Whump Gift Swap Event

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"..by the gods.. and will this be all, Miss?”

Varalda pretends not to notice the muttered comment preceding the question the shopkeeper asks her, as she digs around in her bag for her bag of coins. It’ll take everything she’s scraped together for the past two years, but hopefully, it’ll be worth it. “Yes, it will. Thank you.”

With that, she gathers up her large bundle and heads out the door.

As she turns in the direction of her house, a few mile walk, she runs through the plan in her head.

In her bundle, she has an assortment of ingredients, (some poison, hopefully she remembered gloves last week..) some gems, tools, and then back home she has the final piece, a very special piece of enchanted rock that she’d purchased a couple months back for.. way too much. We’ll just say that.

And when she gets home, she’s going to set everything up, and then wait very (im)patiently for the moon to rise.

Tonight is the night she brings back a dragon.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Back home—a circle of gray stones (all carefully selected from various creeks and rivers) in a circle. Her ingredients next to her. The mortar and pestle. Her collection of gems surrounding the mortar. And the ceremonial blade in front of it.

It’s dark, the only light coming from the candlelight glow all around her. It’s finally time to begin.

Without wasting any time, Varalda starts the careful (but slightly rushed) measuring of ingredients into her mortar. She focuses on the scrape of pestle against mortar as she starts to grind. Then, it’s time for the final step.

With shaking hands, she lifts her blade, in her left hand. Wait, no, goddamnit, right hand. The sacrifice has to come from her left.

Then she pauses. Anxiety builds in her chest, along with hope—that desperate, scared kind of hope, the kind that doesn’t know if it’s going to be crushed yet.

Is she really ready to do this?

Could it actually work?

..is she ready for it to work?

She shakes her head hard. She can’t hesitate any longer, can’t give herself any more time to overthink this.

She presses the blade to her palm. Then digs a slow, careful slit down, from her middle finger to her wrist.

Fuck, that hurts, but she completes it. Blood wells up in her palm, thick and red, and she winces a bit as she carefully tilts it over the bowl and lets her blood pour over the crushed ingredients.

Nothing happens.

Disappointment rises in her chest.

No. No, this has to work. It has to. Because if it doesn’t—well, if it doesn’t, she’s out of options.

But she only stews in her rising feelings of panic for a couple seconds longer, thankfully, before, so faintly she might’ve missed it, a red glow starts to emanate from the pool of her blood.

Her eyes widen. Her body goes cold, then hot.

She chalks it up to excitement at first. She’s done it! She’s going to be the one who brings back dragons!

But that excitement is short-lived, because the hot feeling spreading through her body is suddenly overwhelming.

She jerks back as she hears a sizzle, then looks down in panic to see a blister forming across her hand, in the path of the blood dripping from her still wet cut.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh god what’d she do?!

She scrambles to her feet—to do what, she’s not sure, maybe run? Maybe get help—but before she can move she suddenly finds herself collapsing to her knees, hunching over and hugging herself, a choking cry escaping her lips as burning pains radiates through her entire body.

She’s dying. She must be dying.

She forces her eyes open as she falls onto her side, trying desperately to see through a sudden blur, a sudden red tint. Her veins are starting to glow, a faint orangeish red that looks as hot as it feels. Then she watches in horror as her own blood starts to bubble through her skin.

She’s suddenly screaming without really choosing to make the sound. It rings in her ears, making her head ache, which is just really not a fun feeling when added to the searing AGONY radiating through her entire body. There’s something dripping out of her eyes, then her nose, and her ears.. it might be blood?..it’s definitely hot enough.

Her skin starts to bubble and melt away. She’s literally boiling from the inside out.

GOD, this hurts. It HURTS. IT HURTS, HOW DOES SHE MAKE IT STOP?!

Her vision blurs even more, making it so she can’t really tell if it’s her imagination or not as something dark, blueish, starts to form underneath her melting skin. Her screams—she’s still screaming, although the noise fades into the background—almost sound like they’re starting to lower in pitch, take on more of a snarling quality.

When she opens her eyes next, the trees look a lot smaller.

Then she blacks out.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

A sharp pain cuts through her head. A shout.

“Varalda? Varalda, where are you?!”

She calls back—but then a chill runs through her as her voice comes out in an incomprehensible, animalistic roar.

And she comes face to face—her vision suddenly very sharp and crisp—with her best friend. Who are a lot smaller than she remembers them.

Their face is pale, their eyes wide. They start to back up.

Then their gaze drops to the ruined ritual circle.. the blood.. the scraps of ruined clothes on the ground that Varalda suddenly registers.

“..Varalda..?” Their friend says. Softly. Gently. Too gently. “..that’s.. that’s you?”

She manages a tiny nod. Her head feels a lot clumsier, more hefty than it should.

Her for some reason very tiny friend carefully approaches, and very tentatively lays a hand on her.

“..Varalda, what happened?” They murmur.

She tries to answer, but again, only a growl escapes.

They rub her shoulder. “Shh.. it’s alright.” Their touch is more soothing than it’s ever been. “We’ll fix this.. I-I’m sure we can fix this. I’ll get a healer. M-maybe we’ll travel, to those healers in the East. They’re better versed in magic.

What HAPPENED?! Varalda screams in her head.

But the answer is no further than her own twisted body as she looks down.

And instead of seeing her familiar, pale flesh, her humanoid hands, she sees dark blue scales. Claws.

She’s a dragon.

The spell backfired so terribly.

Or maybe it didn’t backfire. Maybe it worked exactly as it was supposed to, and she shouldn’t have torn ‘dragon spell’ out of an old tome and attempted the spell all by herself, without even consulting anyone.

I was thinking something along the lines of Celine actually meeting his match against someone he couldn't beat, and being forced to turn tail and flee for his life, with the assistance of like somebody else xp

...

Where am I?

The pain on its mouth woke it up, its fangs were trapped on a wooden stick, tightly tied to its face, a burning, desperate sensation. It tried to take it out, but what a surprise to find its arms tied in its back to the wall, the same chain as before, still burning its wrists.

Its entire body was covered in scars, like snakes climbing up its body. The wounds weren’t healing as fast as it knew. It shoulder ached, a bandage coloured with a dark red was covering a much worse injury.

  I’m going to kill whoever did this to me.

The place was completely dark, just four concrete walls and a metallic door were around it. The air was thick with a flower fragrance that made it feel weak, its limbs were numb.

The room got lighted by an only light bulb on the wall. The door opened, a figure entered, gun in his hands. The chains sounded as the creature jumped to attack, without success, the chains stopped it, a muffled scream escaped from its gag.

“What a lucky catch I had.” He left his gun leaning on the wall and approached the creature. “What should I do to you?” The creature tried to speak, but it couldn’t make a word. “For now you can stay here while I think what will I do with you.”

After that, he took the gun and left, the light turned off.

It seemed like an eternity to wait for its captor to come back. Every second that passed was worsening the hunger of the creature. It tried harder to escape, but the only thing it got was its skin torn off from its wrists.

Finally the hunter came again, a plastic cup on his hand. For a second the creature forgot the toxic smell, feeling something familiar.

Blood

The desperate movements weren’t planned, the instinct was winning over its prideful personality.

“Do you want some?” It responded with a guttural muzzled sound. “If you want it I have to take out that wooden stick, but you have to promise me to not bite me.” The creature answered with a desperate move, only looking at the cup of blood.

The hunter untied the leather, and ripped off the stick, its mouth wasn’t working as it wanted, even it tried to attack, but his weak movements were easy to predict for the hunter. The familiar smell was strong enough to cover the toxic smell of the room.

As the cup got close to the mouth, the sharp fangs finally came off, the hunter poured the liquid and the beast got closer to take a sip. Its body completely at the mercy of the liquid.

Something is wrong…

The first contact of the liquid burned its mouth. The mind refused to drink it, but the instinct, the hunger was only thinking on the smell, of the need to recompose, to survive.

The creature refused to drink, but the hunter didn’t stop, he leaned more the cup, the liquid even dripping out, burning the sides of the mouth.

It hold it on in its mouth, but the pain became unbearable and without other chance, the vampire swallowed the blood. As the liquid enter to its body, the burning sensation got worse, its throat threatened to close, but it keep drinking. It was more than hunger, it was a necessity.

Faster than it thought, the cup emptied, it tried to lick the last drops, its tongue kept burning, but it didn’t care anymore, its mind was blinded by the instinct.

