The Whumper’s Archive

Whumpee is bought by a Vampire Whumper, and is to be used as their new living blood bank.

Whumper puts them on a metal table, hooks them onto tubes that slowly sucks them dry. Leave just enough to keep them alive.

Sometimes, Whumper takes the blood directly from the source, Whumpee struggling against the tubes and their impossibly strong owner.

Blood naturally spills to the floor, maybe from a sloppy Whumper, or a tube that came unhooked. Whumper snaps twice, and three Whumpee’s scurry in on their hands and knees.

“Clean this mess up,” they order.

The Whumpee’s, their eyes oddly red and their teeth oddly sharp, hurry to lick up the liquid from the floor with a surprising hunger, not bothering to care about the dirt and grime that comes with it.

Whumpee curls up on the table, raised above them. They look down and meet eyes with one of them, who flushes red with humiliation, but continues licking the floor with determination. They have a task, after all, and they’ve been starved enough to no longer care what their new neighbor thinks.

It’s still humiliating, though. What does the newbie think of them? Vampire Whumpees, useless except for being used as mops to clean up the most wretched of messes.

The walls of the tank are smooth and slick with what must be algae. There's no purchase, not even enough to cling to for a little help keeping his head above water. There's certainly not the faintest possibility of climbing.

He circles the interior maybe three or five times – it's impossible to tell when he's completed a circuit in the dark but the tank isn't that big – feeling all up and down the walls for anything he could hold onto. There's nothing. 

He's forced to tread water instead. More accurately he mostly floats on his back, paddling a little as necessary to keep stable. His fingertips and feet bump frequently against the sides of the tank. It's not quite possible to relax. He has to keep his spine arched and his lungs full. But it's tolerable, at least at first. 

“Don’t bother praying, darling. Here, I’m the only god you need to worry about.”

“My, my, what’s my darling little mouse gotten into today?”

“Oh, adorable. You think I’m capable of giving mercy.”

“I admire your optimism.”

“Yes, yes, I know; beg, beg, beg, scream, beg some more… why don’t we spice it up this time? Surprise me.”  

“When your worth extends past the euphoria your screams ignite, then I might think about stopping.”

“My perfect little puppy, all dressed up in your new collar.”

“Your voice sounds much better through a rag, and your mouth’s beauty agrees.”

“They say the pen is mightier than the sword, who says it can’t be both?”

“Stop trying to prove your worth, if I wanted something of value I would not have taken you.”

“I’ll make a masterpiece of your blood and a symphony of your screams.”

“Oh, silly little thing, you know your place is on your knees.”

“Hold this for me. No, no, open your mouth.”

“Oh, you’re begging me finally. Nice, I like it. Do it again.”

“Smile for the camera, baby, actually no, just keeping looking like that. You look like a scared puppy dog, adorable.”

“I’m going to tear you apart bit by bit and then put you back together until you’re my perfect fucked up puzzle.”

“Fly little hummingbird, and pray to God I don’t catch you.”

“Which one do you want today? We have leather, chains, rope, duct tape…”

“You could offer me the world on a fucking platter right now, and I’d reject you. What I want is you to shut that mouth of yours and obey.”

Something I wrote with @cyanacity‘s headcanons of Jackie and Anti! This is canon to the Hounds AU.

CW: violence, knives, eye-injury, mention of blood.

Join the Hounds AU discord server!

“No.”

The wind howls around them, tugging at their clothes and wheezing in their ears. Still, Anti’s voice cuts through the noise, loud and clear.

“That wasn’t our deal, hero.”

Jackie’s hands tighten around his batons, and he raises his chin, eyes defiant and determined. “That’s real unfortunate, Anti. Cause I’m not coming with you, and you can’t make me.”

The other man growls, the knife in his right hand catching the lights of the city below them as he spins it.

“And you can’t take back what you gave to me,” Jackie continues. “Thank you for that, by the way. It’s going to come in real handy when I kick your ass out of this city. Unless you want to spare me the trouble and leave?” With a chuckle, Jackie extends his one arm out to his side, baton pointing at the mountains that mark the city’s border.

