#stalk whump

[whump-mania]

More Whumper Lines

In honor of my first Whumper lines post getting over 1,000 notes, here’s some more! And in some fun categories!

Tag me if you end up using any!

~

Playful/Cheery/Lighthearted

1. “Aw, that was cute. I almost felt that excuse for a punch. Why don’t you try again?”

2. “My favorite part is right before you lose consciousness.”

3. “Caretaker, you know how to do stitches, right? No? Oh well.”

4. “Hm. Your blood’s darker than the last one’s was.”

5. “Sounds like Whumpee’s having fun in there…would you like to go join them?”

Dark/Violent/Rough

1. “Get the fuck over here or I’m dragging you.”

2. “Look at me. Look at me while I hurt you.”

3. “Nothing you say is going to stop me. I have a job to do, and I don’t give a shit how it happens.”

4. “Don’t you get it? I’m not being careful. I want this to hurt you.”

5. “Stay still, you motherf—Stay STILL!”

Creepy/Intimate

1. “Come on, scream like you mean it…there we go. Much better.”

2. “It’s so cute when you fumble with your keys everyday when you come home.”

3. “Your pretty little screams are only for me to hear, understand?”

4. “It’s a shock to me that you’ve never considered modeling. I mean…red just looks so good on you.”

5. “Ah, you remember this scar, don’t you? The day we met…god, what I’d give to break you like that again.”

Reluctant/Hesitant

1. “Look, I’m—I’m sorry, I just need to get this over-with. Bite on this.”

2. “They’ll check for bruises. I have to.”

3. “I’m sorry, boss, I’ve…I’ve never done this before. I-I’m trying.”

4. “Don’t look at me like that when the others are here. Please. They’ll know I’m faking it.”

5. “I’m sorry, I had to say it—you know that’s not how I actually think of you, right?”

[serickswrites]

All I Want for Christmas is You

Warnings: yandere, stalking, threats, creepy/intimate whumper

"There's a parcel for you, Whumpee," Caretaker said as they carried a bunch of packages through the door. "Did you order anything?"

Whumpee shook their head, unable to recall ordering anything. "Does it say who it's from?"

Caretaker set the box down and checked it over. "No. And that's weird, it doesn't have any postage on it either. Who would be dropping a box off for you in person but not stay to see you open it?"

Whumpee's mouth went dry. There was only one person who would do that. "Oh I'm sure they can see me open it," Whumpee said as they took the package with shaking hands.

"Whumpee?" Caretaker sounded concerned.

Whumpee wanted to reassure Caretaker that it was nothing. That there was nothing wrong. But they couldn't. There was only one person who always watched Whumpee, no matter what they did or where they went. They always had eyes on Whumpee. Whumpee swallowed and opened the box carefully.

They pulled out the note from the top of the tissue paper. They felt nauseous. For you to wear when I come to take you home. You've been wanting to come live with me for so long, our dream will be coming true very soon, my love.

Whumper didn't sign it. Whumper didn't need to sign it. Whumpee's heart was pounding as they lifted the tissue paper from the box, revealing a delicate, lacy outfit.

"Lingerie? Whumpee, you didn't tell me you were seeing someone!" Caretaker said with a smile. "Who's the lucky person?"

Whumpee felt faint. "Caretaker," Whumpee shut their eyes against the tears that were threatening to spill over, "there's something I've been needing to tell you about. And you're not going to like it. But I need you to listen very carefully."

At seeing how serious Whumpee was, Caretaker went very still. "Whumpee? What's wrong?"

Whumpee stared down at the note once more. "I think we need to call the police first. Please, hurry."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@pepeniascat

[the-bloody-sadist]

in case no one else has asked, please list your top 10 BL manga/manwha? 👀

i am. very interested in what other media you enjoy, especially BL

Combining these two bc I didn't wanna leave the second out!

(I wasn't a big fan of Blood Bank personally but I'm so glad it helped you with your world building Lil Whale!!)

I'm hoping some of these are unheard of for you guys because THERE ARE SO MANY BL/YAOI AND I READ THEM CONSTANTLY BUT NOT SO MANY ARE FANTASTIC AND MIND-BLOWING AND SPECTACULAR AND DEEPLY PSYCHOLOGICAL! I'm pretty sure I'll end up listing WAY more than 10, mainly because I want to highlight ones I feel like a lot of people haven't read. ALSO because I read so fucking many of them that I've collected a stash and NOW IS MY CHANCE TO YELL ABOUT THEM.

Just a disclaimer, these are not in any sort of order, as they're all about the same level in my head, just grouped. I'll list the "big name" BLs that I adore after these! First up are the ones that either have a quiet fandom or aren't well known! Since there'll be so many, I'm not going to say much about them, just know that usually no BL/Yaoi is perfect to me, since there are many bad psychology tropes here and there or unnecessary cruelties that aren't exactly realistic etc., but overall, I like the way that the story and characters are handled and/or love the art.

Here's the top five of my top ten that's not a top ten bc there are so many (I just said I wouldn't group them but I lied my ass off apparently):

Jealousy [Scarlet Beriko]: This is one of those that emotionally hits so hard that it will stick with me forever and I will usually tear up just a tiny bit when I think back to the moments that made this one so beautiful. A lot of times a story with major hurt, angst, and tragedy won't wrap up with enough to make me scream and cheer at the end. But THIS ONE DID. And I stopped reading for a while when a big event happened because I thought it would end horribly and I'd have to suffer three weeks of fiction-induced depression for a man who wasn't even real. BUT NAY. The themes you get in this one revolve around loneliness (huge draw for me, it always hits), mafia-connected characters and the rivalries from that, self-destructive prostitution, and characters who have difficulty receiving love without freaking out. Are those even themes idk. OH WELL. YOU GET THE POINT. I want this one on my shelf. You might've heard of it, but the fandom is silent so I never did. T_T OH ALSO THE ART ON THIS ONE IS GORGEOUS I FUCKING LOVE IT.

Hitori to Hitori no 3650nichi [Hitomi]: First of all, favorite manga artist. FAVORITE MANGA ARTIST. I'm never exactly sure if the artist is also the writer or if the writer is never the artist or...BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER. Anyway! I listed this particular title because it was the first that I found by this person - but then I discovered it was a part of a bigger series, and there are like I DON'T KNOW FIVE DIFFERENT MANGA?? OR SOMETHING??? Related to this one. I don't know which order, I just know that I read them all in a frenzy. THE CHARACTERS. OH! OH THE CHARACTERS! Oh my gods, it's so good. LMFAO. The arcs these characters have are fantastic, and I loved the fact that the abuser in one is shown to be the victim of abuse in a prequel story, and that his anger issues and other elements of his personality came about to affect him and destroy him. Just...I don't recall the details, READ IT. That's all. Spectacular depictions of nuanced trauma within abusive relationships.

The Beast Must Die [Lee Hyeon Sook]: This remains one of my favorite depictions IN ANY MEDIA of a psychopath, because it's SO accurate and I'm SO fucking proud of the author for doing their research and OH MY GODS YOU GUYS IT'S ABOUT TO GET A DRAMA CD LET'S FUCKING GO! This story is so good. It's so evil. It's so psycho-thriller. It's so WELL DONE. It features a dark academia-ish secret society within a college setting who hunt people for sport, sometimes. LIKE. Come on. And the psychopath (dark hair) IS THE MAIN LOVE INTEREST! You could literally hear the summary and go "oh this is for Sadist". And I don't get a lot of those that deliver this well. SOMETIMES the art makes me twist my head a little but YOU KNOW WHAT I DO NOT CARE OKAY? It's just SO good. There's murder, there's kidnapping, and - most importantly - a main character who doesn't just DEAL with whatever the psychopath does. He's smart, he fights back, he learns to understand psychopathy to determine if he should remain with the love interest...it's fantastic. That's all. I will stop. *BANGS THE WALL*

Aporia [Seontae]: ALL HAIL THE HEALTHY BDSM RELATIONSHIPS THAT STILL HOLD TENSION AND EMOTIONAL WEIGHT AND SPEAK TO ME!!!!!!! HELLO!!!!! This is my favorite BDSM-themed story. Everything is consensual, but is everything safe??? Not when it comes to the main character's emotions and tendency to sacrifice his wellbeing for a partner. BUT NOT TO WORRY, HIS SADISTIC LOVE INTEREST IS CONSIDERATE AND ATTENTIVE AND CARES ABOUT HIS FEELINGS!! This is, perhaps, one of my favorite depictions of a REAL sadist. A real one as in a realistic, irl BDSM-relationship sadist. Someone who is just as worried about taking care of his partner as he is about hurting him JUUUUST right. ANYWAY! THAT'S ALL! READ IT! HE'S LITERALLY ME!

