#cw toxic whumper

[whump-in-the-closet]

a disorientated whumpee at a party with whumper's hand uncomfortably wrapped around their collarbone. There's a spiraling fear that they can't quite name-- they're losing themself in this nightmare of insinuating whispers.

The music is pounding and Whumpee can feel it in their teeth.

Whumper pulls them into a dark corner to push a drink up to their lips. "Your friends are coming," Whumper's voice is low, it's calm, it's measured, and Whumpee's skin crawls. "You're going to tell them you want to stay with me."

"No--"

"Or one of them will take your place."

[whumplet]

Mutants or ‘Mutts’ are an anomaly in biology. Natural disasters combined with the unchecked chemical industries have caused a quarter of the population to reflect the wildlife of their region. Scientists still have many unanswered questions in this dystopian futuristic world. They seek the answers through unethical experiments, funded by multi-billion dollar companies.

The agenda? Control the mutant population.

Lucina and Pich are a toxic yuri couple, whumperxwhumpee. Lucina (the hare) being the whumper and Pich (the bobcat) being the whumpee.

They were girlfriends before Lucina was captured as a lab expiriment, Lucina decided to work with the scientists instead, helping them capture more mutts. She became bitter that Pich wasn’t there to protect her from the scientists, so when Pich is captured, she gives ‘special’ treatment to her ex. I love them your honor.

[whump-card]

Interlude 21.1: Candy and Cameras

Takes place during Arc 2, except for a little bonus moment at the end :)

Based off of prompts from this list by @whumperful as requested by an anon and @thecyrulik

~1160 words

CW: alcohol, toxic relationship, whumper/whumpee, manipulation, conditioning, restraints, dubcon kissing, fade to black dubcon

~~~

“Have another.”

“Have another.”

“Have another.”

~~~

Simon stumbled out of the bar clinging to Matthew’s arm, giddy and single-minded. He stood on tip-toe to breathe into the vampire’s ear.

“Can-dy, can-dy, can-dy!” he chanted.

“Okay, okay!” Matthew relented, “There’s a CVS or whatever-the-fuck down the street, let’s go.”

The bright lights of the convenience store were dazzling and magical. Simon spun in place for a moment, then spotted the candy rack and nearly fell to his knees in front of it. The clerk gave him the side-eye, but decided he wasn’t causing trouble.

“You pick out what you want,” Matthew ruffled Simon’s hair, “I’ll be right back.”

Simon barely noticed the vampire leave, too entranced by the bright colors and logos spread before him. Something plucked at his heartstrings.

Nostalgia.

He brushed the feeling aside and busied himself with picking out the perfect selection. A giant Mars Bar, obviously. A pack of Sour Patch Kids. An Almond Joy, because that was - that was somebody’s favorite. He couldn’t remember whose. Hubba Bubba bubble gum tape. A giant KitKat. No longer able to pick up anything else without it all spilling out of his hands, Simon staggered to his feet.

He convened with Matthew at the checkout, and the vampire tossed his own find onto the counter; a red and yellow box.

“Whassat?” Simon asked, leaning against him.

“Camera. You got fuckin’ Almond Joy?”

“I like Almond Joy,” Simon mumbled.

~~~

Back at the apartment, Simon flopped onto the bed while Matthew dumped out the shopping bag full of candy onto the sheets.

“Yessss!” Simon snatched up the sour gummy bag and struggled with it for a moment before shoving it towards Matthew. “Help!”

Matthew, who had been taking the disposable camera out of its box, glared at him.

“You know you’re a fucking demanding little bitch sometimes?”

Simon laughed, before he processed Matthew’s serious tone and a shot of anxiety ran up his spine.

“Sorry.”

“You can make it up to me.” Matthew opened the gummies easily. “Kneel.”

The command sent a drunken flutter of arousal through Simon, and he pushed himself upright, overshot and almost keeled over in the other direction, then sat back on his heels.

“Shut your eyes, open your mouth, and stick out your tongue,” Matthew ordered, plucking a sour gummy out of the package.

Simon obeyed. He wanted Matthew to have fun. He didn’t want Matthew to be mad. He wanted to do whatever Matthew wanted, forever.

“Now, don’t move until I say so.” Matthew set the candy on Simon’s tongue, eliciting a whine of protest. “Hold it!”

Simon could feel drool collecting in his mouth. Then he heard a click, and a bright flash lit up the insides of his eyelids red, dazing him. He automatically pulled the gummy into his mouth to say, “Hey!” He blinked up at Matthew, who stood over him with the camera, winding it back.

“I don’t like…” An old fear soured his stomach and jumbled his words as he slowly chewed the sour candy. “Don’t take pictures of me!”

“Aw, c’mon!” Matthew gently persuaded, “It’s just for us, nobody else will ever see them,” he combed a hand through Simon’s hair, “Except for the nerd at Staples who develops them, but what do we care what they think?”

Simon leaned into the vampire’s touch as Matthew brushed his hand down the side of Simon’s face and took a firm hold of his chin, turning his face this way and that.

“Man,” Matthew breathed, “You’re real pretty when you’re wasted.”

Simon beamed at the compliment, warm devotion drowning his anxieties.

“Open.”

Completely pliant, Simon opened his mouth and Matthew slipped his thumb in under Simon’s tongue to take an even stronger grip on his jaw.

“Ow,” Simon half-complained.

“Shh,” Matthew lifted the camera in his other hand, “Hold still, just like that.” He snapped another picture, and Simon cringed from the flash.

“Okay,” Matthew released him, “Take your shirt off.”

“Not if - Not if you’re gonna take pictures a’me,” Simon slurred, folding his arms and frowning.

“But I want to take pictures of you. You’re adorable,” the vampire cajoled.

Simon knew he should be able to resist the simple flattery, but couldn’t.

“Mkay but, nobody sees ‘em essept you. N’the Staples nerd.”

“Just me and the Staples nerd,” grinned Matthew.

Simon started to pull up the bottom edge of his turtleneck, but as he got it over his head the dexterity of his drunken limbs failed him, and his head and arms became trapped in the fabric.

“Agh!” He lost his balance and flopped over onto the bed, twisting uselessly. He heard Matthew laugh and the camera snap as the vampire captured a photo of Simon’s exposed abdomen.

“Matthewww!” he whined, muffled under the tangled shirt, “Help me!”

“Okay, okay!” Matthew took one more photo before climbing onto the bed and pulling the shirt off Simon’s head.

“Better?”

“Mhm,” Simon nodded, still disoriented. Matthew leaned in and kissed him, hard, confusing him further, and held up the camera and took a selfie. Then he pulled back with a self-satisfied smirk, winding the camera back.

Simon wiggled his arms above his head where they were still trapped in the shirt, blinking his eyes rapidly from the haze of the flash.

“Get it off,” he mumbled - but now that he was lying down, he was finding it harder and harder to care. Fatigue was settling deep into his bones, and the bed was so soft and comfortable.

Matthew’s eyes lit up, and he dropped the camera into the sheets to peel the shirt off Simon’s arms - but instead of taking it entirely off, he wrapped and knotted the fabric around Simon’s wrists.

“Hey…” Simon struggled weakly against the restraint, “I don’… I donlike that.”

Matthew leaned down to kiss him again, murmuring into his mouth, “Yeah you do.”

Simon would do anything for Matthew.

“Yeah I do,” he echoed.

Matthew reached down to unbutton Simon’s pants.

“Can I take pictures while I fuck you?”

“No, c’mon…” Simon turned his face away, but it was a half-hearted denial. Matthew grabbed his chin and pulled him back, nose-to-nose.

“Come on, say yes,” he coaxed.

Simon’s eyes wandered over Matthew’s face, only barely comprehending.

“Okay.”

~~~

Months later, Captain Isles stood in Simon and Matthew’s abandoned apartment, opened with keys taken from Matthew’s seized possessions. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he was looking anyway. He picked up and put down Simon’s books. He opened and closed the refrigerator. He rifled through dresser drawers.

That’s when he found it.

A fat yellow envelope, buried under Matthew’s socks. He opened it and pulled out a random photo from the center of the stack. Stared at it for a minute. Slid it back in and closed the envelope. Almost put it back in the drawer.