“Very good” The hunter cleaned the blood stains of its face, showing burning marks. “Let’s see how do you feel after this.”

This time, the hunter didn’t gagged the creature, but it left it in the dark.

The next hours were much worse. Leaning on the wall, the vampire couldn’t find a position to rest. The coughing made all its body tremble and the stomach upset made it feel sick.

Until the inevitable happened...

It just took a second for it to expel all the blood it drank, it wasn’t a delicate movement. It was a fight to no choke out, to feel better. The burn came back, stronger than before. The familiar taste of copper filled its mouth, but there was phantom flavor at the end, different from the usual metallic tang.

As soon as it felt a little better, the smell of blood triggered its fangs again, trying to reach the floor to try the liquid. But just thinking of what happened hours before made the vampire feel sick, suppressing the instinct, for the first time, he preferred starve and ignore the food.

The next day, the hunter came, another cup in the hand.This time the vampire didn’t react as expected. This time it backed up, until it reached the wall. The hunter, ignoring the mess of the floor, approached the cup to the face of the creature, its fangs came off, but its body didn’t react. It stayed still, avoiding to look. The smell, even if it was delicious, made it feel sick again.

“Do you want to try? Just a drop.” The creature shook its head. “It’s fresh, clean blood, no surprises this time.” The creature shook again the head. “Well, you lost the chance. I really thought you guys loved a liquid diet” He didn’t even hide his smile as he left. His plan was working better that he expected.

It just passed some minutes when something caught the attention of the creature. Fresh blood, a tiny amount. Where did that come from?

It found the source in the darkness, a small drop of blood on the floor, too far and at the same time too close. Its fangs came off again, the instinct blinded the mind. It tried to get up in vain, the chains were the only obstacle. So it tried to pull. The pain climbed to its arms, reaching its shoulders, its old wound still open. And it pulled again, its legs working clumsy, feet slipping on the floor, but it keep pulling.

It tried all night to catch the prey, without realizing of the consequences.

Finally, the human entered again.

“Oh my…” He smiled. “I came to clean your disaster, but you worsened it.” The human looked at the drop of clean blood on the floor. “Such a scandal just for this drop?” The creature felt humiliated for the first time. “It’s a shame you didn’t accept my offer the day before.”

He cleaned the drop with his finger and came closer to the vampire, his finger close to the nose, it didn’t wanted to do it, but the smell was impossible to resist.

“Don’t be ashamed, take it if you want.” His voice was soft, unlike the crooked smile he was trying to hide.

And it licked the single drop.

The burning sensation came back, the creature couldn’t hide its face of disgust, of pain. The human couldn’t hide a laughter.

The hunter cleaned the stains of the floor, sometimes raising his voice while blaming it of what happened. The creature ignored him, knowing that talk or fight back was a waste of time.

As soon as he finished, he invaded the personal space of the creature. It backed up, showing its teeth to threaten him. With a quick move the wooden stick was again on the vampire’s mouth tightly attached to the back of its head. Again, the burning sensation came back, but this time, it was stronger.

“As your wounds aren’t healing, I have to treat them.”

For the first time, the hunter was right, the wrists of the vampire were destroyed. Part of the skin was gone, the muscles were still burning with the metallic chain, soon the metal would reach the bone.

With cold precision he pressed a clean gauze on the open wound. The creature hold up the scream. It bit stronger the stick and looked away. The sound of the wood snapping resonated in the room, but the human didn’t stop.

A minute of relief came when the human stop. But the sensation got wiped away as soon as he started to clean the other wrist, the same cold precision, more painful than before.

After he finished with the wrists, he continued with the shoulder, carefully he took off the dirty gauze, the wound still open started bleeding again. Still with cold precision he cleaned the wound, even with the stitches, the wound didn’t healed. The vampire avoided eye contact looking at an empty corner, feeling sometimes the gaze of the human.

When the man finished, he picked up his things an left the creature in the dark room, he didn’t speak, he didn’t even look at it.

That was the last time the vampire saw its captor.

Just a minute seemed like a complete hour. Sometimes the smell of the room was stronger, the notes of garlic made its throat close. Other times, its eyes were watering, trying to calm the burning sensation, produced by an unknown smell.

But there was a common factor.

Tiredness...

Hunger...

Weakness...

With no food, the creature started losing its powers. Its body, always in the same position, loose strength and mobility.

It didn’t even realize when it stopped seeing the door and the room loose dimensions. It could swear that the door sometimes got open, it could feel that someone was close, but it couldn’t smell or see it. Was it true or a trick of its mind?

It would never know…

After weeks or even months, the hunter came back, this time with a small wooden box. The light blinded the creature. The tense silence was deafening. He sat on the floor, back leaning on the wall.

It wanted to attack him, to escape, to be the shadow it once was. But the words of the hunter caught its attention.

“Do you want to hear a story?” His voice was soft. The beast didn’t wanted, but couldn’t refuse “Then I’ll start.”

“Once upon a time there was a young man with big dreams.” The hunter began, his voice was like a lullaby, his eyes lost in a memory. “He wasn’t anyone special, but he always tried to see the bright side of the world. One night, as he was walking to his house, he found a wounded creature. The innocent man decided to take it home. He treated his wounds with love and care.” The hunter paused, looking at the creature on the floor.

“When the beast grew hungry and asked to try his blood, the foolish man didn’t refuse. The nights passed, and the creature decided to stay. In the day it hid in the house, but in the night it went out to hunt. Every time the creature got hurt, the man was there, patching it up. Every time the creature was hungry, the man was there, offering his veins.” The eyes of the vampire widened , the room seemed colder.

“But then, the tasks changed, the creature started bringing its victims home, forcing the man to hide the corpses. As nights kept passing the young innocent man disappeared, he stopped looking at the bright side because he finally learned that dreams don’t come true. His life became a sentence of service for the creature. One day the final task came, the creature sent the man to a field, far from the city, a place impossible to reach. It thanked the man for his years services… and you know what? It told him that he became useless. Without a warning the beast drank all the blood it could, erased his memory and left the man dying at the mercy of nothing.” The hunter stood up, the creature inspected his movements.

 “Luckily some hunters found what was left of the man. They put him back together, helped him remember and gave him a new purpose.” His crooked smile returned. “Does it sound familiar to you?”

That can’t be true, right? He can’t be that young man it once met.

The steps got closer, slowly approaching the creature. It tried to move, feeling as a prey escaping through the claws of its predator.

“Did you like it? I think I’m getting better at telling stories.”

He took some tools out of his pockets and knelt down next to the creature. He took out the wooden stick and replaced it with  clean cotton, completely fearless. The creature wanted to escape, but his weak body didn’t respond, it was at the mercy of that human.

The hunter pricked his finger, just a drop of blood made the fangs come off. It tried to bite, but the cotton didn’t let it close its mouth. The fearless hunter numbed the area close of the fangs, a liquid with a bad taste, but with quick effects. Then, he grabbed tweezers and moved one of the fangs, it was loose. Not a surprise but better news for the hunter.

A wave of panic rushed down its veins, prisoner of its own body. The creature moved its head, trying to escape from the tweezers that were getting dangerously close again.

But the firm hand of the hunter grabbed the chin, a dry movement that caught  it off guard.

The tweezers reached the fang again, a tight grip, and without a warning he ripped it free. The creature screamed, an agonizing sound. As its head got free, it fell from a side, looking in horror as the hunter opened the box and placed the fang in the red velvet.

The hunter grabbed again its chin firmly. The tweezers found the second fang and moved it. This time, he pulled for a couple seconds until the fang came off.

The creature screamed, blood started dripping to the floor where the tools were. It saw how the man gently placed the fang and closed the box.

Then, he took clean cotton and without love or care placed it on the now open spaces.

Without wanting it, the creature looked up, tired, in shock. The blood started dripping to its throat, it drank it, it couldn’t avoid it. After all that time, it seemed that its own blood was more delicious than the human one.

The man picked up the tools and the wooden box, he didn’t clean the floor this time, but he stopped at the door.

“We’ll continue tomorrow. You should rest now.” Without looking at the bleeding creature, he left again, the room darker than ever.

That night the silence was louder, the memories of a burned past were floating in its mind. Desperation took control over it and for the first time in years, the creature cried in silence, the old injuries of its face were burning as tears fell. Its chest got tight, fearing tomorrow, and that human.

...

