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shywhumpauthor · 1 year

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Okay mock executions are fucking terrifying I have not seen nearly enough of them in the whump community.

Whumpee who knows they’re going to die the next week/day/few hours and there’s nothing they can do to stop it. The panic and desperation with no outlet. They claw at their restraints and throw themself at the door to their cell, uncaring as bruises bloom across their skin, or as blood begins to build up underneath their nails. They’re willing to sacrifice everything for the futile, fleeting hope of escape. They scream and beg until their voice goes hoarse even though there’s no one nearby to listen. Eventually, they crumple in on themself to the awful realization that their future is set and cut. They can’t even sleep without their dreams being plagued with this lingering terror. Maybe they’ve seen Whumper kill someone in the manner they’ve told Whumpee they are to be executed, so Whumpee can’t even pretend to think that maybe Whumper is bluffing.

When the day comes, they still haven’t settled into their fate. They’re absolutely hysterical, doing everything they can to stay away from Whumper and [insert place where they were planned to be executed]. Of course, this does nothing. If they won’t walk, Whumper’s men will simply drag them. At one point maybe Whumpee manages to break free for a short moment of hope, managing to throw their elbow against Henchman’s stomach and twist away, actions fueled only by the adrenaline flooding their mind. They take a single desperate lunge towards the door, before something hard catches them upside the head and knocks them down. Their vision is fuzzy and fleeting, hearing nothing but a faint ringing. Maybe they’re unconscious altogether as Henchman picks them up and continues to drag them towards their final destination.

Whumper plays out everything the way it was intended. They tie the blindfold over Whumpee’s eyes, exchange their chains for softer restraints. Whatever. Then when it comes time for the strike, for the blade to pierce through their chest or slit across their neck, all that Whumpee feels is a small prick against their neck, something cold flood through their body before their thoughts collapse under the intensify of the stress and their mind gives out.

Wherever they wake the following day, let it be somewhere much worse than death’s doorstep or a place so peaceful Whumpee couldn’t even begin to comprehend, Whumpee will be terrified. Panicked and confused. Their thoughts will have no answer as they realized there is no one else around to answer their cries. They wonder if this is death, the afterlife or whatever it was called.

That hope is crushed, replaced by even more of a helpless confusion as Whumper strolls through the door moments later, grinning as they ran their fingers across the sharp of a blade.

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whumperofworlds · 1 year

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Mock execution, except it went wrong.

The Whumper's lackeys shot at Whumpee, but all the bullets/arrows/whatever missed.

All but one. One lackey misaimed and accidentally hit the bound Whumpee. Whumpee, blindfolded screams, pain shooting up from the wound. It was excruciating--they would wish that death took them now to stop the pain.

BONUS: Caretaker was there, blindfolded as well, hearing Whumpee's screams, and think of the worse.

#my whump stuff #whump #whump prompt #mock execution #injury #bullets #arrows #tied up #whumpee #caretaker #whumper #blindfolded #actually writing something like this now XD

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republicansaredomesticterrorists · 5 months

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#traitor trump #putin ukraine #war crimes #republican assholes #torture #mock execution

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whumpwillow · 10 months

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just tossing something out there and maybe hear some thoughts on it, because im not sure if there’s actual logic or existing whump surrounding it but—

whumpee kneeling on the ground after fighting whumper, exhausted and defeated, and whumper points his gun at whumpee

whumpee assumes he gets shot but can only stare at whumper as whumper shoots beside whumpee, like gun firing directly and beside whumpee’s ears, which causes ringing and maybe loss of hearing- its enough for whumpee to get the conclusion that whumper won the fight, and can absolutely fight again and kill them if they wanted to

- ☕️ anon

Huh, so like a mock execution thing? I do like the concept when someone is defeated in a fight and thinks the enemy is going to kill them but doesn’t and actually spares them but is like “i own you now”

#whump #whump prompt #willow answers #answered asks #whump prompts #whumpee #whump tropes #mock execution #hearing loss tw #☕ anon

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another-whump-sideblog · 25 days

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Jane's Pets Chapter 96: Resurrection

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

You asked Barron about resurrection, once. You didn't really know if you'd want to use it if it did exist, but you were curious, and none of its books mentioned it. You also felt smart for figuring that if it did exist it would require the death of someone else to do, since magic cares so much about balance, and wanted to see if you were right.

"Once someone's dead, they're gone." It said. "At least, that's a foundational assumption we mages make in order to better understand magic, like the whole balance thing. It's possible we're wrong, but assumptions like that tend to lead us in the right direction when it comes to tinkering and stuff, which implies there's at least some truth to it. So, assuming our fundamental understanding of magic is correct, you could puppet around a corpse, but the person they used to be will never exist in that form again. Maybe you could describe vampirism as a form of resurrection, but I wouldn't. Vampires who are turned aren't the same person they were as a human. There are also some mages who claim that ghosts are real, but given how magic resists attempts to prove its existence and how ghosts aren't solid and observable in the way fae, vampires, and other species are, it's hard to tell."

You nodded. "Would puppeting a corpse require killing someone?"

It raised its eyebrows.

"I'm not planning on doing it! I just guessed that the cost of a spell like that would be death and wanted to check if I'm understanding the balance and cost stuff correctly."

"Oh, that makes sense. A spell that allowed you to continuely puppet a corpse would require that, yes, but more temporary ones have easier costs to bear. Not that I think it would really ever be worth it, what would you even get out of that?"

You nodded. All this talk about puppeting was starting to make you think about the brand on your arm, and you'd rather not think about that.

"Is there any way to communicate with the dead?"

"Maybe. Like I said, it's hard to tell. Even mages who argue you can claim that it's so different from talking to the living it's hard to get much out of it."

You couldn't help but be disappointed. It would be so wonderful to be able to talk to your dad again…

Now, of course, you wish you could talk to Diya, Barron, and Ray again as well. It's good you found out it wasn't possible before they died, or else you'd probably spend the rest of your life trying.

You can't think about them right now. Once someone's dead, they're gone. You need to focus on the living.

Resurrection not existing can be a bit of a comfort, too. Once Jane and you are dead, you'll be gone completely, never able to hurt anyone again.