Royal Servant [MasterGin, Chungnyun]: Okay, we were talking about healthy BDSM in the previous one, now let's talk about TOXIC BDSM-THEMES THAT I LOVE. Lmao. DO YOU LIKE MASTER/SLAVE DYNAMICS? DO YOU LIKE STORIES WHERE THE ARC LEADS TO THE ABUSIVE MASTER EVENTUALLY LEARNING TO NOT BE ABUSIVE AND LOVE THE SLAVE? YEAH ME TOO. I DON'T NEED TO DESCRIBE THIS ANY FURTHER. AUTHOR OF ANGEL BUDDY, THIS IS THE ONE THAT I KNEW HER FOR FIRST.

A bunch of other good ones you may or may not have heard of (I won't describe every one of these unless I have something particular to say, so enjoy the pictures from them that I snatched):

Love me in the Wilderness [Wang Tao]

Neon Sign Amber [Ogeretsu Tanaka]

Zetsubou ni Nake [Shinou Ryo]: Guys. This story is UNIQUE AS HELL. I had to say something about it. The premise is that a man who was raped turns around and goes back after his rapist and rapes him back, and then they fall in love. IT'S....the amount of times my jaw dropped was insane on this one. SOMEHOW IT'S WRITTEN SO WELL. SOMEHOW THEY NAILED THE STRANGE REALISM OF IT AND HAD ME TEARING UP OVER THE INTENSITY OF THE RAPE SCENES. VERY WELL-PACED, VERY TRAUMATIC IN A GOOD WAY. HIGHLY RECOMMEND. The way they come to love each other after this crazy foundation of mutual rape is IMPRESSIVE. Kudos to the writer.

Love or Hate [Yeongha]: This is a very well-known one but there's like zero fandom so I think it fits here. Also a lot of hate going around for it? Which I never understood, fuck those guys. This remains one of the most beautifully-written that I've ever read, and I mean that purely in like...the ACTUAL writing on the page. I'm talking poetry, purple prose. I just recall being blown away by that, and no manga before or since has ever reached its level. For once I felt like the writer was also a novelist because of the way that they put things, and had a clear voice in the style. Did the main boy end up with someone I didn't want him to end up with at the end? Yes. But I felt like it fit pretty well, and it was sort of a tragedy, and it was supposed to hit you painfully in the gut. A lot of people were mad at the main character for that and I don't really think it's fair. In any case! A beautiful story with complex characters and intriguing dilemmas. Highly recommend it.

Shangri La no Tori (Birds of Shangri La) [Ranmaru Zariya]

Two in Six Billion [Denzou]

The Pizza Delivery Man and The Gold Palace [Upi]: Great story and character-building so far! I will say that once it became porn, it dove a little too heavily into it for me. Like I only needed one scene of the porn, I was enjoying the panic attack scenes much more. BUT YEAH, IT'S ONGOING, SO WE'LL SEE WHERE IT GOES! But the panic attack scenes were the reason I read it and yes, I did tear up.

Sleeping Dead and Living Dead [Asada Nemui]: I RECENTLY FOUND THIS ONE AND ADOOOOOOREEE IT SO MUCH. I DO NOT CARE THAT IT'S AN OLD SCIENTIST AND HIS ZOMBIE PATIENT. NORMALLY THAT WOULD HOLD NO SWAY OVER ME, BUT OH GODS, THE ART IS SO PRETTY AND THE STORY IS SO GOOD. I LOVE THE LITTLE ZOMBIE MAN! I LOVE THE LITTLE ROMANCE THEY'VE GOT!

Private Lessons [ANCO, Mongya]: It's cuuuuute what can I saayyyyy it has BDSM and threesomes and I liked it. Very entertaining. Scratches the BDSM itch and the little SUB WAS SO CUTE. Anyway.

Kingyo no Ubugoe [Gontaku Nido]

From Points of Three [White Eared]: Threesome dynamics!!

Silent Lover [Qiang Tang, Bai Li Jun Xi]: I STOPPED THIS ONE AT A CERTAIN POINT BECAUSE IT DIPPED INTO WEIRD M-PREG AND STUFF I CANNOT READ. But BEFORE all that, I was deeply ingrained in this one. It has a main character who can't speak (a particular weakness of mine) and he's OH SO CUTE and he's given as a sex slave basically to the emperor (emperor? idk he's a kingly man, something like that), and the emperor is evil but learns to be soft and yet it takes a LONG TIME SO I WAS BAWLING HYSTERICALLY OVER SOME OF THE HEARTWRENCHINGLY PAINFUL SCENES IN THIS FOR THE POOR YUU-ER. A good read until it decided to go the omegaverse-by-magic-potions route. I didn't stay to figure out where it actually ended up.

Yoru wa Tomodachi [Ido Gihou]

Toumei na Ai no Utsuwa [Hitomi]

Re:Birth [Misuaki Asou]: The singular omegaverse story in existence that I actually liked. Hopefully that says a lot. Mostly because it's about the omegaverse elements NOT being present for the main character and him trying to fake it because he's lonely and afraid that his partner (an alpha *shakes off the disgusting label because who the fuck thought alpha was a cool word*) will leave him if he finds out he's just a regular guy (aka beta I guess? ABO is weird idc).

Sahara no Kuro Washi [Soutome Emu]: MASTER SLAVE MASTER SLAVE---

Haru ni Kaeru [Kunieda Saika]

Incorrigible [Bbong]

Well Done! [ANCO, Mongya]

Nemuri Otoko to Koi Otoko [Zariya Ranmaru]

Even If You Don't Love Me [Pando]: It dropped off SUPER hard (it's ongoing still) but damn was it good in the beginning. I am sick and tired of where it's at currently but the psychological manipulation and the horror of a certain twist in the storyline was CRUSHING to me. I only wish that it would have gone a better way after it happened, because it slowly destroyed itself and became like a lot of tropey rape stories. The asshole just keeps being an asshole and it's not really where the story seemed to want to go with that. But otherwise, it started off strong and I'll give it kudos for that.

Bigger titles I'm pretty sure everyone has heard of that I enjoy:

Saezuru Tori wa Habatakanai [Yoneda Kou]: Is it a little unrealistic that literally everyone in this story is gay apparently and wants to fuck one man apparently and/or rape him? Yes, absolutely. Does that matter once you're in the story and it's so good and all these unrealistic cruelties make a really strong bond between the main love interest and this self-destructive masochist who's probably not really a masochist but only interested in hurting himself because he doesn't know how else to handle his trauma from childhood? Ummmm yeah. Anyway! This one had a lot of inspiration and a lot of tears and a lot of obsession from me. I re-read it all the time, I watch the movie over and over, I listen to the audio drama and cry at my favorite scenes. Do I care in the end that it's a little unrealistic at times? No but I do laugh sometimes when I'm about to share it with a new person. Because BL is just like that generally and you've got to put up with a little of those tropes to find your favorite stories. THIS IS ONE OF THE TOP FAVORITES OF ALL TIME FOR ME BTW, IT'S ONLY SO LOW DOWN HERE BECAUSE PRETTY MUCH EVERYONE IN YAOI KNOWS ABOUT THIS ONE ALREADY, AND WE'RE ALL AWARE OF HOW GOOD IT IS.

ENNEAD [Mojito]: I will say that this is basically the best manga/comic/manhua...what's the Chinese word idk ANYTHING OF THIS MEDIA TYPE that I have ever read. It's not done, and people have been complaining that it's starting to fall into the common BL tropes but you know what I do NOT care. Mojito is a genius, Mojito is a master storyteller, Mojito is beautiful, Mojito is strong - I just love Mojito and this work. So much. The action, the horror of rape, the deep-set character conflicts and dilemmas and internal turmoils. Everything, nailed it. Nailed it. And not to mention it's set in FUCKING EGYPTIAN MYTHOLOGY AND THEY'RE ALL GODS AND THEY HAVE SUCH COOL BATTLES AND COSTUMES AND DUDE???? I'm so hooked. That's all.

Killing Stalking [Koogi]: OBVIOUSLY. I don't really need to say anything about this one except that yeah, some of the psychology is a little off and some of it is just super shallow. But I loved the characters and that's what mattered in the end. I fell in love with Sangwoo too and it ripped my heart out when I read the ending. I was depressed for like two weeks and it was the first story that had ever affected me that way, but I was also younger and this was one of my first yaoi/BLs and yeah. GREAT story though, fantastic storytelling, very lovable characters. Sangwoo was handled so much better than most "asshole/kidnapper/rapist" characters and I will never stop appreciating that, because a lot of writers tend to forget that your villains have to have redeeming qualities if you want us to like them (????). Jinx, I'm fucking coming for you. Suck my dick. KOOGI FTW.

