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whumpshaped · 6 months

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HUNTER BECOMES HUNTER FOR THE BINGO

i didnt mean to lump so many of these together but i had a Vision and i couldnt figure out how to Not lump them together- also it got super long i am so sorry

masterlist bingo card

tw vampire whumper, vampire whumpee, mind control, death, murder, a whole massacre really, stalking, loss, grief, minor burns, conditioning, manipulation, threats, memory loss

As the days passed, Beck found it harder and harder to ignore the memories. Helle had done a wonderful job at making him remember, even when he wanted nothing more than to forget. All that conditioning, manipulation, paranoia, gaslighting– it was all coming back, and it all made him fear them again. It made him see how rotten to the core they really were, no matter how desperately he tried to stay ignorant.

And he was stuck with them. Stuck with a monster who was more than happy to exploit all his fears and desires, his wishes and his vulnerability. They allowed him multiple more chances to practise his magic, entirely confident that he wouldn't be able to do it; and they were right. It was a wretched fucking situation to be in. Helle was giving him more and more reasons to want to run, while simultaneously blocking one exit after the other.

He was a rat trapped in an impossible maze, and the floor was getting hotter by the second — no matter how fast he tried to run, no matter how many times he thought he saw a way out, the only thing real in his life were the burns on his little rat paws.

He wanted the easy bliss of memory loss. That was the only thing that could've made this all bearable. He wouldn't flinch from Helle brushing against him if he didn't remember all the times he'd cried for them not to. He wouldn't question their sweet smiles and honeyed words if he didn't remember all the times they'd hidden traps and lies.

He tried to pretend he was still oblivious. He remembered what it felt like to be under the vampire's spell. He remembered the unconditional trust, the love, the adoration. He could replicate it. He could make it a reality again, if he tried hard enough. He could manufacture those same feelings, possibly even hold onto the last remnants of his rose-tinted glasses. He just had to try harder.

Helle was on cloud nine; had been for the past week. Everything was going splendidly! Beck was slowly remembering his life from before, and while he was getting more and more anxious in a way that might've otherwise been a cause for concern, now that they knew he was a runt, it was merely entertaining. Beck wasn't going to run off, nor was he about to commit some atrocities against them. No, he was just going to sit there and take whatever they decided to put him through, like a good boy.

The thought made them shudder with pure excitement. This was everything. Everything they'd wished for after their siblings had left. Everything they'd wished could've gone right was now going right. Beck was the perfect thrall and the perfect sired, he was their prized possession, their pampered little lapdog, their most important project for the next several decades, if not centuries. The first vampire they'd make so obsessed with them that he wouldn't ever want to leave.

That was where Lady Marie had miscalculated, they thought. She'd tried to use fear as the primary motivator. They weren't going to be so stupid. They were going to use something far more compelling.

Of course, being the perfect candidate he was, Beck was already working hard to make their job infinitely easier. He was practically deluding himself into loving them, they barely had to say a word. Even with his memories returning, he seemed to be trying his damnedest to push them aside and stay good. What more could they wish for, really?

Helle stopped in their tracks, and the enthralled human they had with them followed suit. As exciting as all the planning was, and as untouchable as they'd felt in recent days, they had to stay present sometimes. Especially when they got the distinct feeling that they were being watched.

They turned around, squinting at the empty road and the bushes and trees on either side. They couldn't smell any humans other than the one they'd brought here... nor any vampires, really.

Maybe they were wrong. Who would come to their mansion anyway? No one had attempted to kill them since that poor fucker Beck had tried to hire, and the last attempt before that had been decades ago. Still... They had just properly kidnapped him. If his family was anything like him, they might actually try to get him back.

Helle shrugged and turned back towards their house, throwing the doors open theatrically and announcing they were home.

He never fucking heeded any warnings, did he? And he never ever considered that he wasn't invincible, that bad things could happen to him, that maybe his mother was right to worry.

Joey's heart was pounding loudly in his chest as he lay — hopefully — hidden by an overgrown barberry bush, waiting for the vampire to continue walking. Fuck. Fuck. Why weren't they going? Did they spot him? Did all the things he had rubbed into his clothes to cover his scent fail? Please no. Please, he just wanted to see his brother. He couldn't die like this.

He held his breath for as long as he could, squeezing his eyes shut in utter terror. The night was quiet and chilly, and he tried his best not to shiver lest he rustle any leaves and give his position away. It felt like an eternity before he heard footsteps again — ones that were slowly fading.

Never in his life had he exhaled so slowly and carefully before. He couldn't even imagine what the vampire would've done to him, had they figured out he was there. Would he have been turned into a thrall? Or simply killed? Or scared halfway to death, then sent away to bring word of just how much of a terrifying monster they were?

It didn't matter. They'd left. He was safe.

He cautiously crawled out from under the bush, unable to resist a closer look at the mansion. In a perfect world, the vampire would've been away for just a few minutes longer, allowing Joey time to peek inside. But of course, the world wasn't perfect, and he couldn't be lucky in everything.

He flinched at every little sound, expecting the front door to open and the vampire to find him just a few feet away from the walls, lying in the grass like an idiot. The thought nearly made him flee at the last second, but he persevered, eventually arriving to a spot right under one of the huge windows.

Oh, how wonderful it would be to break those damn windows during the day, and let the stupid bloodsucker burn.

Joey took a few steadying breaths, then began slowly rising to his feet. Just a peek. All he needed was a peek inside. Just one glance at his brother, so he'd know he was alive.

He almost ducked back down when he spotted the vampire from before. Thankfully, they had their back turned to him, granting him just a few seconds to at least look around what seemed like a huge living room. Should vampires even have living rooms? A question for another day.

The setting was perfect for some stalking, really. With the lights on inside and the darkness outside, Joey didn't have to try very hard to pick out even little details. The vampire was holding the thrall by the waist, beckoning to someone else. Fuck, were there more of them? Taking out one vampire was difficult enough as it was, but a whole den...?

He shouldn't panic. At least he would have valuable information to bring back for the hunters, right? Thank god he decided to go on this rogue mission!

But all manner of conscious thought went out the window as soon as the other vampire arrived.

That couldn't be right. Was he hallucinating? Were the sleepless nights finally getting to him? That couldn't be right.

Joey felt like he was going to pass out. Why...? There was no reason– Why did they turn Beck into a vampire? Was this real? Was this actually real? Beck should've been kept as a thrall!

Well, he shouldn't have been held captive at all. But being a thrall would've been reversible, it would've been something– something he could fix! But this...?

He watched with wide eyes as his brother hesitantly approached the human, looking awfully distraught and apologetic. Of course. Beck would've never hurt anyone if he could help it. God, this must've been... this must've been...

Joey froze when Beck glanced towards the window. For the briefest moment, he thought it wouldn't end badly — that was his brother, his best friend, the person he would've sacrificed so much for. Surely, Beck would be happy to see that he came to rescue him, right?

But the fantasy was shattered when the other vampire turned and followed his gaze, their curious red eyes settling right on him. An intruder. The human they'd failed to notice just a few minutes prior.

He ran without thinking.

He knew this was the end of the line for him if the vampire caught him, and he also knew that there was no way he could outrun a monster like that. All he could count on was Beck somehow holding them back, or distracting them, or– or–

He didn't know. He just ran, as fast as he could, hoping, praying he would live to tell the tale.

Joey only stopped when it felt like his lungs would explode otherwise, collapsing on the sidewalk from utter exhaustion. He waved off several people who'd tried to help, assuring everyone that he just needed a moment to get himself together.

"I s-saw a vampire," he choked out. "I– I'll b-be fine, I just... I just got scared."

"Where?"

"Is the vampire close?"

"Are we in danger?"

Joey shook his head. "Several streets away. I ran a lot."

He didn't start fully processing the events until he got home. Tears of helplessness and sorrow were streaming down his face, washing away some of the dirt that had stuck to it.

Honestly? He could've lived with Beck becoming a vampire. It wasn't a good situation, not by any means, but Beck was his brother, and he was prepared to love him through whatever nonsense he'd got tangled up in.

The thing that absolutely ripped his heart to shreds was the fact that there was no recognition in his eyes when he'd looked at him. The two of them looked so alike, there was no way to deny them being brothers... and yet, Beck just looked startled and confused. Like he was nothing but a stranger.

"Don't!" Beck cried desperately, grabbing Helle by the hand before they could've gone after the stranger. "Please, don't, you've already kidnapped someone tonight! Please, let him go!"

"Do you have any idea who that was?"

He paused, slowly letting go of Helle's coat when he realised they weren't going to hunt him down. "I... n-not really." Now that they mentioned it, the guy did look familiar in a way. Nothing he could pin down, though. He already hadn't been good with remembering faces before dying, and death certainly hadn't helped. "But it doesn't matter, I just don't want– I don't want more innocents getting hurt. Please."

Helle considered him for a second. "Do you really have no idea?" they asked again, gentler this time. It was beginning to make Beck feel quite stupid. Was that person important? Someone who had been close to him in his life?

The brother Helle had spoken of?

No, Helle had said he'd left behind a twin brother. There was no way he could forget–

Beck frowned. He... had no idea what he looked like. How could he recognise his twin brother, if he had no recollection of his own face, and no reflection to check?

"Who was it?" He sounded timid, as though he was afraid of the answer; and in a way, he really was. Did he even want to know? Or did he want to simply ignore all of this emotional turmoil?

The decision was made for him when Helle waved him off. "I will tell you later. Or the next time he shows up. I have a feeling he will not be alone."

"I have to go with them!" Joey demanded, and his mother sighed.

"Listen... As much as I want to go as well, I think it'd be counter-productive. If we tell the hunters not to hurt him, then they won't! We don't need to be there to enforce it, or... or I don't think..."

"But you don't know! They're hunters! They want to kill vampires, that's what they do, they don't care who Beck used to be! Especially since he didn't even recognise me!"

"Joey, if he doesn't recognise you–" Her voice broke, and she abruptly turned away with a hand over her mouth. She was trying to hold back tears, and Joey tried to remind himself that he needed to dial it back. It was a difficult situation for everyone involved.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, and his mother shook her head.