–

"Come here Kitty, it's time for your medicine."

Kitty shows no sign that they heard Jane. They seem captivated by the puzzle they're trying to solve.

Jane appears right next to them before you can do anything. "Kitty." Her tone is warning.

Kitty carefully places another piece with a shaking hand and doesn't look up. Oh. They're not captivated. They're doing this on purpose.

You open your mouth to say something, to try and convince Kitty that if they can just hold on until your hands heal they'll be able to be themself again, but Jane speaks first.

She grabs their face bruisingly. "Bad ki-"

"No! No no no no, stop it! Stop it, don't touch me!"

Jane slaps them hard across the face. She's not angry, though. She's smiling wide. "Uh oh… you know saying no to me is against the rules. You know being noncompliant is against the rules. I've put in all this work, and it seems like… you're just untrainable." Her voice drips with disappointment, but she's still smiling.

Kitty tries to punch her, and she easily teleports out of the way. "Puppy? Help me get Kitty downstairs and restrained."

Jane grabs them by the hair and touches their collar, making it instantly disappear into her void. Puppy comes from the kitchen grabs Kitty's legs. They thrash and scream, but Jane and Puppy get them down the stairs easily. After a moment of hesitation, you follow. Maybe you can convince Jane to lighten the punishment, or take their place.

"Master-"

"Nope!" Jane finishes hanging Kitty from the ceiling with Puppy's help. "Both of you are going to go upstairs and out into the backyard. I have a job for you, I'll be out to tell you what it is in a minute."

Puppy immediately goes back upstairs and pulls you along by the elbow. You'd shake her off, but it doesn't look like negotiating will help this situation. Best to just obey so you don't risk them being punished for your misbehavior.

It's a nice day. Puppy's been tending to your garden after breaking your hands, so you haven't been going outside as much as you used to, but you really should be spending time outside anyway. It makes everything feel more manageable when you get fresh air and sunlight.

Jane appears with two shovels in her hands. "I need you guys to dig a hole. As deep as you can go, and about as wide as a twin mattress. Can you do that?"

"Yes, master." You say on autopilot. You're… not going to be able to do that with your broken hands, but she knows that. Luckily, she doesn't seem upset at the obvious lie.

Puppy nods.

"Excellent!" She throws a shovel at you and the other at Puppy with much more force than necessary. Obviously, you're unable to catch yours. Ow. Puppy catches hers gracefully.

Jane is gone by the time you look back up, so you turn to Puppy.

"I won't be able to dig. Maybe I can kick some dirt around, but besides that I think I'll just be moral support. Is that okay?"

Puppy nods. She looks pretty shaky… and now that you're paying attention, you notice her face is pale and her eyes are full of tears.

"Hey, what's wrong? I mean-" How can you figure out what's wrong with just yes or no questions? "Are you upset about helping Jane restrain Kitty? You know that's not your fault. Neither is my hands being broken. It's okay."

That doesn't seem to comfort her. She wipes her eyes and stabs at the ground with her shovel.

"Is it that you feel bad about hurting me or Kitty?"

She shakes her head.

"Huh. Does it have to do with digging this hole?"

She gives one short nod, tears streaming down her face.

"Are you… upset that I can't help?"

She shakes her head.

You decide you should be able to figure it out from there. You wonder why Jane's just giving you busywork. Is it just busywork? That's not the kind of thing she normally does, and wouldn't she want you to have to hear Kitty screaming and not be able to do anything about it? She loves doing that stuff. And why does she want the hole a specific width, why would that matter if this is just-

Oh fuck, oh fuck. She's having you dig a grave.

Puppy throws you to the ground and pins you before you can even think about running in to stop Jane.

"OW- Wha- Puppy, we can't just let her kill them!" You could fight her off if you needed to, and you will if it comes to that. But first you want to try talking to her. "Please, I know you don't want them to die. We can't do nothing!"

She seems to consider that for a moment, then shakes her head.

"Puppy…" You can't wait any longer. You shove her off of you and run inside.

You leap over the couch and get to the basement door in seconds. You try to twist the doorknob using your elbow, but it stays in place. The door is locked.

That's fine, the door is still breakable. You run at it and ram your shoulder into it over and over again with all the force you can muster, but it doesn't seem to help. You kick it as hard as you can everywhere you can reach that you think might have weakpoints. Wood starts to crack, so you keep kicking until there's a hole in the door.

There's metal beneath the wood.

"No!" You scream and pound on the door with your fists. "Stop it, don't kill them, take me instead!"

There's no response. You run to the kitchen and grab the heaviest pot you can find, then run back and start banging it against the doorknob- the door doesn't need to break, just the doorknob- but that doesn't work either. You can't grip it tightly enough to bang with any real force with just your elbows.

"Puppy! Please, I can't do this without you!"

You turn to look out into the backyard and see Puppy curled up on the ground, sobbing and twitching, why is she-

The collar, her sobbing set off the collar, damn it! You scream in frustration. With the twitching and the shaking, she probably wouldn't be able to get a good grip on the pot either, even if she wants to.

You- you need a spell, there's got to be a spell that can break down the door! But- your hands-

Thinking about your hands again, you realize they're in agony. You might've re-broken them pounding on the door, shit shit shit!

"No no no no no no-" You can't lose them too. This is all your fault, again, and you can't do anything to help. If Jane's decided she's going to kill Kitty, she's going to kill Kitty, and there's nothing you can do about it.

You waited too long. You should've been trying a new spell every day, should've been attacking Jane at every opportunity, should've comforted Kitty well enough that they didn't feel the need to to be noncompliant to regain their autonomy- this is all your fault!

Now that you're not screaming, you can hear Kit crying out every once in a while from the basement. They're still alive, and you still can't do anything. You pound on the door weakly again.

They're going to die. They're going to die and it's going to be all your fault.

You lean against the door and sob and sob as the light coming through the windows slowly fades. At some point, Puppy manages to stop crying and starts working on digging their grave again. It's all she can do. And you can't even do that. You can't do anything. Cold wind comes through the open back door. You can't hear Kitty downstairs anymore.

"Aren't dogs supposed to be good at digging? This isn't nearly deep enough."

