#blackmailed whumper
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Thank You For Fish
CW: Aftermath of torture, caretaking, glass in skin, captivity, loneliness, isolation, mer whumpee
For @whumptober 2022, day 2: cornered / caged
Signs of the Sea Masterlist, follows directly after Creeping Ambition
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The sound of the mer's cry echoes off the ceiling and walls, his back arching, fin slapping down against flat with a heavy smack.
"Sssshhhh, hold still. Just a few more."
The mer whistles and looks up to where the Bahram looms over him. The human man lays a hand on his cold shoulder, palm warm and soft compared to the mer. Brown with red and pink and beige beneath looks odd, in the mer's eyes, much stranger than the familiar cool grayish-white of the mer's rubbery, waterproof skin.
"Just a few more," The Bahram repeats, and his thumb rubs, soothing, back and forth. Laid out on the platform over the small circle of water he must live in alone, the mer closes his eyes, breathing the water-heavy air through flared nasal slits, gills flat against his neck.
There's a pause. "I'm sorry," the Bahram says, voice low.
Then sharp bright pain spikes at his left hip and he whistles, his tail twitching and jerking. "Nnnnn… nnnnnnooo, Bbhhh-rrrmmm," He wails, forcing his lips to form the clumsy, noisy syllables around his sharp fangs, to shift his tongue in their blunt song-speak.
"It's okay," The Bahram repeats, his jaw set and hard. "Just two more. Hold still for me, just two more…"
The pain suddenly rises again, a wave slamming the mer against a dry hot shore.
"Got it!"
"Nnnnoooooooo!" The mer's head smacks back into the platform as a glass shard is pulled out from burying itself so deep that Kima feels hot dark blood well up over the skin below his navel. "Nnnnnooooo, sssssstuh-... puh-"
"I can't," The Bahram says, but he pauses, lowering his head. His chin dips, and the mer opens his eyes and whimpers as he watches the saltwater dripping from the Bahram's, running down his face like floodwaters finding the sea. "I have to clean it all up, Kima, it's my-... my job-"
"Nnnno hurrrrt, nnnnoooo…" Kima's voice rises to a shriek, and he jerks upwards only to have the Bahram's strong hand lay flat on his chest to force him back into his back. "Nonono-... Nnnno, nnnno-"
"Last one," The Bahram says, but the mer barely hears the words over his own whistling keens, and they mean nothing, only sounds.
The last piece of glass is the worst.
"Okay," The Bahram says, and leans down. His forehead presses against the mer's. His voice is a whisper even though the two of them are alone. "Share with me. Share it."
The mer whimpers and feels the Bahram's thoughts open to his own. Split between them, the hot throb of pain through his stomach and down his tail is lessened. Both of them breathe, and the Bahram's breath is humid, there is water in it.
Hurt.
I know, I know, I'm sorry. But if I left them in, they could infect, they'd make it even worse.
Hurt, Bahram. Kima hurt.
I know, I know… it's over now.
Give blood? Fish for hurt?
The guilt and self-loathing that lances through the mer's mind is unfamiliar and hard to read. It washes over him, riptide, steals the very air from his overworked lungs. You don't need to give any more today, Kima.
Fish? Fish for hurt?
The Bahram pulls back, and looks away from him. The saltwater tears mark his face again. "Yeah," He breathes out loud, and their connection is gone. The pain overwhelms as it returns to him, and the mer whimpers, rolling onto his side, pressing a hand over one of the hurting places and pulling it back to find dark burgundy blood smears along his palm and marking the tips of his claws.
"I'll get the fish," The Bahram speaks in a heavy voice, signing with hands as his mouth moves, hand flat, fingers up next to his face before he tips his fingers like a cup falling over and moves his hand forward, dropping it down to meet the other in loose shapes like the mer's claws, closing to fists as they move back against his body. Fluidly shifting as he says 'fish' to make the sign Kima knows best, dropping one hand and moving the other, palm facing in, in a wave pattern swimming through air.
"Fsssshhh," Kima repeats, hopefully, and echoes the gesture with his bloody hand.
The Bahram swallows hard at the sight, but nods. "Go," He says, and signs, pointing to the tank beneath them. The mer rolls until he is off the platform, falling just a few feet before slipping easily into the water below, gills opening up as nasal slits close.
The spots where the glass was pulled out ache and sting, but being here in the water again feels so good that Kima can almost ignore it. He swims a slow circle around the tank, stretching out his tail and arms, as the Bahram climbs down the ladder and walks across the room.
He opens a door, disappears into it, and Kima stays close to the edge, the wall he cannot see that cages him here, so he can watch for the Bahram's return.
Water rushes and speaks around him. He hears the soft hum of something called the filter, the slosh of water slipping against the invisible walls near the top. He sings, an alone-song, just to give the water a little of the noise that makes it feel more like home.
Kima hopes for living fish. Now and then fish stunned by the sudden change are dropped into the tank, and the mer hunts them with ferocious zeal, desperate to use his tail as he is meant to, to rip with teeth and tear with claws.
More often, lately, the fish are already dead.
Today, it is corpses dropped from the bucket into the water when the Bahram returns. He doesn't stay to watch, just climbs back down the ladder, walks away.
The mer eats the sad motionless meal, because his stomach is empty if he doesn't, but it isn't right. And the Bahram used to try hard to bring living fish, but he doesn't anymore.
Something is wrong with the Bahram, and Kima is frightened because he cannot understand what has changed.
Like how the Bahram speaks to him less. Instead, he stares and stares at him through the other side of the unseen wall, or he looks away entirely.
Sometimes Kima watches him as he goes to the seat and moves his fingers over a rectangle, looking into another rectangle that beams a soft blue-tinged light. He wears black plastic circles over his ears, and sometimes laughs or cries as if they speak to him. Sometimes he holds a black thing in his hands while staring at another black-edged thing with moving things inside it that never seem to come out, like there are tiny other worlds trapped in these odd boxes.
Sometimes, the Bahram eats. He sits with a bowl in his hands and eats slurpy things like narrow white curling worms in a steaming hot liquid, called ramen. When Kima pokes his head up from the water and opens his nasal slits, it smells good. Like salt.
When he eats, the mer knows it means he will soon eat, so he swims rapid circles around this small space, jumps up out of the water to the warm air under the little sun, chirps and clicks to try and make Bahram smile and laugh.
Sometimes he does.
Sometimes he doesn't.
These days, days of shared pain and dead fish, the Bahram doesn't speak to him much after the matriarch finishes hurting him. Just watches him, or goes right back to what he does on the boxes. And eventually, the matriarch calls for them again, and they…
They must go wherever she says, he and the Bahram. The mer must hurt, because she wants to hurt him. And the Bahram must help her do it.
But after, the Bahram is kind, offering to share his pain and fear. He needs there to be someone kind, and the Miah does not come so much now.
Last time, she spat signs with her fingers about how she was tired of watching a child die. She didn't know Kima was watching her hands that day.
But today, just outside the tank, the Bahram is looking, now. He sits on the couch, but he is looking at Kima.
Kima tips his head to one side, white hair floating around him, gills flaring and closing again as he filters oxygen from the surrounding saltwater. Wide green eyes watch the Bahram as he watches back.
Thank you for fish, Kima says with his hands in the human way.
The Bahram looks sad and doesn't answer.
His hair is dirty and his eyes seem dark and ringed in shadows. Along his jaw is darkness - stubble, the Bahram said once when the mer touched a delicate claw to his face and clicked. Kima blows bubbles under the water, but it doesn't make him smile. So he tries to remember the words, clumsy, claws catching in the water, languid and slow. He draws them from eyes down to jaw, turning his mouth into a frown, then closes all his claws but one and draws an oval from chin to the top of his head and back down again.
Sad face.
The Bahram blinks at him, then huffs a laugh. There's no smile in the motion of his shoulders, though, no real warmth. He signs back, mouth moving. If he speaks, Kima can't hear him, really. Just low tones, like a podsong, filtered through the sound of water. "Yes," The Bahram says with his hands and his face, "I think I have a very sad face now. I feel bad for hurting you, but she's right. If I quit, I lose… I lose everything all over again. If she fires me… I can't fail again, Kima. I'm so sorry. I can't fail another thing. Maman's heart would break."
Kima hesitates, hands hovering in the water, trying to turn his own thoughts - thoughts that look like currents and sound like the songs of his family - into the clumsier tooth, claw, tongue words the humans use.
His tail flipper flicks back and forth, back and forth. Bruises and scraped spots throb under his skin, where dark blood pools, at wrists and hips where the awful rough human vines tie him down. He tore himself free today, but the wounds rubbed deeper as he did. Everything aches with the beat of his pulse. Everything hurts.
