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hufflepuffwritingstuff2 · 10 months

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This or That Gothic Edition Snippet 19- Imprisoned Monster

Inspired by my answers for this post by @blackrosesandwhump!

Whumpee crept through the castle halls, holding their lantern in front of them. The storm raged outside, sending sheets of rain down onto the washed-out roads. Whumpee didn’t feel like being drenched, so they thought they would ask the castle’s owner for shelter. The more they explored, however, it became evident that the castle had been abandoned for years. The windows had a hazy film covering them, and the thick layer of dust laying in the carpet absorbed any sound that Whumpee’s footsteps would have made. Unused cobwebs adorned the corners of furniture and light fixtures; even the spiders had forsaken the place.

“Hello?” Whumpee called for a third time.

No answer greeted Whumpee, save for their own echo. They shivered as a draft blew through the castle halls. Eventually, they reached a large, oak door. Pushing it open, Whumpee was greeted by something that surely belonged in a mausoleum. A coffin of marble, sitting in the center of an otherwise empty room. Heavy chains of silver held the lid down. The floor was made of cold stone, and it made a clicking noise as Whumpee walked across it. Oh mercy, had they stumbled on a dead person’s home?

Whumpee was just about to back away when they heard it: a weak yet distinct pounding. It was coming from the coffin. Everything in them told them to run, but Whumpee found themselves stepping closer all the same. Whumpee blinked, and the next thing they knew they had removed the chains.

The lid slid off of the coffin with a deafening sound of stone scraping against stone. Whumpee jumped back with a yelp. Slowly, a figure sat up inside the coffin. Their head turned, and red eyes stared into Whumpee’s.

“Do I have you to thank for my freedom?” the figure asked, their voice sounding like it hadn’t been used in years.

Whumpee nodded, rooted to the spot.

The figure climbed out of the coffin soundlessly; they seemed to glide as they strode over to Whumpee.

“What should I call you?” the figure asked.

“Wh-” Whumpee swallowed, “Whumpee.”

“Hm,” the figure mused, “it’s fitting. My name is Whumper. Welcome to my castle. I would have greeted you upon entry, but as you can see I was otherwise detained. Thank you, Whumpee, for releasing me.”

“Um, s-sure. Anytime.”

“It’s unfortunate that after you’ve given me my freedom, you must lose yours, but I haven’t had anyone to talk to for many years, and I daresay I am in need of a companion.”

Whumpee blinked, it took them a minute to process what Whumper was saying. Before they could turn to run, Whumper had sank their fangs- they had fangs!?- into their neck. Whumpee wanted to struggle, but Whumper held them tight. They began to lose the ability to stand as Whumper drained them of their blood.

“S-stop,” Whumpee breathed, “please.”

Whumper continued to drink for a few moments more, then detached their fangs from their victim’s neck.

“There there,” Whumper soothed, “forgive me, but I haven’t had a meal in so long. Come now, let’s get you to your room.”

The world tilted on its axis as Whumper lifted Whumpee into a bridal carry. The storm continued to rage outside as Whumper carried them down the halls to a large bedroom. Whumpee was limp in their hold. Whumper laid them down ever so gently on a bed. Even though they were lying still, Whumpee’s world spun. Soon enough, dark spots clouded their vision and their eyes fluttered shut. They couldn’t see Whumper smile down at them, nor feel them run a slender hand through their hair.

Whumper smiled at their little human. They looked so peaceful like this. What a wonderful companion they would make.

ko-fi

tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm

#vampire #vampire whumper #vampire x human #carewhumper #yandere whumper #yandere vampire #whump #hurt/comfort #this or that gothic edition snippets #human whumpee #nonhuman whumper #imprisoned monster #writing #writeblr #creative writing #gothic #gothic whump

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scratchandplaster · 5 months

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What Remains

CW: referenced murder, ghosts, supernatural Whumpee, Whumper-turned-Whumpee

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Whumper lies awake for another night. The cobalt-blue specter at the foot of his bed guards any sleep, a silent whine is their constant escort. Through the moonlight, every lash and stab wound glows visible on their defiled shape: translucent, floating above the carpet floor.