It’s over now…

There’s nothing more to do.

I entered the cell again, for the first time, the monster looked at me with fear, I couldn’t help but smile because the satisfaction I felt.

I approached the monster, it tried to get away in vain, it’s so weak that it can’t even drag himself on the floor. With slow movements I started wrapping its legs with the metallic chain, when it made contact with the skin, it left a burning mark. I didn’t stop.

I wrapped its entire body, and when everything was secured I freed the beast from the wall. It didn’t fight or try anything, it could only look at me, trying to speak, unable to form words, I didn’t pay attention.

It was a long journey until we got to the car, dragging it across the maze of hallways, it wasn’t heavy at all, but the chains were.

“Well, you look like an expensive metallic burrito.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Let’s see if you fit in the trunk.” It ignored me, but at this point, I no longer care how he treats me.

The road was quiet, the moon lighting the way. As I got farther away, the lights of the city dissipated. Finally I found the alternative route and started driving off the road, until I was in the middle of nowhere. That’s when I stopped the car and pulled out the body of the monster. I slowly took out the chains, marks were like a work of art on its skin. And when it was completely free, I turned back to the car, knowing that it won’t attack me.

“Please…” A familiar voice spoke, it was almost a raw whisper. I stopped but didn’t turn around. “Don’t leave me here. I’ll do whatever you want.” It took a breath. “I can give you whatever you need.”

“I’ve got everything I needed for you. Now, you are useless to me.” I entered the car without waiting for an answer and started driving. Its figure got lost in the dark as the lights of the car stopped lighting it.

Now they were considered nothing but a food source for some lowly vampire, and even worse, a pet. Or at least that's what they were now called. They no longer even had the dignity of being called their own name. This entire situation was simply unbelievable.

It was just so absurd. Whumpee, a respected royal with an entire army meant to be protecting them and their entire family, was somehow kidnapped and enslaved by Whumper, a vampire, a filthy disgusting creature with only a handful of their fellow vampire minions by their side. How could this have happened?

On top of that, how was it taking so long for anyone to find them? They were royalty. Surely the entire Kingdom was out looking for them. Where in the world could this place possibly be that they hadn't been found already?

They would be eventually. Of course they would. They had to be. There's no way they would be forgotten. Even if they themselves had forgotten their own name, the rest of the Kingdom must remember it. Must remember them. Right? They just had to wait a little longer. Right... Just a little longer. It couldn't be much more now.

They wouldn't have to endure this much longer. Surely. Being drained of their blood almost every day, being locked in this cold dark room, being fed scraps unfit even for someone of a lesser status. It would all be over soon. They just had to hold on. Be strong, as a royal should be.

The familiar sound of the dungeon door opening snapped Whumpee out of their thoughts, and their sudden descent into near hopelessness turned back into their usual rage. Even though they new it was going to be Whumper, as it always was, they still felt a bit of sorrow when they actually saw Whumper. A part of them had been hoping it would finally be their knights, their family, someone, anyone, finally coming to save them from this nightmare.

Whumper smiled as they approached. "Hey there, Pet. I'm feeling hungry again. You're looking a little better than the last time I saw you."

Whumpee strained against their chains and growled angrily against the gag, the muffled sound only seeming to widen the smile on Whumper's face.

"Still fighting, hm? I admire the persistence, I really do." Whumper gently stroked Whumpee's cheek, almost mocking them. This only caused them to struggle harder. Whumper let out a small laugh. "Truly, my favorite thing about you. But you really should stop. You don't want to hurt yourself, now, do you?"

Whumpee glared angrily, the only true act of defiance they had left outside of their pointless struggles.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot, you prefer to speak. Let's fix that, shall we?" Whumper reached around Whumpee's head to remove the gag. The moment it was off, Whumpee spat at them.

"You seem to think so highly of yourself. When my Kingdom finds me, they're going to kill you. You know that, right? You'll never survive what they'll do to you!" Whumpee replied angrily, trying to keep their voice steady, and ignoring the slight shake in it. They hoped Whumper couldn't tell.

Whumper only laughed. "Oh, Whumpee. They're never going to find you. I keep telling you this."

"Of course they are. I'm royalty!" Whumpee shouted. "Everyone in the Kingdom is looking for me! They must be!"

Whumper's smile turned to one of mock pity. "Oh, Pet. They really aren't."

"How could you possibly know that? There's no way a royal just disappears without people caring!"

"Perhaps it's time I finally told you. I've been wondering how this news might affect your persistence to get out... Hopefully it doesn't erase it entirely." Whumper said, their expression now one of amusement.

Whumpee's angry expression didn't change. "What news? What in the world are you on about?"

Whumper reached forward to grab Wumpee's chin. Whumpee resisted, but Whumper's grip tightened in a way that told Whumpee it was best if they just kept still. They were both looking each other dead in the eyes, and Whumpee couldn't help the fear and uneasiness that followed.

"Be honest with yourself, Whumpee. Why do you think no one has found you yet? If so many people are looking, like you say, then why haven't they found you?"

Whumpee kept silent. They didn't have an answer, not really.

"Nobody is looking for you because they all think you're dead." Whumper paused to watch Whumpee's expression, their anger clearly returning, before continuing on. "They all think you're dead, because the King let me have you. And he's gone to great lengths to ensure this lie is believed by everyone. They even had a funeral."

Whumpee tried to hide the look of shock on their face, but from Whumper's expression they could tell they weren't succeeding. After a moment of silence, Whumpee spoke.

"I... No, you're lying! Of course you are. There's no way that's true, any of it!"

But Whumpee had their doubts. Would the King truly do that to them? They were never close, but Whumpee hadn't known the King to be cruel. But what other reason would there be for not being found? Surely this location couldn't be hidden that well. Could Whumper really be telling the truth? "I... I don't believe you!"

Whumper finally let go of Whumpee's chin. "It doesn't really matter if you believe me or not. It doesn't change your situation either way. You're still mine, and you always will be."

"But, why-" Whumpee was interrupted immediately.

"I've grown tired of this chat, Pet. Perhaps we'll continue this conversation another time." Whumper grabbed the gag again, beginning to fasten it back in it's place around Whumpee's face.

"I - Wait!"

Whumpee swallows what little saliva they had. It had been at least a century since they'd last fed. Their stomach grumbled.

Fresh, fresh blood.

Having been chained, beaten, and starved as they were when they arrived, Whumpee had been thrown into the cellar.

That was until Caretaker had found them. Dripping wounds and bruises.

That had been half a decade ago. If the patchy calendar the torturer had thrown at them was anything to go by.

Pen ink faded from sitting in the small patch of sun this hole got. Edges torn where pages had been ripped out. It was a neat thing in a world of horrors.

Though maybe Whumpee was reaching. As their old cellmate would say. Thinking too deep into things.

Their cellmate had been a twenty something mortal man with a mop of banged hair and attitude. He didn't last long.

They never did.

Mortals.

For so long, Whumpee stared at the four walls. With nothing but the echos to keep them true company.

Now Whumpee had to deal with this. This scent- this smell. It was much too much.

Tears dripped down their nose.

Out of what their body had left, tears. Stupid fucking tears.

Whumpee was tired of crying.

Baby blues turned violet from violence.

Now the cellar door opening? Spelling trouble. Heavy clattered footfalls down the spiral metal staircase.

The torturer had finally died. The ghostly figure taunting them even from the grave. Or that's what the spiritual cellmate Whumpee had said.

Whumpee had long lost fate. Faith even more so.

Caretaker sighed, watching Whumpee fix their own wounds. Shirt rumpled at the midsection, eyes straining in the dusk. Blood dripping on their newly mopped floor.

"Ah, fuck this. I can't see shit." Whumpee hissed. Particularly aggravated about changing directions on their impromptu stitches.

Caretaker sighed, flicking the burner to life. Cigarette in between their fingers.

"You can not be serious right now!" Whumpee wailed, disdain coating their immortal features.

"You've lived hundreds of fucking years in a cellar." Caretaker shot back frostily. Eyes cutting Whumpee a look rivaling the very one they were faced with.

Whumpee huffed but said nothing, nursing their slow healing wound.

Caretaker felt only slightly bad. It wasn't their fault they ended up in this situation. At least…not entirely.

Whumper was a cruel bastard. Apparently had been one for much longer than Caretaker even knew about. But that would be something they'd dissect later.

This place, this house, was haunting enough.