He touches his forehead with the tips of four claws, then folds three down as he draws his hand back and out, so only the smallest claw and his thumb stand out.
Why?
How can heart break?
"It's a figure of-... Never mind. Why?" The Bahram echoes the motion Kima just made, and then looks to the side, towards the door that the mer is wheeled through. Beyond is the flat table with the tying-down, the pain, the needle-sticks, give blood. Pain that earns him the promise of fish, of food in his yawning, empty belly.
Beyond that door is the place of matriarch of the Bahram, the female who directs the pod. Where his scales are removed, his skin cut away, sliced into strips the matriarch takes from him to study layers, she says to see how he stays warm. Beyond the door is the pain and terror.
Kima shifts back through the water, away from even the sight of that door. His heart beats faster, when he follows the Bahram's gaze.
The Bahram is silent, for a long time.
"Because I'm not getting better," The Bahram says, with only his mouth now. "Because I'm a monster, now, for money, and I thought maybe I wouldn’t care but I do. Because I'm a fucking failure. I'm as caged as you are, just as cornered, but I could leave, if I wanted. And you can't. Because of me.”
The Bahram stands up and walks away, ignoring Kima's signs to ask what he means. Even when he makes a fist and knocks on the tank, Bahram never looks back. He just goes to the desk and sits down with his back to Kima, who droops as he realizes the Bahram will not speak anymore and won't play with him tonight. Not even a little, not even the small gentle play that does not make him hurt any worse.
He didn't want to play last night either.
Or the night before.
The mer winds his way through the water to the little cave he has to sleep in, slipping into the soothing, safer dark space set apart from the otherwise constant light.
Alone, the mer curls around one of the real things, a soft ball of sea moss that he can hold. He wraps his arms around it and buried his face in its softness. In its tiny spaces he can almost smell the wilder waters he knows must still be out there somewhere, beyond the invisible wall around his little sea, outside and far away from this stone place surrounding him. To the edge of land where it meets the big water, where his pod - somewhere - swims free.
He may never see them again - but he knows they are out there.
He wishes the Bahram would play.
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@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @thefancydoughnut @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @yet-another-heathen @fanmanga1357-blog @justabitofwhump @crystalrainwing @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @orchidscript @whump-tr0pes @hackles-up plus @whumpworldld for whumptober tag list
#whumptober2022#no. 2#caged#cornered#captivity#isolation#mer whump#mer whumpee#signs of the sea#reluctant whumper#caretaker and whumpee#glass in skin#aftermath of torture#inhuman whumpee#telepathy#depression tw#blackmailed whumper
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The whumper was blackmailing the caretaker, promising the whumpee’s safety as long as they did everything the whumper told them to do. Most of the time, it involved retrieving important information, which the caretaker always struggled to comply to, but usually a video of the whumpee being tortured and crying for help pushed them in the right direction. The whumper just enjoyed it. they either physically tortured someone, or psychologically tortured the other- a win win for them.
#whump#whump prompt#whump scenario#whumpee#aramis stabs someone#whump prompts#whumper#manipulation#blackmail#its like…Bluetooth whump#caretaker
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@bobtheskeleton asked:
What about... A whumpee turned whumper and their whumpee being the caretaker?
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tw whumpee turned whumper, caretaker turned whumpee, manipulation, emotional blackmail, past trauma
“Don’t you want me to get better?” Whumpee asked with a terrifyingly sweet smile on their face, and Caretaker took a step backwards. “You know all about what I have gone through. All the torture… All the humiliation… All that pain and misery…”
“Whumpee,” they breathed, taking another step away from their… friend. “Of course I want you to get better. And I’m really sorry that you’ve gone through so much–”
“You’re not really sorry. It’s not your fault, of course, you can’t really empathise unless you’ve gone through it yourself. And you can’t really help me unless you know what it feels like.” They continued closing the distance between them, and Caretaker was soon backed up against the wall. Cornered. “If you want to help me get better, I think you need to learn to empathise.”
“Whumpee, I have so much empathy for you, that’s not how empathy works–”
“Why are you being so condescending to me?” Whumpee asked with a pout.
“I’m– I’m not– I’m being desperate, you’re scaring me–”
Caretaker cut themself off and pressed back against the wall even more when Whumpee grabbed something off the top of the drawers next to them, especially when they realised it was a pretty heavy vase, something they’d used to joke was a self-defence weapon. Whumpee wasn’t going to hit them with that, were they? They weren’t going to seriously harm them… right?
“You’re being condescending. I know what empathy is. I know big words, contrary to what Whumper liked to preach. I’m not actually a dumb pet. Or did you believe that too? Maybe the people who haven’t been victims of such a thing can only ever agree with the perpetrator, deep down.”
Caretaker’s heart was hammering in their chest as they watched Whumpee play with the vase and try out different grips, as if seeing which would be best if they were to use it as a torture instrument. “Of course you’re not a dumb pet,” they whispered. “Whumpee, I love you. I would never agree with someone who has done something so heinous. If you’re not satisfied with the way I’ve been treating you, we can talk about it, you can vent all your frustration, I’ll listen. I’ll try to do better.”
“You can’t do better without first-hand experience. That’s what I keep telling you, and see? You’re not listening.”
“I am! I am listening, I just– I disagree–”
Whumpee cocked their head to the side. “You disagree. I’m telling you what I need to get better, and you disagree. You think you’re a lot smarter than me, don’t you? You think you know better, as an unbiased, outside observer. You don’t think I could actually know what’s best for me.”
“Knocking me out is not good for anyone. Please. I can help you so much better when I’m conscious, I promise.”
Whumpee seemed to at least consider that sentiment. Caretaker didn’t even breathe as they waited for the verdict. Would they be knocked out, tied up, held captive, and tortured? Would they not? Their stomach was in knots as they thought about all the messed up shit they knew Whumpee had gone through, and all the additional things they could’ve kept secret. What would happen to them if Whumpee got their way? If Whumpee were to teach them empathy?
“Will you call the police on me if I put this down?” Whumpee asked eventually, nodding towards the vase in their hand.
“No. No. I just want to talk. Just the two of us. Please. We’re friends, aren’t we? We can just talk.”
“See, I would’ve called the cops at the first opportunity that arose when I was with Whumper.” Whumpee lifted the vase above their head, ready to strike. “You need to understand that sort of desperation.”
#asks#bobtheskeleton#whump#whump drabble#whumpee turned whumper#caretaker turned whumpee#manipulation#emotional blackmail#past trauma
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Could you do a prompt list for whumpy things that happen in crowds or dances or something? Places with a lot of people.
Only if you want!
Thank you!!
Public Whump
Hidden injuries and subtle threats, beloved.
[Prompts Masterpost]
Shock collar hidden under a turtleneck or a scarf.
Whumper pressing a knife to Whumpee’s side under their coat.
“Shhhhh…someone could hear those little whimpers.”
Whumpee drinking way too much to try to cover up their nerves.
Whumper’s grip a bit too tight on Whumpee’s arm as they guide them through the crowd.
“Careful. If you attract attention, someone has to die. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”
Whumpee feeling a needle stab into their thigh and retract again just as fast, spinning around in a circle, desperately staring at people around them in the subway - completely unable to tell who it was that just drugged them.
“Please- I c-I ca-ant go back-”
Whumper’s protective arm around Whumpee’s shoulders as Whumpee’s head leans against the cool bus window. Whumper tugging them closer to lean on their shoulder instead.
“You know the drill. Easy way or hard way?”
Whumpee forced not to limp on a sprained or broken ankle.
Whumpee quickly and subtly brushing away a tear that’s slipped down their cheek, shaky smile covering the slipup barely.
Desperately trying to keep their hands from shaking. There will be hell to pay if Whumper sees them showing signs of fear right now.
“Don’t bother. You’d be dead on the ground before you got that far.”
Whumper's hand on Whumpee's thigh under the table. Possessive and controlling. Squeezing or pinching when Whumpee ventures a little too close to saying something wrong.
Whumpee’s phone burning in their pocket; begging to be used. Whumpee doesn’t dare try it.
“You’re going to walk quietly next to me to the parking lot, and you’re going to get in the car. You’re going to be quiet and good for me - right?”
Whumper tapping a needle lightly against Whumpee’s neck when they’re being too loud - a silent threat.
“Don’t struggle. It’s pathetic.”
[Prompts Masterpost]
(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @cat-anony @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog)
As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!
