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chaotic-orphan · 6 months

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Intoxicating Fear (VII)

The Great Escape

Part one here

Continued from this part here

*~*~*~*~*

Kit tied Ambrose up with duct tape. It wasn’t the best thing to restrain Ambrose with, if he really wanted to secure Ambrose the only thing to do would be to tie up his mind. Or use power dampeners.

And as it happened Kit wasn’t able to do either of those.

So he tied Ambrose’s hands behind his back, and duct taped his mouth but Kit was pretty sure Ambrose could use his powers with eye contact alone so he wrapped a long sleeve t-shirt over Ambrose’s eyes and went to his phone.

If Superhero got here by the time Ambrose woke up, he could sort it. He’d have power dampeners and Kit would finally be free of him. Once and for all.

Kit saw his red eyes flash up at him from his phones black screen, and felt nausea climb up his throat at the sight.

It will go away with time, Kit reassured himself, just like the blue does.

Time was of the essence now; he could worry about his fucking eyes later.

Kit unlocked his phone and went to his contact list again. He glanced at Superhero’s name and clicked it. Sure, enough Ambrose’s phone started ringing, bad moon rising echoing around the house again and Kit hung up.

That’s okay.

Ambrose doesn’t know Superhero’s civilian identity, so he was fine.

Kit scrolled down to Superhero’s real name and clicked the green call button.

Bad Moon Rising.

Kit froze in his home. There’s… there’s no way Ambrose knows— there’s no way he forced Kit to tell him was there?

No. Kit was just being paranoid. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.

He knows he wouldn’t. He could never betray Superhero like that…

Kit went down to Other Hero’s name and pressed call and Bad moon rising started playing again.

Fucking FUCK!

It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything’s okay. Come on. The Agency’s number is online he could get that, and call and he would be fine.

Kit opened his browser and tapped the search bar. The screen dimmed and a parental control password came up.

A six-digit code.

Kit glared over at the unconscious Ambrose and wanted so badly to kick him in the face. He couldn’t just leave Ambrose here, could he? What if he woke up and got out and used some innocent civilian as his own puppet?

It wasn’t very heroic of him, but Kit honestly didn’t care.

He just wanted to get to Superhero.

Superhero would know what to do. He always knows what to do.

Decision made, Kit grabbed his jacket and keys and left his useless phone and walked out the door.

Or he would have.

If the second he walked out the door he didn’t get an eardrum shattering headache that made white flash behind his eyes and brought him to his knees. Kit cried out, backing up and once he was back in the house the pain stopped and Kit could breathe again.

He let out short, useless pants trying to ground himself and make sense of what just happened, even though he already knew.

Kit got to his feet again, and this time he ran out the door.

It was like a fire alarm going off in his brain, paralysing him. His breath stolen from his lungs and he couldn’t breathe, choking on air like a fish out of water.

Kit scrambled desperately back towards the house, his vision turning black at the corners of his eyes like a vignette as he dragged himself over the threshold of his apartment and collapsed, wheezing. Greedily gasping in gaping breathes and choking on them, his lungs screaming at him for depriving him of oxygen.

Kit started crying.

He sobbed, which didn’t really help the breathing matters, out of pure frustration. Ambrose had let him free. Given him hope that he could somehow win and the whole time, the whole time he knew it didn’t matter if Kit overpowered him, because Ambrose had already ensured that Kit could do nothing even if he was unconscious and incapacitated.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, crying, glaring at Ambrose, but eventually he got hungry, and made his way to the kitchen where Ambrose’s breakfast was waiting for him. Still a bit warm, Kit took some bacon and pudding and sat down with his back to his front door staring at Ambrose because he couldn’t do anything else.

Kit began eating.

*~*~*~*~*

Ambrose stirred within the hour. Groaning and shifting, trying to get comfortable. Then he mumbled something incoherent behind the tape on his mouth. Kit just watched him come to terms with his situation and wondered what kind of sick satisfaction Ambrose got from watching Kit struggle and try to get his bearings.

Ambrose inclined his head, staring directly at Kit even through his makeshift blindfold.

Is all this really necessary? Ambrose asked, voice in Kit’s head.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Kit.

“You’re a fucking bastard, Ambrose. How does it feel to be the one on the back foot?”

I don’t know, Kit. Tell me. How does it feel? Being free. Being so close to escape and yet so far?

Kit clenched his hands into fists and grit his teeth, leaning forward from his place on the ground and wrapping his hands around his knees.

“I guess we’re both stuck like this until you undo whatever you did to me.”

Ambrose relaxed in his stance.

I can sit like this all day.

Kit said nothing.

Or I could always make you untie me, Kit. You don’t want me to force you to free me, do you? Do you really want everyone you love to die by your hands?

“I think you’re threatening me because that’s all you can do. I got something right, didn’t I?” Kit said. “Covered your eyes, do you need your eyes to compel me to do something? Or your voice? Or your hands?”

I think you’ll go mad before you wait me out, Kit. I’m willing to wait, silent and restrained. Want to see how long you can go without speaking to someone? I don’t mind.

Against his better judgement, Kit stood and walked over to Ambrose and yanked the blindfold off. Ambrose stared up at him grinning, dark eyes smug. Kit didn’t waste time going gentle with Ambrose’s gag. He ripped it off and smiled as Ambrose winced, his lips even more red than usual.

“Thank you,” said Ambrose with a smile. “You can untie me now.”

“Untie yourself, you dick.”

“I made you breakfast Kit, come on now. Don’t you want to leave the house?”

