#does this count as carewhump

[justalittletoocorrupted]

Secret Santa prompt!

Merry Christmas you guys!! I know I've been gone a while but I had taken a part in a discord writing secret Santa! My person was @onlywhump so I really hope you enjoy!!

Lots To Do

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The day had started so well… 

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It was a bright day out. The sun was shining, the people in the city were happy… and the hero was on their way to a meeting with their boss, superhero! Well… maybe less of a meeting and more of an evaluation. The week prior the hero had brought to light a gruesome story of a civilian that had been kidnapped by a villain the world had now deemed “the metal welder” for their horrific crime of turning the once loved civilian into a robotic structure that was once remnant of a person. Although the hero was able to save the civilian, they had found that the villain had made a quick escape before they or their team could catch them. Hero had been well thanked for their hard work towards discovering, locating, and saving the victim involved… though they had hoped to have gotten the thanks for catching the villain too. But the most important part was getting the victim! That the hero did leaving them *something* to be proud of.

But.. maybe if they were a little quicker, then they wouldn’t have gotten here….

Everything had gone by so fast. One moment the hero was rummaging through their bag to find their keys to get inside the building, then the next they were on the ground. There were dark stars invading their vision from all over that continued to grow until they could see nothing at all! The worst part was they couldn’t even see who it was that had caused this…

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By the time the poor hero woke up something was different. Very different. However there was little time given to figure out what it was that had changed before a voice from somewhere behind them spoke up. 

“Sleep well?”

Hero sat up quickly, a panic rushing through their mind as they scrambled to find who it was behind them. Strangely enough.. their head was able to turn far enough to meet the eyes of their kidnapper. Could their neck go that far before?

“Ah, I see you’re using your new perks already..” The stranger grinned.

“Perks?? What do y–” Wait.. was that villain??! The hero gasped, “[Villain]! What the fuck did you do?!?” they hissed.

“What did I do..?” Villain tsked, “Oh [Hero]… what did you do? You were the one that took my beloved experiment..” they sighed, “So I had to get a new one..”

A new one? What on earth did the villain mean?? The hero looked down at their legs so they could push themself off the table only for the shine of metal to catch its attention. 

Metal. Oh god, their legs were metal…… And…. If their legs were metal.. Then that means—

Oh god.

The hero looked back up to the villain who had the biggest smile they had ever seen a villain wear.

“Stand.” the villain directed, “Stand, my beautiful creation.” they repeated.

The hero’s gaze drifted to locked on their own legs again. Their chest heaving as they tried to process what it was that was going on, but absent mindedly they found themselves pushing their heavy body off the table to stand. 

“Feel anything?” The villain asked, cocking a brow. What did they mean by "feel anything”?? Of course they didn’t!! They’re a freaking ROBOT! Not even a cyborg, no, because from what the hero could see *nothing* on them was organic! Everything was metal! Cold metal!

The hero didn’t answer, and it seemed that the villain didn’t need one to continue. “I spent hours, maybe even a full day on you, my precious..” they added, taking a few steps closer to the still in shock hero. “You’re my best outcome yet..” 

The best?? Maybe the worst! The hero found themself unable to find the smallest word or sound to express their feeling that wasn’t the newfound urge to cry and fall to their now metal knees. What would superhero think? What would their friends think? Their family? Their coworkers? Would they even recognize them?? Depending on such answers, the hero worried that perhaps it would be time to simply give up. 

“Oh, [Hero]~” The villain's grading voice forced itself into the hero's ears after their spiraling, “You may want to listen before I begin testing..” 

Testing. 

The hero couldn’t process any of the villains words aside from testing. 

And that was the hero’s final straw. 

So with a sudden burst in motion the hero began bolting it to the first door their eyes had landed on. The metal clanks of the hero’s replaced feet could be heard loud and clear, yet the villain didn’t seem worried at all. 

“So be it..” 

Suddenly the hero felt something jam itself into their back. Whatever it was, it pulled the hero back at such a force their back slammed into the wall and left them collapsed on the floor groaning in pain. 

Wait.

Pain??

“Yes!” The villain cheered, “Oh, my darling… you DO feel!” The villain gasped, taking no time as they practically skipped their way over to the crumbled hero. When they knelt down, the villain was gentle to brush the hair, or what replaced the hero’s old organic hair, out of their face. 

On the other hand, the hero found themselves confused and in tears. “Wh– what did you do to me, [Villain]?!?!” they babbled out through what they assumed to be their tears. What part of them was organic? Was this all some illusion? Was the hero even human anymore?

No. 

Clearly not.

“Can’t you see, [Hero]?” the villain asked, “I just fixed you, that’s what! Do you have any idea as to how special you are now? How special you are to me? Why, you’re a miracle!!” they nearly cried, the criminals hands reaching up and cupping the mechs cheeks. 

“We need to do more tests..” they rambled, glancing around them before their eyes landed on what looked to be a glass bottle. The hero cried in reprimand, squirming as their hand grabbed onto the villain's arm and squeezed. They knew it usually wouldn’t do much, but they were hoping desperately that their newfound body would be strong enough to stun the villain. That attempt appeared to be in vain as it didn’t stop the villain from slamming the glass onto the hero’s head. If they could bleed they surely would’ve. The hero screamed in pain, confusion, grief, sadness, just about any overwhelming thought going on in their mind began to bubble up and out of their throat every time a new sting of pain flourished throughout their body. Maybe it was an excuse to express themselves, but perhaps this is too far from being considered an “excuse” when the hero was transformed into something they never once mentioned any possible form of consent to. If anything they expressed nothing but disgust!

The villain on the other hand was laughing. They were fucking laughing. They laughed and smiled and hummed as they battered the robotic hero every which way that wouldn’t compromise themselves. The grin on their face and their reddened cheeks were sickening, and yet the hero did nothing to pry themselves from the others arms. Despite the pain they were subjecting the hero to.. They were the only one offering comfort, too. That was the one thing the hero felt they needed most right now.. 

“Oh, if you weren’t metal I’d be doing much worse..” the villain said with a tone of voice that made the hero want to scream. Their head laying atop the others below them, “Perhaps I give you a minute while I set things up, hm?... We have lots to do, my darling. Lots to do.”

[oatmealdaydreams]

Birthday Boy

I moved my other story from my inactive blog (@/sasi-whump) to here. Nothing new, sorry.

Description: birthdays are meant to be celebrated, but Virgil doesn't have much to celebrate.

Warning: unreality, implied imprisonment, manipulation, food, implied/referenced memory loss, implied possessive character

Extra: Happy Birthday, Virgil! Hope this is the right amount of whump for our favourite emo.

[Masterlist] | ao3 link

A birthday is meant to celebrate another year of life, of living, of surviving through another chapter of your life.

To Virgil, however, it's nothing but a reminder of everything he wants to forget.

He's not even sure if it's really his birthday. It's December, yes, but... is it the nineteenth? Has it passed? Is it before? He's not entirely sure.

There's no calendar in his room, if you can call it that. It's a room, but it doesn't feel like his. It's all blank and foggy and grey. There's a bed, frame and mattress. Pillows, blankets, a closet full of clothes, and there's even a vanity. There's no windows, though. Just a small vent so close to the ceiling that he can't even reach it. It brings in the fresh air, so maybe he should be grateful for it. Be grateful.

There's a door, but... well, he hasn't figured out how to unlock it yet.

He has a bathroom, too. It's small, but it has everything he needs. A toilet, a sink, a bathtub and a shower head. It's nice. It's not like he doesn't have what he needs. He's not being deprived of anything. It's so dumb, being locked away in this room. But he gets fed! Food comes at the same time- or what he thinks is the same time- everyday, and it's good food. It's not bread scarps; it's actual meals with fruit and protein. He gets water. He's not malnourished, not really.

He's not even chained to the walls or anything. He just can't... leave. He wants to leave. But that's the thing, isn't it? Why would anyone want to leave such a nice place, keeping him safe and fed and taken care of? What's so wrong with Virgil that he'd want to leave?

So greedy.

A knock on his door breaks him from his thoughts.

"Oh, little V! Guess whose birthday it is?"

Virgil freezes in his spot on his bed as the voice echoes into the room.

"It's yours! You know what that means, don't you? Of course, you do. Some birthday fun! Want to know what kind of birthday fun?"

Go away, go away, go away, go away, go away-

"Aw, why so quiet? You know, you never really talk, not anymore. I miss our banter! What happened, little V, finally learning not to be so rude and greedy?"

Virgil stays stuck on his bed, silent as fear gets lodged in his throat.