#hidden injury#public whump#creepy/intimate whumper#gun#knife#broken bones#threats#blackmail#prompt list#whump tropes
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Thinking about a speedster (or anyone who can make themselves intangible) whumpee being forced to phase into their own permanent restraints
#specifically if they phase into it /before/ a power dampener is turned on so there’s that one moment where they have to just sit and wait#and ignore every instinct to get away or to run. then the closed eyes and shuddering breath when they feel the dampener turn on and know#they’re completely trapped.#especially if the whumper/s is blackmailing them in some way#actually I’ve thought about this for years lmao#need to use it at some point#whump#whump prompts#whump ideas#speedster whumpee#speedster whump#superhero whump#my posts#my whump
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cw: captivity, interrogation, fake threats, bluffing, blackmail, caretaker whump
whumpee held in an interrogation room, and their interrogator is showing them photos of the caretaker - tied up, blindfolded and gagged, drenched in blood.
the whumpee's stomach churns, and they don't know what to do. the information being asked of them is strictly classified, and they're being forced to choose between letting caretaker get hurt and betraying their team.
but in their distress, they don't notice how all the pictures are blurry and caretaker is always in motion - being dragged away, doubling over or bearing their restraints, and their face is never visible. little do they know, the people they were taken by barely know who caretaker is, they just have someone vaguely similar to them in their ranks.
as a bonus, options for an aftermath:
if whumpee tells the interrogator what they want to know, they get their team into trouble, practically for nothing.
but if they don't tell them anything, they have to live with the guilt of letting caretaker get hurt.
#whump#whump prompt#whumpee#interrogation whump#caretaker#caretaker whump#whumper#blackmail whump#team whump#whump aftermath#open ending#whump prompts#whump ideas#whump drabble#whumpblr#captivity whump#bluffing prompt#whump trope#writing prompt#inky's occasional writing
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The next day, when Whumper went to Whumpee's office, they smiled smugly, saying, "You have no idea what I found yesterday."
Whumpee, taken by surprise, just looked at them curiously. "I beg your pardon, Whumper?"
"Yeah, about that tape, Whumpee," They continued, treading a thin line between friendliness and menace.
Whumpee's face paled, their eyes widened with fear. Whumper smirked and took out their phone, showing a still from the video. "Now, I don't want this to get out, Whumpee. And I'm sure you don't either."
"And? What is it you want?" Whumpee's voice quivered with fear.
Whumper leaned in closer, their voice husky with desire. "I want you."
#whump#whump prompt#blackmail#sadistic whumper#psychological whump#whump scenario#writing prompt#trapped#trauma#hero#villain#old video#intimate whumper#psychological torture#angst
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AI-less Whumptober
Day 3 Blackmail (alternate)
TW/CW: Creepy/intimate Whumper, blackmail (duh), threats towards loved ones, knife, start of torture (fading into black), paranoia
Words: 771
Maybe it had been a mistake to get take away today of all times. One of her favourites. Before she could even sit down the loud electronical ding-dong of the doorbell over tuned the series she was watching. What was going on? Did her mother come back early from her trip anyway? Wouldn’t make sense, she said she’d stay with her friend for the night. And her brother was in ‘Graubünden’. The hairs on her whole body stood up but she walked in the dark room towards the door. There she carefully peaked through the windows in the door and saw Adam. She gulped and as much as it terrified her to do so she unlocked and opened the door. “What are you doing here?”
Adam took a step towards her, now nearly standing on the edge of the door. Just felt like popping in, I hope I didn’t annoy anybody?”, he inquired innocently, even though he of course already knew the answer.
“Only me, the other’s aren’t here right now.”
“I see…” Adam’s grin grew predatory “So? How are Sam and Dean doing?”
Lyra froze. How did he know that?! The thought that he really could read her mind flashed in her brain but she tried to ignore it. With a, as she hoped, secure grin she replied: “They’re not living ‘la vida-loca’ right now.”
“To be honest are they ever?”
“Eeeeeeh, no, not really.”
Adam smirked and took another step, now he was in the house. “You should close the door, who knows who could come in in the middle of the night.”
“Like you, for example.”, Lyra whispered under her breath. She stared at him for a moment more, then closed the door behind him, drenching them both in darkness again. Turning on her heels she walked back to the dinner table and sat down. Doing her best to ignore him.
Adam followed her casually and watched as she turned off her headphones and ranked the volume on her laptop up. Now he could hear Sam talk to Ruby and Dean about Lilith. But his focus was set on Lyra who now uncovered a plastic package with sushi rolls from a cardboard bag. He caught up to her and stood behind her chair, waiting. After a few moments Lyra sighed and paused her series.
“You have something to say?”, she asked.
“Oh no, no, I wouldn’t want to disturb your meal. It’s good that you’re eating. Even if it’s not much.”
“Huh. Alright. Well sushi is actually quite filling.”, she threw in and then took the chopsticks into her right hand and started eating.
Adam reached over her shoulder, relishing in the tiny flinch that caused and pressed the space bar on Lyra’s laptop. Continuing the play of the series. As she was about halfway through her sushi Adam began to speak again: “So, how’s your mental health been recently?”
Lyra froze at the question; rainbow roll halfway to her mouth. “It’s been normal, I guess.”
“I see, I see. Talk to anybody nice recently?”
Her breath stopped. He couldn’t possibly know that she wanted to talk to best friend about it. Right?! She tried to force the shaking out of her voice as she answered: “I mean, some teachers, classmates, a friend.”
“Would be a shame if they got to hear more than what’s healthy for them, right?”, Adam put a hand on Lyra’s shoulder.
“And what exactly would too much be, hm? The fact that you torture me?”
“Just know, they are very easy to take out. And for the torture part, well the way I know her she wouldn’t last long, don’t you agree? Oh but I’m sure she would break beautifully.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Am I? I swung by her house earlier, dropped something off. Maybe you should check in with her in a few days.”
Lyra paled. “You-you can’t be serious. You wouldn’t do that.”
Adam chuckled darkly: “And why is that hm? I have no trouble keeping you quiet. Just keep in mind what I told you and nobody has to suffer.”
“Nobody but me.”
“See it that way”-Adam pulled out a knife and rested the blade against Lyra’s throat-“If you do it somebody else won’t have to. Now how about we get up and upstairs, wouldn’t want the neighbours to see what’s next, right?”
Lyra was too stunned to resist so she just stood up and let Adam guide her, still with his blade against her windpipe.
On the table the credits of the episode ran out and the last two sushi rolls stayed abandoned on the plate. Nobody would finish them tonight.
Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud
#jayna's writing#ailesswhumptober#ailesswhumptoberday3#ailesswhumptoberdaythreeblackmail#“Torture-watching stuff-singing”#whump#whump writing#whump community#whump blog#whumpee#coping#creative writing#trauma#Lyra#Adam#creepy/intimate whumper#creepy whumper#blackmail#threatening loved ones#threat towards loved ones#Interrogation#alone at home#scared whumpee#alone#human whumpee#human whumper
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Childhood Monster
Loud, rapid footsteps echo back off of the brick walls surrounding him as he runs. Not a soul on the street, not a light on in any of the houses flying past. Only the quiet stillness of the dead district. The Moon shines to light the way for his escape, and panting he follows it, taking lefts and rights until he ducks into an alleyway he hopes his hunter won’t follow him into. He skids to a stop, trying to catch his breath, taking just a few seconds to lean up against a wall and try not to cough up his lungs.
“I can hear you, little one! Don’t stop just yet!" — The voice, playful and unhinged, resonates within the space between each house, between each crack of the asphalt, and he is already barrelling down the alley again, breaths wheezing out of him as he runs until his legs give out, until he can’t anymore. He knows that moment is fast approaching, with the lingering, constant pain in his calves and his struggling chest reminding him that he cannot keep this up much longer. Still, he makes a sound of desperation and flies through the darkness, rushing past trash and showering the bins in puddle water.
The road he takes leads him left, but a deranged, screeching has him skid to a stop barely three steps in, and he quickly changes direction to the opposite way, hoping those red eyes didn’t spot him from across the path. Blind in the shadows cast by the Moon, he crashes into a wall, and looking up and around he realises that he cannot climb it, nor get around it. He’s stuck, and before his thoughts can catch up, he’s already running back from where he came from, but the languid steps of the only other being in this whole goddamn town bouncing between the walls make him stop in his tracks.
He listens, and with each step the monster hunting him creeps closer to its prey. He looks around, manic, hoping; begging to find some form of escape, but the unforgiving alley gives no such mercy. He swallows hard and turns back towards the dead end, and as a last resort he looks for a hiding place. As unlikely as it is to survive this encounter, he cannot give up just yet, not when he was so close. He only needs a moment to breathe, to think; only a second to get past its claws and get to safety.
Time is running out, but no hiding place seems good enough to fool anyone here — bins full to the lid, trash thrown across the pavement, carton boxes wet with rain water too small to fit him —
"Uh oh… That’s no good,” — it mumbles, its voice causing the air and his soul to quiver.