Missing Love/A Married Man [In Hyerin]: Some of the DESCRIPTIONS of how trauma works especially of the sexual nature in this story are SO. SO. GOOD. However, I am beginning to grow VERY ANNOYED at where it decided to go with the most current updates of the story. The author did enough trauma to the main boy, now it's getting so incredibly excessive that it's overdoing it and the author's kinks are showing through. LIKE I GET IT. Okay? I do. But this one became too much and I need him to return to the actual story arc of going through that trauma so he can HEAL with the right person taking care of him.

MadK [Ryo Sumiyoshi]: I am into NONE of the kinks that would lead to me picking up this manga. I hate demons, I'm not a monsterfucker, I can't do extreme guro, and yet I SAW CANNIBALISM. THAT WAS THE ONE THING THAT I THOUGHT I'D GIVE IT A TRY FOR. And then accidentally I got obsessed because the plot is AMAZING and the writing is SO GOOD and who cares if I hate demons and monsters ALL OF THEM ARE BADASS AND HOT (??) AND IT CEASES TO MATTER. Good on the writer for making them appeal by personality alone and expressions and whatever else you signed a deal with the devil to make me like because it worked. Also the guro is beautiful, so it doesn't even matter. Hannibal levels.

Warehouse [Killerwhale]

Painter of the Night [Byeonduck]

Viewfinder/Finder [Yamane Ayano]

Given [Kizu Natsuki, Gusari]

Nii-Chan [Harada] (and basically every other work by Harada)

Sadistic Beauty Side Story [Geumsan Lee, Woo Yeonhui]

Dine With a Vampire [Pangin, Pinko]

Angel Buddy [Mastergin, Chungnyun]

My Partner's Tastes and Fetishes [Deok Hwa]

Interview with a Murderer [KJK]

On or Off [A1]

Steel Under Silk [Snob]

The Pawn's Revenge [Evy]: It was going to be SO GOOD! And then it dropped off harder than a boulder from a balcony and I have absolutely no idea why the author took it the way that they took it, but go off I guess. It's boring as hell now but it started off with promise and I enjoyed the art and character designs. Too bad, I suppose.

Caste Heaven [Ogawa Chise]: An old classic with all the sticky sometimes icky mostly ridiculous BL tropes but hey, it's cute. It's sexy. It's fun. I don't care.

Wet Sand [Doyak]: We're still in the beginning stage of this one but I'm excited to see where it goes! Plus the art SLAPS ASS like nobody's business.

19 Days [Old Xian]: I hate comedy, I hate fluff, I hate buddies that never become lovers, but none of that mattered when I picked this one up. The duality of man. Bite-sized chapters and ACTUALLY AN EVENTUAL ROMANCE that none of us thought we'd ever get.

Legs That Won't Walk [Black Apricot]: Although this one dropped off hard for me and I'm really just following it to see if it picks up again and does something interesting (it probably won't) I did enjoy it in the beginning. I just get tired of the "asshole just keeps being an asshole and nothing else but woobified slut keeps coming back to him??" without the strong and realistic undercurrent of Reasons Why Someone Would Come Back such as manipulation or threats or unhealthy attachment. Perhaps it was sorta there in the beginning with them but now I'm just like why are we still continuing this story.

Pearl Boy [Inking, Zoy]: *Awkwardly scratches neck* It's not the best okay? It's not. It's really not. I don't like half of the things that occur in this one, but the ART, bro. THE ART, BRO? That's what got me into it and what kept me into it, PLUS I do like little Jooha. I stayed for Jooha, too. Dooshik drives me a little batty most of the time and looks ugly for half the story to me, but when he's badass, he's pretty badass, so I can forgive him. I really don't know why he has such drastically changing appearances because I thought he was someone completely different for a bit LMAO. In any case, I have to admit I like the uhhhhh danger that Jooha gets himself into and the crazy things that make no sense but you know what he gets hurt and then there's comfort and rescue and they cry and I cease to care that it makes no sense. (Sorta, I don't actually cease to care I just laugh awkwardly and go okay sure that's how it works because it's so hard to find stories that don't do this LOL I'm beating a dead horse) BUT WHY DOES HE CUM PEARLS? WILL WE EVER KNOW? WHO THE HELL THOUGHT OF THAT AND WITHOUT A SUPPORTING MAGIC SYSTEM IN THE WORLD TO MAKE THAT MAKE SENSE? IT WENT DOWNHILL SO FAST AND THE ENDING IS TERRIBLE BTW. THE VILLAIN SUCKS.

That's it. I can't talk to much or I'll run out of words but HOPE YOU GUYS FIND SOME NEW READS!!

[whumppromptoftheday]

whumpee not being able to get help about a stalking whumper because they've had a history of paranoia

[whumpers-inc]

The scariest thing about hearing your name called in the dark is the intimacy.  They know your name, what else do they know?

Your name whispered, a siren, a lure to destruction. It lingers in the air like summer fruit, a sickly sweet, rotting trail. You follow. Compelled, chosen, blind.

A shout. Unsteady feet halt. Your name echoes like a command. By friend or foe? How much will it cost to halt a moment?

A cry. Desperate. Turn back, it’s the Samaritan’s instinct. Pain and fear lurks somewhere behind you. But for whom is it destined?

Someone knows you, someone knows your name. This is not their first encounter with you, though you may not have seen them before. 

But they know your name.

They know you.

[whump-galaxy]

The Whumpee having to go about their daily life knowing the Whumper is following them. Knowing that they’re listening in on everything they say. Knowing that at any second, the Whumper could decide to capture them again.

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

whump prompt 187

Whumper stalking Whumpee after their escape / rescue / release.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Hugh

Masterlist

Late-19th century whump. A little backstory that popped into my head. This is probably a year and a half before Hugh helps hold August down for first aid.

The first time Wyatt lays eyes on him, he almost dismisses it as a trick of the light. 

It’s pissing down. A rainfall so unrelenting, it hits the ground twice. He’s only lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the boy because Theo’s word has sent him looking down every alley and around every corner. A week and no sightings have him questioning Theo’s reason but not the continued search. 

“This one looks like he’s never known warmth.” 

Theo’s words have been running through his mind since he heard them. Some misguided hope pushing him to prove Theo was laying it on too thick. 

Between a stack of crates and sacks of rubbish, a flash of pale skin and a sharp elbow. An even sharper chin when the boy turns, sensing himself observed, and he’s gone. 

Wyatt rushes down the alley after him, cobblestones slick underfoot. He bursts onto the street, skidding to a halt to squint through the rain but there’s no sign of the boy. 

It’s another fortnight before Wyatt sees him again. 

He starts to wonder if the boy caught his death, coatless on the streets in a late-October rain that fell without pause into November. The thought doesn’t stop him checking all the nooks and crannies everywhere he goes. 

The boy has his back pressed against a shed in the alley beside a bakery. A lamp illuminates the mouth of the alley. One step closer and his shadow will be the alarm that sends the boy running. With a few yard’s head start, there’s no hope of catching him this time either. Wyatt stays where he is. A full five minutes he waits, afraid to even reach up to ash his cigarette, the boy just as still. Hiding but to what end? He’s looking away so there’s no telling where his focus is. Still wearing the same short-sleeved undershirt, no jacket or coat to speak of. He’s rail thin and visibly shivering.  

When the boy finally turns, he stiffens immediately, tension visible in the wiry muscles of his forearm. His unkempt hair is a dark curtain over his profile but as he pauses, a short huff of breath is visible in the winter air. The vapour hasn’t even dissipated before he slips down the throat of the alley and lets the city swallow him.  

Wyatt doesn’t stop the third time. 

The boy is tucked behind a stack of empty barrels behind a pub, legs folded up against his chest. In the few strides it takes Wyatt to walk by, the boy passes something between his thin fingers, carefully setting it down with a few other objects collected at his feet. He doesn’t look up and Wyatt lets himself get too optimistic. 

Needless to say, he’s gone an hour later.

Wyatt sighs, hand carrying a small jug of milk and a pasty falling to his side. Perhaps it would have been better to try to speak to him, empty words or not. 

He gives the closest barrel a half-hearted kick of frustration and something clinks against the cobblestones. Wyatt stoops, ducking into the alcove and marveling at how the boy managed to fit in such a space. He finds a pristine-white seashell and a tiny bell the size of his fingertip. It’s a cheap thing, crudely hammered into the small shape, gold paint on the tin scratched and chipped. Twisting his arm at angles he would not normally volunteer, Wyatt discovers the rest of the hidden cache. 