“I suppose you’re right,” Anti snarls. But he doesn’t make a move to leave. In fact, he takes a step closer. And then another. “But there are other things I can take.”

And with that, he vanishes, only to reappear right beside Jackie, his knife slicing through the air, curving down to slash at his throat. Jackie brings his baton up, catching the knife right before it’s able to touch skin. For a fraction of a second, they’re frozen in place, their strength equally matched. Anti’s teeth are bared as he grunts, and in the reflection of the knife, Jackie is met with his own eyes.

“We can be gods together, Jackie,” the glitch offers, honey dripping off his words, masking the poison that lingers just beneath the surface. “Just you and me, on top of the world.” His arms are thrown wide, gesturing to the city around them- no, beneath them.

The second passes, and Anti pulls his knife back before lunging in for another stab, at Jackie’s stomach this time. He deftly leaps out of the way but misjudges the distance to the edge of the roof. One of his feet finds no solid ground to land on, and his heart shoots up to his throat as he falls-

Only to have his hand caught by Anti. Immediately, hundreds of thoughts surge through his head, none of them his own. You should’ve said yes, you still can, you’ve earned your place, all that’s left is for you to take it- None of them are his own, they’re not his own, they’re not his- Would you really choose a cramped apartment over a palace worthy of god? Worthy of you? These people don’t deserve you, Jackie. You deserve something better than them-

Jackie’s eyes flicker up to meet Anti’s, bright and green and furious, but focussed, staring down at him as if he can change Jackie’s mind through willpower alone. Jackie keeps entirely still, the battlefield having shifted from a rooftop to their own minds. He doesn’t even try to gain some grip against the wall, to pull himself up without Anti’s help. The wind pulls at his hair as it cuts around the corner of the building, taking his shaky breaths away from him. 

But he doesn’t budge. Anti pushes and pulls at his mind, giving his all to shape Jackie’s mind to fit in the mold he had for him. His frustration grows, his powers slipping from refined to wild and untamed. “Fine,” he hisses, both in Jackie’s ears and mind. “You’ve made your choice.” Anti’s grip around Jackie’s wrist tightens, bones crunching as Jackie gasps, his eyes wide with fear. “Die a hero, then.”

And he lets go.

And Jackie falls.

Anti is towering over the edge, quickly decreasing in size as Jackie tumbles down. His back hits a fire-escape, and his vision is drawn to the ground below him instead, before he hits his head on another railing, white-hot pain blinding out everything else.

His limp body is caught by a pile of trash bags, chasing away the white cat that was sitting in the darkened alley. Jackie groans, struggling to get back onto his feet. The entire world is spinning around him, faster and faster as the walls tilt until his forearms scathe over the rough brickwork, and his stumbling finally stops.

“Look at me, Jackie.”

Pretending not to hear him, Jackie steadies his breathing, leaning his forehead against the wall. 

“I said, l̸o̡ǫ͠k̶̛ ̸a̸t͏͟ ̧̨m̶e.”

A fist pounds on the wall besides Jackie’s head, and he finally looks up. Still heavily relying on the wall for support, he has no defence against Anti’s knife as it glints in the dim light of the alley.

And that’s the last thing he sees before he instinctively closes his eyes in the anticipation of the hit. The blade cuts cleanly over his eyes and the ground falls away from under his feet as his world explodes into darkness, warm blood running down his cheeks and hot pain burning in his eyes. The wall is gone, now, and he stumbles backwards, before tripping over… something.

He barely notices how he’s screaming, wailing, crying, until Anti clutches his hand over his mouth to shut him up. 

“That’s what you get,” he hisses, his voice close to Jackie’s ear, too close, “for thinking you can double-cross m̡e̡̕ .”