Kit’s hands crackled blue sparks up his left arm to his shoulder, glaring down at Ambrose who grinned up at him. “Ooh. Careful, Sparkles. You might hurt yourself there. Your eyes are almost the same colour as your blood.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Kit yelled, feeling the currents run through his hair. Red sparks flew from his usual blue angry and pulsing and dangerous, the red wrapping tight around his fist like a force of its own just begging to let Kit use it to hurt Ambrose.

Just to wipe that stupid smirk off Ambrose’s face, it would be worth it…

“Scary. Go on, kill me,” Ambrose said, leaning forward, closer to the sparks than safety would grant. “Go on. You could do it. You could kill me, if you wanted to.”

Kit froze at that. Kit didn’t kill.

He didn’t kill.

He wasn’t a murderer he was a hero.

“I won’t sink to your level,” Kit said, his voice echoing static with the sound of the sparks flying. The electricity ran from his body in an instant, drained and dissipating. Kit stalked to the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the knife block before storming back and kicking Ambrose onto his stomach.

“Harder,” Ambrose said with a strained breath.

Kit dropped down to his knee, dropping his other knee onto Ambrose’s spine and smiled at the grunt of pain Ambrose let out. Then he cut the duct tape around his wrists and got off Ambrose, keeping the knife in his hand as he went and leaned against the door.

“Now get this fucking thing out of my head.”

Ambrose got his hands under him and got to his feet. “I never ate breakfast,” Ambrose said instead, taking the last of the duct tape off his wrists and heading to the kitchen. Casual as if being tied up is an everyday occurrence. “Do you want an egg?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Ambrose shrugged, grabbing the oil and pouring it into the frying pan. “That’s not an answer, but I’ll make two anyways.”

“Get this thing out of my head!”

Ambrose turned slowly. Dark black eyes settling heavy on Kit, cold and threatening.

“In the course of my nap, have you forgotten what I can do to you?” Ambrose asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. A piercing screech rang out in Kit’s mind, and he screamed, hands flying to cup his ears and stop the unmerciful ringing, pounding tight in his brain as if every blood vessel was being stretched and contorted and pulled and twisted, trying to get away from the sound.

The screech got louder the closer Ambrose got to Kit, and louder and louder until it was unbearable— white flashed behind his eyes and Kit was on his knees, screaming for relief, bent double and crying at the floor. It didn’t stop when Ambrose’s boots came within Kit’s sight line. A cold, lithe hand reached down and grabbed Kit’s chin tilting it up. The moment Ambrose’s cold hand made contact; the screeching stopped.

Kit was panting, brain and eyes still fuzzy from the aftereffects of the mental assault. Ambrose tilted Kit’s head all the way back, until he was sitting upright on his knees. Panting and shaking, exhausted. Brain caught between a frenzy of anxiety and a tired induced sloth, like trying to wade through a swamp.

“I could keep you on your knees like this forever, Kit. Like a pretty little statue, something to stare at, something that doesn’t speak or think. Just a dazed little angel, would you like that?”

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat and sniffed, his nose running from crying and screaming. In answer he reached a hand up, pulling at Ambrose’s hold but Ambrose grabbed his wrist before it made contact and bent it back on itself.

Kit hissed out a breath through his teeth, glaring through pained eyes at Ambrose who just smiled down at him.

“Let go of me!” Kit grumbled pulling his head back. Ambrose twisted his wrist more in reply and Kit cried out, trying to yank his hand free, jerking back. Ambrose’s grip didn’t relent, in fact, he tightened his grip on Kit’s face, pinching his cheeks together with one hand.

“Kit,” Ambrose sighed, stepping forward, forcing Kit’s body to bend back uncomfortably. Kit’s head moved with Ambrose’s hand and Ambrose put more force on bending Kit’s wrist back. “If I let go you have to promise to be good.”

Kit pinched his lips together, but Ambrose didn’t let him. He squeezed Kit’s cheeks until his mouth formed a crude ‘o’ shape.

“Uhck-you agh!” Kit cried as Ambrose twisted his wrist further, tightening his grip until it turned bruising. Kit struggled and tried to back up, but his head hit the wall and he was trapped between Ambrose’s body and the wall.

“Oh-kay,” Kit managed, furious, embarrassment flooding his cheeks.

Ambrose smiled, said, “good,” and true to his word Ambrose released him.

Kit’s head bobbed forward immediately, wrapping a hand around his wrist and rubbing it soothingly. Ambrose just went back to the kitchen, whistling, not even entertaining Kit’s glare following him. Kit got to his feet, the world tilting slightly as he stood but he ignored it going to the bathroom and slamming the door.

Angry red eyes found Kit’s in the bathroom mirror. Kit’s hand went out quick, too quick to think and the next thing he knew his fist had shattered the reflective glass. Broken shards fell onto the sink and the tile with a glimmering tinkle, so Kit punched the mirror again, and again.

He would have done it again, if he could, if it wasn’t for the cold rinse of Ambrose’s power flooding through his arm stopping his fist from punching the mirror until he broke his hand. Instead, Kit turned and opened the bathroom door against his will, stepping out into the living room to see Ambrose setting up Kit’s first aid on the table.

Kit’s feet dragged him to the table and forced him to sit and hold out his hand for Ambrose to inspect.

“I hate you,” Kit declared, a furious childish part of him wanted Ambrose to know that.

“I know Kit,” said Ambrose, taking his wrist delicately, the same wrist he had tried to fold in on itself not two minutes ago. “Seven years bad luck to break a mirror.”

“Fuck you,” Kit replied emotion colouring his voice. Ambrose’s touch was tender on his hand as he inspected it for damage. Shards of glass were sticking out of his hand that was steadily streaming blood onto the table.

