#nonbinary whumpee

[hurt-and-comfort-me-please]

I'm Curious...

#whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #male whumpee #female whumpee #nonbinary whumpee #whumpee

[andithewhumper]

New Home

First installment of what I hope is a long series, but who knows. These are characters I have been messing around with for a while so it's nice to finally get something concrete down. This series is partially inspired by @whumpsday 's Kane and Jim series. It is amazing, go read it. My vampire lore is different, I'll eventually post it, but for now have fun with this.

Masterpost

Content: Vampire thralls, kneeling, past referenced abuse, human trafficking, vampire whumper, vampire carewhumper, human whumpee, nonbinary whumpee

Humans were the least of Kairos’ worries. They were there and that was that. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them, they just existed opposite to her. A dolphin isn’t overly concerned with the life of a shark. So when her father called her into his office for an unstated reason she did not expect this. 

There was a rather deplorable looking human trembling on the floor in front of Duke Eldon Orfeo. He stood in front of his desk giving the human not even a glance as he waited for his daughter. Kairos gave her father a weird look as she stepped into the room. It was unlike him to engage with even the humans in his own household except for swiftly disciplining them and sending them on their way. Yet this human, Kairos didn’t recognize, confusing her even more. 

“Father? You called for me?” The Duke nodded at his daughter and then glanced down at the trembling figure on the floor. 

“Yes, I need you to deal with this.” His voice was cold and smooth, commanding ultimate authority. Kairos looked down at the shaking form. She could hear small whimpers coming from the human as they wrapped their arms around themself. 

“And this would be-?”

“The human was a thrall of one of Edward’s intolerable friends who has recently been sentenced by the Council of Lords. It was gifted to Edward, but I see no reason to reward him for associating with such people and so I am giving the human to you.”

Kairos had to admit she was stunned. She very rarely had personal thralls, they were more of a hassle than they were worth. The last time she could recall taking one was when she first moved to France and refused to spend another several decades alone with no one who would speak to her. 

“I appreciate the offer, Father, but wouldn’t Michél appreciate the gift more? He is far more inclined towards personal thralls.”

“Michél agrees that you should be the one who gets the human. He has several already. Besides, this one fits your preferences, does it not?” Kairos looked down at the thrall, who seemed increasingly distressed by the path of the conversation. They were indeed the kind of human she would normally go for, frail and feminine. Their hair fell just below their chin in a mess of brown curls not unlike her youngest brother James. Yet, she was inclined towards women in bars who would readily come home with her under the promise of wine and good company. Few complained that her good company came with the price of their blood. They left with more pleasure than any man could give them and a wound that would heal in a week. She had no need to ever see them again. 

“My preference is normally for less permanent meals, Father. Not for second hand ‘gifts’. Besides, there are plenty of thralls in your household that I drink from. I have no need for another meal.”

“Then use the human as a test subject for your experiments. Do whatever you please with it, but I am assigning it to you.” Her father’s tone was becoming terse and she knew that if she pushed him any longer this would become a significantly more painful exchange for her. She would have to figure out what to do with the human later. For now, she figured it would be wise to get out of her father’s sight. 

“Yes, Father. I’m sure I can find some use for the human. Thank you for deeming me worthy for this gift. I doubt Edward would be mature about this anyway.”

Her father nodded and she felt a small amount of relief that she defused the situation before it became too extreme. She looked down at the human who glanced up at her only to quickly shoot their eyes back to the ground. 

“Come,” she ordered the human, “I have work to do. 

---

Quinn tried to still their shaking. They didn’t understand what was wrong with them. They knew how to behave in the presence of vampires and yet everything their Master taught them escaped from their mind. They had been brought to this house with the expectation of being immediately handed to the vampire their Master had gifted them to and yet they still hadn’t seen him yet. The vampire they knelt in front of was no less terrifying than Master’s friend. They had met Master’s friend before. He was cruel, even crueler than Master was. 

This vampire was tall with dark hair that was short and neat. From the few words they heard him say, they could tell he had a French accent. They wondered if he was going to be their new Master instead of Master’s friend. They knew it was forbidden to want anything, but they hoped he was. 

When the woman walked in Quinn couldn’t hold back their confusion. They risked a glance up at the vampire. She looked dangerous, with long red hair and intense eyes. Quinn wondered who she was. They had seen more vampires in this night alone than in the rest of their life. With every one Quinn could feel their dread getting deeper and deeper into them. 

There was a time, when Master first took them, that Quinn thought about running away. Those forbidden thoughts had been gone from their mind soon after, but they came back with a terrifying realization. They were going to be given to a vampire in a house surrounded by other vampires. Even if they got away from whoever was meant to be their new Master, they would still have to get past all the other vampires in the house. Quinn blinked hard as they realized what they had been thinking about. How dare they think those thoughts, here of all places. This was supposed to be a new start, and yet they were already messing it up by misbehaving. 

When Quinn heard the French vampire say that they would be given to the woman they thought they misheard at first. Did this mean they wouldn’t be going to Master’s friend? Quinn felt a rush of relief run through them. Quinn was ecstatic, anything was better than belonging to Master’s friend, as disobedient as they were for thinking about it. He was horrible, even when Master told him to go easy on Quinn. They started to calm their breathing right up to the point when the woman spoke. 

“I have no need for another meal.” 

Quinn was crushed. The two vampires above them were debating their fate as if it was nothing. The small part of Quinn that was angry about that was squashed down by the part of them that knew this was their purpose. Master had taught them that they existed in this world purely to serve vampires. They knew better than to doubt that, but what these two were doing now was cruel; dangling a better option in front of Quinn like a worm on a hook. 

“Use the human as a test subject for your experiments.” Quinn whimpered at the words and then bit their lip to silence themself. The vampires did not want to hear their pain. They were supposed to take this torment silently so as to not inconvenience their Master. Quinn cursed themself. Of course the woman didn’t want them as her thrall, they couldn’t even stay quiet when they weren’t in pain. How could she expect them to stay quiet when they were being disciplined or even when she wanted to feed? Quinn trembled at the thought of making any noise when their new Master fed. They would certainly be punished severely if that ever happened. 

They heard the woman agree to taking them and Quinn wondered if they should feel relieved. Of course they didn’t want to belong to Master’s friend, but this woman did not want them. What if they gave them to him  when they got bored or irritated with Quinn’s bad behavior. They tried so hard, but Quinn always misbehaved. Master told them all the time that if they ever wanted to be free of punishment they had to be more obedient, but Quinn was dumb and they messed up all the time. 

They tried another glance up at the vampire, but this time they were caught. Quinn quickly looked back down at the ground. They held back a whimper. Their new Master would surely punish them for this disrespect. Master-no their old Master now-would have slapped Quinn across the face if they ever dared to look at him without being told. But their new Master ignored the disrespect and simply gave them the order to follow. Quinn, confused but not willing to mess up twice in a row by ignoring the vampire’s commands, stood and quickly followed after their new Master. 

---

Kairos led the shaking human to her room. She needed to get some work done before she could even speak to the thrall and despite their trembling they seemed well-behaved enough to sit quietly while she worked. She walked through the hallways and noticed the human glancing around at the artwork. She was glad the human was not totally petrified that they had lost all ability to think. That would be irritating for her to deal with. She opened the door to her room and gestured for the thrall to go in. The human walked past her slowly, obviously still quite nervous. Kairos shut the door and caught a glimpse of the human finching at the sound of the lock. 

“Sit and be quiet,” she said gesturing to a chaise next to the bed, “I have work I need to get done before I discuss some things with you.” 

The human nodded quickly, but didn’t say anything. Kairos, usually unbothered by thralls giving her no response-it was typical of any of her father’s thralls to ignore her completely-felt the need to correct this. 

“When I give you an order I expect a response, understand?”

The thrall shook where they stood and Kairos noticed the human looked about ready to fall over, but they forced the words out of their mouth. 

“Y-yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master.” 

Kairos gave them an affirmative nod and turned to her desk in order to continue her work. 

After about an hour of writing she turned around to see the thrall, staring at the floor in front of them. They sat with perfect posture on the chaise, with their back straight and their hands in their lap. So the thrall at least knew how to follow a simple order. That was good to know. Kairos had interacted with many thralls that seemed to think they could ignore or disregard her orders simply because they answered to her father first. She had almost forgotten what it was like to actually be obeyed without question. She had to admit, it felt nice. 

---

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[whump-me]

Conquest, Chapter 4: A Valuable Resource

Chapter 4 of Conquest, a novel-length fantasy whump story about a timid royal clerk captured by the disgraced prince who needs their help to rule their newly conquered country. This series is best read in order. Masterpost here.

Contains: fantasy setting, nonbinary whumpee, male whumper, fearful whumpee, royal whumper, whumper POV, knife to throat, cultural differences, philosophy of gender

---

Kezul

The prisoner was no longer drenched in blood and shit and vomit, but that didn’t make him that much more pleasant to look at. He was built like a sapling, and draped in layers and layers of clothing drenched in dyes so bright it made Kezul’s eyes hurt to look at him. His hair was pulled back in a single long braid. The style didn’t do him any favors—it exposed every soft curve of his weak face in unforgiving detail.

The creature kept his eyes firmly fixed on his own shoes—soft and thin things that wouldn’t have lasted five minutes on a battlefield. Kezul heard his breath catch with every inhale as he quivered like a blade of grass in a thunderstorm.

And here Kezul had thought Gyoras’s fawning had been intolerable.

But at least this one meant it. He wasn’t showing obsequious deference while snickering about Kezul’s soiled reputation behind his hands when Kezul was out of earshot. One glance at the prisoner was enough to tell Kezul that every quiver of fear, every catch of his breath, was born of genuine terror.

It was refreshing. At least one person in this palace had a healthy respect for him.

Kezul hadn’t expected respect to make him feel so disgusted.

But then, the creatures of Danelor were disgusting, all of them. Weak things, soft, like worms after a rain. And his father had sent him here because he thought Kezul belonged with them.

Maybe Gyoras had been right, and this prisoner’s best use was as an outlet for his anger. Staring at him now, he found it hard to believe this creature could be useful for much else, except maybe as a gaudy decoration. “Tell me,” he demanded, “why shouldn’t I kill you now and put you out of your misery?”

The prisoner flinched at the sound of his voice. His eyes—wet and glittering, a clear amber color that reminded Kezul of the steps outside the palace—darted up to meet his. The incongruity of it sent a jolt through Kezul. The prisoner looked too afraid to speak, and yet he could do what Gyoras had found so difficult, and look Kezul in the eyes. No doubt it came down to what he had been taught—the people of Danelor probably didn’t know how to show their rulers proper respect. Still, Kezul couldn’t help but see it as an almost shocking act of boldness.

“You saved me for a reason,” the prisoner said. “I don’t think you would have your warriors go to the trouble of bathing me just so you can kill me personally.”

Kezul wouldn’t have been more astounded if one of the palace rats had scurried up to him, knelt at his feet, and offered to serve.

