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galaxywhump · 5 months

Note

Prompt: Wren doing something that's blatantly stupid/suicidal (like going out into the jungle to pick fights with the wildlife) when he becomes apathetic about his own life, and Daniel's reaction to that?

[SV-240 masterlist]

Thank you for the prompt, anon! Sorry it's so late, it's been in the making for a while now and I finally got the motivation to finish it.

Warning: this is a rather heavy one; it's also not canon.

contents: slavery whump, forced relationship, creepy/intimate whumper, suicide attempt (nothing graphic), depression, restraints, comforted by whumper.

~~~

Wren leaves the house without Daniel’s knowledge.

He still has the tracker, of course, but when he left, Daniel was napping, so hopefully he won’t wake up for a few more hours. Wren just wants to go for a swim in the picturesque pond he remembers the path to. He’s unarmed, without so much as a kitchen knife, but he’s not scared. He’s not anything.

There is an emptiness inside of him that has had a grip on him for several weeks now. It’s the sort of hopelessness he’s been trying so hard to avoid, but instead of making him Daniel’s loving partner, it’s only making him… do this. Go for a walk in the jungle, looking straight ahead, not scanning his surroundings, barely flinching when he hears rustling and other sounds of the dense forest.

He’s had these thoughts a few times before, but now he’s decided to follow them. Not directly, even though he knows there are several options inside the house; instead, he lets fate decide, since it seems to control his life anyway. So he goes for a swim. If fate decides he should stay underwater, he won’t fight it, nor will he fight if it decides not to let him reach the pond at all.

He’s clothed, and yet feels so exposed, a puny human in a jungle full of animals he knows nothing about, having only met one, which tried to kill him. Maybe there are others like it. Maybe one is already stalking him.

Keep walking, not running, walking with calm emptiness. Get away from Daniel’s house, leave his life on the jungle’s mercy. He frowns when he feels a small pang of regret. He should turn back. He should live. But it’s too late now, isn’t it? He’s far enough that the way back would be anything but safe, and he doesn’t want Daniel to question him once he returns. He takes a deep breath, clenches his fists, and keeps walking.

There are noises all around him.

There’s a noise somewhere behind him.

Soft steps, a low growl. He’s being stalked.

He closes his eyes.

And then there’s a familiar man-made sound, cracking bolts of plasma piercing the air; one followed by the sound of the animal fleeing, one hitting a tree just a few centimeters left of Wren, making him jolt in place.

“Hi there,” he hears Daniel’s voice, almost playful. He swallows and slowly turns around to face his captor, who’s standing still with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed.

“You missed,” Wren says, lifting his chin, though there is nothing more to his defiance, no spark in his eyes.

“If I wanted to shoot you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” There is no affection in Daniel’s voice, and Wren prefers it this way. “Have you forgotten about your tracker?”

“No.”

Daniel raises his eyebrows.

“What was even your plan?”

“I went for a walk,” Wren explains, looking him straight in the eye; his expression remains empty.

“Good one,” Daniel scoffs. “You know you’d be dead before the day’s over, don’t you?”

“I do.”

The silence that follows is unbearably heavy. Daniel gets it, and for a split second he looks genuinely surprised before going back to his usual unbothered expression.

“Come here. Let’s go home.”

Wren doesn’t break eye contact.

“And if I run?” he asks. “Will you miss again?”

“I’ll shoot, but I won’t kill you. I’ll target your leg, maybe both, and I’ll drag you back. Now come here.”

He does, his head lowered, brow furrowed, mind blank. The jungle around them is bustling with life, never completely quiet, yet the silence between them feels suffocating enough that it could spread over the entire forest, forcing it into stupor. Neither of them says a single word on the way home.

Home. Wren sighs. Home. Daniel’s house is his home now, there’s no denying that. He’s too tired to deny anything anyway, not to mention worry about what Daniel’s going to do to him after his stunt.

They’re still silent when they reach the house and the door closes behind them. Wren follows Daniel to the living room, sits down on the couch, and watches him retrieve two pairs of leather cuffs.

“You’ll have to be restrained more after this, you know that?”

“Yeah.” Wren puts his arms in front, wrists close together, and does the same with his ankles. The cuffs close, a familiar sensation, and he stares down at them, barely feeling anything.

“It’s for your own safety.” Daniel doesn’t crouch down, doesn’t sit next to Wren, still standing in front of him, towering over him.

“Yeah,” Wren repeats, his voice monotone; he only wants this pointless conversation to end, and Daniel can sense it, which doesn’t mean he cares.

“Look at me.”

When he does, Daniel frowns seeing the weary emptiness in his eyes.

“Why did you do it?” he asks, and his accusatory tone makes Wren flinch, like he’s being scolded. It’s the last thing he wants to experience today.

“Take a guess,” he mutters, lowering his gaze, as if even looking up requires too much energy.

Daniel sighs and his frown deepens. He knows the truth, as much as he doesn’t want to accept it.

“I won’t let you do that, Wren.”

“I know. Cause I have nowhere to run, right?” For the first time today, there is something in Wren’s voice, the tiniest of sparks. “I can’t fucking escape you and this-this fucking nightmare, I’m stuck here and you won’t even- you won’t even let me-” He gets choked up, and to his frustration he tears up. “Fuck, just fucking hold me already and spew your bullshit, I know you’re going to do it anyway.”

Without a word, Daniel sits down next to Wren, who leans against him and exhales slowly when Daniel embraces him.

“I’m not going to spew any bullshit. I just…” Daniel trails off for a moment and gives Wren a light squeeze. “I wasn’t expecting this, and it hurts.”

“Oh, it hurts you?” Wren laughs in disbelief. “Poor you, the guy you’re keeping captive and torturing is a depressed loser. Cry me a river.”

“It hurts me because I love you, Wren.”

“You said you weren’t going to spew bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit to me, and I hope that soon it won’t be bullshit to you, either.” Daniel sighs, a heavy sigh that makes Wren even angrier, which he knows is, at the very least, better than complete emptiness. Daniel doesn’t have the right to feel and react this way, not when he’s the cause of all of this. “And remember that you were depressed even before I bought you.” He feels Wren tense up at that. “You can’t pretend otherwise, it was right in your file. Depressed, isolated, drinking problem. You were lonely, and that made it possible for Berkeley to make you disappear without raising any eyebrows. Now you’re here, I’m here with you, I know about your problems, and I want to help. On my terms and at my pace, but I do.”

“You’re not helping,” Wren croaks, trying and failing to blink away tears, Daniel’s blunt words feeling like a dagger piercing his heart, over and over again. “I wasn’t- It was better than this, I wanted to get better, I just…”

He just couldn’t, and it was only getting worse, until he started spending entire hours - he was too busy to afford days - curled up in his bed, staring at the wall, questioning the point of it all, and he was alone, completely alone, and-

“On Earth, I wouldn’t have been there to stop you.”

Daniel’s words are like a punch to the face, strong enough that Wren would sway on his feet if he wasn’t sitting down. It’s true, he realizes in horror, and a painful sob reverberates through his body; he slumps in Daniel’s embrace, overwhelmed by the most terrifying what if he’s ever had to consider.

“Shh, sweetheart.” Daniel gently runs his hand up and down Wren’s arm and pulls him closer as he sobs, unable to stop, because Daniel is right, and he was so stupid, and in a twisted way he almost let Daniel win.

What could have been back on Earth doesn't matter anymore. Here, if he dies, Daniel wins. It’s a way to escape, but it comes at too great a cost, and now that he can think more or less clearly again, he can’t believe he even attempted that. So stupid, so stupid, and if it wasn’t for Daniel, the very same person he's fighting against, he wouldn’t be here right now.

He won’t thank Daniel, he can’t, but he leans into his touch ever so slightly, and he’s still crying, so overwhelmed by what he almost did and so relieved that he’s still here, still fighting.

“Cry it out, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

For the first time, though he would never admit it out loud, he’s grateful for that.

~~~

taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between @whatwasmyprevioususername @procrastinatingsab @funky-little-glitter-bomb @goneuntil @redstainedsocks @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @renkocchi @whump-only @muddy-swamp-bitch @girlwithacoolcat @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sophierose002 @whump-headspace @to-whump-or-not-to-whump @kixngiggles @ohwhumpydays @whumpsical @wibbly-wobbly-whump @stab-the-son-of-a @his-unspoken-words @pumpkin-spice-whump @onlyhappywhenitpains @suspicious-whumping-egg @morning-star-whump @burtlederp @there-will-always-be-blood @springwhump

#slavery whump #forced relationship whump #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #suicide tw #suicide cw #creepy comfort #depression whump #restrained #sv-240 #wren rackham #daniel rooney #my writing #so much time passes between updates i forget all my tags #anyway thank you for the prompt anon i really loved it!#writing this was really cathartic and i hope you enjoy

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whump-in-the-closet · 11 months

Text

(cws in the tags)

Kinda fascinated by the idea of Whumper purposefully ruining their Whumpee.