“I’m going to have to take the glass out to bandage your hand,” said Ambrose, dark eyes dragging up to Kit’s face. Ambrose’s expression twisted into one of pity, as if he could actually feel human emotion and it somehow made Kit feel worse. Kit’s heart hammered against his throat as Ambrose reached over and wiped fresh tears from Kit’s cheeks. “It’s okay, Kit. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt.”

Kit didn’t even realise he was crying until then. Frustrated, helpless tears were streaming sad and steady down his cheeks. “Please just let me go,” Kit whispered, half leaning it Ambrose’s hand. He couldn’t do this anymore. Ambrose sighed, rubbing his thumb soothingly over Kit’s cheeks.

“If you want, I can make you go to sleep while I do this?”

Kit sniffed, blubbering like an idiot. He didn’t want to be forced to sleep again, he hated that groggy feeling of waking up after it, completely unaware and vulnerable.

“No,” said Kit eventually. “No, I’ll stay awake.”

“Okay,” Ambrose cooed, drawing his hands back and going to the first aid kit to pull out tweezers and the disinfectant. “I’ll make sure you don’t feel a thing.”

True to his word, Kit didn’t feel anything as Ambrose worked. Not the disinfectant that would have stung. Not the glass being plucked out of his hand and onto the table. Not the bandage as it was tightened around his hand.

Ambrose moved with graceful fluidity, like this wasn’t his first time. Kit just watched him work in silence. If he imagined hard enough, he could be Superhero or Medic stitching him up after a fight with another villain. A friend looking after him telling Kit that he’s an idiot, and why did he punch a mirror. The thought made Kit’s heartache more than his hand would have.

“Okay,” said Ambrose with a smile, a genuine small happy smile. “You’re all done. How’s that feel?”

On Ambrose’s question, feeling flooded Kit’s body and he clenched his hand and opened it again. It was tight enough to hold and loose enough to have full range of motion.

“It feels good, thank you Ambrose.”

The words escaped Kit’s mouth before he registered what he said. Wide eyes went to Ambrose’s dark ones, but it wasn’t the smug pride he saw there. Ambrose smiled sympathetically at Kit and nodded.

“You’re welcome, Kit. How about you go get some sleep? I’ll clean all this up and we can go back to hating each other after.”

Kit nodded numbly. He was exhausted and deflated at his almost escape, he should have known Ambrose would have thought of everything Kit would do. The only way to defeat Ambrose properly would be to kill him and Kit knows he would never do that.

He couldn’t take someone’s life.

So, he stood and walked to his bedroom, shutting the door and collapsing onto his bed. Kit curled up under the covers and cried until he fell asleep.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

The Orphanage (plz lemme know if you want to be added or removed <;3) — @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whatwhumpcomments @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @princess-bubble-blossom @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @mj-or-say10

*~*~*~*~*

Hello, it’s orphan this is a sneaky PS that I am in the process of moving my work here to a new, primary account @patchworkorphan because I stupidly made this blog a secondary one

I am uploading my backlog of posts to that new blog, updated and edited shocking!

Okay thank you for reading, have a good day, watch the late late toy show! It’s officially Christmas!! okay bye!

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thoughtsonhurtandcomfort · 5 days

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Slow Burn

CW: Vampire whump, mild gore (depends how vivid your imagination), burning alive, cruel whumper, impaled, broken bones, ambiguous ending

Hazy light diffused by sheer curtains catches on the dust-filled air of the warm, stuffy room. Once the bedroom of a stately home, now the gate is rusted and the wallpaper crumbles.

Decades have passed since the home's owner disappeared without a trace - or so people thought. In reality he had been there all along, hiding in the shadows whenever someone came to investigate. Unseen, unheard, and eventually...forgotten.

It was by chance that a vampire hunter happened upon the place, seeking shelter from the downpour outside. Then it was only a matter of time before he found the creature. Weakened after days of rain prevented him from hunting, the vampire doesn't stand a chance. With resignation and, perhaps, relief, he leans back against the wall and bares his chest willingly for the stake.

With three swift strikes of a mallet the wooden spike plunges deeper into his chest - tearing through flesh and muscle, shattering his sternum on its way in and two vertebrae on its way out.

Missing his heart.

No merciful darkness follows. The hunter is long gone but his victim remains, parched and half-conscious but alive, rasping and groaning while his skin sizzles.

It is just after noon, and the window faces west. Hours remain before sunset. Hours to spend burning and blistering, withering away in agony. Even if he had the strength to move the stake keeps him pinned to the wall. Unable to stand anymore, his weight sags around it, his limbs and head limp and heavy.

Downstairs a door slams. Floorboards creak.

The vampire, lost in his own suffering, can't begin to think of who it could be, but some part of him knows this:

He is no longer dying alone.

----

Part 2 ->

#vampire whump #mild gore #burning alive #heat whump #burns #torture #stake through the heart #stabbed #impaled #hunted #cruel whumper #ambiguous ending #whump writing #my writing #unnamed character #perhaps a future oc?#broken bones #death wish #open ended

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blackrosesandwhump · 13 days

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Whumpril Day 30: You're Pathetic

CW: werewolf whumpee, captivity, poison whump, torture

Please, make it stop…it hurts…it hurts so much, and I can’t move…

The werewolf, curled up in the corner of his prison, can barely raise his head as whumper enters and shuts the door behind him. That grin. The way whumper looks down at him, gloating, so pleased that he has a werewolf in his possession. Whumpee wants to shred him. But the dagger wound in his left side burns with agony. And it’s not healing. Which can only mean—

I’ve been poisoned. The dagger…must’ve been laced with wolfsbane…

Whumper crouches down next to whumpee, clicking his tongue. “Dear me, you look pathetic. And I assume you’ve discovered my little secret by now, given that that nasty cut isn’t healing.”