You whirl around at the sound of Jane's voice. She's looking down at the (admittedly fairly small) hole with her arms crossed, but a satisfied smile is on her face. Puppy looks near passing out.

A horrible thought occurs to you. She was never going to bury them anyway. She's going to force you and Kitty to eat their bodies. This really was just busywork.

Jane looks over to you and tsks. "And what have you done to that poor door? That's not what I told you to do."

"Where's Kitty?" Your voice is hoarse.

"...In the basement? Where else would they be?" The smug smile never leaves her face for a second.

"Y-you… Can I see them?"

She giggles. "If you want to. You won't be able to talk to them, though. They're dead."

You knew that on some level, but hearing it still sends the world crashing down around you. You can barely breathe. Not again, not again-

You can hear Puppy wailing, distantly, and Jane laughing.

You failed. The only thing keeping you going was the determination to save them and you failed. Even if you manage to kill Jane now, you and Puppy will never be okay, never be able to get past this. You'll live the rest of your lives with gaping holes in your hearts, and neither of you have enough left to compensate for it. You'll be empty forever.

From the other side of the basement door, you hear the click of Jane unlocking it.

"Well, do you want to see them or not?"

You stumble down the stairs in a haze, and Puppy follows close behind.

Kitty is still hanging from the ceiling. Their feet are in some sort of tub-

Their chest rises and falls. They're breathing.

"Kitty!" Your voice comes out as more of a scream. You run to them and wrap your arms around their body. "Kitty, Kitty, I thought you were dead, I thought-" You can't speak through the sobs wracking your body.

Kitty's eyes slowly open. "Wha-?"

Jane is laughing so hard you can hear her struggling to breathe. Puppy is at your side, gently tugging on your shoulder. Right, Kitty doesn't like to be touched, and they can't push you away right now.

"Sh-She- I thought you were dead- she had us dig your grave!"

"I'm… sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, nothing, it's all her, I'm just so glad you're alive-" You want to hug them so badly but you know that they probably wouldn't like that.

"You really thought- you really thought I wouldn't make you watch the whole time if I was actually killing them!" Jane wheezes.

You don't care. You don't care what she does or what she says, as long as Kitty's alive.

"I'm going to kill her. Soon." You say softly. Kitty doesn't react, but Puppy…

Puppy looks at you with steely determination in her eyes and nods.

A/N: Man, this one was fun to write. Originally it was going to be titled 'Death' just to be mean but I figured I'd give some hints that Kitty wasn't actually going to die. I didn't plan on this landing on April 1st but what a fun coincidence! Let me know if I should tag anything else, or if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list! Next chapter is the season finale!!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @thecosmicmap @quins-whump-stuff

@fuckcapitalismasshole

#whump #whump writing #whumpblr #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #nonhuman whumper #multiple whumpees #pet whump #whumpee #whumper #whump caretaker #2nd person pov #mock execution #mock execution tw #implied torture tw #drugging tw #suicidal ideation tw #(Liam's not necessarily suicidal but he genuinely can't imagine a world where he survives killing Jane and I think that's close enough)#jane’s pets

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whumpshaped · 10 months

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Sending you a word…

Clarity

tw mock execution, vaguely mafia-esque setting, guns

Whumpee must've thought they knew what they were doing. They thought they had the perfect facade, the perfect mask, the perfect cover story, and enough mental clarity to manipulate someone who had been playing the game longer than they'd even been alive. That was already something dangerous; not fatal, not yet... but then they got cocky. And if there was one thing Whumper couldn't leave without ample retribution, it was newcomers thinking they'd managed to outsmart them.

Being the boss of an organisation such as theirs had its perks, they supposed, as they continued circling their kneeling victim. Poor thing was shaking like a leaf, probably crying under that bag. To be fair, that detail was a bit of a dick move on their friends' part. Maybe Whumpee thought they were about to be executed. How cruel.

Whumper took out their gun, pressing it right against the back of Whumpee's head, prompting some terrified squeals. Oh, it was so cruel... and so unbelievably fun.

@ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump

#whump #whump prompt #mock execution #guns #one word prompts #asks #janetm74

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whump-cravings · 1 year

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Tortured Prince - Dead Man’s Tears

Tortured Prince AU Masterlist - TR3 Masterlist

2.4k words | Original Work: Tortured Prince AU of The Royal Three. Set pre-escape right before Ritual, with a few possible timing inconsistencies because I realized the last bit would work better taking place at night.

Content: extreme depression, suicidal thoughts, whumpee gone nonverbal, carewhumping, sleeping drugs mention, whumpee thinks they’re being taken somewhere to die, torture and noncon mention, mention of traumatic haircut. “Tears” is said SO much in this bit sorry

Baltar had thought the lightheaded feeling was a hangover from the drug, but an edge of dizziness persisted even hours after Venja had left him. The tiniest movement of his head returned his attention to the missing weight.

The young man sat slumped before his journal—rather, the journal Venja allowed him to use. It laid open to Baltar's the last entry. 'It seems that'—the sentence cut off. What had he been writing? Did it matter? He had meant for it to help him keep his wits about him, but what was the point? If they were wise, his family had given him up for dead. No one was coming for him.

Hot tears escaped abruptly—not for the first time that day. He breathed out a heavy sigh, tired eyes drawing shut. Wiping his tears away would be pointless. They would only fall again.

Venja had carved and carved at everything that made him Prince Baltar. Was there anything left to take? What would Venja do if he came back and Baltar had perished?

He couldn't find the will to wrap his chains around his own throat. Was it cowardice that kept him alive? It just... seemed like so much effort. Did it even matter? He was already dead.

Everything was so heavy. He bent forward, resting his forehead on his journal as his tears stained the pages.

----

The main door opening roused Baltar, registering Venja's return dully. Baltar listened to him moving through the place.

"Good morning," the man called cheerily, voice and feet approaching. "I brought you something, Prince."

Such a statement would normally prompt nervous dread, but now... it was what it was. Baltar closed his eyes again.

"What, you're not talking to me now?" the man said from the doorway.

No more putting off sitting up, he guessed. Sighing silently, Baltar slowly picked himself up. The parchment stuck to his cheek briefly. He saw Venja's boots out of the corner of his eye, but couldn't be bothered to look at the man.