"No, it's... It's understandable. You want to protect Beck. I do, too."

"I know."

"I think..." She took a deep breath, wiping away a tear that threatened to betray just how emotionally exhausted she was. "I think if Beck doesn't recognise us, then we can't really do anything to help. I can't drag home an unwilling vampire. Neither can you. I don't even know if..."

"If we should," he finished quietly. His mother nodded.

The implications hung in the air between them, unspoken yet still so loud. What was the alternative? Let Beck live his new vampire life? Never talk to him again? The hunters wouldn't like that. Unless they figured out a way to make Beck remember, a way to show everyone that he was still the same awkward guy deep down, and not a dangerous monster... there was no way he would avoid a stake to the heart.

"I have to go, mom. If I do, maybe– maybe he'll realise who I am, and..."

She dragged both hands down her face, visibly frustrated with the whole thing. They both wished it could've been easier. "I'm scared," she admitted after a pause. "I'm scared of losing him again. I'm scared of losing you. I'm scared of being killed by the vampire who took him. I'm scared of seeing those hunters hurt him... I'm scared."

"You don't have to come. I can go alone–"

"Again?" Joey stayed quiet. Clearly, his mom hadn't yet forgiven him his little outing. "It doesn't matter what I say, does it? You'll go either way."

He didn't see a reason to lie or pretend. "Yeah. I have to be there. I know he'll be scared of the hunters, he needs at least one... semi-familiar face."

His mother nodded. "We'll go. We'll bring him home."

Helle wasn't the least bit surprised when they woke up the sound of glass shattering. It was the middle of the day, and they were pretty sure they could hear the hunters tearing down the curtains downstairs.

Great.

"Go into every room!" someone shouted.

Oh dear. They were going to trash the whole place.

Beck barged in just a second later, slamming the door shut after himself. He looked terrified, and for good reason; if he had been found alone, he would've had no chance of surviving against a large group of trained humans.

Were they trained? They sounded trained.

"What's going on?" he whimpered, reminding them of their younger self. Their first hunter encounter. Oh, they had been scared too.

"We have visitors," Helle replied with a soft smile. "Your family must have worked very hard to find such a big group."

"M-my family?"

"Who else?" They walked over and patted his cheek. "They want their darling boy back."

"I don't want to– I don't want them to be here!" he blurted out. "I want them to go! What if their hunters hurt me? What if they hurt you? This is going to be a massacre again, I don't want this, I don't want any of this!"

"They're upstairs!" came the voice from closer than before, followed by the sounds of quick footsteps on the carpeted stairs. Beck was sobbing by now, and Helle realised they hated it. They didn't want anyone else to make Beck cry. Or scared. Or distressed.

"Stay here," they ordered gently. "You shall be safe and protected so long as you do not leave my bedroom. Understood?"

"A-and you? M-Master, you can't–"

"Beck, listen to me. Do you understand?"

In the midst of all that chaos, the sound of hunters kicking down doors and breaking windows, he finally nodded. They couldn't resist giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before they shoved him towards the back of the room, then walked out into the hallway.

Beck was shaking uncontrollably. His mind was so consumed with panic that for a moment he even forgot he was a vampire, attempting to pull the curtains aside to peek out– He abandoned that plan very quickly when his fingers got scorched, letting out a cry of pain.

Stupid. He was so stupid. Stupid, weak, useless, possibly about to be staked within the next five minutes. Maybe Helle had already been staked! What were they thinking?

He couldn't pick out too many specific sounds from the hall, and it made him anxious. He heard screams, and cries, and... and sounds he couldn't even describe. He smelled blood, a lot of it, and it scared him, and all he wanted to do was hide under the bed and never come out.

But Helle had said his family was out there. Was it their blood? Was Helle about to murder his family? Would he even recognise their corpses? He suddenly remembered the stranger from a few days ago. Would he be among the dead? He looked so hopeful that night, in the window. Almost relieved, for a split second, before Helle noticed him. Helle never ended up telling him who that was.

"Beck!" someone shouted desperately, and he felt an overwhelming urge to answer, to run out of the bedroom and look for the source of the voice. "Beck, please, we need to go!"

Go where?

Home, a little voice whispered. You could go home.

But he was home.

In the end, it wasn't the strangers' calls that lured him out. It was a pained hiss from Helle, one he would've recognised anywhere, finally prompting him to fling the door open and rush outside no matter the cost. Helle was all that he had, and they were risking their life to keep him safe. There was no way he was going to keep cowering in the corner of their bedroom.

The scene in front of him was something out of a horror movie. All he saw was blood everywhere, painting the floor and the walls bright red. There were glass shards, limbs, and guts scattered about, the mutilated bodies of several people dressed in protective hunting gear, there was sunlight pouring inside from broken windows, silver weapons stuck between wooden floorboards or uselessly lying several feet away from anyone who could've used them.

None of that mattered. His eyes went to Helle immediately, and he dashed between them and a half-dead hunter who was just about to pull the trigger on her crossbow.

Several people screamed his name at the same time, but it was mere background noise compared to the sharp pain that exploded in his chest. He didn't look down. He didn't dare look down. He looked at Helle instead, drinking in the image of them being okay and alive, almost giddy at the thought of having protected them.

"She a-almost hit you," he stammered between two wheezing breaths, as an answer to the question he saw in Helle's wide eyes.

What the fuck are you doing outside?

"No!" Joey screamed, abandoning all precautions and running over to his brother. He tried not to think about the bodies he had to step over, or the sound his shoes made as his feet landed in puddles of blood.

It couldn't be. It couldn't be. It couldn't be.

"Beck!" He tired to pull him away, only to immediately be grabbed and thrown across the hall. He heard his mother's scream before he hit the ground with an agonised cry and a dull thump, and he knew just from the way he landed on his arm that it had to be broken. Still, he tried to get up right away, desperate to help Beck.

"Joey!" His mother ran over to help him up, wincing when she saw his arm. "Joey, you can't–"

"Is he okay?" he demanded. "Is he alive? Is he fucking alive?" He could see the vampire on their knees next to the body, and he felt his blood boil. How dare the fucking bloodsucker pretend they cared about his brother? When they were the one who turned him, the one who put him in danger, the one who– who had possibly gotten him killed? "Get away from him, you fucking monster!" he yelled, but he didn't even get a reaction.

"Joey," his mother tried again, her voice shaky and urgent. "Please, they'll kill you–"

"So let them," he choked out. "Let them. If Beck's dead, then I don't even care. But I need to know." He yanked his good arm out of her mother's hold and tried to approach the vampire again, but she ran ahead, blocking his path with outstretched arms.

"Is he alive?" she called, way less hostile than Joey had been. "Please, we just– we just want our family back!"

"You almost got your family killed," the vampire replied coldly, and Joey could've wept from relief. Almost. The stupid hunter missed. Beck was alive, he was alive, there was a chance–

A chance for what?

He stared at the bodies in front of him, slowly processing what this all meant. They were all dead. The vampire had killed seven hunters by themself, and now they were trapped in here with them, almost completely defenceless, and with a broken arm in his case. And the vampire was angry.

"We just wanted to get him back," his mother went on, and she sounded so heartbroken and scared, he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to raise a hand at her. And the vampire didn't, not yet anyway. They stayed in the shadows with Beck, never even looking at the two of them.

"How sweet," they said sarcastically.

"You wouldn't fucking know the first thing about it, would you?" Joey snapped. "No, you kidnap and murder for fun, you tear apart families, you– you're a fucking demon!"

"Stop," Beck begged weakly, and the entire mansion seemed to fall silent at his request.

Now that the stupid piece of wood was out of his chest and Helle was holding his hand gently, the situation felt less dire, but he couldn't handle the anxiety of listening to others yell at them. Were these people really his family? The ones causing all this destruction and fear, all this death?

"Why would you try to protect them?" the man — his brother — asked. Joel, was it? Joey. "We almost– almost got them, and... and you stood between..."

"I had to protect them," he said like it was obvious, and Helle squeezed his hand a little.

"You are so stupid," they whispered. "I told you to stay in the room." Although they were scolding him, Beck felt like the tone was somehow simultaneously loving. Not quite grateful, but... close.

"Don't you want to come home?" Joey tried again, and he could hear the woman — his mother — sobbing. His chest ached for reasons beyond the stake that was shot through it, and he wished he could've just said yes and gone with them. But they didn't feel like the family from his fragmented memories, nor did he want to make Helle angry with him.

"I don't think I should," he forced out eventually. Helle squeezed his hand again. Good answer.

"Beck–"

"He gave you an answer," Helle cut in before his mother could've said anything more. "Do not assume my patience lasts forever."

"Go home," Beck asked, the urgency evident in his voice. He didn't want more bloodshed. He didn't want his family to be killed, even if they'd made an attempt on Helle's life. Even if they'd scared him half to death and one of their hunters almost finished the job. "Please. I'm sorry I can't go with you."

"Of course you can," his mother breathed. "Beck, we miss you so unbearably much. We love you."

"I love you too. I think. I, I know I do, it's just... it's so hard to remember..."

"We can help you remember, sweetheart."

Beck shook his head. "N-no, mom, I– I need to stay. I want to stay."

I can't survive out there. Who will feed me? Who will protect me?

"Will you visit?" Joey asked brokenly.

He glanced at Helle, and he felt a sudden rush of terror. He had no idea what it was, but something about their expression told him that nothing good would come from it.

Would they kill his family just to keep him to themself?

He didn't want to find out.

"No," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

"How tragic," Helle remarked without any emotion behind it. "I do believe that is the end of this discussion, then."

Joey stepped forward, his grief making him bolder than what would've been smart. "You can't do this! You can't keep him from his family–"

"If you take another step," Helle began slowly, "it will be your last. Do you want your mother burying two sons?"

Beck closed his eyes, hoping Joey would make the right choice.

Please. Please. Just leave. Just leave me already. Forget me, and let me forget.

"Let's go home, Joey," he heard his mother say as calmly as she could.

"Mom..."

"Our door is always open to him. But we can't force him."