"Are you loitering?" Caretaker said.

"What?" Whumpee responds.

"Staying, got it. I'll fix you up a room. The servants haven't arrived yet." Caretaker flourishes their cigarette in the air like an incense before putting it out.

The ashes scattering around a zig-zag patterned soap dish.

"How about a bath?" Caretaker said. Eyeing Whumpee with critical intent.

"Please." Whumpee replies, voice quivering.

Now seated in a bathing chair, Whumpee stared at their reflection.

Stomach curved under ribs. Skin stretched tight over their skeleton. Twisting around their hips and thighs.

Caretaker had provided a mirror and stuck it to the bath wall. Per Whumpee's request. They had been insistent on seeing themselves in more than the silverware.

"You okay? Did the mirror work out?" Came Caretaker's voice.

Gentle in tone but firm in questions.

Questions. Whumpee hated those.

The hours of torture and questioning…

"Whumpee." Came Caretaker's firm tone. Rearing them back to reality.

Did Whumper and Caretaker have children? Whumpee certainly felt like a child in Caretaker's presence.

"I'm coming in. Cover yourself."

"I'm in the shower." Whumpee creaked back. Eyes pressed to the heels of their palms.

The bathroom door opened and Caretaker stepped inside.

"I have your clothes. Whumper kept your measurements. Your clothes and remnants from the century you came from…" Caretaker paused.

Whumpee turned. The gap between the shower curtain and the wall provided access. Whumpee met Caretaker's eyes. Which meant…Caretaker could see them.

"I have those clothes too. You can find them in your private library." Caretaker finished. Eyes flicking to the floor.

Whumpee nodded. Not even bothering to explain why they turned the chair around anyways.

They were used to being hosed off when their clothing inevitably became scraps. The fact Caretaker even gave them fresh clothes was more than they could bear.

So staying seemed to be a wise decision. Even if it took everything in them not to pounce on the other supernatural. Draining them dry.

"Forgive me," Caretaker mumbled.

And just like that, they left. Clothing a simple tank top and sweatpants, placed on the sink.

Later, Whumpee tentatively laid on the bed bench.

They still didn't feel clean enough for the bed.

Despite Caretaker's protests that they were alright.

But Whumpee felt good. Content to be slightly raised.

It was similar to their old bed. Except it wasn't stone.

Caretaker even tucked them in, insisting as a vampire they needed more heat. Like a reptile.

Honoroit rubs his arms nervously.

He’s at a party. A really fancy one. A meeting to discuss some sort of truce—he’s not privy to many of the details.

And he would’ve rather stayed home to be honest. But unfortunately, he has to be here to attend to Emmanellain.

He keeps his cup of cider close to his chest. He’s not sure exactly why, but he has a really bad feeling about this gathering—he’d even said so to Emmanellain, before they’d left, but (as usual) he hadn’t taken him seriously.

The mood seems to be friendly though. Maybe I am just being paranoid, he thinks to himself.

Someone brushes by him. Actually, no, brushes is not strong enough a word, the shadowy stranger nearly knocks him over as they rush by. Honoroit can’t help but flinch, nearly spilling his cup all over himself.

He shakes his head. He really can’t stand people sometimes.

Having been at this party for hours, and not seeing anything amiss, he decides he must be being paranoid after all. He takes a sip from his cider and decides to go and find Emmanellain.

However.. as he wanders through the crowd, looking, he finds himself starting to feel strange. Just a little lightheaded at first. And then his vision starts to blur. His head feels cold. He stumbles a little.

Then, as the world starts to go dark, he feels strong hands grabbing him.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

He comes to in a dim room.

Blinking in confusion, he tries to get to his feet—and then realizes with a jolt that his wrists are bound to the armrests of the chair he’s sitting on, and his ankles are bound to the legs.

His heart starts to pound as the two men in the room notice he’s awake. He lowers his head, letting his hair fall into his face. It’s a small thing, but it makes him feel safer.

“Well, well, well,” one of them, a man with black hair, says. “The pageboy of the Count’s kid. It’s an honor to have you here, kid.” He does a mock bow.

Honoroit swallows hard.

The man comes closer, getting in his face. He grabs his chin. “Answer me when I’m talking to ya, son.”

“S-sorry,” Honoroit whispers. “..I- I.. what do you want with me?”

“Simple, really.” The man grins, showing off a gold tooth. “We’re lookin’ for info on the Count’s expansion plans. I figure his son is privy to it. I figure you might be too.”

Honoroit’s blood runs cold and he immediately shakes his head. “No! N-no, I’m not, I swear, I don’t know anything!” Emmanellain, absentminded as he may be, has never let him in on any of the family secrets. His heart starts to pound as he realizes that his man probably won’t believe him. He’s gonna get tortured to death for information he doesn’t even know!

“Really?” The man leans in. Then he smiles again. “Look, son, I’m gonna give you one chance, you hear? You don’t take that chance, things might get ugly.” He pauses. “Now.. tell me what you know.”

“No, please, I already I said I don’t know any—” Honoroit is cut off with a sharp cry as the man’s fist cracks into his face. Heat blooms over his cheek where the strike landed, and his eyes sting with tears as his mind reels in shock at the sudden pain. If he was scared before, he’s terrified now.

The man steps back, not breaking eye contact as he commands his partner, “get the kid on the rack.”

“No!” Honoroit kicks and struggles as he’s removed from the chair and forced onto a long wood table like thing. But the stony, silent, red haired man is too strong and simply holds him down as he secures his limbs to the restraints in the wood.

The black haired man from before approaches, a sickening grin on his face, but before Honoroit can protest further he’s slipped a sack over his head and tied it around his throat with a length of rope.

Honoroit squirms and cries as he feels the surface below him start to tilt backwards. His pleas fall on deaf ears.

The room is silent for too long. Honoroit strains his ears, desperate for any sort of hint at what’s coming next. It wouldn’t be so bad if he just knew what was going to happen, if he could just steel himself for it.

But ultimately, he’s caught off guard by a bucketful of cold water to the face. He sputters and gasps, immediately panicking as it feels like he’s drowning. He kicks his feet against the restraints, shrieking, as another cold bucketful hits him. His lungs burn, his throat burns, his chest burns. He’s dying. He has to be. He starts crying, too scared to even be embarrassed about crying.

Every few minutes, the man pauses the torture to ask in a very calm, level voice if Honoroit is ready to talk. Honoroit can only sob in response. He starts to consider making up random lies to get him to back off.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It’s been somewhere between twenty four and thirty eight hours since the party. Emmanellain isn’t really sure if that’s important or not, but it’s one of the little details that he can hold onto as he walks hurriedly down the overgrown forest trail in the chilly air.

He’s received a very threatening letter about his pageboy Honoroit, signed only by the name of ‘a friend’. Not exactly very friendly of them to send him a letter telling him that they’ve got his poor young pageboy, and threatening to kill the boy if Emmanellain doesn’t come alone to retrieve him! They’d even gone so far as to leave a bloody fingerprint on the page!—Honoroit’s, he presumes.

He’s not exactly sure how long he’s been walking, when finally he comes to a clearing—and finds Honoroit, on his knees, gagged, hands bound behind his back, with a tall, imposing black-haired man standing behind him.

Emmanellain stops in his tracks, stunned.

“Emmanellain de Fortemps!” The man shouts. “Youngest son of the esteemed Count Edmont!”

“..yes?” Emmanellain replies, haltingly. His gaze flicks to poor Honoroit—the boy looks terrified—and then back to the man.

“I demand to know your father’s expansion plans,” the man declares, his gold tooth flashing in the fading sunlight.

Emmanellain feels the blood drain from his face. Oh fuck.

His father does have plans for a very big, very important expansion, and he is privy to that information—but he’s forgotten it. He wasn’t exactly paying the most attention when his father was explaining it. Gods, how could he be so stupid?!

“I’m waiting!” The man shouts, snapping him out of his thoughts. This is not going to go over well, is it?

“..I don’t know it.” Emmanellain admits.

“Of course you know it,” the man snaps. “You’re the Count’s son! Now fess up before something very unfortunate happens to your little pageboy here!” He gives Honoroit a small but sharp kick in the leg to emphasize.

“I don’t!” Emmanellain wishes he hadn’t come alone. Yes, that was what the note had said to do, and he’d been too frazzled and worried for Honoroit to think about disobeying it, but now he’s realizing that was an awful idea. Why does he always have to be so stupid?! “I- I wasn’t listening when he told me,” he says, lamely. Gods, he sounds pathetic.