"My body," the living dead whispers with a hollow tone.

When they speak, nothing but these words leave them. For weeks now, even after Whumper thought he got rid of them, the haunting cold they bring with leaves him restless, unable to close his eyes for even a second. As a single tear slips down onto the pillow, the sunken-in stare rests on Whumper's helpless body.

This would be a waking night, like they all had been; it didn't matter in which room or which house he might have tried to flee to, ever since Whumper squeezed the last breath out of the cursed guest, they decided to pay a visit until sunrise.

"My body."

It had been a mistake to take them in, there were plenty of folk that would have made fitting additions to his collection. Unmoving, Whumper prays to a nameless force to end this, to let him rest.

But they can't be reasoned with, their request will never be fulfilled. Even before the first haunting, it had been too late; the object of desire was thrown in the bog, like Whumper did to all of his guests.

So he just withers away also, alive but fading into nothingness.

"My body!" the phantom howls desperately, as if they can read the thoughts of their torturer like a book.

What else could they be offered? What satiates a trapped soul? Desperation catches on, and Whumper finally joins their hopeless whining.

"I'll do anything," he mutters, still frozen in endless horror, "just let me be. What can I give to you?"

A long silence settles between them but apart from the electric purr around, only a sudden hint breaks it:

"A body."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterpost]

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becomingvecna · 7 months

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(x)

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bebs-art-gallery · 5 months

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Datail — Ecce Homo, c. 1674 by Pedro de Mena † Agnus Dei (Lamb of God), circa 1635 - 1640 by Francisco de Zurbaran

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bebx · 15 days

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from my diary

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allthingswhumpyandangsty · 8 months

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feel free to reblog with your thoughts/opinions

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whump-kia · 7 months

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GOD i love it when a whumpee is descending into madness. lost in obsession or too alone in solitude to cope without that slight delirium, the unconscious laughter bubbling up from their ribs, the movements in the corners that only they can see. i love the cackling and screaming and sobbing at losing who they once were. give it to me.

#whump #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump community #kidnapping tw #madness #insanity #losing their mind #totally not about the jekyll & hyde gothic musical thriller. of course not. couldn't be me. who told you

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caughtonwebcam · 2 months

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“Alastor altruist died for his friends”

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lamaenthel · 3 months

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Solitary Confinement

[read on ao3][Febuwhump prompt: Solitary Confinement]

After being captured alongside General Kenobi by the Seppies, Cody holds out hope that rescue will arrive in time.

Characters: CC-2224|Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ahsoka Tano Word count: 1575

The cell is damp and near-freezing. With Cody's vision robbed by whatever contraption they'd bolted over his eyes, his other senses have sharpened. He has to be careful not to breathe with his mouth open. The smell of rot and open sewage had him gagging when they first dragged him into the stronghold. He's gotten used to it. Mostly. It's only gotten stronger in the last few days.

Soft tapping from the other side of the room is the only point of contact he has with General Kenobi.

"Take heart, Cody. The beacon was launched before we were captured. I don't expect we'll be here long." General Kenobi gives him one last encouraging smile from the floor, his wrists chained above his head, before the clankers bring out the drill and start attaching the metal blinder to his temples. "This should be entertaining at least, my dear."

Their chains give them just enough leeway to stand, though if they do it more than a few times an hour they're shocked into unconsciousness. It happens if they speak, too, which seems idiotic as the Seppies would have a better chance of overhearing something than extracting it. He marks the days by torture sessions; by his best estimate, there's a full rotation between visits. The chains hum and go warm with promised electricity. The door opens and one of them is dragged out of their cell for uncountable minutes to be interrogated.

Cody much prefers being strapped down to the table over his General. At least he knows what's going on when a droid asks him for GAR secrets in a monotone buzz, right before the needles go into his neck and what feels like acid fills his veins. Its agony, but they'd started training him to withstand torture at five. At least when they're torturing him he can breathe.