“Wolf—wolfsbane,” whumpee stutters, fighting for breath between waves of fiery pain. “You tricked me.”

“No, no,” whumper scolds, standing up. “I didn’t trick you. I merely did what I had to do.” His boot lands on whumpee’s side and grinds down.

Through the haze of torture, whumpee hears himself scream. Then another scream, and another. They burst from his parched throat in quick succession as whumper presses his heel into the poisoned gash.

Please, just kill me already…I can’t take any more…

Whumper removes his foot and steps back, and whumpee gasps for air, his chest heaving. Darkness crowds into his already blurry vision. And in the midst of it, whumper, standing over the werewolf’s wretched body, the grin gone from his face.

“Don’t you understand, whumpee? This is only what you deserve. An agonizing death, after what you did to me.”

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whumperelle · 5 months

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the water cure

(content warnings: torture, forced-feeding, noncon touch, restraints, general physical/psychological abuse, noncon master/slave dynamic)

water cure (torture): water cure is a form of torture in which the victim is forced to drink large quantities of water in a short time, resulting in gastric distension, water intoxication, and possibly death.

---

whumpee lay restrained on the table, their heart pounding in their chest, their mouth forcibly kept open by a device that tasted of rusted metal. whumper's trained hands were steady as they positioned a funnel over whumpee's mouth.

"this is necessary, slave. you need to learn," whumper said with a cold, clinical detachment. "when you ask for things you haven't earned, there are consequences."

whumpee had asked whumper for water earlier in the day. they didn't receive an answer - only a chuckle and a smirk that promised future consequences. now, whumpee's eyes widened in horror as whumper began to pour water down the funnel. they tried to swallow, to keep up with the relentless flow, but it was too much, too fast. their stomach began to distend painfully, their body's natural reflexes fighting against the unnatural influx of water.

they could hear whumper's voice, distant and distorted, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel. "you see, slave, this is how you learn obedience. you need to understand your place."

the pain was unbearable, the psychological torment even worse. whumpee felt like they were drowning, not just in the water but in the complete loss of their will, their autonomy.

whumpee's body shook with the effort to cope with the physical pain and humiliation. their eyes, red and wet with tears, conveyed a mixture of fear and remorse.

"i'm sorry, master," whumpee gasped out, their voice distorted by the device in their mouth. "i didn't mean to… I'm sorry."

whumper circled the table, looking down at whumpee with a twisted satisfaction. "you should be sorry. you brought this on yourself. you need to learn, slave. you need to understand who's in control here."

the cruelty in whumper's tone was unmistakable, their words designed to crush any remaining sense of self-worth in whumpee. each apology from whumpee seemed to fuel whumper's desire to break them further.

"you're nothing without me," whumper continued, their voice dripping with disdain. "remember this, slave. remember your place."

whumpee could do nothing but nod, their body and mind overwhelmed by the intensity of the ordeal. their apology was automatic, a conditioned response to the terror and pain inflicted upon them. in this moment, whumpee was lost in a haze of agony and despair, utterly at the mercy of the person who had claimed them as their own.

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whumpinstem · 2 months

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whumper who’s a chemist with a working lab in his basement where a chained up whumpee watches every experiment. whumper had always been interested in how a queen bee functioned, how she kept the worker bees under her command, controlling their every move. so whumper finds a beehive and with protective gear he kidnaps the queen bee (he’s good at that- kidnapping) and harvests the pheromones with days of work, specifically HVA known to be the molecule that worked to brainwash the worker bees. whumpee would be lying if they said they weren’t interested in the work whumper did, working so efficiently and in perfection, whumpee always tried to get a better look, their chains rattling with every stretch of their neck. The rattles this time, however, sparked light in whumpers eyes, holding the tube of extracted HVA, he moved quickly to a drawer where he pulled out a syringe, practically lunging towards whumpee. At whumper’s acknowledgement whumpee moved back instinctively into the wall, back pressed flat against the cold cracked concrete. Whumper opened the tube carefully and pulled up the molecule into his syringe and noted the time before roughly pulling whumpee’s arm towards him. He found a good site and jabbed in the injection before whumpee could protest, now all whumper had to do was wait to see if whumpee would remember any of what he was going to put them through

#whump #whumpee #whumper #whump prompt #cruel whumper #medical whump #brainwashing

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shshshquietnow · 10 months

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Whumpees with powers controlled by their emotions. Maybe other than that they have controll, but when they feel a certain way their powers will NOT be tamed.

Whumpees that turn invisible on instinct when scared. Whumpers that find this endlessly amusing, using man handling and a lot of physical touch because they've "got to make up for the visual unappeal."

Shapeshifting whumpees can't control their forms when angry. Lashing out at whumpers as a large bear or wolf before being restrained, brought to a cage sense "They're so insistent on acting like an animal."

Whumpees with electric powers that get turned up to ten while in pain. Everything whumper does gives them an electric shock, making any torture or punishment very frustrating for the whumper. Even if whumpee can't control it, can't do it on purpose, even if they apologize a thousand times, they are still spurned, told that "they should know better than to try THAT little stunt again."

Empath whumpees that can't help but project their strong emotions. Whumpers having to step out of the room while torturing them, or whumpers that get the smug satisfaction of feeling a wave of relief as they walk back into the house to their whumpee. Of course no good things will happen when the whumper realizes what's going on, but that won't be for a while. Caretakers rattled by anxiety and fear so overwhelming they don't know what to do, holding whumpee too close or even running, scared they're going to hurt them all over again. But also caretakers crying tears of joy when they realize why they felt so good all day: they finally made whumpee feel safe.

