The Caretaker’s eyes widen as they see who has stepped out from the darkness surrounding both themselves and the Whumper. They are standing across from the Whumper at a basement meeting place lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling midway between the two of them, but the two of them are newly not alone. The Whumper’s stoic face allows for the smallest of smirks as the Whumpee steps in front of them like a guard, interrupting the space between the Whumper and Caretaker. The Whumpee’s face is somehow familiar but completely different. It looks like stone - weathered and cracked in some places with red lines like the dark veins of marble swirling over their brow and down to their chin. The Caretaker looks at the Whumper when they speak. “I’m not usually a fan of your surprises, but I’ll take this one.” The Whumper remains silent. The Whumpee frowns at the Caretaker. “Don’t talk to him.” The Caretaker looks at their friend, taken aback at feeling treated like a stranger. Or worse, the enemy. They look again at the Whumper when they say, “What is this?” The Whumpee advances on the Caretaker threateningly. “I said don’t talk to him. You want to talk to him, you talk to me.” The Caretaker takes a few steps back to avoid being knocked over. The Whumpee glares at them angrily like an attack dog, and behind them the Whumper is pressing a thumb to their lips to keep from smiling. The Caretaker looks closely in the eyes to try and find a sign of the person they know. “You know you can’t believe what he says. You remember that, right?” the Caretaker whispers. The Whumpee clenches their teeth behind their cheeks. “Funny, I’ve heard the same said about you,” the Whumpee growls coldly. Behind the unflinching Whumpee, the Whumper gives a small shrug, pretending to be helpless to the circumstances. “What can I say? I can be incredibly persuasive.”
The last guests are at the front door being seen out by the Whumper. The Whumpee keeps their head bowed as they wipe dish after dish with a cloth and mechanically set them aside on a nearby drying rack. They fixate on the task, but listen as the door shuts and the Whumper lets out a heavy breath through their lips. The sound of their shoes echoes in the now empty house, a slight drag making a “shh” noise between each step. They near where the Whumpee is and stop for what feels like an eternity in a long silence. The Whumpee imagines this is the moment that their cover is blown. All the work to get close to the Whumper only to have it all end this way, their surveillance and investment all for nought. The Whumper reaches a hand out, their arm extending and almost wrapping around the Whumpee, and stops the running tap with a push of their hand. “That’s enough,” the Whumper says. The Whumper then goes to the counter behind them and starts to pour themselves a drink, while the Whumpee tries to control their breath and stop a tremble in their hands before they break a dish. So this is how I die, they think to themselves. Playing pretend housekeeper for a psychopath. They turn around to see the Whumper has poured not just one but two glasses of hard liquor. The Whumper holds their own glass in their hand and use their other knuckle to rub their cheek. “You ever feel like you’re pretending to be someone else?” they ask aloud. The Whumpee feels a flush of fear in their face, convinced they have been caught. The Whumper sips their glass then growls as the liquid goes down their throat. “It’s all a show, isn’t it. Whoever you are in front of someone else, it’s not who you are when you’re alone. But what are you if there’s not someone to see it.” The Whumpee realizes the words may not be directed at them, but doesn’t quite relax. “It’s all just one big goddam show,” the Whumper says. They grab and then hold out for the Whumpee the other drink, which the Whumpee steps forward to accept. Their hand meets the glass but the Whumper doesn’t let go. The Whumper is frowning and studying the Whumpee as they keep their grip on the glass and the two stare each other down. “Isn’t it?” the Whumper demands pointedly. The Whumpee swallows hard, but keeps their grip as well. “What do you mean?” The Whumper’s look lingers but eventually they release the glass. They finish what’s in their glass and set it down on the counter. “It doesn’t matter. The show must go on,” the Whumper says, then leaves the Whumpee alone in the kitchen, paralyzed again by the thought that they aren’t really fooling anyone.
ENDANGERED SHARKS IN YOUR BEAUTY CARE AND PET FOOD
As apex predators, sharks play an important role in marine ecosystem by maintaining the species below them in the food chain and serving as an indicator for ocean health, however, due to human pressure, third of open ocean sharks are threatened with extinction. Now, a study recently published in Conservation Genetics shows some threatened species are used as a component in beauty care and pet food products.