Beck sniffled, and this time he was the one squeezing Helle's hand. They gently brushed a thumb over his skin, silently reassuring him. He was making the right choice for his family, even if they were being so difficult about it.

So why did it make him want to cry so much?

"You really just expect us t-to leave without you?" Joey choked out.

"Okay, I think I have been more than patient." Helle stood up from next to him, and Beck turned towards his family in a panic.

"Go!" he yelled. "Go, please, just go! Mom, do something, take..." He trailed off as he saw his brother's eyes become distant and hollow. Why? Why couldn't he just leave? Why couldn't he leave when he was told to, why did it have to go like this?

"Joey?" His mother gently shook him by the shoulder, worried out of her mind. "Joey!"

"It will wear off," Helle said nonchalantly. "Joey, be good and go with your mother."

She flinched when Joey turned to face her, his expression way too blank for someone who had been so heated a moment ago. "Are we going?" he asked almost impatiently. So eager to obey the command.

Beck couldn't even say goodbye to him.

"We are," she conceded. "Goodbye, Beck. You know where to find us, if... if you ever change your mind. I love you. We love you."

"Goodbye, mom. I love you too." He watched as she took Joey by the hand, as though she expected him to suddenly forget how to walk properly because of the enthrallment, and led him back down the stairs. "Goodbye, Joey," he whispered.

His tears didn't start in earnest until he heard the front door open and close behind them.

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries @morning-star-whump @d-cs @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @tauntedoctopuses @blueyellow8green @typewrittenfangs @whumpsoda @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @auroragehenna

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cyberwhumper · 8 months

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LINKS LINKS LINKS!

Hello! I'm Jace and I draw sometimes! I love talking about OCs and listening to people talk about their OCs and making our OCs interact! Feel free to send asks and ask me or my OCs questions either as yourself or your own OCs!

Please be aware that I draw a lot of whump, blood, suggestive and edgy art. I tagged the tropes next to the OCs to make it easier to avoid or find something specific. I'm not comfortable with minors.

I update this post often with new OC tags and more art, so you'd like to stay updated you can either like this post or join my tag list to be pinged whenever I post new art.

Browse at your own discretion and have fun!

MY ART

MY OCs

Baxter [Sadistic whumper, torture, abuse, gang whump]

Dog [Living Weapon, Whumpee turned whumper, noncon body modification, lab whump]

Gabriel [Pet whumpee, conditioned whumpee] [Gabriel is a shared character between @lambofmine and me]

Henrik Vandermeer [Pet whumper, conditioning, dehumanization]

Horus [Pet whumpee, medical torture, dehumanization]

Imran [Caretaker, pet whump, conditioning]

Mal [Creepy intimate whumper, lab whump, abuse, emotional manipulation]

Roderich [Caretaker, forced caretaking]

Valko [Bruises, blood]

Vina [Bruises, blood, lab whump]

Whiskey [Immortal whumpee, Defiant whumpee, gang whump, torture, abuse, broken bones, noncon body modification]

WHUMPTOBER 2023 MASTERPOST WHUMPUARY 2024 MASTERPOST

[TO BE UPDATED!!!]

#introduction post #this is long overdue eh?#I'm gonna try to post art more often #masterlist

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leyswhumpdump · 2 years

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Loud mouthy whumpees are so much fun, but I also love a defiant whumpee who is clever about it.

Clever defiant whumpees who know that talking back is dangerous, so they stay quiet. Whumpees who know they can’t fight their way out of the situation, and will only make their captor angry if they do.

So they play along.

They pretend to “give in” to the pet trainer’s attempts to condition them, knowing they’re less likely to lose their whole selves if the whumper is satisfied they’ve been brainwashed. They pretend to dote on a creepy whumper. They pretend to be broken.

But they aren’t passive. They quietly resist everything that happens to them. They mentally recite the things the pet trainer wants to condition out of them. They learn the creepy whumper’s buttons, their insecurities. They learn how to manipulate their situation, turn it to their advantage. All the while staying relatively unharmed and perhaps even growing to be trusted.

After all, once the whumper trusts them, sabotage becomes easier.

#whump #whump tropes #whump ideas #i for one would love to see more bbu where the whumpee plays along with their conditioning #because the more you openly defy it the more likely they are to completely break you #and i like that trope #but i feel like clever defiance is underrepresented too #this is totally not inspired by my thoughts on what i'd do if i were in these situations #also there is so much potential here for a whumper turned whumpee #because a whumper is more likely to be exasperated by an openly defiant whumpee #but if the whumpee is really subtle and insidious #the whumper might not know what to do #or even that it's happening

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whump-in-the-coffee-cup · 10 months

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“Used as Bait” Trope

Requested by @whumperofworlds | I like to see your take on the "used as bait" trope (basically, whumper kidnapping a whumpee as bait for whumpee's friends/team), with either your OCs, generic, or fanfiction, whichever you think fits best!

CONTENT WARNINGS: bad caretaker, manipulation, whumper turned caretaker, caretaker turned whumper, conditioned whumpee, reincarnation whump, test subject whumpee, restrained whumpee

Action Prompts

[ breath ] - Whumpee is forced to hold their breath as they’re submerged in a clear box filled with water, and left out in the open.

[ house ] - Caretaker puts Whumpee in a safe house, but inadvertently leaving them without necessities. Essentially putting Whumpee in captivity under the false pretense of security from Whumper.

[ medicine ] - Whumpee is in the hospital, and Caretaker utilizes that fact to figure out who Whumper is, since they are a doctor who has been hurting patients.

[ repose ] - Whumpee is lying somewhere, anxious and tense, waiting for someone to save them from the elements. All they hope it won’t be Whumper.

[ wounded ] - Whumpee is hurt and limping to safety. They leave a trail of blood that leads to where they are, and where they may be going.

[ simplicity ] - Whumpee is tied up to a chair in a warehouse, and is trying to stay still so they don’t tug on any strings that may jostle the bottle of acid above them.

Scenarios

Whumpee is tasked with acting as bait in Caretaker’s plan to apprehend Whumper, but the Caretaker is the only one who knows it is going to fail. Whumpee, assured that they’ll be fine, takes chance with false hope. But the entire thing doesn’t work because of Whumper discovering the plan beforehand.

^ You could have Caretaker forcing Whumpee to be bait too. Which makes Whumper telling Whumpee that Caretaker never cared for them in the first place; Caretaker was a selfish human being, maybe even worse than Whumper.

^ How Whumper stops the plan could be dark too; they kill Caretaker in an act of self-defense, and maybe their Whumpee is conditioned to believe that Whumper is the only person who cares about them.

Or maybe you have an Immortal Whumper and a Whumpee who frequently reincarnates. Whumpee is used often as bait to lure out Whumper’s enemies, and Whumper convinces every reincarnation of Whumpee that what they are doing is for good. Every reincarnation is basically Whumpee getting a renewed body for Whumper to break in many ways. Maybe Whumper has favorite methods of making Whumpee bait too.

^ You could also have Whumpee being different in every reincarnation. In one, they are feisty, defiant, and reckless. Whumper gets to punish them every time they deviate from the plan. But in another, Whumpee is more compliant, easy to break, but incredibly pain tolerant. Whumper gets to have longer punishment sessions if this version of Whumpee disobeys.

^ Maybe in one time, Whumper conditions Whumpee to see it as a good use of their life. And they hold onto that hope that the next life may be better without pain, and Whumper may or may not just mock that very belief.

Maybe in an effort to figure out Whumper’s plans to recapture Whumpee, Caretaker decides to test some things just in case. Only issue is, Whumpee is the only one who knows Whumper well enough. Caretaker decides to do tests on Whumpee, like putting them outside for long hours of time, restraining them in positions that makes it hard to escape, and so on. Whumpee protests, of course, but Caretaker simply says its for both of their safety. Maybe Whumpee realizes that Caretaker is worse than Whumper too. Then later on, Caretaker indirectly helps Whumper and makes their work easier than harder.

Feel free to use these prompts! Make sure to credit me if using, and use the tag #coffee prompts so I can see what you make!

#pastry #snacks #tequlia #whump prompts #restrained whumpee #restraint whump #hospital whump #test subject whumpee #reincarnation whump #conditioned whumpee #conditioning #caretaker turned whumper #whumper turned caretaker #manipulation #bad caretaker

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whumpsoda · 7 months

Text

Don’t Look

I hate I hate I hate writers block :((

This is so short and it makes me mad but it was frim a few days ago and I just did not know what to add :/

cw: emotional manipulation/abuse (If I write these wrong or leave something out please let me know I’m not very good at writing content warnings)

———————————————————————

“Whumpee, please.”

He didn’t want to look. He couldn’t look, not any longer. It hurt too much.

Her desperate, raw voice made it difficult to keep his eyes shut. Her pleads, the caress of her fingers, they made it so difficult, and yet his lids stayed zipped shut.

Looking at the pictures hurt, and she wanted him to look so often. She made him sit down every night, same time after dinner, and just look. It was always the same album, the same carefully taped photographs.

The same man.

The pictures all featured the same handsome face, the same toothy smile displayed in each one.

That charming smile hadn’t been worn in years, many of those teeth having been kicked out long ago.

The man had voluminous curls, rich and obviously tenderly cared for.

Those locks were now matted, greasy, and permanently unkempt. There were too many bright silver strands to count, spewing from the mess on an exhausted head.

The joyous man wore meticulously ironed clothing, which snuggled to his toned, muscular body.

The once peak figure was now frail and sunken, and was barely ever seen wearing anything but a singular pair of boxers and a battered blanket.

Whumpee couldn’t handle another glimpse of the man. The one from before, the one that was no longer. Caretaker was convinced that it was him, but he didn’t want to believe it. He hadn’t thought of the before in so long, and he had no desire to start now.

With whumper, he didn’t need to remember. Whumpee hadn’t remembered, he had given up the memories so long ago. It was easier to live without them, easier to be good. Whumper had made sure of that.

Now, he was encouraged to remember. Caretaker wanted him to think, no matter how much he refused. She insisted.

It made Whumpee angry.

She didn’t understand. Whumpee wasn’t meant to think, and he definitely wasn’t meant to remember. He was too stupid for that, his brains were too jumbled for any of his thoughts to make any sense. Whumper had said so, far too many times for Whumpee to count on two hands.