The prisoner’s accent was atrocious, of course. The words sounded smooth and liquid in his mouth, like his soft lips couldn’t keep hold of the sounds properly. On top of that, half his verb endings belonged to some archaic scholarly dialect Kezul hadn’t seen since the lessons he had slept through as a child. But the fact that he was speaking the language at all stunned Kezul into silence.

“I did not intervene to save your life,” Kezul answered once he had recovered his composure. “Your life is worthless. What I did was preserve a potential resource. If it turns out the information in your head isn’t useful to me, you’ll go right back to my Wolves. Or else I’ll kill you myself.”

The prisoner cringed at the sound of his voice, and didn’t stop cringing until Kezul fell silent. In the name of the exalted Unmaker, how had these creatures ever survived long enough to put up any sort of resistance at all? If they were all like this one, they should have keeled over dead at the first sound of a war horn.

“How do you know my language?” Kezul demanded.

“It was part of my studies,” the prisoner answered in the same atrocious accent. “I can read, write, and speak fifteen different languages. I can understand another five passably well.”

“Hopefully you speak the others better than you speak mine,” Kezul said. “Training for what?” He leaned forward on his throne, fixing his eyes on the quivering prisoner.

“Diplomacy, mostly. As a royal clerk, I sat in on diplomatic meetings, and recorded what was said to the best of my ability. I had to understand foreigners’ speech well enough to avoid any dangerous mistranslations in my notes, and then translate the notes later into the languages of everyone who had attended. I also drafted trade and defense agreements, and the meaning of those—as you can imagine—had to be precisely identical between one translation or the next. No clerk wants to be responsible for starting a war with a careless stroke of a pen.”

He said all this without a trace of arrogance, as if he expected Kezul to take it in stride that a trembling beanstalk of a clerk might have the power to launch an army with the mistranslation of a word. Was this the world his father had meant to thrust him into? A world where the stroke of an overtired clerk’s pen could mean the difference between war and peace, between victory and defeat?

And he had thought the test had seemed impossible before.

Forget getting on his horse and riding as hard as he could out of here. He was half-tempted to set the whole damned country ablaze and be done with it. It would be easy to rule over a sea of charred grass.

He pictured his father’s triumphant grin in his mind. He clenched the throne’s carved wooden armrests until the contours of the smooth wood bit deep enough to bruise.

He would not run. He would not fail.

“You say you drafted these agreements,” he said slowly. “Do you mean someone dictated the words to you, and you determined the proper translations?”

The prisoner shook his head—a small, jerking motion. “We clerks would work out the details ourselves. It’s part of why our training takes so long—we need to understand enough of politics to handle that work on our own. The queen and her advisors have more important things to do than fuss over every word.”

Kezul’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. “Then the royal clerks had the power to set policy.” No wonder Danelor had fallen so quickly, if this one and those like him had been the ones in charge all along.

The prisoner shook his head again. “The queen or one of her advisors would tell us what the document needed to contain—although we would already know that, if we had paid attention in the meetings. Then we would go over it with one of the queen’s advisors once the job was done—or, if it was important enough, with the queen herself. But—if you will forgive me my arrogance—the queen and her advisors couldn’t manage those details as well as a trained clerk could. Knowing the precise tricks of phrasing to make sure the documents say exactly what they’re meant to say is part of what we’re trained for.”

This prisoner had a strange idea of arrogance. Not that Kezul was sure he believed what the prisoner said—surely the difference between one pen stroke and another couldn’t be more powerful than the word of their queen. Either their queen had been exceedingly weak, or Danelor was a land of superstitious fools who believed in the powers of magical incantations—so long as the words were written in a clerk’s hand and sealed with the royal seal.

But the creature in front of him, much as he hated to admit it, didn’t look like a fool. Kezul didn’t know what to make of him, truth be told. Based on Kezul’s first look at him, he hadn’t expected the prisoner to be able to stammer out a single terrified word. And yet he had spouted that lengthy explanation, and in a language not his own, all while quivering like a leaf in a storm. He had even pulled out the most obscure archaic phrases to drop casually into his speech. To the best of my ability? If you will forgive? And the stuffy and old-fashioned word documents, when the shorter and simpler term was used by everyone but the most pompous old academics. Kezul might have thought the creature was trying to show off, if he hadn’t looked so much like he wanted to melt into the floor.

Kezul didn’t know what to think of him. Only a few moments in his presence, and he already seemed to Kezul to be a child’s trick puzzle—a muddle of pieces that would never fit together properly. But if what he said could be believed—and at this point, Kezul had no other option but to believe him—he was an even better find than Kezul had hoped. This prisoner could well be the proverbial jewel plucked from the pigsty—a bit of good fortune dropped into his lap from the heavens themselves.

“Give me your name,” Kezul ordered.

The prisoner answered with a string of slurred syllables that made Kezul feel like he had spun in a circle while shaking his head rapidly back and forth.

“Say that again,” Kezul said irritably. “Slower, this time.”

“Miranelis.” This time, Kezul could make out all the sounds, but he still scowled. He couldn’t imagine saying all that whenever he needed to catch his prisoner’s attention.

“You’ll need to shorten it,” he said. “I’ll call you Mir.”

The prisoner, unexpectedly, flinched at that. “My people don’t shorten our names.”

A child’s trick puzzle, indeed. He had run rather than fought to defend his home and his queen. He was hadn’t offered the Wolves in the courtyard so much as a token fight. But this was the thing he found the courage to object to?

“You do now,” he said. “Your name is too long to use. You don’t want that to be the reason I can’t find a use for you, do you?”

The prisoner still looked unhappy about the situation, but he didn’t offer any more objections.

“And are you a man or a woman?” he asked. He had assumed man at first, but the longer he looked the prisoner over, the less sure of that he was. Mir’s slim build offered no clues, nor did the soft roundness of his face.

“Neither,” Mir answered.

And here Kezul had thought his eyebrows couldn’t go any higher. “You can’t mean to tell me you have nothing between your legs.”

“You didn’t ask me what I had between my legs. You asked if I was—” And here he dropped into his own language for the space of a few liquid words. “Or did I misunderstand?”

“I don’t speak your language,” Kezul snapped. “Say it in mine, or not at all.”

“You asked if I was a man or a woman,” Mir answered. “The mother or father of a child, actual or potential. Is that correct?”

He had dropped into those maddening archaic turns of phrase again. Kezul wished his father had sent along a scholar just to make sense of this creature’s speech. “I don’t see how that changes my point.”

“I renounced the possibility of either when I entered the service of the queen,” said Mir patiently. “I renounced all familial roles—past, present, and future. Son or daughter, brother or sister, aunt or uncle… you get the idea. Everyone sworn to higher service takes the oath—clerks, priests, soldiers, the queen’s personal servants…”

Kezul frowned. “You mean to tell me all the soldiers in Danelor are eunuchs?”

“Eunuchs? Doesn’t that mean you cut…” Mir turned faintly green. “No! It’s about our place in our family and our country, about being recognized as one sworn to service rather than to our blood relatives or the scholarly pursuits. It’s not about… that.” The prisoner looked down at his crotch nervously.

Perhaps this was another thing Kezul would have understood if he’d had the training Szorrol had denied him. He doubted it, though. “Neither, then,” he said, with more than a little irritation. He squinted at Mir and wondered if he could get used to the idea of seeing clerk in place of man or woman.

He cleared his throat and moved on. “How long have you been in your position?”

“Ten years in training,” Mir answered. “Another five in service.”

“They must have started you young, then.” Either that, or Kezul had unwittingly stumbled upon the location of the fabled Caves of Immortality.

“At seven years old,” Mir confirmed.

“And are you good at what you do?”

“Not as good as the one who taught me.”

They flushed a little as they said it. Their lips tightened at the corners in a look of quivering stubbornness. Was this another facet of the creature’s strange humility—that they could admit to having power greater than their own queen, but not to being good at it?

If so, Kezul didn’t have time for their scruples. He leaned forward. “How would you rate your competence at your vocation,” he said, “if your life depended on your answer?” In a quick motion, he grabbed Mir by the back of the neck. With his other hand, he drew his dagger from his chest sheath and rested the blade against the prisoner’s trembling throat.

Mir quivered hard enough that Kezul was afraid they would shake themselves right onto the edge of the blade and slit their own throat. And yet they still didn’t collapse in a mindless puddle of tears on the floor. Ridiculous—they should either embrace their own cowardice, as they so clearly wanted to, or show a little spirit and fight back.

Of course, if they chose this moment to fight back, they would get their throat slit. And then Kezul would be without his only information source.

Kezul was about to repeat his question when Mir swallowed hard and answered. The motion of the throat was enough to vibrate their skin against the freshly sharpened blade. A single drop of blood welled up.

“My teacher said I was the best they had ever trained,” said Mir, as if every word was painful. Or maybe that was just from the blade at their throat.

“Good.” Kezul released them, and was mildly surprised when they kept their footing. He slid his knife back into its sheath. “We’ll see if your teacher’s assessment of you is accurate. You said you were sworn to higher service. You will continue that service. As of now, you serve me.”

Mir blinked at him like a startled cow. “What?”

“I was taught how to conquer,” Kezul said. “I was not taught how to rule. You will show me how.”

Another slow, bewildered blink. “But I don’t… I was only a clerk.”

“And your clerks had more power than your queen, or so you said,” Kezul said impatiently. “Or was that a lie?” His hand drifted closer to his knife. “Do you know what the penalty is for lying to one’s superiors in Kyollen Naskor?”

A full-body quiver ran through Mir. “That’s not what I meant!” They took a breath. Swallowed. “That’s not what I meant,” they said in a slower and more even voice, even though every word was thick with suppressed strain. “We clerks have a very specific area of expertise. That’s all. We know more than the queen does in certain matters, but the queen doesn’t know how to till the fields either, and you would hardly say a farmer has more power than her because of it.”

“Certain matters,” Kezul echoed. “Would it kill you to talk like a living, breathing person instead of some long-forgotten ancient scroll?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Kezul waved a hand. “Your specific area of expertise happens to be exactly what I need. I need to know this country’s politics. Its trade… situation.” His fingers waggled helplessly in the air. “Its relationships with its neighbors. Its… oh, I don’t know—that’s what I need you to tell me.”

“You want me to tell you how to rule my country,” said Mir.

“At last, you’re getting it. Good—if you didn’t have a brain in your head, this endeavor would be doomed before it started. I’ll have you brought to me every day. You’ll teach me what I need to know about your country, and in return, you will be kept alive and well-fed.” He thought back to what Gyoras had said about the farms, and amended, “You’ll eat as well as the rest of my army, at any rate.”

“You want me to be a part of your army.” A crease appeared between Mir’s eyebrows, quickly smoothed away.

“You know that’s not what I meant. Your command of my language can’t be that bad, if you’re throwing around phrases like if you will forgive. Are you trying to mock me by intentionally misunderstanding my words?”