Then he tucked the photos into the inside pocket of his jacket and left the apartment.

~~~

Masterlist

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper

[bilightningwhumper]

Mangst 2024- Day 11

<<Previous . Masterlist . Next>>

Lost Voice (Little Mermaid) Masterlist

“You've only ever been a disappointment.”

Summary:

After the public post was made outing Sam, his parents corner him after dinner to talk. Potential spoiler excerpt from "Lost Voice"

Notes:

Warnings for this one: transphobia, threats of conversion therapy, physical abuse from parent to child Characters: Sam- Little Mermaid Raelene- Huntsman Crystal- Beauty Hannah (mentioned)- Prince's fiance/bride Marianne (mentioned)- Maid Marian

Sam’s POV

Sam sat at the table, waiting for his parents to say something, anything. Even though his sisters had been dismissed from the room, he knew at least Rae and Crystal were hiding just beyond the doorway, probably within earshot.

Finally, his mother spoke. “Evelyn, we just don’t understand. How could you do this to us? We’ve been good parents.”

He winced. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I swear, I wanted to tell you first, but someone must have figured it out or-”

Bang

Flinching, Sam shrunk in his chair under his father’s glare.

“You’re our daughter. This ridiculous behavior stops now.” he snarled, his alpha voice under-toning every word.

Sam took a deep breath, sitting up straight, hands on his knees. He’d practiced with Marianne and his triplet counterparts. If this went wrong, he still had Hannah. Her family had already promised to take him in. He would be okay if this went south.

“I’m not your daughter, I’m your son.” he said, level and clear. “My name is Sam. I’ve been this way all my life, even if I wasn’t aware of it. Nothing else has changed. This is just me finally being open about who I am. To you and to everyone else.”

The silence was deafening. Sam studied each of his parents carefully. His mother wouldn’t even look at him, tears streaming down her face. His father… He had to duck his head.

His mouth went dry. Licking his lips, he tried to say something to soften the tension. But he never got the chance.

“Then it’s settled.” his father growled. “We’re sending you to the New Eden Institution in Raelene’s place.”

Sam’s blood went cold, draining out of his face. They’d actually been planning on sending Rae there? It hadn’t been an empty threat?

“No, you can’t do that!” He didn’t stop, even as his father got out of his chair. “That place kills people, you have to know that. Please you-”

He felt the sting and dropped to the floor before registering his father had hit him. His jaw was throbbing. He could hear his mom sobbing. Footsteps before hearing his sisters rush in. Crystal helped him up while Rae stood between them and their father.

“You’ve only ever been a disappointment!” their father shouted at him. “This family will be better off once you’ve been taught how to be otherwise. So until we can send you to the Institution, you’re not going to leave this house.”

He stormed off, leaving Rae to comfort their mother and Crystal to fuss over Sam.

“I don’t think he’s bluffing this time.” Sam whispered, rubbing at his jaw.

Crystal just hugged him, saying words that didn’t reach his ears. Probably trying to comfort him, make a plan to fix this.

But it couldn’t be fixed. Not this. Not this time.

[rainysflowers]

CW/TW: INTERNALIZED VICTIM BLAMING, Wishing for Pain, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP THOUGHTS, Stuff that comes with an Abusive Relationship, Self-Deprecation, OP venting in tags

Obedient whumpees.

Broken, miserable, boot-licking, obedient whumpees.

Whumpees that don't even try to talk back, not for lack of thought, but for the fear of it. Whumpees who come to want to be scolded, who want to be yelled at, and yet are afraid of the scorn. Whumpees who will do anything for their Whumper, their Whumper, and wish for that pain.

And they're disgusting for it.

They're a horrible, enabling, victim-mentality, worthless thing that doesn't deserve anyone's favor.

This, being yelled at for every little thing despite how hard they try, that's what they want, they know it deep inside, and yet they cling to the idea of being saved and for what.

A freak like them doesn't deserve love that's not toxic. But that's the beauty, isn't it?

Toxic, corrosive, burning love is what Whumper gives them, and it's what they work so hard to keep, because thats what they are.

An obedient whumpee.

A broken, miserable, boot-licking, obedient whumpee.

[hywenhei]

CHILDHOOD TRAUMA: Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

CW: Major character death

Caretaker hugging Whumpee's body in an iron-clad grip even after their heart stops beating. People keep trying to pull them away, telling them that Whumpee's pulse has stopped and they aren't coming back, but Caretaker's hands keep holding on with strength that makes their knuckles turn white. Maybe the pain will make Whumpee wake up for them.

"I did good, right? In the battle?" "Yeah, kid, you did great. Now, sit still so I can bandage you up properly."

Whumpee has finally broken off their deeply-rooted toxic relationship with Whumper in a moment of complete clarity, and it hurts more than they could ever imagine. All they can do is cling onto Caretaker, in a state of utter turmoil, as Whumper leaves them behind and Caretaker assures them that everything will be okay.

The moment when Whumpee realises what they went through as a child was not normal. Making a joke about it to their friends and getting weird looks. The slow realisation of wait, that didn't happen to you guys? The initial disbelief and denial because if that didn't happen to anybody else then why did it have to happen to Whumpee? Did they really deserve all that pain?

me and childhood trauma whump go way back. it was actually part of my whump awakening since there was just so much in the tv shows i watched. i was watching very child-friendly tv shows though. trust me :)

anyways, see you guys for day 16!! (⁠♡⁠ω⁠♡⁠ ⁠)

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #10 - Happy Birthday, August! Part II

Previous / Masterlist / Next

CW: kidnapped whumpee, captivity (kinda), defiant whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper, forced to kidnap references, vampire caretaker, unwilling whumper, forced to be whumper, ALOT of self-loathing and fucky thoughts and guilt and all of it, weapons, adult language, mentions of blood, brief mention of vomit/nausea, reference to toxic/abusive family dynamic (if I've missed any, please let me know! <3)

Part two! A long time coming! The final part should drop in the next few days/this week! :D thank you to the amazing @whumpcereal for her AMAZING beta on this 🥺🫶

---

August has always dreamt of cake on his birthday, the warm scent of sugar and butter taunting his vampiric senses like forbidden fruit. The cake would be chocolate, of course. Every human loves chocolate; it must be the tastiest thing on Earth. This year, there would have been one hundred and thirty candles, barely fitting on top of it. And August could blow them all out and make his birthday wish. Just like the humans do.

But if the flickering flames on his imaginary cake could really grant his wishes, he wouldn’t wish for chocolate. With a single puff of breath, he’d wish to rewind time and erase this horrific day out of existence. Or, perhaps, he’d wish for a clean slate - a life free from the regret that eats him alive. But above all, he would wish to finally be happy - whatever that means. But where does August get the gall to wish for his own happiness when he is the catalyst of another’s misery? 

He stole a human being tonight. He crept through the streets, snatched them from where they slept and locked them away. He’d lurked in the shadows and all, like a true monster. As far as the human is aware, they saw the stars for the last time this eve and they’ll never feel fresh air stream through their lungs again. August could see it the moment their eyes first locked - the human feared the blood coursing through his own veins was his no longer, that he had become nothing more than food.

No, if August had birthday candles, he should be wishing for the human’s pain to stop, not his own. He should pray for any memories of this miserable night to fade away, and for the human to feel nothing but warmth and safety for the rest of his days. How dare August make this about himself?

How dare August call himself a doctor?

Really, if August is anything other than a feral creature, he is a coward. He can’t find a drop of courage in his selfish core to face the human. Of course not. That would mean facing up to what he has done to the human.

Instead, August kneels in the bathroom, and he hugs the toilet bowl tight in his arms. He sputters and heaves as spit dribbles from his lips. It’s a battle against wave after wave of never-ending nausea. August is sickened by himself. Repulsed by the cruelty that he and his kind are capable of. Even if he earned his family’s stamp of approval tonight - something he’s always dreamed of and strived for - it wasn’t worth it. Not one bit. He refuses to hurt, abuse and sacrifice an innocent life for a scrap of their regard. Curse their prideful smiles and damn their hollow praise.

CRASH! Shattering glass pierces through the silence in-between retches. August’s heart leaps up into his throat, and his gut clenches.

His human is awake - no! August shakes that insidious thought from his head. Not his, and never his. The human does not belong to him. 

August wills the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The thought of skulking down to that basement with his tail between his legs and shame swelling in his chest - it turns his already churning stomach with bubbles of dread. Still, he must. He peels himself from the bathroom floor, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and makes his way downstairs to greet his guest. There’s not a second spare to wallow and drown in self-pity.

He grips the stair bannister for dear life, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him. Still, he forces his dragging feet to move one step at a time down to the basement. There’s no backing out of this, no turning and running now. August needs to face the music–or face his victim, rather. He must fix what he’s done to this poor human.

There is the sound of a jarring crash, and then another dull thud resonates from behind the locked basement door. August’s shaking hands fumble to fit the key in the lock. With a click, the door opens, and he cautiously descends into the dimly lit basement, every footstep echoing in the sudden, eerie silence.

That is until he hears the human’s heart. It pounds like a war-drum in August’s ears, each beat louder and more erratic. August flicks the light switch, and as the basement floods with light, he freezes on the spot, beyond horrified at the scene before him.

His life's work, decades of dedication, lay in ruins. His surgery looks like the aftermath of an explosion. All the furniture is flipped over, and shards of shattered glass sparkle across the floor like jewels amongst the blitz. Charts and graphs once meticulously hung on the wall now dangle in tatters, their scientific data reduced to meaningless scraps. His medicinal cabinets have been ransacked; trails of viscous liquid snake across the concrete floor from countless broken vials. The air is thick with the acrid smell of chemicals.