"Come now, you can't still be upset."

Another hot wave of tears brimmed over, slipping off his chin. Couldn't he be? Should he be? Was he? Baltar didn't know anymore. He sniffed, nose congested enough that he needed to breathe through his mouth.

Venja stepped up next to the chair. "Look at me, prince."

Baltar tried. But he only managed to bring his gaze to Venja's clavicle before his weeping blurred his vision so badly that he couldn't see anything. He dropped his head again.

Grabbing his chin, Venja lifted his face. He let all the weight of his head rest in the man's hand, relieving some of the ache in his neck and shoulders.

"What's going on?" the man demanded. "Talk to me."

Baltar had no words for him, only more silent crying. He slumped as Venja let his face drop.

"I could give you something real to cry about," Venja said, hand settling on the back of Baltar's neck. "I've been wanting to try tearing fingernails off."

He numbly accepted the potential future. If nothing else, Venja had taught him that nothing he did or said mattered. It was useless to fight.

The man grunted, leaning down. "What do you think happens if you ram a tube straight into an eyeball?"

Why would it matter whether Baltar could see anymore? He was never leaving this place.

Venja slammed his hand against the chair, making it jerk across the ground a few inches. The barest sob left Baltar, water dripping from his chin, down his throat.

Uncharacteristically switching tracks, Venja straightened and said, "Tell me what you want for dinner tonight and I'll make it."

Baltar couldn't remember the last time he'd tasted something.

"Would you like to see your present?" the man cajoled. "It'd go nice with a hot bath."

Baltar took in a breath as if to speak, only to let it out in a miserable sigh. I'm so tired. If only he'd known the way to get to Venja was to just cry silently, he'd have started long ago. But now it didn't matter. He just didn't have the strength anymore.

"Tch." Venja turned on his heel. "If you're going to be like this, I'm just going to have to come back later. See you in a while, prince."

And that was that. Baltar stared down at the ground, tears still dripping off his lashes. The entrance door closed, leaving him alone again.

Venja had moved the chair too far for Baltar to continue to rest in a semblance of comfort on the desk. And his body ached a little more than baseline from sleeping that way anyways.

Numbly, tears still sparsely escaping, Baltar got to his feet. Wavering, he shuffled the few paces to the bed. Moving the bedspread felt like holding up the sky. He collapsed onto the mattress, dragging the blankets up to his chin.

His dreams only held blackness.

---

He didn't know how long he'd slept when he next opened his eyes, only that he was no more rested than when he had first laid down.

He closed his eyes again.

---

Venja's voice woke him. "You're asleep again?"

Baltar stirred, forcing still-puffy eyes open and softly releasing a bleary breath.

The man's weight dimpled the mattress as he sat on the edge. A nauseating dread balled in Baltar's stomach, and he accepted it. It didn't matter what happened to this body. As he had the thought, a numbing chill spread through him.

But Venja only reached over to brush Baltar's forehead, resting his hand there.

"Are you sick?" the man asked.

Was he? Baltar didn't know. He felt... not good. The number of times he'd felt good in Venja's care were few and far between, but this was different. He gave a noncommittal shrug.

Venja grunted, leaving without another word.

---

"...asleep, like I told you."

"Hey," a familiar woman's voice said, the bed jarring as if kicked lightly. "Sit up."

It took a few moments for Baltar to return to himself. Tears were already in his eyes, though he didn't know why. Slowly, he stirred, getting an arm beneath himself to raise himself up to sitting. He slumped in place, his head spinning.

It was Imota, one of the people who had helped kidnap Baltar. She had been the prince's de facto physician in captivity, and eyed him critically now with a frown.

"Take off your shirt," she instructed.

Numbly, Baltar obeyed. Tears fell from his lashes as he sat, letting her look over his naked torso.

Imota leaned forward, her cool fingers touching his scarred skin and rolling away a bandage as she examined his latest wound. "No infection," she said. "This is all?"

"Everything else has healed," Venja said, watching intently from a few paces away.

The woman grunted. "Put your shirt back on." After Baltar did, she took his chin to turn his face towards her. "Open your mouth."

That triggered further tears from Baltar but he did so, Imota's face blurring in his vision. He waited for some kind of intrusion, but none came.

"Dry mouth. Bad breath." Imota tapped the bottom of his chin. He slowly eased his mouth shut. "When was the last time you drank anything?"

The prince couldn't think of the answer. He shook his head.

"No? 'No' what, you won't say?"

He looked at her through his tears, opening his mouth to try to speak. A soft, wordless noise was all he could muster.

"Is something wrong with your voice?" Imota asked with a note of exasperation.

Baltar shrugged a single shoulder with a single nod.

"Sometimes he struggles to speak," Venja added. "Usually when he's in a lot of pain."

Imota's lips pursed briefly. "When was the last time he ate?"

"Why would I know? He takes care of that."

The woman turned an annoyed, raised brow look on the prince. "Have you eaten today?"

Baltar shook his head.

Imota stood up, turning to Venja. "Congratulations. You fucked him up." She walked out.

Venja started, following after her. Their voices reached Baltar from the hallway as they moved towards the front door.

"But you can fix him, can't you?"

"Most people kill themselves before they get like that," Imota said matter-of-factly.

Baltar laid back down.

"What are you saying?" Venja asked.

"You can't keep slicing somebody open and expect a fucking bandage to fix it every time."

"Thanks for being completely useless."

"Sure. That'll be a crown."

"You didn't even..."

The sound of their bickering faded out as Baltar stared at the wall across the room. Broken. A child's plaything, worn to tatters by rough handling.

Yes, that sounded right.

Baltar started from a doze when Venja dragged a second chair into the room, setting it next to the head of Baltar's bed like a nightstand. On it, he placed a cup and a plate of simple fare, then pulled up the chair at the desk to sit in.

"Sit up and drink," Venja ordered, holding the cup out.

Still moving slowly, Baltar wearily complied. The water was bitter. Maybe Venja had slipped something in it, but it didn't matter.

"Eat," Venja said, holding a slice of utuhev at mouth level. When the prince didn't lean to get it, Venja leaned in to push it into his mouth, and Baltar didn't resist.