"Well, if you finally learn your lesson like I've been teaching, maybe I'll let you out for a treat! I'll even make birthday cake. Sounds nice, right?"

Virgil swallows a whimper at the sound of being let out. He wants that. He wants to see outside of this fucking room, to see something not-grey. To be let out, even for a minute, a second would be so refreshing. He wants that; he needs that. Good god, he's wanted that for so long. He just wants out.

"Hmm... why not, little V? It is your birthday, after all. Make sure you're decent in about five minutes, and we'll have all sorts of fun. I already have some surprises for you."

Virgil waits until he can hear them walk away, their footsteps fading as they leave the door. He lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, his shoulders slumping slightly.

He doesn't like surprises. Surprises usually entail some... questionable things. They always have fun, but he doesn't. If he says he doesn't, it just gets worse. But then they expect him to communicate and tell them things, and- and... it's best to avoid surprises if he can.

But he wants out, so badly, and that means facing surprises. He hates not knowing what it'll be, but it's not like he's been let out before. He doesn't even remember if there is a 'before'. Before he was in this room, before he could only talk through a locked door, before he learned to stop talking, before all he knew was his own face and... and... was there a 'before'? Hasn't it always been like this? Does he know any different? Would he know? Would he?

He really wants out, and this may be his only chance.

He gets dressed, out of his soft pajamas, and sits on the edge of his bed. His leg bounces impatiently, both excited to see outside his room and afraid for what the surprises could be. He wears his signature hoodie, purple patches and all. His eye shadow is a little rushed, but he didn't want to risk being late and missing his chance. He remains tense as he waits, hands clenched in his hoodie pocket.

Footsteps come to the door. The jingling of keys. The sound of a lock turning, softly unlocking. A small, warm chuckle as the door slowly creaks out, spreading bright light from outside. Virgil has to squint his eyes for a moment, not used to that bright of a light. He has a working light, yes, but it's noticeably dimmer than the one shining from outside. Well, noticeable now that Virgil finally sees it.

Virgil forces himself to still his leg and stay put as the door opens all the way. He finally sees a glimpse of not-grey walls from behind his Keeper. He finally sees his Keeper, their actual appearance. They're just a tad shorter than him, not by much, and seem... warm? For some reason, they radiate warmth. Maybe it's just Virgil, but that's the only thing he can describe them as. What else would they be? They take care of him. They do take care of him... right?

"Already ready and waiting, hm? You seem to be doing well today, little V. Maybe today will be a good birthday after all!"

His Keeper's voice is almost modulated, but Virgil hears it as a sweet and caring tone. As if it's genuine, heart-felt and true.

What else could they be other than caring? They've always taken care of me. I was the problem, and they just wanted me to be better. I have to learn. I always have to learn.

"C'mon! Follow me out to your first surprise. This'll be so fun," Keeper chuckles lightly as they gesture for Virgil to come along.

Virgil silently stands and does as bid. He trembles slightly as he walks out into the brighter area. His eyes adjust as his mind wanders off, thinking what the first surprise could be. Something tolerable, hopefully. He knows the kind that aren't very tolerable, and he hopes none of them happen today.

He hides his hands in his pocket as his Keeper leads him out to a... a gathering room? Wait no- oh, a living room. It's just a living room. When was the last time he saw one of these? Has he ever seen one before? He can't recall.

There's a couch, a love seat, and a coffee table that separates them from the tv. It's all decorated in a simple, monochromatic style. Some sort of theme about feathers and the colour blue. It looks pretty, to say the least. There are a few gold accents here and there. It's... nice. It's all very nice.

Looks cozy, is all Virgil can spare to think about the decor.

Keeper sits on the couch, beckoning for Virgil to sit next to them. he hesitates, but he thinks it best to obey over not as Keeper raises an eyebrow. A pleased smile grows on their face as their 'ward' sits next to them. They grab something from under the coffee table- a small box, wrapped in coloured paper- and shows the anxious birthday boy. It's small, covered in a darker purple paper and tied together with a goldish ribbon. It's a birthday present. Virgil's eyes light up at the sight of a possible reward. That's what he hopes it is, anyway.

The goldish yellow ribbon looks... familiar. The yellow reminds him of something, someone, but he's sure who or what would be. He tries to think and reaches for a memory, but- well, he can't remember. All he can think of is snake scales before Keeper catches his attention.

They pass the present to Virgil, and he grabs it with shaking hands. He sets in his lap as he looks at it longer, such a pretty little box. Keeper just watches them, noticing his hands. They hum, making a mental note.

Why so shaky? Do you not like your surprise? Am I really that bad of a caretaker to you? Don't be selfish, child. I give you everything. I take care of you, Keeper refrains from questioning him for now. They can always do it later, if the little shakes persist.

"Open it," they say instead.

Virgil smooths the paper over, feeling for the folds. He neatly unwraps it, not wanting to make a mess and upset his Keeper. The paper reveals a generic shoebox. He lifts the lid, and he gasps at the object inside. It's small, like the shoebox. It's a black keychain. Instead of a key attached to the end of it, there's some sort of charm connected by a short and dark chain. It's made out of wood, hand-painted with the words 'for good kids' etched on the back it. It's shaped like a spider, different hues of purple decorating it. Its eyes are yellow, and there's an hourglass shape painted on its abdomen. It's almost like a fully-purple black widow spider; it's one of Virgil's favourite spiders. He can't remember why, though. Black widows remind him of something else. Another person, maybe? He tries to think, but he can find is a vague memory of green. He shakes the thought away as he turns to Keeper.

"Do you like it, little V?"

Virgil nods, still holding the personalized keychain in one hand.

"I'm glad! Maybe once you've learned how to be good entirely, you can add a key to it. It's why I keep you in your room, you know. Once you can be better, then you won't have to be in there all the time."

Virgil's breathing nearly stops for a moment.

I could have a key for my room? Really? I could- I... omg.

The pure look of hope almost makes Keeper snicker again. He's not there yet. He's not good enough, not better enough, not pliant enough. Not yet. But with my help, he'll get there. He'll get better.

"Oh, but who would want to leave that nice room? You get everything you could ever want, don't you?"

Virgil falters a little. He does get a lot. He's not deprived of anything he needs to live, to survive. Don't get greedy. They hate when you're greedy. He just nods.

"Use your words, child."

His throat feels dry. It shouldn't. He knows to use words and speak. It's fine. This isn't something new. He just... doesn't speak as often anymore.

"I- I do," he stumbles, his voice sounding hoarse.

"Mm. Are you alright, child? You don't sound too good. I would hate to have your birthday surprises end so soon. We haven't even had cake yet."

"No- no, I'm okay. Jus' a little... thirsty."

Keeper raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

"Thank you for the key- keychain."

Keeper smiles a careful smile, appearing sweet as they always do.

"No problem, little V. You seem to be doing so good. Maybe you'll find more presents around? But before that, I think we should dig into dinner and have some cake. It's about dinner time, anyway."

Virgil's chest feels warm at the praise. He's doing good. He hasn't make his Keeper upset so far. That's good. Maybe his birthday will be good.

"C'mon, then. I'll show you the dining room and the kitchen."

Virgil stands without thinking about it, following Keeper blindly. He clenches his spider keychain in his hand, hiding it in his pocket as he rests his hands in there again. The wrapping paper ends up shut away in the shoebox, of which sits on the coffee table to be trashed later.

Maybe I'll finally be good enough today.

Oh, how wrong Virgil's hopes are. Unknown to him, Keeper intends on keeping their ward 'safe' and locked away in his room for as long as they possibly can. A new reward, that's all today is. Just another incentive for their ward to listen and become pliant with them. They'll never truly let Virgil go.

And later that day, Virgil learns just how exactly possessive Keeper can get.

He learns he still is too greedy, and all he wants then is to forget his birthday ever happened.

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

He dreams of revenge pt 2.

Marci

word count: 2.6K

pt. 1.

masterlist

TW: drug addiction, withdrawal, guns, gunshot, minor and major character death, implied kidnapping, implied captivity, implied violence, implied abuse, bruises, really messed up states of mind, a creepy carewhumper, suggestive stuff again (nothing nsfw but yk it's there), trans whumpee (lmk if i missed anything)

She drew it out as long as she could. She even thought about powering through the withdrawal, just so the substances will hit better, when she does have the money to buy again, but the tremors and nausea got so bad caved in, and texted Cody.

Cody was probably short for codeine, Marci figured after a while, though she'd never taken it, her knowledge on pharmaceuticals just increased with time. This time she didn't have the money or the urge to experiment some more, she needed something and she needed it fast. Cody replied within the minute and Marci was on her way.