The waiting is the worst. Those dreadful seconds when metal footsteps approach them and he doesn't know who they'll choose are worse than anything they can inject him with. General Kenobi has no such training, just his strength of will, and while it's indomitable, Cody knows it will give out eventually.

Maybe that's why they haven't taken him for three days. Kenobi taps on his chains every few minutes so Cody knows he's still alive, but he can't hear the reassuring sound of his Jedi breathing over his heart's own drumbeat pounding in his ears. There's nothing else to hear in the gluttonous, bloated silence.

He's dehydrated. Water wasn't provided—deemed unnecessary when every day the droids held his head under a steady stream of it until he passed out—but they haven't been fed since they arrived. Not food, anyway, just leathery balls of surprisingly sweet jelly during their torture sessions. They get angry when he chews them, so he keeps doing it, figuring it's the right call. His stomach cramps violently, squeezing acid up into his throat and eroding delicate tissue. His body is starting to cannibalize itself. Every torture session leaves him weaker, but it doesn't matter. He will survive, force his heart to keep pumping blood even when every other bit of him wastes away, because that's what he was made for. He's a Marshall Commander to a High General, not some wet-behind-his-ears shiny who's never known a night without Kamino's thunder. He knows how to withstand any torture, no matter how brutal.

Kenobi taps again. Cody taps back. It's all they can manage. It's enough to keep going.

Take heart, Cody.

He will. He'll let them rip him up from the inside out if that's what it takes, but he will not lose hope. Not if his General still needs him.

He feels the hum of electricity in his teeth right before his chains warm and come alive again. He steels himself. Any moment the door will open. They'll drag him off again to ask the same questions that he won't answer, flay him like a nerf left to rot in the sun, then throw him back in his cell once they deem it to be another wasted day.

The door doesn't open. Instead, the chains go cold. Cody frowns; that's never happened before. The floor vibrates, and he's thrown violently to the side with the force of an explosion somewhere below them. The rushing roar of blood in his ears intensifies. "General Kenobi?" he whispers, taking a chance that their captors are occupied with whatever the hell that was. He can't speak properly anyway. Between the screaming and the stomach acid, his voice is virtually gone. "Can you hear me, General?"

Kenobi taps again, unwilling to risk it. Cody accidentally sucks a deep breath in, gagging from the stench of rot. It's all he can do to not vomit, even though he doesn't have anything to bring up except acid. He ignores the burning in his throat. DC-17 carbine fire echos through the vents, a song as reassuring as a mother's lullaby to a clone trooper. "They're here, General," he says, adrenaline jumpstarting his weak heart. "We did it." We survived.

Kenobi taps again.

Waiting for his brothers to find them is more painful than anything their captors have put him through. He can hear boots thumping, blaster fire getting closer, the hum of a swinging lightsaber. He twitches in his chains, weak muscles begging to join the fight. Who came, the 212th? Undoubtedly they'd come in some capacity, but he would hazard a guess that there's a fair amount of blue mixed in the golden orange. Skywalker never was one to sit on his hands and wait patiently where General Kenobi was concerned.

"Just hang on, General. They're almost here." Cody licks lips that taste like sour old iron. First thing he's going to do after seeing to his General and getting debriefed is grab the bottle of tihaar he confiscated from Wooley. There aren't many perks of being in command, but if he had to make a list then sampling the contraband for “safety reasons” would definitely be near the top.

The blaster fire gets closer, along with the subsonic buzz of a lit saber. Cody fidgets in his cross-legged sit, his legs on fire and cramped from being bent for days, barely able to contain himself. The door beeps and slides open. Cold air that smells like corpses is sucked into the room, shocking him. He hears a single, sharp inhale, high-pitched and young. "Cody?" a trembling voice asks after a few pregnant seconds.

"Commander Tano," Cody rasps. The words scrape his throat like rusty sheet metal.