"Is this what we're gonna do now?" the man asked while Baltar ate the morsel. "Crying and spoon feeding?"

Baltar had no response, save for a few new tears staining his skin. Venja gave a short sigh, tearing off a piece of stale bread and feeding it to Baltar. Piece by piece, the prince's belly filled.

Venja tucked Baltar into bed when the food was gone, stroking his head a few times before leaving.

---

Days or weeks passed in a gray blur. Baltar no longer left bed unless he had to, typically by nature's call. Venja became a constant, a caretaker to the silent, morose prince. The taste of a certain sedative was now familiar for Baltar, as at first Venja dosed his food with it, but then began giving the tincture directly to Baltar, who took it without complaint, when he had to leave outside of mealtimes. He was never gone for longer than a few hours, now.

Venja didn't hurt him anymore, either, and only occasionally coaxed pleasure from his body. The prince might have once considered the arrangement nice.

Despite Venja's vigilance, Baltar wasted away.

---

Eventually, things changed. Baltar was too attuned to Venja to miss even the most infinitesimal difference in the man's demeanor. He wouldn't have asked what had changed even if he could, but his instincts, deeply buried as they were, still twinged with anxiety.

Venja brought him dinner and he tried eating. After managing to swallow the first spoonful of sedative-laced stew, he tried for a second and his gut heaved violently, skin flushing with an uncomfortable, clammy heat.

"Fuck, you could have just said you don't like rabbit stew," Venja said, then chortled to himself as he took the bowl away. He returned a few minutes later with sliced fruit. This, too, tasted of the sedative.

Baltar's stomach didn't take kindly to that either. Venja got a piece into his mouth, but when came to swallow, Baltar was unable. He tried for a good minute, feeling Venja's silent frustration building. He finally had to spit it out amidst tears.

For the first time in a while, he couldn't do what Venja wanted.

"Alright," Venja muttered, setting the food aside. His foot tapped a few times, an uncharacteristic fidget. "That's alright. It's not your fault if you can't eat."

Baltar found no relief in that. Venja rarely left at night, rarely had reason to drug him. What was going on?

Venja stepped out of the room and returned with some brown cloth in his hand. "Put this on."

Baltar slowly took the item, unfolding it. It was just... a bag.

Oh.

This was it, then.

He stared at it for a few moments, dully accepting its meaning. Venja had tired of him at last. Opening it, he gave Venja one last teary-eyed look before sliding it over his head.

"...Good," Venja said.

Baltar sat perfectly still as the man adjusted his restraints, clipping his wrists together while removing the heavy leash on his collar to replace it with a shorter chain.

A hand on his elbow guided him to his feet, then away. Evening air kissed his skin for the first time since that fateful night, sending a shiver through him, which took hold of him quickly. Venja huffed, pausing to drape a coat around Baltar's rail-thin frame.

It was such a curious kindness to give someone marching to their death.

Baltar heard the horses before Venja got him to the carriage. The man lifted Baltar up by the waist without so much as a grunt, setting his feet on wooden floor. Baltar shuffled in as Venja came up behind him, shutting the door.

Venja pulled Baltar down to sit next to him. Dizzy, weeping silently, and shaking, Baltar laid his head in Venja's lap.

The man sighed softly, and as the carriage began moving, he lifted the bag from Baltar's head. Baltar closed his eyes, feeling his tears wet the man's knees.

Grant me this one last thing.

And Venja did, softly carding his fingers through Baltar's hair.

Baltar remembered being a young boy, resting like this on Hakon or Rohisa's lap. He had loved them so much. If they still lived, he wanted them to continue doing so. He wanted them to remember how he had been, happy and bright. He hoped they would be well.

The ride was short. Perhaps that was for the best.

Venja replaced the bag over Baltar's head and led him out. Baltar let himself be led, mind distant and body numb. He barely noticed climbing stairs, or turning down hallways, or the terrain changing from tile to plush carpet.

When it came time for him to kneel, a small corner of his mind appreciated that his knees were cushioned for this. How dreadful it would be to die on a patch of dirt somewhere.

The bag was pulled off his head. A woman sat before them, eyeing Baltar with some mixture of disgust and hate.

"Venja, you always bring me such lovely things," said Ochvlita, Queen of Beor.

taglist: @nabanna @emcscared-whumps @nicolepascaline @i-can-even-burn-salad @melennui @thecyrulik

#whump writing #royal whump #tortured prince #tortured!baltar #depression whump #suicidal thoughts whump #mock execution #if you squint #mourning #nonverbal whumpee

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delaureyjournal-whump · 2 months

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Mock execution

I've had so much brain rot for so many weeks you guys don't even know. My non whumpy DM made a passing comment about Julian being almost executed somewhere in his backstory and it's been lodged in my head ever since.

TW hanging

He decides to die with dignity. For weeks now he'd been told, almost every single day that death was to come. He knew the only way he was leaving would be im a box, so this is what he decided. He doesn't cry, even as his hands are tied and he's blindfolded. He'd promised himself that at least.

They lead him up the platform. He can hear the boards creaking a little underneath him. The platform feels so rickety compared to the solid floor he was so used to.

The rope is placed around his neck. He can feel it. He knows what's coming, and it takes everything in him to remain calm. As its pulled tighter, he takes a breath in so deliberate. He concentrates on every single breath, in and out. The feeling of the rope, course around his neck. He swallows, mouth suddenly so dry feeling that rope right against his neck. It distracts him from anything else going on around him. It's probably for the best. The texture overwhelms his mind entirely. The blindfold doesn't help.

He doesn't cry. He can't let himself. He has to go peacefully, or at least as peacefully as possible. He can stop the crying. He can't stop the shaking, no matter how hard he tries. You can see it if you really look at his hands. You can see how shaky his breaths are. His jaw clenches with the effort to try and control them.

Every small sound makes him jump, just a little. He knows as soon as the lever is pulled, it's all over.

But relief comes just in time. A pardon, or at least a reconsider of his sentence.

The noose is removed and he's led back to his cell with a whole new kind of fear put into him.

Maybe once the blindfold is removed and he's all alone once again, he can finally cry

#Julian #Oc #whump #Hanging #Mock execution #Execution #whump writing

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izzytheace · 1 year

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Reminding myself of the mock execution from death note and getting myself pissed off at the sheer moral corruption L radiated and the fact blanks are deadly at close range.