Whumpees that grow armor when they feel threatened, whether that be crystals growing from their skin, or thorns or whatever else. On top of the pain of whatever whumper is about to do to them they have the pain of new material growing and pricking out of their skin. Whumpers that sigh, over compensating for the armor with the pain they cause because "You're over reacting, it's not going to be THAT bad."

Whumpees that have power over plants, flowers blooming when they feel safe and warm, withering when they're depressed or lonely. Whumper's garden never grew well, not until they broke whumpee in. And after rescue caretakers garden was rotted down to the soil, but as time went on their garden flourished, more beautiful than whumper's garden could ever be.

Whumpees that subconsciously control other people's powers, making them more or less powerful depending on how much whumpee trusted them. Whumper getting annoyed beyond belief after their powers STILL barely function, even after weeks of trying to manipulate whumpee to staying. Caretaker scared for whumpees life after a rescue, none of their healing powers working on whumpee because they don't trust that this rescue isn't another of whumper's tricks.

Whumpees that can only charm abd mind control when they're most desperate. Screaming first whumper to stop until finally right before the worst punishment they do, whumpers getting PISSED, continuing on once the enchantment wears off with new found rage because "you don't get to control me, I control you."

Whumpees with "Spider senses", knowing when whumper is approaching, feeling the tingle right before every new method of torture is used. Their senses going HAYWIRE when whumper is in the room, overwhelmed.

Whumpees letting out powerful bursts of kinetic energy when it gets too much, sending anything near them flying several feet away from them. Frustrating for whumper, sure, but even MORE dangerous for the caretaker trying to save the poor confused bomb waiting to go off.

Just yes <3

#whump #whump community #superpower whump #magic whump #magic whumpee #superpowered whumpee #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #healer caretaker #hero whumpee #villain whumpee #if you want #manhandling #caged whumpee #captivity whump #cruel whumper #quiet whispering

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whump-queen · 1 year

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✍️ like 3 months ago u said on discord "I did get an idea about a whumper setting a shock collar to detect whumpees heartrate and go off if it exceeded a certain level… eventually they’d have to force their body to ‘relax’ if they wanted the pain to stop" and i haven't stopped thinking about it since

omg I had completely forgot about this but look what I found sitting in my notes app—

Relax

“How many times do I have to say it, hm?”

content: shock collars, restraints, begging, cruel/sadistic whumper, set up to fail

✧ ─ ༻✦༺ ─ ✧

Whumpee seized as the collar went off again, every muscle in their body tensed and contorted with agony over and over. They didn’t know how many times it took, but at some point they collapsed, limp against the concrete when the current finally stopped.

“P-please—please make it stop.” They let out another choked sob, “I—I can’t do this anymore I—“

Another jolt of electricity sparked straight into their neck and another piercing scream rang out and echoed along the concrete walls.

Whumper only laughed, and when Whumpee looked up at them with those desperate, pleading eyes, Whumper’s lips pursed together and their eyes narrowed. Whumpee knew that look—a mocking gesture of sympathy.

“Awe pet, surely you dont think begging me will do anything, do you?

“I mean,” Whumper lifted their hands up in a universal gesture of innocence, “I’m not even holding a remote right now, am I?”

Whumpee’s eyes widened, “Then how—how are you—“

“I dont control this right now, you do. And if you want it to stop, you’ll need to learn to fucking control yourself.”

It was no use. Their voice kept cracking between words. Whumpee could only let out a pathetic whimper as they sunk limply back into the floor.

Whumper smiled and turned on their heel, snickering when they heard yet another snap of electricity and another desperate shriek of pain.

They reached for the door handle, but a sharp shout from their captive on the floor made their fingers pause.

“Wait! W-wait I— I’ll do anything, I— Please— Please just— just make it st—aaAAGHH—“

Whumper turned to look at the bound shaking figure, twitching with the voltage that never seemed to leave their system for too long.

A condescending smirk slid across their face.

“I’ve already told you. If you want the pain to stop, you’re going to have to relax.”

Whumpee felt fresh, hot tears stream down their face as they watched Whumper disappear through the doorway, locking the door behind them.

✧ ─ ༻✦༺ ─ ✧

there are a lot of scenarios you could do with a premise like this, this was just drabble wip I had in my notes so! may write more of this idea and I invite anyone else to use this idea if you want (if you do, tag me cuz I wanna read it!)

general whump tagljst: @whumpshaped @whumpsday @emmettnet @a-whump-sideblog @whump-it-like-its-hot @wolfeyedwitch @whumper-soot @unorganisedalienrubbish @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @hidden-dreamland @whumpedydump @lonesome--hunter @ashh-ed @whump-in-the-closet @shannon-foraker @oriantthegiant @banditosong @anonymustyou @feralwhump @jieunie-23

lmk if you want to be added/removed from the taglist <3

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jordanstrophe · 2 months

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Whumpee's strapped down to a wooden table. Their wrists and ankles are bound to each table leg. Whumper came in and patted their head apologetically. "Sorry about the accommodation, I would have put you on a bed if I had one."

"Let go of me." Whumpee growled. Their face was red and they poured with sweat from hours of fighting the ropes. At one point they tried to break a table leg, which only earned their right wrist a dark bruise.

"Hard pass, it took a lot of work getting you here. I see you still have some energy to burn, so I'll leave you to it."

#whump #whumpee #whumper #whump prompt #kidnapped whumpee #bound whumpee #restrained whumpee #cruel whumper #whumper prompt #controlling whumper #possessive whumper #kidnap whump #whump scenario #whump angst #whumplr

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abhainnwhump · 1 year

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(Content warning: Very angsty)

An android/doll whumpee abandoned in an attic by their Whumper. They can't die, they can't move, and they're heavily conditioned. When they stuck them in the dark attic, hidden behind some boxes and tools, they don't question it. Whumper assures them they will be back soon.