“You want me to serve you,” said Mir. “That’s what you said, isn’t it? Maybe I won’t be holding a weapon, but it amounts to the same thing. I’ll be helping you win this war.”

“The war is already won. And I wouldn’t need your help for that, anyway. I know how to win a war.”

Mir shook their head. “No,” they whispered, almost too low to hear. Another terrified quiver rolled through them.

“What do you mean, no?”

Mir swallowed again. “You destroyed my country. You killed my queen, and the prince—a child—and everyone else I’ve cared about for the past fifteen years. Havedrial…” Mir let out a shuddering breath. “I won’t help you finish the job.”

It took Kezul a moment to remember how to speak. “You’re refusing me?” This pathetic creature? Gyoras, a trained Wolf, had barely been able to bring himself to stand in Kezul’s presence, and then only because he had been ordered to. And yet this tiny, trembling prisoner was saying no?

“And what if I send you back out to the courtyard with my Wolves?” Kezul asked in a low voice. This time, he almost managed to imitate his father’s rumble.

Mir quivered so hard Kezul thought they would lose their balance. But they kept their feet as they said, in a small but steady voice, “Then send me back.”

Kezul stared into the creature’s wide and glistening eyes, and found he couldn’t look away. This was the strangest breed of coward he had ever encountered. They would have made a fascinating curiosity, if Kezul’s birthright hadn’t been on the line.

Kezul drew his knife again. This time, he brought it forward slowly and deliberately, holding Mir’s gaze the whole time. He kept his spare hand ready to grab hold of Mir’s arm if Mir tried to run. But Mir stayed put. Whether they were making a brave stand, or were simply too panicked to remember how to use their feet, Kezul couldn’t tell.

“And if I slit your throat here and now?” he demanded.

This time, Mir’s voice was even quieter. The words were still surprisingly easy to make out, considering their accent. “Then do it.”

Kezul rested the edge of the knife against Mir’s throat. Mir didn’t fight. They didn’t run. One or the other would have made sense, but neither? What was this creature?

One sharp jerk of the knife, and he wouldn’t need to worry about it anymore. He already suspected this prisoner would be more trouble than they were worth. In the time it would take to persuade them to take back their refusal—or even begin to figure out how to persuade an alien creature such as this—he could find another resource to give him what he needed.

There had to be some other resource.

But if he was wrong, what then?

And besides, if Kezul killed Mir now, the only satisfaction he would get from it would be an end to this headache-inducing conversation and an extra bloodstain on the floor. That wasn’t enough. Kezul had saved them from the fate they deserved, and all they were asking in return was a simple exchange of information. Kezul could have understood that kind of refusal coming from a warrior. But a coward who had hid in a closet rather than die in defense of their queen? The only reason for them to choose death now was pure spite.

Such spite deserved to be returned in kind.

He tucked his knife away. “Then I suppose I’ll be forced to find another use for you. I imagine you won’t find it as pleasant as my first offer. Remember, you had your chance.”

Kezul didn’t know what precisely he was threatening yet, but from the way Mir’s eyes went even wider, he suspected Mir had a few ideas already. Good. Let their imagination to torment them until Kezul came up with something suitable. He was sure he could find something. And after a taste of what it meant to be his prisoner, maybe Mir would change their mind about what their spite was worth.

---

Tagged: @suspicious-whumping-egg @halloiambored @whump-in-the-closet @whump-cravings @gala1981 @sunshiline-writes @annablogsposts @whither-wander-whump @seaweed-is-cool

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[susiequaz12]

Whumptober 11

No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”

Day 11! A continuation of Marlowe's time with the vampires. Right after day 7. CW: vampire caretaker, immortal whumpee, nonbinary whumpee, talk of past injuries, blood, talk of amputation, caretaker forced to hurt whumpee.

- - -

It took a few months for Lo to finally get back to normal after what had happened with the other vampires. 

Solomon had visited them every single day, checking on them, bringing them clothing- smuggling food- dousing them with venom to keep them docile and quiet. Lo had explained it all- that while their body was healing, it focused on the biggest things first. Breathing- their organs- all the functions that kept them alive. Then it could regrow “unnecessary limbs,” and fix all the cosmetics. Solomon didn’t understand, but he knew that as soon as the human could walk again, they were getting out of there. 

And now it was time. 

They packed a few small supplies, enough to keep them going for a couple days.

Unfortunately the best time to leave was right when everyone would be going to bed. Right as the sun was coming up. 

Sneaking out of the encampment wasn’t difficult, it’d been done before. The difficult part was going to be the long walk through the woods that surrounded them, and then across the river and past into the mountains. Once they crossed that river, they were sure to be out of their reach. 

Solomon had trodded ahead, grateful for the thick shade of the trees against the heat of the sun. They could hear the soft padding of the human’s footsteps behind them. As long as they continued to hear that, they could keep moving forward- Lo steadily behind them. 

Until their footsteps were no longer there. 

And then Solomon heard something else-

A muffled scream. 

Instantly he turned back around, no longer seeing Lo in his line of sight. He stepped back a bit to find Lo huddled at the base of a tree, a single hand clamped over their mouth as their other one hadn’t grown back quite yet.

Locked around their ankle was a trap- a large metal trap with teeth that had encased themselves firmly around Lo’s leg- Solomon could already smell the pungent blood of the wounds that were seeping. 

“Marlowe-” Sol whispered, kneeling down next to the human. They were trying not to scream. “It’s okay, I’ll get it off- just give me a second-”

Lo shook their head, groaning beneath their hand- eyes darting to the trap. 

Solomon inspected it closer, finally realizing it was one from his own camp. He was there when it was designed. The teeth were meant to lock around the prey, incapacitating them. It was chained to a the tree as well, and could only be unlocked by a key kept in their base, so that the prey was brought in, trap and all. Once pried open the damage could be fairly minimal as long as it was bandaged properly. 

But without the key- no amount of human strength could pry the jaws open once they had locked shut. 

Apparently no vampire strength could either. 

That was evident after about half an hour of trying. Lo was crumpled in a heap, sobbing openly into their arm as the teeth dug and tore into their leg despite Sol’s desperate attempts to dislodge it. 

“Solomon-” They panted out.

“I can get- I think I have it I-”

“Solomon please, Sol-”

“I just need to get better leverage, but I can-”

“Solomon just stop!” Lo gasped out. “Just stop for a second- please- God- please-” they panted for a second to catch their breath as Solomon sat up from his crouch over their leg. 

“I need to-it’s-” He sighed, realizing his defeat. “I can’t get it without the key.”

“Yeah, you think?” Lo snarked. They were already feeling dizzy, their blood soaking into the dirt beneath them. Solomon couldn’t stay out in this heat either. Even though they were in the shade the sun was getting higher and higher in the sky, and soon would be right overhead. 

“Listen- I’m- there’s a lot of blood.” Lo stated, pulling themselves further off of the dirt, bracing themselves against the tree. “They’re going to find us if we keep going like this, I- I can’t keep going like this. There’s too much blood it- it’s-” they had to stop- panting and out of breath as the pain flared up in their leg. 

“I- I can’t leave you.” Solomon whispered, eyes trailing back down to the injury. “I- we have to find a way.” He paced around the tree, inspecting every angle, searching for any weak point. 

Lo couldn’t see his face through his mask, but they could sense the furrowed look on his brow- the sweat beading down his forehead. They stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. Sol turned to look at the pale human. 

“There- there is a way.” Sol glanced down at them, coming into a crouch. 

“Cut of my foot.” Lo stated. 

Solomon shot back up, taking a step away. “No. What- that’s- no, I will not hurt you any further.”

“Fine then.” Lo groaned. “Then give me your knife, I’ll do it myself, I’ve done it before.” 

Solomon didn’t press for details, but they were not about to let their human cut off their own leg. 

“I- is that our only option?” 

“Sure seems like it right now. Unless you want to risk sneaking back into camp to get the key, and making your way back here. It’ll probably be dark by then, which’ll make it a lot more difficult to get back here without being caught.”

Lo’s voice was shaking, their body trembling in the pain as they spoke, Solomon was glad they couldn’t see the tremble in their jaw, the concern on their brow as their face was covered. 

“I don’t want to do this-” Sol whispered as they pulled out the knife, setting it onto the blood-stained dirt beside them. 

Marlowe closed their eyes, leaning back against the tree. Their eyes shot open as their chin was grabbed, their head tilted back. Immediately they knew what Sol was doing and they let their mouth fall open, eyes closed gently. 

Solomon pulled up the bottom half of his mask, and pressed his mouth against the human’s, cradling their neck in his hand. His venom entered it’s way into Lo, and they swallowed the sour liquid quickly, their eyes beginning to feel dazed as the vampire pulled away, replacing his mask back over his face. 

“I hope that’ll help. Here-” Solomon offered one of his gloves out to Lo, the thick leather falling into their hand. “We’re in the shade still, I shouldn’t need it for a bit. To- to bite down on.” He clarified, when Lo blinked up at him in confusion. 

Lo placed the thick leather glove carefully in between their teeth biting down on it and closing their eyes as the world began to spin around them. Everything grew hazy- their brain a mass of mush from all the venom, and they felt their body hit the dirt.

And then they felt the blade make its first cut into their skin. 

- - -

It took Solomon longer than he had wanted to cut Lo’s leg away from the trap. 

The bone took the longest part. Thankfully Lo had passed out by then. 

They had screamed for a while, moaning and grunting into the glove they held between their teeth. But now they just lie in a heap in the dirt, breathing soft- frantic breaths- the venom probably working its way through their system. 

Solomon buried the remnants of their foot, and covered the trap in the soil- hopefully enough to mask the scent. They used their knife to tear off the bottom few inches of their cloak, wrapping it tightly around Lo’s leg, trying desperately to stem the bleeding before scooping up the frail human and slinging them over his shoulder. 

Solomon slid the knife back into its sheath on his belt as he began to walk. Pushing everything that had just happened- everything that he had had to do- out of his mind. Just focusing on one step after another. 

- - -

Tag List: @imagination1reality0 @thecyrulik @whumpsday @termsnconditions-apply @spectral-whumpy-writer @raddyscoops @whumptober-archive

#whumptober2023 #no.11 #animal trap #vampire caretaker #immortal whumpee #nonbinary whumpee #ocs #whump writing #amputation #blood #marlowe the immortal

[thecareandkeepingofwhumpees]

My entry for @febuwhump day 4: obedience.

Content warnings: nudity, blood, demons, vague religious references, and knives. Let me know if you need anything added!

When Seshdhar felt themself being summoned by a human, they didn’t bother putting on clothes. Draping oneself in fabric wasn’t something demons did, given that they didn’t care about modesty, and cold wasn’t exactly a problem down there. On the rare occasion that a human managed to find an actual summoning ritual, and work up the nerve to complete it, the nudity served as a bit of a power play. For some reason, seeing someone stand in front of them, wearing no clothes yet fully confident, made humans squirm. It was amusing to watch them desperately keep their eyes on their face.