He leaves it undisturbed, replacing the felled treasures and his optimism with them. Wyatt tucks the bottle of milk and the wrapped pie in the niche. He hurries off, lest the boy find him lurking and stay away all the longer.   

The next day, Wyatt returns to a bottle full and the food uneaten. Untouched would be a better term, as though the boy has marked it forbidden even to the vermin. Wyatt already knows the collection will be gone but he checks anyway. He could laugh, save the fact that the task of finding the boy has been stalking him as much as the other way around. Every time he steps out, any time he can’t sleep. Just another loop around the block, a quick check down a quiet lane, a diversion down the East side of the river. 

Theo tells him to throw the towel in. “Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.” 

He doubles down. 

Now he’s looking for something in particular. He catches sight of him a handful of times in the coming weeks. Never in the same place twice, never for longer than flash. 

It takes weeks. 

But the city isn’t as infinite as it seems. The perfect stage is inevitable. 

In the quietest hour before dawn, Wyatt does his usual rounds. He makes a habit of checking in on the boys who work the night shift before their replacements arrive. After a smoke with Tom on the bridge, Wyatt weaves his way behind a block of riverside houses, moss-covered garden walls stretching along one side. The smoke rises from the chimneys in thin whisps, hearths waiting to be reawakened after the home’s inhabitants. He passes the same hound as always, sleeping on the back step of the last house. 

He’s about to turn left at a dead end when he sees him. Sitting up on the wall, one foot swinging and the other knee pulled to his chest. The boy’s head snaps up, leg lifting in the same motion like he’s on a marionette string, moving to drop to the other side of the wall. 

“Wait,” Wyatt calls, gentling his voice. 

Even in the soft light, Wyatt can see his eyes narrow, but for some reason he pauses. 

Wyatt pulls one of Midge’s hand pies out of his pocket, wrapped in paper and tied with kitchen twine, something he’s never without these days. The boy can surely see it but Wyatt lifts it to show him anyway, then places it on the ground and takes a few steps away. 

The boy is not impressed. 

But the dog from the last house is. It rises from the ground, lifting its nose to smell the air. Not quite brave or hungry enough to skirt in front of Wyatt for the prize, but locked onto the scent. 

Wyatt takes another step away, in the direction of his turn, leaving a straight path between the dog and the pie, the boy watching scrupulously from the wall. 

The hound takes a hesitant step forward. 

Seeing Wyatt’s end, the boy curls his hands into fists. He glares daggers at Wyatt, not even bothering to watch the dog continue its advance. 

Wyatt is hard-pressed to hide his smirk, wondering if the huffed growl came from the hound or the boy. He scarcely breathes as he watches the standoff, thrilled with his gamble. No matter the end, he’ll learn something about this scrappy street shadow. Whether he likes it or not.

At the last second, the boy springs off the wall, snatching the little parcel from close enough to be bitten. But the hound only sits, hopeful for a morsel as he watches the boy bound over the wall, pausing only to throw a last bitter look at Wyatt before he disappears. 

Masterlist

@whumpy-writings @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @painsandconfusion

@wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash

@poeticagony-blog @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @melancholy-in-the-morning @crystalquartzwhump

@magziemakeswhatever @neverthelass @cakeinthevoid @inkstainsonmyhands12 @morning-star-whump

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

What's so special about you, huh? Why did you get to survive?

[serickswrites]

Watching

Warnings: stalking, illness

Whumper watched Whumpee for days. Days and days. They loved to watch Whumpee. Everything about Whumpee was interesting.

The little trips they took to the beach. The multiple errands they ran on Tuesdays. The small coffee shop they always stopped at on Mondays after their time at the gym. Everything about Whumpee was interesting.

Today, however, Whumpee had Whumper worried. They hadn't gone to the gym yesterday. Hadn't left their house at all. Everyone had off days, Whumper reasoned. But today, Whumpee hadn't left either. Hadn't gone to the grocery store. Hadn't gone to the dry cleaners. They hadn't even stopped by the pet shop to pick up bird seed that they needed--Whumper had watched Whumpee fill their feeder with the last of the seed on Saturday and it was now empty. Whumpee never let the birds in their garden go without seed.

Whumper was worried.

They crept carefully into Whumpee's backyard to see if they could see what had Whumpee so preoccupied. Whumpee always left the curtains open in the bedroom and today was no exception.

Whumpee lay in bed, blankets piled high on top of them, their sweaty, pale face exposed. Whumpee looked like they had a terrible fever. Whumper smiled. This was the perfect time for them to strike. They could make sure Whumpee was taken care of and still get to watch Whumpee. Forever.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy -- Cursed Knowledge

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

Molly keeps her promise, and Tracy finds that the achiness and other symptoms have faded a lot by the next day. At least she won’t have to feel like that ever again.

What would it be like, if your priority was your own health and happiness?

Molly’s words keep intruding into her thoughts, which is especially weird because Tracy already knows the answer. She would be a different person if she prioritized herself. So why does the question loop in her mind?

It doesn’t matter. She needs to escape, to get back to Alicia. But… when she had a chance to escape, she failed. She doesn't even know why!

She takes a deep breath. That train of thought goes nowhere. Just… think about it logically. Stop being stupid and think of it like a puzzle to be solved instead of a potentially hopeless situation.

Okay, the main obstacle in the way of escape right now is that she can’t hurt Molly. Since she doesn’t know why she can't hurt Molly, the logical next step towards escape is to figure out the reason, right?

How does one figure out why they couldn’t do something, though? She knows she was interrupted by a memory that made her lose focus, but she doesn’t know why that happened. It’s not like being violent is so out of the ordinary for her. She’s always been able to do what she had to do, so why can’t she now?

“…hey.” Molly pulls Tracy from her thoughts and sets down a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. "Um.. how are you feeling?"

"Better. Uh… thank you. For not keeping me like that. And for breakfast." She's not really grateful, of course, but keeping Molly happy certainly can't hurt anything.

Molly sits down. "So… do you want to talk about why you're so sure you can't get sick?"

"I don't get sick."

"...Most people do get sick sometimes, though, right?"

She's waiting for Tracy to answer, so Tracy gives a quick nod. It would feel like Molly's talking to her like she's a toddler if she didn't know that Molly always talks like this.

"So why are you different?"

"I don't know why, I just know that I don't get sick."

"But how do you know that? If it was just that you've never been sick before, why would you be so sure that you can't get sick now or in the future?"

Tracy eats some of her eggs. "I just know."

Tracy knows she's being frustrating, causing the conversation to go in circles, but Molly doesn't seem annoyed. "While you were… feeling not so great, you said that you weren't sick because you're not weak or pathetic. Do you feel like people who get sick are weak and pathetic?"

"...I guess."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'? If you're sick you're obviously weaker than normal, and you need people to take care of you."

"And… that's pathetic?"

"Yeah? Y'know, you're not my therapist, you're my kidnapper. I don't want to play whatever game this is."

"You seem frustrated."

"I am! Can you let me eat in peace?" 

"Of course. I'm sorry." Molly starts eating her own breakfast.

They eat in silence for a bit, allowing Tracy to go back to her predicament. How does one figure out why they couldn't do something?

The options can be broken down into two potential answers: it was either something about trying to give someone a concussion, or something about Molly specifically.

The first seems more likely. She's never given anyone a concussion before, and it's a bigger deal than slapping someone or pulling their hair. It's… only human that she hesitated. It's only human that she thought back to how it felt when it was being done to her.

So, how can she fix being human? How can she make hurting someone seriously feel the same as slapping someone or pulling their hair?

"What're you thinking about?" Molly asks.

"Just enjoying my food." She eats the last bite of her breakfast.

Molly takes Tracy's now empty plate and stacks it on top of her own. "I'll go wash these. After that… Do you wanna play chess?"

"...sure. I'll set it up while you're doing that."

Molly grins widely and goes into the kitchen.

Tracy finds a chess board with the other board games, puts it on the table, and sets up the pieces. She can multitask, it shouldn't be too hard to play chess while figuring out how to turn off the part of her that cares about causing someone brain damage.

Molly finishes with the dishes quickly and sits down across from Tracy. "Do you want white or black?"

"How good are you at chess?"

Molly laughs. "We've played chess together before, when I was your therapist. Do you remember at all?"

Tracy shakes her head. She really doesn't remember anything from those sessions.

"How about we just do rock, paper, scissors for who plays white. Does that sound good?"