It was sort of chilly outside on the street, but she felt like the temperatures had dropped below the freezing point. She was shivering really bad as if she was being electrocuted with every step she took.

"It's going to be alright. You're going to be just fine. You just need to walk straight. Come on two more blocks!" she muttered and mumbled to herself, repeating some sentences, sometimes missing words. It didn't do much to soothe the nerves.

"Cody's gonna help you. It's alright. You just need to get there. It's fine." The people on the street, left her alone thankfully, they might have thought she was crazy, or figured out exactly what she was doing. She had learned to ignore the weird looks and pitying gazes a long time ago, and the shame that used to eat her alive now ebbed away, only a distant echo of it remained somewhere in the back of her mind.

The feeling of bitter failure, though, was still very much present. She wasn't detective Dallon Burke, with a shiny office at some distinguished police precinct and a law degree in progress, she wasn't the child their parents bragged about, at least not for a long time now. She was just Marci, with a retail job she could barely hold and twenty eight years of experience in being Dallon's twin.

Everything wasn't at a loss yet, she had not borrowed money from Dallon yet. She muttered about him too, before she got to the agreed upon alleyway.

"I would never. I swear on my life, I would not ask for anything. Not of you, not of mom and dad. Let me just have this." Some of the words never reached her mouth. She didn't care about the onlookers, as she cried out "I'm not a thief, Dallon!"

She fought invisible shadows cornering her in her own head.

"It's just that, I'm coming off it" she tried to explain, to no one in particular "I took something pretty heavy, it was mixed with H, I think. I can't be too sure. It's been days though, it all left. I don't feel it anymore... or at least, I don't think so."

She felt scattered. She checked her phone every second, while walking the last few yards, just to make sure she was at the right place. It had happened more often these days that she got lost.

She had explained it to Cody before, in a long ramble of apologies, there was a vacuum inside her head and she sometimes couldn't fight being pulled inside.

Cody frowned, with an unrecognizable, concerned expression, and told her to take care of herself. He also added that she would not get anything experimental for the time being.

She turned the corner into the alleyway, and noticed just a step too late to be able to turn and walk away, what was happening in front of her.

Cody sat on the ground, right by a dumpster. There was a huge, dark puddle around him, his clothes soaked, they were all black as was the pavement under them, but she was sure it all would have been painted bright red. His hands disappeared in his clothes and he hunched over, presumably clutching his stomach. She didn't hear it, but it was pretty clear he was crying.

There was a man standing above him, speaking with an even, calm tone. She took a step closer, couldn't help herself, she was like the moths that flew to the street lamps at night.

If she goes unnoticed long enough, she might be able to snatch off something from Cody's body.

The man turned around. The movements were impossibly fast for her brain to process, but there was a gun pointed in her face.

"You shouldn't have fucking seen that" he groaned, exasperated, like a child whose hiding place was discovered too quickly in a game of hide and seek. She must have kept on muttering, to draw his attention away from the dying man on the ground.

"You said there was no one coming here today. Were you trying to get the cops called on me?" Marci blinked, confused before she realized he was still talking to Cody.

Of course he was. How would this stranger know about Dallon?

"I thought maybe, after we had a little chat, I'd call an ambulance or something" he shrugged, and turned the weapon back towards the drug dealer. "I realize now, they won't be able to help"

He pulled the trigger, Marci watched with a grim fascination as the gun went off, and Cody's body fell to the ground.

It wasn't as loud as she imagined it, but loud enough for her to startle and lose her balance. She found herself sitting on the ground, a distant and dull pain registering only minutes later in her head.

"And how would I know about who?" the man turned back towards her and raised his brows. The gun was pointing to the ground, but she was sure that could change at any moment.

"I- I- I don't know" she stammered, gaze flickering between his face and the weapon. He wore glasses, with a thick black square frame. It fit his sharp features well.

"I mean, you said it, do you know any cops?" he questioned. She shook her head. The movement revived the horrible nausea gnawing itself through her body and sent a fresh wave of tremors down her arms. She lied, Dallon was a cop. But she didn't speak to him, and didn't ask for money.

"Fuck, you're totally out of it, aren't you?" he sighed "I don't know who the fuck Dallon is, you do get that right?" when she gave no response, he leaned over her and flicked the middle of her forehead with his free hand" No thoughts in there, huh?"

"I- I'm- no. I j-just needed Cody, he'd help" She looked back at him, only to realise the dealer was still lying in the very same spot as before. Cody died, Marci was pretty sure now.

"Okay, alright, I can't leave any witnesses, so" he sighed and looked around. The alley was completely empty, even the road it opened from was entirely quiet "you have two options" he held up two fingers, and Marci followed the movement.

"One, you join him there" he gestured towards the body with the gun. Her eyes tracked the wave of his hand now, but he didn't see any sign of recognition on her face. "Two, you come with me"

The weapon was back in her face. Marci stared down the barrel. The first option was bad, she realized that much.

"Will you, uhm, would you help me, I n-need, I need some, uhm..." If the man knew Cody he must have had something. Or maybe Cody didn't give him anything and that's why... He didn't look the part though, he was well dressed, confident and steady, unlike her.

"Option two, then?" He looked to be in complete disbelief, and slightly lowered the gun.

"If you, uhm, if you can help me" he mumbled.

"I can, but then you need to listen to everything I say very carefully, and follow orders" His voice was deep, and it dropped even lower with the last few words. Marci nodded.

"Let's go, then" He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up from the ground.

...

Wesley was fuming. They left him simply no time to get his things in order before he had to run.

So he had to resort to the most dangerous and unpleasant way to go about it. He had give up on Marcelline, so they had no leverage against him.

"Tell me you understand" he commanded her for the millionth time, hiding his frustration behind some weird patronizing worry.

"I understand" Marci nodded, but her face was empty. As time went on since he took her in, she started becoming more an more animated, at times they could even have conversations lasting up to an hour. All that progress was gone in a minute as he explained the plan.

"Tell me, then, what are you doing now?" He prayed at least half of what he had just said registered in her brain.

"I'm running away, and I let them find me and I don't- I don't, I can't tell them anything"

"That's right, we'll let them save you" he nodded, encouraging her to go on. Marci stayed quiet.

"I'll come back for you when it's safe again, okay?" he smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I don't want to leave" she looked up at him with such sadness in her eyes it almost made him reconsider. He had to save himself first "Please, take me with you"

"We've been over this, doll, I can't. If I do, and they find us, I'll go to prison and you'll be alone for real" he explained again. They'd been over this just a couple of minutes ago. Wesley worried that all that progress of the past year was just a product of his overactive imagination.

"I don't want you to go to jail"

"Me neither, believe me," he sighed, and pressed a kiss on her forehead "and I won't, okay? Just be a good girl and wait for me"

"Okay..." Marci gave up "And how about my- uhm, my medicine?"

"Your actual meds or your drugs?" he raised an eyebrow. He already had an answer to his question, and before she could even open her mouth he pulled an orange prescription bottle out of his pocket. Of course, the contents were different than what was on the label. "There's enough in there for three weeks, that gives me more than enough time to get you back safely" Marci could barely take her eyes off it.

"And the other medicine...?" she asked shyly.

"I'm sure they're prepared for that, doll, don't worry your pretty head" Marci bit lower lip as if to stop herself from saying something.

"Do you remember everything?" he asked again. One last time, just to make sure.

"Yes, Wesley" she nodded. Wesley could practically see the gears turning in her head as she went over the plan. She basically didn't need to do anything, just sit on her pretty ass and wait for him.

...

The image of Marci sitting on a wobbly chair of the police station was forever burnt into Dallon's mind.

She looked like a bad replica of herself. Her hair was flat and unwashed, slightly darker brown than his own sun bleached strands, she was wearing a torn-up shirt that once was white and a pair of dark green shorts. Her skin was a bit dirty, they said she ran into a field when she noticed Dallon's squad, and had to be tackled into the ground for them to actually be able to bring her back. There were bruises, some Dallon was sure she got during the Chase, but some were older, still healing.

The ones that caught his eye the most were forming a greenish blue-ish ring around her throat. That one was enough reason for him to delay facing her; he ran into the nearest bathroom to give way to everything he'd eaten that day to come back. He stayed over the toilet heaving, even after there was nothing coming up, and only then could he collect himself.

Unfortunately, her image stayed with him.

She was quiet, as she'd always been, but it felt different. And Dallon felt if no one else, he'd know the difference.

Days had gone by like that, Marci fought them tooth and nail over everything, but didn't talk to anyone. Being given new clothes she broke down and hugged herself tightly, as if they'd threatened to take her skin off her.