But something had gone wrong.

They hadn’t been summoned in a long time, so maybe humans had just changed since then? But no, demons in general traveled fairly often between the human realm, and a change this significant would’ve garnered at least a little gossip. So why wasn’t this human scared? Why had they not cowered, or even seemed intimidated in the slightest?

Why the heaven was their lack of clothing making them feel vulnerable? That wasn’t how it was supposed to work!

All the man — he was what humans would consider a man, they were pretty sure — had done once he summoned them was to remind them that, as he summoned them, they were now bound to his will, required to obey his every demand. Then he proceeded to command them to kneel and keep their hands folded behind their back. They could feel their face heat up, but thankfully the parts of their face that weren’t covered in keratin scales were already a deep red color, so it wouldn’t be visible.

Then, the man knelt down to their level, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I have so many questions to ask you. Let’s begin.”

“Let’s,” they agreed, with biting sardonicism.

The man laced his fingers together and squeezed them, as if he’d wanted to harass a demon for so long that he could hardly contain his excitement now that the time had come. “Alright. Firstly, can demons be hurt by human tools?”

Seshdhar did not like the sound of that. “No.” Probably.

The man tilted his head. “Hmm. I now realize that I can’t be sure that you’re answering truthfully. I suppose I will have to… see for myself. Making sure your sources are reliable is very important for a scholar like me, you understand.” He pulled out a knife from his satchel and pressed it into Seshdhar’s bare chest.

Nothing happened, and the demon almost let themself hope.

But the man merely leaned back and pulled a second knife out, because of course he carried multiple weapons on him at all times. “Now, that first knife was made of silver, but this one, though it looks very similar, is actually iron.” With an odd amount of precision, he once more brought a blade to the demon’s chest.

This time, however, it sliced through their skin.

Seshdhar hissed, not in any kind of figurative way, but very literal, with their fangs bared and everything. This did not dissuade the man in any way from continuing to carve lines into their chest. If anything, the only discontent on his face was sourced in the fact that their blood failed to stand out against their naturally crimson skin.

It hurt, it hurt so badly, burning and stinging and not stopping, but Seshdhar didn’t want to give the man the pleasure of hearing them express it. So they dug their fangs into their tongue — because what the heaven, it’s not like they weren’t already bleeding — in order to prevent any pained sounds from escaping. This was mostly successful.

After an indiscernible amount of time, the man pulled back, wiped the blade clean, and slid it back away. “Now, on to my second inquiry…”

#caretaker talks #whump #human whumper #demon whumpee #nonbinary whumpee #demon whump #whump writing #seshdhar #febuwhumpday4 #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump

[whumpy-writings]

Sold

Whumptember 2022 Day 1 Behind Bars

CW: Referenced natural disaster, starvation mention, vampires, slavery, captivity, dehumanization, being sold, female whumpees mentioned, nonbinary whumpee

Hayden stood behind Cynthia, the last elder of their village, as she knelt in front of the vampire and begged for mercy.

"Everything we have is gone, sir," she said with a defeated voice. "We will die if we stay here. Please sir, please take us as your blood bags. We won't fight."

Hayden stared at the ruined landscape and even though it had been a week, it still didn't feel real. That their home was gone, decimated by a storm that also took the lives of forty of their fellow villagers. Hayden had been one of the lucky ten who had survived.

"Very well," the vampire snapped his fingers and Hayden jumped. "Get in the cart. All of you." Hayden stared with wide eyes as their fellow humans started towards the cart. Towards a life of slavery. They knew they had to move, go with the rest of them, but they just couldn't seem to move.

"Hayden, come on," their friend Gina whispered, grabbing their hand and pulling them towards the cart. Hayden followed but their heart was beating too fast and their eyes burned with unshed tears. This was it. This was the end of their life as a free person. They climbed in with Gina and sat next to her on the rough wooden floor. They looked at the sea for one final time. It was dark gray today, the waves white-capped. They loved the sea. But the sea was ruthless, and it had caused the storm that had destroyed their life. They rested their head on Gina's shoulder and cried as the cart started to roll, taking them away from everything they had ever known.

Their fellow villagers were also weeping as the vampires took them towards their fate. Hayden didn't know how being a blood bag worked. They just knew that their body would belong to a vampire. They shifted uncomfortably as the cart trundled over the rough road.

"I'm scared," they whispered to Gina.

"I am too," she said. "But at least this way we won't starve." Hayden nodded, but deep in their core they worried that maybe starving would have been preferable. It was a couple hours until they reached their destination. The moon was low in the sky as the cart rumbled through a tall gate into a city. Hayden sat up straighter. They had never been to a city and they were amazed as they looked at the buildings rising on either side of them. Some of them were three stories tall! Gina sat up next to them and gripped their arm tightly.

"Look at all the vampires," she hissed. Hayden looked down at the street and started when they saw that she was right. Everywhere there were vampires bustling about. And many of them were staring right back at the humans in the cart. Hayden cringed back against Gina as their heart pounded. The vampires were clearly surveying their new meals. Their throat was suddenly dry.

The cart finally rolled to a stop in front of a large building.

"Out," a vampire barked. The humans were all frozen for a second before one of them climbed out of the cart and hopped onto the ground. Gina followed and Hayden followed her. Their legs almost gave out when they hit the strange stone street.

"This way."

Hayden and the rest of the humans followed the vampire through giant wooden doors into the building. It was brightly lit and Hayden blinked as their eyes adjusted. It was a giant hall and around the edges were... cages. Cages filled with humans. Hayden stopped breathing. This couldn't be their life. They started to back away but then a heavy hand landed on their shoulder.

"Keep moving," the vampire growled and Hayden had no choice but to comply. They ten of them were led into an empty cage before the door was shut behind them with an ominous thud.

"Tonight you will be evaluated and priced. Someone will bring food along shortly. Rest," the vampire said before leaving them alone.

Hayden shakily sat down and put their head in their hands. Fear rose up in their throat and all they wanted to do was scream. They all were going to be sold. They were just objects, to be appraised and used and they weren't people and-

"Hayden," a voice said. Hayden looked up to see Gina sitting next to them with her hand on their arm. Hayden threw their arms around her and buried their face in her shoulder. They sobbed then. Sobs for the people and life that they had lost and the terrifying future that was waiting for them. Gina started crying too. Hayden eventually cried themself to sleep in her arms.

When they awoke, there was food waiting for them. Not much, just a small hunk of bread, but they hadn't eaten in days and they devoured it quickly. The cell was tense with most of the humans sitting with their backs against the wall. As far away from the door as possible. Hayden made their way over and squeezed their way in between Gina and Timothy. They prayed to whatever gods might hear that the vampires would let everyone from the village stay together. But even as they prayed they knew that that was wishful thinking. Hayden jumped when the door to the cage opened.

"On your feet. All of you," a vampire said. Clearly he was the appraiser. Hayden struggled to their feet along with the others.

The appraiser started at the end of the line. He grabbed the man's jaw and examined his face. He pulled up his sleeve to look at his muscles and pulled up his shirt. He clucked his tongue.

"Scrawny," he said. "But sellable." He scribbled something down then took a piece of chalk and marked something on the man's shirt. Then he moved on to the next one. The world seemed to spin as the appraiser moved down the line and Hayden couldn't think of anything but their rising terror.

Hayden's breath was coming too fast. The vampire was so close, standing in front of Gina now. He ignored the tears that were running down her face as he poked and prodded her before using his chalk to mark her for sale. Then the appraiser was in front of Hayden.

He stared at Hayden and Hayden wanted to disappear. Then the appraiser reached out and ran a gentle hand through Hayden's red hair. Hayden flinched back, but the appraiser just laughed.

"Beautiful," he said. "You'll sell for a lot." Hayden felt like they were going to be sick. "Windemere will want to see them. He should be next door," the appraiser called over his shoulder to an assistant. Next thing Hayden knew a hand was grabbing their arm and pulling them away from the other humans.

"What-"

"Shut up," the vampire snapped and Hayden blinked back tears as they were led away from everything they knew. Everything was a blur as they tried to match the vampire's long strides. After a few minutes they stopped in front of a door. The vampire rapped on it with his knuckles.

"Come in."

The vampire opened the door and Hayden had no choice but to follow him. Seated behind a desk was a finely dressed vampire who looked up as they entered.

"Marcus thought you would like to see this one. Fresh from the villages." Hayden quivered under the vampire's gaze.

"I can see why. The hair and freckles are very striking." The vampire pushed back his chair and crossed the room to stand in front of Hayden. He grabbed their chin so he could look them in the eye. Hayden didn't dare move a muscle. "Yes, yes, they should do nicely. Pretty and compliant, perfect for my clientele." He released Hayden's chin. "Take them to holding room F."

Hayden's mind was spinning as the vampire dragged them down the hall. What was going on? Obviously that vampire had been some sort of human trader, but who were his clients?

The vampire opened a door into a small room. Hayden felt the blood drain from their face when they saw a cage set against one wall. A cage just big enough for a human. The vampire opened the cage door and Hayden winced as the hinges screeched.

"In you go," the vampire said, forcing them down to their hands and knees so they could crawl inside. The floor was cold metal and the chill was already working its way into Hayden's bones. Hayden's eyes burned as they watched the vampire close the door to their cage and turn the key in the lock.

"Please sir, what's happening?" Hayden asked.

The vampire ignored their question and left the room. The door closed with a slam, sealing Hayden alone in the darkness. They curled up against the bars of the cage and started to cry.

Tag list: @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whump-cravings @thecyrulik @neverthelass @michelleswhumpyreblogs @whumpsy-daisy @the-monarch-whumperfly @aswallowimprisoned @secretwhumplair @whumpzone @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @nicolepascaline @susiequaz12 @princessofonwardsworld @puffball-lover554 @itsleighlove @pumpkin-spice-whump @wiwinia @sunflower1000 @whump-blog @blushing-snail @melancholy-in-the-morning @pizzasthengym @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpsday @ceph-the-writing-spook @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries

#whumptember2022 #whumptember 2022 day one: behind bars #hayden the human #vampires tw #slavery tw #dehumanization tw #captivity tw #starvation mention #natural disaster mention #nonbinary whumpee #of vampires and men #vampire whump #slavery whump

[whumpinthepot]

@febuwhump 2023

Day three: Muzzled

Ratty (they/them)

#febuwhump2023 #febuwhump #febuwhumpday3 #whump art #muzzled #febuwhump muzzled #pet whump #nonbinary whumpee #whump #tw muzzle #breezy’s art #rats race #breezy’s post #ratty #breezy’s oc’s #tw pet whump

[cepheusgalaxy]

I've been reading this whump series lately and

Damn.

Well, I wanted to say I love Damiel Cartier.

