#cw inhuman whumpers

[whump-in-the-closet]

14. Collars in the Shape of Hands

previous.

cw: burning, failed escape, inhuman whumpers

Your vision blurs, choked with the sight of Valian’s blood and flashing steel. You can’t watch this. You– 

You panic. And the world panics with you, slipping away and blurring into vague, indistinct shapes. You run, heart ripping apart your throat– you don’t think an internal organ is supposed to be there, but you brush it aside– you have to run. 

You have to get out of here. 

The ring of trees that’s a fuzzy line of green means freedom. Safety. You draw close, panic turning to exhilaration. You’re going to make it. You’re going to be safe. The thought settles comfortably inside you, all dull edges and warm fall colours. 

You never make it. 

You never had a chance. 

Keres materialises directly in front of you, coming up from the grass with the finality of a mountain. 

Fall colours fade to winter and despair. 

Grinding to a stop, you try to backpedal– you still have a chance to reach the woods. To escape this nightmare of a clearing– 

Keres tilts her head and gives you a paper-thin smile. A smile that says, “Hey, congratulations, you messed this up splendidly. Good for you for being so bold and so utterly stupid.” Really, who needs words when they can smile like that? 

Someone grabs your shoulders from behind, grip tightening with an impossible strength. No human should be able to make your bones feel like they’re about to turn into powder. 

Solis drags you back to the middle of the clearing. In a final fit of resistance, you dig your heels into the ground, leaving scratch marks in the grass. 

Solis drops you. Pieces of green grass twist between your fingers and wrap around your wrist. 

Voices echo like they're coming from the end of a very long tunnel. “You shall regret that.” 

“Helect, you should not have tried to run.” Mocking. “But, alas, that is your loss.” 

It’s Solis who hauls you back to your feet. There are flecks of Valian's blood on her face. She doesn’t let go of your collar, but twists it to the point of choking. 

Leaning in close, she whispers, “Have you ever been in so much pain, death seems like a mercy?” 

The lightning in her eyes seems like an entire flashing storm. The air contracts with suppressed energy. 

She slips into an old way of speaking. A hymn. A threat. “Prepare thyself.”

“For– for what?” 

Solis raises two of her four hands and the light catches on the dead skin. Then you realise it's not sunlight on her skin, but white flames. Her hands are on fire. 

And she smiles. “For this.” 

Terror spikes through you, filling every nerve in your body with a silent scream. You try to wrench away, fighting with the strength of a trapped animal. 

Keres grabs your wrists in a vice-like grip. With another hand, she grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back. 

You stare at the sky through the tree branches and wonder if it's the last time you’ll see the sun. 

Flashing red wings. 

Cicadas buzzing.

The green of the forest. 

Don’t think about the burning--

The sound of sizzling hits you first, then the pain. 

Solis’s hands are around your throat, forming a collar of fire. 

The sunlight beats down on you as you scream. Back arched, clawing for even the slightest relief. 

The first scream is choked, strangled and half-swallowed. It rips at your throat, crawling out of your mouth and falling dead beside you. 

Just like your dignity. 

You never had a high pain tolerance. 

“Oh, be quiet,” snaps Solis, withdrawing her hands. But the burns remain. A mark that won’t heal and is unable to be hidden. 

Burns in the shape of a collar. 

Keres lets go of your wrists and you sink to the ground. Your vision blurs– worse than before. 

Unconsciousness is a mercy you would beg for. 

You slip further into the grass. 

Bare feet appear in the corner of your vision and Valian crouches next to you. Their bottom lip is shredded, blood dried to their face. They're really not much better off than you are.

There’s concern in your eyes, but it’s darkened by fear. “You should stand up for this next part,” they whisper. “Do you need help standing?” 

Nausea rises up with an unbidden horror. The agents aren’t finished?

taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @d-cs, @annablogsposts, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @whumpsday, @whumpinthepot, @whumpycries (lmk if you want to be added/removed!)

#helect cyoa #interactive whump #fantasy whump #whump writing #whump cyoa #cw burning #cw torture #cw inhuman whumpers #helect is gonna suffer so badly #ask and ye shall receive #this was actually kinda fun to write #methinks helect should suffer more eh? #some of you were shouting for helects blood and i am five hundred percent with you on that

[ash-isnt-writing]

{<*>} Aqua Blue {<*>}

Characters used/mentioned; Helix Vellen, Layna Ramirez, TS-0026, other unnamed characters

Writer’s note!!; Sudden impulse writing idk. Might make this a series if people like it, blah blah blah.

standard disclaimers apply, etc etc. you get the drill.

(not bothering with a border this time. i’m tired. i’ll add one later.)

TS-0026, confined to a glass tank filled with water and whatever else the containment team’d had the mercy of providing, surrounded by researchers in white coats and black button ups.

It was a particularly chilling sight to Helix, for whatever reason. More so than the others. Hell, they were only.. what, 17? It felt wrong, in every sense of the word. But he was tied down to this job. He had no other option.

The ginger sighed, and proceeded forward into the surrounding chamber, Layna, his assistant snd secretary, following close. “Does this thing ever sleep?” Helix remarked, more to himself than anybody else, but he wouldn’t mind an answer either.

“Apparently” A nearby researcher responded, Helix’s keen eyes darting over to the speaker. “It just finds a spot, gets comfy, and falls asleep right on the spot, straight into deep stage sleep.”

“…Huh.” Helix murmured, eyes drifting back to the tank. Straight into deep stage? How… weird. “Do we know how it does that?”

“Not a clue” Another passing researcher replied. “It’s harder to run tests on.. well, a merman, considering half our staff don’t know how to swim, and it’s generally quite hard to run exams under water.”

Ah, of course. Helix didn’t know why he hadn’t considered this earlier. He barely knew how the containment team had secured the subject in the first place. It would’ve been a feat in of itself. Actually trying to run tests on it was going to be a whole marathon.

“Well, find a way” He snapped after a moment. “I need answers, and I need them now. If it has some way to just snap into sleep like that… I want to know why, and I want to know if we can utilise it.”

The thing with Helix, Layna had come to learn, was that when he said ‘we’, he never meant himself. Sure, he did the paperwork, but it was rare to see him himself in tests anymore unless he felt he was the only one capable, or it was a test subject he was particularly interested in.

Either way, she found he’d refuse involvement with younger test subjects. Which didn’t seem to stop him when she and her siblings were younger, but alas…

“With all due respect, Doctor, we should probably consult Administration first” Layna cut in. “We really shouldn’t be running any sort of tests until we have their absolute approval.”

As much as Helix wanted to snap at her, she had a point. It would be a stupid idea to just go in and do whatever without authorisation. He’d tried that before, he wasn’t making the same mistake.

“..Right” He sighed, then turned to the younger researcher once more. “Keep an eye on that thing. If it does any shit while I’m gone, do not engage.”

“But sir-“

“There’s no buts here, damn it! Do not engage it at any point until we have greenlit testing approval, is that clear?”

A solemn nod. Helix grunted, and then made his leave. He fucking hated these meetings, but authority was authority, and he knew they were watching him.

#oc #human whumper #helix vellen #inhuman whumpee #no name decided yet but i’ll get there!! #whumpee turned whumper #layna ramirez #fictional organisation #sts labs #cw ​not proof read #cw cursing #i can’t think of any others right now but yeah #eepy rn

[redd956]

Singing Nonhuman Whump Scenarios

I hoard Siren OCs due to how my worldbuilding layout is. I have them in all sorts of different types and demographics. I also have a lot of OCs who use enchanted or magical singing for one reason or another.

And when it comes to whump I don't discriminate (I feel like I’ve done this before, but I wanna do it again anyway)

Singing Whumper

Whumper who uses mind control by entrancing Whumpees with enchanting voice

A whumper who singing heals or numbs pain, forcing a whumpee to beg for them to use their voice after a session

Whumpee being brought overboard never to be seen again after a whumper siren saw them on the deck

Whumpee every day becomes betrayed and heartbroken by Whumper, only to forget immediately when they hear Whumper’s enchanting voice

Whumpee never thought Whumper’s inhuman voice to be an important characteristic. They never thought twice about Whumper being inhuman. Now that Whumpee just witnessed their “Caretaker” forcing Whumper to sing, they’re having second thoughts about being saved.

Hearing whumper’s voice is not only disgustingly enchanting but causes immense pain at the same time in one way or another

Whump Ideas

Prolonged singing

Whumpee being forced to sing for long periods of time no matter how exhausting or difficult the task becomes

Their throat becoming so sore that when they’re done they can barely speak, or they lose their ability to sing for a good time

Them being punished for not taking good care of their voice, despite the Whumper’s action being the cause to them losing their voice

Whumpee being punished for messing up in song or breaking their character

Whumpee eventually can no longer sing at all. Their vocal cords have become too damaged, and if they ever want it to heal it would take tremendous work

Magical Properties in singing

Whumpee’s singing serves a purpose to whumper (healing, lulls to sleep, soothing, maybe just good to hear), and because of that whumper expects the most from them

Whumper doesn’t care how tired they are, what time of day it is, or what they are currently doing. When they need whumpee’s voice they don’t have any other options.

Whumpee feels guilty for anything that happens to whumper when they fail to preform at their best, and whumper plays into that heavily

Maybe whumpee has two whumpers, and only one requires whumpee’s aid. When they fail the other whumper makes sure that they’re dealt with “properly”

Caretaker could really use whumpee’s voice, but they are far to frightened to use it. Or maybe its the opposite, and Caretaker is tired of hearing whumpee attempt to help them all the time

Other

Whumpee is of a species that has a powerful voice, however they can’t sing even to save their life

Whumper sung with magic, and so does Caretaker. However when Caretaker is attempting to help whumpee with their soothing voice, they find whumpee instead terrified and shaking in front of them

Whumpee’s voice does harm instead of good. So they were muffled in one way or another, maybe by restraint, and they haven’t even heard their own voice in forever

Caretaking Ideas

Imagine if Caretaker has the enchanting voice instead, singing a restless or frightened whumpee off to sleep

They stroke their fingers through whumpee’s hair while doing so, starting with a hum at first then allowing their magic to take its place

Imagine if Caretaker and whumpee have the enchanted voices, and they duet together, happy just to know they aren’t the only ones

Caretaker also learning to lose shame for how they originally felt about their abilities, while whumpee learns to heal

#whump prompts #whump ideas #whump prompt list #nonhuman whumpee #siren whumpee #inhuman whumpee #dehumanization #cw manipulation #whumper #whumperee #whump stuff #whump #whump singing #whump idea #whump scenarios #caretaking idea #magic whump #nonhuman whumper #nonhuman caretaker #magic whumper

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whump Prompts 130: Lab Whump Aesthetic

CW: lab whump (obviously), blood, self-harm, psychological/emotional whump, magic whump

The lab rat uniform: loose, drab, hanging on whumpee's frame like it doesn't feel comfortable there

Bloodstained, soiled clothing, the result of experimentation

Whumpee left naked in their cell as their uniform is washed

Whumpee arriving at the lab facility as a new subject and realizing that whumper will be experimenting on them, not with tools and drugs, but with dark magic

Inhuman whumpees losing whatever shreds of humanity they might have had as time and experiments continue and they're treated more and more like animals

Or, conversely, inhuman whumpees that become more human and exhibit more human emotions as they're mistreated

Whumpee forgetting their own name because they're only referred to by a subject number

Disorientation from drugs/experiment aftermath

Whumpee's sleep, the only time they're alone, being disrupted by nightmares about what's been done to them

Or, a whumpee who's never left alone, always watched, always under observation of some kind

Whumpee's skin slowly turning into a scarred, chaotic mess from cuts/syringes/injections, etc.