The man stares at him a moment. Clearly he must believe him, maybe he just sounds pathetic enough that he can tell it’s the truth.

“..you’re serious?” The man demands.

Emmanellain can only nod.

The man stands there another moment before exclaiming, “well! What a waste of time this was!” He scoffs. And then pulls a dagger out of his pocket.

“Wait—” Emmanellain’s words die in his throat as he watches the blade be pressed to his trembling pageboy’s throat. Honoroit makes a terrified, muffled sound through the gag as the blade bites into his skin.

“..please don’t kill my page.” Emmanellain’s voice comes out weak and breathless. He’s about to watch Honoroit die in front of him. His page. A child. Oh gods, he’s about to be sick.

There’s no chance he’d be able to get over there in time, even less chance he’d be able to overpower the man, even if he could unfreeze himself and try. He feels like he’s stuck in place as he watches the man’s hand tighten on the handle of the dagger and prepare to slit Honoroit’s throat.

And then.

It all happens in slow motion. But also just a split second.

An arrow flies into the man’s head. His eyes go wide for a second, and then he crumples to the ground, eyes still wide open and staring.

Emmanellain just stands there a moment, stunned, then turns around to see a very disgruntled Haurchefant standing, bow in hand, on the trail behind him.

“..oh gods.” Emmanellain feels his eyes well up with tears. “..Haurchefant. Thank you.”

Then he’s running to the crying, trembling Honoroit and hugging him so tightly, stroking his hair, whispering “it’s alright.. it’s alright.. you’re okay now..” as he gently unties the gag and the ropes around his wrist. The boy sobs into his shoulder.

Emmanellain, teary eyed himself, watches Haurchefant approach and rifle through the man’s pockets, pulling out a bundle of papers. Their eyes meet.

In the brightly lit studio, the octopus demon producer adjusts his headset with three of his tentacles, a satisfied grin spreading across his mouth. The viewer count is climbing fast. It reaches well into the high five figures and is still rising.

Traffic’s excellent tonight. We’re gonna hit peak engagement. I can feel it.

Red LIVE light flicks on and Batsugun steps into frame with slow, deliberate grace. The black latex miniskirt barely covers the top of her thighs, the smoky white fur of her underbelly peeking with every step. Two black X’s of pasties are plastered directly over her nipples, stark against the lighter fur. A heavy shock collar encircles her neck, its red indicator light already blinking.

Her long curly bangs fall over one eye, leaving the other to glow at the camera. She offers the audience her signature smile, “Evening, darlings.”

One cloven hoof clicks as she settles onto the metal examination table in the center of the set. Her bat wings fold neatly behind her, and her fluffy tail curls around her hip.

The octopus demon slithers into view beside her. He announces with energy, “Welcome back, friends and foes! First off, a huge thank you to our brand sponsor tonight: TenebrisTech. Their premium shock collars and restraint systems make nights like this possible. Make sure to check the link in chat if you want to bring a little piece of tonight home with you!”

Then he gives a theatrical wink, “As per the poll from our last stream… you beautiful beings voted overwhelmingly for exploratory surgery tonight.” He spreads several tentacles wide, “So that’s exactly what we’re doing. We’re going to uncover what’s never been uncovered before. No limits.”

Batsugun’s crimson eye half-lids in mild amusement. She tilts her head, letting her droopy ears flop slightly. A few chat messages explode with heart, fire, and goat emojis.

The octopus demon turns to her with a grin, “Ready, star?”

“Always,” she replies.

He reaches for the remote, “Let’s start gentle… or not so gentle. Testing the new collar.”

The first shock hits without warning. Crack!

Batsugun’s body jerks hard. Her back arches violently off the metal table, black-and-gray fur standing on end as electricity tears through her neck and spine. A raw, throaty cry rips from her throat. Her cloven hooves scrape against the table, legs kicking once before she forces them down again. Her bat wings flare open involuntarily, trembling.

She writhes, chest heaving, the black X’s on her nipples stretch with every labored breath. Yet even through the pain, her smile never fully leaves her face. When the shock finally cuts off, she lets out a shaky laugh.

“Nngh… That one had teeth,” she gasps, tongue flicking over her sharp red teeth. “I felt that all the way down to my hooves.”

The octopus demon chuckles, clearly pleased with the reaction, “Chat is loving it already. Look at those numbers spike.”

Batsugun’s fluffy tail lashes once, then curls tightly around her plush thigh. She is panting slightly, but her composure remains intact. Still, there is no hiding the faint flush under her smoky white muzzle fur, nor the way her body trembled with lingering aftershocks.

She looks straight into the camera, “Mmm… hurts so good, doesn’t it? You all like watching me squirm?” Her voice drops even lower, teasing, “Don’t worry, darlings. We’re just getting started.”

Then Batsugun gave the lens a lazy, provocative wink.

The octopus demon’s tentacles twitch with excitement, “That’s our girl. Chat, the real fun begins now.”

The octopus demon glances at the massive monitor displaying the live chat feed, tentacles twitching with glee. The messages are flooding in faster than the system can scroll.

The chat explodes:

Zoom in on her tits ZOOM IN SHE’S ENJOYING THIS IJBOL painslut painslut painslut That scream was perfect holy shit Collar go brrrr Her tail is doing that cute twitch thing again More! Make her beg!!

The producer laughs, “Alright, alright, you thirsty bastards. Chat is very vocal tonight. They want a closer look.” He gestures with two tentacles toward the hovering camera drones. One immediately swoops in, tightening the frame on Batsugun’s chest, especially the black pasties X’s.

Batsugun notices the zoom instantly. She lets out a throaty chuckle, her droopy ears flicking as she arches her back just a little more, deliberately pushing her chest toward the lens, “You all want to see me closer? How greedy.”

Stronger shock rips through the collar without warning.

Crack!

Her entire body seizes. A guttural cry escapes her throat as electricity surges down her spine. Her bat wings snap open wide, trembling violently, while her cloven hooves kick against the metal table with a loud clack.

She writhes hard, hips lifting off the surface, tail lashing wildly from side to side. The black latex miniskirt rides up and exposes more of her smoky white underbelly fur.

For several long seconds she twists and gasps, teeth bared. Her eyes squeeze shut in agony and ecstasy, tangled into one. When the current finally dies, she collapses back onto the table, chest heaving, a thin string of drool slipping from the corner of her mouth. Her nipples visibly hard beneath the pasties.

Batsugun is panting heavily now, but her smile creeps back onto her muzzle almost immediately. Her voice comes out breathy, “That one went straight to my wings. Felt like my bones were burning.” She licks her sharp teeth teasingly, “You happy now, chat? I’m all nice and warmed up.”

Chat goes feral:

PAINSLUT PAINSLUT Look at her tail go Do it again she’s soaked for this lmao she’s actually enjoying it Harder! Break her! Sponsor needs to make that collar stronger

The octopus demon grins several tentacles waving excitedly, “You heard them, Batsugun. They’re calling you their favorite painslut tonight. Viewer count just broke six figures. Peak engagement, baby!”

Batsugun’s bat wings are still quivering as she pushes herself up onto her elbows. The motion makes her exposed underbelly flex, drawing even more eyes to the glistening trail between her legs. Her long curly bangs stick slightly to the sweat-damp fur on her forehead.

“Painslut, huh?” She tilts her head, giving the camera a provocative look. One clawed hand drifts up to lightly touch the shock collar, tracing the metal with a fingertip, “If you want me to beg so early, darlings, you’re going to have to earn it. Make it hurt pretty this time.”

Batsugun spreads her legs just a fraction on the table, hooves planted firmly, tail curling around one thigh. The movement displays her slick folds to the zooming cameras. Her voice turns velvety smooth despite the shock, “Come on, I can take it.” 

Her mind spins. She can feel every eye on her. The old days feel like child’s play compared to this.

The octopus demon says, “You’re spoiling them tonight.”

Chat roars again:

GG BATSU! Shock her tits next She’s such a whore for the camera Do the exploratory shit already I’m hard Auugh more pain more pain more pain Look how wet she is holy fuck

The octopus demon’s tentacles dance with excitement as he rolls a sleek metal tray of instruments closer to the examination table. The studio lights gleam off scalpels, retractors, and glistening hooks.