Scarring them in places that can’t be hidden. Leaving whitened lines jagged and uneven on their face and throat.

Refusing to give Whumpee stitches, or if they do, Whumper makes the stitches uneven and jagged so they scar in the worst of ways.

Finding out what Whumpee likes best about themselves and destroying it.

They’re proud of their nose? Whumper breaks it and leaves it to heal crooked. Proud of their hands? Whumpee finds they’re missing several of their fingers.

Whumpee used to considered book smart. Whumper gives them so many concussions that reading hurts. Or better yet, they make them forget how to read entirely.

An elf Whumpee having their ears cut into a rounded shape to look more “human”

An elf Whumpee who’s always had long hair has it roughly cut off and kept short.

“I never wanted an ornament. I wanted something to ruin.”

#cw creepy whumper #cw broken bones #cw noncon body modification #cw finger amputation #elf whumpee #whump prompts #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #whump ideas #whump scenario #feel free to add on other ideas

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redd956 · 1 month

Text

Mini Whump Prompt 153

"What am I?" The hollow clone of whumpee inquired to whumper, analyzing themselves through the mirror.

"You are my love of course. You've simply lost your memory."

"I'm sorry that I don't remember you then.", They allowed themselves in whumper's embrace, resting their head against whumper's chest, and listening to the quickened heartbeat. Even the hum of whumper's laughter was warm and full of vibrations, buzzing against the clone's face.

The clone explained, "I want to love you.", while whumpee could do nothing but watch through the screen, still trapped in their restraints.

#whumper #whump prompt #whump prompts #mini whump prompts #mini whump prompt #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #clone whump #clone whumpee #cw restraints #whump #whump ideas

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whatiswhump · 9 months

Text

Part 2: They Thought He was the Villain

CONTINUATION :)

Note- Sorry the partner isn't in this one but there is a good amount of mentioned torture, non con manhandling, nonsexual nudity etc... BUT she will return!

Part 1

---

When they took the hood off of him he was in a concrete room. He kept his eyes on his knees on the floor, not daring to bring them any higher. At least the tears had stopped, dried salt on his cheeks now.

“Villain, you stayed hidden for quite some time. I have to say I’m impressed. I didn’t know you were capable of that.”

The boots in front of him were familiar. He knew these boots. He would never forget them. It was foolish of him to think that he could leave them in the past.

A hand reached down and took his chin to lift it. He closed his eyes, clenching them shut.

“Look at me Villain, open your eyes.”

The fingers gripped tighter, verging on painful… a warning.

“Open them.”

So he did. In front of him, better illuminated, was the personification of his nightmares, the Captain.

“You know…. I couldn’t have shocked you back there. But it was good to know you still respond to the threat. Perhaps our training was more effective than I thought.”

He couldn’t have… But the words- the feeling, so visceral. It hadn’t crossed his mind to not obey, nothing had in fact. Just pure fear. And now shame. Coiling deep in him, so pathetic.

And now the collar was back too, the Captain linked a finger through it, Villain winced at the touch, all to aware of how easy it was to set off.

“You’re quieter now. I like that. I wonder if that pretty girl liked that. Does she know what you did? Or more to the point, what I did to you?”

He shook his head minutely, pathetic tears threatening again.

“Should have known that would you ruin more lives while you were out, more than your own… Good thing we’ve got you back home, huh?”

He blinked back the tears, trying not to make a sound but not lifting his hands to wipe them away. Not that he could.

“I asked you a question, what do you say?”

“Yes, sir-“ Villain whispered back with a quivering voice.

The grip tightened again. He choked on his congestion trying to speak, “I- am happy to be home -sir.” Tears wouldn’t stop falling.

He sighed and paced the room a few steps away from him, “…But you’re going to have to be punished for what you did- all the time and resources wasted on bringing you back. You know that right? How wasteful you’ve been?”

He closed his eyes again, tears spilling out silently as he nodded.

“Mhm." Then he paused for a few beats, perhaps savoring the moment, "If you don’t fight it, it may be easier, it’s up to you.”

It wouldn’t be easier, he knew that.

“Bring him over to intake. We will begin in the morning once he’s processed.”

Rough hands grabbed him, pulling him up off his knees and dragging him forward. He trained his eyes back downwards, too familiar with what would come next.

___

First they removed the chains. Then his clothes- just a pair of boxers and thin pajama pants anyway. Then he was chained to the shower room wall for the power washing.

…

He wish he didn’t scream.

—-

After:

The institutional lice powder,

Shaving his head- the long inches of freedom sheared away to the floor,

Dental and cavity checks,

... Then the first dose.

—-

“Villian, you know how this goes. Take it.”

The guard was impatient, irritated when Villain didn’t open his mouth for the tablets to be poured in.

But Villain couldn’t open his mouth. It wasn’t a choice so much as a sheer inability to. He wasn’t crying anymore, he was too dehydrated for that. But he wouldn’t, he couldn’t… willingly take it again.

“They said he was already trained.”

A radio screech filled the room, “Medication reinforcement for Prisoner 3620.”

There was no retreating, he was already surrounded.

The steel door buzzed and clicked.

—-

Everything else went quickly after that. He fought, or at least he tried.

They beat him until he was wheezing on the floor and then pried open his mouth, poured the pills in, and closed it for him, holding his nose closed and massaging his throat to force him to swallow.

He wasn’t given clothing yet, that was to be earned.

—-

Then he was alone.

Not that it mattered. He was too disoriented to even know that. But he knew there was a grief.

He was home again.

—-

“Villain, I am surprised you refused your medication yesterday, I thought you liked it, a pathetic thing like you, the sedation must be a relief.”

His left cheek was still on the concrete floor, eyes vaguely unfocused staring ahead at the boots again.

“But then again, I knew a little obedience training would be in order, I work miracles but you did weasel out after all...

Don’t worry though, you’ll never want to do that again.”

He blinked.

A boot caught him in the stomach.

“Are you listening, Prisoner 3620? I am going to make you good again, better than before and I am going to enjoy it… You might not though.” There was a familiar smile. A familiar pleased voice.

“Get him up.”

Two guards shifted him to sitting against the wall of his cell. Again, the hand under his chin, so he made eye contact. Like he was trained.

The man kept speaking but the words warped and muddled in the air, the medication was taking him under again.

Then the beating began. Again.

Then he was wet, soaking and cold. The beating continued. There was blood in the water.

The voices continued. He tried to drag himself away at one point. Then the shocks started. He stopped trying to get away. He thought he remembered how this went. Someone laughed. Then black.

…

Then there were the boots again, he didn’t know how he got there, he couldn’t quite focus.

Shock- He understood this. They wanted him to pay attention.

He was being dragged somewhere. He wouldn’t get into the chair, more shocks. Why did he have to be bad. He didn’t like being bad.

He woke up in a chair, strapped in. How had he gotten there?

There were men in white coats. Another injection.

Another?

“My shifts ending in 20, up for a drink after?”

“Sure, Marie’s at her sisters tonight with the kids.”

“Poor bastard, we’re going to have to hose off the chair after.”

A laugh.

“Get Simmons to do it.”

He was on the ground. Boots.

He was wet. Soaked through.

Blood or water?

“Villian, one last time, will you do as the captain says or would you like more shocks?”

What did the captain say?

He was drowning, he couldn’t breath.

He was on the ground.

Why didn’t he have any clothes on?

Where was F-?

“If he won’t eat, force feed, he doesn’t get out that easy.”

Ground. Something sharp.

Boots.

Electricity.

Water.

Boots.

Crying.

And crying.

“Pathetic piece of shit. How’d he ever manage to get out in the first place?”

“Beats me, but when it happened, the Captain went ballistic, something in him snapped. Obsessed with the bastard… accidentally killed a different prisoner right after.”

“You think he’ll kill this one?”

“No, but the poor bastard would be lucky if he did.”

Shock. Puddle of water.

Someone was stroking his head. Someone was combing his wet blood soaked hair with their fingers.

“That’s it... attaboy, you’re learning again.”

He groaned a small pitiful noise.

“You can be good, you’re showing me that right now. Mhm… Good boy.”

His head wasn’t on the concrete and there were no boots.