Whumpee seeing their own distress and pain mirrored in the glimpsed faces of other lab rats in the facility

Whumpee learning to see themself as nothing but a test subject

Bandages, sterile gauze, sterile lights, sterile everything

Whumpee being overwhelmed when they catch a glimpse of life outside the lab when visitors arrive

Waking up after an experiment, seeing bloodied instruments and wondering groggily what terrible thing whumper could have done to them now

Learning to damage their own body to foil whumper's plans

Whumpee becoming desensitized to whumper's drugs and needing higher and higher doses for them to work

No longer recognizing their own body after recovering from whumper's last experiment

Whumper leading lab rat whumpee to a mirror, after intentionally keeping them away, and letting them see how pathetic they've become

Or, whumpee looking in a mirror and realizing that whumper has turned them into a monster

Whumpee deciding that it's too late for them and they might as well embrace what they've become

Feel free to reblog and add on!

#lab whump #experiment whump #whump aesthetic #experimentation #human experimentation #whump prompts #inhuman whumpees #lab rat whumpee #blood #torture #psychological whump #emotional whump #multiple whumpees #nonhuman whumpee #needles #injection #drugging #forced drugging #scars #scarring #whump ideas #whump inspiration

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #9 - It's Cruel To be Kind

Previous / Masterlist / Next

Apologies for the wait!!! 🥺❤️

CW: Whumpee thinks Caretaker is new master/whumper, vampire caretaker, bloodbag whumpee, reference to vampire whumper/previous abuse/captivity, bloodbag whumpee, recovery whump, aftermath of nightmare, emotional breakdown/self doubt (August going through it!!!) [Pls lemme know if I missed any! 🫶]

---

The wind is swept from August’s sails. It feels as though he’s adrift in the open ocean. Lost at sea with no waves or wind to carry him to shore. A storm rages overhead, lightning splitting through the pitch-black sky, dark clouds rolling in. There’s an island on the horizon, a glimmer of hope. It calls August - it beckons him. And he tries with all his might to paddle there, waiting for the gust of gaia’s wind to propel him towards salvation.

It never comes. The ferocious ocean waves sway August further away. Totally stranded and utterly helpless. 

August skulks out of Declan’s bedroom in bruised defeat. The desperate screams for mercy and freedom fade until they’re nothing but a distant echo, swallowed up by the silence of the house. This isn’t working. This isn’t fair. They’re getting nowhere. The road they are paving for the human’s recovery is nothing more than them blindly stumbling in the dark and feeling their way around, and it’s to Declan’s detriment. At his expense. Torturing the already tortured soul. 

It’s cruel, August thinks. He took an oath when he devoted his life to medicine; he swore to alleviate pain and suffering, to do no harm, and uphold ethical practices. This cannot be ethical. Surely. What he’s doing feels downright criminal and inhumane. Is it worth the healing of Declan’s body only to terrorise his mind? Leaving him in perpetual anguish and dazing confusion day in and day out. Keeping him hidden and isolated far away from his loved ones.

August slides his back down the wall, head buried in his hands. He can still hear Declan’s shrill cries ringing in his ears, piercing through his heart. Honestly? He always hears them. Day and night. Since that first day Declan woke up and nearly burst his eardrums with his terrified screams. August’s conscience won’t let him forget them, it’s harrowing.

Because Declan is scared half to death of August. The screams are because of him. 

Home might just be the best medicine for Declan. That is the true cure August is searching for. Declan may not be held here with ropes and chains or kept under the lull of persuasion; but he is wholly and unwillingly dependent on August for his survival. Declan has no choice now but to rely on the vampire for his entire humanity -  he’s too weak to fend for himself, let alone chase his own heart's desire. He is reliant on the vampire for his nourishment, for his health, safety and protection and even his communication. His whole way of life. The only way Declan can exercise his own free will, is if August helps him to.

And well…Declan keeps asking for home. Who is August to deny him that?

“He’s going to try some sleep again,” Lucas whispers across the hallway, careful to slowly and gently pull the bedroom door to. No loud or sudden noises. They’ve learned that the hard way. “I’ve promised him we’ll leave him to it for tonight. He just needs space to breathe.”

And then what? Declan jolts awake an hour later in floods of tears and hiccuping sobs again? Do they ignore it this time? Leave him be and let him cry it out? Or send Lucas back in…he likes Lucas. August knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s so envious of that. He’d never harm a hair on Declan’s head, he’s fought tooth and nail to save him. Why must he be branded the bad guy?

August knows the answer. That doesn’t make it any easier.

“I have never seen fear like that in my life,” Lucas slumps beside August on the floor, a far-away look on his face like he’s just seen a ghost. He stares blankly, dead ahead, at the floral wallpaper across from him, and shakes his head in disbelief, “What the hell do you put a man through to make him scream in his sleep?”

Hell. Exactly that. That’s what you put him through. You turn him into a zombie, living dead. A body forced to live when its mind is melted to a puddle. You send him to tango with death and live to tell the tale. Hurt him until he can’t feel it, and even then still hurt him some more. It’s impossible to comprehend the horrors Declan suffered, or fathom why or how someone could do that to another living, breathing being. But it happened, and August can’t change that no matter how hard he tries. 

“Lucas? Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

It’s a question that’s been rattling inside August’s skull for a while now. Guilt and sympathy fighting each other to the death. He only ever wanted to help Declan back on his feet, bring him completely back to himself and, help deliver him home all in one piece. August could never live with himself if Declan went home to his family,  lifeless and comatose. They may as well have sent him with his casket too. And he can’t send him back as he is now; the tattered man weeping himself into another dread-fueled nightmare.

Or can he? Should he?

“Without a doubt in my mind,” Lucas asserts, certain as can be. He says it with his entire chest, and he seems almost offended by the question. He straightens himself from his slouched slump on the floor, sitting up against the wall and crossing his legs underneath him, “What makes you ask that?”

August opens his mouth, but no words come out. His jaw clicks shut before he can even dare try. If he says it, it makes it all real, doesn’t it? Every worry springs into existence, everything he’s frightened of is brought to life. August will have to face all his mistakes and misdeeds, every foolish mis-step he’s taken in Declan’s care. But he has to own up to it sooner or later. Face the music. So he can do what’s right by Declan.

“I fear…  I fear we’re doing more harm than good to the boy.”

“August-”

“W-What if I’m getting this all wrong?” August falters, his voice thick with shameful, threatening tears. As Lucas shuffles closer to console him, August crumbles even more into the floor and wishes the ground would swallow him whole. “What - What if we’re hurting him, and sure maybe not hurting him like that vile monster who stole him but... in a different way?”

Declan still thinks and feels like a prisoner. He was trapped in Vince’s basement, and then he was trapped in his mind, his body and now trapped all over again. This time as August’s patient, stuck helpless in bed. 

But Lucas shakes his head passionately, giving a reaffirming squeeze to August’s knee. Lucas is too good to August, too kind and forgiving. It’s more than he could ever deserve in this life or the next. But right now his words of encouragement fall on deaf ears, August needs to be told how it is. And it's plain as day that his presence is damaging Declan, not helping him. Declan is still suffering. He’s supposed to be free and thriving, and he’s still hurting.

“Were it not for you, Declan would have taken his last pained breath that first night you brought him home. Even worse, he could have died a broken shell of a man in that basement, alone and suffering. You revived him. You gave him a second life.”

It doesn’t feel like it. What kind of life is jumping at shadows and cowering behind blankets? Terrified of what’s around the corner. A thousand words trapped in his mind that he could never say.

“I bought him. Like livestock…he thinks he’s my property-”

It’s time to call it a day, and let him give up the fight and lay down his sword.

“He’s just scared, August. He’s so scared, and all alone and horribly confused. He’s been through hell and back. It’s not you.”

“It is me, Lucas,” August disagrees,  “It’s what I am.”

A blood-sucking monster that stalks the night looking for its next prey to feed from and drain dry. August has spent his whole life trying to break free from that mould, to run far away from what he’s supposed to be and never look back. Somehow Declan sees right through him, right down to his core. He sees what August refuses and tries to hide from. His own blood, his very nature.

“How could he ever heal at the hands of something he fears the most?” August asks, disgusted with himself. He should rip out his fangs and run outside to bathe in the sun’s agonising rays. It sickens him that he is associated with the brute that did this to Declan. That August’s kind hunt and kill humans for food… for sport. Who could blame Declan for being scared of vampires. August is scared of vampires.

“He deserves better-”

“-Declan deserves you,”  Lucas’ tone was clipped, as if his word was final and there was no possible room for discussion. But August had known him so long, he could hear the affection underneath the terse words. “You are the best thing that could have ever happened to him. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Lucas once looked at him the same way Declan looks at him now. With nothing but fear and disdain in his eyes. Backed into the corner like a scared small animal.  August remembers the way he felt when they both locked eyes for the first time, terror meeting terror; it felt like he wasn’t worthy of breathing the same oxygen. That he was a monster, and should whittle the stake himself and hand it to Lucas with an apologetic bow. 

Has August always mistook help for harm?  He must be doomed to repeat the same cycle of pain. Maybe it’s just in his cold-blood. His vile, worthless blood. Vampires hurt humans. That's how the story goes. There’s nothing he can do to escape that fate.

“My friend,” August chokes up, grabbing Lucas’ hands to squeeze in his own, and stroking his thumb over his wrists.  “I wronged you. I hurt you. Just like I’m hurting Declan now.”

A thousand apologies could never make up for what he’s done, the hurt he inflicted. Years down the line the shame and regret still plagues him, festers inside him deep down. Over and over he’s told he’s forgiven, more times than there are drops in the ocean. Again, it doesn’t change the fact it happened.

“You saved me,” Lucas gasps in awe, astounded by August’s confession. Something they’d both long agreed was water under the bridge. “ Just like you’re saving Declan. Would you have given up on me?”

“Never.”

“Then why give up on him? When he needs you more than I ever did?”

A fire lights inside of August, determination burns within him. This isn’t throwing in the towel, this is him fighting. Doing what’s right, even if it feels wrong. If it means letting go-

“I’m not giving up on him. I would never give up on him. I want to do what’s best by him.”

“I trust you, August. And I think if you just hold in there, Declan will learn to trust you too. It just needs time.”

Time does heal all wounds, as they say. And maybe Lucas is right. Maybe if they just play the waiting game, Declan could make it through to the other side, unharmed and unafraid. Yet August knows that these aren’t fresh wounds - not anymore - they’ve turned to ugly, withered scars. A permanent mark on the boy’s mind, body and soul. There’s no curing that. But could Declan learn to live with that?

“Tell yourself what you tell him. He’s not a captive. We’re going to take him home, yes?” Lucas quirks an interrogative brow, and August nods miserably in response. Declan is starting to feel like a captive against all intent and promises. “I think if we drop him off in human territory now - lame and pain-riddled, scared of everything that moves - that is what would be cruel. Us looking after him and building him back up for a little bit longer; that’s the mercy he’s begging for. Even if he doesn’t realise that right now.”

“How do I know which path to take?” August whispers with a wince, like the daunting thought threatens to implode inside his mind.