Sharks are commonly traded for their fns to be used in different Asian countries as a soup delicacy. Nevertheless, shark meat trade has increased substantially in the last decade, while liver oil trade is still largely unknown.
Using molecular and genetic analysis, Diego Cardeñosa from Colombia Azul Foundation identified in most of the tested products an elasmobranch-based ingredients. Surprising, all products tested were not labeled as containing elasmobranch-based ingredients.
- Identified near threatened as endangered sharks species in this study. The Endangered shortfn mako shark, as the blue shark, scalloped hammerhead and blacktip shark are part of the list.
The researcher highlights the need for more labeling controls, since shark populations could benefit if consumers have the alternative to choose whether or not to purchase products containing threatened shark species in order to decrease the global demand.
Sadly, the study doesn’t mention any brand. All cosmetics contained squalene or squalane in the list of ingredientes, but none of them contained any label suggesting its source (i.e. plant or animal). In words of the researcher, all products tested for this study were not labeled as containing elasmobranch-based ingredients.
Same with pet food, these items were only labeled containing meat from unspecific categories such as “ocean fish” or “white fish”.
[CW pet whump, slamming doors, yelling, broken bones, emeto/vomit mention (no actual vomit), vampire whumper.“
Danny forced himself to stay up all night until Ciaran came to get him. He was so, so tired, but that was good. Maybe he would actually be able to sleep through the day despite being forced to spend it with Ciaran. Fish had plenty of food and water, Danny had eaten and used the bathroom and everything, he should be fine. He would make it through another day, he just needed to be smart. He just needed to be good.
“Are you ready for bed, my dear little mouse?” Ciaran called as he descended the stairs. Danny scrambled quickly to the middle of the room, kneeling like he had been earlier, just waiting for whatever it was that Ciaran had planned. Sure, he hadn’t been told to do that, but better to do too much than too little, right?
“Y-y-yes, M-master.” He nodded shakily. Danny stared at the ground, too nervous to look up. Ciaran’s feet entered his field of vision soon enough. Danny stayed put, not daring to move without permission.
“Well?” Ciaran asked, filling the nervous silence of the room. “What are you waiting for then? Give me your ankle.”
Danny immediately adjusted to sit fully on the ground, offering his chained leg to him. Ciaran wasted no time, pulling Danny to stand the second his ankle had been freed. Hell, why stop there? Danny yelped as he was thrown over Ciaran’s shoulder and was carried up the two flights of stairs into his bedroom. Ciaran unceremoniously dumped him onto the plush mattress.
Danny couldn’t help but squeak as he was flung down, but landing on something so soft was a pleasant change from the hard ground of the cellar or the cheap mattress he’d been sleeping on. He looked up at Ciaran warily, but Ciaran had turned his back on him, stripping off his shirt after swinging his door shut.
Ciaran put on the softest looking pajamas Danny had ever seen and god was he jealous. He tried fruitlessly to suppress a shiver as Ciaran turned to him with a predatory glint in his eyes. Was the shiver from his fear or the chill in the air? Danny couldn’t tell, and Ciaran didn’t care. He simply relished in the power he held over his new pet.
A small, fearful noise cut through the silence as the light was shut off suddenly. The room was plunged into darkness, and still Danny could see a hint of the hungry red eyes of the monster trapping him. The bed shifted beside him, two cold hands maneuvering him to the perfect position to be a little spoon.
Danny let himself be pliable. He wouldn’t get hurt if he didn’t resist, right? Besides, it wasn’t worth it to fight. He would be able to sleep in a bed, with a blanket. That was more than enough incentive, even considering the person holding him. Besides, it didn’t seem like Ciaran was planning on doing anything to Danny in the bed. Nothing like… that. It really just seemed like Ciaran maybe just wanted company.
Ciaran’s body was surprisingly warm. For the first time in this awful place, Danny felt a crumb of comfort. He could imagine that the arms holding him from behind were someone else. Someone kinder. He was in a real bed, with a big, plush comforter and he was warm. He could hear a contented sigh from the man behind him. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
“I think I was right, little mouse.” Ciarnan hummed. “You do make a nice little body pillow.”