His head was on khaki. A leg.

“Ah-ah. Don’t move.”

A hand gripped his hair. It hurt. A warning.

He thought it had been buzzed? When was that?

He stopped. And his breathing stopped too. But the bone deep pain in every inch of his body persisted.

“I bet you wish you were dead right now.” The voice mused playfully.

Did he? It made sense, maybe he did.

The hand went back to stroking, “Too bad you’re mine. And you’re going to stay here forever... Never allowed to die. Never allowed to leave.”

He thinks he remembers this. Something like this before.

He’s home. Isn’t he?

---

TAG LIST:

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#They Thought he was the Villain #part 2 #villain #torture #beatings #abuse #imprisoned #captured #sedation #forced sedation #creepy whumper #whump #possessive whumper #the captain #nonsexual nudity #cw nudity

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livingforthewhump · 2 years

Note

For the ask game, could you maybe combine 3 and 5?

from this ask game

3–bridal carry // 5–protectiveness

—

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Whumper’s taunting voice echoed throughout the room. “I’ve got someone here who’s just dying to see you.”

Caretaker bit back the urge to cuss them out. Whumpee. They had Whumpee with them. So close, right there, and yet Caretaker was crouched in the shadows like a coward. They trembled with sheer rage.

Then they heard the click of the safety being released on a gun. Suddenly they couldn’t breathe. Whumpee’s small noise of terror was as loud as gunshots.

“It goes without saying, I should think, that denial of my requests does lead to consequences.”

A startled, pained yelp was wrenched from Whumpee’s throat. Caretaker’s hands tightened into fists. Not yet. They had to wait for the signal, they had to—

“Who was it you kept saying would come for you, little thing? What was that name?” Whumper’s smile oozed into their mocking words.

They sounded on the verge of tears. “C-caretaker.”

“That’s right! Caretaker. Imagine, Whumpee, you spend so long saying they’ll come for you, go through so much just for the hope of seeing them again, and them finally coming—only to let you get shot right in front of them, while they cower in the shadows.”

Some kind of mangled sob split through the air. Caretaker felt numb with fury.

They spoke again, softer now. “And if you’d just admitted they didn’t really care for you we wouldn’t be in this whole mess, would we, now?”

Caretaker hurtled out of their hiding spot before they had a moment to think, shoulders heaving. “Get away from them,” they spat.

Whumper’s smile was poison. “Ah, our brave hero emerges at last.”

Whumpee kneeled in front of them, hands tied, clothes hanging loosely off of their battered form. Tears soaked their cheeks, and Whumper’s free hand was wound tightly into their hair, tugging their head painfully upright.

“Well, Whumpee? Say hello.”

Whumpee’s eyes slowly flickered up off of the floor, taking Caretaker in through a glassy haze. “Careta—” Whumper tugged their hair harshly and they whimpered. “Hhh, hello.”

“Get your hands off of them, Whumper.” Caretaker’s fingers brushed the handle of their weapon, which didn’t go without Whumper’s notice.

“Ah ah ah, let’s have none of that.” Their tone was infuriatingly playful as they shoved the barrel of their gun against Whumpee’s head. “I’m sure we don’t want things to get nasty. In fact, why don’t you put that lovely little toy on the ground in front of you, and I won’t accidentally do something…drastic.”

Whumper caressed Whumpee’s cheek with the gun, drawing out a hard flinch and chuckling at the gasp of pain it caused.

Caretaker’s jaw flexed, but nonetheless they eased their weapon out of its socket and placed it in front of them, stepping away. “There. Now put the gun away.”

Whumper laughed. “Nah, I don’t think I will. It’s just too fun, seeing the both of you all jumpy like this.” They returned the barrel to rest at Whumpee’s temple. “So. Do you have what I asked for?”

Caretaker swallowed. “Whumpee first.”

“How dumb do you think I am?” Whumper quirked an eyebrow. “No. I’ll take the vial first.”

“How can you expect me to trust you not to kill them after I give it to you?”

Just a little more time.

Please.

There was that damned laugh again. “You’ll just have to trust me that I’m a lot more likely to shoot you than my little Whumpee here once I have what I want. Frankly I’ve grown quite attached to them.”

Caretaker’s skin crawled. They weren’t certain if that was better or far worse than what they’d expected.

Whumper’s finger tightened slightly over the trigger of the gun—they knew how closely Caretaker was watching. Knew that that would be enough of a warning.

“Wai—”

A bang! split the room.

Caretaker lunged forward, practically throwing themselves at Whumpee. Whumper crumpled to the floor before they were even close, dark red pooling around them. Whumpee still knelt there, looking numb, almost empty, as blood seeped around their knees. Caretaker had to hold back a cry of relief when they reached them, finally. They had them safe again.

Caretaker wrapped their arms around Whumpee, sweeping them up in a hug. Whumpee took a shuddering breath that had the sound to it of coming awake out of a dream. Or a nightmare. Trembling hands found Caretaker’s torso, grasped loosely at their shirt.

“You came,” Whumpee breathed. They sounded reverent, like they couldn’t have been sure it would ever happen.

“I came. I will always come to find you, Whumpee.” Caretaker lingered on the name. On the sheer elation of being able to say it while holding them, trembling and traumatized and sitting in a pool of blood but okay now.

And Whumpee suddenly wailed. They abandoned themself completely into Caretaker’s arms, curling against them and sobbing. It was all Caretaker could do not to copy them.

Footsteps clattered down an echoey hallway.

“What the hell was that?” Sniper snapped. Whumpee jerked in a harsh flinch against Caretaker. “I barely finished clearing the location and you had already thrown our plan to the dogs!”

Caretaker stood, leaning Whumpee against them and scooping them up into a bridal carry. They weren’t sure how far they would be able to walk, but they knew for sure they didn’t want to push Whumpee until they found out. Whumpee just readjusted their grip on Caretaker’s shirt, eyes drooping. Some kind of adrenaline crash.

“I didn’t have a choice,” they said firmly. Leader and Fighter had walked up beside Sniper.

“The plan was there so you wouldn’t have to make any choices.” Leader had a makeshift bandage wrapped around one arm. They looked more than a little miffed.

Caretaker grit their teeth, pulling Whumpee in closer to their chest. “It all turned out the way we wanted, didn’t it?”

“That’s not really the point. In order to be part of a team—”

“No,” Caretaker interrupted, furiously. “It was either sacrifice the plan or sacrifice Whumpee. They could have died, and none of you have even asked if they’re okay!” They paused for a moment, but no one filled the silence. Another tear slipped down Whumpee’s cheek.

Caretaker started for the door, but no one moved to follow. They turned around slowly. “What are you all doing? We have to make sure they’re not injured.”

Leader’s jaw flexed. “There’s still work that needs to be done here.”

“Whumper is dead!”

“And there are things we must attend to because of that. You can wait with Whumpee in the transport if it will make you feel better.”

Caretaker looked down at Whumpee again. They hadn’t noticed before how pale their skin was, how their cheeks were more gaunt than they’d seen them before. Even if they weren’t injured, they deserved to be put before everything else.

“No.” Caretaker spat the word, decisive enough to stop the team in its tracks. “I’m not waiting for you. I’m leaving, and I’m taking them back to my house. And if any of you decide to come visit them, it’s on you to explain to them why being ‘part of a team’ means you put dead trash bags above your own hurt members.”

Sniper looked furious. “Caretaker—”

“Don’t. talk to me.” They spun on their heel and left without looking back.

—

General whump taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @twistedcaretaker @lonesome--hunter @poppys-writing @endless-whump @multifandoms-multishipper @shadowylemon @utopian819 @whumpkitty @journey-the-panda @freefallingup13 @prettyboysinpain @1becky1 @temporary-whump-sideblog @chartreusephoenix @thelazywitchphotographer @mylifeisonthebookshelf @badluck990 @lockedupuniverse @luna-rein @broadwaybabe18 @pinescales-whumps @silverwhisperer1 @embersalive @the-bloody-sadist @batfacedliar-yetagain @nicolepascaline @whump-angst-fluff-repeat @susanshinning @didieatyourdog @corvid-voidbur @insane-writing-things @thebaffledtiewriter @morning-star-whump

#i feel like this is kinda short #but oh well #content is content #cw death #cw gun violence #protectiveness #whump #whump drabble #emotional whump #gun violence #team whump #umm #rescue #rescue whump #protective caretaker #scared whumpee #creepy whumper #intimate whumper

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ghost-whump · 4 months

Note

Oh, requests are opened? 👀

What about... a Whumpee who ran away from Caretaker/their team (whichever works for you!) after an argument with them, only to be kidnapped, and just as they're whisked away, they heard Caretaker/the team calling for them...