But Caretaker forced him to, forever ignoring his pleas. She forced him to look at the stupid pictures, she forced him to sit and stare until every night blended into a mess of sobs and yells. It hurt, and he wanted escape, he wanted home.

Whumper’s home.

“Whumpee. I said, please.”

The once gentle rubs on his shoulder twisted into a tight grasp. Her firm hand was gripping, her nails coming ever so close to piercing his skin. Like every other aspect of his new life, it hurt.

A slight whimper escaped his lips, and his arms snuggled impossibly tighter to the blanket suffocating his delicate body. He could open his eyes, it could be so easy, no more fighting. He could tell her what she wanted, and it would be over.

But the fear was too overwhelming. He could only sit in place, his brain too full and his mouth much to dry.

A moment passed, enveloped in only the buzz of the ancient refrigerator mere feet from them. There was no crying, there was no shouting, and there were no broken objects.

Not yet.

The screech of her chair sent a strike of pain through his ears, making Whumpee tense. He could sense her towering over him, a feeling he was far too familiar with.

“I wouldn’t have rescued you if I knew you’d be broken. I hope you know that.”

#whump #whumpblr #bad caretaker #whumpee #caretaker #my writing #whump writing #writing drabble

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darlingwhump · 2 years

Note

shock collar :)

My first @badthingshappenbingo prompt fill! This ended up being a lot longer than I intended it to lmao, but enjoy! Thanks for sending in a request~

CW: captivity, implied pet whump, electrocution, manipulation, self-loathing

Whumpee’s “good behavior” had granted them the privilege of going upstairs instead of rotting away in Whumper’s cold, musty basement. They had even been given free range of the house, and Whumper seemed ecstatic that their captive was finally warming up to their new life.

Whumpee gratefully accepted this new privilege. They’ve been on their best behavior this week: not shying away when Whumper tries to cuddle up with them, accepting any punishments with gratitude, and even going out of their way to care for their captor’s needs.

And, oh, life is so much easier when they’re not chained up in the basement. Now, the only thing acting as any kind of restraint is the shock collar around Whumpee’s neck. Whumper has used it countless times in the past as a sort of training tool, as negative reinforcement for whenever they try to talk back or disobey them. They’ve even got Whumpee trained to fear the sight of the remote, as it almost always brings pain and a lingering headache.

But it’s alright, even that has been accounted for in Whumpee’s elaborate plan to finally get out of this hell. Amidst their constant state of paranoia, Whumpee still thinks this plan is almost perfect. It has to work.

Because if it doesn’t…well, Whumpee doesn’t want to think about that.

Whumper didn’t seem to pick up on Whumpee’s scuttling each time they were left alone, and didn’t comment on how they’d been digging through drawers to locate keys and searching around for security systems or anything else that could aid them in an escape attempt. They didn’t appear to see through Whumpee’s risky attempt at manipulation, and even right now, they don’t stir as Whumpee slips the shock collar’s remote from a sleeping Whumper’s nightstand drawer. This way, if they do wake up, at least they won’t be able to turn the collar on.

Hope flutters in Whumpee’s chest as they swiftly tiptoe down the hall, into the living room, and towards the front door. One hand holds the key to the front door (Whumper had made it a point to tell Whumpee that they had removed the inside lock in preparation for their new life upstairs). The other hand shakes violently and feels clammy as it grips the shock collar remote--but not too tightly. Whumpee’s heart hammers as they think about the possibility of accidentally triggering it…but they don’t want to put it in their pocket, because then they could shift and it would go off and everything would be painful.

It’s alright, the shocks will be over soon. Whumpee is getting out.

They squeeze their eyes shut as they reach for the door handle, as if touching it would set off their collar. They knew it wouldn’t--shock collars didn’t work like that, and the remote was right here. And nothing happened, anyways! They’re fine.

Whumpee flings the door open and feels a breeze of crisp night air for the first time in…had it really been a few months now? It feels so nice, but Whumpee snaps themself back to the present. They have to go, now.

Whumpee doesn’t make it one step out onto the front porch before the prongs in their collar crackle to life.

They immediately lose their balance, crying out in pain as their body is wracked with shocks at the highest setting. But they had gotten the remote--how was the collar going off? They dropped it anyways, their fingers instead moving to claw at the painful sensation crawling up their neck and into their head. Get it off get it off get it off!

But their twitching hands can’t seem to grasp the collar, and they can’t get it off even if they tried. Why didn’t they try to take it off first? Stupid echoes through their mind and they can’t focus on anything else through the pain.

They don’t know how long they lay there writhing on the front porch. But at some point, they realize they need to go, they have to try, or else Whumper’s gonna get them and punish them and this is so painful they just want it to stop. Through everything, their adrenaline pushes Whumpee to their elbows and they attempt to crawl towards the front lawn.

They whimper as another wave of shocks rush through their body and hear a chuckle sounding from above them. No, they must be hallucinating, they have to under this much pain, right? Please let this be a hallucination.

Whumpee glances up to see Whumper looking down over their twitching form. Nononono, Whumpee tries to back away, but the shocks only seem to get worse and they cry out in pain. They shake their head, try to will themselves to ignore their convulsing muscles and run, but they can’t move, they can’t think. It’s too much.

“Oh, darling, look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” Whumper tuts, and Whumpee learned months ago that they find Whumpee’s pain amusing. In that way, Whumpee has played right into their hand. “Let’s get you back to your room, yeah?”

“N-n-no…” Whumpee whimpers in the first form of defiance they’d shown in weeks, ever since they started cooking up this little plan of theirs. So much for freedom. “...don’ wanna go back.”

“Whumpee.” Their captor’s voice snaps, all prior amusement morphing into stern impatience. “Let’s go. You’re going to wake up the whole neighborhood.”

Whumpee lets out a sob. As if that’s what they’re really worried about right now.

Whumpee should scream. They should be doing everything they can to wake up the neighbors as a last-ditch attempt to escape whatever punishment Whumper has in mind. Maybe the neighbors could help, call the police, send someone to investigate Whumpee and find them. But through the waves of pain and months of conditioning, Whumpee can’t make themselves carry out their plan. They just want their neck to stop searing. Why did they ever think this was a good idea?

“Whumpee, now. You’ve already lost upstairs privileges, do you want to lose more?”

Whumpee shakes their head, the movement made even jerkier due to the shocks continuing to wrack Whumpee’s body. “N-no more, please.”

“Then let’s go. You have five seconds to get up and walk back inside.”

Whumpee whimpers. The shocks are too much--they can’t get up!

“One…” Whumper sighs, “Two…”

What other privileges could they lose? They were already going back to the basement, back to no comfort or freedom to move around as they please. This collar was already bad enough…

“Three…”

Despite everything, Whumpee wills themself to stand. They try to take a step forward, but Whumpee’s legs give out from under them as their muscles convulse and they stumble. But this time, Whumper catches them. They’re led back into the house, and then everything stops. The pain is gone, save for the lingering aftershocks and muscle spasms that Whumpee has gotten used to after months of being shocked into submission.

Whumper pockets the remote, seemingly having turned off the collar. There was an off button this whole time?! Whumpee had been so stupid. They thought they had planned everything, that it had to work. Whumpee even took the remote and they dropped it after the shocks started. So there’s no way that they could've accidentally held the button for that long, and there’s no way Whumper would have been able to activate it without the remote…right?

“Good pet,” Whumper coos and lets Whumpee lean on them. Their voice is filled with disappointment as they add, “I’m really glad I bought that invisible fence. I had hoped that it wouldn't be necessary…but clearly, you still need some more training.”

Whumpee’s breath hitches. Invisible fence? Like the ones that…that shock dogs if they try to run off of their owner’s property? Their face falls as they realize that as long as this collar is on, they won’t be able to leave this house.

Whumper drags Whumpee towards the basement door and tears prick at the corners of their eyes. They failed. They’re never getting out of this place, are they?

#shock collar #escape attempt #whump #whump writing #pet whump #whump drabble #bad things happen bingo #darlingwrites #whumpsday #bthb card #yandere whumper #captivity #ive been wanting to write a yandere/pet whump story and this might have been the catalyst we'll see

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sableflynn · 1 month

Text

I've been replaying Paper Mario n64 and it's wild how Peach in this game is so clearly the blueprint for Felicia and in general my preferred type of female captive whumpee. hear me out... trapped in a superficially comfortable place but with no freedom, no chance of escape, at the mercy of her captor. sneaking out every chance she gets to try to gather information to share with her friends outside in hope of rescue. lying to her captor and manipulating him however she can to make her life easier and make rescue more likely. reading her captor's secret diary and playing trivia games with his underlings and baking cakes. she's truly everything. formative influence for sure.

#it's everything to me #also idk if this is a controversial opinion but I like the peach sequences in n64 a lot more than ttyd #there's a lot I like about ttyd!#but I feel like peach has a lot more agency in her parts of n64

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sleepyiswhumping · 2 months

Note

10, 11, 19, 20 for the ask game :)

10. Ooh, this one's hard. While I'm not satisfied with most of what I've written and plan on rewriting a lot of my work, I'd be lying if I said I didn't have favorites. My current favorite piece is untitled, and is the aftermath of Theo, our poor whumpee, being released back into the world by his whumper, Z, and the trauma he's suffering from after the 2 years of abuse, manipulation and pain Z forced him to undergo, and his recovery, with the help of his boyfriend, Lynn, who's been searching for him ceaselessly since he disappeared. I'm actually currently working on a rewrite for a part of this that I may share soon!

11. Agh. There's not really anything I'm comfortable sharing, but this'll have to do. It's not great, but one of the few scenes that's more than a sentence or two that I think is okay.

Z ran his hands across Theo’s hips, up his stomach, his fingers playing across the scars and fresh wounds on his chest, before coming to rest on Theo’s neck. Theo gasped as Z wrapped his fingers around his throat, struggling to get one final breath in as his hands closed tight, crushing his windpipe. Theo’s hands flew to his neck, scrabbling at Z’s, trying to pry them off, but found no purchase. As panic began to set in, Theo hammered and scratched at Z’s chest, but his efforts grew weaker as his vision faded, his mind going blank, running out of oxygen. The last thing Theo saw before he blacked out was Z’s hungry, intense smile, looming over him.