It can’t be more than a corner away, close enough to hear in the fragile silence which can be broken by such quiet words. He hurries to find any cover at all, and when he hears a giggle from just around the corner, he dashes behind a dumpster, putting himself between the wall and some trash. His breathing picks up even more than it did from sprinting across the streets of this dead place in anticipation of coming face-to-face with the cruel beast. His body shudders against the cold surface surrounding him, soaked in rain and sweat, hair sticking to his forehead like roots of a weed into dirt.
The footsteps are coming from the entrance of the narrow alley, slowly approaching his madly beating heart as it hammers like never before.
“Oh — no, sweetheart… That’s so unfortunate.”
He doesn’t know what it means but the faux sympathy and proximity of its voice makes his breath shake. His wet hands find his face, trying to muffle his gasping shivering in the dirt as he is. The steps slow down more, nothing more than a pace one would take on for a walk in the park, and it scares him more than anything. It’s as if it knows he’s close, like it knows where he is already. The light chuckles continue to grow in volume, and he screws his eyes shut, unable to take the stress anymore.
The giggles turn into humming, and the humming into a sigh that sounds like it is right in front of him.
“Ah, sweet thing. Here you are.”
In a split second he opens his eyes to the smile in the voice, sees the demon’s own crimson orbs and sharp fangs glinting down on him from over the bin, and cries out with a leap towards what he knows is a dead end. Any hope he has left is used to fuel his impossible escape, to make way out of this nightmare somehow. He cannot let this happen, not right now, not with this thing. He cannot die here — !
“Haha! So you weren’t too tired to run! I thought you must’ve run out of energy, to wait for me so kindly,” — it bounces in new interest and glee and follows him close behind at a slower pace — to give him a chance of escaping, or because it knows he’s running towards a dead end, he doesn’t know.
He feels tears burning his eyes and blurring his already spotty vision, but he doesn’t stop, not until he reaches that same damn wall at the end of the foggy path. He crashes into it, barely managing to stay upright, and starts wildly looking around, like he somehow missed a secret exit the last time he was there.
“Mm, I see. So that was your plan.” — He twists around to look at the creature walking towards him, and his body shoves itself up against the wall hard enough to dig into his spine. No, this can’t be. This can’t be how it ends. This is too cruel, this isn’t what he deserves, this isn’t how it was supposed to be. If he dies here… This just can’t be how this ends! — “Hide until I move past, then slip out of here. A shame really. It would’ve worked out if you didn’t smell so good. Doesn’t that hurt?”
He looks confused enough for it to stop, a few metres in front of him, and for its face to turn from joyful, to surprised, to overjoyed, laughing that same ugly laugh that has his very core shivering in terror.
“What, have you really not noticed? Did I scare you so much you didn’t feel it through the beating of that little heart? Aw, that’s so sad,” — it drawls, conceit dripping from its words.
It gestures to the ground with a clawed hand, stepping to the side, making his mistake clear as day and the boy’s breath to stop in his throat.
The ground… It shimmers. Not from water, not puddles of rain, it wasn’t wet when he first ran through here. All the way from behind his hunter, to his feet, to his arm. His arm; a diagonal gash across suddenly burning on his skin, bleeding so much that all the monster had to do was follow the trail of crimson. He led it straight here, to his hiding place, to this dead end, to his doom. The beast leans down to dip its finger into the mess and hold it up to him, playing with it between its two fingers.
“You really didn’t even feel it, huh. You cut it on one of the dumpsters you ran past. Led me straight here, without even trying. Oh, that is just too bad. You were so close!” — Its growl of a voice drills into him so deep he can feel the rest of his energy flowing out of him through his tear ducts.
It begins its slow approach once again, and he doesn’t know what to do anymore. There is no secret passage behind the trash, no way to climb the walls, no space to run past it, and even if there was, all it’d need to do is follow the smell of his blood painting arrows to his location for it on the ground. He is trapped, there is no way out of here.
His eyes cloud over with tears, erratic breathing turning into gasping sobs, and he slides down the wall to curl up into a ball right as it reaches him, trying to protect himself as a last survival instinct takes over his crumbling world. He hears the sound of the thing in front of him coming to a stop and he can feel its presence from where he is, its breathing slow and even, like it hadn’t just chased him across half the town. It’s like it never gets tired, like it has no feeling in its muscles telling it to rest, like it doesn’t need to catch its breath, like it was made to hunt, — to chase, to kill, for as long as it lives. And people have known about it for more than two centuries.
He heard the legends; he knows what it does. He knew that if he came here, it would very likely find him, chase him down and devour him and his soul. He had no other choice and he thought he was ready for that, but now that he’s been backed into a corner awaiting his slow and painful end, with the beast leering down at him, he realises that he never wanted it to end like this. He should’ve stayed with the others, should’ve found another way to supply food, or should’ve brought them all along —
No, he had no other choice. It was this, or letting his family starve to death of his own volition. If he brought them, they would’ve all died at the hands of this monster, and he would’ve been the only one at fault. If he had another way to get food, he wouldn’t have come this far in the first place. He knew he was nearing towards his likely death as soon as he set foot out the door of the makeshift bunker they called their home, and he made peace with that.
Now, though… He has to make peace with failing his family all the same, and leaving them alone in this world to fend for themselves.
His shoulders shake, exhausted and terrified, as he tries to steel himself for what he knows is coming.
His hair is knotted around the thing’s clawed fingers and he is dragged up to his tiptoes, then shoved into the wall behind him hard enough that he thinks his skull must have fractured from the impact. His own hands find the monster’s, not to struggle, only to hold on to something while he dies. Its other hand slides along his face to make him look up, and he screws his eyes shut, not wanting to look into those terrible, unnatural reds. He heard its pupils shrink to a slit when it’s about to bite, and he doesn’t want to witness that.
“Aw, don’t tell me you’re crying already. I’ve barely even touched you…” — it coos at him, clearly enjoying its view of his misery.
It lets go of his hair, and instead uses both hands to hold his face on each side, almost gently, like a mother would to try and calm her child. He can feel its cold breath on his skin. — “Look at me, will you,” — it says, voice a whisper compared to the screeching cackling that was pouring out of it just a minute ago. A growl is under that disturbingly human melody, the slightest hint that it is not what it appears to be at first glance. It sounds exactly like what it’s supposed to; a monster trying to sound like a person. Its claws dig into his cheeks unpleasantly, but not yet painful, pulling him closer, — “Come on, I haven’t had the chance to take a good look at those pretty things under there. Open them for me?”
He tries to shake his head, childishly, foolishly, and the claws draw blood. The being sighs a good-natured sound, and he would see it tilt its head at him if his eyes were open.
“You know I will see them one way or another. I will peel those lids away and keep them for myself. If you stay still enough,” — The easy tone of its voice sends a shudder down his spine, — “It would be a shame to ruin those pretty eyes because you squirmed around too much. Don’t you think so? It would hurt a lot more, too…” — it muses.
The proximity and the pain of the grip the thing has on him mixed with the exhaustion and desperation of being hunted has him making a lot more sounds than he means to, but he cannot bring himself to care in this situation. His energy is quickly depleting, the adrenaline running out, and he loses balance, almost hitting his head on the one holding him as he stumbles on his toes. It’s quick to fix his mistake by grabbing him by the throat and pushing him back into the wall without a second thought, making breathing even harder as his trachea is crushed. He opens his eyes now, looking up at the dark sky instead of the being’s glowing blood red irises, but it doesn’t seem to mind; it grins at him all the same.
“There you go. That’s better. Oh, such a vibrant bright blue!” — it chortled at him, glad it waited for him to show his eyes on his own, — “Are you whimpering? Such a weak little thing, aren’t you?” — It watches him struggle under the unending pressure on his throat in glee, watches as he flails around weakly and nears unconsciousness, and then lets him go suddenly to fall back onto the ground wheezing. He coughs and tries to get back up as soon as he’s aware that he fell, but a heavy foot on his chest keeps him pinned down in the dirty alleyway, making it impossible to catch his breath, which in turn pulls more of those noises it so loves to hear forcefully out of his throat.
“Mm. Just like a kicked puppy. Makes me want to eat you right up,” — it rasps out, its grin widening into one showing fangs and far too many sharp teeth to be normal.
It puts more pressure on those fragile ribs as it crouches to look at him better, then straddles him so it can watch him panic from even closer. It places a hand on that rapidly beating heart, feeling it jump to it from behind its cage of bones, calling to it, telling it to tear it out of him already.
The boy flinches back into the ground as the other hand comes back up to his face to catch a tear sliding down the winding track made by the tears flowing before. The finger stays for a couple seconds, which is long enough for him to look into those eyes finally, questioning and begging, confused by the pause and petrified under the gaze of this demon and the closeness of its claws to his very eyes; the eyes it was so quick to offer to rip out if he didn’t play along. Its own eyes crinkle in mischief as its tongue snakes out to lick its lips, and it brings the finger wet with his tears to its mouth to taste him. It lets its eyes close for just a second and sighs contentedly, seemingly savouring the flavour, moving along to an inaudible melody as it swallows.