And there, behind his masterpiece of destruction, cowers the human, pressed flat against the farthest wall, a scalpel gripped in trembling hands held out before him. Its sharp tip is pointed in August’s direction, glistening against the surgery's harsh strip lights.

August has seen fear in human eyes more times than he can possibly count, but he has never seen fear like this. The human’s eyes burn with such primal terror that they touch the very core of August’s being. In the man’s eyes, August sees his own fear, his own isolation and his own despair. But August stays there, unable to look away no matter how it hurts him. He is trapped in this man’s stare, lost in a labyrinth of his own reflections.

But August feels something else too. A raw and untamed emotion. Rage. All-consuming anger that makes goosebumps prickle down the vampire’s pale skin. Rage courses through the human’s veins like a river of molten lava.

“You stay the hell back!” the human roars until his voice wavers and wobbles. He swings the scalpel into the empty space between them, stabbing at the air. “Don’t you dare come near me!”

August’s hands fly up in surrender. Words escape him. What could he possibly say to make this right? Where does he even start? Surely nothing he could say could do justice to his regret.

“I’m sorry-”

That’s the first thing that blurts out of August’s pathetic mouth. Because it is the only and the most sincere thought that comes to him. As though his apology could ever mend the damage or heal the pain he’s caused tonight.

August is shaking now. He can’t stop. His palm slams against his mouth as he chokes back a guilt-warbled cry. “I’m - so…I’m SO sorry. I - I don’t - I…I -I never. I didn’t want to hurt you. I - I won’t hurt you! I don’t want this. Please - y-you have to believe me. You’re safe here-”

August moves without thinking, over the rubble and glass shards. He moves barely an inch closer, and the human erupts into panic. Like a great cat, the human swiftly pounces and flips the table in front of him to form a barricade, stopping August dead in his tracks. Surgical instruments clatter about, and yet more glass scatters across the cement floor. 

“I SAID STAY BACK!” the human brays like a feral animal. His chest heaves dramatically as his lungs seem to fight for breath, and he takes an unsteady step back to create even more distance between them. Gingerly, he cradles his hand, still clutching the scalpel. A gasp escapes his lips as crimson wells from a sudden gash. The tang of iron hits August’s nostrils, drool coats his tongue and his fangs tingle, ready to feed. He wrestles with his animalistic instincts and pushes back the unwanted and primal hunger that threatens to take over. He knows he doesn’t want it, but his body thinks he needs it.

The human had hurt himself in his own destructive frenzy. August can’t help but feel responsible for that too. But that doesn’t seem to deter the human, in fact, it fuels him. He launches himself at the countertops. In one fluid motion, sweeping his arms  across the surfaces, clearing it of every single object in a deafening cascade that shatters across the floor.

“HUMAN! PLEASE STOP!”

The human doesn’t speak, but a slow, cold anger radiates off him. Brows slam together, his jaw clenches until the muscles stand out starkly. A single word, each syllable dripping with disdain, finally leaves his lips:  "'Human'?"

August immediately realises his mistake. Guilt eats him from the inside out. You utter barbarian; he scolds himself.

“I have a name, you know!” The human snaps incredulously, bloody hands curling into fists.

“Of course, of course! Just…” August breathes, “What is your name?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?!”

The bookshelves are the human’s next victim. He doesn’t bother pulling or ripping at them; he just bulldozes them with a barge of his shoulder. The shelves topple with a cacophony of splintering wood and flapping pages. His gaze is already fixed on his next target: a framed diploma hanging on the wall, defying the human’s rampage.

“Wait, no! P-Please, not that!” August begs, hands clasped together in supplication. The diploma represents his proudest achievement, everything that he’s worked so hard for. It is the only proof August has that there may be good in him somewhere. “Please! Don’t destroy anything else! I just need you to hear me out!”

“Open the door and let me walk out, vamp,” the human scowls, glossing over August’s pleas. “Or do I have to go through you?”

August swallows hard, the human’s casual threat sending a fresh wave of terror through him. He doesn’t doubt the human’s raw strength or willpower for even a second. The destroyed furniture and the fiery defiance in his eyes promise more violence. A heavy silence stretches between them, thick with tension.

“I - I want to help you - please just let me explain all of this-”

The human slams his fist into the nearest wall, a crater of dust left in its wake. August flinches into himself. Then, the man lets out a sound that no soul should ever have to hear. It’s a keening cry - a grieving wail for the life he fears he has lost. It rocks August to his core. It’s bloodcurdling. 

“Why’d you choose me, huh?!” The human seethes, damn near foaming at the mouth. “Is it because I sleep rough on the streets? Is that it? Because my life is so fucking expendable?!”

Then, it’s as if a dam has burst. The human’s face just crumples as a choked sob croaks from his lips, barely even audible. Slowly, he slides down against the wall. Head in hands, shoulders slumped, any bravado completely drained from his posture. 

“You knew no-one would come for me… didn’t you?” The human manages a whisper, his head hung low in defeat. Words just seem to keep failing August time and time again, he can only watch miserably and quietly. 

“DIDN’T YOU?!” the human bellows, eyes bloodshot and wild as his head shoots up. August flinches at the outburst.

“What gives you the right to play god?! What makes my life worth any less than yours, or any other person you could have plucked from the damn street. It was a shitty life. But it was my life! There was nothing left to take from me, and you took it all anyway. You’re a… you’re a parasite.”

August bites his lips and nods, a silent, pathetic apology. He is a parasite. Every word burns like a red-hot fire poker but he knows he deserves every scorch. Scarlet-shame colours his cheeks. Monster, parasite, animal - he’s all of the above.

“I won’t stop fighting you,” the human huffs through tears of fury. “I won't stop until I kill you, even if it kills me. You're right. I have nothing, and no-one. Nothing to lose but everything to gain. So if I’m going to go down, I'm going down swinging. Do your worst…leech.”

Leech.

August has always thought of himself as a healer. A protector. It is here, in this moment, he finally realises he is nothing more than the predator he was born to be. Afterall, there is no denying what he has done. He did take the human, he took away everything the human had to take.  He, too, sinks to the floor in devastation, landing heavily in a cross-legged slump opposite the tear-streaked human. 

Worst birthday ever.

August is drained and depleted, but he won’t waste any more breath on defending himself; he isn’t worthy of any defence. But the very least he can do is comfort the human - help him to weather the storm and be the anchor he needs right now.

“You can keep the scalpel,” August sniffles, “if it gives you some comfort. If it helps you to feel safe.” It’s an impotent gesture. A scalpel would be useless against him in combat if it really did come to that, but hopefully the human can see the sentiment behind the offer. “All I ask is for a minute of your time, and I promise, I will explain everything to you.”

The human stares at the scalpel in his hand and then locks eyes with August’s in a silent duel. No accusation, no defiance this time - only a deep well of desperate inquiry burning in their depths. A million silent questions hang in the air. He begrudgingly nods for August to go on.

“I will take you home tomorrow morning. I swear it. I wish I could open the front door for you and let you stroll free and wave you off into the world, but we’re deep in vampire territory right now. You wouldn’t last five minutes out here on your own. You’ll be snatched back up in a heartbeat, and by a creature less...inviting than myself. We will go after sunrise tomorrow and not a minute later, you have my word.”

“Your word,” the human spits, “Your word means jack all to me.”

“Then let me prove that I am who I say I am - a man of my word. Let me show you to a bed for tonight. Let me give you food and water, and a pillow to rest your head. And then I will leave you be, to get all the sleep you want and need, and I will keep to myself. The next time you see me, it will be to make our journey back to human territory.”

“...Why should I trust you?”

“I’m not asking for your trust.” Heaven knows August doesn’t deserve it, could never earn it. “I’m asking, from the bottom of my heart, for your leniency. You could, and probably should, drive a stake through my chest for what I’ve put you through. I cannot say I would blame you, if you did. But…why don’t we both survive the night, and come tomorrow we go our separate ways?”

Relief floods in as the human seems to reluctantly ponder the deal. It’s just a night. They just need to make it through the night, and then they can both go back to their separate lives and try to forget each other's faces. The human must realise that too, because his boiling anger seems to simmer down. August rises to his feet and slowly moves across the room to extend a helping hand. The human only grunts his curt refusal and snubs the offer, forcing himself up off the cold and unforgiving ground. 

“Spare bedroom. First floor. It’s all yours for the night. I’ll show you to it.” August nervously beckons the human over as he heads towards the basement door. The man sluggishly follows behind, keeping a distance that feels like miles. August feels distrustful eyes burning into the back of his head. He half expects to feel the scalpel pierce his spine any second.

But it doesn’t. As August leads the way upstairs, their unified steps echo strangely in the emptiness of the house. With each turn, the sheer scale of this place, his home, hits August anew. In the company of this poor stranger he’s pulled from the grime of the street, the house feels absurdly oversized. Every step reveals yet another opulent space – a bathroom, a bedroom, a study, a library, another bathroom.  August marches him through this excessive display of wealth with a sinking heart. Does he truly need all this, especially when the man trailing behind him apparently doesn’t have a penny to his name or a roof over his head?

August pauses before what is now the third bedroom door they’ve come across, this one already ajar. Inside, the air is stuffy and still, as though the room hasn’t been disturbed in decades, and it hasn’t; it is  untouched and unslept in. A sliver of moonlight creeps through the drawn curtains and slices across the four-poster bed. 