Also, nice to meet you, and welcome to the community! ❤️

-- @whumperofworlds

hello!!! thank you so much for the request, this is technically my first writing request outside of ask games, so i am SO excited!!!!! i hope you enjoy <3

“Are You Okay?”

CW: kidnapping, non-con drugging, self-blaming victim, references to depression and/or other mental illnesses, creepy whumper, implied future whump. Let me know if I’m missing anything!

The door slammed shut with a loud bang.

Whumpee took off running, furiously wiping their eyes with a sleeve. They ran down the flight of stairs and out the door of Caretaker’s apartment building. They needed a break.

The dark sidewalks, illuminated by dim and flickering streetlights, are uncharacteristically empty. Only a few pedestrians and cars pass them as their sprit slows to a jog, then a walk, and they finally stop.

Stupid Whumpee, they thought, always fucking up. Caretaker asked them to do one thing, and they already failed. And then ran away about it.

“Please,” Caretaker had asked, “Empty the dishwasher before I come home.”

Whumpee wanted to! They thought about it all day before Caretaker came home. Every time they entered the kitchen, that request rang through their head. Every minute, a chorus of reminders and “I show do the dishes now”s plagued their mind, but…

They just never got around to it.

And the way Caretaker had reacted? Whumpee shivered. Caretaker never hurt them, not once, but that look of weary disappointment followed by the smallest of tired sighs as their bag was slowly slung to the floor…

Whumpee would have preferred a beating.

No amount of apologies or promises to do better did much to quell Caretaker’s mood. They remained quiet and distant the whole night. Picking at their TV dinner (because there were no clean dishes to cook with) just exuding an aura of depression. And Whumpee couldn’t fix it.

“I ask you to do one thing,” Caretaker finally snapped, “All I wanted was the dishes! I thought it would help you get out of this—this funk you’re stuck in! Just a quick, simple task during the day. Clearly it didn’t work, and… I- I don’t know how to help you anymore, Whumpee.”

They sobbed again at the memory. Maybe Caretaker would actually want them if they stopped be lazy. If they were just good, none of this would have happened.

After a minute or two, allowing themself time breathe, Whumpee shakily began to collect their bearings. Street signs indicated they had run almost three blocks from Caretaker’s home. Now Whumpee has never been in the best of shape, and the exhaustion was starting to hit.

They leaned against a streetlight, hand bracing their bent posture. Just a minute to catch their breath, then Whumpee will be on their way home. All they needed was-

“Are you okay?”

Whumpee’s head snapped up, “Huh?”

A dark figure stood over them, face obscured by the shadow cast from the awkward light. “I said, are you okay? You seem a bit out of breath.”

“Oh, yeah,” Whumpee chuckled, giving this stranger a little smile, “I’m fine. I just—just need to head home.”

The stranger leaned in closer, “I’ll walk you. It’s dangerous this late at night.”

Whumpee righted themselves and back up a bit. They could sense creep-behaviour from a mile away. “N-No thanks. I live very close, I’m fine by myself.”

“Please,” The stranger suddenly leapt forward and grabbed Whumpee’s wrist, pulling them close, “I insist.”

“Hey! Let me—mmf!” A gloved hand wrapped around their head and covered their mouth. The glove smelled of antiseptic, or some kind of bleach. Whumpee thrashed. They fought and tried to shout but it all came out muffled by the hand.

“Shh,” The stranger lifted them off the ground with ease, carrying them swiftly out of the light and into an alley. “Calm down, dear. Take some deep breaths. You’ll be fine…” They soothed, pressing their chemical-laced glove further towards Whumpee’s nose.

The more Whumpee tried to fight and scream and cry, the harder it became. Their limbs felt weak and eyelids, heavy. They couldn’t even bear to keep their eyes open anymore, too tired to even see where they were being dragged.

“There’s a nice pet, all sleepy for me.” A careful hand brushed through their hair. Like how Caretaker would when they snuggled in bed to put them to sleep. “Yes, that’s good. Don’t struggle. Go to sleep, dear.”

So, as much as Whumpee might not have wanted to, their consciousness started to slip. Blipping between awake and asleep for what could have been hours, minutes, or even seconds.

The last thing they heard while going under, a frightening shiver rocketing down their spine, was a familiar voice shouting from far away; “Hey, have you seen someone running past here? They’re name is Whumpee.”

thanks so much for this request! it was so fun to write, so i hope you enjoy it just as much <3 @whumperofworlds

General Tag: @morning-star-whump

#my stuff #whump community #whump scenario #whump tropes #whump #whumpblr #whump prompt #creepy whumper #caretaker #whumper #defiant whumpee #kidnapping cw #kidnapping #drugging #noncon drugging

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astrowhump · 1 year

Text

Junior #4

flash back- a gloomy morning

TW: mentions of abuse, broken bones, blood, implied murder, stockholm syndrome, angst

[previous chapter]

“…are you okay?”

One harsh glance is enough to make Junior stammer.

“s-s-s-sorry m-m-as-ster-r…” his head droops down to avoid the angry gaze.

Alexander is in a gloomy mood today; he spent a good few minutes just staring out the kitchen window with an empty expression. Junior wrestled with himself for a while before he decided to speak up. It’s very unusual for Master to be grumpy so early in the day; he knows Alex is an early bird, religiously bound to his hour-long morning rituals. No, something special must be going on today.

Alexander is in no mood to be disturbed by the pesky pet; he considers gagging and locking him in the basement. But then he’d be bored out of his mind all day, he isn’t in the mood for that either. He weighs up his options. Finally, with an intentionally long sigh, he decides to open up. Afterall, why shouldn’t he? This boy will be dead and dumped in a landfill eventually.

“It’s my father’s death anniverssary today.”

Junior didn’t expect a soft tone out of that miffed face.

“Oh! I’m s-sorry m-master.” He gathers all his courage to put a reassuring hand on his master’s elbow. His right hand never lost the tremor even after his broken wrist healed.

Alex bursts into an unlooked-for fit of laughter, loud and terrifying. Junior immediately withdraws his hand, but his master doesn’t even notice, howling with laughter until he’s out of breath.

“Sorry? Oh no, little pet. Today is a jolly jolly day. It’s the anniverssary of the day I got rid of that good-for-nothing piece of garbage.”

He turns to face his boy and Junior’s eyes go wide. His master’s face has turned a bright shade of pink with how hard he’s smiling, like a child excited for a trip to Disneyland. It’s never good when Alex is excited.

“I think we should celebrate.”

Junior has a good guess what ‘celebrating’ translates into in his dictionary. He takes a step backwards, not really hoping to get away, but to delay the inevitable ‘celebration’ for as long as he can.

“You know he was the first person I ever took the life of. Well-deserved I’d say…”

Alex’s predator spirit is back, he backs the boy out of the kitchen step-by-step, into the living room.

“It was a beautiful sunny morning. I woke up to the sound of my mother screaming…that poor woman.” Something similar to sorrow takes over Alexander’s expression for an instant and disappears in the blink of an eye.

He keeps his eyes glued to Junior’s dilated pupils as he follows him, dragging out each step, fully certain that his boy has nowhere else to run to.

“I walked in on him beating my mother to shit right there in the living room, under our family photo…You could say my father wasn’t really a morning person.”

He pauses for a second, trying to recall everything in vivid detail.

“Do you know what I did, Junior?”

Junior only shakes his head no; internally scolding himself for asking, regretting every single choice he made today.

“Do you?” Alex shouts. His raspy voice, his creepy smile, how he slowly crouchs like a beast ready to hunt, and that hair-raising glint in his eyes; they all come together to force a stream of tears down his boy’s face.

“…n-n-no m-m-master…” he’s nearing the sofa, a dead end; he doesn’t want to know what happens when he runs out of room to get away.

“I grabbed the telephone…” he says as he reaches for the antique phone sitting uselessly on the coffee table. The back of junior’s knee hits the sofa.

The chase is over, here comes the pain.

“And I slammed it right into his disgusting head.” He swings the phone at the boy’s face and it lands right below his eye. Junior lets out a blood-curdling scream as he crashes to the ground.

“And I kept striking blow…” the phone hits the untouched side of Junior’s face and he feels his jaw crashing under the force.

“…after…” another hit to his broken cheekbone.

“…blow…” Junior hardly comprehends anymore; his vision starts going black, but not quite enough to stop the feeling of pain, just enough to make his eyes burn and his ears ring each time the handset bashes him in the face.