Dallon gave up on that. The clothes, though she'd never have worn anything remotely similar simple garments, seemed to be some sort of comfort items to her.

He spent every waking moment by her side, and by the end of the first week he was overcome by utter hopelessness.

He found the drugs hidden in the bathroom medicine cabinet, sure the label was in her name, but it wasn't one of the bottles he got her with all sort of supplements, and it very obviously didn't look like her estrogen pills.

Dallon took the bottle and sent it to the lab with an anxious knot in his stomach, he had a bad feeling he already knew what kind of pills were there.

When she found the bottle was missing she locked herself into her room. They were in a safe house, waiting for a verdict on Wesley Shaw and whether or not he was involved. Of course he was, it was clear as day, but it was up to a very easily bribed jury and judge.

...

Dallon came to in an unfamiliar room, bound by the wrists and ankles, sitting in the corner. He felt his gut twist into a knot as he looked down to see not his blue and black event attire, but a white shirt with dark green pants. Similar to- no, the same ones Marci wore after they'd freed her.

There was a bed, with two cabinets and a chest of drawers in the otherwise sparsely decorated room.

He contemplated screaming for help, but quickly thought better of it. The more time he had Wesley unaware of him being awake, the more he could plan his escape.

He couldn't wriggle free of his bounds, the rope was tied expertly, it held steady with barely any room for movement, but it still didn't cut off circulation in his hands.

"It's actually eerie how much you two looked alike" Dallon froze, when Wesley appeared in the doorway.

We're identical twins you fucking idiot. He wanted to say, but could only get some garbled noise through the gag in his mouth. Wesley just shrugged. He didn't care to understand.

"I wonder what it would be like, if my mirror image killed me" he walked closer at a leisurely pace. Dallon thrashed and screamed through the gag. He tried to kick on his captor's direction, but all that did was leave him in an even more uncomfortable and vulnerable position.

"How did you even convince yourself I killed her?" he cocked his head to the side with genuine curiosity mixed with the venomous accusation.

Dallon didn't want to listen. As if he hadn't thought of that before. As if he hadn't spent countless nights wondering if it was his fault somehow.

All he wanted was to get her to safety and freedom. Provide her with a new life, a clean one, not tainted by Wesley Shaw and his 'alleged' drug ring. He was supposed to be the one uncovering the truth, with the triumph of bringing him down and making him pay for Marci. He seemed to be aware of it as well.

"What? Did I ruin your little saviour fantasy?" he fake pouted "I'll feel sorry when I have some freetime"

"You should never have hidden her away from me, but that's the smaller problem. You forced her into a withdrawal with no mental preparation or plan to help her through. You killed her, Dallon, not me."

"And now I'm going to make you pay for it"

[smolghostbot]

The Night Out

Because this stupid vampire refuses to leave my brain, here's another story about Nix, my beloved morally-gray genderfluid bastard vampire

(Note for the regular readers, this is not a g/t story! It's firmly a normal whump story. If you want a sizey story with Nix, check out Unlucky Clover)

Word Count: 2.8k CWs: whump, carewhumper, gaslighting, supernatural mind manipulation, abduction, nonconsensual blood drinking (maybe in a spicy way? gonna be honest besties i’m too ace to know what’s spicy or not)

======

The Next Day

Where… are you? You look around, taking in a bedroom you’ve never been in before… at least, you don’t think you’ve been here. It’s a nice looking room, except… is the window boarded? Your breath hitches as the feeling of confusion makes way to panic. Your eyes dart to the door. It’s closed. Hesitantly, you get out of the bed, only to almost immediately get hit with lightheaded-ness. What…?

You sit back down, well, really you fall back down, and look to the night stand, where you see a breakfast bar and a sports drink. There’s a sticky note, with a heart drawn on it in red. You try to remember last night, what happened?

You remember going to the bar… but you don’t drink. You were just there with some friends, but… what happened after that? Why can’t you remember? Clearly, you went home with somebody… somehow.

Shit, my phone, you think, as you try to find it, but it seems to be missing. Weirdly, you still have your wallet… so you weren’t robbed, that’s good at least.

With no other options, you open the drink cap and the package the breakfast bar is in. Both are unopened, that’s a small relief… no worries about being tampered with. After you eat and drink, you start to feel a little better, but the calm you experience is short-lived as you hear movement from outside. You begin to worry, before realizing it’s probably the person who brought you here. They’ll likely have answers.

Sure enough, the door opens, and in walks a person you swear you’ve never seen before, though he looks… familiar. He’s pale, a bit on the short side, wearing clothes far nicer than yours with makeup to match, like he was out for a night on the town. His hair is a light purple, though you can see the black roots near his scalp. As your eyes meet his, you finally take in the obvious, being his blood-red eyes… and everything starts to make sense. Those are either contacts, or…

“Oh, well look who’s awake! I’ll be honest, you certainly had me worried with how fast you passed out”, he says with a grin and a wink. You instantly notice just how sweet and smooth his voice is. Between that and his appearance, it’s not hard to see how past-you ended up in this situation.

You have a million questions. How did I get here, where is here, why can’t I remember anything, what did I do last night. So many questions fighting their way to your mouth, but only one makes it all the way out and into the awkward silence of the room.

“Where’s my phone?”

He laughs at this, a hearty laugh that gives you a good look at his fangs. Yep, those aren’t contacts.

“That’s the question you ask? Really?” He says with an incredulous tone, “Well, don’t worry, it’s downstairs, fully charged. I didn’t want you waking up and panic-texting, that could cause me problems, as I’m sure you’re starting to realize.”

“I… think I get it. So, you…” you start to speak, as you feel around your neck.

“Other side, dear. Don’t worry, they’ll disappear within a few days.”

You move your other hand up, and sure enough you can feel two small scars in your neck. Your eyes go wide with panic, though he’s quick to continue speaking in that smooth tone as he walks over and sits on the bed next to you, putting a cold hand on your chest.

“Oh, do calm down, you’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Your quickly-beating heart does confirm that theory. So you’re still… you. That’s good.

“Why… can’t I remember last night? What did you do?”

He chuckles, grinning again with those sharp teeth.

“Why, how rude of you to assume the worst in me!” he says, with mock offense in his voice. “I simply removed a few memories of when I fed, for your sake. It… may have tampered with your memories of earlier in the night, but that wasn’t my intention.”

You decide to not push it. “I can’t remember… a lot of last night. It’s… a little scary.”

The vampire moves his hand gently to your shoulder. “Please, you have no need to worry. We met at the bar, hit it off, and then we came back here for me to feed. After which, you passed out and I erased your memories of the pain.” 

A question lingers in your mind, though you’re almost afraid to say it. You stutter as you look down at yourself, “Did we, uh, aside from the…”

His gaze grows serious, and the next words he speaks seem to be missing the aloof attitude he had prior. “Let’s not mince words. While you’re quite cute, I only drank your blood, dear. Nothing more. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have wiped your memory. I’m not a monster.” he says, almost spitting the words out.

Okay. He’s answered most of your worries, but the memory situation still leaves several more questions unanswered. Regardless, as attractive as this stranger may be, you really don’t want to hang around here any longer than you have to… something doesn’t sit right about this whole situation.

“I still don’t understand why you wiped my memory… but I guess I believe you… can I, um… can I leave?”

He scoffs at this. “Can you leave? I don’t know, can you? Trust me, dear, if I didn’t want you to leave here alive, you wouldn’t be awake right now, if you understand.” He says with a wink, though that doesn’t comfort you in the slightest.

“I… I’d like to leave now.”

He stands up, making a beckoning motion with his hands. “Very well then, if you insist on heading out, and you think you can walk properly, let’s go get your phone and I’ll call a cab. It’s on me, of course. You’ll have to forgive me for not driving you back to the bar myself, but the sun is out, you understand.”

You stand again, this time able to keep your bearings after a quick stumble, and make your way out into the rest of the vampire’s house. It’s a nice house, if not a little bit unusual with every window being boarded, though you suppose that makes sense. Otherwise, it looks… almost normal. As he calls a cab, you take a seat on a nice couch in the living room, noticing that your “host” gives you a small smirk as you do so.

As you get ready to head out, you see the vampire duck away from the door, but not before saying one final thing. “I added myself to your phone, by the way. Look for Nix if you change your mind about spending some more time together. I’m always here,” Nix says with a flirty wink as you walk out the door.