“This is yours,” he motions the human through the doorway, “for the night-” he quickly repeats. He chooses every word with due care and diligence, to reaffirm that this situation is by no means permanent.

Hesitantly, the human steps inside. His eyes flit across the ornately carved furniture and over thick layers of dust. August takes his moment to disappear down the hallway, returning minutes later with a tray holding a jug of water, a glass and a bowl of steaming chicken soup - he was lucky to find the tin of it at the very back of his cupboard. A strained smile tugs at August’s lips as he sets it down on the nightstand. 

Again, the human recoils from him, pressing himself into the corner of the room.

“I’ll go now, okay? I-I hope you can get a good night's sleep. If you need me, for anything, my bedroom is on the very end of the hall, on the left”.

“I won’t need you,” the human scoffs. “Go. Leave.”

The rebuff curdles August’s smile, his lips twitch nervously. “As you wish…” he mutters, stalking towards the door with defeat. Hand on the doorknob, he pauses, “My name is August, by the way. Could I please at least know your name, too?”

Rooted to the spot, the human squares his broad shoulders, a challenge radiating from his posture. “Names are sacred, leech,” he declares, teeth gritting together. “I plan to keep that secret for as long as I can keep my mind.”

The human’s words strike August like a physical blow. The air whooshes from his lungs, deflating him like a pricked balloon. Regret, sharp and bitter, settles in his chest. He can’t stay a second longer, not with the humiliating spark of unshed tears threatening to spill. His family is right, he’s a weak and pathetic excuse for a vampire. With a twist of the doorknob, he flees down the hall to his bedroom. He collapses onto his bed and buries his face in the pillow.

— 

For the human, however, sleep will be a stranger tonight. Any last vestige of drowsiness flees as the vampire vanishes. Sleep just isn’t in the cards. He has to hold out until dawn. He scrambles for anything he can get his hands on to barricade the door. It’s his first line of defence overnight;it will give him a fighting chance and an advantage over the creature.

The heavy dresser groans in protest as he drags it across the room to block the door, scratching and scraping the floorboards along its path. He doesn’t think twice about the damage, if the vamp gets to destroy his life, then he gets to destroy it’s property. Then the rickety chair and the desk it sits at gets pushed into the barricade. And the bedside tables, the bookcase too. Finally, his gaze falls on the bed and its sturdy oak bedposts. He pulls his scalpel from his pocket and digs his scalpel into the wood, feverishly wedging a chunk out of it with all the strength he has left. Shavings rain down as he whittles it down to a sharpened point. Slapdash, but a stake nonetheless.

Every creek of the settling house, every rustle in the wind sets the human’s teeth on edge. He crawls into the bed and slips under the blankets. He’s pleasantly surprised at how soft they are, and how the mattress feels like he’s floating on a cloud and how warmth seems to instantly envelop his fatigued body. He’s not felt this much comfort in…in, well, years.

But he can’t afford to let his weary eyes slip shut. He stays watching the door like a hawk from his bed, his staked clutched close to his beating chest.

Morning can’t come quick enough.

*!*!*!*!*

Dawn finds the human bleary-eyed but alert. His crafted weapon is still clutched tightly in his palms as he half-stares and blinks drearily at the barricaded door, as ready and poised to attack as he can be. Moonlight has dwindled and now sunlight beams through the velvet curtains instead. He leaps up, rips the curtains open and basks in the sun’s kiss. It’s something he thought he’d never feel again,

He survived the night. It’s nothing short of a miracle. A silent thank you rises in his throat as a single tear slips from his eye. Someone, he thinks, has to be watching over him. His parents, he hopes. There’s no way he would have made it through this without them.

Now the vampire just has to hold true to his promise. If his word holds any weight, the human will be back in human territory before dusk. Yet, the whole situation defies any logic. The human can’t wrap his head around the absurdity of it all. Why would a vampire snatch him, just to return him by nightfall, less than twenty four hours later? He can’t fight the feeling that a deeper motive lurks beneath the surface, a sinister plan at play. Suspicion clings to the human like cobwebs. Beyond the hospitality and kindness… the vampire has to be up to something.

The human dismantles his barricade and heads out to go downstairs. Every fibre of his being screams ‘it’s a trap!’...but the human can’t deny the smallest sliver of hope in his chest, piercing his bubble of suspicion. The vampire had kept true to its word so far, it had left him alone and untouched, fed and watered, a bed to sleep in. It hasn’t laid a hand on him nor tried to feed. In fact, it had kept far away.  Maybe the vampire deserves the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, there isn’t anything more to this than meets the eye, and there are no strings attached? 

But hope is a dangerous thing, tempting him to lower his guard and leave himself vulnerable for thirsty fangs to sink into. No, he thinks grimly, tightening his grip on the makeshift stake. He will not trust, cautious acceptance will have to do. He’s ready to fight with all he’s got when it all heads south.

He reaches the landing and sneakily peeks over the railing. The vampire stands by the front door, guarding it like a troll bridge. To stop the human from escaping? The vampire meticulously folds up his sleek, black umbrella and places it back in his stand. He looks so tall, impossibly tall, even from the human’s vantage point. The vampire is dressed in a three-piece suit and leather dress shoes that seems more suited to an office boardroom than house wear.

As the human strains for a better look, a sudden creak of the floor makes the vampire snap his head up. Chilling red eyes lock with the human’s in a way that sends a jolt of pure terror down the man’s spine. Would he be punished for this? Would the vampire strip him of his free will and send him marching down to the basement for punishment? He’s heard they can do that–and worse. All the fear sparks anew. He can’t catch his breath - he’s panicking.

But the vampire's eyes aren’t actually filled with the predatory and furious glint he expected. Instead, a swirl of emotions flickers within them - concern, sorrow,  even…anxiety? It’s a disarming sight. This creature looks nearly as worried as Lucas feels…

—

"There's been a change in plans,” August laments.

August could literally hear the human’s heart drop in his chest, like a lead weight falling into a deep well. The human’s eyes are wide with despair, and his mouth drops open as though he’s been struck across the cheek. A wave of guilt crashes over August, and he isn’t oblivious to how this looks. It looks like the betrayal and deceit the human has anticipated since he first set eyes on August.  August is well aware he just crushed the man’s hopes to dust, and confirmed every doubt and fear. But it’s out of his hands. Mother nature is a cruel mistress.

“No-” the human rasps, nearly falling down the stairs as his legs give out on him.  “No, vamp. You said you’d take me home. You said today. You promised-”

“That’s not the element that’s changed. My promises are sworn and imperishable. There is, however, a delay.”

"A ‘delay’…” The human repeats incredulously, a hint of sarcasm to his tone. His suspicion eats away at him, misplaced though it is. August is many things - a liar, he is not. But there’s no way the human could know that. Not yet, anyway. The human takes a cautious step back from August, staring him up and down with disdain. 

"A storm is raging outside. The streets are thick with snow and ice, and the skies are dark with thundering clouds. It’s too dangerous to make the drive.”

“I don’t care,” the human snidely retorts. “I’ll walk it if I have to. Just open the door for me, and I’ll be on my merry way. I’ll be out of your hair and you can have your big, lonely mansion all to yourself again.”

Yes, his lonely mansion. All to himself. The words sting more than August cares to admit. He winces like a knife is twisting in his belly. When the human goes home, he will be all alone again. It was nice…is nice…the company. Talking to someone that’s not a suffering patient or his own reflection in the mirror.  He already feels the emptiness settling over him once again. He longs for companionship, for someone to share his home with. He sighs, knowing that he'll have to wait a bit longer for his wish to come true. He can’t keep the human here–at least not indefinitely. But he will have to make the human understand that tonight is non-negotiable. 

“You can’t-” August shakes his head. The man would never make it home. Not with the minus temperatures and the blankets of snow.

“I can. I am. Move,” the human growls, his hands balled into fists. Only then does August notice the crude stake in the human’s white-kncukled hand. No, this human will never be his friend, but even still, August has a duty to him.

The human storms towards the door and tries to push it open. It doesn’t budge. He barges his shoulder into the door, desperately ramming it. Still it doesn’t give. Soon, he’s kicking and shoving and a warbled cry rockets up his throat. Despite his frantic assault, the door only cracks open slightly.

“Snow,” August chimes in, pointing to the falling white powder crumbling through the gap in the door. “We’re snowed in. Must be at least twelve inches of it, I would think.”

“No. This can’t be happening. We-We climb out the bedroom window!” The human’s eyes light up at the idea, sprinting towards the staircase in a panic.

“And then what will you do? Trek all the way back to human territory in this snowstorm? Do you know how far out we are?”

In the blink of an eye, the human tumbles to the floor in a heap, screaming into his hands, pulling at his hair. The blizzard howls like a banshee outside, a gust of snow blows in from outside. The human knows he’s stuck here. He’s trapped here, with a bloodsucker. He’s going to die. Or at least that’s what he must believe. 

“I can’t stay here. With you. I won’t do it.”

“Please,” August says. He resists the urge to move closer; there’s no point in riling the human any more than he’s already riled himself up.  “My word is my bond. I won’t harm you. But I can’t in good conscience return you to where I found you. I’m a physician. I can’t put anyone in harm’s way. To sleep rough on a night like tonight–it would be a death sentence.” 

The human laughs coldly. “Was this your plan all along? Crush my spirits? Delude me into thinking it’s my choice to stay?” 

“I don’t control the weather,” August sighs. “This doesn’t change a thing. I will still take you home as soon as the roads are clear.”

The human remains silent, his jaw clenched. With a final, hate-filled glare, he storms towards the stairs, and, like a sulking teenager, stomps upward in a whirlwind of fury. The slam of his bedroom door reverberates throughout the house.

But the human is still here. He is still safe. August hasn’t failed entirely. 