“Humans know so little of vampire persuasion, how it affects the brain and body. He could be stuck like this forever. His family will get half their son back at best. Who knows if his state will deteriorate? If he’ll ever walk or talk again. We can help him, August. You know that we can help him feel human again.”

“I don’t want to cause him any more unnecessary pain,” August laments, “He’s been through enough.”

August was never under any illusion this would be easy. He was prepared to weather the storm from the second he first laid eyes on Declan. Down in that basement; knelt and bound, small and fragile, unreachable and lifeless - drowning in Vince's power. August can help Declan, he’s got him this far already, he’s nearly out of the woods. They could do it, this could work. But at what cost? 

“Whatever you decide, I’m with you,” Lucas promises, “Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Always…”

August had saved Lucas before, hadn't he? Perhaps there is still hope. Perhaps he can still save Declan.

---

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for beta-ing this chapter!!!!

Next update will drop on Monday! (7/8) 🫶 Time for a lil flashback to how August and Lucas met... 🤫

Taglist: @octopus-reactivated @whatwasmyprevioususername @ramadiiiisme   @darkthingshappen  @whumpsday   @thecyrulik   @t0rture-me   @redwhump   @the-cryptid-finch   @snowstuffscuff   @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump   @wolfeyedwitch   @interdimensional-chaos   @termsnconditions-apply   @whump-blog   @leyswhumpdump  @not-a-space-alien   @onlybadendings   @darlingwhump  @sparrowsage   @flynnswhumpprompts  @whumpcereal  @wolves-and-winters  @ashh-ed  @idkmansomeusername @whuarri  @33-sdtr-45 @pigeonwhumps  @canislycaon24  @the-whumpers-grimm  @damienxozmoze  @predacon-skydrift  @morning-star-whump @neverthelass @espresso-depresso-system @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @mushroomlover554 @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @kadeee00 @that-one-small-world @doodlepoodle154 @sodacreampuff @cupcakes-and-pain @topsheepstudent

Let me know if you would like to be added or if I forgot you! 🥰

#Shattered #bloodbag whumpee #vampire caretaker #vampire whumper #recovery fic #rescued whumpee #declan durant oc #august crinamorte oc #lucas slater oc #angst #whump #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #whump blog #whumpee #whumper #captivity #emotional breakdown #vampire whump #whump fic #whump series #whump writer

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

The Unexpected Gift Pt 2

Whumpuary 2024 Day 4

4. (Jan 07-08) "Help me" / Lightheaded / Kneeling

part 2 of this!

cw pet whump, reluctant whumper/carewhumper, caretaker new master, captivity, past trauma/abuse 

Charlotte sat on the edge of her bed, looking at the man who knelt at her feet. His eyes were still cast down, but he was dressed in a new set of clothes and his hair was freshly washed. It was a start. “I really apologize for all this,” Charlotte said quietly. “As you can see, I was quite unprepared for such a…gift. I’m sorry, I feel awful calling you that.” 

The man looked up at her, big blue eyes and dark lashes. “Please don’t apologize, Mistress. You owe me nothing.” 

“Well, that’s not exactly true,” Charlotte corrected. “You belong to me now, which means it is my responsibility to care for you. I’ll do my best to make sure you are comfortable here. However, I can’t say that I approve of this business.” 

He tilted his head in confusion but remained quiet, waiting for her to continue. 

“Pets, I mean. I don’t like it, I never have. It’s inhumane,” Charlotte said with a sigh. She reached out and brushed her fingers through the man’s soft, slightly damp hair, and he leaned into the gentle touch. 

“Thank you for your concern, Mistress,” he replied unsteadily, like he was unsure if it was the correct answer. 

Charlotte gave an encouraging smile. “None of that, please. My name is Charlotte, which is what you may call me.” 

Uncertainty flashed in his eyes. “I—b-but, Mistress, I can’t—” 

“You are meant to obey me, correct?” Charlotte interrupted. Perhaps it was wrong of her to use her power in that way, but she would feel even worse letting this man call her Mistress. “I would like you to refer to me by my name only, please.” 

He held her gaze for a moment longer before lowering his eyes to the floor again. “Yes…Charlotte.” 

“That’s better.” She ruffled his dark hair before pulling her hand back. “And look up, please. I know after what you’ve been through, you may not believe me, but I'm not going to hurt you.” 

“Thank you, Mi—Charlotte,” he said quietly, looking up again. “You’re far too kind.” 

Charlotte shook her head with a slight smile. “I’m not, really. But I think human decency is running short in this world, which makes me look good in comparison. No matter, though… Oh, I'd almost forgotten—what is your name, dear?” 

That look of panic crossed his face again and Charlotte felt her chest tighten. “You may call me whatever you like,” he answered. 

Charlotte sighed. “Well, I’m not quite clever enough to come up with a name for you. So if you would just tell me yours, I would greatly appreciate it. You do have a name, don’t you?” 

“I do,” he said hesitantly. “My…my name is Sam.” 

He looked so sweet and obedient, kneeling by her feet with his hands folded in his lap. For a moment, Charlotte could almost see the appeal. But her mind flashed to all the stories she’d heard, and she instantly felt sick to her stomach at the thought of what Sam must have been through to make him so timid and well-behaved. She wouldn’t wish it on anyone. “Well, Sam,” she said, testing out the name. “Julian is fetching some more blankets and pillows, and then we can make a nice spot for you to sleep at the foot of the bed. I’m sorry I don’t have anywhere better at the moment, but as you know, I was not expecting you.” 

Sam gave her a shy smile in return. “That’s alright, Charlotte. At least it’s not the cellar.” 

She chuckled at that. “You’re quite charming. I can see why Lord Donovan thought I would like you.” 

“Thank you, Charlotte. It is my honor to please you.” 

That uncomfortable feeling snaked through her again, but Charlotte pushed it aside. 

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno4 #kneeling #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #pet whump #caretaker new master #reluctant whumper #captivity #carewhumper #snippet

[shywhumpauthor]

Team leader always has an answer no matter how the whumper insults them, they will talk back even while being pushed into freezing water and gasping for breath, or while they are taking an inhumane beating that could've killed them. They will mock the whumper while bleeding to death and only break down when the team rescues them and they are alone in a dark room, counting the scars they recently gained, only to Caretaker walk in and see them in this vulnerable state. They ran out of their snarky comments and their careless attitude towards what happened crushed. They feel defenseless as Caretaker tries to comfort them, they shouldn't be weak, and even if they are, they shouldn't show it, but it also feels nice to be held...

It's yours now, use as you like. Have a nice day and whumpy daydreams ~💜

I loved writing this. Very fun

Cw: torture, drowning, interrogation, details of past torture, restraints, breakdown, unintentional/unaware self injuring, starvation, noncon touch

Leader’s teeth were chattering so bad they could hardly speak, their entire body wracked with tremors that jolted down their spine. They supposed it was a good thing, though—“good” had become a term they could use to describe a slap when expecting a punch. Good was a lighter instead of a burning iron rod. Good was a whip instead of a hammer. Their ankles rather than their hands. Their hearing rather than their eyes. A cold blade splitting a line down their bicep rather than across their throat.

It was good. Sure.

Made it much more difficult for the codes that sat tucked under their tongue to slip out between gasps for air. For the intel they were so desperately trying to protect to stay safe, trapped in their mind and not on the waiting notepad one of Whumper’s henchmen held, ink ready to glide the moment their lips parted.

That might’ve been an exaggeration. Of course Leader had more self control than that. No amount of blood spilled would bring them to give away the very secrets keeping them alive—keeping their team alive. Keeping the innocent people who would get caught in the crossfire if Whumper were to succeed alive.

“This could all end now, Leader,” a voice murmured against their ear, hot breath tickling across their cheek and drawing another shudder. Despite the proximity, the heat did nothing to help warm their icy skin, the water that soaked the tatters that remained off their shirt, the droplets that fell from their hair. “You don’t have to suffer.”

“Wh’ttre y.. talk’n… ‘bout?” Leader grunted, ignoring the water that fell from their lips, the pink tinted saliva dribbling down their chin, though by the way Whumper smirked they knew the other was reveling in just how helpless they were. Their hands fastened behind their back with a cable that they had been tied with so often they were sure the bruised, bloody indents in their wrists were never going to fade. “‘m havin a.. a grand ‘ll t- time…”

They half expected Whumper to shove their head back into the basin, and they braced to feel the rough cuts of ice scrape against their cheeks, the rush of cold to flood their nose and their ears, and they refused to relax even after a moment when Whumper didn’t move. One of their hands dug into Leader’s upper arm, their bicep which had once been a muscle capable of holding their weight and more reduced to something that could barely lift a cup of water without shaking and spilling half the precious contents on the floor. A few weeks with meals more scattered than Leader’s paychecks really took a toll on their body.

Whumper’s other hand held tight in their hair, thick leather gloves protecting their own fingers from the cold while ripping strands from Leader’s scalp with how tight their fist twisted. Their body was practically flush to Leader’s, they didn’t seem to care about the cold soaking through their own clothes from where their bodies touched—but Leader wasn’t even sure if they felt it, given their thick jacket. One of Whumper’s legs propped against the back of Leader’s, keeping them pinned against the metal side of the tub. As if the metal snared around Leader’s throat, the other end of the chain secured around a loop built into the rim of the basin, wasn’t enough to keep them from pulling away.

They had gotten used to the weight of the metal collar, for how often it was locked around their neck. Sometimes Whumper was nice enough—in their words, not Leader’s—to take it off when Leader was back in their cell, but it was more often on than not.

“Is that so?” Was all Whumper replied, tilting their head. “Well, so am I.”

Then the water was rushing up to meet Leader’s face.

•••

Bitch. Mutt. Pathetic.

Pest. Toy.

Pet.

Alone.

It had barely been a week. Eight days, rounding up. The words still rang in their heads, some still fresh deep in their skin. Leader’s legs shook under their weight as they walked down the hall, clinging by the wall, one bandaged hand dragging across to support them with each stumble or misstep.

They weren’t supposed to be out of the infirmary, they knew that. They had gotten so sick of being practically tied to that stupid bed, bound just as much with the IV lines and wires as they had been by Whumper’s chains. They were fine. Their wounds were treated and bandaged. They’d been put on more medications than they could keep track of. Out of everything Whumper had done to them, by the time they were rescued their open wounds were rather tame. Compared to the deep gashes and broken bones they used to sport, all of that had healed with the months of captivity. Some scratches, a few lashes across their back, nothing that warranted them staying in bed any longer.

All of their recent injuries were manageable on their own, something neither their team nor the medics would accept. They had taken care of themself for nearly half a fucking year with only rags and drops of their water they managed to spare from the cup that was only refilled once a day, and they hadn’t died. Miraculously, as Medic put it, but that was bullshit. They could be treated just as well from their own quarters as from the medbay. And in their own room, at least they’d get some fucking privacy. They had been itching to shower, to wash the built up grime off their skin and out of their hair, to scrub away the marks that the pathetic sponge baths hadn’t managed to mop up.

God, there was still blood on them. Beneath their fingernails and along the lines of their knuckles. Flaking amidst their scalp, staining their palms despite how desperately they had scrubbed their hands in the shallow basin they had been provided, not even trusted to get up and walk to the bathroom on their own.