They are nonbinary

Black

Polyamorous

Neurodivergent

Have C.I.P.A. (congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis) - a disease

Are AFAB

They're all the cissexist ableist traditional western system hates and I love them

Dami belongs to @angst-after-dark and is from the amazing bbu series, Like A Bullet Loves A Gun

(I have heard of c.i.p.a. before, but I didn't know the name, so @angst-after-dark made the favour of explaining me and I did a bit of research - it is a disease characterized by the inability of feeling pain and insensibility to temperatures, which can be very dangerous to the patient, and can lead to many accidents and episodes of self-harm, and lead to have the patient sick often, since they don't sweat - a natural mechanism of the body to regulate temperature - and hurt themselves a little often. I'm not an expert, of course, since I only found it out a few hours ago, and it may have some informations missing here, but it looked interesting to share.)

If you're into whump/bbu I hightly recomend this series!

But it has a huge amount of non-con (aka sexual abuse) so be careful if you don't like it or has sensibility to it. All the chapters have trigger warnings.

#yeah i may be an abuser and a crazy torturer #but a transphobe NEVER #damiel cartier #nonbinary #afab characters #nonbinary characters #whump #nonbinary whumpee #disabled characters #neurodivergent whumpee #If I said something wrong here please correct me #Also #Something I love about the series #The whumper - damiel's “owner” (a motherfucker) never misgenders them #Like - #if i said something offensive here please WARN ME and i'll edit the post #just some friday thoughts

[whumpinggrounds]

Nothing to Hide

CW: General BBU warning, invasion of privacy, secrets revealed for @febuwhump

Madigan broaches the subject over their morning bowl of cereal. Their stomach is so sick with nerves that they’ve hardly touched their Frosted Flakes, and they know the hunger is making everything worse. Across the table, Michael is eating, chatting obliviously about the day ahead, homework and classes and a potential trip to the library. So far, Madigan has smiled and nodded their way through the conversation, but now there’s a silence, a pause, and Madigan can’t wait any longer. Steeling themselves, gripping their own thighs too hard under the table, they force the words out of their mouth.

“M-Michael?”

Their owner looks up, smile wide and toothy. For a moment, Madigan smiles back, their nerves swept aside by the force of Michael’s easy fondness. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Could…could you maybe…maybe buy more protein shakes for me?”

Exactly as Madigan had feared, Michael sits back in his chair, frowning. It’s not an angry frown, more of a thoughtful one, but Madigan still swallows hard, seeing it. The twisting in their stomach is only getting worse.

Seeing the strain on their face, Michael’s eyes soften. He reaches across the table for Madigan’s hand, and there’s safety in the reassuring squeeze. “Bud, we have a lot of food here, you know? You don’t have to drink those nasty things anymore.”

“I…I know.”

“I mean, I honestly can’t believe you went through them that quickly.”

That’s because Madigan is careful to only retrieve them from the fridge in the dead of night.

“They’re gross, Mads.”

It’s not like Madigan has ever had cause to notice the taste, but they keep quiet about that. Their hands are fretting nervously in their lap, and they flush because they can see Michael seeing it. “I, I’m sorry, sir, I just-”

“Hey.” Michael keeps his voice low and soothing. It doesn’t make Madigan feel soothed. “Hey, you don’t need to apologize, and you don’t need to call me sir. Do you not like the food around here? Because I can always buy you whatever else it is you want.”

“N-no!” The idea horrifies Madigan, that they’re rejecting Michael’s shared food, his far too generous sharing of food. “No, it’s not that, it’s, it’s not that, it’s…”

Slowly, unwillingly, Madigan’s hand drifts downward. He tugs his hand from Michael’s, until both rest on the hem of their soft blue t-shirt. They don’t want to explain themselves. They don’t want to tell. They really, really don’t want to share this with their owner, and they tell themselves it’s only because the conversation will be exhausting, and they’re afraid that Michael will feel inconvenienced. Those are the only things this reluctance could be about.

It’s not about privacy. It’s not about wanting to keep something from Michael. There’s nothing they can keep from Michael. He owns them.

Still, instead of pushing the words through their trembling lips, Madigan just lifts the edge of their shirt to answer Michael’s confusion. They tell themselves it’s faster that way. It’s not that they can’t bring themselves to say the words.

“Oh-oh my god, Madigan. What is that? Does it hurt?”

A tiny smile cracks Madigan’s face. The phantom urge to roll their eyes flits by, unbidden. “It’s a feeding tube, Michael. It doesn’t hurt at all.”

“What…why…how long have you had that thing in you?”

Michael’s face is a mask of horrified fascination, and now the smile drops off Madigan’s lips. They lower their shirt, keeping their hands on the hem, holding it down. Michael’s eyes remain fixed on the place under their shirt where the G-tube interrupts their smooth brown belly. They try not to resent him for that.

“I’ve had it…as long as I can remember.” That, at least, is true. Madigan shrugs. “It…it isn’t a big deal to me. But I need the protein shakes…I need the extra, the extra nutrition. I can’t, um, only eat by mouth, it doesn’t…it doesn’t, um, work.”

There was a time, Madigan thinks, where if they wanted, they could’ve explained it. They didn’t always want to, but they at least understood what was going on, the imperfect mechanism of their own body. Now, all they know is that they’re weaker than they should be, slower than they should be, and that their handler told them, with irritation and massive disdain, that they really shouldn’t expect their owner to deal with this kind of shit.

Face full of misguided compassion, Michael reaches across the table. He’s clearly looking for Madigan’s hand again, and after a moment’s hesitation, Madigan gives it to him. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know. I’m glad you told me. We’re going to figure this out together.” The words make Madigan wince, but they keep their face placid. “Don’t worry, Mads. I’ll help you through this.”

Figure this out? Get through this? And Madigan hadn’t asked for help – just the shakes that they can’t order, the supplements that they well know how to use. Lip trembling, they try one more time, pretending that maybe, maybe Michael can understand.

“I, I don’t need help, it’s really okay. I just need the shakes, I can…I can do everything else on my own.”

“Aw, buddy.” Michael squeezes Madigan’s hand, the perfect pitying picture of good intentions. “But you don’t have to. I’ll be right here, every step of the way.”

Letting their gaze drop to the way their t-shirt falls over their stomach, perfectly disguising what’s underneath, Madigan forces themselves to nod.

There, with them, involving himself, every step of the way.

That’s exactly what they were afraid of.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday6 #secrets revealed #michael and mad #bbu #box boy #male caretaker #carewhumper #disabled whumpee #tubie whumpee #that's so not a tag #but i'm making it one #ableism #nonbinary whumpee

[captain-bo-bob-bobby]

So, for context, I made my username with the intent of: Bo = nonbinary, Bob = male, and Bobby = female. When I found this whumpy picrew, I decided to make Bo- if they were a whumpee.

#whump picrew #when you create more whumpy picrews than write whumpy content #authors block is a bitch though ngl #androgynous whumpee #nonbinary whumpee #not whump writing #not a whump prompt

[whump-me]

Conquest, Chapter 1: The Coward

Chapter 1 of Conquest, a novel-length fantasy whump story about a timid royal clerk captured by the disgraced prince who needs their help to rule their newly conquered country. This series is best read in order. Masterpost here.

Contains: fantasy setting, nonbinary whumpee, fearful whumpee, war, suicide

---

Miranelis

On an ordinary day, the spare pantry at the very back of the palace kitchens smelled like subtle spices and gentle herbs. Each one was mild on its own, but transformed into a cacophony of scent when all stored in the same close space. The spice jars, packed together on the shelves along with blocks of salt and bags of dried beans, were sealed but not airtight, and the dried herbs that hung from the ceiling sent a constant stream of fragrance into the air.

When Miranelis and Havedrial had first run in here and barricaded the door with the heaviest sacks of grain they could find, Miranelis’s entire face had ached for hours with the effort of holding back a sneeze. Only the knowledge of what would happen if anyone heard them had made it possible.

Now, after days in the darkness—or maybe only hours, but it felt like days—Miranelis thought back with nostalgia on that pungent mix of odors. Now the pantry smelled of sweat and urine. And whenever they got too close to the door, they caught the faintest whiff of blood. The blood had smelled fresh at first. Now it was rancid, and the reek made Miranelis’s stomach flop like a gasping fish.

Which was for the best, because it kept hunger at bay. Miranelis knew they should have been hungry, but whether because of the smell or the knowledge of what was waiting outside the door, they had no appetite whatsoever. Havedrial must have been in a similar state, because they hadn’t said one word about their appetite, even though they had a habit of being forthright about such things to the point of impropriety. It was just as well, because nothing in here was edible in its current state. If they stayed in here much longer, they would both die of starvation surrounded by food.

As deaths went, it sounded more pleasant than their other options.

Miranelis was wedged into the far corner, their back against a hard jutting wooden shelf, their knees pulled up to their chest. Their muscles ached with the effort of holding the same position for so long, but they couldn’t move. They felt like a rabbit frozen under the gaze of a hawk—a Wolf, rather—although there was a solid door between them and the horrors outside, and even the most rabid Wolf couldn’t see through walls.

They hadn’t slept. Little tremors kept running through their hands, and they couldn’t tell whether it was terror or exhaustion. A little of both, most likely. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a feeling that was compatible with sleep, no matter how drained they felt.

Next to Miranelis, the palace’s head clerk Havedrial lay flat on their back, a bag of beans under their head serving as a makeshift pillow. They had taken off their outer shawl and draped it over their thin, wrinkled body as a blanket. Their eyes were closed, their breathing slow and rhythmic. They certainly looked comfortable.

That made one of them.

Jealous though Miranelis might have been at Havedrial’s preternatural ability to sleep, they didn’t begrudge their teacher the small moment of respite. If not for Havedrial, they would have frozen at the first panicked shouts when the Wolves breached the gate, and stood there blinking until a sword took their head off. Havedrial knew how to think fast under pressure. It had saved them—and the queen—in many a tense negotiation. And it had saved their life and Miranelis’s when they had sprinted down the back hallways to the kitchens and Miranelis had found just enough presence of mind to follow.

The rest of the clerks had planned to stay and fight. Havedrial had called them idiots, and praised Miranelis for being quick enough to see that running was the only way to survive. Yes, praised—Havedrial always has been agonizingly lavish with praise. Just one more way they cared nothing for propriety. And in this case, the praise hadn’t even been true. Havedrial had run because they were clever. Miranelis had followed because they were a coward.

The fighting had reached the kitchens soon enough, as Miranelis and Havedrial listened from behind the pantry door. It had been impossible to tell which of the dying screams belonged to people they knew. Their fellow clerks. The guards. The ambassadors who hadn’t fled in time. That hadn’t stopped Miranelis from worrying at the thought like a dog with a bone, trying to match voices to names, picturing familiar faces with dead staring eyes mere feet away on the other side of the door.

Of course the royal family would be dead by now. Of that, there was no question, although doubtless they had died far from the palace kitchens. Miranelis kept trying not to picture their bodies. But their mind was trained to stay active even when their body was exhausted to the point of collapse. And they had nothing else to keep their mind occupied here in the darkness.