“You’re a special one, dear. Such a sweet aroma, and an even sweeter taste, — you are lovely,” — it says, its tone quickly turning lustful.
He watches it finally look back at him with renewed enthusiasm, and almost forgets to squirm — until it puts both hands on him for balance and leans over him, eyes glowing in the dark. His struggle is meaningless; no matter how hard he tries to push it away, it’s as if he’s trying to make a bear move. No give, no distance gained, and if anyone was watching them, they would think he wasn’t even trying. It’s just like in the stories — ‘Looks no stronger than a mere young man, yet has the vigour of a hundred and one! If it catches you, there is no escaping, not unless it lets you run to chase you until your legs give out.’
It tilts its head at him, like it doesn’t feel his hands on itself trying to push it away, and keeps smiling, keeps watching, keeps licking its lips and keeps leaning closer until —
Its pupils shrink to slits and he freezes, before shrieking like a banshee as one hand wrenches his head to the side, another keeping his own out of the way, and it forces its way to his neck in a split second with an inhuman growl, fangs scraping against his skin. He waits for his throat to be ripped apart, and those few seconds feel like days, like an eternity, lived without hope and freedom. His life is flashing before his eyes as his body accepts its end, and he doesn’t even breathe, his heart almost stopping before it is forced to.
So when the monster backs off of him, muttering something to itself, he doesn’t remember to keep living, only when a light slap and a coo leads him back to reality. He doesn’t expect to be alive still and, for just a moment, he is convinced that he is a ghost lying inside his body, about to witness it being torn apart. But, when he feels the touch of it, and the gentle sounds of ‘Breathe, breathe, little one' he does obey, gasping shallow breaths like he doesn’t believe that it’s safe to do so. His body is shivering wildly, and his eyes, though he can’t see it himself, have become dilated, which does make the thing giggle.
“Dear me, you look half dead already. You didn’t expect me to kill you off so early, did you? No, not you. How could I stop a beating heart supplying such incredible taste?” — it says, seemingly having forgotten about his 'vibrant bright blues’, staring at the hammering pulse in his neck instead. Its thumb finds the rhythm and it takes a couple seconds for it to blink rapidly, shake its head and come back to earth to continue its monologue, — “I can feel you are different from the others. Everything about you tells me that you should not die here. Your will is strong, and your mind at ease. Most others would not even hear me right now, but I can tell you understand every word I say despite your mind breaking apart inside of you.”
It takes the arm that is creating a crimson puddle on the concrete to lift to its mouth and taste the wound. The sensation of a slimy muscle sliding over his burning flesh makes him jerk away and cry out in terror and pain, succeeding on tearing away his limb, which in turn makes him think that he can escape from its hold. He finds a newfound power to keep struggling, eventually 'escaping’ from under the body pinning him, — that lets up of its own accord to see him squirm, — and his instincts tell him one thing only: away from that thing.
Unfortunately, the only away he’s capable of is right into the wall behind him, but he’s too preoccupied with his own panic to even notice how hard he knocks his head off the bricks, eyes glued to the creature. He has gained barely a metre of distance.
“You didn’t come here unknowing of me. You’ve heard of me, haven’t you?” — it asks, head tilted and eyes searching his face. Its joyful expression seems to be stuck on his face permanently.
‘Oh, have I. It’s hard to miss all the legends about you when our own mother has told them to us since childhood. A rule as important as to never accept candy from strangers: ‘Never tread near that side of town.’’
He says nothing, continuing his silence, only swallows heavily. He doesn’t see the relevance of that now, but he is yet to be eaten so he doesn’t complain. It tilts its head at him more, curiosity glowing in its eyes.
“You have! I can see it in your expression! You’ve heard some stories, have you! You know what you’re in for then? I am interested in what you think is about to happen.” — The excitement coming off it in waves does nothing to soothe his thoughts or heartbeat — however, it efficiently succeeds in making them both stutter. It’s closing in once again, and he cannot bring himself to do anything more than flatten himself against the wall and cower. The thing only takes a knee in front of him, deciding on what to do next.
“…You do not talk much, do you? — it inquires in a low tone, — “Another fascinating aspect of you. Terror swallows you whole any time I move an inch, yet not a word escapes that pretty throat. Peculiar. Mute perhaps.”
He sees an opportunity there and takes it without thinking, surprising the creature as it was about to continue whatever it was going to do. He forces his wavering, broken voice to cooperate just long enough to utter these words — louder than intended:
“I- I can talk!”
He felt it is a good way to distract it, maybe gain its liking enough to make his death swifter if he tries to play along. It doesn’t say anything back, only watches him in thought with a frown on its face, and he knows he is sure to die now; he pissed it off somehow and now he’s going to be killed.
“You are fascinating… Others would be screaming for mercy before I could even touch them, and the first thing you say to me is such a simple statement — almost sounding like you’re correcting me as well,” — sneers the monster, making him bite his tongue instantly.
The way it keeps talking like he’s not even there — like it’s watching him through a screen that he can’t hear it mumbling to itself across, observing every little detail and movement, — freaks him out to no end. It hums to itself as it holds him under scrutiny, as he curls up and holds himself. Keeps tilting its head this way and that.
“Mmh… I wonder…” — It launches forward at a speed impossible to see with the human eye, and he finds himself lying on the ground once again, with the monster on top of him forcing his arms to each side. He doesn’t have time to react before he is being undressed by those claws tearing through the fabric over his chest. He gets nicked in the process, which makes him squeal helplessly, and soon it has full view of his naked skin. He screws his eyes shut, and expects to be torn into — for the third or so time tonight, — breath held.
It touches the skin over his heart, and then leans over to, — to listen to it. Its hair is touching his skin and he doesn’t dare move an inch.
Seconds pass, and it lifts its head again, a smile on its face.
“Your heart is hammering, you’ve heard about me before you came, you think you will surely die here; — and yet you still act so fearless in front of me. So brave, braver than any of the others, and smart. Like you’re on a mission.” — It seems to have realised that he is trying to play mind games, however unsuccessfully, and he is sure it is intelligent enough to outsmart him. The buzz in his head that won’t go away gets louder the longer it stares at him, starting to feel more like pins and needles in his brain.
It lets up on him; back to straddling him, but not gripping him anymore. Another expression takes over; one that could only be described as serious.
“If you can talk, answer me this: why have you come here?”
He only now dares to open his eyes with tears streaming down his face, yet he doesn’t show more fear than what is natural for any animal — pure, an instinct, not tainted with arrogance and selfishness. He is starting to shut down now; he was already exhausted when he ended up knocked against a dead end, now he has been scared to death so many times his system feels like it’s giving up on him. The creature is losing patience quickly, and its knee finds his chest to dig into as it leans over him once again, wrenching his head to the side to pin and to talk into his ear to make sure he understands well. — “I do not conversate nearly this much with my prey, and I would hope you won’t cut this newfound hobby of mine short.”
He takes a few breaths to calm the chills in his bones as an unnatural sound resembling whispering fills his head, and tries his best to speak without slurring or stuttering his words too much. His brain feels like it is being scraped with those claws digging into his skin.
“F-, Food. For, for fam-, family. Siblings, at home, haven’t eaten, in days, m-my love, sick, our, o-our pet, a cat… No food anywhere, had to come here, didn’t, didn’t… Have a choice. P-Please…” — His words halt with a sob and it thinks he has finally broken and about to turn into the begging little mess he was made to be, but he continues, — “I, I can’t die here, not without food. Please, please help us. You can do whatever you want with me, I won’t tell anyone if you let me go, and I won’t run if you don’t, just please, please don’t let my death be the cause of theirs!”
Those last few words truly unravel him, but instead of the usual pathetic pile of whining meat that only cares about its own safety, he begs not for his, but his family’s well-being, while throwing his own to the wolves, to the claws holding him down, to the fangs grazing his ear.
The beast is stunned. It doesn’t know if he’s stupid, crazy or just that desperate, but the furrowed brows tell the young man that it is interested, or at least distracted.
“Have you lost your mind? You would really come here, to the ‘blood-thirsty monster' of this district, known for its gruesome work and horror legends describing each victim’s deaths in detail, — and ask it for help? Beg for food for a starving family — you would trust me to keep them alive in your stead?”