19. Funnily enough, I started writing whump last February, so I haven't been part of the community for very long at all. Despite how fresh I am, however, I've fallen in love with both the community and my writings, even though most of them are pretty bad lol.

20. I actually haven't written whump for any fandom yet. So far, I've written exclusively about OCs. While OCs are, in my eyes, tougher to start with, due to having to construct a character from scratch, I prefer the versatility and freedom you have with an OC compared to a pre-existing, developed character. I have much less obligations and pre-existing tropes and characteristics to follow with characters of my own creation, making the process easier for me. That being said, I have been considering writing about some specific characters in some fandoms. I'd probably write about R. Daneel Olivaw, from part of the Lije Bailey series by Isaac Asimov. From the first story I read about him, I was in love with a robot so complex as he was, to be essentially human, and I've recently been thinking about all of the whump you can do there. I've also been considering whumping Erasmus from the Dune prequels by Brian Herbert and Kevin J Anderson, but I think that's just due to my obsession with his character as a whole. Lastly, there are so many characters in the Maximum Ride series by James Patterson that are ripe for whumping, and considering this was the series that spawned my love for wing whump before I ever knew what whump was, it'd be remiss if I didn't whump at least one character from the series.

Thanks for the ask, @stalecabbage! <3

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #winged whumpee #whump ask game #whump scenario

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serickswrites · 3 months

Text

Heroes and Villains One Shots III

Six Croissant Anon request

Martyr--TW: betrayal

News--Sidekick makes a new friend

BS--Villain is cold

Nevermind--Sidekick has a secret

Not Mad--TW: referenced kidnapping

Not In Charge--Villain is not in charge

Buttercup--Hero's feelings are hurt

Therapy--Villain recommends Hero go to therapy

Heart to Heart--Supervillain wants to chat with Superhero

Do You Really Want to Know--Superhero has a long day

Feck--TW: injury, wounds, blood

Unloved--TW: implied noncon type situation, conditioning

Explosive--there are explosions

Begging--TW: captivity, torture, restraints, rescue attempt, caretaker and whumpee

Receiving--Superhero is wrathful

Cast Me Down--TW: self sacrifice, captivity, torture implied, noncon implied

Good Job?--TW: destruction, blood, wounds, explosions

Hitch--TW: referenced torture, scars

Kidnapped Sidekick request--TW: bruises, blood, broken bones, restraints

Set--TW: referenced injury, broken bones, bad healing

Monstrous--TW: captivity, torture, revenge

Emoji writing prompt request 3--TW: self sacrifice, beating, physical injury, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Wash--TW: referenced wounds, referenced injury, blood, torture, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Hallowed Ground--Civilian encounters Villain

Pull Me Under--Villain feels under a spell

Beauty--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, scars

Easier--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, wounds, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Hero doesn't like this--TW: referenced injury, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery/hurt/aftermath

Shot Through the Heart--TW: gunshot, wounds, blood, magic

All Fired Up--TW: hostage situation, burns, cruel whumper, self sacrifice

Sharp--TW: restraints, electrocution

Jacket--Sidekick is cold

Unhinged--Right Hand is so happy

Cry Baby Cry--TW: abusive relationship, blood, physical violence

What Lies in Shadow--Hero doesn't like the dark

Swear Before the Devil--TW: implied captivity, implied torture, self sacrifice

Don't Run--Hero asks Villain to stop

Doing--TW: blood, wounds, field med, hurt/aftermath

Sleep--Hero needs to sleep

Anything Wrong--Civilian is upset

Care--TW: blood

Convenient--Civilian and Hero on the run

Mirrors--Supervillain has special mirrors

Strength--TW: destruction, threat of death

Glasses--Villain has glasses

Band-Aid--TW: blood, wounds, injury, cuts

Closed--TW: injury, blood, wounds

You're Ok--TW: physical injury, violence, rescue

The Hero--Villain is beaten

Down By Your Side--TW: threat of doom, violence, injury, broken bones

Falling Leaves--TW: broken bones

Wish--TW: mcd, blood

Villain and Sidekick fighting request

One Second--Supervillain needs silence for one second

Ever Loved--Villain has their revenge

Clover--Villain meets Sidekick in a clover field

Believed--Civilian doubts Sidekick

Power transfer request

Spa--Supehero wants a spa day

Sorry--Villain goes on a date

Pin--Villain has an encounter with Supervillain

Coming--Someone is coming to see Villain

Hey Jealousy--Hero is jealous

Brilliant--TW: weapons, violence, unconsciousness, blood

Tell Them--TW: manipulation, threats

Save Them--TW: captivity, implied torture, threat of death

Fear--Hero and Villain talk about fear

Next Time--Villain is late

Accident--TW: bruises

In It--Hero meets with Villain

Another emoji prompt request

Branded--TW: restraints, torture, burns, branding

Yandere villain request--TW: yandere, stalking

I Can Handle It--TW: escape, broken bones

Does That Hurt?--TW: broken bones, blood, possible shock, wounds, hurt/aftermath

Actually Not Bad--Hero realizes Villain is not bad

You're Back--Villain is stinky

At Least It Can't Get Any Worse--TW: captivity, injury, head injury, concussion

That's Going To Be One Hell of a Scar--TW: blood, escape, wounds

Understand--TW: mayhem, destruction, fires, threat of death

Deserved It--TW: death, mayhem, destruction

Bandage--TW: cut, blood, wounds, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Yandere Villain request--TW: kidnapping, drugging, yandere

Villain kidnaps civilian request--TW: kidnapping, restraints, physical violence, unconsciousness, implied torture

Given Enough--TW: destruction, mayhem, death, mcd, grief

Gentle Night--TW: blood, wounds, bleeding out, unclear character status

Ice Villain request--TW: captivity

Powers--Superhero's apprentices discuss powers

Hero rescued by yandere supervillain request--TW: captivity, restraints, bruises, drugging, yandere

Found You--TW: pursuit, threat of violence

Ringing--TW: physical violence, falling from a great height

Villain is helpful--TW: threat of death

Dream--Villain has bad dreams

Turn Back--Civilians enter a dark and lonely wood

Hero in Villain's apartment--TW: yandere villain, implied future captivity, fade to black

Handle Things Myself--TW: referenced captivity, referenced torture, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

#serickswrites #not writing #writing organization #hero x villain community

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rainbowsandwhumperflies · 3 months

Text

The Winged Servant - 4

cws: emotional state that's verging on a panic attack, emotional manipulation, discussion of whumpee's death, whumpee trying to stop himself from having any type of preferences, let me know if I missed anything!

masterlist

Everyone here had their own set of rules. Some were easier to follow than others. Her Majesty the Queen was particular about me being graceful, while no one else really cared how I walked. Prince Ryan made sure that I knew every task I was given was for me to finish completely and perfectly, while Prince Cardan found it entertaining to give me two tasks I clearly couldn’t complete at the same time. The separate rules could be confusing sometimes, but generally, they weren’t too hard to figure out.

Jayden’s rules were hard to figure out. Maybe because of the lack of them.

Jayden was the only other servant here. Still higher ranking than me, because he was human, but closer than anyone else. Higher ranking enough that he could’ve treated me like everyone else did—like all I was useful for was servitude. It would only have been fair.

He didn’t treat me like that. He smiled when he saw me and gave me leniency when I made mistakes. Good servants didn’t have likes and dislikes, so of course I didn’t like working with Jayden more than I liked any of my other tasks, but I was incredibly grateful when I did work with him.

Jayden was in charge of making meals for everyone, and I helped with dinner every night. It was my last task before eating dinner and getting any punishment I’d earned during the day. Maybe making dinner wasn’t a difficult job, or maybe Jayden tended to give me the easy parts of it, but either way it was usually the least eventful part of my day.

“Hey, Onyx! Good to see you. Can you start some rice?”

“Yes, sir.” Rice was easy. Rice was put two ingredients in the same pot easy. Rice was I don’t want you doing difficult tasks easy.

Jayden gave me easy tasks and treated me like a human.

Of course, it was better than I deserved, and I really shouldn’t have accepted such kind treatment, but it was… nice.

“Once that’s cooking, start on the dishes, yeah?”

I nodded. Dishes were easy, too, just more time consuming. Jayden didn’t like doing dishes—said that his hands were wrinkled enough from age that he didn’t need them wrinkling more from getting soaked in water all the time. He wasn’t that old—his sixties, I thought—but I liked his wrinkles regardless. His hands were softer than anyone else’s when he patted my shoulder or squeezed my hands. Or maybe his hands were just kinder than anyone else’s.

Dishes were also easy to get lost in. It was a routine—rinse, soap, scrub, rinse, dry, repeat. It was easy for me to do, and easy for me to zone out while doing, because of the repetitive nature of it. Jayden didn’t usually mind when I zoned out, though. He would tap my shoulder if he needed my attention. It was kindness that I was taking advantage of, I was almost certain, but it was nice regardless.

He tapped me on the shoulder today, and I turned, but he wasn’t the one standing behind me.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” I mumbled, dropping to my knees and bowing. I was supposed to bow when royalty entered a room, which meant that I was late right now, but Prince Ryan wasn’t supposed to be here. That’s not how the schedule worked. I swallowed around a lump in my throat. “May I assist you with something?”

“Sorry to interrupt. Jayden, you’re finishing dinner on your own, but Onyx will be back to serve it like usual. Onyx, we’re doing your punishments from this morning. C’mon.”

Punishments were supposed to be after dinner. They were always after dinner. I made mistakes throughout the day, and then I was punished for them after dinner, before bed, so that I’d have the opportunity to rest in between punishment and the chores of the next day. Punishments were never-

But Prince Ryan was standing in the kitchen right now, and he had just told me that I was being punished, and I was always supposed to do what the royal family told me to. That rule trumped the others—do what you’re told.