The Night Before

Fuck, how did you end up in this situation. You were just at the bar with your friends, and now you’re sitting here making awkward eye contact with a vampire. You know she has just as much right to be here as anyone else, you suppose, but still…

Oh, shit, she’s headed right for you. As she gets closer, you take in her appearance. She's average height, you think. Her outfit is fancy, with makeup to match, though it doesn’t hide the tell-tale pallor of a vampire. Her hair is a lavender color, with visible black roots, and her eyes a bright crimson, typical for vampires.

Clearly she notices your wary expression, as her eyebrows raise, and she begins to speak to you, her voice sweet and smooth.

“Let’s cut to the chase, dear, I see the way you’re looking at me. Are you captivated by my appearance, or just not used to seeing my kind?”

“I, uh… sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude…” you stammer out, definitely not wanting to insult her.

“It’s all fine, my dear. Honestly, it amuses me. You look young… let me guess, you’re new to the nightlife, probably here with those friends of yours, and worried about… these?” She says, before flashing her fangs at you quickly. She chuckles and takes a sip of the drink in her hand as you try to form a response.

“No, I just, uh…” you try to lie, but quickly realize that she can see right through you. “Sorry.”

“Well, I’ll have you know this is just a normal margarita, and I’m just trying to enjoy an evening the same as you.”

Well. Now you feel like a jerk. “O-of course, I didn’t mean to imply…”

She laughs again as she cuts you off, before staring at you with a look that you can only read as condescending. “Oh, you’re absolutely adorable, you know that? Don’t worry about offending me, dear, I’ve heard it all before.”

After a moment of you failing to reply, she gives a wink and heads back to the other side of the bar after a simple “Try not to stare, dear”. You try to remain calm and collected. After all, she’s just a vampire… There are lots of vampires… 

Your friends come back, and you hang out for a few hours, still noticing the vampire a few seats down at the bar. You swear she glances at you throughout the night, but you pay it no mind.

Finally, your friends start filtering out. The friend you were supposed to be driving home, of course, decided to go home with some guy, so they no longer needed a ride. Typical. As you head towards your car alone, you’re interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Leaving so soon, dear?”

You turn around and see her, that vampire. Immediately, your eyes dart around, looking for anybody else nearby, just in case, but she quickly interrupts your panicked line of thinking.

“Oh, do calm down. Seriously, what do you think I’m really going to do?”

Bashfully, you take a deep breath. She’s absolutely right, she’s done nothing to warrant that kind of reaction… until suddenly she’s right behind you, one hand on your waist, the other holding your head back, and her face right near your throat. She speaks, her breath tickling your neck.

“Something like this? Sneak up behind you and drain you dry?”

You freeze as your life flashes before your eyes, but you hardly have time to make a sound before she’s back to where she was standing, a few feet away, looking at you expectantly.

“Well, that should prove that I mean no harm. If I truly wanted you dead and drained, you would be,” she says, as if that’s comforting in the slightest.

“W-what do you want?” you ask, after taking a second to compose yourself.

“Oh, you know the answer to that, don’t you? You’ve clearly been anxious about it all evening.” she replies, grinning enough for you to see her fangs.

“Wait, wait, hold on, you just said you wouldn’t…” you stutter, panic rising as you start to look around again.

“Kill you, yes.” she says, taking a very deliberate step forward. “And I won’t. But you see, I’m quite hungry. Don’t worry dear, if you’re good then I promise everything will be just fine.”

You go to run, but your arm is grabbed with an almost impossible strength. You think to scream, but something feels like it’s stopping you. You look at the vampire, and see her eyes glow in an almost hypnotic way.

“I… I don’t want to die…” is all you manage to whisper, as if your own mind is preventing you from screaming in terror.

“Shhh… I promised you’d be fine, didn’t I? So why don’t you just come with me, nice and easy, and we won’t have any trouble.” she says, changing her grip so her arm is wrapped around yours, hand in cold hand.

“There we go… My place is just a few blocks away, why don’t we go for a nice walk, hm? Unless you want to make a mess out here?” Despite her phrasing it as a question, she’s already walking, forcing you to walk as well to keep up. To an outsider, you’d look like a normal couple going for an evening walk… which is probably exactly what she wants.

Your words feel like they’re stuck in your throat, both from fear and whatever influence she’s putting on you. You’re barely able to speak, your voice coming out as a whisper even as you try to shout. “Why…?”

The vampire seems confused, before giving that toothy grin you’ve grown to hate and replying. “Because, dear, you were perhaps the world’s easiest target. And what can I say, I find myself drawn to the anxious types… It makes the hunt more fun.”

“I have… a family…” you say, as if it’ll do anything to deter the vampire.

“Aren’t you moving a little fast, dear? We’ve only just met, and you want me to meet the parents,” replies the vampire, a snarky tone in her voice. “I already told you, as long as you play nice then you’ll be going home tomorrow, there’s no need to beg… though I do find it entertaining.”

“... There’s no… getting out of this, is there?” You ask, and she gives a small chuckle before nodding in agreement.

“I’m afraid not. You must understand, it’s been quite a while since I’ve fed. And, if I may be so bold, your blood smells amazing.” She says, which only serves to make you more nervous. The rest of the walk is quiet, aside from some cheerful humming coming from your kidnapper as she swings your arm to a rhythm only she’s aware of.

As you enter her house, you’re walked over to the couch, and surprisingly, she lets go of your hand. As she walks away, you jump up to escape, only to see the vampire chide you and shake her head from across the room. “Now now… remember what I said about being good? Unless you want the thrill of a chase, in which case… just take a few more steps.”

You saw how fast she can move. You decide to sit down.

“There we go dear, you’re a smart one, aren’t you?” she replies, as if praising a puppy. You see her bringing over a red towel. You know what it’s for, this is a nice couch after all. You wonder if the towel’s always been red.

She sits down next to you, and leans in close, her face right next to your neck, as she moves her hand around your throat to hold you in place. You tense up, an involuntary reaction. “Now now… this will only hurt for a moment. And tension will make it hurt worse, dear, so why don’t you just relax.”

You desperately try to relax, to ignore the fangs near your neck, to forget the fact that you’re about to potentially die. While the vampire said you’ll be fine, can you really trust a woman who abducted you in the middle of the night? 

“Are… are you sure I’ll be okay?” You barely say. You know you won’t truly trust her answer, but hearing it one more time wouldn’t hurt, at least. She rolls her eyes and speaks to you in that same condescending tone.

“Yes yes, I’ve been doing this for, oh, 200 years now? I think I’d know how to feed by now. You just sit still and continue to look adorable and stupid, and you’ll be just fine.”

And then she bites down.

She was right. It only hurts for a moment, as her fangs pierce into your neck with near surgical precision. Afterwards, a numb feeling spreads through your body, starting at your throat, as if her bite has some kind of sedative in it. With every beat of your pounding heart you can feel the blood pulsing out of your neck and into the vampire’s mouth. You want to scream, but even the thought hurts you considering the condition your throat is in. After what could have been seconds or hours, you aren’t entirely sure, your whole body starts to feel light and fuzzy, the lamp in the room seems brighter, the distant sounds of the city replaced with a ringing buzz. You start to feel like you’ve been lied to, and you’re not getting out of this alive, before your eyelids flutter, no longer able to keep themselves open.

And then everything goes dark.

[whumpycries]

brother's keeper #1

cw: carewhumper, bad caretaker, medications, angst, emotional whump, bruises.

this is me writing on this idea i'd posted a few days ago.

i didn't proof read this so if there's any glaring mistakes just tell me and i'll correct them. dima and vin are siblings, dima uses she/they and vin uses he/him

...

“You brought this on yourself, you know,” Dima said ideally as she set down the glass of water and the little cup with Vin’s medication down.

He stared at her blearily from under the covers, one of his eyes bruised nearly shut. It had been a few days now, but that bruise had been nasty, so however bad it looked now, it had been worse before. 

“That’s the third time you’re telling me that,” Vin muttered, not getting up to eat the meds. Dima breathed deeply, slowly, and counted down from ten in their head. This was fucking stupid, counting down didn’t help with anger. It never has. She did it anyway. 

“It’s not like you listen to me, is it?” she sniped, backing away, “if you don’t want to eat the meds, tell me before I take them out of the packets. There’s a lot of other, more useful stuff I can be doing that does not involve babysitting you like some goddamn toddler.”

“I never asked you to,” he said, not even looking at her anymore. He had a hand thrown over his head and was pressing it down. Probably had a throbbing headache. The meds she’d gotten him had a pretty strong painkiller as well, but it’s not like he was smart enough to recognise it, or even ask about the meds she was giving him. She could slip him poison for all he knew. 