An exhausted breath escapes August’s lips. He isn’t used to this, the vulnerability of sharing his haven and bearing the weight of responsibility for another life. A knot of unease tightens in his gut. These forced close quarters may at least offer him a chance to ease the human’s fear and earn a crumb of forgiveness, but August can’t help but wonder –  will they be able to bridge the chasm between predator and prey?

This is going to be a long couple of days…

---

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[3-2-whump]

Mistaken Accusation

<prev next>

Well, let's get into it. Beginning of the end. Special thanks to my beta readers @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz ! Do mind the tags, and enjoy

This chapter does reference The Hit, so please skim that first if you are not already familiar with it

Author's Note: This is where shit gets real (more real, that is), and where the author may make some decisions that might not vibe with the readers. To those readers, all I will say is fanfiction is a thing, canon divergence is a thing, and I will honestly be more intrigued than mad if you end up scrapping this part and writing your own version! (Just lmk, like tag me or dm me so I can see?) But, um, yeah, onto the chapter!

TW/CW: description and mention of STD, prostitution whump, mock execution, gun violence (brief, but there), collared whumpee, bound and blindfolded whumpee, shock, emotional whump, fear of death, pissing oneself out of fear, emotional angst, degrading language, toxic relationship, manipulative whumper, possessive whumper, intimate whumper

As Khaled relieved himself in the office bathrooms near the end of the day, he hissed under his breath at the burning sensation coming out of him. That can’t be good, he thought. What would make it feel like he was passing acid or fire down there? He looked down at his dick, eyes widening a little as he saw how inflamed his urethra looked. Khaled let out a mortified little squeak. What’s wrong with my penis?

Should I tell Master? Telling his master that he suspected he’d caught something would only lead to probing questions about Khaled’s sex life, even though he wasn’t the one who had visited every whorehouse within the tristate area. Probing questions about his sex life would mean admitting that he was sleeping with Julio, and admitting that he was sleeping with Julio would only fuel his master’s possessive side and make things far worse for him. Khaled could imagine no situation in which he would come out unscathed if he told Thomas about it. So, he decided not to tell him.

He didn’t have to endure his secret for long though, because as soon as he came back into his master’s office, he could sense the energy had changed. 

“Is there something wrong, Boss?” Khaled asked nervously.

“I have just received information from our foot soldiers and informants that the motorcycle that my would-be assassin rode when he got away came from Alvarez Auto and Motorcycles, a known front of Juicio Divino,” Thomas gritted out.

Khaled’s jaw dropped as his mind slowly put together the pieces that he had in his hands all along. Of course, it was Julio, how could I be so blind?! he thought. Just over a year ago, Khaled himself approached the scrapyard assassin asking him to teach him how to kill, and had been crawling back to him in various states of distress ever since. Julio was one of two people on earth who knew how badly Thomas actually treated him, and, combined with his overprotective tendencies, Khaled mentally beat himself up for not suspecting his boyfriend sooner. 

His master’s stormy gray eyes narrowed at Khaled in a piercing glare as he pushed his tablet across the desk. “Incidentally, you have been visiting Alvarez Auto pretty frequently over the past year, haven’t you?”

Khaled’s stomach twisted in dread as he leaned in closer to read it. There, opened on his slave tracking app, was a map with pins of most-frequently visited locations he had been tracked to, and there was a damning bright red pin at the address of Julio’s garage. His mouth went dry as he opened and closed it in shock, trying to collect the right words to say as the opportunity to beg for mercy slipped through his fingers like sand. “I- Master, I- it’s not what you think-”

The older man disdainfully held up a hand, a nonverbal cue that he didn’t want to hear it. Khaled shrank in on himself. “How did you even pay for a hit against me, huh?” the boss asked. “I know you haven’t made that much money since I’ve started paying you! How could you afford to put out a hit?” His voice lowered to a growl. “Did you bend over for that cholo son of a bitch? Did you let him fuck you like I fuck you? Is that why you’ve got an infection –don’t deny it, Khaled, it hurt when I pissed this morning!”

The world seemed to stop as the air quickly left Khaled’s lungs. Wait, what? He was being accused of conspiring against his master, then of being a whore within the same breath? And to make matters worse, he somehow gave his owner an STD before he realized he had one himself? His breaths came out shallow as his body began trembling in fear. What does this mean for me? What’s going to happen to me? He nearly passed out as his imagination went wild with how severe his punishment would be. “Master, please, I had no idea-”

“Shut up!”

Khaled ceased his begging instantly, a nauseous wave of dread coiling in his stomach as he waited for his master to dole out his sentence. “You will never see anybody besides me again,” his master said, glowering at him in contempt as Khaled’s eyes widened in horror. He got up from his chair and circled around Khaled, with a familiar black shock collar and a length of chain in hand. “I’ll give you a chance to say your goodbyes before we leave.”

Khaled regained enough of his senses to shake his head and back away from the man approaching him. “But, Master, I didn’t-”

The world snapped to the right in a stinging blow as Thomas backhanded him. Khaled rubbed his sore cheek and winced in pain. “You’re lucky I don’t outright kill you, though I still might, if you keep whining like that!” he yelled. Khaled turned silent and sullen, still cradling his sore cheek as the collar tightened like a noose around his throat. “Now, come on, let’s make your final goodbyes count.” His master attached the chain leash to a notch in the shock collar and pulled Khaled towards the exit.

-

Khaled was pulled through the whole office and out to the guard shack like that, stopping periodically as his master made him explain what was going on and why he was leaving to everyone they met. Khaled’s voice was shaking like a leaf the first stop they made; by the time they made it to the guard shack, he was unable to utter anything intelligible past his tears. Nico’s jaw dropped as Thomas explained what had happened and why Khaled was never going to see him again.

“But, he didn’t do it, sir!” he objected, pushing himself out of his desk chair and standing up to face him. “He had no part in it! I can prove it, just listen to me!”

As much as Khaled wanted to interrogate that ‘I can prove it’ claim just a little more, Tom ignored him. He pulled the leash taut and yanked Khaled away. Khaled frantically pulled at the collar around his neck, emitting choked gasps as he stumbled along and struggled to keep up.

They ended up back at the car, where Tom unclipped his leash and pushed the button on the key fob to unlock the trunk of the car. Khaled was shoved up roughly against the side of the car as his hands were gathered behind his back and bound tightly by a soft and silky material, most likely a necktie. “Master, please, please, hear me out –I didn’t put a hit on you, I swear!” he once again tried to explain through a mess of snot and tears. “I don’t want to kill you, why would I want to kill you? Please –listen to me! I don’t want to kill you; I swear I didn’t know!” Thomas dragged him to the back of the car, where he stared down at him in cold fury. He took out a dark cloth from his pocket and unfolded it. Khaled preemptively opened his mouth to receive it, but then the man tied the cloth around his eyes to blind him. He quietly shut his mouth as the blindfold was tied tight enough to catch his hair. He heard the trunk of the car quietly whoosh open before he was picked up and shoved inside. The door of the trunk slammed shut, sealing him in an extra layer of darkness.

The ride seemed to stretch on forever as Khaled shivered in the darkness. It was still far too cold to be riding back there without anything to keep him warm. Throughout the darkness he begged, then screamed, then cried, then sniffled, knowing damn well his master couldn’t hear him.

Time seemed to work differently in the dark, cramped confines of a car trunk. Khaled was unsure of how much time had passed since he was shoved in the trunk, but he was more than concerned that they seemed to keep driving far longer than it usually took to get back to the apartments. He’s never going to forgive me, he realized as he rested his head onto the floor of the trunk. He really thinks I planned to kill him, and now he’s going to take me out into the woods and kill me, or do something so horrific it will make me wish I had died. A fresh round of tears soaked into his blindfold as Khaled whimpered pathetically. I don’t want to die, not like this.

Goddamnit, Julio, you tried to be the hero, and now I’m gonna end up dead in a ditch somewhere, Khaled cursed in his head.

The car rolling to a stop and faint click that preceded the trunk unlocking made Khaled’s heartrate speed up. A new wave of anxiety hit him much like the blast of midwinter air when the trunk was opened and he was pulled out. He didn’t feel concrete underneath his shoes, and the fresh icy chill of the air around him told him they weren’t in the parking garage. We really are in the woods somewhere, he thought, his hopes sinking like lead as his master’s hand gripped his elbow and steered him along to an unknown destination. He’s really driven me out to the woods somewhere to kill me. Khaled stumbled as his foot hit an unseen obstruction, but his master dragged him along regardless. This is it. I’m gonna die. His breaths started picking up, heart racing as that last thought worked him up into another nervous state. His owner stopped and threw him forward onto the ground. Khaled landed face first into a cold and wet patch of snow, judging on how it felt when it absorbed his impact. “Get up and kneel.” Khaled’s breaths stopped in his throat. There was no room in his master’s frigid tone for argument. He pushed himself up the best he could with his hands bound behind his back, shivering not just from the cold as he assumed a kneeling position.

A cold, metallic object pressed against the back of the young man’s skull. “If you’ve got anything to say, say it now,” his master’s voice said behind him. A wet and warm spot began to soak his pants in the front. Khaled’s mind went blank. He was so scared he nearly forgot his owner had asked for his last words. He caught his trembling lip between his teeth before shaking his head. Whatever he could say for his last words would go unheeded anyway, lost in the winter’s chill and the indifferent New England woods. He hung his head in resignation, ready for the explosive pain followed by sudden oblivion and nothingness, or whatever it was that lie ahead.