I scrambled to my feet as he walked into the hall, following him to the office. It had hardwood floors, which were easier to get blood off of than the carpeted ones in the bedrooms. If I had to serve dinner while bleeding, I would probably make more mistakes. Prince Ryan knew that. That’s why my schedule was the way it was.

He glanced back at me as we entered the room. “Sit down somewhere. I have a little bit of paperwork to finish filling out, and then we’ll get started.”

Prince Ryan had an entire filing cabinet dedicated to me. Most of it was papers documenting my mistakes and punishments. I’d known that already, but usually he didn’t do it with me here. He said I was more useful doing almost anything besides watching him write things down.

I sat down on the floor next to his chair, trying to keep my posture perfect. He didn’t ever fill out paperwork with me, and he didn’t ever punish me before dinner, and of course I wasn’t supposed to question anything the royal family did but I didn’t understand why everything was so different today. Jayden had been weird too, and Prince Cardan had said that thing about how tonight I was going to-

“Fuck, Onyx, are you crying? I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“My apologies, Your Highness.” I hadn’t realized I was crying, too focused on the discrepancies of the day, but I rubbed at my cheeks immediately, trying to get myself to stop. I wasn’t supposed to cry around other people. It made me look pathetic and attention-seeking. Her Majesty hated it. Prince Ryan tolerated it occasionally, but I still shouldn’t be doing it, especially when he hadn’t even touched me.

“What’s wrong? You’re not usually this…” He looked me up and down. “This pitiful.”

“My apologies.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question. Is it because I’m doing punishments before dinner today?”

“No, I just, I don’t want-” That wasn’t right. Good servants didn’t have wants besides wanting to serve the crown. “Um. I would be, I’d be very grateful to live, Your Highness. Are you killing me tonight?”

He blinked. “No. What?”

“The punishment time was wrong, and, and His Highness Prince Cardan said that I would die tonight.”

Prince Ryan exhaled through his nose, and I flinched at his frustration. “Yeah. He did, you’re right, I forgot about that. Okay. Listen, you understand that you’re supposed to trust the things we say to you, right?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“That’s good. I’m glad. You believed him because that’s what you��re supposed to do, and I appreciate that, but the thing about Prince Cardan is that he entertains himself by making my life as difficult as he can. The reason I’m punishing you early tonight is because we have other places to be after dinner, which you weren’t told about because servants like you don’t get to know about these things in advance. Cardan said what he did because he thinks you’ll die, which he’s wrong about. He also thinks it’s funny to watch you worry about things. You're not dying.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Your Highness,” I sniffled.

“Yeah. But you’re not supposed to let this type of thing get under your skin and affect your performance, and this is definitely affecting your performance.”

He was right. He was always right. I was a servant. I needed to focus on completing my duties as a servant, and trust that the royal family had my best interests in mind. Letting myself get stuck on these things would only negatively affect my behavior. “My apologies, Your Highness.”

He stared at me for another moment. “You need to stop crying.”

“I know. My apologies.”

“My mom is- the queen is going to have my head if you’re all sniffly and jumpy like this after dinner. You get the rest of the time it takes me to fill this out, maybe three minutes, and then you need to be able to keep yourself composed.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Thank you.” Three minutes. I breathed as deeply and quietly as I could manage. Three minutes was enough. It would have to be.

Taglist: @kaleidoscope-of-thoughts @toyybox

ps: sorry I swear I was going to punish onyx in this chapter but ryan thinks he gets to monologue every time I write him. BUT next chapter's first draft is done, I've just gotta edit it, so onyx will for sure be hurt soon.

#rainbow's whump #whump #whump writing #rainbow's ocs #the winged servant #onyx tag #ryan tag #jayden tag #i think we're meeting jayden for the first time here?#he may have been lightly mentioned in the introduction but here's where we get to know what onyx thinks about him #if you're thinking 'the royal fam has more members in it than servants working there? that's odd'#that's good keep thinking that #there's some sick and twisted backstory coming up soon!!#first person pov

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shywhumpauthor · 1 year

Note

can i get a little of a grumpy whumpee (haha rhymes) who isn't used to kindness with a kind caretaker pretty please

Of course! Sorry this took so long, it got buried under whumptober.

If there’s errors, just know I write this in about twenty minutes during my free and barely edited

Cw: conditioned Whumpee, mentioned torture, refusal to eat, past torture and abuse, emotional manipulation, Whumpee’s mental state is just really bad here. Idk what else to tag. Kinda recovered pet whump? Not really. Borderline abusive whumpee

“Whumpee,” Caretaker sighed, their voice betraying their exhaustion as they glanced down at the food splattered across the kitchen floor, shards of the porcelain bowl that had once homed a bowl of stew they had spent all morning preparing decorating the mess. “Did you not like the recipe? That’s alright, is there something else I can make you?”

Whumpee, who’s lips had finally begun to twitch up at the small flicker of emotion, deflated when Caretaker’s words turned kind instead of the cruel shouts they had been anticipating. Goddamn it.

“No.” Whumpee glared back, their head shaking as they straightened up in their seat. “I don’t want your stupid food.”

Why wouldn’t they get mad?! Whumpee’s mind was screaming as they watched Caretaker simply walk to the sink and grab a hand towel, crouching down to begin to clean the mess. It had been weeks, so it felt, and Caretaker hadn’t done anything. Hadn’t hit them once, hadn’t raised their voice, each day felt like an added strap around Whumpee’s chest, the pressure growing until it was about to pop and the illusion of comfort would shatter just like the bowl to reveal the truth Whumpee knew was there all along and they knew that drawing it out was only a cruel game used to hide the demon Whumpee was sure was lurking behind a layer of gentle touches and soft words. It would only be worse if they fell to the trick, despite what Whumper had said they weren’t stupid enough to fall for it again. They weren’t stupid, this time they were sure. They wouldn’t let it catch them off guard, no they wouldn’t. Not again. They weren’t that stupid-

“That’s okay, would you like take out instead? I still have that brochure of all the places-“

They droned on in that same tone, that light tone that was full of sticky, sickening sweetness that was so obviously fake it made Whumpee want to scream. They felt a fire creeping up their chest, burning their neck and their ears, room filling with a buzz so loud they couldn’t hear anything over it, couldn’t hear Caretaker’s useless words or their useless rambling about the different restaurants in town.

“I don’t want any of that shit.”

The chair scraped across the kitchen tiles with an uncomfortable sound as Whumpee stood up, their flurry of movement nearly knocking the old piece of wood over. With Whumper, that would have earned them a beating itself, how dare they mess up their good floors, do they have any idea how long it would take to buffer these out?! The curse would have cost them a slap or two, a night in the basement for sure. Maybe a belting if Whumper was already in a bad mood. God, they hated it, they hated it so much. Everything was so much easier then, and fuck was it messed up that they thought this way, but when they had the cold crack of a whip against their back to teach them what was right and what was wrong or when they felt the bite of a blade against their skin for every mistake they could accept it. They could know what was wrong, and they could know how to fix it. What cruel game was caretaker playing, with their kindness and their smiles, their wordless promises that they would never hurt Whumpee which would only rub salt to the wounds whenever the inevitable could not longer be delayed. Better get it over with, that was Whumpee’s thinking. They’d take the torture and the pain and the tears in exchange for the certainty that they were fixing their mistakes, the ability to know what they did was right or wrong. They’d give anything for that clarity, the one they were so desperately trying to drive from Caretaker now.

“I don’t want anything from you. Let me leave.”

And go where, Whumpee wasn’t sure. Whumper was gone. Dead or in jail, they didn’t know. They could have just as easily moved to a different house, across the city or across the country. Where they were didn’t matter, because Whumpee stopped caring. They hated the bastard, for everything they’d done to them, all the pain and torment. But for everything Whumpee could blame them for, they had to admit. Whumper made it easy. They didn’t have to struggle through troubles beyond their comprehension or their control any longer. It was simple. They were given tasks, and they’d do them. Do them right, they’d get rewarded. Do them wrong, they’d get punished. It was complicated, but not. After a while they grew to know Whumper. They would tell them exactly what they wanted, exactly what needed to happen. Why the hell wouldn’t caretaker tell them?!

“We can go for a walk later, if you’d like, but right now I have to finish cleaning up, alright?” Caretaker offered them a soft smile, and Whumpee wanted to scream.

No. No no no no no, it wasn’t alright. It wasn’t fucking alright. They didn’t want to go for a walk, they didn’t want to get take out from that little diner up the road, they didn’t want anything. Whumper had been clear when telling them they weren’t allowed to have wants. They’d get what they were given and they’d be grateful regardless, that’s how it worked. Why didn’t caretaker understand that?!

“I want to leave,” Whumpee spat, emotion leaking into their tone as tears stung their eyes. Their throat bobbed as a lump swelled, they wanted to scratch and claw at their neck until the tension was relieved that way. If Whumpee was there, they would have been so mad, mad and disappointed. Whumpee knew better than to misbehave like this. Whumper would remind them and punish them and then it would be in the past. They could move on and never think about it again, do better in the future. Why wouldn’t caretaker do that?!

“I know, Whumpee, we can go out in a few minutes. I need to finish in here first though, okay?”

God, why didn’t they understand? They didn’t understand, and it was driving Whumpee mad. No one understood them, not caretaker, not anyone. Whumper had understood them, only Whumper. Caretaker said they did, promised they did but they didn’t. They couldn’t possibly understand.

“Fuck you.” Whumpee’s voice cracked, fear and anticipation weighing in their empty stomach like a brick. For a moment, just a moment they saw a flash in caretaker’s eyes, and they clung onto the hope that this had finally been the thing to push them over the edge-

No.

“What’s wrong, Whumpee?” Caretaker rolled back to sit on their heels, their attention abandoning the task at hand. Whumpee’s entire body flooded cold, this wasn’t right. They were standing and caretaker was sitting, it was all wrong. No they should have been the one on the ground, kicked to their stomach or forced to kneel on the shards of the bowl they broke. Caretaker should be the one towering over them, holding a knife or a cane or whatever else they chose to use. Not this way around. “I can tell you’re upset. Would you like to talk about anything?”