#death note #l lawliet #L slander #death note light #mock execution #death note mock execution

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darkthingshappen · 2 years

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No. 3 A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH

@whumptober

This is a BROTHER'S KEEPER entry. Takes place later in the recapture arc, just BEFORE this piece.

Warnings for death threats, gun use, failed escape attempt, mock execution (sort of), pistol whipping.

Tagging List: @i-can-even-burn-salad @peachy-panic @deluxewhump @arwenadreamer @whumpcereal @melancholy-in-the-morning @dont-touch-my-soup @whumpsday @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @oddsconvert @melennui @susiequaz12 @morning-star-whump @crystalquartzwhump @whump-and-other-things @mylifeisonthebookshelf @reflected-pain @hold-him-down @quietshae @sparrowsage @quietly-by-myself @no-terms-and-conditions-apply (I hope I’m not forgetting anyone - please let me know if I am and I’ll fix it.)

As ALWAYS, thanks to the AMAZING @whumpcereal for the beta. And to my whumperful crew that always cheers me on: @oddsconvert and @sparrowsage as well as @quietly-by-myself. Y'all are the best!

Gun to Temple | “Say goodbye.” | Impaled

“You wanna play the hero, Jakey boy?” Volkov screamed at Jake. They were on the beach of the little island, rain and wind nearly blinding them in the tropical squall. “You wanna try and run for help? Go on… swim. But know that there’ll be nothing to rescue,” Volkov continued.

Dmitri held the squirming, thrashing form of Ben in his grasp. The two young men had tried to make a run for it, but the storm had caught them off guard. The waves were pounding the shore line, and the palm trees were bent nearly double. Dmitri and Volkov had caught them out while they were trying to figure out what to do. Jake had managed to wade into the surf, but Dmitri caught Ben before he could follow.

Dmitri wrestled Ben to his knees, and Volkov pulled out a gun, jamming it to Ben’s temple and pressing his head sideways with the muzzle.

Ben stared up at his brother. There was no pleading in his eyes; they just looked sad. Jake knew Ben was tired. They both were. If it weren’t for the rain, there would be tears. Jake had had the chance to run. Ben told him to take it. But apparently, it was just another one of Volkov’s games.

“Go ahead, Jakey. Run. Swim for freedom, if you think you can. I won’t stop you. But say goodbye to your baby brother if you do.”

Ben closed his eyes as Volkov pressed the gun harder against his head. Ben had assumed he would die here. He thought about Zoe and all the hope and promise they had for their future. He thought of her face under that gazebo on the fall day and how she had glowed when he’d asked her that question. He thought of the swell of warmth he’d felt when she replied. If this was his last few moments, he wasn’t going to spend it thinking about Alexsei fucking Volkov.

“I’m ready right now,” Volkov said. “I’ll pull the fucking trigger, but I won’t come after you. You’re free to go. Just know that you’ll be executing your brother if you do so.”

Ben opened his eyes one more time and looked at his brother. “Jake, go. He’s setting you free. Run. Please. You gotta go.”

Jake had no illusions that Volkov would actually let him go. He’d shoot him in the back as soon as he turned to run. Jake’s face fell, all the tension drained from him and he sank to his knees in front of Volkov and Dmitri, facing Ben. It couldn’t be him. Jake couldn’t be the one to survive. If only one of them was going to make it off this god forsaken island, then it had to be Ben. Jake worried about his brother. How could he be so calm and resigned? He had a life he deserved to live. He had a girl waiting on him. A ready-made family, if they coulf just make it home. No way was Jake letting him die here. Not for him.

“I… can’t. I can’t, Benny. Can’t leave you.” Jake looked up at Volkov. “Please. Keep me instead. I’ll do whatever you say. I won’t fight. But let him go. Let him go home. Please.”

Volkov’s eyes narrowed at Jake, and he stepped toward him. “You really think I would let my favorite little slave go? He’s mine, Jake! You saw to that. Your cowardice and actions ensured that he’d be mine for forever.”

Jake’s eyes shifted to Ben. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his soaking hair dripping over his forehead, the rain mingling with his tears.

“I know. You don’t need to say it anymore,” Ben said quietly. He was surprisingly calm in the face of their failure. “It doesn’t matter. He won’t win anyway.”

Volkov rolled his eyes. “Benjamin, you're growing delusional in your captivity.”

“Kill me then. See what happens. You’d give me true freedom if you did. I’m tired of your bullshit games anyway. You’d never let either of us go. I’m gonna die here. Jake’s gonna die here. What the hell does it matter?”

Volkov walked over to Jake again and wrenched him out of the water. Without warning, Volkov brought the butt of the gun handle down, cracking it across Jake’s temple and sending him to the ground in a crumpled heap.

“You’re a fucking bastard,” Ben said softly, staring at his brother’s unconscious form and the blood seeping from the fresh wound on the side of his head. “I hate you.”

“Did I not tell you that Jake pays for your sins?” Volkov turned to Dmitri. “Take sweet Jakey back to the house. He’s earned some playtime with you when he wakes up. Don’t go easy on him. Make sure he has no illusions about ever trying to run again.”

Dmitri smiled. “Yes, Pahkan. Will be a pleasure.”

Ben watched from where he knelt in the driving rain as Dmitri dragged his brother away by the ankle. Jake’s head left a trail of blood behind in the sand. Ben turned his gaze to Volkov once Dmitri was gone, his eyes cool and detached.

Volkov pressed the gun back to his temple, but there was no real intent in the gesture. “Do you really think that I would let either of you go so easily?” Volkov’s voice was soft, almost tender, and he shifted the gun down below Ben’s chin and used it to lift Ben’s face to him. “Hmm, Malyshka?” He dragged the gun up to Ben’s forehead. The threat was gone. He’d said as much. Volkov would never let them go.

Ben stared back at him, not willing to answer. The cold metal of the gun rested against his wet skin, chilling him. Volkov pulled the trigger, and Ben jumped at the obscenely loud click that resounded across the beach, louder than the crashing waves.