A day passes.

"Whumper's going to come back for me! I just need to be good and patient!"

A week passes.

"Wher-where's Whumper? Someone's going to come for me soon! Everything is going to be okay!"

A month passes.

"Hello? Can-can anyone hear me? Please come back."

A year passes.

Whumpee is mostly gone. They keep muttering the same phrases over and over again.

"Come back, please come back . . . I'm so lonely . . ."

#whump #whump prompt #whump writing #whumpblr #conditioned whumpee #doll whump #doll whumpee #android whumpee #creepy whumper #cruel whumper #abandoned #abandonment #broken whumpee

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serickswrites · 4 months

Text

Make It Stop

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, cruel whumper

Whumper had thought that kidnapping Whumpee would be easy. It was. Whumpee was easily caught and subdued, thrown into the back of a car and driven away.

Whumper had thought that restraining Whumpee would be easy and helpful. It was. They had bound Whumpee's wrists and ankles while Whumpee had been passed out in the back of their car.

Whumper had thought that torturing Whumpee would be joy-filled. It was. Watching Whumpee cower in fear and flinch at their every move made Whumper so joyful.

Whumper had thought that Whumpee would be quiet and become quieter. They weren't. Whumpee whimpered and moaned throughout their time in captivity. And after a few days, they had taken to screeching every time Whumper came anywhere near them.

Whumper had tired of the sound. Their ears hurt and they had a headache. Torturing Whumpee was no longer as joy-filled. "MAKE IT STOP!" They roared as they grabbed Whumpee by the hair and pulled. "JUST SHUT UP!"

But Whumper's words had no effect on Whumpee. Whumpee continued to screech, the volume of their cry growing ever louder. And Whumper was at a loss of what to do.

#serickswrites #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #tw captivity #tw restraints #tw torture #cruel whumper #whumpuary #whumpuary2024 #day 17/18 #prompt: “make it stop”#prompt: hair grabbing #prompt: restrained #queue

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chaotic-orphan · 6 months

Text

Intoxicating Fear (VI)

Part one here…

Continued from here…

*~*~*~*~*

Kit’s body ached everywhere. It hurt to sleep if you could even call it that. Every time Kit turned over or moved his head, or adjusted the pillow he was in pain.

The dull aching everywhere nearly blinded Kit to the fact that he was in a bed. Lying down. Unrestrained. With a pillow!

Which meant that he wasn’t with Ambrose.

Had he… had he woken up when he was supposed to be doing Ambrose’s bidding, because this wasn’t a foreign bed this was Kit’s bed. He knew because he could feel the springs in his old mattress digging into his ribs.

The same mattress Superhero had told Kit to get rid of, but Kit just couldn’t part ways, and Kit’s pillow was perfect for him, not too firm but hard enough to support his creaking neck.

Kit was at home!

Ambrose fucked up, Kit could call Superhero right now, tell him exactly what’s going on and what Ambrose did, he could catch Ambrose!

Kit was halfway out of the bed as this thought crossed his mind, a giddy feeling numbing the bruises, cuts and trauma his muscles had endured with the fucking cattle prod—

His electricity.

Kit wasn’t wearing the rubber gloves. Or rubber anything for that matter!

Kit fell out of bed, his leg not quite carrying his weight, but it didn’t matter.

Kit sat on the floor, licking his lips in anticipation as he brought his hand in front of his face and with bated breath… clicked his fingers.

Blue sparks cackled around Kit’s hand like a glove, and it was like Kit was being revived. The relief it felt to see the bright electric blue, to hear the soft buzz of power, to feel the electric currents in the air.

Kit let the power wash over them. He clicked his fingers in his other hand and let the sparks fly from his fist down his arms up to his elbows and from there he just let it rip.

It got to Kit’s shoulders, to his chest, he could feel his hair stand on end from the currents but none of it fazed them. Not one bit. Kit could feel the power thrumming behind his eyes, and he knew he were same colour as his electricity and for a while Kit just sat there completely engulfed in the wash of his power.

It felt like relieving a muscle that had been stuck in one spot for too long and was cramping, or, cracking his back, or, stretching his shoulders in the morning.

Kit’s electricity reinvigorated him with the energy surging through him just because he could.

He was his own conduit.

His own person.

His own mind, not Ambrose’s puppet, he was 100% Kit right now, because Ambrose fucked up with his twisted compulsion. Kit almost cried with joy.

Kit let his electricity dim and got to his feet with a renewed fire to find Superhero and tell him everything… but first… Kit needed a shower, he needed to feel the warm water pound on his back and relax the rest of his aching muscles.

Kit looked to his bedside table and saw his phone plugged in and charging. Ambrose really did make sure Kit was living a normal life when he wasn’t conscious…

Kit didn’t want to open the phone; he didn’t want to read the text messages he didn’t send. And yet Kit’s feet padded over to his table and picked up the phone. The screen lit up. Kit’s heart dropped as his eyes stared down at the date and time.

He wanted to be sick.

It wasn’t days he was with Ambrose; it wasn’t weeks, it was a month and a half since the docks.

A month and a half of Kit’s lost time… where all he remembered was Ambrose and his cruelty. A month and a half of nobody realising that Kit wasn’t in fact Kit, but Ambrose’s vassal.

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat and put in his pin. The same pin it had always been, at least Ambrose didn’t have the foresight to change that.

Instead of going to his messages and torturing himself further, Kit went to his Spotify and clicked into his shower playlist.

How long had it been since he heard music?

A month and a half, a snide voice told them in the back of his head, but Kit ignored it and just let the music wash over them.

Oh yeah, he was going to be singing this at the top of his lungs in the shower.