Of course they made a break for it. They were certain Medic had seen them, they weren’t exactly stealthy anymore, with a dragging leg and their breaths ragged with exhaustion after only a few steps, but they hadn’t said anything as Leader had left.

It was kind of nice. Leader was sure they sent someone to follow them, probably hiding just around the corner waiting for them to collapse, but not being told what to do, not being guided back to that stupid cot with touches so light they weren’t even there. It hurt almost as much as a knife would, splitting against their skin with barely a brush of their fingertips. Cautious, always, which was what Leader hated so damn much.

Lucky for them, their room wasn’t that far from the infirmary. Only a hallway and a half down, they were standing outside the familiar door, hand shaking as they gripped the knob. Part of them feared it would be locked, but they knew it wouldn’t be. Their team didn’t do that. There were more than enough bedrooms, so even if they had replaced Leader in the time they had been away, their room wouldn’t have been given away. Their stuff packed away into a box and left to the moths in some dusty old storage unit. No, it was a rule. One that was never spoken of, but remained. Rooms weren’t flipped until the occupant was dead. Definitely dead. Not a missing person finally labeled “dead” because they had given up on places to look. Dead dead. Identified and buried.

It opened as they twisted the knob down, something that was surely part of Medic’s doing. Even for things such as simple as quarter doors, there were passwords required to open, and it had been so fucking long Leader didn’t remember theirs anymore. But the door opened, the little keypad to the side having lit green since the moment they stepped up to it. So they were being followed by the cameras, also. The security guards sitting in some office tucked away, unlocking the damn door for them.

Their room was how they had left it. Practically empty and bare. Like the day they had moved in, a wardrobe, a bed, their desk, wooden and tidy. The lamp on their desk say in the left corner, the sheets on their bed were folded and tucked under the foot of the mattress. Neat. Orderly.

It was so different from the concrete floors and threadbare blanket they were used to—if Whumper was feeling nice enough to give it to them.

The door to their en-suite was open. A sliver of annoyance pricked at their mind, but they shook it off. They didn’t leave the door open. So what did it matter if someone had been in their room.

That was only further confirmed when they entered the small bathroom to find it freshly restocked. A new toothbrush, still in the plastic thing sitting on the sink’s counter. A fresh tube of toothpaste besides that. A full bar of soap on one of the shower shelves, bottles of shampoo and conditioner beneath that. Towels folded neatly on the shelf.

A first aid kit beneath the sink.

The mirror seemed to glare at them as they fumbled with the hem of their shirt, they weren’t sure whose it was, when it had been left for them a few days before. They had an itching suspicion, but they refused to believe so. No, it wasn’t theirs. The way it hung off them, bunching around their bony shoulders and pooling past their hips. All of their clothes used to fit so well.

Leader froze when their eyes fell on the mirror.

This was the first time.

The first time in six months and fourteen days.

There was a tally on their thigh, a mark for every day, so they wouldn’t forget.

“Get a good look, Leader. The next time you see yourself, you’ll be broken.”

Those weren’t the exact words, shit, it had been so long ago. The first day, Whumper had dragged them by the hair in front of the interrogation room’s mirrored glass. The worst injury they had then was a split lip, which was barely visible with the gag in their mouth. Their eyes so full of fire they were moments away from burning the whole place down.

Now they looked… dead.

Hollow.

Empty.

Their eyes and their cheeks were sunk, face looking only like flesh pulled tight over a skull. Their eyes were red and puffy, swallowed by two dark circles that even Leader couldn’t tell if they were bruises. Their hair was thin and greasy, clipped back out of their eyes by some kind hand who they couldn’t remember.

The scars.

Fuck…

They hadn’t realized it was this bad. So used to their skin being covered in their own blood and dirt, or recently the long sleeves of the garments they had been given in the medbay, and the bandages, besides glimpses during dressing changes they really hadn’t gotten a look.

There wasn’t an inch of their skin left untouched, and that wasn’t an exaggeration. Their chest was a mess, mangled flesh ripped apart and stitched back together with barbed wire. They stared at their reflection, almost in a trance, a horrible fixation as they brought a trembling hand up to trace a raised red line that trailed from nearly their chin all the way down their neck and to a spot about halfway through their ribs. The flesh was swollen to the touch, hot under their numb fingertips.

Leader turned in a slow circle, examining their sides, craning their neck to see their back which was a patchwork of whip marks and scars brought on from other forces. Something swelled in their throat, a lump that they couldn’t swallow back.

Once the first tear fell, slipping down their cheek and tracing the path of one of the oldest scars, before falling to land on their chest, they didn’t stop.

They fell like how the rain had when Teammate carried them out of Whumper’s compound, rain pelting down from the sky before they had been quickly brought to a van. The tears were pouring, their breath gasping, and all Leader could do was fumble to the shower and wrench the water on, their hands tearing at their hair, their skin.

They needed to wash it all off. Gone. The water was freezing but it warmed a minute or so later, and then grew hot. Then burning. Leader didn’t bother with their pants, grasping for the soap but it slipped past their fingers and fell to the tiles. Water was getting all over their bathroom, clouding the mirror with fog from the heat but Leader didn’t notice nor care. Their palms scrubbed at their face, their neck, gasping for breath as they tried to rid their body of the bruises that had sunken so deep they had barely begun to fade in their time of recovery.

Holy shit, they couldn’t breathe.

The water beat down against their skin, harsh jets that despite the weak pressure felt bruising against their raw skin. The water was running down their face, blurring their vision, getting in their mouth as they gasped and wheezed, trying to force the air into their lungs.

They scrubbed at the scars until the skin split open, their mind too frantic to register that the water running down their body was now twisted with red. They didn’t even feel it, their nails scraping across the raised lines on their skin, the sting where the water met the fresh wounds, until something wrapped around their wrist and wrenched them out from under the shower’s spray.

“Leader,” a voice snapped, firm as Leader stumbled, tripping as they were all but dragged away. The water in their eyes, hair in their face, they were blinded and all they could do was struggle against the sudden grip, until an arm circled their chest, pulling their back flush against the other’s chest. “Crap, you’re bleeding-”

The voice clicked in Leader’s mind, and they strained to bring an arm up, wiping their eyes, no longer fighting the touch but heavily leaning against it.

“N’thin I’m not ff-fucking used to,” They snapped, but any anger in their tone was drowned out by how pathetic they sounded. How their voice shook and cracked with nearly every syllable, almost breaking as they stammered to string together the simple response.

Caretaker didn’t say anything in response, their arm loosening around Leader until they had moved close enough to set them down the toilet’s closed lid, literally having to pick them up a few inches and place them, as Leader did not comply, but was too weak to do anything other than inconvenience the other in the slight degree. Leader’s face flushed, humiliation hot on their cheeks but it blended behind their red skin, irritated from the blistering water. The water heater was working well. The tears on their face were indistinguishable from the drops rolling down their cheeks, but that didn’t stop them from hunching in on themself, shoulders shaking in their pathetic attempt to hide their mutilated body. Pathetic. Fucking pathetic.

Whumper’s words in their mind, calling out, but it was their voice that echoed it back.

A towel wrapped around their shoulders, soft and thick as Caretaker pulled it over them. A moment later, the shower was turned off, the bathroom falling into a familiarly awful silence the second the white noise was no longer fending it off. Leader lifted their hands to clutch the sides of the towel, crossing it over their chest, as if the simple linen could erase all that had been done to them.

They waited for Caretaker to leave, watching their feet shuffle against the floor as they moved to cross towards the door, but they only grabbed a small hand towel from the rack and turned back towards Leader.

“Th’hell are you doing,” Leader tried to tug themself away, but the short walk had left them exhausted, and the effort it took to restrain further tears had them fully drained. Caretaker moved quietly behind them, not saying a word more as they draped the towel over Leader’s head, and began to dry their dripping hair.

“You’re alright, Leader,” they said calmly, though a hint of frustration was still threading along their tone. Their hands were soft, untangling the knots which Leader was sure they wouldn’t have been able to do themself—they knew they wouldn’t have even bothered. They didn’t have the words to describe how Caretaker’s touch made them feel. Something in their stomach squirmed as their fingers caught on a tangle, and Leader instinctively clenched their jaw, bracing for their face to be slammed against the near counter.

“No,” Was all Leader croaked out, itching to wrench away and longing to lean into the touch. When they shrunk back, they expected Caretaker to retreat, just like all those had done in the infirmary when they were being treated. A flinch was all it took for Leader to get the people away from them. Not caretaker. They could feel Caretaker behind them, body only separated from theirs by the thin shield the towel provided, and Leader tugged it a bit tighter around their shoulders, wishing the damp fabric could mimic an embrace. They felt so stupid, the way they wanted to lean back, let their head simply rest in Caretaker’s hands, let them ease away all the tension as they combed through the mats the months had brought along.

They could feel the hands pressing to either side of their head, one hooking under their jaw while the other rested against their ear, tugging their head to the side. Whispers of a threat that just another inch, another tiny twist, all it could take to snap-

“Leave.”

“I’m not leaving, Leader.”

Leader. Their name slid so smoothly off the other’s tongue. Just like how it had Whumper’s, save for the stinging bite of venom that their voice usually carried. Leader. You’ll never be Leader again.

“I- ‘m your boss,” Leader mumbled, but still, they couldn’t find the strength within them to pull away. They knew, by Caretaker’s gentle touch, that if they were to twist their head to the side, lean forwards, try to get away, the other would let them. But they didn’t. Couldn’t.

Once again. Pathetic. They weren’t anyone’s boss. Not like this. Not now, not anytime soon, not ever again.

“You’re my friend, and I’m not going to let you suffer alone,” Caretaker responded, in the same steady tone as before. A warmth in their voice unlike anything Leader had heard recently. Recently. Hell, unlike anything they’d heard in years.

Leader didn’t have a response to that.

But that was alright.

For a fleeting moment, they just closed their eyes and let the tears slide down their cheeks, giving into the warmth of the touch slowly making its way across their scalp, and when Caretaker finished combing through the knots, Leader surrendered into the comfort of the arms that wrapped around them.

————————————

A lot softer of an ending than I usually write, huh. Well enjoy the fluff. Next drabble I’m planning to post is straight up whump.

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #its me coal #coal wrote something #whumpee #whumper #whump prompt #whump prompts #creepy whumper #captured whumpee #captivity whump #writing prompt #intimate whumper #whump drabble #kidnapped whumpee #abused whumpee #leader whump #caretaker #caretaker x whumpee #whumpee x caretaker #interrogation whump #whump stuff #whump story #whump fic #whump comfort #comfort whump #hurt and comfort #sadistic whumper

[montammil]

CW: Caretaker-turned-Whumper, Carewhumper basically, Caretaker calls Whumpee little one, inhuman Caretaker, murder (not descriptive but there), just overall violence, briefly mentioned pet whump, male Caretaker

...

Whumpee runs as fast as they can, falling multiple times onto the ground and getting mud all over them, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting away from Whumper. They don’t even know where they’re running to, they just hope they get somewhere, anywhere where Whumper can’t find them.

They grow tired and look behind them after what feels like hours of running. There’s no sign of Whumper anywhere, but they don’t let themself grow comfortable yet. They hear what sounds like a waterfall, and stagger towards it, relieved when they find water.

Crouching down, they put their hands into a bowl shape and put it in the running water, sipping from their hands. It feels soothing to their raw throat, aching from breathing so hard. They drink the whole thing, then splash some water on themselves to clean off the dirt and sweat.