Volkov laughed at Ben’s reaction. He made no comment about the fact that the gun was unloaded the whole time. Ben remembered his dad’s rule about weapons. Always assume a gun is loaded. His dad didn’t know about people like Volkov. Well, maybe he did now. God, Ben hated the man in front of him.

“Come, little scholar. I have something I’d like to show you down in the basement. I think you’ll find it enlightening for your faith. Help you get closer to that God of yours, since you seem to think He will be your salvation in the end.”

Ben doubted very much that Volkov had ever been enlightened by faith. Volkov grabbed Ben by the hair and forced him to walk behind him, bent double, the whole way to the compound. Ben knew that all that was waiting for him was a dungeon.

He had little hope he’d ever leave this place alive.

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whumperofworlds · 1 year

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Mock Execution

Just an idea that has been floating around for quite some time. I thank my awesome friend @painful-pooch for the inspiration!

Anyway... enjoy!

TWS: MOCK EXECUTION, ARROW INJURY, TIED UP, BLINDFOLDED, BLOOD

_____

"...dy! Aldy! Please wake up!"

Alder groaned upon hearing the familiar voice calling out. He opened his eyes, his vision blurry, only seeing dark blue. What just happened? He and Hawthorn went out to scout the forest, and then... nothing.

He felt someone shaking him, calling out his name. No, his pet name. Only one person was allowed to call him that.

"...Hawy?"

He saw blurs of green appearing, and Alder blinked. Once his vision was finally cleared up, he was met with Hawthorn hovering above him, frowning. He had a cut above his left eyebrow, and blood slowly poured down from the cut. Alder also realized that his hat was missing. Fallen off, most likely, when they were captured.

Captured...

Alder sat up, holding his head with a groan. He felt something wet and sticky hitting the palm of his hand, and he pulled back his hand to glance at it. Dried blood. He glanced around, recognizing the area almost immediately.

He and Hawthorn were in a jail cell; a hard bed stood on the right corner, and chains hung in the back on the blue brick wall.

It wasn't just a cell from anywhere. It was a cell in Brennus' castle.

Shit...

A headache hit him, and he held his head for a moment. Hawthorn held out a hand, as if he was ready to help Alder.

"You all right?" Hawthorn asked, concern laced in his voice.

Alder merely nodded to answer his beloved. With a sigh, he rubbed the side of his head to ease the headache.

"I will live," Alder finally answered. He glanced at his Hawy for a moment. There were no injuries on him besides the cut above his eyebrow, but Alder couldn't help but ask, "What about you? Are you harmed?"

Hawthorn shook his head to answer his second question. "I'm fine. I woke up a few minutes ago with a headache, but otherwise, I'll be okay."

Alder took the moment to stand up, albeit he was unsteady on his feet. He nearly fell the moment he stood thanks to his headache, but Hawthorn managed to catch him. The archer helped him back on his feet, albeit he kept his hands on Alder's broad shoulders to make sure his balance was steady.

"What... happened?" Alder asked, holding his head again as the headache worsened.

"I'm not sure," Hawthorn answered, shaking his head. "All I remember was seeing a silhouette in the bushes, calling for you, then nothing."

Guardsmen, Alder realized then. There were guardsmen in the forest, and they successfully captured the two by ambushing them.

...Guardsmen in the forest! Then the group--

"The Fierce Forests appeared to be fine," Hawthorn said, as if reading Alder's mind. "From what I have seen, no one else was captured."

Alder glanced at the cell that was across them. Besides the bed and the chains that were in the back of the cell, there was no one inside.

The others were indeed safe.

Thank the Goddess Above.

"So then..." Alder began, rubbing his head once more. "What should we do?"

"I'm not sure," Hawthorn responded, a frown on his face. "But we need to find a way to get out of here before--"

"There is no escape, dogs. You're in for a world of pain."

The two stopped, frozen in place as their heads turned to the source of the voice. Standing in front of their cell were several guardsmen, all of them cladded in gold. They were the higher ups of Brennus' army, doing most of the dirty work.

Alder instinctively extended his arm in front of Hawthorn, his eyes narrowed and gritting his teeth. "What do you want?" Alder growled.

One guardsman smirked, holding something that neither Alder nor Hawthorn could see. "It's time."

"Wh-what's time?" Hawthorn tried to hide his stutter due to the fear hitting him, but he was unable to. A few of the guardsmen laughed at his stutter before one grabbed the key to their cell.

"You'll see." The guardsman with the key chuckled.

Alder glanced at Hawthorn for a moment. As they stared into each other's eyes that moment, Hawthorn knew what he was trying to convey.

We make a run for it.

The moment the cell opened, both Alder and Hawthorn took action. Alder tackled the guardsman holding the key before rushing towards the exit. Hawthorn followed right behind him. With his swift movements, he was able to duck and jump away from the other guardsmen.

Alder didn't turn his head to check on Hawthorn; he knew he was capable of defending himself. Once they exit this place, Hawthorn would know where to run for freedom.

He went as far as grabbing the doorknob to the dungeon's front door.

"ALDER!"

Alder stopped before turning, and his heart nearly stopped upon seeing the sight. His eyes widened, and he froze in place.

Hawthorn was unfortunately caught by one guardsman, who had him pinned to his chest. Hawthorn struggled against the grip, but stopped when he heard a sword being unsheathed. Cold steel met his throat.

"Keep running, boy," the guardsman threatened Alder, a menacing grin on his face, "and say goodbye to your boyfriend."

Hawthorn gulped, his face pale at the threat, but kept a brave face as he yelled out to his boyfriend, "Run Alder! Don't worry about me! GO!"

Alder remained where he was, glancing at the door before glancing at Hawthorn again. These men weren't bluffing--they had killed in the past. They would surely kill Hawthorn if he ran.

After a long, tense moment, he gulped and released his hand from the doorknob before raising his hands in surrender. No. He couldn't risk Hawthorn's life now. Not here.

"ALDER!" Hawthorn screamed, his eyes wide at Alder's actions. This couldn't be happening. Alder should have run. He should have been safe.

The other guardsmen approached Alder, and he could now see what was in one's hands. Rope.

He didn't resist as the guardsman forced his hands behind his back, while the one holding the rope bound his wrists together. He gritted his teeth in pain as the man cinched the knot.