“…until his obnoxious fucking brain was all over the floor,” He says that with a prideful smile as he lands his final blow on the almost-unconscious bloodied mess on the floor. Junior yelps, not quite present enough to do much more, fractured skull sending wave after wave of pain through his nerves. He keeps his eyes shut, begs his brain to shut down and let go of this agonizing consciousness; but the ache keeps tapping on his window the second he starts drifting off, bringing him back to the present moment.

Alex’s smile slowly fades away as flashes from the past make him feel nostalgic. He places the blood-stained landline phone back in its place and collapses on the sofa right above where Junior lies sobbing.

The birds chirping ouside and the sunlight luminating the room is a delight to the captor and headache-inducing to his prisoner. It’s a beautiful day and blood is in the air, exactly as it was years ago.

“This just might be the best anniverssary I’ve spent so far. Stop ruining it with your annoying weeping.”

Junior doesn’t have an ounce of force in him to respond; he just lowers the volume of the whimpers to avoid getting on his master’s nerves.

“Come on now, Junior. It’s not that bad. Go clean yourself up.” He nudges at his side with his foot.

The boy tries, he puts all his energy into it but his brain is just too weak to order his limbs to move. He wants to sleep so bad. He rolls to his side and coughs out some of the blood that’s started pooling inside his mouth.

“Ah goddammit!” He stands and lifts the drowsy boy up by his arms, putting a firm hand behind his back to keep him still. Even though he’s obviously irritated, his touch is gentle.

“Man up, Junior.” It’s Alexander speaking, but those aren’t his words. Deep down, he’s just a cheap impersonation of his father.

He helps the boy toddle back to the kitchen and wash his face in the sink. The cool water helps soothe the constant burning in his jaw.

Junior’s head is still spinning. His fingers unclasp from the edge of the counter as his vision goes black. For just a second, he loses his balance; but to his dimay, he doesn’t crash to the floor, instead he lands on a warm chest and Alexander’s hands wrap around his shoulders. His tormentor holds him as he cries, lulling him into a sense of care, however false or temporary that might be.

“I’m sorry…sorry…” Junior whispers between his sobs as he sinks his face in his master’s shirt; too over-whelmed to know what he’s even sorry about.

“shhh it’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay…” Alex cooes in his hair as he presses soft kisses to the crown of his head.

Basking in the peaceful moment, they remain still, enjoying the warmth of each other’s embrace, for as long as it lasts.

taglist (tell me if you wanna be added) @ladygwennn @darkthingshappen @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @thelazywitchphotographer @horribleauthortm @angelwhump @hiding-in-the-shadows @oddsconvert @gala1981 @there-will-always-be-blood @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @whumperfully @pigeonwhumps @cc1010fox

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rainydaywhump · 2 months

Text

Zombies Are An Afterthought - 13

<- Previous

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds @pigeonwhumps @den-of-whump @generic-whumperz @turn-the-tables-on-them

Premise: Holy shit, this fic isn't resolved after all!

Annette, having been kidnapped and tortured for months on end before being rescued by Kel -- thanks to some pandemic-borne luck -- is now well enough that she is willing to call her friends for the first time. The ensuing conversation brings on a host of emotions.

CWs/themes: female whumpee (whump was in the past), female caretaker; zombie pandemic winding down in the background, no big deal; aftermath of torture/aftermath of trauma; tears; creepy and obsessive whumpers (referenced); the struggle of reintegrating/being social after trauma; feels; bittersweet with a positive ending.

Annette Painter sits in front of the laptop. She stares at her own reflection in the camera.

She tries to see herself from the view of the people she’ll be talking to soon. She’s not sure if she likes it; she doubts they will. They’ll be worried. Her cheeks have filled out and her bruises have faded since Kel rescued her from that hell next door, but she knows that she’ll never go back to normal.

Some scars, both literal and not, are simply too deep.

She had considered using foundation to cover up her face and neck scars before Skyping her friends – her true friends, not ‘friends’ like her kidnappers once had been. She was somewhat surprised to find, when Kel asked who she wanted to contact if she was ever up to it, that she still trusted this group of friends despite Cassie and Kay’s betrayal. But then again, she’d always known that these friends were genuine in their care for her.

She had ignored her gut feeling about the other two, and…

…and it isn’t your fault, Kel’s firm voice repeats in her mind.

Kel…hadn’t judged when Annette had told her that she had no family. She hadn’t seemed surprised. When Annette asked, the other woman had explained that she’d done some digging on Annette’s missing person case, and there were no relatives mentioned in any of the scant news articles on her. Kel’s googling skills (she called it ‘OSINT’ and ‘a few favors’?) were unmatched; she knew quite a bit about Kay, Cassie, and the others, too.

That was another conversation.

Despite her tech savviness, Kel had no makeup to speak of – “That’s more Marie’s forte.” So Annette simply wore a t-shirt with a neckline that didn’t show too many garish signs of the abuse, and she let her hair down to shadow her cheeks. It wasn’t perfect, but she knew her friends weren’t expecting her to be.

Based on their text exchange a half hour earlier, they were just happy that she was alive. They had all been absolutely shocked when she’d texted the group chat (numbers found online by Kel, because Annette didn’t have them memorized). The relief in their written words couldn’t have come through clearer.

And now Annette was about to Skype them, to see their faces for the first time in months, for the first time since she’d been kidnapped.

Her stomach churned.

“Hey, Annie?”

She turns. The nickname, which had been so mocking from her tormenters, makes her smile when Kel says it. The tall, muscular woman is standing in the partition between the living room and the kitchen wearing a black tank top and dull green cargo pants that are entirely at odds with the snow falling gently outside. She’s also holding a ratty old dish rag.

“Doing the dishes,” she says, gesturing with the dish rag in unnecessary explanation. Little flecks of soap fly everywhere. “Shit. Eh, at least it’s soap. Anyway. I’m gonna be in the kitchen, unless you want me somewhere else when you call?”

Annette shakes her head. Suddenly, she finds that she can’t speak.

Kel seems to understand.

She tosses the rag to the sink and comes over to join Annette on the couch, looping an arm around her shoulder. Annette remembers her first waking encounter with the other woman – when Kel had been having a bad memory in a nightmare, and had lashed out with that arm when Annette had startled her awake. Her strength had sent the smaller, younger girl flying. But Annette feels nothing but safe with her now; Kel’s strength has only been used (purposefully) to treat her wounds and carry her to bed when her body fails her, nothing more.

“Hey. You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” she murmurs now.

Annette shrugs. I want to. But if I start talking now, I’ll start crying, she scribbles on a notepad for Kel to see. I just need a moment.

Kel taps her lightly on the shoulder and rises.

“Alright. Just let me know if you need me. If you can’t talk, throw something at the wall.”

Her eyes drift toward the section of living room wall that Annette knows contains a pistol, and the girl is reminded, not for the first time, that her rescuer is also a little insane. An occupational hazard from her past, she’s learned.

The familiar absurdity startles a laugh out of her and frees up her vocal cords. “No, I’m not firing blanks to get your attention,” she giggles, punching Kel lightly.

Kel puts her hands up in flabbergasted defense – “Annette Painter! I’m not that crazy, come on!”

“Are you telling me that’s not why you looked over there?” Annette laughs.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that allegation,” Kel says with a perfectly straight face, and Annette, still giggling, waves her off to the kitchen. She can hear her muttering something about gun safety on her way out.

When she turns back to the screen, the camera shows a reflection of her that’s a lot more confident than she’d been feeling a few minutes ago.

Her phone has been blowing up in that span – it’s time. Annette takes a deep breath an exits the camera.

Then she logs onto the call.

Kel’s internet connection, serving roughly 100 people in a ten mile radius (and periodically downed thanks to pandemic traffic), takes a moment to connect her. But once it’s done bitching, the faces of her friends pop up between three frames, and suddenly Annette’s throat is damming up her voice again. The same can be said for her friends, but only for a long, long minute before –

“Annette?!”

“Holy shit, it’s really you!”

“What the fuck happened?!”

“Oh my god, you’re alive!”

There’s Gwen, her short blonde hair pulled back at the bangs, freckles splattered even more haphazardly across her face than Annette remembered. She’s sitting next to Mia and Zeke, all three of them crammed together on what Annette recognizes as the table in an apartment Annette doesn’t. In another frame is a girl half-running, half-walking through the snow in a suburban neighborhood, breath foggy in the cold air and workout clothes a pop of color against the snow…Nikayla, her lazy eye slightly askew and the other staring wide out over the rim of her mask. Evander and Vince are squashed together in the next frame, the former sitting on the edge of a couch and the latter perched on the arm, gangly knees in the camera’s view, leaning in to see.