Something catches their eye, what looks to be the opening of something underneath the flowing waterfall. They stand and squint, to see it looks almost like an entrance of something, light coming from the opening, reflecting off the water gently.

Curiosity takes hold of them and they make their way under the waterfall’s cave entrance, careful not to slip and trying to avoid getting wet.

Whumpee blinks in surprise when they see it looks actually nice inside, not just like a normal cave. There's definitely someone living here, because there's two torches on each side of the wall, there's a bunch of blankets of what looks like animal furs, and a small collection of shiny crystals and rocks in the left corner of the cave, a boiling large pot next to it. For a cave, it’s shockingly lively.

They want to stay so badly, because they doubt Whumper would find a way in here, but the thought of someone worse living here and not taking so kindly to their intrusion sounds almost just as scary.

As they back up, they bump into someone. Their first thought is of Whumper, so they bolt to the other side of the cave, hiding their face.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don't--”

“Why on earth are you sorry, little one?”

Whumpee immediately lifts their head at the smooth voice to see what definitely is not a human. They have black antlers and large black wings to match. Whumpee is sure they bumped their head or something, eyes going wide. 

The person in front of them seems confused as well, tilting their head slightly to one side.

Nervously, Whumpee looks back down. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude, just taking a breather. Bye--”

“Hold on,” the strange being interrupts. “You’re hurt.” He extends his hand out, and Whumpee flinches back until they bump against the wall again. “No need to fear me. I don’t have any ill intention towards you. I just want to help.”

Whumpee once again meets his gaze. He seems genuinely worried, but Whumpee is still more focused on the fact he has wings and antlers, not to mention the strange green aura around him. He also has long black hair, it looks strangely majestic. They let the stranger look over their injuries, watching in awe as he quietly clicks his tongue, shaking his head at each injury across their skin.

“Did someone hurt you?” he asks. His voice sounds somewhat angry.

“I-- I think you already know the answer,” Whumpee responds. 

Nodding, he says to himself quietly, “Well, that won’t do...” He extends a hand, smiling gently. “My name is Caretaker. What’s your name, little one?”

Whumpee feels somewhat comforted by the nickname, Whumper having called them nothing but insults. “Whumpee.” They eye his wings and antlers, but don’t have the courage to ask about it. It’s so strange, this all feels like a fever dream.

Caretaker stands and gathers some herbs from the satchel he has over his shoulder. “I’ll get to work, you just sleep, Whumpee. You look exhausted.”

“But--”

“Hush, now. I won’t let any harm come to you. Just rest, I’ve got you.”

Though Whumpee doesn’t know whether or not to trust him, they decide they have no choice. They don’t want to continue aimlessly wandering around, especially when their body aches as much as it does right now. 

Whumpee takes their chances and decides to trust Caretaker, even if they still have not a single clue what is happening right now.

...

“Good news, you’re healing!” 

The excited voice makes Whumpee jump, still thinking they’re back at Whumper’s. They blink a few times at Caretaker, still in shock to see he’s real. They look down at their wounds to see each cut and even their old scars fading into their natural skin color.

“How?” they mutter disbelievingly.

“It was quite simple, once you’ve been alive as long as me, it gets easy as--”

“No, I mean... just how? How are you real? What are you?”

“Oh.” Caretaker chuckles. “My species doesn’t have a name, we never really came up with one. Humans called us monsters, but I don’t know if I like being called that. I think that’s a better term for awful people, like whoever in their right mind did this to you.”

A shaky sigh comes from Whumpee’s mouth. “So, what are you? Like, immortal?”

Caretaker looks like he’s pondering that. “Well, not immortal. I guess my kind just lives for a long time. I’ll be honest with you, little one, I don’t know much more about my species than you do. The only thing I’m certain of is if I were to show myself to humans, I’d be done for.”

“So why’d you trust me?” Whumpee asks next.

“Trust is a strong word. I just couldn’t ignore you while you’re clearly injured and alone in the woods, looking exhausted and scared. Besides, I get lonely here. I’ve been here for a very long time.”

Though this is all nonsense to Whumpee, they start to come with terms this is real. “Thank you for your kindness. I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

“You apologize frequently, don’t you? Well, there’s no need. I want to help and take care of you. Whoever did this to you will no longer be a threat. I promise.”

Whumpee relaxes and slumps against the cave wall. They still feel exhausted from running, and soon Caretaker has a wooden bowl of water he likely carved himself, and some fur blankets being draped around them.

“Whumpee! Whumpee, where are you?!”

That voice makes Whumpee jolt. They look at Caretaker, horrified, and that’s all Caretaker needs to know. He doesn’t look scared in the slightest, but rather angry. That’s the first hint of anger Whumpee’s seen on his face ever since they arrived.

“Whumpee, come out! I’ll give you five seconds. You aren’t fooling me.”

A quiet sob cracks from Whumpee’s throat. Do they have a tracker on them, or something? That must be the only reasonable explanation.

“Stay right there. I’ll take care of this.” Caretaker gives them a smile, then exits the cave.

Whumpee doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Scare them? Hurt them? Kill them? They feel bad for not really caring too much, as long as Whumper leaves them alone.

When they hear Whumper scream, they cover their ears and squeeze their eyes shut. They try to block out the screams, but Whumper always had a naturally loud voice. Even with their hands against both ears, it feels like Whumper’s voice is bursting their eardrums.

After about a minute, the screaming abruptly comes to a halt.

“Are you alright, little one?”

Whumpee lifts their gaze like they’ve done so many times before in the past couple of hours, and sees Caretaker covered in blood. They avert their gaze, not wanting to look at it. Part of them feels scared of Caretaker, even if they know by now he wouldn’t hurt them.

“Oh, do humans feel ill at the sight of blood? My apologies. I’ll go wash up.” 

Whumpee doesn’t move an inch and waits for Caretaker to come back. They feel relieved to see Caretaker come back a few minutes later with a new change of clothes, and the old ones probably sitting outside to dry.

Caretaker frowns and kneels down in front of them. “Why are you crying, Whumpee?” His face is pinched with concern.

“I just...” Whumpee cuts themselves off, shaking their head. “It’s nothing.”

“Alright.” Caretaker changes the subject and puts on a smile. “That aside, what would you like to eat? I don’t believe I’m familiar with any human foods, but I can make a shocking amount of things with my limited sources.”

Deciding to drop it as well, Whumpee says, “Whatever you want.”

...

A week passes, and Whumpee’s wounds have healed completely, the cuts and bruises invisible, and their old scars so faded you’d have to squint to even notice them. They’re very grateful to Caretaker, but in the past three days, they’ve noticed there’s something... off about Caretaker.

When they wanted to leave to go get a drink themselves, Caretaker almost got angry and insisted he’d do it for them.

Another time, they mentioned their friends, and Caretaker told them, “But I’m your friend now, aren’t I?” 

Earlier today, they tried standing to which Caretaker panicked and sat them back down, demanding them to stay down, that they’re still too fragile.

Whumpee feels like they’re with Whumper again. Just a strangely more affectionate, gentle Whumper, but still Whumper.

“I think I’m ready to leave,” Whumpee tells Caretaker that night. “All my injuries have practically healed all the way, and since Whumper is gone--”

“Leaving?” Caretaker repeats incredulously. “Little one, must I remind you Whumper isn’t the only threat out there? What if someone else hurts you? Not only that, but you’re still in the middle of the forest. You’re vulnerable, injured or not.”

Even though his words are a direct contrast to Whumper’s, it still feels like them. Whumpee doesn’t like it at all.

“I already made it this far, and I can’t just stay here forever.” They stand and before Caretaker can push them down, they put their hands on his chest, which is almost above their head due to just how tall he is. “I’m fine. I can walk fine, I’m perfectly healed now.”

Caretaker’s eyes become empty. “Thanks to me.”

“Yes, thanks to you. Thank you for healing me, but I’m really fine, so--”

“You owe me.”

Anxiously, Whumpee chuckles. “Uh, what?”

Before they have a chance to react, Caretaker kicks them to the ground. Not only are his legs longer, but he’s stronger than even Whumper. Whumpee cries out in pain and looks up in total horror, unlike the other times they looked up at Caretaker.

Caretaker steps on their chest, not putting his total weight down because that’d kill them with no doubt, but enough to make it a struggle to breathe.

“You aren’t leaving,” Caretaker mumbles. “Say you won’t leave. I took care of you, I nursed you, I healed you. You owe me this. Don’t humans value thankfulness?”

Whumpee claws at Caretaker’s pant leg, wheezing, “I won’t leave, just please-- stop--!”

Seemingly satisfied, Caretaker lifts his boot from their chest and smiles. “Good little one. See? That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” He pets their hair, like he views them... like a pet. Just like Whumper did.

“You’re just as bad as Whumper,” Whumpee cries. They clutch their chest, which hurts from how hard Caretaker was pressing down on them.

Caretaker grows an angry expression. Though they’ve never mentioned Whumper’s name, Caretaker doesn’t need an explanation. “No, I am not. They hurt you. I healed you.”

“Before hurting me!”

“And I’ll heal you again.” Caretaker’s wings spread, bringing Whumpee into a tight embrace, unable to escape. “And I’ll continue if you try to leave me. Humans are weak, I’ve heard. Easily breakable. From the looks of it, you’re more delicate than the average human.”

Though Whumpee wants to curse him out, they still feel too much emotion mixed with pain to do anything more than cry.

“Please don’t cry,” Caretaker coos, wiping their tears with his clawed hand. “I’m not really hurting you if I’m healing you completely afterwards, right? It’s only a temporary pain, only temporary wounds.”

They try to claw away from their embrace, but Caretaker’s arms and wings only tighten around them in response.

“I understand you’re scared, but there’s no need to be. I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe. Not a single thing in this world will stop me.”

#whump #nonhuman caretaker #inhuman caretaker #caretaker turned whumper #whumper turned whumpee #kinda #fantasy whump #nonhuman whump #inhuman whump #monster whump #tw gore #gore #tw violence #violence #possessive whumper #male whumper #male caretaker #creepy caretaker #carewhumper

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptember 2023, Day 21

“Take me with you”

Failed escape | Stumbling | Too weak to move

The Bee's Whumptember Masterlist

~1080 words

CW: (implied) inhuman whumper, knife to throat, brief passing out, claws, blood, death threat

------------

Whumpee felt the cool steel of a blade pressing into their throat, not quite enough to draw blood, but more than enough to keep their rigid back pinned to Whumper’s chest as the beast’s other arm snaked under their armpit, clawing into their chest with unbelievably sharp nails and barely restrained strength. Whumpee held their arms out shakily to the sides in a show of surrender, stock still so not to agitate the various sharps threatening their bite.

“Seems we’re at a crossroads, then, doesn’t it Leader?” Whumper drawled, eyes flashing. Scientist cowered behind Leader until only their eyes were visible, trembling, staring straight at Whumpee. 

Leader crinkled their nose at Whumper, putting a hand out protectively to shield Scientist while the other leveled at Whumper, blue sparkles and lightning bolts dancing threateningly across their fingers.

“We aren’t here for Whumpee. We’re here for Scientist.” they said through clenched teeth.

All the air left Whumpee’s lungs. “W-wait, wait… Leader, you’re not… You…”

Whumper tilted the blade of the knife upward, and Whumpee’s chin was forced to follow suit. Whumpee felt Whumper’s own chin tilt up in regard to Leader, snarling, teeth bared.