The sound of her footsteps scuff across the floor. "Oh, Force, what is this?" She touches the metal band that the droids had bolted into his skull. He jerks in his chains as a lightning bolt of sharp pain zaps through his temples, accidentally smacking his head against the wall as he does. "It's okay. Don't move, everything is going to be fine." Her commlink beeps. "Rex, cell 117. I found them. I need a medic here, now." Her voice shakes. “E-Everything is going to be okay.”

"General?" Cody tries to clear his throat, tastes blood instead. "It's alright, General, we can talk now. The chains are turned off."

Kenobi taps.

"Don't… don't let Anakin up here." Cody's blood freezes. A soft, trembling hand runs across his brow, mindful of the bolts this time. "We tracked the beacon." Her voice cracks. "We came… we came as fast as we could."

Cody leans into her soft touch, for her comfort as much as his. She's always been so sensitive. "I'm alright, Commander. Go check on General Kenobi."

He hears a humming fwoom. She cuts his chains with her lightsaber, rubbing his bloodless hands briskly like he'd been out in the cold once they're free. "It's going to be okay, Cody," she says again. She's crying.

"General, please say something," Cody says hoarsely. The stench of rotten flesh is so overpowering that he can taste it. "Obi-Wan?" Why hasn't he said anything? Why hasn't he greeted Ahsoka? When did the tapping stop?

The tapping resumes; relief floods his system. "Get off of him!" Her lightsaber ignites, swings, and a wet chitinous thump follows a moment later. "I'm sorry." Ahsoka whispers it over and over again until the words slur together.

Cody reaches up to the metal blinder and starts turning the bolts that keep it attached to his skull with numb fingers. The screws take forever to twist out of his swollen, infected skin, but he doesn't stop even when Ahsoka grabs his wrists and begs him to. He shoves the sobbing girl away and rips the blinder off with an agonizing scream.

It takes a few seconds for his vision to adjust. Even in the near pitch-black his eyes hurt. General Kenobi sits cross-legged exactly where Cody had seen him last. He's still chained to the wall, mottled hands cuffed above his hanging head. A pile of something shiny and wet glistens in his lap.

Cody creeps closer on his hands and knees, unable to trust his weak eyes. His hands slip in the slick blackness that covers that side of the room. The smell of rot and sewage is almost unbearable. Cody reaches out a quivering hand, confirms with a touch what his eyes refuse to see.

The bisected insect that's been eating its way through the General's guts taps weakly on the floor one last time before finally dying with a hiss.

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @febuwhump , @soliloquy-of-nemo Divider: @saradika-graphics

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theres-whump-in-that-nebula · 1 year

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Agricultural Horror

Immortal being who was buried alive finally crawls out of the ground during harvest season and scares the crap out of some poor farmer

The ground quakes and shrieks when a plant is pulled out of it, like its fingernail has been ripped out

Sentient tractors that wander around at night and kill people What is this? Cars? Night at the Museum? Killdozer?

The old gardener has suffered many decades of hard seasons and loss of crops, due to the weather, birds, and squirrels, and this year is no different… except for the corn crop, which remains unnaturally pristine all the way through until harvest. Once the gardener finally husks one, they find out why.

Swimming monster in a rice paddy picking off workers one-by-one

Innocent gardener trapped in their own greenhouse on a hot day and left to die

The Earth is sentient and pissed off at humans always hurting it; so it decides to make itself completely uninhabitable

That’s not a normal scarecrow; that’s a man dressed in burlap and he’s watching us! Captain Clegg, anyone?

A prehensile pumpkin plant captures a human to carve into a jack-o-lantern so they know how it feels

Zucchini just keeps growing and growing, overtaking an entire field and crushing two people’s barns, despite efforts by the government to stop it “OH! What a beauty!”

Giant carnivorous pill bug-like aliens that are indistinguishable from watermelons when they roll up. This is an adaptation to catch prey

Crop circles (the classic)

Whole-tree fruit poisoning to ensure that the owner dies. “By the way… don’t touch the figs”

Ghost of a child who was murdered in a blueberry field writes a warning in blueberries to other children that the killer is still on the prowl

#horror #midwest gothic #writing prompts #whump (sort of)#this turned into crack writing prompts halfway through but I pulled it together I guess #ghosts #monsters #plant whump

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blackrosesandwhump · 1 year

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You know how Gothic/romantic horror is full of the damsel in distress trope?