The baffled expression it wears could make him laugh if he could see through the tears, but all he manages to whimper out from under the pressure on his chest is; — “I have no other choice…”
And the monster, although merciless, cruel and downright evil by most people’s standards, a creature of the night hunting for fresh blood until dawn each day, turned from a myth to a legend to a warning for everyone planning to go towards its den… It shakes its head with a breathy laugh, deciding that this boy cannot be killed here. He is more than the average selfish, arrogant, dumb bags of flesh walking into its area thinking they can make it out alive. He knew where he would go would surely kill him, and didn't expect anything less, yet 'till his last breath all he cares about is his people. Not once had he begged for his own benefit, only his family’s. He is ready to give up everything for them, even his life; even his freedom.
It gets up off of him, and pulls him up with itself, rougher than needed, but no less than expected. He is allowed to lean on it as he almost loses balance, eyes once again screwed shut on instinct, — maybe one of the stories he had heard about it had something to say about eye contact, with all the time he spends finding new ways to not have to look at it, — and the boy has never been so careful to touch anything before in his life. Even with his legs feeling like jelly, he only dares to use the tips of his fingers, barely weighing on it, afraid that he will seem disrespectful and killed, apologising for anything and everything he does. His family will be killed for sure now that he has told it about them, stupid, stupid! He wasn’t supposed to say anything until he was sure that he could trust it not to find them just to kill off his family with him.
Oh, what does it matter? Finding the narrowest paths in between these mile wide chasms of death is why he is in this situation, most of his choices would lead to them all dying sooner or later. And ironically, the only path that leads to his sure death is the one that could bring the most benefit to his family.
It stands so much taller than he is, he can tell just from how much higher its voice is coming from now that they’re both standing so close, and he cannot even begin to comprehend the feelings coursing through his entire being standing face-to-face — or face-to-chest, more like, — with the nightmare that haunts this end of the town. He almost feels like it is some divine angel, or demon, or a god, with how much power it has over his fate in that moment. It could break his spine in an instant, tear out his bones, tear off his ligaments one by one, and he would not be able to do a thing about it, nor would anyone else, no matter what they would do or how hard they would try. People are powerless against it, that is the whole reason it exists so freely, and that feeling of powerlessness is so damning when he is at its mercy like this that he swears his lungs don’t find the air to breathe, as if it is actively taking the air out of them somehow.
His head is once again lifted to look at its face, and he does so without hesitation now, making sure he listens to every word it says, trying to show it that he truly does mean what he said. The expression on its face returns to a happy one, but it contains a little more of something deeper, something old and hidden.
“You really are a fascinating little critter. Unfortunate, yet brave, full of… potential. Determination,” — it muses about him out loud, its growl of a voice shifting between animalistic and human wildly.
He finds his footing finally, letting go of it as soon as he’s able, and it takes the opportunity to take a look at him again, from front to back, top to bottom. Slides claws through his locks, watches him freeze when it leans down to look closer at his overwhelmed form, vibrating with nerves. Lifts one of his arms, touches the goosebumps rising over his skin, sees his fingers twitch, his naked back shine with sweat. He keeps his head looking straight, not daring to talk or move, feeling like he is being judged by God himself deciding on if he will be going to Heaven or Hell.
It comes back around and his shining wide eyes look up at it in such an adorable way as he expects the answer that it can’t keep its hands from mushing his cheeks, which confuses and scares him at once, and it finally asks —
“Where do you live, dear?”
He almost forgets how to form words in his tense twitching flesh.
“A-Are you, are you letting me go?”
“You’re not quite used to me, so I will let it go this time, but I really don’t like being answered with a question,” — it says, and its expression does not change even slightly, making him suspect that the threat wasn’t meant to be a threat but a promise. His spine shivers with unease in the face of such casual predator behaviour.
“Oh, o-oh, of course, I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I’m… I live a, about five kilometres from the town square. To the, the um, East. From there. Underground, in the basement of an, an abandoned house. We made it our h-home,” — he manages to stammer out. It tilts its head in amusement again, gazing at his chest like it's searching for something, like it's reading him like a book, and then makes eye contact again. Its crimson irises are the most intimidating thing he has ever witnessed.
“You would tell me where your family is just like that? I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” — it questions.
He isn’t sure how to answer, and the question itself makes him fear for his siblings’ and his lover’s lives, but he decides there is no going back from here. He has given away their fate already, right into the hands of this eldritch horror, and all he can do now is pray that it will choose to help. He responds — “I, I trust you. Their lives, as well as mine, are in your hands. If I do not bring food to them, they will die come, come next week, and I won’t be able to go out again, not after this. I am weak, I know I am, so please, please help us. I will do my end of the agreement to the best of my abilities, I promise.”
A couple heavy breaths, and he ends with; —
“I’ve, I-I have heard, that you can um, you can tell when someone lies to you, somehow. Maybe you can feel it, I don’t know, but-, but I do know that I wouldn’t dare lie, if what I heard is true. But you know that already, if it’s, i-if it’s true…” — he rambles awkwardly, remembering suddenly that it seemed interested in the stories told about it. He doesn’t know if it’s because it feels proud of itself, or because it seeks to gather information.
He finds eye contact impossible while blundering, but he hopes it sees that he is trying his best; through every stumble and stutter, through every instance of forced eye contact that is broken by him in a second, through each fidget of his knuckles and shiver of his breath. He will kneel and beg if that’s the convincing it desires. He will stay right here in this alley to rot until it comes back to finish the job if it means that the food will be delivered. He will walk all the way home holding its hand to lead it right to their door, right into his home, if it wants. There is no going back anymore.
“I would love to listen to some of these stories you have heard. Not many of you escape me, and the few I let go surely embellish my abilities. Do you think you can recite them to me?” — it grins again, leaning over him. He doesn’t think it was meant to intimidate him, more curiosity, but he cannot help shrinking away slightly from it.
“Um, of, of course! If that is what you, uh, desire…”
The sloppy try at sounding polite makes it laugh, but he takes it for a good sign, instead of dwelling on it being mockery. Keep it in a good mood, do as it says, and hope for the best.
“Ah, well… You’re quite an unfortunate soul, I think it is about time you gather some luck on your side for once,” — it says, a claw finding his hair again, its gaze travelling his features constantly.
His eyes widen and he tries not to get his hopes up until the words finally leave its mouth; —
“Be it, then. You win. I’ll help your little family out,” — it says with a warm, non-threatening, non-carnivorous smile on its lips, and he sobs in joy; in pure unadulterated relief and he would scream to the skies if he dared, because he did it, he succeeded, not the way he wanted to, but it doesn’t matter! He did it, he really did it…
He can barely talk through his wheezing, almost laughs, almost sobs, thanking this dangerous, horrible being until he runs out of breath. And he does it with his body when he runs out of voice; — he bows, he puts his hands together, he looks into its eyes through the tears blinding him and nods. Falls to his knees, and doesn’t even feel the impact, doesn’t care.
The monster isn’t quite used to this reaction, but luckily it finds it more amusing than annoying, especially after all the overly polite talk from him. It pets his hair as he weeps on his knees, and he doesn’t even flinch, which is also different. He will be afraid again soon enough, but for now, this is entertaining for it, and deserving for such a golden hearted fool. Because he must be one, must not even be twenty years old, but so ready to put all the rest of his life into the monster’s just for some bread. It’s endearing, and a picture of his end of the bargain is slowly coming together in its head.
It sits next to him to watch him cry, and it would be unnerving if he had the energy to care at all. He wouldn’t argue if it tried to bite through his throat again. What surprises him is that it waits for him to rest and calm down, and doesn’t say a word until he does.
“Thank you, um… Sir…?”
He finishes lamely, but the creature likes the ring of that.
“You keep coming up with new ways to flatter me! Such a kind boy,” — it ruffles his hair with a snicker. It seems to really like his hair, he notes numbly.
It reaches for his head again, and in a moment of true weakness, he leans towards it, hoping to keep it interested and entertained. The feeling of claws running along his scalp — he will never get used to.
“So? Are you done with your crying?”
“Y-Yes, I am now. Sorry,” — he apologises with a bowed head, quickly wiping away his tears.
“Oh, it’s alright. You are very well-behaved compared to most other humans I meet. I’m more used to cursing than flattery. I’m also more used to screams,” — it adds, once again seemingly not realising how horrible the things it says sound.
He shivers with how casual it talks about the agony it inflicts. Like humans are nothing more than food with legs. Oh yeah, the food!
“Um, so… Wh-, how is this going to happen? What, what do I have to do? Because I will do anything! I can show you the, th- where I live. Or, uh-um —”
It pushes a finger up against his lips and he is muted in an instant, — “Don’t ramble too much, you’ll give me ideas.”
He realises it’s probably a joke, but he feels it to be very good advice in his current predicament. He nods, remaining silent, but alert.
“I have no need for your help anymore. You have given me enough to find your family. Not many hearts still beat on that side of town, finding — how many was it? Three people? And a cat?”