He had at least hoped he would see his father’s face before the end. But the only image his shielded eyes could conjure up before he died was a pair of sharp, steel gray eyes.

Click.

Nothing happened.

The gun lowered, and heavy footsteps crunched in the snow as his would-be executioner walked around to the front of him.

Khaled was still alive. Somehow, he was still alive. There was a light brush of hands reaching behind his head before the blindfold fell away, revealing a familiar face staring down at him with those same steel gray eyes. Khaled’s breath shimmered in the cold moonlit night. He was alive. He wasn’t going to die. He was alive.

All the fear and tension left his body like his vaporous breath in the night as he slumped forward, crying tears of relief into his master’s shoulder as he caught him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he sobbed between each breath.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s alright, it’s alright,” Thomas soothed as he reached behind Khaled to untie his hands. “I believe you for now, it’s alright.” As soon as his hands were free, Khaled wrapped them around the older man’s neck, hugging him close as he bawled into his shoulder. “I thought about it, but there is no way I can definitively prove it was you.” A muscular pair of arms wrapped around him and held him close, drawing him into the warmth. “And besides, my favorite fuck toy, plotting to kill me?” His master laughed. “No way you’re smart enough for that! I didn’t buy you for your brains, you know!”

“Yes, yes, I’m stupid, I am so fucking stupid, thank you!” Khaled cried. He nuzzled his cold wet face into Tom’s warm neck and peppered the man’s jawline with kisses, murmuring his gratitude between every kiss. He was alive, he didn’t die, and that was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

“Let’s go home,” Thomas said, hoisting Khaled onto his feet. “The takeout I bought is getting cold, and you need a change of pants.”

He led the young man through the woods back to side of the road where he had parked his car. “I was completely serious about you never seeing anybody else again, by the way,” he reminded him as he opened the passenger side door. Khaled slid gratefully inside, happy to be in the heated part of the car. “You are relieved of your duties to the organization from now on,” Tom continued as he joined him on the driver’s side, “You are demoted to domestic service. You will stay at home and keep the penthouse spotless, welcoming me to it every evening with warm food and your warmer body. You will stay in the apartment and not leave for anything unless it is with me or a trusted associate. You will never see anybody again. That’ll keep you from conspiring to kill me, or from spreading your legs for anyone else but me, and only I will decide when it’s time to bring you back out again.” He pushed the button and started up the vehicle, setting the heaters to full blast.

Khaled nodded. What did he care about being stuck at home and never seeing anybody again? He was alive, and right now, as he held his freezing fingers close to the vents, that was all that mattered.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[meaculpameahugeculpa]

Affectionate Whumper/Whumpee dynamic!

CW: implied toxic relationship, manipulation, fear of victim blaming.

Carewhumper giving Whumpee a nice dress and dancing with them; Whumpee leans on Carewhumper's shoulder, completely paralysed in fear, their body only carried by the other's movement.

Carewhumper and Whumpee eating together: Carewhumper raises his hand to get something for his meal, and Whumpee instinctively flinches: does the Carewhumper ignore it, thinking that's better to let the Whumpee alone? Or do they comfort the Whumpee, caressing them or reassuring them?

Whumpee is being abused by another Whumper, who manipulates them into thinking that if they tell Carewhumper about the abuse, they will get punished by them: Whumpee is too scared to talk, but Carewhumper figures out the situation and comforts Whumpee.

Whumpee has a post-torture panick attack, Carewhumper gives them a glass of water, gently helping them drink it!

[tss-whumper]

christmas when you're alone - i

some lovely roman christmas angst for the soul.

merry christmas eve to all who celebrate! this story is for those who love a bit of sadness during the holidays. or in this case...a LOT of sadness.

2.3k words (i plan on coming out with a part two soon that's based on a request! all you rosleep fans out there will be a big fan of it, wink wink!)

(cws -> emotional/psychological abuse, guilt-tripping, toxic parental figures. also, patton and janus are the main "whumpers" so to speak while logan, remus, and virgil are more like bystanders. this is just a very sad day for roman.)

Christmas was one of Roman's favorite holidays. Everything about it to him was nothing short of spectacular--the lights, the beautiful music, and most of all, the Christmas spirit. The giving and the wishing and the believing. Roman really, really liked the believing. After all, what was Christmas without the magic?

This year, Roman was determined to create the best Christmas yet. After a turbulent year with a lot of hurt feelings, Roman figured that a fantastic Christmas would be the best way to make everything perfect again. So he worked tirelessly on decorating the house, making sure there were elements to the decorations that everybody enjoyed. Sentimental ornaments for Patton, tasteful silver string lights for Logan, golden candlesticks for Janus, a gingerbread graveyard for Virgil, and a creepy-looking inflatable Santa for Remus. While none of it was particularly Roman's taste, it did look cool when it was all put together, like a kaleidoscope of Christmas spirit, aesthetics bumping into each other and mixing together. And besides, it didn't matter if Roman liked it. Christmas was about giving, after all! And Roman would do anything to make the others happy with him.

When the house was finished, Roman started on creating and wrapping his gifts. Being Creativity, he had the entire universe at the tips of his fingers. He could give anybody anything he wanted, as long as it fit in the mindscape. So he tried very hard to give everybody gifts that would be meaningful and sweet, and he wrapped them with gentle care. Roman wasn't particularly good at being gentle or careful, but it didn't matter what Roman was good at. All that mattered was his friends' reactions to his beautiful and thoughtful presents. He desperately wanted to see them happy, but he was also worried about what might happen if they weren't happy.

Thinking about that made Roman's stomach twist, so he distracted himself by blasting "All I Want For Christmas Is You" while taking a shower with hot-chocolate-scented sugar scrub.

---

The month zoomed by faster than anybody had anticipated, and before he knew it, Roman was waking up on Christmas morning. And everything felt perfect. He could smell cinnamon rolls being baked in the kitchen, and the cheerful chatter of his friends. Being a heavy sleeper, Roman was used to being the last one awake, so he was quick to get himself ready so the rest of the group wouldn't have to wait on him for much longer.

After putting on a red sweater, brown pants, brown socks, and a reindeer headband, Roman felt ready to go. He smiled a few times in the mirror, just to make sure that he looked perfect. Then, he walked out, joining all the noise and bustle that his friends were making seamlessly.

The cinnamon rolls were warm, the conversation was silly, and everyone seemed to be getting along. Roman just sank in his chair, taking in all the celebratory atmosphere as if it was more valuable than oxygen. Everything was going so well. It felt too good to be true.

Probably because it was.

"Roman, what took you so long?" Janus asked, "Was getting your hair and makeup perfect more important than having breakfast with us?"

His question was carelessly flung into the air with a teasing attitude. The words stung Roman like a slap.

"I don't have any makeup on," Roman replied, trying his best to keep a smile on his face, "I got ready as fast as I could. I'm sorry, I must have slept in a bit more than usual. You all weren't waiting too long for me, were you?"

Silence hung in the air like a cloud of fog, until finally, Patton spoke up.

"It's okay, buddy! We learned our lesson now. Next year, we'll just start without you! That should motivate you to get up on time."

Roman winced, his cheeks burning as Logan and Virgil chuckled, and Remus dove into another cinnamon roll. His eyes felt hot as Janus stared at him with a cruelly amused expression, his gaze practically boring into Roman.

This was going to be another hard day, wasn't it?

---

Things started to go even more downhill when presents were being opened. Roman struggled to stay still, so excited about both his gifts, and the gifts that others were receiving, that he found himself constantly squirming in his spot on the floor, surrounded by crumpled up wrapping paper and shiny new items.

"That one's from me!" Roman exclaimed eagerly as Virgil opened up a new pair of black Converse. "They're high-tops, see? And they're platform, because you said you wish you could grow taller for Christmas. Now you can! And look, there's spiderwebs on the bottoms! I painted them myself!"

"Wow..." Virgil said, putting on the shoes and walking around in them. "Cool. Thanks, Roman."

The air turned cold, and Roman started to feel very, very uncomfortable. Virgil seemed happy with his gift, but everybody else seemed upset. Roman didn't understand. Was something wrong with Virgil's shoes?

"Roman, do you- really think that was a sensitive choice?" Patton asked, "How would you feel if someone got you a gift targeting something you're insecure about?"

"Insecure about?" Roman asked, his heart leaping out of his throat, "What- what do you mean? I didn't mean to do anything wrong!"

"Stop attacking Patton and answer the question," Janus hissed, his eyes narrowing.

"I-" Roman choked, looking around the room for any semblance of support. He didn't understand. Why was this happening? He thought he'd gotten Virgil the perfect gift. He looked at his list and picked the one thing that seemed impossible. The one wish that Virgil added, but didn't expect to receive. What was so bad about that?

"Are you just going to sit there and look stupid, or are you going to apologize?"

Even Logan was doing this now?? Roman tensed up. His heart started to pound, and his hands trembled against his will. He slid them under his knees so nobody else would see how afraid he was. After all, that would probably make everyone madder.

"I'm sorry, Virgil," Roman whispered, his voice too watery to speak any louder. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong. I just wanted to get you something thoughtful."

"Thoughtful," Janus muttered under his breath with a short laugh, exchanging a glance with Patton, who quietly giggled. "Is he even capable of thought?"

"It's...whatever, Roman," Virgil said awkwardly, "They're cool shoes. Can we just move on to the next person?"

Everybody else carried on, perfectly normally, as if nothing had happened. But Roman just couldn't. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, and he repeatedly squeezed them shut and opened them, trying as hard as he could not to cry in front of all of his friends on Christmas.