“Hey,” Annette says, smiling sheepishly.

All six of them talk at once; the mic glitches. When it comes back, thank god, Zeke is the only one speaking.

“Where are you?” He says with an intensity that makes Annette forget her nerves for a moment; she belatedly realizes that he’s asking so he can know where to go if she’s in trouble.

“I’m at…”

Annette hesitates for a split second, because even though Kel has told her the cabin’s address multiple times before, she doesn’t remember in the moment.

“2880 West David Lane, Ionia County,” Kel calls from the kitchen.

“Two eighty – wait, Anne, who the hell is that?” Zeke explodes.

“Is that the kidnapper?!” Gwen gasps.

“Are you in danger?!” Evander exclaims.

“I’ll call the police!” Nikayla and Mia yell at the same time.

“No, no – guys, seriously,” Annette said quickly, silencing the overlap of voices. “That’s Kel. She’s the one who saved me.”

“Saved you…?”

Kel pokes her head in. “Sorry, Annie, I was just cleaning up. Didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“You’re all good,” Annette says with a smile. She turns back to the camera. “Here, lemme show you.”

She maneuvers the laptop so its camera faces Kel. The taller woman waves to the people behind the screen. There are six of them; three are at a table together, two are crammed inside the frame, and one is half-walking, half-sprinting as she watches.

They’re all young – college-age, like Annette. They’re all in varying orders of emotional magnitude – some are crying silently, others’ faces are gray or flushed with shock. Kel’s heart swells. All these people, and these are just the ones on the video call. Annie’s got some damn good people who care about her.

“Yeah, uh, like she said, I’m Kel.” She’s not used to making introductions. Can’t be that hard, right? I’m the recluse who lives in the woods ‘round here. I found your friend half-dead and carried her back to my cabin because damn it, even in an absurdly early retirement with sketchy origins, I can’t stop trying to be a hero. Hmm. No, that wouldn’t do. “Annie can tell you what happened, but if you’re worried, again, I live at 2880 West David, I’m the only one who lives here, and if you check google maps, you’ll see a big-ass truck in my driveway.

“Annie, you good?” She asks in undertone.

“I’m good,” the girl assures her, and Kel backs off, leaving the dishes for another time and heading to her bedroom to give her more privacy.

She looks back to her friends, truly alone now.

“Hey,” she says again. “I, uh…thanks for all hopping on.”

And thanks for never giving up on me. Thanks for caring. Thanks for weathering a whole pandemic and starting a new year at uni and still never ever giving up on me. She doesn’t know how to say it out loud, but from the tears in her friends’ eyes, it’s clear they hear it anyway.

“Of course,” Gwen says, and those two words hold more weight than anything else.

“I…I’m safe. At least, now I am,” Annette says hesitantly. “Kel rescued me about a month ago. I would’ve let you all know I was okay earlier, but…”

She hesitates.

“You say you were rescued,” says Mia. “I….I take it you were in bad shape, love?”

Annette nods slowly. “Between the blizzard and pandemic measures, Kel couldn’t get me to a hospital. But she didn’t need to. She saved my life.”

“What happened?” Gwen asked quietly.

Here, Annette hesitates.

“Cassie and Kay,” she finally says. “And a few others, but they instigated it.”

The six friends exchange murderous glances.

“We knew it,” Evander says darkly. “We just couldn’t prove it. They – they fucking spoke like they were your best friends. And like you were a lost cause.”

“I always had a bad feeling about them, but I…” Annette looks down. “…I looked up to them, I dunno. I made a huge mistake.” Tears blur her vision.

“Hey, stop that,” Evander says forcefully. “They tricked everyone. They’re manipulators, Anne. You better not be blaming yourself.”

“Damn straight,” Nikayla says.

“Yeah, ‘cause how dare you not expect basic human decency from two random college juniors,” Mia says sarcastically. “They’re the ones who fucked up, you know -- right?”

“And they’ll pay,” Zeke mutters, cracking his knuckles. “Where the hell are they?”

“I don’t know,” Annette says truthfully. “Kel knows, but I asked her not to tell me yet. I just know they’re nowhere near here.”

Nikayla frowns. “Annie…is that a cut on your jaw?”

Oh. Shit. “…yeah. Well, no. It’s a scar. It’s healing.”

The six of them exchange another look through the camera.

“What?” Annette asks, stomach curling in on itself.

“We did some…digging into those two and their circle, after you disappeared,” Gwen said slowly. “And we found…well, you know how I’ve got that one techy friend, Blake, and we…”

“What?”

“We got into their insta accounts and stuff for a bit before they realized someone was snooping. And they had a lot of stuff about you, love,” Mia said, looking down. “Like…they never said they did anything to you, but uh, their old posts had a lot about you. In, uh, a creepy way. We showed it to the police! But then the pandemic hit, and – and they just –”

“They fucking ignored us,” Nikayla growled. “They didn’t care.”

Zeke scoffed, nodding shortly. “We broke into their dorm during the first lockdowns, but we didn’t find anything. Someone reported us and that set us back a whole three days.”

“Jail for B&E,” Evander explained helpfully.

“Holy shit, I’m just glad you’re okay,” Mia whispered, shaking her head. “What the hell did they do to you?”

“Not that you have to talk about that,” Gwen says anxiously, and Annette’s heart twists at the sight of her friend’s familiar nervous habit of twirling her hair. “I mean, unless you want to?”

Five-and-a-half pairs of eyes stare at her from the screen, and Annette is drowning.

“I…”

“Hey, I’m on google maps and I see the truck Kal, I mean, Kel said she had!” Evander, clearly trying to change the subject. “Dang, she’s really out there in the woods. Have you gone hiking?”

“I need to go,” Annette manages, and she shuts the laptop before she lets herself burst into tears.

She’s silent, pressing her hand to her mouth as she grabs Kel’s cell. On the group chat, several of her friends are in the middle of typing. Annette’s fingers fly to beat them.

It’s okay

Sorry

I just got overwhelmed

I’m really happy to see you guys

Talking in general is hard that’s all

Didn’t realize it would be

Are we okay?

She practically throws the phone down on the coffee table and all but runs to her room, not ready to read any replies. She knows that her friends will be nothing but understanding, that they’re flooding the phone with reassurances, that by now they’re all in a call with one another, talking about how best to help. But Annette is terrified of seeing it, terrified of taking such undeserved kindness from them, and, perhaps above all, overwhelmed by talking with so many people at once, especially with people who knew her before the kidnapping.

Kel is leaning against the wall separating their rooms; Annette can’t hear her, but she knows her well enough, and Kel knows her well enough, that there’s no doubt. Kel will be waiting for Annette’s signal for help, and if she doesn’t give one, then Kel will pad into the living room and put the phone and laptop away and make a steaming mug of sweet peppermint tea and knock on Annette’s door and leave it just out of the door’s swing.

“Progress isn’t linear. Progress isn’t linear,” Annette whispers to herself. She burrows under the blankets, but it isn’t enough; she wants the world to be blind to her.

She hasn’t hidden under the bed in a long time, but its small, comforting embrace remembers her all the same.

“Progress isn’t linear,” she repeats. “I’ll be okay.”

She breathes in deeply – holds it – releases slowly through her nose – repeats.

A soft knock, the clink of a mug being set down, and Kel’s purposefully-audible footsteps register, but they don’t startle her. Annette waits for another minute before wiggling out from under the bed.

As peppermint steam warms her face, she gathers up the resolve to step outside.

#whump #whump writing #whumpee #whump rescue #whump recovery #whump oc #female whumpee #female caretaker #whump caretaker #tw torture #cw torture #hurt comfort #zombies are an afterthought #obsessive whumper #creepy whumper #kel oc #annette oc #bittersweet

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a-painful-ordeal · 9 months

Text

4. Endless Lists of Don't do That Again.

CW: implications/references to non-con/sexual assault. References to burning. References to slavery. Botched escape attempt. Beating with a belt. Fear of non-con. Non-consensual stripping.

“Just keep your head down, alright?” Was the last thing Trygve told Evan before showing him to the kitchens. And that was exactly what Evan intended to do. At least until he got the opportunity to run.

Over the next week, he’s given a variety of jobs, though by far the worst one is turning the spit that meat is cooked on. The hours on end of turning the meat on the heavy iron spit makes his back and neck ache; the proximity to the fire leaves him with blisters on his hands but worst of all, the smell makes his hip scream and nausea seep into his throat.