“T-thank you, Master.” Danny said quietly. He felt a hand card through his hair, he could almost melt into it. For the first time, he felt something… nice.
“What for, mouse?”
“It’s warm…” Danny murmured tiredly. “I-I mean, um… Thank you, f-for letting me, um, for l-letting me be in y-your bed for tonight.” He tried to pick those words carefully, which was difficult considering he hadn’t slept at all, but he didn’t want it to seem like it was more than it was. He didn’t want it to seem like sleeping in a bed, or sleeping was a privilege that Ciaran could take away if he wanted. He didn’t want to give him any ideas.
“You’re very welcome, darling.” Ciaran yawned. It didn’t take long for either of them to fall asleep like this.
— — —
Both of them jolted awake at the sound of slamming doors and yelling. Danny nearly fell off the bed with the violence at which he jumped.
“CIARAN!!!” They heard Marcus yell frantically, angrily. It was terrifying… To Danny, at least. “HE FUCKING ESCAPED, CIAR! HOW THE FUCK-”
Ciaran simply heaved a sigh and sat up. Danny yelped as he was pulled forcefully from the bed by a hand in his hair. They came out to the railing overlooking the entryway of the house where Marcus was pacing frantically.
“He’s right here, dummy.” Ciaran said, still holding Danny by the hair.
Danny lamented the small break he’d had from shivering, the small break of comfort. His mind was racing now. Would Marcus punish him for leaving the basement, even if it was by Ciaran’s orders? Would Ciaran punish him for being woken up, even though Marcus was the one slamming doors? Danny resigned himself to the fact that today would likely be filled with pain.
And he was right. With a small movement of Ciaran’s arm, he was flung down the nearby stairs, groaning in pain as he hit the bottom. He looked timidly up at Marcus and quickly looked away. He looked angry. Shit, he looked so angry.
“Dunno why you were looking for him, but whatever.” Ciaran called from above. “Do whatever you want with him, I’m going back to bed.”
Without a word, Marcus had Danny by the hair and was pulling him back towards the basement. He made tiny pleas as he was pulled along, but it was no use. For the second time in 3 minutes he was thrown down the set of stairs. He screamed this time, a sickening crack rang through the cellar as he fell.
When he settled at the bottom, he cried, cradling a broken wrist. It felt like burning. His whole arm hurt, the pain radiating from the broken joint. It hurt like a tree struck by lightning, and his stomach churned like a lake during a storm. He felt like he was going to vomit what little food he had in him.
He wouldn’t have time to. Marcus followed him down the stairs, though he stayed upright on his descent. Mercifully, he grabbed Danny’s good arm, to drag him back to his bed and lock the shackle back around his ankle.
“I’m going back to bed.” Marcus growled. “I’ll figure out what to do with you later. And quit your pitiful crying. It’s disgusting. I swear if I so much as hear a whimper reach my room, you’ll fucking regret it.”
Marcus left the mess of a human curled up on the bed. Danny turned to lay on his side, elevating his bad wrist as best as he could by putting his one pillow between his side and his arm. He didn’t care right now. He would use the pillow, he would use the blanket. He had fucking earned it by now. Marcus would know that he didn’t deserve this reaction if he had just stopped for two seconds to figure out what actually happened.
Danny buried his face into the blanket and let himself cry.
I’m being inspired by @scath001 again, but don’t you guys love a good chin lift?
You know, that moment when the whumper has their captive on their knees, but they’re defiantly looking anywhere but at the whumper?
So the whumper just grabs them by the chin, nails digging in, and forces them to look them in the eyes?
Or maybe the whumper uses something else. Maybe it’s the handle of a whip, carrying with it an altogether different threat. A boot, to demean the whumpee and put them in their place. Or maybe it’s something a little more dangerous? A gun, the edge of a knife?
Whatever it is, does the whumpee carry on glaring at the person standing above them, eyes bright with defiance, daring the whumper to do their worst? Or are they trembling, eyes filled with tears, terrified of what the whumper will do next?