When it was his turn to open a gift, Roman smiled when he saw that it was from Janus. The past gifts Janus had given were lavish and extravagant, and Roman loved things that made him feel even more like royalty. He carefully unwrapped the golden paper, and tried to mask his confusion as he held up a very, very large book. It was incredibly heavy, to the point where his muscles were straining while he tried to read the cover. And when he did, he felt like he was going to die.

A Comprehensive Guide to Manners and Etiquette.

As everyone else read the title, they started to laugh. Remus high-fived Janus, and Patton snorted, hiding his smile behind his hands.

"Look, Roman, it's extra convenient for you," Janus said, "See? It's almost as big as your ego."

This caused the rest of the group to howl with laughter, and Roman to bow his head, quickly swiping a hand over his cheek before anybody could catch a glimpse of the tear that had fallen as his heart broke on what was supposed to be the most magical day of the year.

But no matter how Roman felt about it, this was a present. He had to do the polite thing.

"Thank you, Janus," he said, cringing at how choked up he sounded.

"Aww, you're welcome, Roman," Janus cooed, "Merry Christmas."

He patted Roman on the head patronizingly, and Roman felt like he was going to suffocate. He was only able to breathe again when the attention was off him, as Patton opened his next present.

Roman tried to steady his breathing, focusing on what everyone else was receiving. He laughed at their jokes, marveled at their presents, and pretended like everything was perfect. It really wasn't much different from performing onstage. All he had to do was play a character. He just had to be the happy, indestructible Princey that everyone wanted him to be.

But that was much easier said than done. Even when Roman stopped speaking, the insults and cruel remarks continued.

"A megaphone! Better not let Roman have it."

"I love this poetry book. It's way better than all the sappy shit Roman writes."

"Roman, aren't you happy with your gift? Now when you feel like being an attention whore, you can write in this diary instead of whining to us about how the lipgloss you ordered is the wrong color."

"This is the last time we let Roman decorate. Look at how gaudy this room is. It's almost as loud as him."

It.

Didn't.

Stop.

The world was spinning. Everything was going wrong, and Roman couldn't understand why. He had tried so hard. He did everything he could to make the others happy, putting in hours to prove that he was more than the selfish, egotistical, bratty caricature that they berated him constantly for being. Maybe Roman was being stupid, thinking that things would be different today just because it was Christmas. But now, Roman was experiencing his very first Christmas in which his biggest wish didn't come true.

He just wanted a day where he wasn't being berated and teased for every move he made. If it was really that hard for the others to resist pulling their tricks and humiliating him, then maybe Roman was the problem. Maybe he had messed up too many times, and was now irredeemable. He would always be the evil twin. The stupid one. The bratty bitch who always ruined every room he walked into. The egotistical one who needed to be knocked down a peg. It wasn't fair. Couldn't they see he was trying? What more did he have to do to prove that he was more than his past mistakes? If groveling and changing everything about himself to the best of his ability wasn't enough, maybe it was time for Roman to give up. Maybe he was going to have to resign himself to being the first punching bag in history to wear a crown and a sash.

"Roman, what are you doing?"

Roman blinked as he heard Patton's voice, stopping his zoning out as he realized something dreadful. His shoulders were rising and falling sporadically against his will, and his breathing was audibly stuttered. Everybody was staring at him with wide eyes, and something salty and wet settled in the groove between his lips.

He was crying. Not just crying--sobbing. Uncontrollably.

"Oh, great, here we go again," Remus sneered, "Little Princey didn't get exactly what he wanted on Christmas."

"That's not why I'm crying!" Roman choked, "I have to go-"

Hands tightly grasped onto his shoulders, pushing Roman back down into his sitting position before he was able to get far off the ground. Janus smirked at Roman as the creative side flinched.

"You're not going anywhere," Janus said, "On a family holiday? What would Patton think?"

"Ro, I just don't understand," Patton cut in, "Why do you always have to make everything about yourself?"

"You totally just killed the vibe," Virgil added quietly.

"We were having fun before you had to go and put a damper on everything," Patton added, "You're ruining Christmas, Roman."

As Roman gazed around the room, he saw not a shred of sympathy. Not even a hint of curiosity or recognition pertaining to why he was feeling this way. Why he was choking on his own tears instead of laughing and having fun like everyone else. Nobody cared. Nobody wanted to keep Roman around except to further embarrass him.

His tears were funny to the others. To them, he was nothing but a sad clown.

"Please let me go," he begged, "Please. I'm sorry. I just need some time in my room, and then I won't do anything wrong for the rest of the day."

"Maybe you should go to your room," Logan said.

"But maybe you shouldn't come out," Janus added, "What do you think, Patton? Is it too harsh to give him a time-out on Christmas?"

"The better question is, can we trust him not to be a whiny little bitch for the rest of the day?" Remus chirped.

As the group deliberated over whether or not Roman had a right to celebrate his favorite holiday with his dearest loved ones, the prince shut down. He closed his eyes and stopped fighting for air through his gasps and sobs. What was the point? What was the use of doing anything if every day was going to be like this?

Roman didn't even push back when Janus carried him to his room, placing him on his bed and locking the door behind him with a magic seal.

How did the fun sound so much louder when Roman was far away from it?

As Roman curled up under his blankets, he let himself cry fully, knowing that nobody would be able to see him and ridicule him anymore. His sobs echoed off his walls, dissonant with the joyous laughter that taunted Roman outside his door.

He really was all alone, wasn't he?

---

taglist -> @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @amazon-me-bitches @izaachehim

(let me know if you want to be tagged in the second part!)

[whump-in-the-closet]

cw: toxic whumper, implied torture, gaslighting

Whumper who enjoys pointing out Whumpee really isn’t that different from Whumper.

Whumpee spitting out, “We are nothing alike!”

Whumper merely laughing. “You’ve destroyed lives. I’ve destroyed lives. People curse you. People curse me. Where’s the difference?”

“…I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

“Funny.” Whumper isn’t smiling anymore. “That never stopped you before. So really, who’s the monster here?”

It takes days before Whumpee admits it. Is it really admission? They don’t know and they don’t care.

They’re the monster.

[auroragehenna]

AI-less Whumptober

Day 16 - Whumperless Wednesday (Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”)

(OC) Tierney

TW/CW: DnD, whump, brief wing-whump, minor character deaths, murder, rage, enviromental whump, fantasy whump, self sacrifical/careless whumpee, angry whumpee, multiple "whumpers", multiple whumpees, medieval setting, Word count: 1'204

Not every forest in their world was a peaceful place to be. Not even for a druid.

A careful step on the grass covered path. Carefully calculated, always. With the stick she picked up Tierney prodded the front in front of her, a säule(?) of toxic gas erupted out of the flat grass, only barely missing her. They could still feel the acid bite of it on their skin from where she stood. With not even so much as a sigh they continued to follow the makeshift path through the dead grass until a group of tight-sitting holly-bushes. From there on she finally saw what she had been looking for.

A group of forest-folk, probably the closest thing to natives from here, sitting around a fire on tree trunks. And at their feet…

Tierney saw red for a moment as she made out the bound figures at the folk's feet. They looked, in pain, injured and scared. They had been tracking this particular group for a long time now but never was it possible to inercept them. Well now that fight would need to happen here. She scanned the area, it was surrounded by tight standing trees with long, cross-growing arms or open gras squares-which were even more treacherous. So either through the trees-too risky if I get stuck, I'm fucked. Or through the grass patches-very open but doable. painful. Or straight through the holly bushes-she didn't see any blood hunters. Or from above of course..But her wings were currently safely strapped away due to the forest's treacherous nature. Their black tail; testimony of their hellish side twitched nervously. She couldn't wait any longer, she had to do something! And so Tierney hushed to the nearest shadowed grass patch, drawing her bow. With silent precision the first arrow hit the on-guard into the eye, he was instantly dead. Seconds after Tierney stepped to the side and shot another, the closest to her into the throat. Now she bolted forward, setting off toxic gas geysirs into her face every few step, but she didn't care.

The folk were now in a tumult, screaming and pointing at the approaching attacker, preparing to fight.

They aimed their wooden pole they were carrying and shot it forward into the first attackers abdomen. When they doubled over they in the blink of an eye replaced the bow in their hands with daggers, slashing forward towards the woman. They needed to get to the fire! When they heard the all to familiar sound of metal gliding through air she let herself fall to the ground and roll away. Tierney's leather armor, barely protected her from the toxins and the razor-like blades of grass but it was irrelevant.

The sword hit only centimeters next to where she had just stood and was definitely meant to incapacitate, not kill. It made her even more mad. Did they mean to take her prisoner too? Well it wouldn't happen. The image of bloody white feathers flashed in front of her inner eye. Never again.

Two folk came at her, one swinging a whip and another wielding an axe. The one with the axe for one definitely screamed bloody murder. Their feet seemed to always find the safe grass patches and even if not, it didn't seem to hurt them as much as foreigners.

They took a deep breath, hostile or not this forest was still nature. And she was still one with nature. The morphed-wildshaped wolf ears on her head twitched as Tierney connected to the forest and then pulled, effectively shiting the terrain and creating hills and holes on the clearing, shifting the advantage of a known battefield to her. The axe wielder in front of them had lost balance and was struggling to keep standing. Without wasting another second and a stone-like facial expression the child between an Avariel and a Tiefling shot forward and slit his throat. But the whip wielder was still alive and re-gained his footing. Deciding that it for now was smarter to run Tierney bolted towards the campfire. At this point purely driven by adrenaline and a promise, as her skin screamed from acid and her clothing and skin was torn from grass and tree twigs. As quickly as they could they cut free the prisoners. When they came to the last one though a harsh and blinding pain exploded in their back, on their wings. Pain like...A whip. Tierney shot around and was eye-to-eye with the last remaining folk. And its whip that had previously burned across their back.