The kitchen itself is huge with at least 20 other people all scrambling to get things done. At first, he expected that at least a few of the kitchen people would be here voluntarily, but the stone-faced guard at the door, and the silence, other than hushed whispers attempting to coordinate jobs, suggested otherwise.

Evan’s job gives him a good view of the kitchen, and the repetitive nature allows him to make notes. When the guards changed. How can careful they are. At what stage they seem to get tired and distracted. Where the spare food ends up.

The guards seemed to change as the preparation for a meal ended. The kitchen itself had only a few small windows for natural light, and very few of them were allowed to leave their place in the kitchen outside of latrine breaks. Most of the staff also tended to sleep in the kitchen rather than elsewhere. This meant that the meals were the best attempt at keeping track of the hours that passed. So, the guards were likely changing every 3 or 4 hours.

The guards' distractibility seemed to alter depending on who was there. Some didn’t leave their posts at all, whilst one, slightly greasy-looking man seemed to take a liking to one of the maids, choosing to spend parts of his shift escorting her out of the room for a while.

Evan can only guess what was happening from the twitchy fear on her face before she was called away, and the blank expressions after she’d been brought back. The other kitchen staff seems to cover her absence seamlessly, and with her return small, discreet hand squeezes are exchanged. Evan meanwhile finds himself imagining several different ways it could be possible to ram a knife through the back of the fucker’s throat. It’s a surprise no one had even tried it yet.

Over the week, Evan uses his proximity to large amounts of food, to slip extra off plates. He stashes it in a small corner near where he sleeps. However, for anything that looks particularly perishable, Evan makes the quick decision to eat immediately. He needs to put on some weight if he’s planning on lasting any time without food. Evan has spent years watching how M works. How she uses her large dress to conceal what she’s taken. Evan is clumsier than her and a large shirt isn’t quite as good, but he seems to make it work.

***

The week passes, during which he hears whispers of a large celebration that is being held. The work on the day is more hectic than normal, and Evan feels his bones and joints hate him. The day goes on and food preparation dies down, and the kitchen seems to slump collectively.

Evan finally has a moment to breathe as the fire dies down and the pan scrubbing subsides. His knuckles had blistered from the heat and then been scrubbed raw in the dishwater. He moves across the room to a small pan of cool water that he uses to soak his bloody, painful hands.

That’s when he notices it. The guard is gone. The man had been here most of the time, but he had been sloshing back a couple of glasses of wine towards the end and now… there was no one else there. They were probably all at the feast… and…. Oh. A small surge of adrenaline bubbles into excitement. He, however, forces himself to stay calm as a half-drafted escape plan begins to be cobbled together. He lets it simmer whilst he covers up the second wind of energy that he’s experiencing by shifting his expression to one of exhaustion.

He moves his way slowly through the kitchen towards where he’d been collapsing most days to sleep, unnoticed by most of the exhausted people. As he passes, he picks up a silver plate, like the sort that they had been using today to serve food on.

He quietly and fluidly takes out some of the food he’d been quietly stashing and lays it neatly on the plate. Now the trick came down to confidence. Confidence that he was where he was meant to be. How confidently and precisely could he navigate his way through the building?

He weaves his way through the kitchen, keeping his head down. He can be certain the people here are too tired to care. And he doubts they’d hand him in. Not really. The guards were who he had to be wary of.

He exits the kitchen, scanning left and right before choosing the right corridor. Where he’d first entered had been heavily guarded. So, he may have better luck going in the opposite direction.

He threads his way through the corridors. Trying to prevent himself from speeding up as adrenaline pounds through him. There’s a momentary pause as the corridor bleeds into huge, grandiose halls. It’s more glamour and money than Evan had ever really seen in one place. Even compared to when he still lived with his grandparents.

The walls are decorated with expensive portraits and are lit by large candelabras Music and chatter echo from where the feast is going on. Right. He stops blinking in awe and wills himself to relax and think. Best to avoid that route then. He changes direction and begins moving through the halls and away from the large dining room.

Evan manages to get a good distance away from the party. He follows to where

the doors should be logically. Away from kitchens and dining rooms. Somewhere near a staircase. Rounding a corner his eyes fall to two large doors.

The entrance.

That’s when he hears footsteps and laughter. His breath hitches. But he forces himself to push through. Keep calm. Keep steady. Keep walking. He wills himself to remember that if he looks like he belongs. It’s no one will notice.

The steps get closer and closer, he steps to one side to let them pass respectfully. Heart thumping away in his chest. Praying they couldn’t read minds.

Two guards, clearly a little too drunk approach and begin to pass him.

Evan exhales as they keep walking and begins to move towards the doors.

The steps stop.

Keep walking.

“Hey… the feast’s this way.” A guard calls over. His voice slurs slightly from the alcohol.

Evan keeps walking. Slow. Steady. He’s doing a job. There is a reason he’s going this way. He has a purpose.

“Hey! Didn’t you hear me?” the guard calls at him.

Evan stops. His heart is in his throat. There are two choices. Run or pretend. Play along and certainly get caught out… or…. The door is so close. He has a head start… it could be so easy. Pretend or…

He breaks into a sprint. Food scatters to the floor. He finds himself gripping the plate tightly as he does.

It takes a second for the alcohol-addled guards to process what’s happening.

Evan reaches the door and goes to wrench it open, as two large men barrel towards him shouting. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The door opens and as quick as a street cat, he’s out the door. His feet pounding against the cobblestone.

Despite the alcohol, the guards close the distance with ease. Hands lunge to grab at him.

Evan takes the opportunity and frisbees the plate off in a wild direction. His only weapon clangs as it cuts into the brow of one of the guards. “Fuck!” spits the now very, pissed-off guard, rapidly blinking, trying to keep the blood from dripping into his eyes.

Evan digs his toes into the stone path as he bolts for the gate. A huge weight body slams into him. He hits the ground with a crunch as the full body weight of a man is on top of him. All Evan can do is put his hands out to stop smacking his head into the cobblestone.

“Look! He tried to make a run!” The guard on top of Evan proudly declares, gripping the boy’s hair and yanking it to one side. “You thought you could try and get away, did you?” The smell of liquor on his lips is strong.

Evan struggles. Trying to shift the weight off him, the guard moves so his knee is in the small of Evan’s back, and he kneels over the top of him. His hand remains in Evan’s hair, gripping it painfully and forcing the boy’s head to the floor. “I wonder what sort of reward we’ll get for this.” The tone is low, and sickly.

Evan’s mouth goes dry and his mind flashes blank as fear creeps its way through his body. No. Gods no.

A kick to the ribs pulls him out of it making him gasp. “Fucking prick” the guard with the cut brow snarls. He slams two more into the boy’s chest.

“Excuse me!” Evan’s hair is released, as the man pinning him down sits up to look at his colleagues.

“That little shit just cut me. You can save-” he gestures wildly “-Whatever this is, till later! Right now. He’s mine.”

There’s a long, elongated sigh from above. “Fine.” Evan feels his hands being pinned but the pressure from his back is gone for a moment, only to be replaced by the feeling of hands at his waistband.

The fear is back. Colder than ever. He goes to kick but feels a shoe pressing his legs down. He attempts to crane his head around but all he can see is the dark evening sky.

His breeches are dragged down and there is a small jangle of a belt being unbuckled.

Evan goes still, the fear makes him sick and-

There’s an audible crack as the belt contacts the bare skin on his lower back and upper thighs. Red-hot pain shoots into the back of his throat. The leather stings uncomfortably and the shock causes his lungs to rake in more air.

There's another strike and another, layering themselves on top of one another. Burning and stingy, aching and throbbing. The leather cuts through his skin, ripping jagged, bloody lines into the boy’s pale lower back. The impact of the leather tears into him in a pain that leaches its way through his body and into his throat.

Evan feels the desperate urge to cry but as each strike drives air from his lungs, he finds that he can’t.

After what feels like hours, there’s a pause. Some sounds of shuffling. Before two, very weighty strikes come down. The guardsman is clearly putting his whole shoulder into it as he does. A large chunk of metal scours bruises into his flesh, as the belt buckle is brought down on the boy’s body.

Finally, after an eternity. It stops. Evan lies there. Panting, pain ringing out through him, and tears begin to well in the back of his throat. The pain throbs in the gentle breeze, but the humiliation feels worse. The heat of being held down and beaten like a petulant child, and the fear of what else they could do, rises in his cheeks as he swallows back tears.

He is pulled to his feet, hands pinned behind his back to stop him from running.