He nods again, reminded of the miserable state he had left them in suddenly, visibly deflating. He didn’t even realise that he told it about the cat.
“Mhm, so three plus one hearts beating underground, about five kilometres East, you said?”
He nods again.
“Didn’t you say something about one of them being sick? Your lover?”
“Oh, um, yes. They are.”
“Do they need medicine too?”
He shakes his head, then goes to clarify, —
“Their health deteriorated because of the, uh, the lack of food. I think they will get better if they eat again, I wouldn’t dare ask for more from you…”
It takes his hands to play with, pulling him close with no warning or hesitation, and another thing he realises he could never get used to is how easily it can move him — how it will do so whenever it feels like it without a question, as if he is some toy to be played around with. He looks down to their hands, and he has never seen his own look quite as small as they do now.
“Mmmh… Any deathly allergies I should know about?”
“No, none at all,” — he dutifully answers, slightly surprised by the fact that it knows what allergies are, and then the fact that it would even consider its prey’s allergies.
“I see. So, what would you like to give them?”
He stops for a second. He never expected to be given a choice.
“Uh. Are, are there options?”
“I can give them anything,” — it says simply, gaze still stuck to his knuckles bending this way and that.
He has no idea what to ask for, so he just settles on, — “Whatever is easiest and quickest to get.”
A second later quickly adds; — “Warm, if possible? I-If it isn’t trouble, I mean. But, but we would be content with some ingredients too! Whatever you, you s-see fit.”
“Will you come see them?” — Its eyes leave his hands for a second. Again, he wasn’t expecting to be given a choice, or it to be so considerate towards its meal.
“…If you’ll allow me.”
“Are you sure? Do you really want to show up, only to leave them for the rest of their lives?”
His stomach drops at the way his fate is phrased. He really will die, then. By the hands of this demon. But, somehow, he cannot find it in himself to dwell on it at all. Maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe wilful ignorance.
“I would like to see them one last time,” — he confirms, quietly.
“How dramatic of you,” — it giggles, and he is once again reminded of the fact that it finds his misery entertaining.
His hands are bent at unnatural angles, but they are let go when he starts wincing. It’s surprisingly gentle. Almost like a child discovering the wonder of bodies and how they work for the first time. He doubts that what’s happening in its mind is nearly that wholesome though.
“Do you know what will happen to you?” — it asks.
He shakes his head. He can’t bring himself to think about it.
“Aren’t you afraid?” — it asks.
He nods. I am.
He feels numb, and like he could fall asleep right there as a strange sense of faux safety seeps into his body. The buzz in his head returns.
“You’re sleepy, aren’t you?” — it looks at him again, eyes mesmerising.
He heard it could read people’s minds, and he hasn’t believed that until right this moment. The cold winds of the darkness have chilled him deep enough to have him shivering on his knees.
“I will sleep after I see my family enjoying their meal and healing,” — comes his grim reply.
“Haha, of course,” — it responds, then lifts his arm up, the one covered in blood, — “but if you really want to survive long enough to see them again, you’ll have to keep some blood inside, don’t you think?”
Oh. He forgot about that completely, but before he could think of a way to bandage it somehow, the thing just lifts it to its mouth without another word, and starts licking the length of the wound slowly. He shudders and decides to look away and endure, just like he has made the same decision many times this night. It burns, it really does, but he chokes down his pain and waits for it to finish, hoping that it somehow won’t get infected; because who knows what kind of brain eating bacteria live in a creature’s mouth such as this one.
A minute later it whistles at him to get his attention. Lets go of his arm, and stands up. The wound is gone, the blood has quenched the thirst of the monster for now. It healed him. Completely. His wound is just gone, and it has been replaced by a long white scar spanning his entire forearm. How? Why?
He looks up at it with wonder and bewilderment. Its expression — kind, for once. A twisted expression to wear on a face that has his blood smeared over its lips.
“You are one confusing human, little one. You might be the only one who could have pulled this off. The only one fearless enough to even try, not out of your own needs, but for others’.”
It motions for him to follow, already walking away from him, and he feels all kinds of wrong following it into the darkness, to a place he might meet his doom at. He stumbles after him, trying to pick up the pace, now realising how much longer its strides are than his. Every step for it is two and a half for him. No wonder it caught up to him so quickly. Its steps, as heavy as they are, are silent now. Was it making its location obvious on purpose then? He can feel the ground tremble with each step, but not a sound. It had to have been fun for it to herd him like a shepherd dog would its sheep. Herding him to a dead end.
...Oh.
It hasn’t been two whole minutes of walking, and his mind is already overridden by nerves. Somehow, going along with it all willingly as opposed to having his fate forced upon him makes his guts twist around his heart in anxiety. He can’t help forming a dry sentence, — “Uh, wh-, where are we going, exactly?”
It looks back at him, noticing the distance between them for the first time, and chuckles.
“What, not even a ‘Sir’? Where did your courteous submissive attitude go all of a sudden? I liked it,” — its voice drops an octave out of nowhere as it says that, making its words sound like threats.
He hurries to fix his mistake, almost falling over when his foot catches on a broken piece of asphalt in his agitated confusion. — “U-Um…! I’m sorry, I-I meant to uh-, I m-mean, Sir-!”
It snickers at him as he tries to gather his thoughts, ultimately ending with another apology as he realises that it’s just messing with him. He keeps his head low in any case.
Half a minute later, the beast stops and answers.
“Come here.” — It waits for him to catch up, then takes his hand and matches its speed with his. — “Is that better, dearie?” — it says in a mocking tone, similar to a grandmother. Scarily accurate, in fact.
Can it mimic human voices?
He nods, ignoring all the feelings of fear, humiliation, and a little bit of awe that envelop him in the instant his hand is grabbed and not in a forceful, dangerous way, but as if a large cat decided to intertwine its dangerous sharp clawed fingers with his. Doesn’t dare look up to it, not while his blood is burning his face in response to this overly gentle, almost motherly gesture. He almost chokes when it starts to brush its thumb over his fingers in a slow back and forth.
It absolutely did this just to humiliate him. Acting like he’s some lost child. With the power difference between them, he might as well be. He chances a look up at it, and its face shows nothing but glee. Of course.
“…Is this necessary?” — he asks timidly, feeling frustrated for the first time.
“Yes,“ — it answers with a smirk.
He sighs a deep sigh, but doesn’t say anything more. It starts humming and swinging their hands back and forth as they walk to wherever it is they’re going. It looks down at him, but when it only sees a scowl, it looks downright perplexed.
“What’s wrong? Is this not what you wanted? Your family will be saved.”
He looks up at it incredulously, gathering any leftover morsel of bravery and every bit of frustration he had pushed down along with his newfound anger to say this next sentence; —
“My family is currently starving to death, waiting for me to return, and I’m here taking a stroll in some alley, holding your hand, Sir. Forgive me if I’m not enjoying myself quite as much as you seem to —”
His hand is crushed suddenly with inhuman force and he screams, trying to pull away, but only succeeds in causing more pain for himself. He struggles to keep walking as he cries, the monster not letting go for a second as it drags him along.
“Careful now. I thought you’ve caught on already,” — it warns in that scary tone again, somehow squeezing even harder, and he has never felt more pain than the agony flowing through his entire body in waves, — “I, at any moment, could decide not to humour you. You’re here for entertainment, nothing else. As soon as keeping you around becomes less fun than what I originally planned to have you endure, your family are marked for death, just like you.”
His hand is finally let go, and it takes his all not to fall to his knees to curl up and weep right then and there, aware that the monster will not wait for him to catch up again. It grabs his face to make him look into its slit pupils.
“So behave for me, would you? Don’t let all that good luck go to waste now,“ — it growls, shaking his head when he doesn’t find it in himself to answer right away, — “Hm?”
He nods hysterically, wheezing in whimpering breaths and trembling in place as he’s forced to look into those terrifying eyes once more tonight. It looks at him for a couple more seconds, then lets him go, expression returning to one that is way too different to belong to the same horrible creature that just shattered his arm like that, without warning, without remorse.
“Good,” — it exclaims, — “come along now! We’re going Home!”
<3
Masterlist | Ko-Fi
#whump#creepy whumper#intimate whumper#my writing#fear#whump writing#sadistic whumper#begging#failed escape#non human whumper#vampire whumper#power dynamics#religious tw#tw: starvation#it as pronoun#broken bones#gore description#blackmail#horror#edited
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Ok so finger whump (or anything really I'm just vibin' here)
"You can have your bones back when you've been good"
Whumper takes out a bone and says they'll give it back after [insert condition] has been met
Can be as clinical/sterile or messy/diy as ya like 🩻🧑⚕️ 🧑🔧🔨
#no idea if this is medically/physically possible and tbh I'm too scared to look it up🫣🫠#finger whump#whump prompts#whump scenario#whumpblr#intimate whumper#creepy whumper#gore#body horror#bones#blood#torture#whumper x whumpee#broken bones#probably manipulation/blackmail/psychological whump#idk tagging just in case#lab whump#shed whump
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The whumpee’s team is constantly getting videos of the whumpee’s torture, and no matter how hard they try they can’t track down the whumper. The whumper themselves mock the team whenever they get close enough for them to notice, and after that the torture gets worse.