Well...

What if it was a mansel in distress instead?

Just imagine:

A beautiful, distressed *man* in a loose, partly unbuttoned white shirt...

Running for his life, or trapped in a Gothic castle, or stalked by a mysterious monster, or whatever...

And getting all beautifully bloodied and wounded in the process.

Mmmmmm, yes please 🖤🤩

#gothic literature #gothic horror #gothic romance #damsel in distress #horror tropes #gothic writing #gothic aesthetic #gothic fiction #gothic #thoughts #male whumpee #whump inspiration #gothic whump #writing thoughts #whump aesthetic #mmm yes #gimme #i will take a mansel in distress

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scratchandplaster · 9 months

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Windfall

CW: supernatural Whumper, body control, blood, medieval setting

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Whumpee hurried down the farm track, his makeshift shoes had to hold on until he finally reached the doorstep. After a day of backbreaking work, his family surely had their dinner, always leaving a portion for the straggler.

Please let it be a beef stew today, another round of kale would kill him on the spot.

He hated working on the village's market, day in and day out walking miles for less than poor reward; the oven flames at the back of his neck and flour pressed into every pore of his face, he tried to let the sunlight run out in peace.

Whumpee knew which turn to take, as the late evening bathed the orchards in an ink-blue smear of shapes, his cottage was just a few fields further south.

Although the sharecropper had already collected this year's harvest, a quick peek onto the field shouldn't do any harm, Whumpee decided. Each leftover fruit he could bring home to his family was worth more than the few pennies the master baker let him keep.

Marmalade would be the best option, he pondered, to keep any sweet troves fresh even as the quickly approaching winter left the trees barren, just as their pantry.

Climbing quickly over the fence, no spying eyes in sight yet, Whumpee started to search the ground for anything non-rotten and hopefully delicious, when his view got caught on a quivering shape only a few feet away.

In the twilight, the shadow came further towards him to reveal a raven: writhing helplessly through the wet grass and not seeming to mind him at all.

It really was a gorgeous animal, one that Whumpee only ever admired from afar, or rather had to scare away from the family's crops when he was younger. Now standing at the tip of his feet, it seemed more disoriented than anything.

Carefully, Whumpee kneeled down to catch a better look of the bird, as it again hopped on one leg with a curious expression on its face.

Was it a face? Maybe on its beak?

It was rare to see these creatures approach people without ear-numbing screeches or ominous fluttering, so this had to be a tame one. He remembered his mother talking about a hermit a few villages onward who kept a handful of docile pigeons, maybe this raven also had a flock to return to.

But certainly not in this condition.

"Are you lost?" he asked, knowing he wouldn't get much smarter through that. With a low rumble from the chest, the raven let its head fall to the side. Whumpee followed suit, copying the stance of the curious bird. The blue shimmer of its feathers had a mesmerizing glow to it, a beautiful thing, truly...

The sun had set and as the realization hit him with a flash, he quickly got up again.

"I really have to go home. Good luck!"

His brothers would ridicule him if they ever caught him talking to animals, but that's what he got for being the youngest of them. Was he really that naive?

A nearly inaudible caw left the raven's bill, the sound of loneliness weighing down heavy on Whumpee's conscience. It was probably hurt too, so a night out here in the wilderness meant certain death. A pity, really, he wouldn't see such a special pet every day.

He thought of his family and supper, still warm and waiting for him over the hearth. What had gotten into him?

"Just for tonight," Whumpee said with a heavy sigh, "my mother will despise me for bringing you with, but it'll be alright for now."

The ball of feathers was gently lifted from the damp ground, now sitting safe and secure atop Whumpee's palms. As he turned it from side to side to catch a better look at any possible injuries, the raven's head snapped forward with a quick jerk, digging its beak deep into his left wrist.

Deafened by his own shouting and cursing, Whumpee didn't even seem to mind when it withdrew again to hop contently back down on its feet and rub his plumage.