The fizzling air of Anti’s presence lessens as rain slowly starts to patter down on the pavement. Thinking himself safe, Jackie takes a deep breath, only to be met with surprise at a kick in his stomach. Gasping, he curls up, covering his head and face with his arms, entirely powerless and defenceless against the following volley of kicks to his back, his stomach, his head and his crotch. 

What seems like an eternity passes until Anti, content with a job well done, leaves Jackie broken, vulnerable, and alone. A small surge of electricity buzzes through the air around him, and then the glitch is gone. He slowly uncurls and tries to open his eyes, to look around, to see where he is and where he could go.

Nothing happens. 

He sees… nothing. 

Panic starts to pool into his heart as a feeling of pure and utter despair overwhelms him, his breath becoming more ragged with every heartbeat. He’s injured and alone, limited only to what he can touch and hear, the latter rapidly decreasing as the slight patter of the rain increases, until it’s steadily thrumming against his skin, thunder cracking in the distance. He struggles to sit up, arms shaking under the weight of his torso, but he has no other options, does he?

So he crawls, through the mud and through the trash, until his shoulder finds the wall again. A sob of relief leaves his lips as his perceivable world grows a little, and he allows himself to sag against it, finally starting to crumble as the pressure is taken off. 

He sits there for… a long time, probably. Another bolt of lightning struck down, closer now, but he couldn’t see the flash. The flow of blood streaming down his face was steady, showing no sign of slowing down. He holds his head backwards, letting the cool rain wash his face, and hopefully clear up the blood that’s preventing him from opening his eyes.

Nothing.

He is still losing blood, way too much blood. A cold fever runs along his skin, and he feels himself getting dizzier by the second. He knows he has to get help, and quick. Leaning heavily onto the wall, he lifts himself off the ground, his head protesting immediately as a headache crashes over him like a wave. He shakily waits for it to pass before he starts following the wall. He can only hope he was walking out of the alley, instead of further in. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god, are you okay?”

The cock of a gun

The twirl of a bullet chamber

Slow footsteps drawing nearer

The click of handcuffs

The crack of a whip

The sound of a belt being undone

The shing of a knife or sword being unsheated

Electricity buzzing and crackling on a taser

A harsh slap

The sound of a (lifeless) body hitting the floor

The chink and click of a lighter

The snap of medical gloves

The crackle of leather gloves

A new magazine clipped into the gun

The tip of a wooden cane or metal rod slowly dragging over the floor

The crack of knuckles

It could get lonely, in your cell. Very lonely. There were days where you’d just stare at the wall, for minutes or for hours, while you had imaginary conversations in your head. Flirting with the barista of a cosy little coffee shop, calling your sister on her birthday, maybe even laughing with some friends… 

But it never lasted. Your daydreams ended as the hours passed, nightmares shoving them out of frame until you’re sweat-soaked and screaming- 

But then… you got a roommate. Shy and tiny, huddled in a corner while you huddled in yours on the opposite side of the room. They didn’t leave. You started sharing thoughts with them, as well as your food, even though it was not much. The fear in their eyes receded, a little, until they dared to get close enough for you to touch them. More days passed, more food was shared, and soon, you were able to hold them. More days passed, and- 

You wake up, and they’re gone. You call out for them, but there’s no response. Heartbroken, you stare at the wall, but the usual daydreams don’t come. Your thoughts are racing, you can’t stop thinking about the friend you’d made, or where they could be right now. 

A click of a tongue by your cell door draws your attention back to the present, and you notice that you had been crying. The magician stands there, a look of disgust and disdain on his face. “Look at you,” he spits. “Crying over vermin. A mouse-” He twists his hand, and there they are - your roommate, your friend! 

You jump up and grab the bars of your cell door with one hand, reaching for the mouse with your other. 

So after spending about an hour kneeling on a concrete floor, I have a lot more feelings about all the scenarios where whumpees are forced to kneel for ages.

Firstly, because it’s actually quite difficult to stay still, and it really gets painful after a while, so the whumpees must be so strong and well trained to kneel by their whumper’s side without moving. I can’t help but imagine the whumpee at some fancy party, classical music playing and people chatting, accompanied by the background hum of pain in their knees as they just zone out of it all.