Sometimes she was tempted to. 

“You’re feeling bold for someone who is bed bound with more injuries than I care to recount,” they said, narrowing her eyes. 

“And what are you gonna do about it?” he snapped, tuning away his face completely. 

Don’t hit him don’t hit him don’t hit him he might actually keel over dead if you hit him don’t hit him—

Dima didn’t say a word as she took up the small cup of medicine and the water, feeling petty, and exited the room. For a moment she was tempted to lock him in as well, but decided against it. Plausible deniability in case he did end up dying. 

God. Why did they have to find him? Why did they have to leave him alive? The missing case had been dropped. Her life had finally been in control. A huge burden had been off her. And now he was back, worse than ever, infringing on Dima’s life like he always did. Ruining it. Ruining their time, ruining their plans, ruining the safety and comfort of their home. 

Just take a deep breath, she told themselves, he’s already in pain. 

And he was. He was already in pain. That thought went a long way towards calming her down. He was in pain and powerless here and there was no Nana or mother to talk her down or mediate between them. There was no one here, and he was in pain, and he’d been found half dead in a goddamn dumpster and somehow remembered Nana’s phone number even thought they now live like a hundred miles away and so Nana had called Dima and now—

Deep breaths, she told herself, and slowly opened up her laptop. Maybe she can check student papers and be infuriated about that instead of Vin. Maybe she would find some really good papers too. She could send them to the college journal for publication. One student has been showing a lot of potential in that regard. 

This was a far better use of their time than catering to the whims of a fucking ungrateful bitch. 

She got to work, putting most of their effort into not thinking about the man in the guest bedroom, about the blood on the clothes she’d thrown away the day before, about the way Nana had sounded when she’d called and told Dima about how they’ve found Vin, and that he’s alive. 

They pointedly don’t think about any of that at all as they make their way through the student assessments, a notebook in hand as they scribbled down little notes. The tension left her in increments, until she’d almost– almost forgotten about Vin. 

Almost. 

At that moment, the door to his room– her fucking house, a room in her fucking house– swung open, revealing Vin standing there, clutching at the doorframe with his life, shaking and pale. 

“I was calling for you,” he said, “Are you fucking deaf?” 

She thought of giving him a snarky remark, but then decided against it, only raising their brow at him. She genuinely hadn’t heard him, but then again, there’s music playing, the fan spinning, and the air conditioning on. She’s used to their solitude. Used to not having to keep an ear out for him. 

Vin visibly gritted his teeth, “Where’s the meds? I thought you’d leave ‘em for me.” 

“In the kitchen,” they said simply, and turned back to their work. She was done, and she’d said as much to him, to nana and to their father. She was done catering to him and dealing with his tantrums. She gave him a chance. She isn’t gonna keep running after him now. 

There was a pause, where Vin neither moved nor made a sound. Dima wanted to start giggling, but controlled herself. Take that, you little shit. 

Then Vin started moving, painfully from what she could see, but he refused to feel any pity for him, any sympathy or guilt. He disappeared into the kitchen. 

Dima turned back to their work, but hadn’t read a single line more when she heard a crash from the kitchen. They jumped, startled out of their wits, heart thudding loudly in her chest as she whipped her head around to see what the fuck had just happened. 

She shot to her feet and hurried to the kitchen, and had to stop at the doorway, staring. One of the decorative glass bottles she kept on the kitchen counter was on the floor, pieces of coloured glass scattered everywhere. She looked up, and Vin was staring at her with a faintly baffled expression, like he didn’t know what just happened. 

Dima breathed. 

“Out,” she said, very tightly, “Go back to your room.” It’s not your fucking room, she thought, it’s my house. You’re an invader. 

When she brought him his meds later, she left out the painkiller. 

--

ask to be added to the taglist!

[cadaverjuices]

sane/insane

cast; hunter [he/him], septimus [he/him] word count - 3202 CWs// violence, blood, animal harm metaphors, religious themes, emeto, self harm stuff whump specific; BBU/pet whump, intimate whumper/carewhumper, whumpee is in love with whumper and vice versa, transman whumpee, gay whumper, and a female whumper is mentioned.

summary;

the overlap between predator and prey, what each does to quell traumas bygone.

A/N - originally two different short stories i wrote!! featuring worlds most fucked up rabbit boy hunter, and septimus. who multiclasses as a whumper/whumpee/caretaker because hes special [specially traumatized].

hunter stared as the blood ran down the drain, his body feeling faint, his consciousness feeling foggy like he was underwater- and even as the tap blares a loud sound as rushing water runs through it, he can’t focus on it, it becomes an inaudible buzzing in the back of his mind, muffled by the screaming of his body.

there's not much to be said about what he felt.

he felt scared, disgusted to the core.

he wanted to cry, scream, run away, but he stood still, staring absentmindedly at the blood being washed off of him, pouring down in a reddish-pinkish hue, pain searing all the way through his body.

how did they get to this?

why- like moth to flame, is he like this?

and as he coughs again, gagging a disgustingly wet and rancid sound as more blood pours out, he felt himself cry, a weary smile on his face, tears prickling at the edge of his eyes and pouring down.

it’s not the physical pain that hurt, but the images that haunted his mind.

septimus-

'gather yourself,' hunter tells himself, hand grasping his leg, his shoulder feels sticky, wet skin against a wet tile wall, 'what's going on?' he asks his own dazed, dizzy mind.

he’d been hurt again.

well, that one was obvious, wasn't it?

devoured like some sort of prey animal, he could feel the deep gash wounds scream in pain; twisting, churning like the waves of a deep red ocean, screaming for some sort of relief.

but it doesn’t come, it never does, no matter how far hunter thinks he gets in his 'journey', he is always back there again.

hurt and broken and on fire, no matter how good hunter feels in one moment, the next he feels just as empty, just as depressed as before, in need of that 'fix' again.

always the same, always the exact same empty feeling, the same depression, the same gnawing deep need for what he knows will set him free, and always... the same relief he gets from his 'fix', being hurt.

always the same relief he gets when he starts to boil with self-hate, bubbling out of him and showing its ugly face to all those around him, all those whom he should care about and should find comfort in, when they leave him.

alone again, pretty?

an echo of a memory within his mind, loving affectionate voice, juxtaposed with a face he knew did not mean well.

and then, it's always the same person- or same kind of person, that he always gets that final relief, that final comfort from, a twisted, dark, and sick kind of comfort, a disgusting kind, an impure kind.

septimus.

tall, beautiful septimus. looks of an angel, hands of a devil, he denies it every time. saying he's not worthy of that moniker, calling himself twisted and impure- it only convinces hunter more. scars on his back, yellow eyes like a cat at night, and black hair with yellow streaks, he always smiles like he's getting a twisted joy out of everything, as if he doesn't deserve it.

hunter’s fallen angel.

perhaps if it was someone else hunter would have to ask himself where he was, but he knew. nobody had quite the decoration like his septimus. holes in the wall, dust flies about glittering in the yellowed flickering lights, he sees discarded cigarettes and broken trash, there's some mysterious grime in the corners of the bathroom that he was being careful to not touch and of course- the piece de resistance.

blood covers from here to fro, hunter was far from the only bloody thing in this house he was sure.

he always has wondered, where does that blood come from? as far as he knows septimus doesn't really have any friends, with or without quotations.

when he feels a hand from behind rest upon his shoulder, he knows he's right.

from the corner of his eye, he sees him kneel, a hand squirms its way under his chin and sets itself upon his cheek, he burrows into it as he's pulled to look at the man himself.

septimus.

on him there is blood, his clothes are frazzled, hunter sees the parts where his hands were probably just pulling at, and in septimus' hands, he holds a bloody sheet.

a gentle voice, “don’t go ruining this place again, hunter.” it speaks, smooth, soft, and yet unsettling; a coldness creeps in like a morning breeze, so gentle, but hunter feels himself freeze in fear at it, like a rabbit caught by a hawk, he's smiling at hunter, a thumb caresses his cheek, in his eyes, hunter sees the unimaginable adoration he holds for hunter, a sick kind of love.

his voice turns mockingly upset, “you know i can’t keep on cleaning up after your mess, you just need to be still and nothing like what happened last time will happen again.” it says, so chillingly sweet, like a toxin making it way into hunters gut, making him shake, he feels lips against his other cheek, a kiss.