Tracy nods. Molly plays rock and Tracy plays scissors, so Molly ends up with the first move.

Tracy has to remind herself not to get too engrossed in the game, no matter how much she enjoys chess. She still needs to be focused on escape. How can she fix the part of her that hesitated at hurting Molly?

If she can just fix that, she can retry what she did last time. Grab some handcuffs from the backpack, catch Molly by surprise, hit her head hard enough to disorient her, take the cattle prods, restrain her, take the keys, and escape. 

Molly will probably be anticipating her trying something like that, so she'll be on guard. She's already started taking the backpack with her when she goes to the bathroom, which she didn't do before the incident. Tracy could've tried that strategy long before Molly accidentally left the restraints when she went upstairs… but it would've failed, because she hasn't fixed the part of her that hesitated.

"You've always had such an aggressive playstyle." Molly once again interrupts her thoughts. "I'm more like Alicia, I prefer to focus on defense."

Tracy's stomach drops. Molly may have played with Tracy before, but she's never played against Alicia. “How do you know that?”

Molly winces. “Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Is there any answer to your question that could make you happy?”

“No, but not answering it doesn’t make me happy either!” Tracy tries to keep her breathing under control.

“I think… you’re happier now than you would be if you knew.”

“That’s not fair. Why do you get to decide that? Why can’t you just listen to me? I want to know! I hate not knowing, I hate looking back on private memories and wondering if you were somehow there! I hate wondering if Alicia is safe from you or if you're watching everything she does!" She sweeps the pieces off the chess board and lets them clatter to the ground. It doesn't make her less angry.

“...I'll tell you if you can calm down, dear."

"That's not fair!" 

Life isn't fair. Calm the fuck down.

"You stalked me and won't even tell me how and I'm supposed to not be upset about that?? Why is everyone allowed to get angry but me!? Why are you allowed to kidnap me and shock me with cattle prods and restrain me, but me getting upset is too far?? Tell me, now, or– or–"

What can she threaten? She's completely powerless, even over her own emotions. Now that she's opened the floodgates, she finds herself sobbing uncontrollably. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you–"

"C'mon, just take some deep breaths. In… and out… In… and out…"

Tracy abruptly stands up, sending her chair flying, and flees to her room. She locks the door behind her despite knowing that Molly must have a way in and starts throwing things. The spinny chair, books from the bookcase, clothes, pillows, anything she can find.

All she achieves is tiring herself out. She screams until her throat is hoarse, but Molly doesn't even knock on her door or try to talk to her. She punches her mattress until her arms are sore, and still, nothing happens. Her rage is meaningless. She's not even going to get punished, much less listened to. No one cares. No one cares at all.

She cries until she's emptied herself out. That should be calm enough for Molly, right? She takes some deep breaths, unlocks the door, and exits her room. "I'm calm now. Tell me."

Molly is sitting on the couch, staring at Tracy. "I… I had a lot of things. It was a lot of hacking, mostly. Um…" she takes a shaky breath. "You're going to be upset."

"Yeah. Did you not know that when you did it?"

"I… I don't know…" She closes her eyes. "The cameras. The cameras that your parents set up in your house, I watched through those."

Tracy feels like the wind has been knocked out of her. She thought she was too exhausted and numb to feel anything, but she was wrong. She's not even sure what she's feeling, but it's definitely something besides exhaustion and numbness.

It was violating enough to have her parents watching. It never even occurred to her that the footage could be being watched by someone else. What if Molly wasn't the only one? God, Molly probably didn't even have to do anything but guess the password a couple of times! Tracy wouldn't be surprised if the password was 'password' or one of their birthdays.

"So… Alicia…"

"There aren't cameras in her foster parents' house," Molly confirms. "I follow her foster parents' social media, and I can access Alicia's email, but… that's it."

Tracy doesn't remotely believe that that's all, but she does believe that there isn't a way for her to watch Alicia anymore. "If I asked you to unfollow them and log out of Alicia's email, would you do it?"

"...yes. But it would mean I wouldn't be able to tell you how Alicia is doing, would you be okay with that?"

"Of course I'm fucking okay with that!" Tracy snaps. "I already asked you to leave her alone, but I guess you don't care about my wishes as much as you pretend you do." She's proud that her voice is able to sound cold despite the fire raging inside her.

"...I thought that as long as I didn't contact her–"

"Let me make it clear, then. I don't want you to have anything to do with her. I don't want you to surveil her in any way. I want you to be completely clueless about what's going on in her life."

"Okay. I'll do that. I'm so sorry, Tracy."

Tracy doesn't dignify that with a response. She locks herself back in her room. She doesn't think Molly will actually stop stalking Alicia, but… there's a chance. That'll have to be enough for now.

There is another small comfort– the cameras were only meant to make sure she and Alicia followed the rules when their parents weren't home, and her parents turned them off when they were able to keep an eye on her and Alicia in person. If Molly's main source of information was the cameras, she didn't see the worst of it. She didn't see Tracy at her most vulnerable. She tries to remind herself of that, but it doesn't make her feel any less violated.

Maybe Molly was right. There was no answer that could've made her happy, so she shouldn't have asked.

tag list: @whumpyourdamnpears @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @iamheretohurt

[patr0nsa1nt]

Song - Monster under the bed

Unhealthy obsession with the guy she likes, ends up with him being stalked and finally kidnapped.

Why do artists not make more music videos like this. It's such a hidden gem.

[ilariyalavorowrites]

Stalking Me, Stalking You (CSI Nick Stokes) Part three

Imagine: You never saw it coming, you never knew he was there until the moment he struck. For months, this individual had stalking you from the shadows, trying to find a way into your life. Never quite able to but in his mind, time was running out and soon enough you would be completely out of reach. This was the moment to act, to ‘rescue’ you and steal you away.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, kidnapping, hurt but eventual comfort. Suffering, lots of suffering, slow-moving plot, stalking, obsessive behaviour.

Pairings: Nick Stokes x Reader and Reader x OC (one-sided)

Word count: 3,068 words

Universe: CSI

Reader gender: Female

Part three of ten

Tagged: @just-call-me-the-old-hag @horsedragonllama @space-helen @kneelforloki @flopiboni

Previous / Next

Monday, Midnight

Greg and Morgan sat side by side, as Archie worked his magic on the various clips of CCTV. Each of the three larger monitors displayed different parts of a timeline that had been created by the day shift’s visual and audio tech Franklyn. They watched as their friend exited her known and preferred coffee shop with her piping hot beverage alone. This had been the last place that she had seen when Officer Sawyer had taken the barista’s statement.

“This is the only first clip that Dayshift obtained after the warrant for her finances came through” Morgan stated with the matching report in hand. The short clip showed nothing out of the ordinary. There was no one tailing her, no strange car parked with a window partially wound down with the driver trying to look casual as their eyes trailed after her.

“It confirms the Barista’s statement at the very least” Greg replied as his gaze shifted to the second screen. Archie paused the first clip and then slid the cursor to the play the next one.

All of them were teetering on the edge of professionalism. Trying their best to push aside their personal feelings. They needed to try at the very least to view the evidence collected like any other case. It was going to be a long night especially as Greg and Morgan had been the ones assigned to review what was already there for this shift. 

The plan was for hands on deck over the next few shifts, to hand over the new details and brief the incoming day shift at the end of their night then repeat the process with a fresh set of eyes the next night.

“This one isn’t the greatest quality, it’s a wall-mounted camera from one of her neighbours that was discovered by the door-to-door interviews” Archie stated as the pixelated footage started. Both Morgan and Greg noted the timestamp, it had been captured at 2:30 in the afternoon. 

“This camera will only record when the motion detection is triggered as you both know” Archie reminded them as they all watched as a battered, Silver Chevrolet Cruze drove past. It did not match the make and model of the car that the Detective had, which had yet to be located even with the BOLO that had been put out with all the necessary details. It had vanished into thin air.

Notes from the lead CSI Ava Dane stated that none of the neighbours had recognised the car when they had spoken after reviewing the footage. One neighbour had commented that he noticed the vehicle when he had returned from home at around 3:10 but he had heard tyres screeching loudly about twenty-five minutes later and when he looked at the window, it was gone.

There had been a slight skid mark noted and photographed from outside that particular address which had been run through the system and matched commonly used wheels. It had the first dead end.

“Franklyn managed to recover a partial plate after cleaning up the image, I won’t be able to get much more than that due to video quality” The tech apologised, knowing that this was not what the two of them wanted to hear.