That was not the response they wanted. No, no no it wasn’t! It wasn’t supposed to happen this way! Why wouldn’t they just get mad?! Why wouldn’t they hurt them already?!

Whumpee turned and fled the room before the tears could fall.

——————————————

Ew I don’t like this but needed some content, sorry anon.

Also could you maybe send in some more sortish specific requests that I can work on? I know I’ve been asking a lot and I’ve gotten some really good ones but they’re just not what I’m looking to write rn

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whumpsical · 10 months

Text

A Light in the Dark

contents: trafficking, captivity, forced romance, emotional manipulation, expIicit dubcon, intimate whumper, defiant whumpee

Jian spots an opportunity

November 2019

taglist!! @yet-another-heathen @much-ado-about-whumping @minerscanary

🌲🌲🌲 -> next (soon)

The sun was already setting over the mountain by the time Dickass Lee finally decided to start heading back to the house. Jian wasn’t at all sold on the idea that the loss of light had been a simple miscalculation. The hand-holding was already easier to tolerate in the growing dark.

The woods were still a foreign territory to him, and his fear went double without sunlight. He even found himself gripping Dickass Lee’s hand in return instead of his usual dissociation, making himself limp so that his arm was like a fabric leash, just an object for Dickass Lee to keep track of him by. And Dickass Lee must have noticed the shift, because he leaned close and affectionately bumped Jian’s shoulder with his own.

“Don’t be scared, Jian.”

“I’m not scared,” Jian said adamantly, simmering with annoyance at the man’s condescending tone. But he kept his hand tightly clasped, his palm beginning to sweat as his footing grew more unsure. “I just can’t see.”

Dickass Lee chuckled. “I know these woods very well. You can’t get lost when you’re out here with me.”

Jian rolled his eyes freely in the dark. He was already lost out here, as long as Dickass Lee was at his side.

Blue-black darkness fell quickly around them, and the temperature seemed to drop another twenty degrees. The light jacket wasn’t cutting it anymore. Jian doubted the simple miscalculation of that, too. When his shivers grew violent, Jian clenched his jaw and huddled close to Dickass Lee, despite the biting nausea. Dickass Lee let go of Jian’s hand and wrapped his heavy arm around Jian’s shoulders, keeping him warm and steady as they walked. Jian tried not to feel comforted, and for the first time in ages it wasn’t a challenge. His thoughts drifted to the tall tree behind the murder shack, to his brush with hypothermia. No, Jian couldn’t see this as anything other than more manipulation of the same kind. He didn’t know what exactly Dickass Lee wanted from him this time, but he knew he’d acquiesce without much of a fight, as long as that threat of cold hung over him.

Nighttime out here was dazzlingly noisy, much louder than in the city. Compared to the soft rumble of traffic, to drunk clubbers laughing their way to the next venue, even to the occasional nearby siren, the woods were downright chaotic. With a sound like TV static blasting through concert speakers, everything alive in the forest came together in an invisible choir around and above him. Jian swept the forest with his eyes, squinting to find any hint of suspicious movement to serve as proof of the vast network of insects which were obviously still thriving here in what felt like early winter, but all he saw was black.

Jian’s eyes felt dry and glassy from straining through the darkness when he noticed movement off to his left. He wouldn’t have seen it in the daylight. He almost stopped in his tracks, but bundled up so close to Dickass Lee, he just stumbled slightly and moved along. He couldn’t hear it behind the frenzied woods swallowing up any noise that wasn’t its own, but there was no mistaking the twin dots of yellow light that rose and flashed and diminished as the vehicle’s headlights turned towards him and away.

A car, a road, people. A way out.

Jian’s mind raced. The road was a long way from the house. It was hard to gauge distance over the hills and winding trodden paths, especially when he hadn't been paying that much attention, but it felt like maybe a mile or two. He’d walked this far already. How much further could he go, if he ran? At least to the side of the road, where he might just collapse and wait for another car to rumble by what a driver might at first take for a corpse. He’d probably have better luck playing dead than if he showed up to the road with his thumb out.

He’d imagined this plot of land as an endless mountain, even an isolated universe. There was no room for other people and their cars, no way for a public road to sneak through the little snowglobe he lived in with Dickass Lee. He tried to memorize the route they were taking, to feel the direction from which they’d come and keep it locked in his body, so that no matter where he started from, he’d know which way to turn once he finally got his chance to run.

Somehow, they made it back to the house. Even Dickass Lee had stumbled over fallen branches in the dark a few times, but he laughed it off with such ease that Jian couldn’t find any sadistic humor in it, instead feeling more tense the better Dickass Lee’s mood got.

They showered together. Dickass Lee urged Jian up to the bathroom with a playfulness that made Jian’s stomach flip. Without invitation, he helped Jian undress, taking every opportunity to run gently violating hands over every soft spot he came across in the process. Jian shivered, remembering the chill outside, and didn’t fight him. Eventually he stopped trying to use his own hands at all, letting Dickass Lee unravel him to the skin. He felt his expression slipping away to vacancy, and wished his brain could do the same.

He tried to disappear into the warmth of the shower, to focus on the earthy rosemary scent of the soap that Dickass Lee was lathering onto him. His movements slowed at Jian’s shoulders, rubbing small circles into the tightness he felt there.

“Jian, why are you so nervous?” Dickass Lee asked. His voice was sweet, caring. He brushed a soapy thumb across Jian’s jawline, his hand resting steadily on the side of his neck. It could’ve been adoringly. “Hey, I promise not to keep us out after dark again. Relax. We’re home now.”

Jian swallowed and nodded, shutting his eyes and taking an intentional breath to try and let go of the tension riddling his body, imagining it flowing down the drain. He imagined it clogging the pipes, a plumber being called in, driving a painted company van along that road through the woods.

A wet hand broke through the dark, Dickass Lee lifting Jian’s face to kiss him. All of that tension bubbled right back up, gray and stinking from the sewer, boiling hot at their feet, and Jian reflexively broke the kiss with a grimace and a violent turn of his head. He stood still for a moment, blinking away flashes of bright light and panting as the sick fumes died down.

“M’sorry,” he murmured quickly, before Dickass Lee could say anything about it.

“Hey, come on. You know I don’t want to threaten you. It’s alright.”

Jian recognized the threat for what it was. He bit back another flinch, sudden echoes of pain sparking across his thighs like a match striking over his skin, and leaned back into Dickass Lee’s touch, returning the kiss when it was offered again. He supposed he should be feeling grateful for the second chance.

Just one more night. He could do just one more night of this. He ran appeasing hands over Dickass Lee’s dripping chest and up around the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. One more surrender, and tomorrow Jian would disappear from this mountainside universe, crash through the glass of the snowglobe and spill out into another world, soaking wet and wild-eyed.

Dickass Lee pulled back suddenly, smoothing a fingertip over his bottom lip, a sideways smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That so, sweetheart?” he said in a darkly playful tone, teasing and a little bit impressed.

It took Jian a moment to realize what had happened. A moment later and he’d tugged Dickass Lee’s head down to bite him again, even harder, forging a path from the man’s lips to his jaw and down to his neck, dragging teeth over skin between each aggressive kiss.

It wasn’t long before they found themselves in the master bedroom, hair still dripping as Jian shoved Dickass Lee onto the bed, wasting no time in climbing on top of him to straddle his hips. The man’s proud fucking smile hadn’t faltered once, and Jian smothered it with another heated kiss, pinning Dickass Lee firmly to the mattress and pretending he could rip the man to shreds with the grip he had on his hair.

One more night. Why did it have to be a surrender? It wasn’t. Jian was taking his spoils of war, in a victory he just hadn’t technically earned quite yet.

Dickass Lee trawled strong hands up Jian’s thighs, his fingertips digging into the skin and snagging on short hairs as he went. Jian shuddered, and he was already grinding his hips against the warm body beneath his when those hands settled around his waist, their grip tightening along with a hitch in Dickass Lee’s breathing.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Dickass Lee crooned breathlessly, adoring eyes flashing up at Jian, who straightened up to find more leverage and pressure. He raked dull fingernails over Dickass Lee’s torso, imagining rivers of the man’s blood in place of the little pink welts that surfaced instead. Jian’s hands faltered and froze as Dickass Lee’s began to wander downward, featherlight touches forcing out a desperate twitch and an equally as damning gasp and whimper.

Dickass Lee laughed at him softly, wistful affection clouding his face, one hand holding tight to Jian’s hip, keeping him from wriggling away while the other hand continued with gentle strokes. A sting of resentment sprang up in Jian’s core alongside the glow of pleasure, and he dug into Dickass Lee’s chest with his nails.

This wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to tear into Dickass Lee, to hurt him, to make him go along with whatever Jian bid, for once. And whether that meant beating him to a pulp or riding him until he was raw, Jian wanted to be the one calling the shots.

But Jian couldn’t help but react to the touch with exactly what the man was looking for, all but rutting into Dickass Lee’s hand, only held back by the firm grip on his right hip and his own fraught attempts to convince himself he didn’t also want this so badly.

“Someone’s in a mood tonight,” Dickass Lee said, his voice dropping to a rumble. The man’s unquestioned confidence radiated out from him like barbs that jabbed into Jian’s chest, making him sick with irritation and futile fury, despite the pleasure that he couldn’t deny or escape. “I wonder where that’s coming from. Was there something you wan--”

Shut up. Shut the fuck up.

Dickass Lee leaned down over him, taking his time, drawing out the agony in the slow roll of his hips over Jian’s ass, relishing in making him squirm even as Jian weathered through the shame of his impulsive attempt at retaliation. He nipped at Jian’s ear, breathing a fond chuckle when it made Jian’s hips twitch beneath him. Jian shut his eyes tight, breathing in little nervous shots through his nose and trying to hold back his moans.

Before he could think about it, Jian aimed a punch to Dickass Lee’s throat, his arm flying as if fueled by fire. He didn’t even get to make contact. With startling agility, Dickass Lee dropped off mid-sentence to intercept Jian’s fist, then snatched both of Jian’s arms and flipped him to his stomach with such unnerving efficiency that Jian barely had time to blink before he found himself suffocating facedown in the sheets, fighting off a wild rush of arousal as his arms were pinned behind him.