Batsugun lays on her back. Her chest is still rising and falling rapidly from the earlier shocks. The heavy shock collar sits quiet for now, but her black latex miniskirt has been pushed up to her waist, leaving her smoky white underbelly fully exposed.

“Alright, degenerates,” the octopus demon announces. “Incision time. No anaesthetic tonight! You all voted for the real thing. Let’s see what our star is made of on the inside.”

Batsugun blinks. She tries to keep her smile, but it has grown strained. Her long curly bangs are damp with sweat. Her bat wings lay limp and half-spread beneath her.

Chat detonates:

ZOOM IN ON THE CUT Incision incision incision Show us everything This is gunna b good Her belly is so soft looking DO IT DO IT DO IT bellaaaay

The producer is clearly thrilled by the spike in chat activity, “You heard them, chat wants the close-up. Cameras, zoom in tight.”

Two camera drones swoop in obediently. One camera frames her underbelly from above, while the other slides in for an extreme close shot.

The octopus demon selects a long and wicked scalpel with one tentacle. Several others pin Batsugun’s arms and legs down against the cold metal table. A final pair of tentacles part the fur on her lower abdomen, exposing the pale skin beneath.

“Deep breath, darling,” he murmured, almost tenderly.

The blade sinks in. Batsugun’s body jerks violently the moment the steel parts her flesh. Scream tears from her throat. No anaesthetic. Cold metal slices through muscle and membrane. Her cloven hooves kick uselessly against the table as her back tries to arch. Her tail thrash even more wildly.

“Nngh—AAHH!!” The sound comes out broken, hoarse, and desperate. Her teeth clenched tight, crimson eyes wide with shock and pain.

The octopus demon works with all eight appendages in professional coordination. Two hold the incision open with retractors, others delicately peel back layers of tissue, while one carefully navigates deeper. Blood wells up dark and glossy under the studio lighting.

He mentions their sponsor again, "Look at how clean that incision is, thanks to the Tenebris X-23 scalpel. Use code BATSU10 for a discount on your own medical kits!"

Batsugun’s breathing turns into shallow, pained pants. Her droopy ears flatten against her head. She groans again, a low animalistic sound that exudes no sensuality.

Chat is losing its mind:

HOLY SHIT Look at that color TSKR Her eyes are so gorgeous This is peak Donations pouring in!!

A bright notification pings across the screen. The octopus demon smiles as he glances at the donation ticker. “Thank you for the donation!” he called out cheerfully, waving one tentacle at the camera. “Big thanks to SpleenLover666! That’s going straight into the premium equipment fund. You’re helping make nights like this even better!”

He reaches deeper with two slick tentacles, carefully working around organs. There is no gentleness left in the motion. The tentacles squelch wetly as they push aside slippery loops of intestine. Batsugun’s body reacted instantly. Violent, full-body shudder rips through her as fresh, white-hot pain explodes deep inside her torso.

Batsugun chokes out. Her smoky white underbelly convulses visibly around the gaping wound.

Then, with a triumphant flourish, the octopus demon lifts something wet and glistening into the light—a dark and slick organ the size of a fist.

“Look at this beauty!” the producer announces proudly, holding Batsugun’s spleen up toward the closest camera. The organ pulses weakly in his grasp, still connected by thin strands of tissue. Blood drips onto the table. “Fresh from our morning star herself. Never been seen on stream before. Chat, you’re getting the exclusive tour tonight.”

Batsugun’s head lolls to the side. Her eyes are dazed, the glow dimmed by pain and blood loss. She can hear the donation alerts chiming nonstop now. Clink! Clink Clink! 

The viewer count has shattered every previous record. So many eyes. Thousands upon thousands, all locked on her. On her body. On her insides.

As a former brothel worker, countless clients have seen every inch of her outside—every private part, every curve, every humiliating pose. And this was different. No one has ever seen her spleen. No one has ever watched her organs gleam under studio lights while she lies open and trembling.

A strange pride blooms amidst the agony. She wants it to end. She wants the burning, the sickening pull of exposed tissue, to just stop. The pain is no longer exciting. Even tiny movement of the producer’s tentacles sends anguish ripping through her abdomen.

But the chat… the donations… the hungry roar of thousands of voices all focused on her.

She groaned again, deep and miserable, hooves twitching weakly, “S-stop… please… it burns… everything hurts so much…” Her voice cracks, no longer the smooth sensual purr. Tears prick at the corner of her visible eye, but she doesn’t let them fall. No. She can’t let them see.

Still, beneath the pain, that old hunger stirs.

They’re all watching me. Only me. Breaking records because of me.

Her tail gives one feeble twitch. Bat wings flare wide and trembling uncontrollably against the blood-slick table. Sharp red teeth are bared in a grimace. Every breath sends fresh waves of burning pain radiating through her torn muscles and exposed organs. The open wound throbs violently, flesh twitching with every heartbeat

The octopus demon carefully set the spleen back into place for now, tentacles already moving to explore further, “Don’t tap out yet, Batsugun. Chat is eating this up. We’re making history tonight.”

Batsugun’s chest heaves with another pained groan. She wants it to stop. Gods below, she wants the burning to end, but the endless stream of donation pings and the roaring chat keeps her anchored.

Whumpee startled, flinching hard enough that the straps made a snapping sound. Their eyes shot to Whumper leaning against the wall in the corner, all languid confidence. Whumpee's heart stuttered at the sight of them.

"Whumper? What—? I don't—"

"Shh," Whumper hushed in a soothing voice, stepping close to their feet and placing a palm on their leg, warm even through their jeans. "It's okay, I've got you."

Whumpee began trembling under their touch. But not just from the fear. Their brain struggled to form the questions and the objections that they desperately needed to voice.

"I was starting to worry that I overdosed you," Whumper hummed, amused. "I'm glad you're finally awake. I've been thinking about you for hours." Whumper climbed slowly and gracefully onto the foot of the bed, hovering above Whumpee's prone form.

"W-wait," Whumpee whimpered out, throat abruptly dry.

"Easy," Whumper soothed, brushing a gentle hand across Whumpee's hip where their shirt had ridden up in their struggles. "Don't be scared. I know how badly you want this. I'll be gentle."

A pathetic sound slipped past the lump growing in Whumpee's throat. Of course they had wanted Whumper. They were gorgeous and intoxicating and so confident. They had drawn Whumpee in the first time they'd met, Whumpee circling them like they were the sun.

But this? No.

"I- I don't want this," Whumpee rasped.

"Oh, darling. I know how hard it is to ask for things we want." Whumper leaned up and kissed at the tears slipping down Whumpee's cheeks. "This will be worth it."

Then Whumper was claiming their lips in a deep kiss, tongue slipping past lips into Whumpee's mouth. A hand snaked down and brushed against whumpee's inner thigh. Whumpee couldn't stop the sound that left them, mortified and too many other things.

Whumper chuckled. "See? I know you want me. Since the first moment your eyes met mine, it was written all over your adorable face."

"No, I—" Whumpee was cut off by a whimper as Whumper burried their face in Whumpee's neck, nipping and sucking.

Whumper's lips found their ear, hot breath sending chills down whumpee's skin in waves. "You're going to remember this—me—forever. I'm going to make sure of it," they promised before shoving their tongue into Whumpee's ear.

Whumpee let out a strangled sound, trying to twist away. Whumper grabbed their chin and forced them closer, tongue moving down their jaw to their neck. "God, you taste amazing. I knew you would."

"Please, stop. I can't— Please, I just—" Whumpee stumbled over the words, heart racing as Whumper continued the gentle but inescapable ministrations.

"I've got you now, Whumpee. You don't have to worry about a thing." Whumper straightened, revealing their flushing face and heaving chest. Then a pocket knife appeared in their hand.

Whumpee gasped and yanked against their restraints, fear freezing cold in their gut. Slowly Whumper brought the knife to Whumpee's shirt and dragged it down the length, splitting fabric and skin alike.

"Agh," Whumpee groaned out, twisting from the pain. "Stop!"

"Sorry, precious. Blood just makes it so much more delicious. It'll be over soon." Whumper smiled, almost comfortingly, down at them as they moved on to Whumpee's pants. Soon Whumpee was bare, new cuts stinging along their skin. "No need to cry, love."

Whumpee managed a small glare. "H-hurts," they whimpered.