“It’s a start at least” Morgan responded, trying to remain positive as she turned to the next report. Her eyes rapidly moved over the data displayed there. “It looks like the day shift ran that plate, there’s a fair few listed but they eliminated half” 

As her eyes drifted down the page, they stopped over one particular name. As memories of the case that she had worked on came flooding back. The Detective had been waiting for her at the scene. 

Vaughn Mikhailov was a two-bit drug dealer, he and his older brother Artem had been targeted and shot at in a drive-by gangbangers after they had tried to move in on the turf of another local dealer. The initial warnings had been ignored by the pair, and this had led to the car being targeted. Vaughn had been in the backseat, he had barely been clipped by a single bullet in his left shoulder but Artem hadn’t been as lucky.

He had died at the scene, bleeding out whilst waiting on the paramedics. Vaughn had been cooperative to a point, but eventually, he just screamed at her friend when she had in his eyes failed to get justice for his brother.

It was not always possible to reach a satisfactory end to every case, it had been one of those which slipped through the crack when the leads had all run cold. Morgan remembered that her friend had noted that this had not been her first rodeo with either of the Mikhailov brothers.

“The first time I met them was when I was working the beat, I arrested Artem for soliciting a working girl and Vaughn for dealing. Both of them had rap sheets as long as your arm. It's their mother, I feel for each time one of them ends up in court”

There had been sympathy that lingered as she listened, as it turned out their mother had raised both the boys single-handedly after their father had run off. She had tried her best but they had been drawn into the fast-paced lifestyle of wheeling and dealing. As she watched, the detective informed the woman of her son’s death.

“What is it, Morgan?” Greg asked, noticing that Morgan had not spoken and became transfixed by one of the reports further in. He leaned, to see what she had been reading. It was the list of cars compiled by the plate search. 

“Vaughn Mikhailov,” She said looking up to meet his gaze. Greg’s gaze narrowed perplexed as he did not recognize the name. However, before he could reply, Morgan beat him to the punch.

“It was a drive-by shooting case, I worked a few weeks back and she was the lead detective assigned work to the case alongside me” She started, knowing that she would need to give him more than that if they were going to start to seriously look at him as a potential suspect.

“He and his older brother were targeted after trying to move into another dealer’s turf. His brother died at the scene. He was far from happy with how things went but he had a chip on his shoulder as she had arrested him more than a few times in the past” Once she had finished speaking, Morgan waited for Greg to process the information that had been dumped upon him.

“So he held her responsible for not finding his brother’s killer then. Greg asked, Morgan nodded before one last comment. “He had an axe to grind”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------Tuesday, 4 am

With one hand poised, Nick firmly knocked upon Russell’s closed office door. In a roundabout way, he had expected the text summoning him to the supervisor’s office but not this soon. He had hoped that he would be one way approaching Russell but then again, at least this way soon enough everything would be out in the open.

This was not the way that he had hoped that this conversation would be initiated. He knew that she had already started telling her partner and fellow officers about her boyfriend whenever she had a spare few minutes. She had also scheduled a meeting with HR on the day that she was meant to be returning to work. Nick then would approach Russell around the same time as she would have been seated down with HR. Effectively killing two birds with one stone 

This had always been their plan when things became more serious between the two of them. Multiple discussions had arisen, on when, where and how they approach their collective jobs regarding their romantic relationship and the potential impact on both of their jobs that would need to be addressed and solutions put into place.

She had planned to offer to be moved from Graveyard to Swing or Day if no other compromise could be reached. Where it would be possible for both of them both work the same shift pattern without any issues. Departmental policy had previously torn Sara from the team when her relationship with Grissom came to light, they had wondered how it would have played out for them.

Yes, they were still colleagues working alongside another one, but not under the same direct supervisor. They crossed over for Homicide and Forensic evidence collection and investigation came hand in hand. Without one, you couldn’t have the other.

“Come in” Russell’s voice called from behind the door, bringing Nick back of his thoughts as he pushed the handle and then the door inwardly. “Hey Russell…” He greeted the man sitting behind the desk but what he hadn’t expected was Catherine being in the room, standing off to one side behind Russell.

“Shut the door Nick” Russell continued as he went through the motions of crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him and moved further into the office to stand before the pair staring straight at him.

“I know this is about Detective..” Her name rolled off his tongue, one that had fallen on his lips many times before. “Look, I know that I should have told you..” Nick started to try and explain the position that he had found himself in.

“Nick, I need to know that you’ll be able to recuse yourself if you cross that emotional line where you start to lead your heart, not your head. For as long as you can remain objective then you still work on the case but the moment, that you step over that line. I will remove you and you’ll be treated just like every other significant other or next kin on every other case that had past through this department” Russell spoke with a conviction that could not be ignored or overturned. This was a promise that he would not go back on. 

Nick quickly nodded, happily agreeing with his supervisor’s conclusion. “This will have to be logged with HR and I’ll arrange the meeting shortly”  Russell said before turning to Catherine. “Anything you want to add?” He said, pulling her into the dialogue. Catherine had been quietly observing the short back and forth between the pair.

“Nicky, from here on out, we’ll be watching closer. Please understand, that we want to bring her home as much as you do. Still, we have to follow the rules and ensure there nothing can be challenged further down the line” Her words held a warmth that Nick had felt before, the familial love that had developed and grown over the many years that they had worked together. Once again, Catherine was looking after him, all whilst balancing the integrity of the crime lab and their necessary work on top of that. It was a well-practice balancing act that she had perfected over the last decade.

All it took would be one step in the wrong direction and it would come tumbling back down. That could not happen, no it would not help.

------------------------------------------------------------------------Tuesday 2 am

As the night rolled by, evidence was processed, reviewed and reported, with the new findings and avenues to venture down next added to the ever-growing list.

The one initially weak lead that had cropped up early in the shift strengthened as prints from the scene which had been set running whilst the sun was still up bore fruit. Morgan’s theory now seemed more plausible as the same name popped up once more, this could not just be a coincidence in the name of bad blood. 

Morgan turned to Greg, still trying to wrap her head around this as there were still too many variables that did not make a lick of sense. She could understand the steps taken to enact some twisted form of payback by breaking into the detective’s home and destroying everything that she might hold dear. There were no signs of a struggle, no blood splatter or trail to imply that they had been lying in wait for her to return.

With the crime scene photos laid out on the table between them, this felt much like the pieces of a puzzle waiting to be put together to reveal the image displayed upon the box when a handful of key tiles were missing, creating holes in the image. “This isn’t the primary scene, there is no indication that she ever came back. Two separate indications with one connecting factor, her” Morgan said, churning over the thoughts in her head out loud as she tried to make any sense of it all.

“What do we know about Vaughn Mikhailov, beyond his last arrest report?” Greg started before listing off what had been discovered thus far “His prints are all over this crime scene, his car matches the mark and model spotted on the neighbour's CCTV but why would a dealer break into a cop’s home in broad daylight?” He posed the question to Morgan, the blonde’s face twisted in confusion as she tried to gather together a logical answer but found none. 

“How did he find her address? That’s what bugs me unless he tailed her previously but according to the neighbour’s statement” Morgan replied, fishing out the relevant document from the box on her side of the table and turning to the right page. “That car had never been caught on camera before that day and those cameras had been up for more than six months”

“The only way that we’ll get satisfactory answers is that Vaughn Mikhailov needs to be found and brought in for questioning” Morgan nodded her head in agreement, the two-bit criminal had a lot to answer for.

“Brass put has BOLO out on Mikailov’s car”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------Tuesday, 4:30 am

The blinding flash of blue lights and screeching sirens were not out of place as the convoy of vehicles pulled up in front of the homestead. Its chain link fence had seen better days, half still attached to the poles that marked the edge of the property and the rest lost within the depths of the tall grass that desperately needed cutting. 

The property itself was registered to one Nikolai Mikhailov, the cousin of their prime suspect. It was not out of the ordinary for Vaughn to crash on his cousin’s sofa when his mother threw him out for the third time that week. Officers had called the property in the past, more often than not on matters of public nuisance or disturbance. Nikolai loved to party well into the small hours and was not shy about using violence to silence any complaining neighbours if they dared to call the cops on him.

Detective Captain Jim Brass surveyed the scene from behind the cruiser’s side door and soon found what he was looking for. With the garage door half enough, it was plain to see the car parked within, its license plate matching the suspect’s known vehicle of choice. No lights could be seen from the street as Officers tentatively approached the front door, ready to burst through the door and apprehend whoever was on the other side.

With the fury of valkyries leading the charge, the officers breached through the threshold as calls of LVPD came and went as Jim watched them disappear inside. This had to be it, this had to be the end of the road.