Miranelis had liked the queen. They hadn’t ever seen much of the child prince, but they remembered his smile. He had approached them in the palace courtyard a few weeks ago and shyly handed them a bracelet woven from blades of grass.

While the queen and the prince and everyone else had died, Miranelis had huddled in the dark pantry, shivering and crying, snot dripping down their face. Even Havedrial hadn’t lost control so thoroughly and shamefully. They had sat cross-legged on the floor, looking as calm and wise as an old sage in a tapestry, as if this were nothing more than an exceptionally tricky diplomatic negotiation.

It was quiet now. There was no one left on the other side of the door to scream. The only sounds were the rhythmic rumble of Havedrial’s breathing, and Miranelis’s own ragged gasps.

Come to think of it, Havedrial’s breathing was a little too slow and even. Miranelis leaned down to peer into their face. A glint of reflected light under their eyelashes confirmed what Miranelis had already thought: Havedrial wasn’t really sleeping.

Havedrial let out a soft sigh, as if they knew Miranelis had found them out. They pushed themselves to a sitting position with a quiet groan. “This floor is too hard for my tastes,” they said, as if they were lecturing the maker of their bed. “I’ve always preferred a soft place to sleep.”

Miranelis couldn’t imagine ever being able to sleep again. “How long do you think we should wait?” they asked, with a nervous glance toward the door.

Havedrial, of course, answered with a raised eyebrow and a, “How long do you think we should wait?”

Echoes made the best teachers, after all—or at least that had always seemed to be Havedrial’s philosophy. Although it hardly seemed fair to stick to that philosophy when this had nothing to do with Havedrial’s training as a royal clerk—training that had ended years ago. Not to mention the fact that both their lives hung on the answer. Still, Miranelis took a deep breath and thought before answering, as Havedrial had taught them. Havedrial’s face creased in a smile.

Miranelis looked away out of reflex. Just because Havedrial didn’t care about propriety, that didn’t mean it didn’t fill Miranelis with hot, crawling discomfort to see childish emotion displayed so clearly on another’s face. “I don’t think it matters,” they answered, their voice steady but their thoughts miserable.

“And why is that?” asked Havedrial.

“Because they’re still here,” said Miranelis. “If the Naskori didn’t want to keep the palace for themselves, they would have burned it behind them, and we would already be dead. The fighting is over, and I know our side didn’t win. We had no chance. But the palace didn’t burn around us. That means they’ve claimed it for themselves. They’re not leaving.”

“You have a question, I believe,” Havedrial prompted.

Miranelis took another breath before answering, because they needed to be sure their voice didn’t break. Doomed or not, they would not let themselves act like a mewling child who hadn’t even mastered the basics of self-control. Their tears in those first hours had been humiliating enough.

“Why did you run here, if you knew you would die either way, whether they burned the palace or claimed it?” Miranelis asked.

“Because every other option led to immediate and certain death,” Havedrial answered. “Fleeing the palace would have run me directly onto their swords. Staying to fight would have ended the same way in short order. I chose uncertainty, because uncertainty was the best of all possible options.” And then came the echo: “Why did you run, when you were clever enough to have seen where it would lead?”

In that moment, Miranelis hadn’t seen much of anything. Just the blind panic at the feeling of a predator’s claws and teeth about to grab them. “Because I’m a coward,” they answered.

“Maybe,” said Havedrial placidly. “Maybe not. In my opinion, a coward is simply one who hasn’t found the right opportunity for bravery.”

Miranelis had had an opportunity, and the rest of the clerks had taken it. Miranelis had run instead. But they both knew that, and saying it wouldn’t change what they had done, so they stayed silent.

“If they’ve decided to claim the palace,” they said instead, after a moment, “they’ll probably search in here eventually. They’re known for being thorough. They don’t like to leave any potential enemies alive.”

“Yes,” Havedrial agreed, “that’s very likely. The only surprise is that they haven’t done it before now.”

Miranelis didn’t understand how they could be so calm about this. They had both heard the same stories of Vorhullin the Unmaker and his army of Wolves from the north. They both knew the brutal things they had done to their enemies as the countries to the south of the Unmaker’s barren mountainous lands fell one by one. They had sat in on the same meetings, and dutifully transcribed the same tense conversations between diplomats. They had seen the creases on the queen’s face, even though she had always thought she had less to worry about than her neighbors. Danelor was supposed to have been too small for the Unmaker to bother with, not worth crossing the mountains that had always kept them protected in the past. The most they had to worry about, the queen had assured them all, was that their major trade partners would fall. That would have been a catastrophe in itself, but it would not have meant death. At least, probably not.

They were supposed to have been safe.

But they should have taken into account that their mountains were nothing more than hills compared to Kyollen Naskor, where the Wolves came from.

And now they weren’t safe after all. The enemy had swept in with less than a day’s advance warning. Everyone Miranelis and Havedrial had known was likely dead; they had heard it happen. So how could Havedrial seem so unbothered?

At a faint, rhythmic sound, Miranelis tensed. Maybe their panic-soaked mind was playing tricks on them. But they could have sworn they heard footsteps.

Miranelis studied Havedrial’s placid face in the darkness. They weren’t simply good at keeping control of themselves, Miranelis knew; they barely even cared about control. They were perfectly fine with acting like an immature child when it suited them, laughing uproariously at a murmured joke or shedding unrestrained tears at a wedding. Was the facade for Miranelis’s benefit, then? Or was Havedrial really so at ease?

The rhythmic sound came again, closer this time.

“They’re out there,” Miranelis said in a whisper.

“Yes, I believe you’re right.”

Miranelis shook their head. “Don’t you care?” Despite their efforts, a hint of emotion came through in their own voice.

“It’s all right,” they said. “I have a plan.”

“Then why didn’t you say something before?”

As Havedrial sighed, the facade slipped away, and their eyes creased with sorrow. But their voice was as steady as ever. “Because I hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

“You can’t be planning to fight them. We don’t have weapons.” Miranelis felt their pockets, as if a knife could have slipped in there without them noticing, and came up only with a quill pen. They pictured trying to jam it into the throat of an enemy warrior a head taller than them and twice as broad. Then they imagined dangling in the Wolf’s grip as the Wolf closed a meaty hand around their neck. They gulped in a breath.

“We don’t have to. Every pantry has a knife or two lying around.” Havedrial reached behind him without looking and came up with a short, squat knife. It looked much too short for battle, like something the cook’s assistant might have used for opening a stubbornly sealed lid. Either Havedrial had eyes in the back of their head, or they had already gone looking and spotted it hours ago.

“You can’t be thinking we’ll fight off an army with that.”

Havedrial shook their head. “We can’t fight them off. We both know that. But we don’t have to.”

“Then what…” Miranelis’s voice trailed off at the hollow look in Havedrial’s eyes.

“I may not be able to save your life, Miranelis,” said Havedrial, “but I can ensure that your life does not end alone and in fear.” They patted the space next to them. “Come. I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can. We’ll go together. It won’t be so bad.” Their face was creased with the same affection Miranelis had seen when they had first begun their training, when Havedrial had told them—making Miranelis blush, aghast at the brazen breach of etiquette—that they were the best student that had ever seen. “I promise.”

Miranelis’s mouth dropped open in horror before they could think of controlling themselves.

“It’s a better fate than whatever the Wolves have in store for us.” Havedrial voice was gentle. “You know it as well as I. You were there in all the meetings. You’ve heard the stories.”

They were right, Miranelis knew they were right… but… Miranelis’s eyes landed on the blade, then skittered away. They imagined the blade parting flesh, and felt the sharp, fiery bite of pain as if it were already happening. They saw blood—their own blood—spilling out on the pantry floor. Their stomach flopped.

Miranelis shook their head. “I can’t.”

“We have no way out. I hoped circumstances would shift, that some other path would appear, but luck was not on our side this time.” They tilted their chin upward, where footsteps—unmistakable now—creaked above their heads. “We don’t have much time.”

Miranelis swallowed hard at the sound of the footsteps. But then they looked at the knife again, and almost vomited right there on the floor. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

“Let me save you in the only way I can.” The naked pain in Havedrial’s soft voice brought a blush to Miranelis’s face, even now. “Please”

“Maybe they won’t find us,” said Miranelis, even as the floor creaked again. “Maybe they won’t think to check in here.”

Harsh shouts reached Miranelis’s ears, faint in the distance but coming closer. They spoke in the harsh language of the Naskori. Miranelis was unpracticed enough with the language that the distortion created by the walls between them made it impossible to decipher the sounds into meaningful speech.

“Are you sure?” Havedrial asked, with a quiet plea in their voice. “This may be your only chance.”

Miranelis knew it was the best option. But they couldn’t move any closer to Havedrial, not knowing it would mean that knife biting into their flesh, and their blood spilling out over their skin. They had run because they were a coward, and they were a coward still.

“I’m sure.” Miranelis couldn’t stop their voice from shaking.

“Then I won’t force you.” Havedrial let out a long sigh. “You were always my favorite of my students,” said Havedrial, “and you have grown into my equal in both skill and knowledge, even if you don’t believe it yourself. If circumstances had been different, I’m certain you would have taken my place someday.”

Miranelis had far more important things to worry about than Havedrial’s insistence on talking to Miranelis as one child to another, praise naked and uncouched, affection plain in their voice. Even so, Miranelis’s face flamed scarlet, and they dropped their gaze to their feet.

“I’m sorry you have to see this,” said Havedrial. In their peripheral vision, Miranelis saw the knife flash down in the darkness.

Miranelis squeezed their eyes shut just in time. But there was nothing they could do to block out the small groan of pain as the knife pierced Havedrial’s flesh. The hiss of Havedrial’s labored breathing. The sharp tang of their blood on the air.

Miranelis tried to keep their eyes shut, because if they saw this horror, it would be with them for the rest of their life—however short that life might be. But huddling in the corner, eyes closed, was as good as leaving Havedrial to die, and Miranelis couldn’t do that. They forced their eyes open.

Blood poured from the deep slashes in Havedrial’s wrists. It bubbled up to spread through their layers of clothing, matting the fabric together like the time when Miranelis had spilled an entire jar of honey on themselves as a child. It spread onto the floor in a dark pool as Havedrial sagged against the shelves, eyes half-open.

Even now, Havedrial’s face was calm. If there was any time when it would be reasonable to show one’s feelings, it would be now.

Miranelis wanted nothing more than to look away from the parted skin that stretched wider and wider to let more blood escape, and the creases of pain on Havedrial’s wrinkled face. They wanted to wedge themselves as far into the corner as they could in the hope that the blood wouldn’t touch them. Instead, they forced themselves closer to Havedrial, grimacing as the hot blood soaked through their shawl and into their tunic. They pressed their body tightly against Havedrial and wrapped an arm around their shoulder.