Kit grabbed a towel, some underwear and made sure to lock the bathroom door just in case. When the hot water hit his back, he let out a long sigh of relief. His shoulders were so tense after Ambrose had made him dangle in chains for who knows how long? The water seemed to get under Kit’s skin and unwind every knot and ache in his muscles leaving him feeling refreshed and calm.

The smell of Kit’s soap and shampoo made him relax even further. It felt as if nothing had happened to him in the last six weeks and that he was just going about his daily routine of waking up, showering, going to work tell Superhero he was tortured.

Kit’s stomach growled the second after he had turned the shower off and he smiled to himself. How normal a feeling it was to be hungry. How entirely mundane, that Kit’s body’s nerves were telling him to eat. Reminding him to do it.

God when was the last time he had tasted food for himself?

Kit got hungrier just thinking about it. He dried himself and dressed as quickly as possible. He stopped the music on his phone, towelling his hair dry, not too bothered with how he looked as he descended into the kitchen, ravenous with hunger.

The smell of bacon made his mouth all but water and it wasn’t until he saw Ambrose that he realised he shouldn’t have smelled bacon to begin with. Ambrose saw Kit too and grinned at him, smirk wicked sharp.

“Morning,” Ambrose drawled. He looked too strange in Kit’s kitchen, a towel over his shoulder and a spatula in his hand he used to turn the bacon over in the pan.

Kit’s hand shot out on instinct, but his electricity simmered from a glove of reassurance to nothing but pathetic sparks as Kit felt the icy sludge of Ambrose’s power creep into his mind.

“Come on, Kit, none of that now,” Ambrose said, clicking his tongue. “I let you sleep in and everything, made you breakfast. Tell me you’ll behave, and I won’t restrain you further.”

Kit bit the inside of his cheek, frozen where he stood. A part of him wanted to lash out and go mad and kill Ambrose where he stood, but another part, a bigger part of him was too scared of being restrained again. He was enjoying the limited freedom Ambrose was giving him, and until seeing the bastard Kit was happy.

God he was so stupid for thinking Ambrose would just let him go, or fuck up in his commands… Kit was such an idiot.

“Well?” Ambrose asked, cocking an eyebrow at Kit, interrupting Kit’s thoughts and reminding him that he hasn’t answered.

Kit’s shoulders sagged at the demoralisation of having to articulate his submission, but Kit could beat himself up about it later. Right now, he was starving, and he wanted to be able to eat unhindered.

“I’ll be good,” Kit said quietly, swallowing his pride.

Ambrose beamed at him like a proud parent and gestured for Kit to sit at his own table. “Good. Sit! Breakfast is almost ready.”

Kit sucked in a deep breath and crossed the room to his table, pulling out a chair, settling heavy into it. He was facing Ambrose as he worked in the kitchen, not daring to take his eyes off of him for a moment. His heart started beating a little faster in his chest as he felt the weight of his phone in his hand.

If he called Superhero right now… Superhero would know. He could come and find Ambrose. Catch him in the act.

“One egg or two?” Ambrose asked, smiling over his shoulder at Kit.

“Uhm, two please,” Kit replied, licking his lips.

“So polite, Kit. Of course. Two eggs coming up,” Ambrose said, turning back to the counter and grabbing two eggs. Kit glanced down at his phone and back at Ambrose quickly. Just in time too because Ambrose turned back to face Kit a fraction of a second later. “See how nice it is when we can be civil.”

Kit forced a smile, which came out more as a grimace, and nodded.

“Could this be the turning point for us, do you think?”

“Maybe,” Kit said, nodding again. “You never know.”

Ambrose smiled, satisfied, and turned back to the pan, cracking the eggs into it. Kit’s fingers moved quickly under the table as he heard the eggs hit the pan with a sizzle and a spit.

He found Superhero’s contact and hovered over it for a second, looking back at Ambrose to see him whistling by the stove and with a heavy swallow Kit pressed the call button and left it on the chair beside him, making sure the volume was down.

But it didn’t matter.

Because a couple seconds after Kit had put his phone down and looked up innocently at Ambrose, he heard the start of the song ‘bad moon rising’ playing by Creedence Clearwater Revival and his blood ran cold. Ice rushed through his veins, and he so very desperately wanted to cancel the call, but he couldn’t move. All he could do was watch as Ambrose reached into his back pocket and answer the call without so much as blinking.

“You know, Kit,” Ambrose said into the phone, his voice echoing because the phones were in the same room. “I really thought we could at least get through breakfast without you throwing a tantrum. Guess not.”

Kit was out of his chair before Ambrose finished the sentence, feet on the wood floor, sprinting, lunging for the front door. He was only two feet away when a piercing screeching sound echoed between his ears and Kit screamed, trying to force himself through it.

He was so close.

He had to power through it.

Then it got too loud. Unbearable and Kit’s leg went like jelly, his vision swimming, the world tilting until he was on the ground, curled up into a tight ball, eyes squeezed shut trying to push out the ringing in his ears. The screeching lessened, leaving a dull ache in its wake and Kit wanted to throw up as the world spun around him.

“Kit, Kit, Kit,” Ambrose chided, feigned disappointment but it sounded so far away. Kit vaguely heard his footsteps approach and knew he had to get away.

Kit turned onto his stomach and reached out to the door, swallowing the bile in his throat with his motion and pathetically half-dragged himself forward. He only got an inch before the heel of Ambrose’s boot slammed down onto the back of Kit’s hand and dug in.