He was not the only one listening in, as the Officers inside cleared the scene. The investigated interest ran through from the bottom straight up to the top. She was one of them

‘419’ The code of a dead body came crackling over the airwaves, a dead body had been discovered. A chill rushed through him as he envisioned the very sight of her lying there, with empty, glazed-over eyes staring up at him as he wondered why.

’It’s not her’ The voice of Officer Mitchell soon followed as Jim released the breath that he hadn’t known he was holding back, then again he wasn’t the only one. Nick stood silently by, with bated breath as Morgan and Greg left with kits in hand. This was their scene now as they had been the ones to discover the connections that led to this.

Hodges stood in the doorway, reading the scene before him. The air was still tense as they all waited for the relief to set in but yet that felt too premature. The lab tech cleared his throat to try and catch Nick’s attention. He watched for a moment then tried a different approach.

“Nick, this was left at Reception for you” Hodges called into the room, as he held out the unstamped manila envelope for the other man to take. Nick Stokes was scrawled across the front in a large and unfamiliar hand. 

Nick frowned, he was not awaiting any post as he took it. “Thanks, man,” He said as he turned it over, inspecting it from every angle. There was nothing about the envelope that stood out, it was a standard A3 office stationery that was stocked by countless suppliers but the question arose of who had sent it.

As he carefully opened the sealed flap and reached inside, Nick quickly found the content. A series of photographs which he slid out. Hodges slid up beside him as he turned over the first which revealed little other than what he already knew to be true.

“Is that…” David questioned at the sight of his friends and colleagues locked in a rather passionate embrace. “Yes,” Nick curtly replied, annoyed at the very prospect that they had been followed and their privacy had been invaded like this as he turned over the next one.

It was the last one that drew a shocked gasp from Hodges, as he shook with a rage that he hadn’t felt for some time. The sight of her bound and unconscious in the boot of an unidentifiable vehicle with the words I WIN STOKES, SHE IS MINE written in bold, block capitals across the top of the image.

Each had focused upon her, she was the object of this maddening desire. A tail had been placed as her routine was documented. He held pride of place in a number of the images, whether he liked it or not.

He was taunting him, this was just his opening move.

[sickfictropes]

Might sound weird but I would love some whump prompts about modelling? Putting makeup over dirt and injuries, crying in between photoshoots, ect.....

oooh interesting! let's see what i can do! there's a little mention of stranger/fan stalking/attacks in this one so i'm going to put it under a read more just in case :)

long, long hours and being unable to take breaks for food and water while they're shooting and collapsing from exhaustion

focusing on flaws and never thinking they're good enough because the expectation is perfection

ankle injuries from high heels, falling off stages and breaking bones or getting concussions, etc

obsessive fans who pose a threat to their safety, having to have a security guard around all the time just to stay safe

very long periods of time on their feet which can cause pain in feet, knees, lower back, etc.

i liked the specificity here and i hope you liked some of these!

[whump-mania]

something involving bugs and a whumpee who’s scared of bugs. Maybe tying them down and letting them crawl all over them and into their wounds and over their face. Just an idea, no pressure :)

(Tw: ants/insects, stalking, fear)

“So, I did a bit of digging before I took you.”

“…What?”

“Your blog. You post a lot on there—well, posted.”

“You’re a freak.”

“You really spilled on that thing, I mean…hah, who would just…tell the world all their fears?”

“…That was…o-only my friends were supposed to see that.”

“A lot of the stuff on there was impossible to do…you know, intangible stuff, like failure and death and all that boring shit. But one of them…”

“Hey, no no no, what the fuck is in that box—”

“Ants, who would have thought, huh? They’re so little and harmless. I even think they’re kinda cute. I had an ant farm as a kid.”

“Get the fuck away from me!”

“I know I shouldn’t believe everything I see on the internet, but…let’s just see if you were telling the truth or not.”

“No—No, NO!”

“Ooh, you’re crying already? I haven’t even poured them yet! How about…we start with the face.”

[montammil]

Just a writing of Rowan and Sawyer pre-kidnap, showing a little bit of what happened before Rowan took him.

TW: Vaguely NSFW descriptions, yandere/intimate whumper, stalking, mentioned kidnapping, alcohol, attempted noncon, Rowan being a freak as always

...

Rowan swirled his whiskey glass idly but kept his gaze focused entirely on the man on stage. For the first time in a while, Rowan didn't drown in sorrows out in alcoholic despair. He couldn't, not when Sawyer was there. He wanted to be completely alert and aware to keep his attention on him. Not to mention, Rowan knew how he was when drunk, and he didn't want to make a fool of himself.

Even a sip too much, and he was either crying or giggling on the floor. Sawyer didn't deserve to see such an unsightly thing.

...even if the idea of Sawyer taking care of him while drunk was a nice thought.

No, he needed to keep a cool head. He needed to be calm and composed. Rowan couldn't let himself lose control. Not when Sawyer was in front of him.

So for the next two hours, he watched Sawyer from his usual table in the back corner of the bar and listened to the sound of his beautiful voice.

And Rowan found that he never could get enough. He still wondered what it would be like to have Sawyer sing only for him, alone where no one else would bother them. It would be perfect.

Then maybe, just maybe, Rowan would know true bliss. It was already such an amazing feeling watching Sawyer sing some old love song, wearing that charming smile he grew so fond of.

Rowan imagined the love song was meant for him. He swore Sawyer even glanced at him! Surely that meant something!

But the performance eventually came to a close. The band started packing up their instruments, and Rowan saw Sawyer start gathering his things.

With a disappointed frown, Rowan took another drink and downed the rest of his whiskey in a single gulp before getting to his feet and making a beeline outside, waiting for the raven-haired man to exit.

The winter air bit at his skin, but it only fueled Rowan's determination further. He stood silently with hands in his pockets and waited, scowling to himself. But finally the door to Indigo opened.

Sawyer stepped out into the freezing wind with nothing more than a thin jacket and scarf. Rowan tsked to himself. If only he had a way to offer his coat.

Just like always, Sawyer made his way down the street, pulling out a cigarette and lighter while he was at it. Rowan followed after him at a safe distance. The snow crunched under his feet as he tailed behind, careful to remain quiet. Thankfully, Rowan's footsteps were silenced by the cold wind howling in his ears.

Rowan was excited for when he could finally take Sawyer to his real home with him.

The anticipation and excitement thrummed within his heart. Just thinking of it, his heart pounded, and it grew hot in the freezing wind. The image of him cooking dinner for Sawyer, serving him wine, and eating with his lover was almost overwhelming.

Just on the usual time, Sawyer made his way into his apartment, and Rowan watched outside his window.

The usual.

Rowan was used to this by now.

Sawyer settled down on his sofa, flicking through the channels. He didn't even pay attention to the shows anymore. The television served as a sort of background static for him while he ate.

And, of course, he was eating his favorite Chinese takeout. How predictable, how very like Sawyer. Rowan thought he enjoyed routine, but Sawyer seemed even more stuck to routine than Rowan was.

Not that he minded. Just made his job easier, really.

An hour went by when Sawyer headed to bed. Rowan waited an extra thirty minutes after that just to be sure he wouldn't wake up. Only then did he creep closer, grabbing his lockpicks and cracking the front door open without a sound.

This wasn't the first time he snuck in, and certainly not the last. With practiced ease, he slipped through the home. Rowan's feet knew the creaky floorboards, the furniture in his way, and every nook and cranny of the apartment. It was almost like it was his own. He knew this place like the back of his hand.

Rowan went straight to the bedroom and carefully, quietly opened the door, peering inside with a hushed sigh of admiration. The moonlight peeking through the blinds lit the sleeping figure perfectly.

His gaze lingered over Sawyer's features, noting every detail of the man he adored so much. His dark hair was messy and tangled, the locks falling over his forehead in a way that had Rowan grinning.

It felt intimate.

Rowan slipped inside the room, closing the door behind him with the softest click. Then he slowly approached, reaching out. Hesitating. Was it too early? Could he touch Sawyer yet?

Sawyer unconsciously responded to Rowan's internal debate, moving in his sleep until he lay on his side with his face pointed towards Rowan. An unknowing invitation. A go ahead.

Rowan couldn't deny the permission offered to him. He swallowed thickly and caressed Sawyer's cheek.

Warmth radiated off his skin. Tension melted from Rowan's shoulders as he touched Sawyer's warm face. Careful not to jostle Sawyer, Rowan bent over him and brushed his lips against his temple.

"I love you," he whispered, pressing his nose against his hair and inhaling the scent of his aloe shampoo. Rowan sighed contentedly and moved away despite wanting to climb into bed with him.