The folk had no words left for the murderer that had infiltrated their camp and killed their colleagues, their whip heavy in their hand. The two seemed wait for the other one to move first, them with whip in hand and her with bow raised. In their rage they didn't see anything but the creature ahead of them. And so they couldn't see one of their previous prisoners run into their side full force. And before their footing could be regained an arrow had already pierced their heart.

Tierney stepped forward and pulled the arrow out of the dead folk's body. There was no remorse on her face only stone. But when she turned to face the freed creature her expression finally softened. With an outstretched hand she helped the other get up again and checked for threatening injuries. That process was repeated with the others too. None of them seemed fataly injured tho, only hurt and deep in shock. Knowing that any words of affirmation would be pointless while still in the forest she collected all her arrows and lead the group safely out of the forest. When they had finally, after a long and silent hike reached the outskirts of a village again Tierney turned around. She inspected the terrified and sometimes crying faces in front of her and a deep sorrow marked her features. Sorrow at their suffering, at all suffering and the ones she couldn't save. Blood white feathers, again. "You're safe now, I'm sorry for what you went through and what you additionally had to see but it was the only way to safely get you out of their hands. They can't hurt you anymore, you're free to go, you should be safe in this village.", she explained as kindly as she was capable of.

The party scattered pretty quickly only one boy remained, slightly younger than Tierney going by pure appearance. He looked like he wanted to say something. His gaze wandering over the open cut from the whip, exposing her wings to the dozens of tiny cuts on her legs and arms, to the nasty burns everywhere on her body and face. "Thank you for saving us. But how-How are you even still alive? With everything you just-I don’t know how anybody could survive that."

They looked at the boy, shaking on his legs. "I've had worse." , "I'm used to pain." Both answers they could give, both truthful. But instead they simply said: "I wasn't gonna leave you guys there to suffer." And with that they dissapeared into the shadows of the villagek, searching for the nearest fountain to clean their weapons and wounds and a place to rest.

Taglist: @ailesswhumptober, @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt

@shattermind-8

[bilightningwhumper]

“You've only ever been a disappointment.”

Summary:

After the public post was made outing Sam, his parents corner him after dinner to talk. Potential spoiler excerpt from "Lost Voice"

Notes:

Warnings for this one: transphobia, threats of conversion therapy, physical abuse from parent to child Characters: Sam- Little Mermaid Raelene- Huntsman Crystal- Beauty Hannah (mentioned)- Prince's fiance/bride Marianne (mentioned)- Maid Marian

[scratchandplaster]

FEBUWHUMP 2023 DAY 4 - Knife to throat

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

CW: blood, torture, knifes (obviously), restraints, possessive Whumper

"Come on, let it all out," Hero hissed weakly. "It won't get you very far anyway."

His limbs long stopped writhing against the restraints, pulling him up securely towards the ceiling. Thin rivers of crimson streamed all over his exposed torso, sticky droplets of blood falling onto the basement floor with a steady drip.

Villain let their dagger stroke the crook of the shaking prisoner's neck in an eager fashion; the blade reflecting the fluorescent lights above.

"One last time: Where is Civilian?" The eerie calm in their voice did nothing to hide the hot anger crawling up their throat.

Hero let a clump of spit fly down, white-red foam now laying in front of Villain, and tried to let his breath calm down. He had to fight back and buy his teammates any second they could get, so the unsuspecting object of possessive affection would have at least a chance to get to safety. Far away from the city Hero and Villain fought over for what felt like years now, the chances of Civilian ending up like this: littered with cuts, bleeding, hanging in chains, would hopefully drop to zero.

"They clearly don't fancy you, and I certainly don't blame ´em for that. Just get over it and save us all from this petty farce!"

Exhaustion slowly crept its way further into Hero's muscles, letting the whole frame of the city's beloved savior quiver in the cold.

"First a thief and now a liar? We both know where Civilian belongs, and that's surely not with your group of underqualified freaks in spandex suits.", Villain pressed out between clenched teeth.

How cute they could be, Hero thought, disregarding their toxic possessiveness and taste for violence, of course.

"Trust that I will be thorough with you. When I am done, your team will beg me to take Civilian instead."

The blade started to press into the soft underside of Hero's jaw and dragged towards his chin, leaving a precise raw line behind, which send burning stabs of pain throughout his body. A barely suppressed whimper forced itself out of Hero's mouth, letting his breath quicken to an alarming pace once again.

"If they are even able to recognize you at that point."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍[Febuwhump 2023 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 22 @ailesswhumptober - prompt: Forced to hurt somebody else

On some days Charlie hates her role

CW: non-con drugging, inuury, reluctant whumper, dehumanisation, toxic environment, moral conflict, medical setting.

AiLessWhumptober List Complex 27

Charlie’s hands trembled as she examined the wounds scattered across Asset 84’s battered body. Under the unforgiving glare of the med wing's fluorescent lights, his pale, sweat-slicked skin took on an eerie sheen. His grey eyes—normally stoic, unreadable—now flickered with pain and something else, something buried beneath the surface, just out of reach.

“Hold still,” she ordered, her voice cold, brittle, clinging to the authority she had to maintain.

84 didn’t move. He never did. Even now, after his body had been torn apart by jagged metal, he refused to flinch. Refused to show weakness. But Charlie saw the tightness in his jaw, the subtle way his muscles spasmed under her hands. He was hurting—more than he would ever admit. And yet, she couldn’t acknowledge it. Not here. Not in Complex 27, where vulnerability was a death sentence.

Sometimes, in fleeting moments, she wondered what it would be like to know the assets’ names. To call them by something other than numbers. To see them as more than disposable tools. But what good would that do? There was no place for connection in this place. No room for compassion when every decision was calculated, every action rooted in survival.

“84 needs to be operational by morning.”

Colonel Carter’s voice echoed in her mind, her order cutting through the haze of doubt. They didn’t care that it had been less than a week since 84 was dragged into the med wing, barely clinging to life. They didn't care that the wounds were only just starting to heal, that he was still heald together by thread. They didn’t care that the rumors whispered he’d thrown himself over another asset, shielding them with his own body. All that mattered was the fact that he was still breathing. And if he was breathing, he had to be useful.

She dragged her eyes away from the fresh sutures lining 84’s torso, the patches of bruised flesh that hadn’t even begun to fade. Instead focing on the tray besiders her, laid out with the instruments of her trade: scalpels, sutures, bandages, and vials of drugs designed to force bodies back into action regardless of their condition. Each tool was a reminder of her role, of the cold efficiency she was expected to maintain.

“Sorry,” she muttered under her breath, a word she hoped 84 wouldn’t catch. Apologies were a luxury they couldn’t afford, a crack in the armor she had built to survive in this place. She drew up a dose of stimulant, the clear liquid glinting under the harsh light.

One sharp jab, and 84 would be functional. Not healed—never healed, not really—but functional enough to follow orders. To stand, to fight, to kill. That was all they needed from him. It’s what the Facility always needed.

It didn't matter that the drugs would rip through his system, pushing his body far past its limits. That the pain would be unbearable—worse than the physical trauma, worse than the jagged metal that had torn him apart. And when it wore off, he’d be even more broken. Likely to fall apart in the field.

That he would potentially even die.

84’s eyes followed her movements, their grey depths reflecting a weary resignation. He knew what was coming.

She swabbed a spot on his arm, the skin there already marred by countless injections. Her hand hovered for a moment, wavering, wishing for an alternative. The silence stretched too long, her hesitation too obvious. And in that moment, Charlie felt his eyes on her—not just passive, like usual, but watching, really watching. Maybe he saw the hesitation. Maybe he saw the conflict that she worked so hard to bury.

“Just do it.” His voice was hoarse, but steady.

Charlie took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the syringe. 84’s steady gaze unnerved her, it was intense, probing. As if he could somehow see into her soul. She looked away, staring at the trey.

There was no escape from this reality—no choice but to follow the orders that kept her alive.

She knew it.

He knew it.

With a shaky hand, Charlie pressed the needle against 84’s skin, the sharp tip piercing through the fragile barrier of flesh. She fought the urge to pull back, to stop, to find some other way to heal him that wouldn’t feel like a betrayal. But the Facility didn’t allow for such luxuries. In this world, compassion was a weakness, and weakness had no place in Complex 27.

As the stimulant surged into his bloodstream, Charlie felt a pang of guilt rip through her. She watched as 84’s body reacted—a fleeting moment of tension as the drug coursed through him. His muscles twitched, then relaxed, and for a brief second, she thought he might grimace. But he remained stoic, the embodiment of the soldier he had been trained to be.

“Functional,” she whispered, almost to herself. “Just functional.”

The words hung heavy in the air, a bitter reminder of what they were all reduced to: tools to be used, mended, and discarded. No names, no identities—only numbers and ranks, each asset stripped of their humanity to serve the whims of the Facility.

This was their lives: a cycle of compliance, pain, and forced efficiency. She had a job to do, a role to fulfill, it didn't matter that she hated it.