The blood-slicked bird now glowed even more brightly under the moonlight, still watching the furious man intently.

Whumpee huffed deeply, pushing down his anger and frustration.

"That's what I get for being so foolish!" he thought with a bitter grin. Maybe he should put the nasty beast in the stew for a change... God knows what kind of plague he already caught by touching this thing-

A soft coo ripped him from his thoughts and the steady pulsing of his arm, red already dripping everywhere: the bird ruffled its feathers more distinct this time, demanding attention as it skipped up and down.

Any idea to snatch leftover fruit had become obsolete.

With a quick twirl, the raven rolled on its back only to turn over again on its tiny claws... One-two-three hops it made to finish this bizarre performance.

"Is that your apology?" Whumpee's sceptical murmur was interrupted by another roll to the side, with a double spin at the end. It did look endearing like that...

He had to get home, right? To clean out the bite that felt less and less painful the more he watched that silly dance.

Coming to a halt again, he noticed how it hopped further down the awry trail to his left, a road that would certainly lead him further away from his destination.

"But I really can't, I need to-"

As the raven pecked twice on the dirty gravel, the sound made Whumpee's body jerk forward on its own accord.

When did his feet become so light?

Something was different from before, the erring security that spread through his body couldn't match his racing thoughts, as he followed the pleased bird through the thicket; gaze fixed onto it as it flew in circles, drawing ring after ring into the air.

Its owner sure would be relieved to have it back, but he also had to return at some point, a point that was already overstepped.

The idea of such a wonderful reunion pushed all the spinning worries from his mind; Whumpee had become too busy watching the raven's mesmerizing waltz to recognize the passing countryside that framed the odd pair.

"They are a bad omen," his mother always said, "what remains of damned souls in this world. They only bring-"

The bird let out a shrill cry, demanding Whumpee's regard once again. Through the pitch-black darkness around him, he could only feel himself heave through a stream of water. The current threatened to push him off balance more than once, but under the watchful eyes of his companion, Whumpee could feel the fast-approaching bliss of home.

He had to hurry now... How curious, was there ever a river this close to their old cottage?

The moon behind the treetops decided to reveal a glade, where Whumpee's legs restlessly strode to a large stone building in its middle. Without thinking twice about it, the bird led him through the opened entrance gate, past the bare foyer, until their strange journey ended promptly in the castle's library.

Walls of bound paper and leather engulfed a crackling fireplace, which seemed to be already dying down, but nevertheless let the room shine in its warmth.

When Whumpee finally came to a rest, all the suppressed feeling of the last hour came over him in a flash of agony: burning exhaustion of his muscles joining itself with the confused thoughts screaming inside his head.

The false comfort of home throughout the room did all but calm his racing heart.

And there it was, the raven, standing tall before the flames.

Something had changed in its pitiable sight. Second by second its bony chest grew wider, its beak retracting inside and claws changing from the leathery black skin into larger appendages - into legs.

The horrifying creature, now a mixture of tinted plumage and formless extremities, only became larger and larger and forcing Whumpee to stare up in silent terror.

Too cold and tired to flee from this unholy beast, he had to hold out until it settled into a familiar shape.

A man, dressed in fine silk and wrapped in a cloak made of slick blue fabric that reminded Whumpee of the animal he had just seen moments ago, looked down on his guest.

Dried blood was smeared across the golden embroidery, shimmering just as vividly as the wound on Whumpee's forearm. The man seemed to wait for any kind of reaction, the bright gleam in his eyes and trusting smile inviting him to open up. But no friendliness could calm his rabbit-fast pulse, it felt like nothing ever could.

"I-" Whumpee croaked, at last ready to beg for an explanation, yet being directly interrupted by the man's quiet voice.

"You are lost, friend," he reasoned with a tone so loving Whumpee nearly believed him for a second, "and I seem to be in dire need of some assistance!"

With that, he draped his cloak around Whumpee's shoulders, warmth pressing heavy onto his already tired mind:

"What a relief that we found each other!"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterpost]

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