“come on, answer me.” he says, voice lower, tightening jaw and a hand tightening on his neck, nails prickling at his skin like knives, threatening to tear in at any second.

he doesn't think septimus is aware of it, even, as his brows furrow- desperation, hunter has seen it a thousand times before.

just as broken as the other, just as desperate for affection and approval as the other.

it's frankly pathetic; for both of them.

hunter nods slowly, half-lidded and exhausted, feeling the pressure release from his neck, and sees as septimus goes to stand up over him, “good.” a breathy, disgustingly cheery voice says, a short laugh, breathy, “good, yeah, good.” and hunter is pulled up, feeling himself stand on shaky legs, held lovingly like fragile glass, but nails dig into his skin like rodent caught by bird.

hunter takes a shaky, painful breath, and leans away from the blood puddle from where he sat, being pulled away firmly; gently by septimus, feeling how he clings onto him, grasping him, squeezing him just slightly enough that he can feel the stinging of the gashes at being pulled at, he slowly looks up into the mirror, seeing himself, bloodied and torn apart like wet tissue paper, and septimus behind him, a crescent, crude smile on his lips, eyes staring back at hunter, poking at hunters skin, pulling at the skin, opening up those wounds he himself tore into hunter, there is a sense of pride he shouldn't perhaps have.

artist and his work?

a hand slowly travels up and grabs hunter's face, this hand more covered in blood than the last- he shivers at the wet feeling the blood gives on his skin, feeling sick as he feels himself tense up, but he stays still, nails gently poking at his skin as septimus twists his face to look at him.

“hunter.” he asks, a quiet and smooth voice, nose against his, his thumb caresses hunters face slowly, “you know i love you right? that this is out of love, right?” and, as hunter breathes slowly, shakily… a little smile creeps on his face.

the fix.

cure for his sickness, he lets himself be covered in worse disease, a shaky, weak breath from him- it's an intoxicating feeling.

“of course.” he says, septimus stares at his face for a second longer, absorbing the moment fully, a gentle kiss onto hunter’s bloodied lips, and he backs away, letting hunter go, his tone suddenly shifts, colder, disinterested. in his eyes, hunter sees how he stares off into nothing yet again, always only focusing on the candle as it's burning, moth to flame alike.

“i’ll go call that doctor guy for you, you seem to have had enough of me now.” he mumbles, "you'll be fine in here yourself, right?" he asks, eyes digging through hunter, seemingly looking through him. hunter nods and then watches as his beloved fallen angel goes out of the bathroom, leaving hunter alone.

rabbits are not supposed to love hawks.

hunter stands, feeling himself wave from side to side as he stands, and then starts to cry, there's an exhausted smile on his face as he slides down.

it hurts, oh it always does.

it hurts so damn much, and yet he can’t stop coming here- and no matter how hurt he is, no matter how much pain he feels, no matter how broken he gets, it's still never enough is it?

he still returns to him, or others. he still comes back to be broken, torn apart.

and god, each time after- through the bewitching words septimus weaves, like blades through his skin, he’s always left feeling as if nobody will ever truly care for him that way again, obsessive sick love.

he doesn't know what septimus would do if he told him how much he adores him.

he doesn't know how he would bear with never seeing the worst of his coping mechanisms ever again.

but it's the only thing that keeps him feeling sane.

lower than dirt, lower than worms, there he is.

it’s not that he didn’t love hunter, oh he loved him. but an animal untrained is unrestrained in its behaviour.

a sharp beak picks apart fine rabbit bones, it’s instinct. it’s all he knows.

affection is something that cannot be afforded to morons, where his hands trace only bruises are left- his existence was bloody destruction, tearing apart the things he wishes he could care for whenever he is left without a muzzle around his head.

restraint was not something that he was ever taught. joy was not a privilege an animal like him deserved.

every feeling of joy, affection, and love was counteracted by a feeling of anger, disgust, and most of all; hatred. hatred for hunter for instilling the feelings of sin within him, a hatred for himself for daring to feel that way, a hatred for what was lost, what was never given, and what he cannot do.

contradiction was something he knew very well. the contradiction of being desired yet never loved, the contradiction of wanting love but not being able to give it, of being trained like a refined pet and yet rabid like a feral dog.

the things he would do to fix himself. pull out teeth, rip out nails, but nothing could ever kill the filth that was weaved finely into his entire being, a silk of only the worst he could do, never anything good coming out of him.

oh, it wasn’t that he hated hunter, no. it was that he hated himself.

to have someone who still accepted him was something he hated, something he wished would not happen, he curses anyone who forgives his sin. but he still never refuses it; a feeling of being starved, he longs for someone to treat him normally. but he can't treat anyone normally himself, the hands of a sinner. bubbling up.

it always ends the same.

bloody hands, bloody apartment, the taste of regret at the back of his throat and yet intoxication at the only affection he could afford. bloody love, the sign of the heathen he was always meant to be. created to hurt, created to suffer, created to destroy.

he wasn’t human anymore, he was something else by now he was sure of. sins pile up and twist one's form. maybe he never was one.

hunter didn’t- hunter did not come to him for love. no, he came for… other reasons to be sure, but septimus didn’t mind being used, even pain and fear, tears rolling off one’s face, could feel like being loved after being starved of it, he knew that very well himself.

so when he was asked not to tear, not to hurt, but to restrain himself, he was… anxious, afraid.

sweetness from each kiss hunter gave him, he didn't know how to reciprocate that, his hands wrap around hunters wrists, loosely as to not make him bleed as he always does.

refreshing intoxication emanates from hunter as his warmth does, to be so gentle with a monster was a virtue he was so jealous of.

disgust builds up at the back of his throat.

rotted bile, rotted mind, rotted morals.

unreciprocative trash

hunters voice was quiet, painfully kind as he speaks, “septimus?” he mumbles, and even though he doesn't answer hunter continues, “this… this might be really out of nowhere, i’m sorry..” he whispers, and as septimus hears the way that hunters voice gets choked up he wishes, he could tear flesh from bone, his throat hurting as if a ball were stuck in it, constricting flesh around the obstruction.

constricting hatred around the obstruction.

“i just- i... i like this, i think” he said, and the bile growing in the back of his throat couldn’t be more distracting, this wasn’t right and it wasn’t something that should happen “i like us, i love us like this-” and before he finishes the sentence septimus steps away.

he hated this. he hated himself for the way he acted, when he leaves he doesn’t say a word.

he almost wants to laugh at the irony of it all, something once so holy, so pure- now twisted.

wingless angel, the means he would go to so that he could feel human. but he still wasn’t one despite it all, even when tearing feathers from flesh, flesh from bone, his wings removed from his body by his own hands, he only turned into a monster. a snarling rabid beast.

the memory of hunter running his hands along the scars on his back crosses his mind. 'how did this happen?' the rabbit asks, he had never answered, it's not that hunter wouldn't understand, more than anyone else he would, but it's that he still felt shame- he still wanted to be more than...

more than a pet bird.

he had seen a beautiful girl once; from afar, a long time ago, rabbit ears on her head, a tail behind. hair and fur like acorn brown silk, soft and warm, eyes deep, dark shades of a midnight hue of brown.

and just when he finds himself starting to get lost in them, he feels his mistress' heels click on the floor, and he stands upright again, looking to her with a practised 'loving' smile, but his eyes were empty as he stares at the woman.

she runs hands along the white dove-like wings he once had, that he swears he can still feel burning in pain, and he tells her every sweet nothing she wants to hear.

his mistress.

he was below even a doormat.

today that beautiful 'girl' had sat before him again, now a boy he feels hopelessly in love (?) with. his hair and eyes as beautiful as he remembers, now close he can look at every freckle on his face, like stars to the dark sky in his eyes, he has piercings and tattoos now, and on his body septimus could trace a thousand scars with a thousand stories.

some like his, some by him, some for other reasons.

but he can't take what he dishes, unending adoration, unconditional love- from him, sick and twisted, but from him... like sun rays kissing his skin.

the scars on his back burn.

vomit sits below his face, cast out like the feelings he was not worthy of, that he didn’t deserve to experience. the disgusting taste covers his mouth, and the acid makes his throat burn, he lets out a groan as he stares at it in disgust for a few seconds before going to wash his face.

cold water makes his face numb, but he still feels the nails he drags across his face.

he hates how his body rejects normality.

but no matter how much hate he bears, no matter the tears he sheds, no matter the blood he draws out of himself, it’s never enough to cleanse him of that instinct to destroy; to hurt.

there's a knock at the door as he bites into the skin of his arm, hunter’s voice rings out, “are you okay?” he asks, distress in his voice, “i heard gagging?” and septimus only glares at the door as he doesn't answer, a familiar liquid warmth running down his arm, iron taste in his mouth.

then, there’s a long silence, a silence where septimus feels the way tears try and pour out of his face, and how his breathing tightens further, choking silently with his hatred of himself, his weakness, silently suffocating any of the tears that he may have shed.