"Oh, love, I could just eat you up." Whumper kissed their tears away again, lips soft and warm. And the worst part was, it wasn't the first time Whumper had said it. But it was the first time Whumpee believed it. "Maybe if you're good, I'll do just that." They giggled, pulling back just far enough to take in Whumpee's tear streaked face.

Then their hands were everywhere, stroking and brushing, excruciatingly tender as Whumpee trembled beneath them. The blood smeared like Whumpee was just a canvas for Whumper to use, the scent metallic in the air mingling with sweat and arousal, filling Whumpee's senses. Their words dried up on their tongue as Whumper whispered sweet nothings into their hair, their skin, the charged space between them.

Whumpee was messy with both of their cum when Whumper finally slumped down, cuddling against their side. Fingers skimmed bare skin and Whumpee shivered, too weak to pull away and nowhere to go.

"That was so beautiful, Whumpee," Whumper whispered, voice soft and sincere.

Whumpee swallowed around the lump in their throat, the tears dried up. They felt far away and stuck at the same time.

"When I first found you," Whumper whispered conspiratorially, "I just knew I had to have you. But then Caretaker introduced us and you saw me for the first time." Whumper's fingers carded through Whumpee's hair. "The look you gave me! Like I was the whole world. God, Whumpee, you're so perfect!"

Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut against the words. Shit, was this all their fault?

"Are you ready to get cleaned up, love?" Whumper whispered into their hair. They gently released the restraints one by one. Whumpee thought about attacking. They willed themselves to do something. But they were too numb, the world something distant and filmy.

Whumper led them to the attached bathroom, starting a bath. They eased Whumpee down into the water, wounds stinging but soothed all the same. Whumper went over every inch of Whumpee's body, nothing left to themself. The touch was the same as it had been earlier, all gentle yet undeniable. There was an edge behind Whumper's softness that Whumpee sensed would cut them to pieces if provoked.

So they didn't fight as Whumper laid claim to them.

"Is that my Whumpee's sweet voice that I hear?"

Whumpee froze mid-step with their eyes blown open. The same fear clearly had also gripped Caretaker since their hand clamped down on their own now. "Caretaker, we have to run. Right now."

"I'm sorry Whumpee…But we won't run."

Whumpee blanches as their darting eyes now settled on Caretaker. Caretaker who was not panicked. Who didn't even seem in any rush. Who held their hand steadily not to feel safe but to keep them here. Caretaker who had set this up! "You piece of shit." Hate festered in Whumpees words, the same way that it now festered in their heart. How stupid of them to trust someone again. They were so foolish.

"Oh don't be too hard on the poor dear. They really didn't have much of a choice.", Whumper said as they now parted from the shadows of a doorframe to their right.

But instead of approaching Whumpee they walked past them and to a car parked there to open the back door. Reaching inside muffled grunts could be heard as Whumper dragged a tied up and clearly roughed up person to their feet next to them. "As promised, Caretaker, one Partner, nearly completely unharmed.", they presented smoothly.

It felt as if the air got punched out of Whumpees lungs once again. Caretaker traded their live for Partners?! That dick that treated Caretaker like trash? That's whom they've doomed them for?!"

"Tick Tock, Caretaker.", Whumper reminded them.

"Right.", Caretaker murmured and grabbed Whumpees arm with the other hand as well now.

Unfortunately even after those couple months of rehabilitation Whumpee was stil significantly weaker than Caretaker and so they could just stratch and trash as they were dragged over to the object of their day-terrors.

They trashed and kicked and cursed under their breath all the way until a hand settled on their shoulder, fingers brushing the side of their neck. That's when they calmed down, or rather, froze.

"So good, to have you back, Whumpee.", Whumper murmured into their ear before throwing Partner down on the wet cobblestones like he was nothing more than a bag of trash.

Finally Caretaker let go of Whumpee and quickly cowered down to untie Partner.

Whumper now snearked their arm around Whumpees shoulder and started pulling them towards the car door, nudging them to sit inside. Over their shoulder they looked at Caretaker once more. "Pleasure doing buisness with you, Caretaker. And once again, thank you so much for not calling the police. That was a big help." They smiled broadly at Caretakers helpless expression before fully shoving Whumpee inside and cuffing their hands to the grab handle above.

Someone who didn't know Whumper would probably assume that they were in a cheerful mood. An easy smile on their lips, open eyes, and lazy movements. But Whumpee did know Whumper. And so they could tell that Whumper was furious. And that that prophesied them blood.

Anger, fear, self-loathing and grief warred inside them, making it hard to pass jdugement on anything. And in fear of further upsetting Whumper Whumpee decided to say nothing at all during the entire ride and just stare outside through the tinted windows while the blood drained from their hands.

------

Whumpee only snapped back into reality when the car finally came to a stop in front of Whumpers house. That wretched house that they had hoped to never have to see again!

Their door was opened by Whumper and cold eyes silently reminded them not to struggle as the cuffs were opened and Whumpees wrists slid out only to drop like bags of sand.

"So docile now.", Whumper mused as they "helped" Whumpee out of the car and to the front door.

Whumpee heard the familiar sound of the door locking through the fog in their mind, felt the sinking feeling of knowing that they were now in this place and that it would be very hard to impossible to escape. Again.

And as if Whumper had read their thoughts the feel of a cold blade touched the skin underneath their shirt.

"You know where to go.", was all Whumper said.

And Whumpee did know. And next thing they knew they were back in their cell room.

"Kneel!", Whumper ordered quietly. Not withdrawing the knife, merely adjusting it to have to blade facing upwards.

Something, some piece, in Whumpee broke when their legs gave out and their knees hit the tiled floor. The fabric of their shirt tearing on Whumpers blade in the process. Leaving only a thin bloody line in its wake.

"Good. Very good.", Whumper praised. "Now. Whumpee. Maybe you can repeat for me your rules, hm?"

Whumpee gulped. Their worst fear unravelling right in front of them. They'd been right. Of course Whumper wouldn't look past this punishment. "Kneel-Kneel when ordered to do so. Uhm. Uhm. Well generally obey what you command. Don't presume privileges without being clearly allowed them. Don't lie to you." Whumpees voice grew quieter and quieter with every rule. "Don't try to loophole rules and don't. Don't try to escape." The last words were barely above a whisper.

"What was that last one, Whumpee?", Whumper asked, voice thin like a blade itself.

"Don't try to escape.", Whumpee conceded, hanging their head low.

With slow steps Whumper walked to face Whumpee, reaching out with the knife to tilt their returned plaything's chin up until their cold eyes met terrified ones.

"Clearly I didn't get that one to stick last time did I?"

A trick question. Don't answer, you'll only get punished for speaking out of turn.

"And since you broke that rule so blatantly, and stayed away for so long I think its only fair to assume that you broke every other rule in my absence as well."

Whumpee gasped. No. No they couldn't possibly. They wouldn't. But in Whumpers cruel calm they had already read that they would. Of course they would. "Whumper, please. I know what I did but please. Please let me make it up to you. Please don't.", they started begging quietly.

"Ssssh.", Whumper shushed them, knife tip now dancing over their captive's lips. "Its the fastest way for you to learn, dear. And the most fun one."

Whumpees horror clashed together over their head like waves in the ocean when Whumper kicked them in their now unclothes chest and straddled them on the floor, crushing their hands underneath their knees.

"Hold on to that for a second, will you.", Whumper said as they set the large knife down on Whumpees torso, instead grabbing something from their pockets. It looked like metal finger tip overlays with sharpened tips. Putting those on they grabbed the knife again with their right hand. Their left hand closing around Whumpees waist, metal "nails" digging into the sensitive skin there was Whumper started carving lines all over their torso.

The room started to reek or iron as more and more of the stone tiles stained red with Whumpees blood, and the air got drenched in their groans and screams.

The carvings Whumper gave them were seneless violence. Lines, zigzags, doubles or long diagonal lines. Special patterns weren't for punsihments after all. Those were only for the fun sessions. Not that Whumper wasn't enjoying this as well. An easy smile on their lips and estatic eyes. Their fingers dug deep into the side of Whumpees waist every so often, tearing previously held-in screams from their plaything's lips. And colouring their metal fingertips in lines of red.

Just when Whumpee was about to mercifully mentally slip away Whumper removed the blade from their skin and laid it to the side. Whumpees head lolled to the side in relief, black encroaching on their vision. Until a sharp pain jerked them up, filling their body with new adrenaline. Whumper had slapped them, hard, and the metal tips had cut into their cheek in the process.