“You would trade the life of one team member for the intellect of another?”

Whumper’s hold momentarily relaxed on Whumpee, but they were too busy fighting off the throbbing in their ears and sudden encroaching darkness at the edges of their vision to take advantage of it.

“Yes.”

The knife hit the ground with a deafening clatter. A quiet growl sounded from Whumper's throat, primal and all-consuming as it rumbled through Whumpee, straight through their bones and into the core of their being. Their claws bore into the soft flesh of Whumpee’s chest, and Whumpee cried out, arms flying up to clutch at the huge arm now squeezing their sternum so hard their ribs may as well just shatter.

“Leader! Leader please!” they screamed, broken out of the stupor that had previously enchanted them, tears mixing into the blood now streaming down their. “Don’t leave me here! I can’t–”

Whumper’s arm tore out and toppled Whumpee to the ground, somehow landing them on their hands and knees at Whumper’s feet. Whumper grabbed their jaw before they could even hope to recover and forced their gaze into their own.

“If you’re going to beg,” they growled, eyes filled with what could have been actual fire. “Do it right. On your knees. Get me my scientist.”

They shoved Whumpee’s face away and Whumpee swiveled around on their knees to face Leader. Leader just stared at them, eyes as steely as if they were still glaring at Whumper, save the slight wince when Whumpee let out a whine. The sparkling magic at their fingertips had turned a dangerous dark purple, still aimed right at Whumper above them. Why hadn’t Leader just left yet?

They strained to face Whumper again, which earned them a kick in the side that made them double over themself, a new wave of dizziness blanketing their consciousness.

“Beg.”

Whumpee forced their gaze back up to Leader, not even bothering to uncurl from their ball of misery.

“Leader,” they wheezed, shuddering. “Y-you can’t just–”

“You knew the risks when you came on this mission, Whumpee. This was always a possibility.”

“I didn’t know, I didn’t know…” Tears dripped off their chin and soaked the floor under them.

“Whumpee,” Leader commanded, as if their very name would convince them that this was the best and only way. They prompted: “The needs of the many…”

Whumpee knew this. Knew this by heart. “... outweigh the needs of the… the few,” they squeaked. Their arms burned. The cold floor bore into their knees. They wanted to go home.

They sobbed to the floor. “Please… Please do-on't leave me. Fight for me. Take me with you”

No answer.

Whumpee looked up. Their breath hitched. The door swung closed softly. They couldn’t tear their gaze away.

Whumper screamed and grabbed them by the scruff, and Whumpee howled out, hands flying up and around to the back of their neck to claw uselessly at the iron grip. Whumper just grabbed their wrists and slammed them face first into the nearest wall, arms pinned above their head while Whumper’s other hand still squeezed into the back of their neck, pulling at their windpipe slightly as Whumpee hunched their shoulders as high as possible to try to accommodate the amount of skin Whumper held within their grasp. Whumpee finally stopped screeching when Whumper pulled them back and slammed their face into the wall once more. They could swear they saw droplets of blood flying through the air as their eyes bulged and they gasped for breath.

“This is all your fault.” Whumper hissed into their ear. “Make this any more difficult for me and I’ll kill you where you stand.”

Whumpee nodded as much as they could. Whumper’s hand effectively braced their head from moving much more, squeezing on either side so hard they started to feel lightheaded. 

Whumper let go of Whumpee’s wrists and slammed their head down into the ground. A flash of all colors and a metallic taste shooting silver strings through the top of their mouth, leading straight into the adrenaline fuelled black out filled with nothing but lightning bolts of agony shooting through their body. Their ribs screamed out in agony. And their stomach. And their legs. And everything. They tried to scramble back, but their back hit a wall. The basest of primal urges told them to claw out, to fight back, scratch into whatever was hurting them and don’t stop until it’s dead. But a louder voice screamed at them to just curl up into a ball and take it. Fighting back would only get them killed. Or maybe that was Whumper’s rage-fuelled yelling. Whatever. Whumpee stayed half curled in a catatonic stupor on the floor, and Whumper kept up the assault.

Eventually, the beating must have stopped. Whumpee was pulled to their feet by the back of their shirt. They stumbled and fell back to their knees in a daze as Whumper pushed them forward. Another growl. Intense pressure on the sides of their neck again, pulling them up, pushing them forward. Had their hands always been this red?

“You had better pray to whatever gods your kind believe in that you can fix your enormous botch up.” Whumper snarled in their ear, leading them further into their lair. There was only half a chance Whumpee even heard them.

“Or pray to those gods that you keel over before I’m done with you.”

@whumptember

#whumptember2023 #whumptember day 21 #day 21: take me with you #day 21: failed escape #day 21: stumbling #whump #whump scenario #whump writing #writeblr #whumpee #whumper #monster whumper #uhhh theyre like. a wolf person ig? #idk #also im back! #been super busy these past couple days #happy to be back too #gonna try to catch up on all the prompts lol #im still busy but in like #just on vacation #internet is spotty #ya know how it is

[whump-in-the-closet]

15. Fear Tastes like Pine

previous.

cw: whipping (implied), burns (mentioned), inhuman whumpers

Valian slips an arm around you, helping you stumble to your feet. You want to push them away– but without their help, you would collapse. Your knees threaten to give out at the slightest increase of pressure.

So you cling to Valian and hope they can’t see your face. 

With so little distance between you and them, tiny details stand out.

Flecks of crimson blood on their hands.

Bitten down nails.

The sound of uneven breathing.

Singed flesh.

A stark-white thread that’s unravelled and floats into the air, drifting lazily. 

You focus on these details and try to drown out the agent’s voices. Try to drown out the unforgettable click, click, click of leather against the ground. 

Valian shudders against you. 

“Is it…?” The question is left unfinished, a whisper choked with old memories of chains and cells and running.

The burns around your throat fade in comparison. 

Valian whispers something in your ear– the roaring in your head blurs out the words but you think it amounts to ‘Stay strong’. 

The comfort is more than you ever gave them.

You don’t have time to regret how you treated them because one of the agents–you think it’s Keres– rips you away from Valian. 

The world fractures into silver-lined green. Silver-lined terror. An explosion of panic in your chest, twisting your ribs with the force of it. 

You’d forgotten the taste it leaves in your mouth. 

Cotton. Tastes like cotton. 

You’re half-dragged across the ground before coming to an abrupt stop. Keres grabs your wrists, yanking them up until you’re on your knees, face pressed into the tree trunk. Your burn brushes against the rough wood and it's all you can do to keep from screaming. 

An ant crawls over the bridge of your nose as Keres ties your hands around the tree. She steps back, calling over her shoulder for Solis.

You yank at the ropes. 

A futile effort to escape. 

Heart in your throat. Vision starting to peel apart– when did the fear stop tasting like cotton and start tasting like pine? 

Tree bark. Focus on tree bark. On anything else. On the way the ropes feel. On—

The crack of a leather whip in the air knocks all coherent thoughts away. 

Fear tastes like pine needles and salt tears. 

“Count,” says Solis and raises the whip. 

taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @d-cs, @annablogsposts, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @whumpsday, @whumpinthepot, @whatwhumpcomments, @whumpycries (lmk if you want to be added/removed!)

#helect cyoa #interactive whump #whump writing #fantasy whump #whump cyoa #whump #inhuman whumpers #cw whipping #this took me way too long #also whats a cyoa if it doesnt have a flogging scene #technically this isnt a flogging scene #but perhaps the next installment shall have a bit more actual whump

[ash-isnt-writing]

Floral Flesh - Part 1(?)

Based off of an idea from my mutual, @p-3-t-r-1-ch-0-r / @whumpy-written-works

Characters used/Mentioned: Dr. Maven Heltrine (OC), TS-0019 Valerian Andersen (OC), other unnamed OCs.

A/N: Actually may make this into a series as well. Unsure as of right now.

STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY.

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The lab boys, as the majority of staff called them, came up with a new ‘prototype’ yet again, under a theory if their newest subject was able to produce and sustain flora.

Dr. Heltrine was the one that had the ‘pleasure’ of testing the prototype. Of course the thought of strapping someone down and injecting them with a serum as unstable as their security system wasn’t a pleasant one, it was his job as the head of the prototype department, and he enjoyed it.

Valerian wasn’t as keen about the idea, rightfully so.

He wasn’t just gonna let this happen. Kicking, struggling, and screaming, he tried everything to get away from this. However, the moment he saw a duo of Handlers enter, he lost his spirit, eventually giving in as he was strapped down to the exam bench.

“Now, here’s how this is gonna go” Dr. Heltrine explained, preparing a needle with the swirling green and brown serum of god knows what. “We’re gonna inject you with this prototype, and leave you here for a week. Th-“

“Wait- wait, what?” Valerian interrupted, angrily. “A week?! That’s not fair-!”

“QUIET!” Heltrine snapped, hushing Valerian immediately. “..As I was saying; Then, we’ll return, and see the effects, and adjust accordingly. The goal is to see if your… biology, is able to support plant life.”

“This- this is insane-“ Valerian stuttered out, even though he knew anything he said would be immediately brushed off.

“No, ‘19” Heltrine grinned, flicking the needle as he pressed a thumb to his wrist, found his pulse, and then aligned the needle accordingly. He had to admit, feeling the other’s pulse increase under his thumb was exhilarating, especially of something so inhuman. “It’s science.”

Valerian let out a choked cry as the needle sunk into his skin, a burning rushing through his body.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

#whump #whumpee #inhuman whumpee #test subject whumpee #valerian andersen #whumper #scientist whumper #maven heltrine #lab whump #science whump #sts laboratories #oc #oc whump #cw needles #cw restraints

[redd956]

Prompt 18

Content: based off of one of my previous prompt list, whump, nonhuman whumper, strangulation, creepy whumper, potential pet whump

CW: Strangulation, violence, creepiness, restraints, potential pet whump

The bladed end of Whumper’s tail dragged across the coarse ground making a horrendous scraping, little flashes of sparks faintly lit the incredibly dim room, flittering from the metallic-like end. The sharp point lifted off the ground, flicking with excitement and anticipation, as the long imp-like wire tail winded around the floor.

Whumpee’s head perked up at the sound, and they began to thrash and pull at the rope restraints at their wrists and ankles. On their knees they made no progress, before Whumper sauntered over, and snatched up their chin. Whumpee attempted to hold their face away. Their strength wasn’t enough as Whumper forcefully turned them back, where Whumpee was left to stare at Whumper.

To be honest Whumpee wasn’t scared of Whumper. Though they couldn’t say the same for the tail. It wasn’t a short one, two meters of it sweeping back and forth across the floor. Whumpee couldn’t keep their eyes off the end of it, wandering whether or not it was sharp enough to kill. Whumper helped them back to focus.

“They’re perfect.”

Whumper smiled and looked over towards Character C. Cash was quickly exchanged, and Character C left the two of them alone. 

“You stay away from me”, Whumpee half-growled.

Whumper went to grab Whumpee’s face again, but they weren’t having it and bit as hard as they could. Whumper winced their hand back just in time. Their smile spread into a grin. A strange sound, somewhere between a pure and coo emitted from Whumper

Whumpee suddenly felt cold meet the side of their face. The side of the bladed tail pressed into their face. Whumper slowly slid it down their cheek, pressing it just deep enough not to draw blood. Whumpee let a slight whimper slip. 