“i…” the voice is quiet, septimus thinks that hunter is leaning against the door now with how his voice is muffled, “i’m worried. i.... care about you, okay?" a pause, he cringes at it, he feels like hes being lied to- that's why there's that pause, if it were truth it would simply come out, "can you let me in?” he asks, and septimus feels the shaky breath he lets out, panic makes his skin feel as if pins dig into it, he hits the wall with his uninjured fist.

a nervous smile crawls onto his face as he feels his chest rise and fall faster and faster, “and i don’t. only love you for the blood you spill, fucking leave.” he says a fearful chuckle escaping him.

his body burns with adrenaline. fear, anxiety, and hatred, all in one disgusting mixed concoction. he hears the slow- and then fast footsteps as hunter walks away, the closing of the door, and when he does he pulls his head back slowly and suddenly, harshly, bangs it against the door.

surely, it was hard enough to leave a bruise.

and as the pain on his head pulses he slumps down, his tears and hyperventilated breaths finally coming out, like a waterfall, a wash of relief over him, the stabbing of hatred and guilt piercing his heart.

and then he hits his head against the door again. and again. and again. and he continues doing so until his breathing calms down.

unholy mind and body joined together, the twisting of a dove, the beast he is now doesn't deserve love like what hunter wishes to give him- it’s better to hurt himself than to let him ‘love’. put your hands inside the cage and you know what you’re gonna get, to get your fingers torn from that is a question of one’s own stupidity, a stupidity that was like a grace to him, but to open the cage was too reckless, even the beast knew that.

the hunger for what he doesn’t deserve makes him feel almost insane, despite his knowledge that he only feeds and does not reciprocate.

regret does make him feel insane, however.

the knowledge he hurt hunter is something he's not surprised by at all, and yet still wishes would not happen, but beak and claws do not love like mouths and hands, an animal like him just wasn’t made for love.

you cannot do something over and over and expect a different result.

you cannot do something over and over and expect a different result.

[whumpsday]

Damned Part 1

Next

content: demon carewhumper (caretaker/whumper combo), reluctant whumper, implied future pet whump, torture / past torture, itching

-

Whumpee's eyes cracked open at the appearance of the demon. A new one. He felt a vague sense of relief at the fact that he'd been reassigned yet again. The last one had been especially fond of burns, one of the worst tormenters he'd had so far in his eternal damnation. Top three for sure.

This new one could always be worse, though. And even if they weren't, they were still going to hurt him. He looked up fearfully, awaiting the inevitable. More pain. Always more pain.

"Heya. I'd say nice to meet you, but I'm sure the pleasure's all mine." The demon cracked their knuckles. "Alright, let's see what we're working with." With a flick of their wrist, what appeared to be an indecipherable block of symbols appeared in front of them. Whumpee had seen it a couple times, and from context determined it must essentially be his "file". Only a couple of demons assigned to him had bothered to even glance at it.

The demon frowned. Whumpee shivered in fear, that couldn't be good.

"This can't be right." the demon muttered. They swiped at the symbols and they changed into to different ones. The demon's eyebrows shot up. "Three appeal denials? What the hell is going on here?"

The demon stopped muttering to themself and turned to Whumpee. He flinched under their scrutinizing gaze.

"You shouldn't be here." they said matter-of-factly.

"I'm... sorry?" Whumpee replied. He was no stranger to the words, often screaming them while begging for mercy, but he wasn't even sure what he was apologizing for.

"No, it's not your fault. Ha, never thought I'd say that to a damned soul." They laughed like they'd said something incredibly funny. "You killed one guy, in self defense. You shouldn't be down here. I'm submitting a motion to have your damnation appealed."

Whumpee could cry. Did this mean it wouldn't be forever after all? It would be over? "Thank you, thank you!"

"Don't thank me yet. Honestly, it'll probably just get denied again. Seems like someone with some sway really doesn't like you. Or maybe they like you a little too much."

Whumpee deflated. He should have known better than to get his hopes up at this point. He hadn't even been aware that three appeals had already been attempted for him until now, but it seemed he was just doomed.

"Hey, if it does, I'll still try and get you sorted. I've got a few favors I can pull, I'll work something better out for you even if it isn't going upstairs." the demon promised.

Whumpee wouldn't count on it. He didn't want to keep hoping for an end to the torment that would never come. But...

"Does that mean you're... not gonna torture me?" Whumpee asked hopefully. He would do anything to be able to just rest.

Much to his disappointment, the demon shook their head. "No, I still gotta torture you until I can get this sorted out. It's the job." Their voice softened. "I'll go easy, alright? I'll pick something that doesn't hurt, and you can have breaks every few hours. How's that sound, huh?"

Whumpee nodded enthusiastically. "Thank you." he repeated. He wasn't sure how to reconcile the concepts of torture and doesn't hurt, but he could definitely latch onto breaks. Not many demons were merciful enough to allow such a thing.

Suddenly, his whole body erupted in, for once not pain, but itching. He vaguely remembered something from his life, so long ago that it felt more like a dream than a memory. Poison ivy. It was like that, but a million times worse and everywhere.

Whumpee immediately tried to scratch, of course, but found himself unable to. Every attempt seemed halted by some sort of mental block that caused his hands to still just before he could reach his skin. He writhed on the ground, desperate to relieve the feeling.

"Come on now, this is about the mildest thing I could pull from the catalog and still call torture. This is better than hurting, right?" the demon chided.

"Yes, s-sir." Whumpee squeaked out, on the verge of tears. As much agonizing discomfort as he was in right now, it was still better than the pain. Anything was better than the pain.

The demon sighed. With a flourish of their hand, a bench grew out of the ground, and they sat down. "C'mere." They patted the spot next to them.

With some effort, Whumpee managed to crawl over. The demon helped him up onto the bench, placed his head in their lap, and started gently scratching him. Relief. It was barely anything, his whole body felt like it was on fire, but he was grateful for any scrap of mercy.

"Just a couple hours until your first break, yeah?" the demon assured.

Whumpee whimpered pitifully, leaning into their touch desperately. He just wanted the horrible feeling to go away.

The demon smiled. "Aww, you're cute. If they deny the appeal again, I'll try and see if I can get you reassigned as my pet. That way you'd just stay with me, forever. You'd like that, huh?" they asked, scratching at his scalp affectionately.

"Yes, sir." Whumpee breathed. He wasn't sure what that meant and was too afraid to ask. Being a demon's pet truthfully sounded terrifying, but could it really be worse than his current situation, eternal damnation? Could anything possibly be worse?

-

if you want some much more intense no-mercy hell whump then i highly recommend whumpshaped's new Devil Hot series!

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

[whumpsday]

Maybe it's because I'm finally getting to the accidental carewhump in my own story, but after reading the Bad End chapter I wanna carewhump captive Kane.

I walk into the cell hold a small bag and strap a covered silver muzzle I pulled out of the bag on Kane. I then pull out a silver collar that's covered to look like a cheap nylon dog collar with 'Vermin' stitched into it and a tag with the usual 'If found please return to', but instead has the Hunters compound address. I lock it on with a tiny silver lock and pull a leash out of my bag.

I clip the leash on, push Kane into all fours and put Kane through the usual dog training motions. Sit, Stay, Roll over and such, but I call him Vermin during it. (Sit Vermin!) If Kane gets it right the first time then I pat his head and call him a good pet. If he doesn't get it the first time then I flick him in the nose with my fingers and call him a bad pet and make him do it again.

Once he's done them to my satisfaction I have him sit next to me cat loaf style and I scratch him behind the ears and call him a good pet for following directions. I stay for a few hours more so nobody else can come and torture him while just relaxing with him before taking off the collar off and leaving.

(Also I couldn't figure out a way to put it in there, but I really like the idea that Kane wouldn't be able to take the collar off and he'd just be wearing a collar with Vermin on it and Jim's address on the tag when Jim picks him up. Would Kane answer Vermin as well as Kane?)

Kane is simply grateful for a punishment that doesn't hurt, for a muzzle and collar that don't burn. He doesn't care about his dignity, not anymore. He can't afford to.

He does the dog tricks obediently, glad to be able to relax, even if it's as a pet. All in all, he would count this as one of the best hunter encounters he's likely to have, and hopes more like this happen in the future. He'd rather be a pet than a punching bag.

-

(kane would answer to whatever a hunter told him to answer to. jim would take the collar off, though. given his own experience living as kane's property, signs of ownership make him uncomfortable.)