Also, it really is a great position if the whumper wants to do something more fun, like say, a bit of whipping…

The two dice rinkle against each other in your shaking fist, before you hesitantly throw them onto the floor, immediately squeezing your eyes shut, holding your breath in anticipation. 

 Behind you, the glitch laughs. “G͡o͏ on͟,̧ Pet.͏ ̛W҉hat̢ did̡ ýoù g̴e̵t?" 

With a shaky exhale, you open one eye. "F-four,” you stutter, swallowing before reading the second die. “A-and one." 

 "Ąnd́ to͞g͟ether, t͜ḩat́ mak҉es̛.̶.͠." 

"F-five,” you reply, folding your hands in your lap in an attempt to stop the shaking. 

 "So they can do basic math. What’s the point of this?“ The magician’s bored voice sounds behind you. 

"T̡hè p̡o̸íǹt̢ o̢f ͏a͢ ̧ģame ͏is҉ to͟ ̶havę ̢f͞u̸n̢,͡ of ̧co͏uŕse.” The glitch crouches behind you, and you can feel the tip of a knife running along the base of your skull. “A͘re̕n't͞ yo̧u ḩa̸v̀in͟g ̸fu̸ņ, ͠p̷e̶t͜?́" 

You want to nod. He wants you to nod, so you want to nod. But the tip of his knife presses against your skull, and bringing your head up now would- 

"A͏r҉en̵'̢t̢ ̛you͞?̕” He repeats, the knife pressing down harder. You wince and quickly nod, ignoring the pain against the back of your head. 

“Goo̷d҉,” he hums, before his foot is planted in your back, and you fall forward. Your hands aren’t fast enough to catch you - not that it would’ve mattered anyway, given how you can still feel the glitch’s boot pressing you down. A flash of pain runs through your head as your face hits the grimy floor. 

“Fi͘v̡e,” he repeats. “Yòu'ŕé lu̢ck̡y̕,̶ ̧pe͘t. Y̡o̧u ̛w̛on'̴t ͝ha͟v͏e͝ to e͏n͢du̴r̨e̵ ͘phys͝i҉c̷al͢ ҉har̸m ͡t͞oda͠y.͝” Grinning, he turns to face the magician. “B̨ut ҉M͡arvin here ͡is e̶vȩn ̶lu͘ck͝i̷er.͠ ̴H̨e ge͜ts҉ ͠to ̵prac͡t҉ic̨è w͜iţh͜ hi̶s̶ ͢ilļus̴i̶on̴s̛ ̴fo͘r the ͟re͝s̢t̴ of the day!" 

“Tell me,” the whumpee grunted, tightening their grip on the whumper’s bloodied collar, “does a monster like you bleed?”

“Plea..se…”

May contain some uncomfortable scenarios.

“Thrash all you want, you can ever escape this cage.” 

“I’ve finally caught you.” 

“Aw, is it too tight? Good.” 

“You will never leave this place alive.” 

“You are a marvelous creature, trapped in such a small little cell.” 

“Let me go!” 

“You think you’ve won, huh?!” 

“Quit struggling, you will only make it worse.” 

“You seem rather calm for being in your position.” 

“You can’t keep me in here forever!” 

“W-what are you going to do to me?” 

“I’ve been looking for something new to experiment on…” 

“What a fine specimen! Yes, you will do just fine.” 

“I won’t become some lab rat!” 

“As soon as I get my hands on you, you will regret trapping me in here.” 

“What…what is this place?” 

“Where am I?” 

“If you keep struggling, you may lose a limb.” 

“Please! You got to help me!” 

“I’ve done nothing wrong!” 

“If you answer a just a couple of questions, I may let you go.” 

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for something like you?” 

“You’ve hit the end of the road, ___.” 

“Do you really think bindings and bars will keep you safe?” 

“I will kill you!” 

“You are not quite reacting like I’d assumed…”