“Awww... Are you scared?”

They felt the blade begin to turn. First came a sting, then the pain grew as it was slowly drawn down the side of their face.

The tail quickly flicked grazing Whumpee’s wrist, and cutting the first binds of rope. Another swish the ankles were free too. Whumpee gave no hesitation. They forced themselves up, and dipped underneath Whumper’s reach. They had no clue where they were going, but they knew they had to get somewhere. Whumpee broke into a dash and-

The air left Whumpee’s lungs, their throat ached and nothing was coming in. Their head and body both whiplashed as opposites. A thick black wire slung itself around Whumpee’s neck, yanking them backwards like a leash. It wrapped around a few times, squeezing and guiding Whumpee.

“Ah-ah-ah”, Whumper teased walking closer, “Where are you heading off to?”

Whumpee’s hands shot to his throat, they tried to claw the tail off of them, beginning to wheeze and hiss. Their fingers did their best to dip down between the fighting force and his skin, but they couldn’t get in there. The coils of tail tightened further.

Whumpee’s eyes widened. Their mouth did as well opening to receive more air. Their nose began to burn for nothing was getting in. Crying and struggling grunts turned into choking. The eyes begun to look up, tears streaming down a growing pale face. Their hands fell away from their face. Just as collapse begun the tail rapidly loosened.

Whumpee’s knees hit the ground hard. They keeled forward coughing and gasping. Their hands rubbed at their neck as if it would magically bring air into their struggling lungs. The tail carefully slid underneath them as they rolled back and forth. Whumpee felt it do it a few more times until Whumper felt they had a confident enough grip.

Their face was pulled off the ground, and their body felt even heavier as it was lifted. Whumper started walking their own direction, rambling to their new catch.

“There’s no need to run away. Our time together is going to be very memorable”

#creepy whumper #whump prompt #whump #nonhuman whumper #inhuman whumper #whumper #strangulation whump #cw strangulation #cw stabbing #cw pet whump #pet whump #potential pet whump #cw trafficking #cw kidnapping

[blackrosesandwhump]

Treasure Planet AU, Part 4

Part 3

Whumpuary No. 12: "You're awake"

CW: false drowning, captivity, inhuman whumpers

Jim’s consciousness returned slowly, and with it, a horrific sensation, one that felt like…drowning.

His eyes snapped open underwater. He was drowning. He opened his mouth to scream for help, and bubbles of air floated to the surface just a few inches above his head. If he could only reach it…but something was pulling him down. A pair of manacles around his ankles. He was trapped in some kind of tank, imprisoned underwater, just below the surface. So close…and yet so far. He clamped his mouth tight, forcing himself not to breathe, thrashing desperately to wrench himself free.

“You are awake.”

The voice sounded right inside his ear. Someone was watching him drown. He screamed, and the last of his air expelled itself from his lungs in a flurry of bubbles.

“Breathe, young human. You are not dying.”

Breathe? But how? He was about to lose consciousness.

If I’m going to die anyway, I might as well try.

He let the water enter his lungs.

The sensation was horrific. For a moment, Jim thought it was over.

But then, somehow, he was still conscious, still alive. And the burning pain in his head and lungs was…disappearing.

“You see? Not dying. We want to keep you alive.”

Shock and adrenaline surged through his body.

They want to keep me alive. But why?

He looked down at himself. Naked, except for his underwear. At least the water was kind of warm. The scene outside his tank was a little blurry, but he could see enough. A large chamber, the same color as the endless tunnels (from what he’d been able to see of them), lit with glowing orbs full of some swirling substance. Other tanks just like his lined one end; they looked empty. And two figures stood motionless in front of him, watching.

The Hunters. They had to be. Not just because of the well-used weapons fastened at their sides and their sinister armor, but also because of the unmistakable hungry look in their colorless eyes.

Jim started to speak, but all that came out was a sound like “Ubbllubummlug.”

“We cannot free you, young human,” the taller Hunter said, its tone almost apologetic. “We need you. And yes, we can read your thoughts,” it added, as Jim let out a stream of confused bubbles.

Need me…why would they need me? And why did they have to imprison me in a tank of all places?

“You are not yet strong enough to survive outside the life liquid,” the alien said, busy with a pair of tubes connected to the side of the tank. “But soon.”

“We cannot wait long,” the other Hunter interrupted. “The princess is—”

“He is not yet strong enough! He would not survive!”

Jim tensed, his mind racing. The water suddenly felt cold, the manacles securing him to the bottom suddenly tight.

Survive? Survive what? What are they talking about?

The alien Hunter drew close, so close Jim could see it grotesque, inhuman face clearly through the wall of the tank. It seemed to sigh before answering.

“We require your skin and blood, young human. But you are not yet ready for harvesting.”

@forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumping-to-conclusions @whumping-out-of-time @painful-pooch @kawhump @briars7 @theelvishcowgirl @whumpuary

#whump #whump writing #treasure planet #jim hawkins #whump fanfiction #au fanfiction #whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno12 #you're awake #drowning #captivity #captivity whump #inhuman whumper #blackroseswrites #fanfiction #fanfic #breath whump #fear #trapped #underwater #passing out #loss of consciousness

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Heretic's Chosen, Chapter Four

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three |

CW: Aftermath of noncon/dubcon, nonsexual nudity (or... post-sexual nudity?), mentioned bruises, creepy whumper, intimate whumper

-

Present day

“You don’t believe in Dromada.” Grigori keeps his gaze firmly off to one side, refusing to grant the bastard the privilege of eye contact. Instead, he stares through the barred window at the beautiful day outside. 

Bohli only laughs, straddling Grigori’s hips as he reaches over him to untie his hands from the intricately carved headboard, one by one, before pulling them down to tie them together. Why Bohli bothers, Grigori will never know - it’s not like he can go anywhere, like he could escape this. Put that damn pendant back on and Grigori will look like he’s in love if he’s told to. He’ll feel like he’s in love, and be utterly unable to understand he isn’t.

“No,” Bohli says, voice low and heavy, and Grigori’s mind may shudder at the idea that Bohli will want him again so soon, but his body responds differently. “Or rather… yes, but not the way you think.”

He pulls away, leaving Grigori to shiver in the sudden chill when Bohli’s too-warm body is gone. He sits up, watching Bohli dress in his black leathers while Grigori can only sit there naked, picking at the knots on his wrist without success. “What’s that meant to mean?”

“Well, I believe in Dromada, but I don’t believe in any such thing as your silly human goddess,” Bohli responds easily. His leather slide on like a second skin, and as soon as he has them, Grigori can hardly remember what he looks like without clothing - only a sense of skin absolutely covered with runic tattoos in the elven tongue that he refuses to explain or elaborate on. “Those are two different things, Grigori.”

Bohli is a little flushed from his exertions, his hair a wild mess atop his head, but he doesn’t even bother to try and comb it down. He has a feral look to him, with his narrow chin and hard jaw and sharp teeth, that isn’t attractive, not in the slightest, no matter what Grigori’s immensely traitorous body thinks.

“No, they’re not,” Grigori says. Before he can finally work one knot open and free himself, Bohli is back in front of him, pulling him to his feet on shaky legs. His hips hurt, his lower back aching in a soft way that might have been sweet, if any of this was what he wanted. 

Isn’t it, though, by now? He could be fighting harder than this.

But he doesn’t.

As days pass, he fails to see the point in trying. At least his mind is wiped clean, for a few perfect minutes, each time Bohli overcomes his resistance. At least he has peace, briefly, before all his self-loathing rises again. 

“Hm?” Bohli blinks, pulling Grigori’s knuckles to his lips, giving each one a gentle kiss that has Grigori’s fingers twitching in an urge to throw a punch that he knows damn well won’t land, just to say he did it. Just to keep fighting. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Dromada is the human goddess of forgiveness,” Grigori says, slowly, frowning and jerking his hands back from Bohli’s grip. The half-elf… man… whatever he is, laughs and ties a new rope to the short bit of slack between Grigori’s wrists, backing up while jerking on the makeshift leash to force Grigori to stumble forward, naked and sweaty and marked from Bohli’s attentions, with lips still red and thighs still shaking. “Wait, what-... what are you doing-”

“Taking you for a walk,” Bohli says cheerfully, continuing backwards to the door, yanking Grigori into the hallway even as he starts trying to drag his feet.

As lean as he looks, though, Bohli has inhuman strength, and no amount of struggle keeps Grigori within the relative safety of his room.

No, his feet stumble onto the thick, heavy rug that runs the length of the hallway, and his face flushes a deep dark red as he sees two of the bandit gang turn to look before they burst into laughter and murmur to each other.

Bohli keeps him moving, away and not towards the two who still direct their laughter at Grigori’s back. 

Grigori’s heart pounds in his chest, he’s dizzy from rage and humiliation as they pass bandits in ones and twos, down the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door of this ramshackle home for evil out into the sunshine. Every single bandit laughs at him - he knows all their darkest sins, they come to confession regularly whenever Bohli commands it, and they don’t lie. They want him to know the depravations they pursue, they want him to see the wicked natures of their hearts. 

He knows the worst things they have ever done, and yet here, they laugh at him - and he can do nothing. As far as they're all concerned, he is just Bohli's bedtoy and prisoner, here to amuse, here to be ground under their feet, here to give Bohli his basest desires to play with, a holy man to turn into profane perversion.

Not that he feels holy any longer.

Please, he prays, but Dromada doesn’t listen. Maybe She can’t hear him in the Kaila, maybe the woods are beyond Her ability to reach. Maybe that’s why mankind stays away from the darkness here, the trees older than time, the first forest to have ever existed. The place where the elves once came from, before they were chased back into it, before they were destroyed.

Or were they?

Please save me. I will be your priest again, and I will not waver this time. Please, please, goddess, please. 

She gives him nothing.

The sun, at least, is warm on his hair and skin, and the grass is soothing and soft under his bare feet. Bohli tips his head back and Grigori watches his eyes close as he seems to preen and flower under the heat and light coming from the bright blue sky. Grigori looks wrecked, like a whore after serving in the war-tents for the soldiers.

You are a whore, now. You know that, right?

He forces his own thoughts away. Grigori knows he looks destroyed, torn apart, scratched to bleeding, bitten to bruising, slapped to redness on his arse and face according to Bohli’s depraved lusts. But Bohli… looks pristine. There’s no red marks on him, no bruise. Nothing to show what he's done.

Only his lovely, sharp face and his bright, shining smile.

As if Grigori had simply fucked himself into this appearance, and Bohli had stood by above it all.

“I hate you,” Grigori says aloud, hardly realizing he’s done so until Bohli opens his eyes and turns to look at him, looking faintly surprised. 

“What?” Grigori’s heart quakes, just a little, at the way Bohli’s smile drops off like it was chalk washed away by rain, and something in those dark eyes turns coldly elven, all his humanity simply gone like it’s only a mask he wears and he can take off at will.

“You… you heard me,” Grigori says, and somehow his voice stays steady. There are more bandits out here - the ones patrolling the edges of the clearing, guarding against wildlife that might try to make its way in. A few simply sitting out on the grass enjoying pints of beer they make themselves here from stolen grain. He knows they’re looking while pretending not to look, seeing the marks on his body, knowing their leader put them there. “I hate you. You have-... you have ruined me.”

For a moment, those black eyes on his feel like voids he might fall into and drown.