"Don't pass out on me now.", Whumper warned as they took their knife and left the room.

Whumpee wined, they tried to move out of the small puddles of blood but it hurt too much so they just stayed where they were. The stench nearly making them sick and the pain buzzing in their entire being. This was all their life was going to be from now on. Again. Tears started squeezing out of the corner of Whumpees eyes slowly. They hoped Caretaker was happy! But they doubted it...And they were in too much pain to be angry still.

It felt like an entirety before Whumper returned, a first aid kit in one hand and a bundle of thick ribbons in the other one. They sat back on their hunkers in front of their Whumpee and started expertly sanatizing their work. Once that was done and the spray had mixed with the blood on their skin and the tears had dribbled down Whumpees pained face Whumper took out their smartphone and snapped a detailed photo of the sight. Then they continued to bandage up the wounds tightly, not letting the opportunity to press their fingers into some of the wounds, to hear those sweet sweet noises of Whumpees pain, slip away. Once they were fully looked after Whumper helped them sit up with gentle movements. "Now Whumpee.", they spoke just as gently. All gentlessness about them now, it was a jarring contrast. "You know the deal. -They held up the ribbons- Either you choose freedom of movement and isolation or you choose the ribbons and...You get more of this." Whumper slowly stroked their warm hand over Whumpees un-injured cheek.

Whumpee whimpered, they were in so much pain and grief, and of course they knew that Whumper had just done all of this to them but this felt so good. So, so good. And they felt so, so bad. Before they even consciously came to a decision something had already slipped past their lips. "Please."

"Whumper smirked but remained oh so gentle. "Please what, Whumpee. I need to know what you want so I can give it to you."

Whumpee whimpered again, but quietly this time. "Please. The, the ribbons." They coughed and the motion pulled on their fresh cuts.

How predictable. "Of course, Whumpee.", they responded, moving a few strands of their plaything's hair out of their face. They unitentionally closed their eyes against the motion of Whumpers fingers. So desperate for comfort. Nearly more than when they were first with them. No doubt they didn't let Caretakers efforts ever really get to them.

With soft but steady hands Whumper started tying the ribbons around Whumpees ankles, knees, wrists elbows and throat, finishing the knots into little bows each time. "There, all done.", they murmured into Whumpees hair-crown. Pressing a little kiss into their hair as they propped them against their front comfortable. Now using both hands to gently stroke over Whumpees non-bloodied up skin. Covering all of Whumpees known most touch-starved areas and alllowing them to cuddle their head againt their chest. Allowing them to try and hide in their soft sweater and the darkness. To lose themselves in the soft touch and comfort and ignore who was giving it to them. "You did so well, Whumpee. You are perfect.",they praised quietly just before they noticed Whumpees breathing even out.

Her brown hair is a bit scraggly, and she looks like she hasn’t slept in days. She seems erratic, picking at the sleeve of her faded sweater with her free hand, all while mumbling to herself and keeping the knife trained on Adam.

The rope keeping Adam restrained is scratchy, rubbing on his arms and shirt when he tries to move. Adam’s done plenty of kidnapping before on his own time, but he’s certainly never been kidnapped himself. Definitely not by someone this disorganized. He wonders who could have caught him off-guard enough to take him like this. When his eyes lock on the woman’s, she almost lights up with glee. Adam blinks hazily in reply, trying to force his vision to cooperate.

“Adam! I was so worried I got the dose wrong. I’m so glad you’re not dead yet,” she gushes, pacing around. The knife catches a beam of sunlight. It glints in Adam’s direction.

With the only visible threat being the knife, Adam keeps his eyes on it and the woman as best he can.

“Wh—what d’you want?” Adam slurs out. He feels a bit more coherent than he did when he first woke up. It’s not enough for his body to work exactly the way he wants, though.

The woman pauses her pacing. Her arms fall to her sides. “You don’t remember me? Not even a little bit?”

Adam cocks his head. He takes a good, long look at her. She looks so earnest, as though it’s absolutely vital to her existence that he knows who she is.

“Why should I?” He replies.

Something in her face darkens almost instantly. Her grip on the knife becomes tighter, her knuckles turning white from the strain. Adam shifts around in the chair a little, testing the give of the ropes. There isn’t much.

“My name is Ruby. Remember me now?” She spits out, practically tearing off her sweater and leaving only a tank top on.

Adam lets his gaze flit over Ruby’s body, assessing every wound visible on her arms. They’re all healed, in various colors of pink and white skin. Each one is in a straight line. No hesitation, no shakiness from the one who inflicted the damage. For as good as they look compared to how they looked initially, Adam knows the psychological scars run much deeper. A smile makes its way across his face. “Ruby. I do remember you.”

Ruby looks a mixture of pleased and angry all at the same time. As soon as Adam says the words, she scrambles to hide the scars. It’s as though she only just remembered what she looks like.

“I never forgot about you. I think about you every night before I fall asleep. Every time I see the color red, it reminds me of your hair.” A small smile makes its way on Ruby’s face before quickly falling away. “But you left me, Adam. You broke me. You made me believe I was yours. And then you never came back. Not one look.”

She looks almost on the verge of tears as she pours her heart out. Poor girl.

“I barely knew you, Ruby. It was only a few days,” Adam says, keeping the annoyance in his tone as restrained as he can. It’s not his fault she couldn’t handle it. The pain, the torture, the hurt. To him, Ruby was a drop in the ocean. A job to get what he needed.

“‘Only a few days?’” Ruby practically screeches. With almost inhuman speed, she races forward, knife in hand.

Adam hisses in pain as the blade drags across his arm. It’s only a shallow cut, but he can’t help his instinctual reaction. He jerks against the rope, trying to loosen it. Unfortunately for him, it seems as though Ruby is a real threat, especially in his slightly-drugged state. She slices a few more times, up and down his left arm, small, painful cuts.

Finally, Ruby pulls the knife away, now red with blood. The color stains the ropes holding him in place. She cups the right side of Adam’s face with the palm of her hand. It’s almost like she feels…apologetic.

“Forgive me,” she whispers, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead to Adam’s. “You just made me a little mad, is all. Don’t say anything stupid, and everything will be okay.”

Her grip tightens on his face. If Adam knows how to get into anyone’s head, it’ll be hers. Ruby was easy enough to figure out before. This is child’s play.

“I won’t say anything stupid,” Adam tells her, letting a smile cross his face. “You took all that pain for me, didn’t you? It’s only fair that I do the same.”

His honeyed words do the trick.

Ruby moves away, only a bit, and nods furiously. She keeps her hand on Adam’s cheek and slowly slides the other one on his shoulders. “Exactly. I knew you’d get it. You’ll be happy to have more, right? So we match?”

The smile freezes on Adam’s face. He’d rather not, actually. Certainly not with this insane person. He’ll have to tread much lighter if he wants to get out of here alive. And without many scars as decoration. He wonders if Ruby can smell his fear.

“What if we do something else, first?” Adam suggests gently.

“What do you mean?” Ruby cocks her head.

“I mean, let’s play a game. You and me. Twenty questions. I’ll think of something, and if you guess it right, you win. If you don’t guess it, I win.”

“I don’t—“ Ruby’s brows furrow in confusion. “But—“

The ringing of a phone interrupts her words. Ruby crosses the room to find the source of the noise, while Adam takes the opportunity to loosen the ropes. His heart pounds, and he barely manages to free part of his right arm. Ruby fiddles with a bag thrown in a corner, which Adam recognizes as his own. When she turns around, there’s a look of pure murder on her face. The phone keeps vibrating in her hand.

“Who the hell is Lyra?”

Adam grimaces. There was only a small chance the game could keep going, and he’s almost disappointed. Now, though, he can finally let loose. The smile falls from his face and his true feelings show in his expression. At the same time, he lets the rope fall to the ground and rises from the chair. “Someone much better than you’ll ever be. Now, I have to get back to her. Leaving you alive was a mistake.”

“You left me for her?” Ruby yells. “I thought we had something.”

“You thought wrong.”

Ruby rushes at Adam. She’s all emotion and no tact. It’s easy enough to dodge. In one swift move, Adam reaches for her arm and twists it behind her back. Ruby grunts and thrashes, but she’s no match for someone much larger than her. Each of her movements is filled with terror. She’s a wild animal, filled with anger and a fear of death.

“Please. Just one more chance,” she begs. Almost sobs. It’s pathetic.