guys would name a pet after?

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Interrogator x Jason have Bonnie & Clyde energy and I ship it

i do like their energy, but platonically lol (they're cousins)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🧑‍⚕️ for Chris! Cookie treat:

🍪

CW: BBU, sickfic, ableism from Luke Petrus, general Luke Petrus warning, minor whump (OC is 17), brief implied noncon references

-

"What the heck did you do now, Petrus?" The doctor - barely out of med school, still young and learning the twists and turns of the Facility's labyrinth of hallways - sighs. He's been here barely a year, and already learned that Luke Petrus has a reputation for quick turnarounds because he runs his trainees into the ground. Metaphorically speaking.

His trainees aren't generally allowed to actually run much of anywhere at all. Or get out of bed.

Petrus rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "Nothing. He was being a little shit this morning, breaking all his rules. I checked and his forehead was hot, so I brought him in here."

"Well... at least you didn't OD him again."

"That was one time, and he should have been fine, it's not my fault his body metabolizes the drugs wrong-"

"Maybe don't use our freaking supplies without speaking to a doctor first to make sure next time?" Dr. Ross glances into the exam through through the window cut into the door.

The trainee lays on his back on the exam table, staring listlessly up towards the flickering florescent lights overhead. His hands are moving, constantly crushing the crinkling paper beneath him or touching himself at the throat, the collarbone, the stomach. He's humming, audible through the door. A toneless, tuneless ah ah ah ah through barely open lips.

"Okay, well. I'll take a look. Any specific complaints other than the fever?"

"Clammy as fuck, coughing, sneezing... all that shit. Complained about his food, earlier, and I know he knows better than that." Petrus narrows his eyes, and Dr. Ross tries not to feel a shiver down his own spine. "He better be burning hot enough to hallucinate or he is going to fucking regret talking shit to me about the food."

Dr. Ross pauses. "The food is pretty legendarily... um, crap, though," He points out. The look Petrus gives him is so derisive he can all but feel it eat into him like acid. "I'll take a look. Probably he'll need an overnight in the clinic."

"I only have a few weeks left to finish him up. So you get him able to take training tomorrow night, got it?"

"I can't promise-"

"This one is going to a personal friend of Karen Renford's," Petrus says in a low voice. "A personal. friend. Got it?"

Dr. Ross swallows, trying not to look unnerved. "Got it."

"Good. Message me once he's good to go back, I'm going to head home for a few hours. If he's faking this..."

"Handler Petrus. How exactly would he fake a fever?" Dr. Ross looks into the exam room again. The trainee is still humming, watching his own fingers as he moves them between himself and the light. His skin is pale, a little grayish. His freckles stand out like paint splatters all over his body.

"Wouldn't put it past him. Trainees figure out all kinds of shit. Get him better and get him to stop doing that... Shit with his hands, making those noises. Punish him if he keeps it up, it's part of his training plan."

"Hm," Dr. Ross says, noncommittal. "I'll send his test results over in a bit. Enjoy your time at home."

He steps inside just to end the conversation, walking idly over to a countertop, where he opens a cupboard above and pulls out a small canister of lollipops. "Hello, 223499."

The boy's voice cuts off like a radio. After a pause, he starts mumbling, too low for Dr. Ross to hear.

"... right. Well. Your handler says you're feeling under the weather. Mind if I take a look?"

The trainee turns his head then. He looks somewhere off to one side of the doctor, blinking a little dazedly. "... take a look?"

His voice is slow, sluggish, but each word is so carefully placed.

"Yes."

The trainee looks away again. Dr. Ross sighs and goes with it, checking his temperature. 101.7, not great, not the worst fever. Hopefully this won't be another flu like the last one. Pneumonia nearly killed three trainees that time. He checked ears, eyes - pupils reactive, ears clear - and then touched at the lymph nodes beneath his jaw. A little swollen.

"Okay. Next up, we need to take a quick look down your throat."

Another slow blink. The trainee seemed to suddenly tense up. "You... want my throat?"

"Uh, well-" Dr. Ross turns away to pick up a tongue depressor and the swab for the test. "Yes, we need to test you."

The paper on the exam table crinkles again. The boy hums, almost wistfully, and then goes silent.

When he turns around, Dr. Ross discovers the boy on his knees in a seamless Position Two, mouth wide open.

His green eyes are empty, somewhere far away.

Dr. Ross's face burns at the sight. His stomach turns sharply, and he has to clear his throat to try and cover the way bile rises. "Uh, n-no thank you-... I just need... you need to be tested for strep throat, Trainee, not that kind of-... back up on the table, please-"

The boy looks confused, in a faded sort of way, but follows orders. He manages to clamber back up, sitting this time, listing a little to one side, then the other. But he opens his mouth again, and Dr. Ross hurries through the test as fast as he can, trying not to think about how most people gag during the strep test, but the Romantics never do.

"Good, made it. Perfect. Now, does your throat hurt a lot today?"

"Yes, sir." The boy's voice is a little raspy, now that he's talking. "A... lot. Earlier, i... cried when my... handler-"

"Don't need to hear the end of that sentence!" Dr. Ross forces false charm and ease into his voice, plucking one of the lollipops at random from the jar. "Here, let me give you this. It tastes a little weird, but it'll numb your throat and keep you from coughing." He unwraps it and holds it out. The trainee blinks at him. He blinks back.

Then he realizes. "... oh. Do you have to be... do I have to..." He leans forward. The trainee opens his mouth obediently for Dr. Ross to place the lollipop inside. Only then does his mouth close.

"'ank 'oo, ir," The trainee says around a mouthful of fake sweetener and the numbing agent already going to work. His eyes are so sweet and so vivid, and he half-smiles around the treat.

"You're welcome, 223499. I'm going to go and do your strep test. I'll be back. You just relax, okay? You can sleep in a clinic bed and get a good night's sleep."

The boy's eyebrows furrow. "Is... is it night?"

"Oh right. We're not supposed to let you know, are we? Well... I don't think it can hurt... yeah, I'm on nights right now, 11 to 9. It's about one in the morning."

"Oh." The trainee lays slowly back down, on his side, closing his eyes as he works at the sucker. "... what, what does night... look, um, look like?"

Dr. Ross swallows.

He's a fucking coward, but he doesn't answer. He just leaves, and he doesn't let himself stop and look back.

He doesn't let himself think about a boy who can't remember the sky.

God, he only has a few weeks left on this residency and he just isn't sure he can make it.

[whumperer-86]

Dr Romantic Kim S03 EP 10