Hawthorn could only watch as the men forced his Alder upstairs, up to the top of the castle. He felt the steel removed from his throat, but he didn't breathe a sigh of relief as the men also bound his wrists behind him. One guardsman, the one who took him hostage, pushed him forward, forcing him to follow Alder and the other guardsmen upstairs.

_____

When light hit his face when he reached the top of the castle, Alder shut his eyes tightly, moving his head away. However, due to this, he nearly tripped over one step of the stairs before regaining his balance. He heard the guardsmen chuckling behind him, but he didn't care at this point.

Because when his vision cleared, he was met with Brennus, who stood beside a wooden pole. Dried blood was on the pole, and some arrowheads were stuck on the wood.

Execution by arrows. He and Hawthorn were going to die today.

His heart raced as he was forced onto his knees with a grunt. Below them all were cheers and hollering. A crowd. Fuck, they were going to watch them die. Watch how Alder failed his mission to stop Brennus. He gritted his teeth at the thought, tears threatening to fall.

He turned to see Hawthorn entering as well before being forced on his knees. When he saw the pole, his eyes widened before he turned to Alder. Alder could see his breathing being erratic, his eyes filled with unshed tears.

Scared out of his wits.

He couldn't blame Hawthorn. This was it. Today was the day where they would die, and their mission would end in failure. What would the other Fierce Forests do without their founder and co-founder? They couldn't go on without them.

Alder looked up at Brennus, and he could sense a hint of a smirk on his face before he called out to the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen! I am proud to present the execution of two traitors of the crown!"

The crowd erupted in cheers and hollers, much to Alder's disgust. His stomach twisted at the thought of being executed in front of a huge crowd that wanted them dead. All the work they had done, and it was all for naught. And the crowd cheered for that.

"Question is..." Brennus asked. "Who should be executed today?"

Alder's heart skipped a beat, turning to Hawthorn. Tears were now finally falling down the archer's face, as he tried to hold in a sob.

Only one of them would live. The other would be executed. That could mean one of them had to watch his lover die.

The idea of losing Hawthorn frightened him to his very core.

Alder immediately piped up. "Me. Execute me, Brennus. It is me you want, correct?"

Hawthorn glanced at his boyfriend for a second, his eyes widened in shock. He immediately spoke then without missing a beat, "No! Execute me instead, Brennus! Aldy has nothing to do with this!"

"Hawthorn, no!"

Brennus smirked, approaching Alder first. Grabbing the man by the chin with a vice-like grip, he forced Alder to glance up at him.

"I considered executing you first, Maverick," Brennus said, his smirk growing wider before he glanced towards Hawthorn. "But I want to see you suffer. To see you feel the pain I have gone through."

Alder's heart skipped a beat. No. No, no, no. Not Hawthorn. He couldn't lose him, too. After he lost his parents. After he lost his younger brother. Not his Hawy.

"NO!" Alder screamed as the guardsmen dragged his Hawthorn up to the post. They readjusted the archer's ropes to bind him to the post. Hawthorn said or did nothing, as he looked at Alder with tears falling down. He smiled at his beloved, as if trying to comfort his Aldy.

"Aldy," Hawthorn tried to hide his quivering voice. "It's okay. Know that I will always love you."

Alder didn't even realize that he, too, was crying. He sniffled, his vision blurred from tears. "I... I love you too, Hawy. Always and forever."

"Enough of that, now," Brennus interrupted, stepping aside. He ordered his guardsmen to blindfold his two captives, and so they did.

Alder could see Hawthorn close his eyes tightly before his sight was disabled. Alder didn't bother closing his as the blindfold was tied tightly around his head. He wasn't even going to see his boyfriend's last moments. Whether that was a good or bad thing, Alder wasn't sure.

He did know that his Hawy was going to die right in front of him.

Brennus raised a hand, before he began his countdown.

"One."

Alder struggled against his bonds then, panic hitting him like a carriage. He heard multiple strings of what Alder assumed to be bows being pulled back. Likely aimed at Hawthorn. "Don't!" Alder cried, standing up then before he attempted rushed blindly towards whatever direction Hawthorn was at. However, he felt multiple gloved hands grab him and held him down, forcing him on his knees once more.

"Two."

"DON'T! PLEASE!" Alder screamed, thrashing against the guardsmen. No. He couldn't let him die. He couldn't lose his Hawthorn like this. He just couldn't.

"Three!"

The strings of the bows were released, and Alder could hear them cut the air with a whistling noise.

"HAWTHORN!"

Hawthorn's scream of pain hovered in the air as Alder's heart began to break. No. Hawthorn. He was dead. His beloved was dead.

But... his screams turned into sobbing. And they didn't stop.

He could hear the crowd hooting and hollering, with some of them laughing, under him.

"What the fuck?!" Brennus yelled. Alder heard footsteps approaching on his right. "You weren't supposed to hit him!"

"I-I..." a guardsman's voice quivered. "I didn't mean to--"

A slap, then a cry of pain from the unfortunate guardsman. Alder heard Brennus mutter something he didn't understand, before the king ordered his other guardsmen to remove the blindfolds off of his captives.

When Alder's blindfold was off, his heart broke in two at the sight.

Hawthorn was alive, but an arrow dug deep into his knee, a large amount of blood leaking down his leg. The archer was crying, sobbing from the pain, as tears fell in full force.

Alder's surroundings blurred, as tears began to fall down his own face. His breathing grew erratic, as his heart began to beat wildly against his chest. The thoughts he had of losing his Hawy flooded his mind. Seeing him bleeding, crying...

Alder couldn't take it anymore as he fell to his side, his breathing quick and uneven and his eyes wide. Darkness began to creep at the corners of his eyes.

"Dammit all!" Alder could barely hear Brennus curse. "He's having a panic attack! Get a healer and fix this mess!"

The last thing Alder thought before darkness took him was that his Hawthorn was hurt because of him.

Because he was weak.

#whump #my whump stories #alder #hawthorn #brennus #whumpee #whumper #captured #arrows #mock execution #slapping #tied up #blindfolded #blood #injury #fantasy whump #medieval whump #panic attack

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