#whump#whump prompt#whump scenario#whumpee#aramis stabs someone#whump prompts#whumper#torture#blackmail#team
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Prompt: Dealing With the Devil:
TW: BLACKMAIL, DURESS, STRONG LANGUAGE, MENTIONS OF SA (CP/CSA)
Whumpee sat in the interrogation room, hands cuffed to the metal table. A, the morally corrupt police captain, sat down across from them, brandishing a box with Whumpee's name scrawled on the sides.
"Is that supposed to scare me? We both know that box doesn't have anything of note in it. I'm innocent."
A smirked at Whumpee's words. "Maybe of this charge. But I'd hardly call you innocent."
A opened the box, pulling out a singular envelope. Whumpee's eyes widened. Their muscles tensed. Throat tightened. Mouth dried out.
A unsealed the envelope pulling out the DVD. "I know Whumper and his crew made this. How old were you then? Fifteen? Sixteen?"
Whumpee's fingernails dug into their palms. "How did you get that? I shattered those DVDs years ago."
A didn't deign to respond. "Here's how it's going to go, Whumpee. You can go to jail for a murder you didn't commit, and I can play this little DVD for the inmates while you're being transferred so they know *exactly* what you are. Or, you can do me a favor and walk away free of all charges."
Whumpee's eyes burned with the beginnings of tears. "What do you want?"
A smiled. Good. That was the answer they were hoping for.
#criminal whumpee#tw: corruption#tw: police#tw: abuse of power#tw: child whump#tw: noncon#tw: blackmail#tw: duress#tw: distress#tw: angst#tw: crying#tw: unlawful arrest#Whumpee#whump prompt#tw: sadistic whumper
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Mei /Méi/ - the 5th month of the Common Era (31 days).
TW: Noncon, blackmail
James' days were pretty mundane, just going through the motions of teaching over and over again. But then, out of the blue, a transfer student from a distant land arrives and brings James' past into the spotlight. And here's the kicker—he's got some sort of ulterior motive in mind. It's definitely stirred things up and got James wondering what he's after.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/46755151?view_full_work=true
#whump#whump prompt#nsfwhump#whump art#noncon tw#whump OC#multiple whumpers#whumpee#blackmail#hurt no comfort#older whumpee#emotional whump#manipulative whumper#psychological whump#video whump
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Leverage 2
Leverage 1
“Do it,” the intruder threw her recovered stash at Remmy’s head.
“Let me see Medi,” Remmy growled, shoving it away.
“Jason first.”
“You’ll get jack shit from me until I see her.”
“I could just kill her?” The intruder laughed.
“Like I said,” Remmy snapped, glaring daggers, “Jack. Fucking. Shit. Let me see Medi.”
The intruder stared back at her for a while, before finally sighing. “Hey,” he called into the living room of the cabin. “Bring her in here.”
Remmy’s face paled as Medi was dragged into the kitchen and shoved into the seat across from her. Her eye had swelled shut, bruises reaching from her forehead to her chin from where the man had kicked her. Blood from where the taser had been shoved into her neck was slowly drying into the collar of her sweatshirt.
“Medi…” Remmy leaned across the table.
“Work,” the intruder barked.
Remmy gritted her teeth, reaching for the bag as she kept her eyes trained on Medi. She was still crying and shaking, unable to raise her head to look at Remmy as she pulled the code book and burner phone from the bag.
“Medi,” Remmy again tried to get her partner’s attention.
“Enough,” the intruder finally snapped, pulling a knife from a block and pressing it against Medi’s neck. “You can work, or I can cut her throat.”
“... Fine.” Remmy growled, quickly dialing in the phone number she knew by heart. Her heart thumped erratically as it rang on the line.
“Remmy?”
She frowned for a moment. “... Hey Jason.”
The intruder gestured at her with his knife, mouthing the word “Speaker”.
She made a face, but pulled the phone away from her ear to hit the speaker button.
“Why are you calling me?”
Remmy laughed under her breath, trying to keep her answer natural. “I need a favor.”
“Must be a big one.”
“... Yeah. I…” I looked across the table at her partner once more, nose prickling. “I wanted to tell Medi about you. About what I used to do.”
“Why?”
“I want to marry her,” Remmy answered, wincing as Medi perked up slightly. “Without hiding the rest of my life.”
Jason remained silent.
“I just wanted to have her meet you,” Remmy continued. “I mean… if you want to come to my wedding, I wouldn’t be mad.”
“... Are we close enough for me to come to your wedding?” he asked, his voice cold.
“We used to be.” Again, there was no response from Jason. “So, where would be a good place to meet?”
“Where are you right now?”
The intruder shook his head.
“I can meet you in Perrshow,” Remmy answered fluidly. “There’s a bar in town I bet you’d like called Owen’s.”
“Now you’re speaking my language,” Jason laughed. “Sure, why not. I’ll be free in a week.”
Remmy looked up at the intruder, only answering once he nodded. “Next Friday then?”
#whump#writing#whumpee#whumper#writing idea#spys?#injuries#blackmail#threatening#blood#bruises#knife#leverage#i wanted to write some more but i just want them to be married#whenever i write gay i can only write happy gay what can i say#just let them touch goddamn u#anyway#might come back to this someday
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It's that time of year again! AMonthOfWhump's Winter Whumperland event runs from December 1-12, with a collection of prompts for your inspiration each day. To participate, create in any medium and share your works on Tumblr. Use the event tags or @ us in your post to get reblogged here. Prompt list transcript, tagging info, and a free-to-use post header under the cut.
1: Santa Claus
Claustrophobia
Forced Celebration
Panic Attack
Comfort: Secret Santa Exchange
2: Krampus
Sensory Overload
Temptation
Whipping
Comfort: Decorating Cookies
3: George Bailey
"We've lost everything we have."
Disowned
Drowning
Comfort: Christmas Market
4: The Grinch
Sedatives
Blackmail
Yandere Whumper
Comfort: Ugly Sweater Party
5: Ebenezer Scrooge
Power Outage
Time Loop
Overworked Whumpee
Comfort: Snuggling by the Fire
6: Jack Frost
Post-apocalyptic Winter
Amnesia
Comfort turned to Fear
Comfort: Snowball Fight
7: Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer
Inhuman Whumpee
Exile
Self-sacrifice
Comfort: You’re Not Alone
8: John Mclane
Held Hostage
Russian Roulette
Forced to Watch
Comfort: Rescue
9: Jólakötturinn
Feral Whumpee
Left Behind
Collared
Comfort: Wiping the Other’s Tears Away
10: Tio de Nadal
Conditioning
Left to Die
Final Countdown
Comfort: Holiday Traditions
11: The Yule Goat
Branding
Stitches
Public Whump
Comfort: Trimming the Tree
12: Elf on the Shelf
Trapped
Bedside Vigil
Used as bait
Comfort: Mistletoe (or avoiding it)
Event Tags: #amow winter whumperland 2023, #day1, #claustrophobia, (tag the prompt you're using)
And lastly, here is a post header to use for the event if you like. Happy whumping!
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Do you have any prompts for older sibling whump?
Sure, here are a few!
Having nightmares about losing their younger sibling(s)
Trading themself to the enemy for the younger's freedom
Stressing/overworking themself to take care of the younger
Parent(s) favoring the younger and neglecting the older's needs
Younger Sibling shocked to see Older Sibling cry for the first time
Older Sibling weakly giving Younger instructions on first aid for them
Whumper blackmailing them by threatening their younger sibling(s)
Throwing themself in front of a blow that was meant for the younger
Younger trying to use the same comfort techniques Older always uses for them
"You told me you were okay! You lied to me! Why?" "I'm your big sibling. It's my job to be okay."
Sibling rivalry escalates too far. Now Younger's actually hurt Older Sibling and is scrambling to fix it
Whumper forcing Younger Sibling to torture the older, Older tries to keep a brave face and assure them they can take it
Younger pranking Older Sibling with something they fear and realizes it's too far when Older totally panics/breaks down
#whump#whump prompts#writing prompts#familial whump#nightmares#self sacrifice#stress#overworking#neglect#angst#favoritism#crying#blackmail#lying#rivalry#torture#pranks#prank gone wrong#breakdown#answered ask#anonymous
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