“Good. That’s a lot better.” Bloody brow seems more relaxed. “Take him to Lord Maynard then? I’m sure he’d want to know about this little escape attempt.”

Evan’s captor sneers “Oh so you get to do what you want with him and not me?”

“Yes. Because getting in trouble with the lord is not my priority tonight. Come on. And let him pull up his fucking trousers. I don’t want anyone to think I’m that drunk. Even if you are.”

Evan quickly pulls his waistband back. The fear is back. Like hell does he want to see this lord… But he has very little choice as he is marched back into the manor and into the loud feast room.

The room is lit by blazing torches, food that Evan had been working with a few hours’ prior litters the table, mostly still intact due to the quantities.

On entering, some of the chatter dies down. A rather large man, at the head of the table, makes his way down “What is the meaning of this?” his voice demands the attention of the room.

The bloody brow takes a step forward whilst the other guard, forces Evan to his knees, by kicking in the back of his legs. “We found this boy trying to run.”

The Lord paces slowly towards Evan, looking him over as he approaches. “This is the new one, is it not Sir Ademar?”

The hulking knight who had bought him looks up and sighs very slowly “Yes, my lord. It is.”

Lord Maynard approaches before finally stopping in front of Evan. He hums slightly, as Evan glares back in defiance.

Sir Ademar looks to his lord “He was stationed in the kitchens, my Lord.”

Maynard looks at Evan a bit longer before smiling. “Have him reassigned to me.” His gaze pierces through Evan’s very being before he looks to the guards “Take him to my chambers. And remember to lock the doors.”

The guards nod as Evan is pulled to his feet.

“Of course, My Lord.” Sir Ademar nods before gesturing to the half-orc, Trygve, to pour his wine. Trygve begins to pour, but for a moment he locks eyes with Evan. A look of frustration, sympathy, and pity. The message is clear. I told you to keep your head down.

-------

AN: And now we can move to needlessly tormenting my boy! :D Shout if you spot a typo or want adding to the tag list!!!!

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galaxywhump · 1 year

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if wren started begging for something during a torture session (a small break bc he feels like he's gonna be sick, or some water) would daniel grant that to him? or would it be situationally dependent?

I know you were probably expecting a straightforward answer, but your ask made a WIP happen, so here it is.

[SV-240 masterlist]

contents: forced relationship whump, slavery whump, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, illness, non-graphic emeto, torture, knives, stress position, blindfold, creepy comfort.

~~~

Wren woke up feeling terrible.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary for him, but that morning he felt terrible in a different way. He felt ill; weak and slightly dizzy, shivering despite it not being cold in the house. He didn’t tell Daniel, even though he wanted nothing more than to be given medication, hot tea, and some peace and quiet. No, telling Daniel would also mean him being overly caring and doting, which was the last thing Wren wanted to deal with.

So he didn’t say anything, and then he learned that Daniel was in the mood for some handiwork with his favorite knife.

Shit.

He still didn’t say a word when Daniel closed handcuffs on his wrists and attached them to a chain connected to a hook in the ceiling, forcing him to keep his arms outstretched and stand on his tiptoes. He didn’t say a word when Daniel put a blindfold on his eyes and earplugs in his ears. He just shuddered and gritted his teeth when the knife pierced his arm and was dragged downwards.

Just get through this, he thinks to himself while Daniel makes small, precise cuts around his shoulder blades in a pattern that only makes sense to him and his artistic vision. It’s not the first time.

But it’s the first time when he feels this awful during torture, and the position he’s in doesn’t help. His body is under so much strain, stretched out uncomfortably, he can barely stay upright, his arms hurt, his head hurts, everything hurts, and Daniel’s only adding more pain. He still feels dizzy despite the darkness - or maybe because of it - his face is covered in cold sweat, he starts feeling slightly nauseous. The blindfold is soaked with tears of frustration, he can hear his heartbeat way too clearly, it’s the only sound he hears, he feels horrible, he wants out, he wants this to end, he can’t handle this after all, but that means…

“Stop,” he mumbles weakly, shaking his head and whining when the pain from the cuts seems to intensify now that he’s not fully preoccupied with his illness. Talking with the earplugs in is an unpleasant, almost surreal experience, and he can only hope he’s actually saying something, that his voice isn't too weak. "Please stop."

But this is Daniel, so Wren can imagine him laughing at his begging, making a stupid comment promising that this will be over soon, sweetheart, but this isn't about that. He whimpers when the knife cuts into his back again.

"I'm serious, stop, I-I think I'm gonna be sick, I just need a break."

The knife disappears, and Wren swallows desperately, struggling to take a deep breath.

He flinches when he feels Daniel grip his arm - thankfully an undamaged part of it - and a moment later his wrists are released. Daniel catches him before he can collapse, unable to stay upright after the punishing position.

The earplugs are removed, and the blindfold follows. Wren winces and blinks, and when his eyes get used to something other than darkness, he sees Daniel's face, with worry written all over it.

"Are you still feeling sick?" he asks, and Wren nods.

Daniel wraps Wren's arm around himself to support him and leads him to the bathroom, where the nausea gets overwhelming. Daniel holds his hair back for him, not saying a word for now.

Wren closes his eyes, exhausted, and fuck does everything hurt, but mostly his arms and back now that he's moving again. He's trembling, getting up feels like an impossible task, and he's still crying, from pain and from his awful state, and he's not even mad at himself for it.

"Better now?"

"I think so," he mutters. Daniel lets go of his hair.

"I'll get you some water."

Wren nods, keeping his eyes closed, not daring to move an inch for fear of his body igniting with pain again and the room spinning.

Anxiety creeps up on him; nothing like this has ever happened before, and he doesn’t know what to expect from Daniel.

He comes back and hands Wren a glass of water, then sits down next to him, looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"What happened?" he asks.

"I think I'm sick." Wren stares down at the water, every breath causing his fresh wounds to shift and hurt even more. "I feel like shit, and… you just saw for yourself, I guess." He sighs. “So just get the session over with before it gets worse.”

Daniel firmly shakes his head, frowning.

“No. You need to rest. I’ll take care of your wounds and then you can lie down.” He pets Wren’s hair. “We can continue some other time.”

Wren huffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You do realize how fucked up that sounds, right?”

Daniel just chuckles in response. He does know. It changes nothing.

The knife will return in a few days, and yet Wren can’t help but be relieved as Daniel cleans and dresses his wounds, then gives him a shirt and carries him to the living room.

“I can carry you to the bedroom, if you’d like. Unless you prefer the couch.”

“Couch,” Wren mutters. The bed is more comfortable and the bedroom would offer more peace and quiet, provided Daniel leaves him alone, but he wants to stay out of there as much as he can, and the couch is too small for Daniel to lie down next to him.

As much as he hates the couch, he can’t deny that it’s comfortable, and in his exhaustion he practically melts into it. Daniel even brings him a blanket, which Wren curls up under, pulling it up to his neck.

“I’ll bring you some pills,” Daniel says, pressing his palm to Wren’s forehead; he clicks his tongue when he confirms that it’s unnaturally warm, and brushes Wren’s hair away from his face, making him wince. “Do you need anything else, sweetheart?”

“Rest,” Wren sighs, struggling to keep his eyes open. Now that he’s stopped ignoring it, his illness has decided to hit him with everything it’s got.

“Okay. I’ll fetch the pills and you can sleep after you’ve taken them, alright? Try to stay awake.”

“Mhm.”

Daniel leaves, and Wren wraps the blanket tighter around himself, blinking slowly, trying to fight his exhaustion off for a bit longer. Daniel is just as doting as he’d feared he would be, but… aside from his usual sweethearting it feels good to be taken care of, and to be listened to. The wounds still sting, a reminder of the torture he’d gone through and will go through again soon, but he can’t bring himself to care. He waits for his captor and torturer to come back with the medicine, and he has to remind himself not to thank him for this bare minimum of kindness, more than most of what he’s gotten throughout his life.

He wishes it wasn’t like this, moments of kindness and loving care juxtaposed with pain and tears and coercion; he knows how much Daniel enjoys doing this, being the sole source of both suffering and comfort.

He’s aware of so many mechanisms of his captivity, yet he’s powerless to fight them, forced to accept them, and all he can hope for is that all these processes won’t shape him into something else, whatever Daniel, whose smile is unnervingly genuine and fond when he enters the living room, wants him to be.

“Sleep well, sweetheart," Daniel says softly once Wren's washed the pills down with water. "I hope you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“So you can torture me more?” Wren mutters, closing his eyes.

Daniel’s lighthearted laughter keeps ringing in his ears long after he's fallen asleep.

~~~

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