Even Havedrial, who could be barely more than a child when it came to showing their feelings, was not so indecorous as to touch someone outside their family. In all the years they had known each other, they had never so much as brushed fingers. But Havedrial didn’t pull away. They let out a soft sigh as their head drifted heavily down onto Miranelis’s shoulder.

Miranelis didn’t try to hold back their sobs. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and onto Havedrial’s head as Havedrial’s breathing gradually slowed along with the flow of blood, then stopped entirely. Miranelis cradled their teacher’s limp body in their arms as they sat soaked in rapidly cooling blood, shivering and alone.

They were still shaking when the door flew open and a shout of triumph echoed through the blood-soaked kitchen beyond.

---

Tagged: @suspicious-whumping-egg @halloiambored @whump-in-the-closet @whump-cravings @gala1981 @sunshiline-writes

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[susiequaz12]

Whumptober 22

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

Day 22. Part of Lo's story with Allan. Last part was from Day 19. CW: nonbinary whumpee, creepy/possessive whumper, shock collar, car accident, non con touching, death.

- - -

It had been months. 

Lo was on the brink of losing their sanity, going crazy with playing the role Allan had set forth for them. But they knew that there was no way orf getting out of it. Not with them constantly being chained up or watched 24/7. Not with how Allan hovered over every single breath and movement. 

Not until that night Allan took Lo out of the house. 

A reward for their “good behavior”. Which basically meant letting Allan do whatever he wanted. 

He had dressed them up again in a skimpy little outfit, done their makeup and hair, and he was taking them out to dinner. There was a lovely little collar under the scarf Lo was wearing, complete with a little box digging into their throat, and a remote controlled by Allan. Any toe that was stepped in the line would get a button pushed- and Lo electrocuted. 

Keeping them docile and completely controlled. 

Lo thought about getting the waitress’s attention. Scrawling something on a napkin. Sneaking off to the bathroom- but Allan watched their every move like a hawk. There wasn’t even an opportunity to say a single word as he ordered for them the whole night. 

There wasn’t any opportunity- that was until they were driving home. 

The road was dark. It was just starting to rain a little bit- the road slick and damp. Late enough that there weren’t very many cars about as they followed the few roads to Allan’s place. 

That’s when Lo’s mind started spinning. 

Allan was driving, one hand on the wheel, the other on Lo’s thigh, playfully touching and fondling. 

When Allan brought both hands up to make a turn, Lo took theirs, and placed it on Allan’s thigh. 

They moved their fingers higher, holding their breath- waiting for his response. 

“Darling- what are you doing?” He questioned, as Lo’s hand moved higher- but he didn’t stop them. 

“I’m just- just trying to please you. You bought me a nice dinner, I should say thank you, right?” They stated, breath low and sultry. 

“Oh you’re completely right darling. You behaved very well tonight.”

Lo continued touching him- dipping a few fingers below his waistband as they carefully kept an eye on the road. There was a turn up ahead- a few large trees at the side of the road. 

Allan let out a soft moan as Lo dipped their hand further beneath his pants, he closed his eyes for a brief second, right as he was about to make the turn-

And then Lo reached over- as quickly as they could, and yanked the steering as hard to the right as was possible. 

The tires spun as they caught on the slick asphalt. 

“What are you doing?” Allan screamed, shoving Lo away as he tried to gain control of the car. Lo didn’t let go- yanking the wheel harder as the car spun- tipping off the road into the dirt- and then everything stopped. 

The car flipped- spinning in slow motion as it crashed- landing with the front end smushed against the trunk of a tree. 

Lo had covered their arms over their head, shards of glass raining down on them as a crash fell through the window- and there was a sickening squelch beside them. 

After a few moments Lo pried their eyes open. 

Everything was so silent except for the patter of rain against the car. 

They scanned their eyes over to Allan- his face frozen in silent terror. A large branch of the old tree had fallen- shattering right through the window- straight into his chest. 

Lo’s face fell in horror as their body throbbed and ached from the crash. 

There was- there was nothing left of him. 

And Lo was free. 

The door was jammed against the ground and bushes- unable to be opened enough to climb out, so Lo scrambled over the dashboard, climbing through the broken windshield. They winced as shards of glass dug into their skin, before their feet sank down on the cold, wet ground. 

Lo kicked off the heels they had been forced to wear, and took off into the cold, dark night. 

- - -

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[gottawhump]

Poker Night

Opal/808

CW/TW: gambling, smoking, BBU/WRU (do, institutionalized slavery, human trafficking). Introducing my white haired heterochromatic non-binary OC, Opal.

Opal hates poker nights.

They nearly suffocate on the ever present acrid cigarette smoke. They hate the sour taste of beer and the way it makes them feel loose and fuzzy. They hate the sound of the chips clicking against the each other, the whispery flutter of the cards.

They hate the false camaraderie of the players’ voices, bright and cheerful when they want to snarl. They hate the tension as each hand is played.

They hate being passed around, their white hair ruffled to messiness, hands roaming their body carelessly.

“You guys cleaned me out. I’ve got nothing for the last round,” their Master says.

“You can’t quit now!”

It’s nearly over. They’ll go home soon, and wash the smell of smoke off.

“Fine. I’ll bet Opal.”

Their throat closes, and they can’t breathe.

“How long? It’s got to be long enough to be worthwhile.”

Temporary. They inhale the acrid polluted air again, gratefully.

“Oh, I’m all in.” They relax more, reassured by their Master’s confidence. “Whoever wins gets Opal, permanently.”

They don’t understand the game, but this time, they watch it avidly, mismatched eyes flicking from player to player to player as cards are shifted, taken, laid down.

Their heart races as players show their hands and exit the game.

The last hand of cards is laid on the table.

Opal is lost.

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[whumpy-writings]

Master

Of Vampires and Men Masterlist

Whumtember 2022 Day 5: Drugged

CW: Nonbinary whumpee, slavery, nudity (nonsexual), hunger, anxiety, vampires, blood drinking, dubcon drug use (vampire venom), vertigo

Hayden stared at the ceiling, which currently seemed to be spinning. It had been quiet for a while now - Master and Sam must have gone to sleep. Hayden's muscles still ached from the hours spent in the restraints, but worse than that was the pangs in their stomach. They were so hungry, and thirsty too. Hayden whimpered a little.

They eventually dozed off on the hard wooden floor. The next thing they knew the door to their cell was opening.

Shit.

Hayden immediately scrambled up to their knees, mind still bleary with sleep. They planted their palms to the sides and lowered their head so that their forehead rested on the floor. Their heart was pounding and for the first time they were grateful for the hours and hours of training they had been put through to encode the posture of submission into their very bones.

"Ah, you're awake," Master said. Hayden stayed where they were, every muscle tense. They weren't allowed to move until Master had given them permission.

"You can sit up," Master said. Hayden raised their head from the floor but didn't look at Master. Instead they stared at their hands in their lap.

Master sat down cross legged in front of Hayden. 

"I called for some food and clothes for you," Master said. "They'll be here soon, but you must be cold. Here, use this." Hayden looked up to see that Master was holding out a blanket. Hayden took the soft fabric from them and wrapped it around their shoulders. Immediately they felt a bit less anxious.

"Thank you, Master," Hayden said quietly.

"You're welcome," Master said. "I thought we should get to know each other. Since we'll be spending a lot of time together for the foreseeable future." Master laughed a little at that. "Do you have a name?" they asked. 

"My name is whatever you want it to be, Master," Hayden said carefully. It had been made very clear in training that their Master would treat them however they wished, including deciding whether or not to give them a name.

"Well, can you tell me what your name was before?" Master asked.

Hayden paused a moment before answering. That seemed like an odd question.

"Hayden," they said.

"I like that name," Master said. "I want your name to be Hayden now as well." Hayden looked up at that, eyes wide. Quickly they looked back down. 

"Thank you, Master," they said with a catch in their voice.  

"You're welcome, Hayden," Master said. "I want to set out some rules for you to follow," they continued. "Hayden, you are allowed to look at me. I would prefer it if you do."

Hayden recognized an order when they heard one and they instantly raised their eyes to meet Master’s. They thought they saw the flash of a smile at Master's lips, but it was gone so fast they must have imagined it. Master looked relaxed, their hair damp and a light purple robe covering them. Their hands were braced behind them and Hayden was struck by how different they seemed than their brothers. More... laid-back.

"I am the only one who will ever feed on you, Hayden. If anyone else ever feeds or tries to, you are to tell me immediately. Do you understand?"

Hayden nodded. It made sense that Master wouldn't want to share their blood bag.

"You are to tell me if anyone hurts you in any way, or if you feel ill. I want you to be healthy."

That also made sense. Hayden sat still as they watched Master. Their eyes were focused somewhere off to Hayden's left and they were biting their lip. Hayden could see the tip of their fang. A fang that would soon be buried in their neck. They gulped as a wave of anxiety hit them. This was what they had been trained for. To be a blood bag.

Master continued after a moment. "You must be wondering what your life will be like with me. Daily, you will be given meals and I expect you to eat. You also are expected to drink water and get an adequate amount of sleep. Can you do all that?"

"Yes, Master," Hayden said. The mention of food made their stomach growl audibly. They immediately wrapped their hands around their stomach as they felt a blush rise in their cheeks.

"Your food should be here soon," Master said. "You must be starving, huh?"

Hayden just nodded and Master cringed.

"I'm really sorry about last night. I should have had someone untie you and bring you food. You won't go hungry again, I promise."

"Thank you, Master," Hayden whispered.

"In terms of your duties, I will feed from you two or three times a week. You will accompany me to social events occasionally. Besides that, you will spend most of your time here in my quarters. Do you have any questions?"

"No, Master," Hayden said. Or at least they couldn't think of any over their hunger.

"I’m going to remove this collar," Master said moving towards Hayden. Their hands were gentle as they unfastened the golden collar around Hayden's throat. Hayden held still for them. They were being good. 

Just then a knock sounded from Master's room and Hayden flinched. "Shh, it's just your food, nothing to be scared of," Master said before getting to their feet and leaving the cell. When they returned, they held a plate of food.

Hayden accepted the plate from Master. The food was so good, the bread soft and fluffy, the cheese rich and the grapes sweet. They ate quickly, neatly setting the plate in front of them when they were finished and folding their hands in their lap. Some of their anxiety had dissipated. They were comfortably full and warm, and their eyes began to close. 

"Hayden." Immediately their eyes snapped back open. Master was standing before them, their face soft. "Did you get enough to eat?" 

"Yes Master, thank you," Hayden said. 

"I'm glad," Master said with a smile. "I got you clothes as well."

Hayden took the clothes from Master, running their hand over the silky fabric. They had never felt anything so soft. The shirt was low cut and sleeveless, but it offered some warmth in the chilly room. They slipped the trousers on and tightened the drawstring around their waist. For the first time in months they felt like a person. Hayden blinked back tears as they knelt on the floor.

"Thank you so much, Master," they said.