“That was cute,” Dickass Lee said, letting his lips brush against the sensitive shell of Jian’s ear. “But I’m sorry, sweetheart, it’s not going to happen. You understand, don’t you, baby?”

Jian shifted, trying to shrug his arms free, and got nowhere. He huffed out his frustration, mostly aimed at himself. Of course Dickass Lee had only been letting Jian toss him around. Of course Jian knew that. He cursed himself for getting caught up in the fantasy.

“I’m going to forgive you for that, Jian,” Dickass Lee said as he kissed a line down the back of Jian’s neck and between his shoulders, until he got to where he held Jian’s arms in that unforgiving grip. “Mainly because I’d rather just get back to where we left off. Are you going to behave yourself?”

One more night. One more surrender.

Breathlessly, through gritted teeth, “Yes.”

Dickass Lee hummed against Jian’s skin, pleased, finally letting go of Jian’s aching arms to press him more gently into the bed, one broad, steady hand on the nape of his neck and another caressing along the sides of his ribs. Of their own accord, Jian’s hips made eager little rocking motions into the mattress, and he had no way of stopping or concealing it, especially when Dickass Lee was doing about the same to him, teasing over his lower back.

“You’ll have to be good for me, Jian. No fighting this time. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Jian arched his back, pushing his hips up and back, a mewling noise spilling out of him, only halfway unbidden. Fuck it. This was still his victory.

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

“Yes, Richard,” Jian said, his voice muffled into the sheets. He turned his face to the side, catching fresher air and glancing over his shoulder at Dickass Lee. “Fucking hell, please.”

Dickass Lee finally entered him, maddeningly gently at first, but it went on until Jian was begging at every desperate bid for a climax that Dickass Lee held just out of his reach. At some point a dull prong of actual pain started to build in his core like a lead weight in his stomach, growing with each new denial. By the time Dickass Lee finally allowed him to come, Jian had been sobbing for several rounds already.

His orgasm was blindingly bright, his vision going white as he wailed through it, and the last thing he remembered before passing out was a tender kiss on the cheek and Dickass Lee’s voice, soft between panting breaths.

“I knew you would, Jian. I knew you’d want me to.”

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jupiter-lemaris · 10 months

Text

Touch Starving

I never post here, but I have been lurking at the whump community for a while and decided invite myself to this party. English isn’t my first language, so I suppose the narrative may sound a bit inorganic. Despite, I hope you enjoy the text and I’m all ears to suggestions or corrections, if you have any.

Work lenght: 1,489 (a bit long for my first attempt, but I don’t know how to start by the easier things, sorry)

The scenery is mainly a spaceship’s cell.

TW: Imprisonment, non-consensual drug use, torture for information, syringes, touch starvation and manhandling. Also, the whumpee is female and the whumper is male, in case it’s upsetting for someone.

Naymeene couldn’t fully understand the captain of Armígera.

The terrifier bellic spaceship of Logmery was more something out of a legend than a real warning for most of the people in the Superregion, but Naymeene knew two things: the ship was damn real, and it usually didn’t take prisoners or spare survivors. The only reason why she was still alive was because the captain wanted an information from her. It took her all the effort and pride she had only to keep those words from him.

But he wanted to hear something, and if she wasn’t willing to speak, he would make her scream.

Almost every day.

She had no way of tracking the time, being imprisoned in a cell with no windows to the outer world, so she used to think in his “visits” like a daily appointment. If someone have told her that two years passed outside, Naymeene wouldn’t believe. It seemed so much more. But time hadn’t make Logmery easier to understand. At the first day, he broke her leg in front of her crew. Naymeene hated the fear in their desperated screams, forced to watch her being tortured, but she could understand that. There was no inocent soul in the Starpath Army, a captain like her surely know more than a thing or two about coercion and interrogation. In that moment, she was glad for not telling any of her crew what Logmery wanted to know.

Sometimes loyalty isn’t trustworthy. Someone would’ve say it already, trying in vain to keep her safe.

Then Logmery took her away, left her alone. He would come with the syringes and venoms, somehow fascinated by the prospect of testing his substances. He was a chemister with few opportunities to see his creations in work.

But not everything he did was intended to be painful. And that she couldn’t understand.

She had already bargained by her crew’s libertation. Logmery still was a sick sadistic bastard, but, sometimes, all he wanted to do was talking to her. They used to talk a lot in the beginning. They played games. That’s something they had in common, two players with risky bets to each other. One truth for another, he would say when he was willing to answer Naymeene’s questions as a payment for her answering his as well. But those games were in the past since she had won her crew’s liberty. Now he just stayed there, sitting in her cell, kind of bored. Looking at her with his light, always cold eyes, even when his faint smile seemed sincere.

(When had she seen a sincere smile from him?)

She looked at him with an ill-contained distrust, waiting for something.

(There was always something, wasn’t there?)

But nothing never happened. He talked irrelevances. Naymeene wouldn’t say a thing or would just yell spitefull swearings. It was infuriating how he could stay there, just talking, as if they were friends. Was it some weird manipulation technique? Being unable to presume if his visits were just for a calm talk or for a torture session still would be the death of her. The antecipation, the fear…

She still didn’t answer anything besides of occasional life threats.

(A hundred times she swore to bury a knife in his neck.)

But, even against her own will, she was getting used to Logmery’s proximity.

Fear can be tiring, and she lacked the strenght to feed the constant distrust and hate from before. Instead of attentiveness, she could only rest and wait. She wasn’t even listening to his words, but learned to accept this moments as something good, or at least better then the alternatives.

One day he surprised her, injecting an incolor liquid in her veins.

“Done. It’s the only thing for today. I needed to test this sedative.”

Most of his inventions turned her body in her own enemy, making it vulnerable and weak. He wouldn’t let her sleep when she wanted, and when she didn’t, he wouldn’t let her wake up. But hardly ever he would indulge her with something to diminish pain. Her body was light as a feather now, the white cell seemed endless and Logmery’s voice was a distant echo. Naymeene felt his touch and couldn’t force herself to back off.

“Come here”, he said, pulling her closer because even if she wanted, she could not obey. “I won’t hurt you today. I promise, Naymee.”

Naymee. Only one person called her that way, she always wondered why he imitated her. She always worried about what had happened with her. Had Logmery ripped it out from her lips with the same brutality dedicated to Naymeene’s interrogation? The mere thought was enough to send silent tears down her face, too exausted to hold them.

She would never leave that place, would she? Sometimes Naymeene almost forgot the reason why she was there.

Logmery passed her cuffled wrists upon his head, as if it were an embrace, and kept her closer with an arm behind her back. Naymeene couldn’t get away and wasn’t even sure if she wanted. There was a man she hated and despised, but the exaustion was such that she couldn’t think about escaping that cynic, disgusting hug. So she rested against his chest, the weight of the sedative threating shut her eyes.

“A truth for another?” Naymeene suggested, when those strange days became frequent. Her voice low and distant, but with her face almost buried in his shoulder, he was able to listen.

“What do you want to know?”

“Is this a scheme of yours?” It didn’t make sense. She wouldn’t start trusting on him just because in 2 years of imprisonment he spent 10 days at her side.

“Yes”, he said. “I’ll give this answer for free. I don’t have a yes or no question to you for now.”

As always, she was too debilitated to voice her anger. Later she could even feel a little betrayed, then she would repreend herself for this incoherent, stupid feeling.

“It’s not gonna work.”

“Shhh... Too early to know.” His voice was tranquilizing, or that’s how she heard it. It was an unusually dificult day. He caressed her hair. “You look tired, Naymee. You should sleep. It’s safe, I promisse.”

She hated waking up the other day (maybe?) and notice that she really had slept embracing the bastard. His eyes were shut, but he certainly wasn’t sleeping. Naymeene looked to her cuffles temptinly near his neck... Then a hand touched hers and he smiled. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

Naymeene hated him. But somehow learned that his presence was a steady event.

She wasn’t used to waking up in a furnished room, no cuffles and no Logmery nearby. The first moments were startling.

(Were was she?!)

The disorienting place made her heart race.

(Something is wrong. Something is wrong.)

“Naymee?” Irsa’s voice had nothing but pure worry, so why did it crawl over her skin with the intensity of electricity? (Someone called her like that, some sick bastard.) Irsa held her shoulders, trying to draw her attention. “Did you have a nightmare?”

(Was it still a nightmare if the scenes once were real?)

Slowly, Naymeene let go Irsa’s wrist, that she grabbed in a defensive reflex. Her hands were still trembling. Her back hurt, she didn’t lie in the bed because of her refuse to sleep. The weariness had won once again. Despite wanting to apologize for scaring Irsa, the only thing she could do was covering the eyes while her heart tried to normalize its rhythm.

Irsa sit by her side. (Too close... Too close...) The last thing Naymeene wanted. Irsa knew about the tortures. She was there in the first day, when Logmery broke Naymeene’s leg. But she didn’t knew about the moments of calm. For some reason Naymeene couldn’t understand, she felt ashamed. Even if she was drugged at those times, talking about it would be admitting a vulnerability she despised. She didn’t want Irsa (specially Irsa) to know she had been so weak to the point of taking comfort in the proximity of a maniac like Logmery.

Irsa asked naught. She just held Naymeene’s hand, but her voice betrayed the uneaseness when she said:

“You’re not there anymore, Naymee.”

“I think I’ll never get out of there…”

“Do you want to talk?”

“No, please... I’m ok, i’m just... tired…”

Irsa hadn’t left her alone since they were reunited. They didn’t know each other for too long (actually, it was for long. She missed years while imprisoned.), but she was grateful for the loyal company. Naymeene would go insane with each small noise if left alone in a room. (Not yet... Still too soon.)

As always, Irsa made her lie in the bed and stayed by her side. The lights turned off. Naymeene almost could relax. Then Irsa said omething that made her tense once again.

“You can sleep now, Naymee. You’re safe, I promise.”

That night, Naymeene stayed awake.

#whump fic #whump writing #not a prompt #my writing #whump community #Lady whump #touchstarved #caretaker #whumpee #whumper #manipulative whumper #non native english speaker

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