Kit was a wreck. His mind both hazy and frantic, thoughts like bullets shooting through a foggy moor, his chest heaving with the effort of his screams and his pathetic attempts of escape. All Kit saw was Ambrose’s foot draw back before slamming into the side of Kit’s jaw a second later, flipping him onto his back. Ambrose didn’t release Kit’s hand, so Kit was staring at the ceiling, arm twisted above them awkwardly. He must have bit his cheek because the stench of iron overwhelmed his tastebuds as he glared weakly up at Ambrose, eyes still having trouble focusing.

“God, Kit. I will just never get bored of you. Of this. Look at you… so strong, so sure, so noble, and yet there isn’t a thing you can do to stop me.”

Kit pushed weakly at Ambrose’s boot with his free hand, just because he could and just because he didn’t want Ambrose to be right. Kit could do something, he could try and get away. Try and escape. Ambrose hadn’t taken any of the fight from Kit, he was going to defeat Ambrose, someday. Somehow.

He just needed to be patient and let Ambrose think there was nothing Kit could do to stop him…

Yeah.

Kit believed that, or he could, if he forced himself to try and completely disconnect from reality and ignored how well and truly fucked he was.

“Awh,” Ambrose cooed, lifting his leg and stomping it down on Kit’s chest instead of his hand. Kit’s eyes bulged and he wheezed, his body curling around Ambrose’s boot, trying in vain to push Ambrose off of him. It was no use. Ambrose leaned down over Kit, shifting more of his weight onto the leg on Kit’s chest, effectively pinning him to the ground like an ant under a giant’s boot.

“You’re so cute when you’re like this. Tired eyes wide with panic,” Ambrose said, digging his heel in further and grinning when Kit tightened his grip on Ambrose’s ankle and grit his teeth to prevent the scream from escaping his lungs. “The bags really do wonders to the character of your face. Truly, Kit. I must admit I’ll always be a little weak in the knees at the blood staining the inside of your lips when you gasp.”

“Why don’t you take a fucking picture?!” Kit hissed, spit flying from his mouth in anger, rage flaring ugly inside him. “And then leave me the fuck alone!”

Ambrose’s dark eyes smiled down at Kit like a cat’s alight with interest. He didn’t drop the eye contact for a second as he reached into his pocket and took his phone out, snapping a photo of Kit. Kit blinked at the flash, stunned for a moment. Bewildered Ambrose would actually take a picture.

“You’re right Kit. That was a great idea. I think I’ll make this my screensaver.”

“Motherfucker!” Kit howled. Something hideous that could only be described as vengeful wrath fuelling his body as he shot forward from the ground. For a moment Kit could revel in the shock on Ambrose’s face as he hooked his arms around Ambrose’s knee, driving his heels into the ground to push himself forward and flip Ambrose onto his back.

Kit got on top of him, taking every advantage as he saw it. He had a very short window of time where Ambrose’s brain would be trying to catch up with current events, Kit would know. Ambrose had him in a constant state of shock and fear, trying to claw at the situation and adjust but all too slowly.

Kit pinned Ambrose’s shoulders to the ground using his knees. He didn’t even reach for his power. Instead, he punched from the waist, letting out a half-shocked gasp when he felt his knuckles collide with Ambrose’s perfect cheekbone.

Was he dreaming?

No. Even if this was a dream, Kit didn’t care. He didn’t have time to dwell on things.

Act now, think later.

Ambrose struggled under Kit, but Kit laughed a little giddy as he sent his second punch straight for Ambrose’s throat. Ambrose gasped under him like a fish from water and it was a bit addicting seeing him choke on air. Seeing him being strangled for once, breath robbed of him by Kit, instead of the other way around.

Kit punched Ambrose’s temple, but he felt Ambrose’s familiar ice-cold touch slide down the muscles in his arm and slow the impact of it, so Ambrose wasn’t knocked out cold. Which was a pity, but it also meant Kit got to punch him again. This time Kit’s knuckles crunched against Ambrose’s nose.

If Ambrose was able to get a hold of his power for a moment to stop Kit’s punch that meant he needed to knock him out now.

At that thought Kit’s hand ignited like a match dropped to petrol his electricity crackling happily around his fingers, blue sparks flaring and turning almost red. Kit grinned down at Ambrose who’s struggles renewed tenfold. Kit dropped his hand to Ambrose’s face and stared mesmerised by the reflection of his power in Ambrose’s dark eyes, like fire glinting off marble. In the reflection Kit saw himself too and he recoiled in horror.

Ambrose grinned below Kit as Kit’s electricity dissipated with a weak whizzing sound. Seeing Ambrose’s grin, Kit’s arm moved before his mind did and this time his punch landed straight on Ambrose’s temple. Ambrose’s eyes rolled back, and he went limp under Kit, his head hitting the ground with a gentle thump.

Kit’s eyes blew wide, not wanting to move at first. His hand reached down and pulled Ambrose’s eyelid down and saw that he was actually unconscious. Then Kit was on his feet, running to the bathroom and slamming the light on.

He stopped in front of the mirror over the sink, and it was still there.

Kit stepped closer to the mirror, staring deep into the reflection that didn’t look like Kit. He was used to his eyes turning an electric blue when he used his power, but his eyes… the eyes reflected back at them were a violent scarlet, and not just his eyes. The veins under his eyes were the same garish, bright red mixed with a few of Kit’s familiar electric blue and a deep purple where the two colours collided.

Kit reached a shaky hand up to touch the veins and saw his hand still coated in the same mix of red and blue and purple. He clicked his fingers and electricity buzzed to life in his palm, his electric blue and Kit nearly sighed in relief.

Until the red sparks started flying again and shot out at the light in the bathroom. Kit flinched as glass shattered above him and fell like twinkling rain down onto the tiles with a clatter. When Kit looked back at the mirror those red eyes stared back hauntingly at him, and Kit swore for a moment that his eyes smiled like Ambrose’s.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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