"Of course, Hayden," Master said. "Now that you've eaten, I would like to feed," Hayden’s heart skipped a beat, but they nodded. It was bound to happen sooner or later. This was what they had been trained for, after all. "Please lay down on the bed."

Hayden obeyed, shakily getting to their feet and walking to the bed, heart pounding. Hayden climbed in, the mattress bowing under their weight. They laid on their back, eyes focused on the ceiling. Thud thud thud went their heart. You’re a blood bag, this is your duty, they told themself.  Even still, their eyes began to fill with tears. They were terrified. They had never had a vampire’s fangs puncture their skin, never had their blood taken from their body. They had never been prey.

They flinched when the mattress dipped next to them and couldn’t quite suppress the whimper that leapt from their throat.

"It’s okay Hayden," Master said quietly as they straddled them, brushing a cold hand against their cheek. At that Hayden sobbed.

"I’m sorry Master, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good" Hayden said through their tears. 

"I know Hayden, I know. You’ve already shown me that you’re good," Master said. "It’s alright if you’re scared. Can you take some deep breaths for me?" Hayden looked up at Master, their gray eyes kind and face soft. They didn't look angry at all. Hayden took one deep breath, then another. Slowly, their sobs quieted.

"That’s it, good job." Master thumbed away Hayden’s tears. They were so patient. Hayden felt a burst of devotion. They would do anything for this vampire, who was kind and gentle and didn’t beat them like the trainers had. 

Master moved their hand to Hayden’s throat. "I’m going to bite right here," they said, fingers resting on the side of Hayden’s neck. "You’ll feel a bit of a pinch. When I bite, I’ll inject a dose of venom. It takes effect within a few seconds. It does two things: it will relax your mind so you feel calm, and it will also relax your body so you won’t move while I’m feeding and hurt yourself. After I am done, I will lick the punctures, which will seal it. The venom will make you tired, so I want you to sleep afterwards. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, Master," Hayden said shakily. Master nodded. They brought one hand to the side of Hayden’s head, the other to their shoulder. Hayden stared past them at the ceiling as they leaned down. They gasped at the stab of fangs. Then the venom hit them and their fear and pain floated away. They could see Master bent over them, but they couldn’t feel their fangs in their neck or the blood leaving their body. 

Soon enough, Master was sitting back, a thin trickle of blood staining their mouth. Hayden’s blood.

"Thank you," Master said, running a hand through Hayden’s hair. "You can sleep now."

Hayden obeyed, closing their eyes and drifting off immediately.

When they awoke, they were alone. They raised a hand to their neck. They could feel the scabs from the bite marks, the small bruises. Hayden didn’t know what to do. It was dark and they couldn’t see much of anything. Master wasn’t here and hadn’t given them any instructions besides to sleep. Hayden would stay in bed until Master came back and told them what they wanted them to do. Hayden realized with a start that Master had covered them with a blanket. They pulled the blankets tighter around themself. For the first time, they felt like things might be okay. They looked up when Master entered the room. They started to kneel and were immediately hit by a wave of vertigo.

"Don't move," Master said. "Your body is still weak from the venom and blood loss." Hayden lowered themself back down. Master approached the bed. "Drink this," they said, handing Hayden a cup. "It’s important that you stay hydrated after I feed."

Hayden nodded and drank the water. When they had finished, Master took the cup and set it on the bedside table. They reached out and cupped Hayden’s cheek. Hayden leaned into the touch. This was a reward, this meant Master was pleased with them. This meant they wouldn’t die. 

"You did very well tonight, Hayden," Master said.

"Thank you Master," Hayden said softly. 

Taglist: @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whump-cravings @thecyrulik @neverthelass @michelleswhumpyreblogs @whumpsy-daisy @the-monarch-whumperfly @aswallowimprisoned @secretwhumplair @whumpzone @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @nicolepascaline @susiequaz12 @princessofonwardsworld @itsleighlove @pumpkin-spice-whump @wiwinia @sunflower1000 @whump-blog @blushing-snail @melancholy-in-the-morning @pizzasthengym @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpsday @ceph-the-writing-spook @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @quietly-by-myself @honey-is-mesi

#whumptember2022 #whumptember 2022 day five: drugged #nonbinary whumpee #of vampires and men #hayden the human #slavery tw #nudity tw #anxiety tw #vampire tw #drugs tw #vampire venom #blood tw #vertigo tw #vampire whump #slavery whump

[t0rture-me]

here's a new little unnamed thing! idk if i'll continue with this, but i just had the idea for a bit of the dialogue and wanted to run with it, so here's the results of that!

TW: guns, threats, held at gunpoint, brief mention of stalkery behavior, implied abduction and captivity, multiple whumpers, nonbinary whumpee (Indigo, they/them), nonbinary whumper (Lee, he/him)

"Hey, uh, we just moved in across the street! Thought we'd come over and introduce ourselves."

He was handsome, Indigo would give him that. And charming for sure. They both were. Indigo was not the type to just invite strangers into their home, neighbors or not, but before they could stop themself to think, all three of them were sat chatting in their kitchen. The chided themself silently, one small voice scolding them, telling them that they were being overly cautious, paranoid. But there was another voice, too. This one told them that this was a huge mistake. Just opening the door had been a mistake.

The first one introduced himself as Michael. He was tall, with deep, dark eyes and sharp features. His voice floated through the air like a birdsong. Combined with his curly, honey-blond hair, he reminded Indigo of an angel.

Michael introduced the other as Lee. He was quiet, soft-spoken. His eyes were soft and gentle, a soft gleam shining behind them. Everything about him was soft. Hell, if Indigo wasn't getting over a breakup, they'd probably pounce the poor boy's bones.

They chatted for what felt like hours. Indigo, at one point, got up to make tea for all of them, but once they returned, it was back to chatting. They couldn’t figure out what it was, but something about them just broke down their walls in a way that they had no chance of anticipating.

The problem with broken walls is that they no longer keep out any danger.

"So then, this has been a great chat, but let's cut to the chase." Michael smiled, that light, charming smile. "Who would you rather belong to?"

Indigo sputtered on their tea. Certainly they had misheard.

"Sorry?" They asked, laughing nervously and setting their mug down. "Maybe my tea's gone bad."

"Oh, ha, nah your tea is fine. We checked the expiration dates of your things the last time we came over." Michael hummed, setting his own mug down in turn. "I said, who would you rather belong to?"

"It's not a hard question, is it, love?" Lee followed. Indigo stood from their seat, almost frantically grabbing all three mugs and quickly setting them in the sink.

"Last time you-? You're freaking me out. I think it's time for you to see yourselves out." Indigo turned back to face them. Then, they froze. Michael was holding a gun. Had he had that the whole time? How had Indigo not realized?

"You're going to have to choose one way or another." Lee said lightly. "We're just trying to make it easier on you." He smiled that same, soft smile at them, standing slowly.

"Get out. Right now." Indigo took a step back, still eyeing the gun. "This isn't funny. Get out."

"You know we're not gonna do that, Indigo." Michael smiled. In an instant Indigo was running. Where they had been sitting, Michael and Lee were given easy access to block any exits. Michael stayed in his seat, he just so 'happened' to block the back door. (Though maybe he'd planned it that way. Indigo couldn't tell.) And when Lee stood before, it gave him a perfect opportunity to move to block the front.

Think, think. Ok, exits are blocked, so... Up it is?

They ran towards Lee, but not at the front door. As they neared him, they swung themself around the stairway, speeding to the upper floor before Lee could grab them. Indigo could hear him following closely, Michael behind both of them.

Luckily, Indigo was fast. Fast enough to get into their bedroom and lock the door behind them and fast enough then to run into the connected bathroom, locking that door just the same.

They huffed, sliding to the floor in an attempt to catch their breath after barricading the door with whatever they could find. They jumped at the sound of the two slamming through the door into the bedroom.

"You've blocked yourself in, Indigo. Did you forget that there aren't any windows in there?" They heard Michael say through the door. Fuck. He was right. "We can wait all night, so just save us all the time and effort and come on out."

They stayed silent, though let out a quick shriek when someone slammed against the door.

"Make this easier for yourself now, sweetheart." Lee said, knocking carefully on the door. "If you come out now, we won't have to punish you."

"Punish? I- What?? You can't do this!" Indigo yelled. "We're in the suburbs, dipshit, the neighbors will hear the gunshots and call the cops. They'll hear me yelling!"

"Naughty, naughty. Such bad words, Indigo, maybe we'll cut out your tongue to teach you a lesson." Michael sighed. "Remember, whatever happens now is your fault."

Indigo shrieked again as one of them slammed against the door.

"You fucking psychopaths! Leave me the fuck alone!" They cried, now frantically searching around their bathroom for some sort of weapon. All they could find was a small pair of scissors that they use to trim their hair, holding it protectively out in front of them as the door continued to shake.

Finally the moment they feared came to fruition when the door cracked violently open. Lee panted, looming in the doorway, with Michael slightly behind him, now directly pointing the gun at Indigo.

"And what do you think you're going to accomplish with those, dear?" Michael grinned, pulling the hammer of the gun. Indigo felt their blood run cold as they sat on the tacky green tile floor of their bathroom. Were they about to die on this floor? The green taken over by red as they bleed out?

"They'll hear." Indigo repeated shakily, clutching the scissors like a shield.

That didn't matter much. Indigo heard a whoosh and a thunk from behind, distracted and turning to see what the noise was only to see a fresh bullet hole in the wall. The shock alone caused them to drop their makeshift weapon and scramble further from the two people boxing them in.

Indigo fearfully looked back at the gun in Michael's hand, only now looking long enough to see the silencer on the end of it.

"I have some money." They stammered. "It's not a lot, but- but just take it and go and I won't tell anyone alright? Just take it and go."

"We're not after money, dear. You could give us literally everything you have and it wouldn't be enough." Michael finally took a step into the bathroom. "If we were looking for money, we'd just sell you like most of the others we've picked up. No, Indigo, we want you."

"We were planning to wait until night to take you," Lee explains, "Though Michael got a little excited and let out the surprise a bit early. No worries though, that just gives us some more time to get to know each other before we make our moves."

Indigo's mind was reeling. This had to be a nightmare, right? Michael took a few more steps into the room, kicking the scissors away as he stepped closer to his target. Indigo watched their only weapon slide away across the floor. Shit, they hadn't even realized they had dropped it.

They looked up at Michael who was looming over them now, then to Lee, still standing by the door. Yeah, this was a nightmare. It had to be. All they could do now was hope they woke up soon.

tags uwu @whumpsday

#i'm sorry i just love the two whumpers one whumpee dynamic so much it's all i think about #also i was high during at least half of the writing process so if this doesnt make snese then you know why lol #multiple whumpers #whump blog #whump community #whump drabble #drabble #whump fic #guns #whump stuff #general violence #whumpee #whump #gun whump #threatened #threats #held at gunpoint #nonbinary whumpee #nonbinary whumper #creepy whumper