Rowan spent a couple of seconds to find some discarded clothing he knew Sawyer wouldn't miss. When he found a sweaty tank top, he lifted it to his face and breathed in deeply.

Normally he would've thought the act was disgusting, but this was Sawyer's dirty tank top. It was normal to enjoy your lover's scent, was it not?

After taking in another whiff, Rowan tucked the tank top into his coat pocket and snapped a picture of Sawyer's sleeping face. Rowan then looked around and grabbed a few pairs of underwear for himself before slipping back out into the chilly night air.

...

The next night went a little differently.

It started with the same routine: Sawyer singing, Rowan watching every little detail, and drinking in all that was his precious Sawyer.

But Sawyer approached the bar, sitting a few seats away from him.

This wasn't rare from him, even if it weren't also common by any means. Sawyer would stop by at times after his show to have a drink or two and chat with whoever was manning the bar that day. Usually it was some guy named Lucien, which the two seemed to have the most chemistry with each other. Rowan found the guy's behavior around Sawyer detestable—a slimy, repulsive slug of a human.

But Rowan knew when he should keep his head low, and now wasn't the right time to intervene between them. No. He usually just watched on with narrowed eyes while he ordered another glass of wine for himself.

Tonight was not like that.

Rowan only gathered the courage to open his mouth for a second before some man sat in between them and struck up a conversation with his Sawyer.

He smelled of cheap liquor and was clearly looking at his lover in all the wrong ways. Rowan gripped his glass with a tight grasp, fuming inside.

"My name's Brooks. Your voice is very pretty," the bastard purred. "What do you say about you and me have some time alone together?"

Sawyer hummed indifferently. "I'm not interested."

Brooks chuckled. "Oh, come on. You don't gotta play hard to get with me."

He reached forward and put a hand on Sawyer's thigh. The singer barely gave it a glance and took another drink. "That doesn't work on me," he replied monotonously, never letting his eyes leave his half-empty glass.

Rowan became a pro at reading Sawyer; he could see the subtle changes in his expression that indicated discomfort.

It was no use though, because the stranger simply kept his hand where it was and leaned closer. "Then what will work on you?" he asked. "I'm really good in bed. Give me a chance, babe."

"I said I wasn't interested." Finally, Sawyer looked up, and Rowan caught a glimpse of his gray eyes in the dim lighting.

"I like a challenge, pretty boy." He licked his lips. "Why don't we go back to my place? I promise to make you feel really good."

Rowan was about to stand, to do something, but Lucien beat him to it.

"Get out, man." The bartender grabbed Brooks by the shoulder. "He's not interested, and he's made that very clear."

Brooks scowled but stomped out anyway. Rowan watched Sawyer thank Lucien. Even though he despised the bartender's guts, he was thankful Lucien did his job. Rowan could feel the tension bleed out of his body, and he finally took another drink, his mind buzzing with a mixture of rage and anxiety. What would have happened if Lucien didn't step in?

Sawyer ordered another drink, chugging it down in record speed. It must've been a tough night, Rowan figured. He was sure that pervert didn't help, making a mental note to get violent if he ever laid eyes on him again.

Lucien replaced Sawyer's empty glass with one filled with water. "Take it easy there," he warned.

It was clear Sawyer was drunk now, judging by the playful way he stuck his tongue out at Lucien.

He knew the two were friendly, but it was rare to see the singer be anything but solemn or serious, unless he were home alone... or rather, when he thought he was home alone. But here was Sawyer being childish; it was strangely endearing.

Even better was that he was actually showing emotion, albeit from the alcohol. He imagined when Sawyer came around to loving him back, he'd be playful with him like that, too.

"That's enough for you," Lucien snorted. "If you wait thirty more minutes, I can drive you home."

"Nah, I got a cab outside," he mumbled, words slurring. "I'll be fine."

Rowan knew damn well that was a lie, but Lucien seemed to believe him since he merely nodded and helped the next customer down the row. He watched Sawyer push the glass back to Lucien and wave before getting to his feet and stumbling outside.

Like always, Rowan followed after him. As expected, Sawyer wobbled and almost tripped a couple times.

Now Rowan was less doing this for his own needs and for Sawyer's. Someone had to be there for his love, whether Sawyer knew or not. Because who knew if someone else would try to take advantage of Sawyer's drunken state?

As if to confirm his suspicions, a car rolled up next to Sawyer and called out to him. God, did this entire town want to fuck him?!

"Hey," a different guy drawled as he pulled up next to Sawyer. "You need a ride somewhere?"

"No," Sawyer slurred. "Don' needa ride..."

"Aww, don't say that. It's cold and snowy out! Let me bring you home. Where's your house?"

Rowan decided enough was enough. He nearly jogged up to Sawyer and wrapped a protective arm around his shoulders. "My boyfriend already has a ride; thank you very much."

"Oh uh." The man's eyes darted between Sawyer and Rowan. "Didn't mean to intrude or anything. Sorry, buddy." He drove away, leaving them standing there on the sidewalk.

Sawyer stared at Rowan with dazed confusion. His brain obviously wasn't working properly. But even when he was completely wasted, he still had some common sense left in him. After several seconds of staring at him, Sawyer snapped back into reality.

"Thanks," he managed to hiccup out. Sawyer stepped out from under Rowan's arm and stumbled towards a random direction.

"Wait!" Rowan quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. "I... um... I just want to make sure you get home okay." Sawyer blinked at him with unfocused eyes. Rowan wanted to snatch him up right then and there, but there were still so many things to prepare. He needed things to be perfect for him.

"Cool," he said after what seemed like an hour of silence.

He slumped into Rowan's hold and grinned. Without any trouble, they both walked in silence, with Rowan occasionally adjusting Sawyer in his arms.

Sawyer was underdressed as always for this type of weather. It only worried Rowan. Did anyone care for his well-being at all besides himself? He draped his coat over Sawyer's shoulders, to which the shorter man muttered a thanks.

At Sawyer's door, he struggled with his keys and kept failing the lock, hands shaking too hard to work it. So Rowan plucked the ring of keys from his hands and opened the door, dragging him into his apartment with ease.

"Hate it when that happens. Thanks, man."

"Anything for you."

Rowan looked through Sawyer's cupboards for a glass. Sawyer sat down and watched Rowan work, and his expression remained unreadable as he poured water.

Sawyer drank big gulps. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, so much that Rowan had to tear his eyes away before he got too excited. When finished, he slammed the cup back down onto the counter and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up further.

Sawyer rubbed his eyes. "'M so tired."

"Then why don't you go to bed? Here, let me help you." Rowan didn't even care about overstepping his boundaries anymore; he doubted Sawyer would remember much of tonight anyway.

Rowan helped Sawyer off the stool and led him towards his bedroom, pulling off his scarf and jacket as they went.

He sat him down on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of him to pull off his boots. For the first time, he allowed himself to enjoy such an intimate moment. He could pretend that he and Sawyer were married and Rowan was helping his beloved husband get ready for bed. Then he would climb under the covers, and they would cuddle until they fell asleep together.

God, just imagining it caused an overwhelming warmth to bloom within his chest. He had to shake those thoughts out of his head before he got carried away.

Sawyer tossed the shoes to the corner and glanced up to see him leaning back on the bed. His shirt was hiked up to expose his belly, his pants unzipped. Rowan sucked in a sharp breath, a familiar stirring happening below.

"Stay here 'till I fall asleep," Sawyer rasped. He didn't understand what he was even saying. He was vulnerable and drunk—the most beautiful thing Rowan's ever seen. It was like a gift was handed to him.

Rowan nodded quickly, trying his best to keep his cool. He sat next to him, watching him shimmy out of his slacks. Sawyer was wearing tight briefs.

The sight of it all nearly had Rowan drooling. He covered his mouth to hide his lewd grin. This was a testament to how long he was waiting for this moment, but it didn't matter, because now he finally had it.

After just a moment of hesitation, Rowan slid into bed with him and pulled him into his arms. Sawyer reeked of alcohol, but he found himself not caring one bit.

Finally, he was going to sleep in the same bed as the one he loved. He buried his nose into the crook of his neck and held him tightly. Nothing would ever compare to the feeling of holding him in his arms, warm and solid, safe.

...

Sawyer woke up to an empty bed and a pounding headache. His memory from last night was foggy, but he vaguely recalled falling asleep after bringing himself home. It was odd, because normally he'd be hanging halfway off the mattress with limbs sprawled out across the bed, yet he was comfortably tucked in. In fact, the sheets weren't even kicked down to the foot of the bed but neatly pulled up to his chin.

Perhaps he just imagined most of last night. Oh, well, time for a new day.