Then Bohli throws his head back and laughs so loud that a flock of birds is startled out of the trees nearby and takes flight with raucous caws and the beat of wings.

He keeps laughing, the bastard, his knees folding and then giving out until he falls onto the ground, jerking the rope until Grigori is pulled down, too, to land on his hands and knees on the grass. Someone calls out something filthy about what they could do with him out here like this, and his face burns. Tears are hot beyond his eyelids and he works as hard as he can to ignore them.

Bohli is still laughing, airy and breathless, as he drops onto his back, turning his head to look at Grigori with appraising, glimmering eyes. “Gods below, you thought I would care. See, Brother Grigori-”

“How dare you call me that!”

“-this is why I like you so much! You are a fucking treat. I’m so glad we let you live. I’m so, so glad I found you. You’re a beauty, and you’re mine. Now that’s a gift from the gods, don’t you think? My very own dirty little priest.”

“I-I’m no longer-”

“Oh, you still are one. Just because I have taken all your sacred parts and sanded them down to mud doesn’t mean you aren’t still a priest of Dromada, my pretty little man. You are a pure man turned to slut at my command, and that's all I need you to be, really. Come here.”

Grigori sets his jaw, knowing it won’t matter. But he can’t force himself to move, and he has to make Bohli work for this, even if he isn’t sure why he bothers. “No.”

“I said, come here, little priestling.” Bohli's smile shifts again, fades a little.

“And I said no.”

They stare at each other, for one long breath of silence broken only by the wind in the trees and the fading calls of the fleeing birds. Then Bohli’s smile widens so much that he seems like the stories of sea monsters and sharks, a mouth full of rows of endless teeth, black eyes that take in light but don’t reflect it. “Oh, Brother Grigori,” Bohli breathes, lighting up with new desire. “If you want me to take you again so badly, you should just say so.”

“What?” Grigori’s eyes widen in shock and new horror. He still hurts, he still throbs. “No!” He throws himself backwards, and Bohli isn’t expecting it - the rope slips through those long fingers fast enough to make the half-elf wince before Grigori is on his feet and fleeing, still naked, towards the woods.

Others in the bandit group stand, but Bohli holds up a hand. “Let him go,” He says, voice bright, getting softer as Grigori runs. “I’ll give him a ten-minute head start, let's see how he begs for me to take him back once I catch him.”

Grigori hears more laughter, but he ignores it, making the edge of the clearing in only a few seconds. He’s always been a good runner, fast and strong. He used to race some of the others in circles around the temple, see who could do the most laps in the shortest amount of time. His breath burns his lungs as he things, unwillingly, about his brother priests, the family murdered by the same bandits who keep him here as a sort of toy for their amusement, who shred him body and soul, day by day, to… what? Prove some point about their hatred of the goddess?

To prove some mysterious point to the King, a man Grigori has never met, who no one has ever seen in person outside the palace and the battlefield?

He runs, half-blinded by tears that come unbidden, that he can't quite seem to force away. He runs as if fleeing the flames that had burned down the only life he ever knew and left him to dissolution, to being preyed upon by a creature of such absolute devotion to degradation.

The trees at first seem natural and normal, but as Grigori runs straight into the woods, the Kaila begins to crowd around him. The sunlight grows dimmer, blocked by the grand canopies of the trees that loom over his head. After a couple of miles, maybe three, the canopy is so thick that it seems as dark as night around him. Things crash away from him through the woods, wildlife startled by him into fleeing. 

His feet hurt, sharp pains as he keeps stepping on things he can’t see through the underbrush. He's panting like a child - or like a man who hasn't been allowed to run in a year.

By now, he knows, Bohli is after him, tracking his trail through the trees. Grigori comes to a stop, looking around himself and realizing he has no idea how far he will need to go to find one of the safe paths through the Kaila.

Or if there even is one in this direction.

He takes a breath through lungs that burn, realizing he can’t even give up and turn around and go back. He has no idea which direction he’s come from, and no idea which direction to go. His rebellion may be simply to die, lost in the dark forest that is damnation to man, doomed to wander as just another trapped spirit caught here between the trees, subjected to the whims of the lingering traces of the elven gods and their terrible cruel amusements.

But at least he will have wiped that smile off Bohli’s face, taking from him his toy and breaking it where he cannot follow, the bastard.

Grigori squares his shoulders, looks around, and walks in a direction at random, heading for the sound of some kind of stream he can hear, picking his way more carefully now that the panic has subsided. Do elves track by scent? Bohli might, if they do… he doesn’t know. But it can’t hurt to stop for a drink of water before he moves on anyway.

Show me the way, he prays. He pleads, he throws every last remaining shred of belief he has in Her mercy into his mental voice. Please, my goddess, I have worshiped you since I was an infant. Save me. Please, please save me.

She doesn’t answer.

She hasn’t answered him since the day his brothers all died and he was spared by a trick of fate.

Still, he keeps moving.

His last act as Dromada’s Chosen, he supposes, will be simply to take from a wicked man something he wanted for his own. It’s not much.

It’ll have to do.

If he’s very, very lucky, he’ll get Bohli so lost he dies in here, too.

-

Tag list:

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @arlin-always-writing @sunshiline-writes @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @befuddled-calico-whump

#whump #the heretic's confession #fantasy world #fantasy writing #fantasy whump #captivity #nonsexual nudity #aftermath of noncon #creepy whumper #cheerful whumper #defiant whumpee #runaway whumpee #religious whump #I mean fantasy religion but #priest whump #more foreshadowing hints if anyone cares to guess #humilitation tw #escaped whumpee

[montammil]

In the Darkest Hours - Part One

CW: Lab whump (a little), multiple whumpers, inhuman whumpee, rockslide, obsessive behavior, pet whump (hinted), briefly mentioned abuse

When Liam was little, he saw one of the last ever documented Winged's ever to exist. Her wings were flame-red.

She was in a circus, but even child-him chose to ignore the bruises on her body, how every part of her except her wings were well-kept. He, and the audience, were too stunned to really pay attention. Not like they would've cared, anyway. Many people had Winged's as pets, no one was required to respect them.

The numbers dwindled down over the decades, and soon Winged's were even being poached. Masters had to keep their Winged's in closed doors at all times, and eventually the government took the last ones away.

Liam became infatuated with wanting to find more. He was sure there had to be at least one more left, but he was sure there were more than that. He was sure if he just looked and studied hard enough, he'd find something to find more and become rich. He'd even get a Winged of his own, and he hoped it'd have bright red wings, just like hers.

He started working for a private research center, surrounded by the research of all creatures that aren't human. Laws were different, there were more equal rights for others like the Horned, Scaled, and Gilled, but since there were no Winged's out there... there were no laws protecting them.

As he grew older, he grew more bitter. His obsession started to dwindle down by the time he reached thirty, and he thought he moved on, accepting that if there are any more Winged's on this planet, the chances of him getting his hands on them would be low.

Until one night, that is.

...

Alden has gotten better at hiding his wings, even if it still hurts like hell. He's managed to tuck them by his sides, and though it looks strange and unnatural, people still seem to shrug it off, considering he's done this several times.

He's glad he lives in a remote and cold area, because it gives him an excuse to bundle up and hide his wings better, and go to less-populated markets.

"Hey, Al. Haven't seen you in a while."

"Oh, hey, Em. Sorry, I've been kind of busy."

She chuckles. "I can tell. If you spend all your time in those caves, you're going to get hurt, you know."

"I'm fine."

She raises a brow but leaves it at that with a casual goodbye once he pays for his things. It's a miracle he can afford it, barely scraping by. At least he never has to worry about his medical expenses, since there's no way he'd trust any doctor with his wings. He'd get turned in, no doubt.

Alden goes to drop off his things at his cabin, and then decides some mining wouldn't hurt. He hit it big about a month ago, at least bigger than what he normally finds there. 

Since no one's ever down in the caves or the river, he decides to throw one of his jackets off. Everyone else in the town thinks he just gets cold easily, which is somewhat true, but not totally true.

He hums quietly to himself as he makes his way down the steep rocks. It's also extremely conventional he lives so close to the mining site. He grabs his helmet with a cap light from his backpack, his pickaxe and chisel, and leaves the rest of the equipment outside the cave. 

He knows where everything is, and he likes keeping his surroundings clear so no one gets hurt. He takes one of the mining lamps and lights it up, walking in further until he gets to his first spot of interest.

He sees something shiny in a small crevice of the rocks, so he picks up his pickaxe and chisel and starts hacking away at the rocks, trying to get whatever it is out of the crack. 

He has no idea what it might be, but it has to be valuable or it wouldn't be so deep in the crevice.

It's difficult work, and by the end of the day he's covered in sweat and dirt, and near what looks like the back of the cave. He decides he'll try one more location before leaving.

Just as he gets back to the close entrance of the cave, he finds one more area. He only hacks at the spot four times when he feels the whole cave start to shake. 

His head snaps up and he tries to look at what he's doing, but it's too dark, even with the light on his helmet.

Before he can rush out of the cave, the whole thing caves in and everything goes black.

...

"Dr. Schultz, you won't believe what we just found!"

"I really don't care," Liam responds bitterly, not looking up from his paperwork. "Can you shut the door on your way out, Blake? That'd greatly be appreciated--"

"It's a Winged."

That causes Liam to abruptly stop writing. His ballpoint pen falls out of his hand and onto his desk. He looks up at his assistant with wide, disbelieving eyes. "You're kidding."

Blake smiles. "No joke."

Liam quickly stands up from his desk and looks at him. "Is this real? You're sure?"

He nods. "He was recently transported here. He might be asleep for a while. Poor thing was in a cave that had collapsed."

"Show me now."

They make their way to a certain room, and Blake opens the door to room 640, where the Winged is located. He moves to open the door for Liam, but Liam shoves past him and throws open the door himself. 

He runs over to the Winged, who is currently laying on a bed with all sorts of medical equipment hooked up to him. He immediately goes to examining his wings. "Good, they don't seem injured much..." He frowns deeper at the color. "Blue. I wanted red wings."

"He's likely the last Winged alive," Blake mumbles, out of annoyance of Liam's reaction, or lack thereof. He knows a little about the slightly younger man's obsession with Wingeds, but he really thought he'd have more of a reaction at the extremely rare find, regardless of the color of wings.

Liam doesn't acknowledge him. He seems to be focusing on the Winged, taking in every detail. "Do we have any kind of file for him yet?"

"Not that I know of."

Liam continues to stare at the Winged in silence for several minutes. "I think we need to do some tests first before we do anything with him. We'll have to bring in some other doctors. Schedule an appointment with Dr. Herman for me. I have a lot of work to do."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and when he wakes up, notify me immediately." He doesn't wait for Blake to respond before leaving. He simply walks out the door without a goodbye, as per usual.

As soon as he's gone, Blake looks back at the sleeping Winged. He thinks the blue looks nice, shiny and almost iridescent.

History has proven Winged's are more comparable to obedient dogs than birds, given they are loyal and compliant, even if they start off stubborn and short-tempered at first.

Liam can have the Winged as his patient, but Blake wants a loyal pet. He thinks he's found the perfect candidate.

#whump #oc whump #alden oc #liam oc #blake oc #winged is pronounced wing-ed #at least in my head it is lol #PLEASE send me stuff about these characters like questions and drabble requests #the names aren't creative but i decided to go for something really simple here