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fulcrumwrites · 18 days

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Prompt #11: Random Whump Scenarios

Just a few whump scenarios on the mind that I’m too busy (*cough* lazy) to write. No plot, just vibes. Feel free to use.

1. Jaw Wired Shut - medical/lab whump. Whumper wires their test subject’s jaw shut to stop them from biting, speaking or screaming. Maybe add a glue that wears off in a few hours.

2. Iron Man - Captive locked in an iron coffin that is shaped to their body. Arms, legs, head perfectly fitted in a solid suit of metal with only a window for their eyes.

3. Layered Gag - Whumper excessively silences their captive by stuffing a rag in their mouth, tying a bandana over it, taping their lips shut, and finishing it off with a locked muzzle.

4. Lassoed - Bad guy lassos the hero, catching their torso and pinning their arms to their sides. Drags them around a bit before throwing the rope over a tree branch or bar, hauling them up and tying off the rope. Hero dangles in free air kicking and writhing in humiliation.

5. Exhausted Hero - A hero’s rouge’s gallery intentionally works together to wreak havoc around the city to wear out the hero. Hungry and exhausted, hero makes mistakes and is nearly killed until their team or another hero swoops in to help.

6. Building an Immortal - Mad scientist replaces lab rat’s organs with machinery to create an immortal cyborg.

7. Man in the Iron Mask - A noble’s doppelgänger steals their identity and stows them away in the dungeon while hiding their identity behind a locked iron mask.

8. Suspended Prisoner - A dangerous prisoner is kept in a large cell, wrapped in chains, locked in a tiny cage, or strapped in a harness as they dangle over an abyss by a hook.

9. Adhesive - Kidnapped by a mad scientist, hero or spy is tied up and submerged into a vat of mysterious liquid. The substance dries like candle wax when exposed to air. Only another liquid the scientist invented can melt it.

10. Abandoned Asylum - Reporter or blogger explores an abandoned asylum, but feels they are being watched the entire time. A heavy blow knocks them out and they wake up to find there is one driven-mad doctor left, and they are trapped as their new patient.

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #writerscommunity #whump #prompts #writing prompt #whump prompt #whump community #i have more #i should be sleeping #Whump on the brain #feel free to use

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fulcrumwrites · 18 days

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He wakes up slowly, eyes gummy and blurry. When he does manage to pry them apart, he’s greeted by a harsh light. He squeezes them shut and groans as his retinas burn. He notes the loud beeps that woke him in the first place, steady and rhythmic like heartbeat.

He’s already on the table. Leather restraints dig into his wrists and ankles. A strap on his forehead keeps his head still. The Doctor must have drugged him with the good stuff for him to be out all night and to stay out until he was already moved.

He shifts beneath the restraints, trying to get some feeling back. He swallows a mouthful of saliva and tastes blood. The coppery taste wakes him up fast. What happened while he was out?

A dreaded face pops into view, and he jerks in surprise.

“Oh, you’re awake,” the Doctor remarks mildly behind a surgical mask.

“What?” he croaks. His mouth barely moves, sounding more like, “Whaaa?”

“Not to worry. I’m almost done.”

Without warning, the Doctor’s fingers dive into his mouth, extracting a cry of alarm. He arches his back against the metal table, trying to pull away with no avail.

A sharp edge scrapes the inside of his cheek. The Doctor pays the blood no mind as he continues to weave what felt like wire around tiny pieces glued to his teeth. He hardly cared about the pain once he gives into panic as his jaw begins to crank closed.

What are you doing?! he wants to scream, only it came out as a series of noises.

A few yanks on the wire and his teeth clicks together. The Doctor hums in satisfaction as he secures his work and clips the wire. As he steps away, the young man tries to open his mouth. His lower jaw aches against the strain. It budges ever so slightly, but it’s as far as he could get before the Doctor returns.

He has what looks like a tube of toothpaste. It smells strongly of chemicals as he squeezes it onto his teeth and rubs it in. The substance dries in moments, gluing his teeth together and leaving a glossy film over the wire work.

“There now,” the Doctor leans back to admire his work, “you’ll be quiet while I work, and you won’t hurt yourself or me.”

The Doctor picks up a scalpel and cuts into flesh. The only sounds in the laboratory are the quickening heart monitor and muffled screams.

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #writerscommunity #whump #tw restraints #whump community #lazy writing #writing snippet #whump snippet #lab whump #jaw wired shut #school is kicking my ass #start of a new series of lazy writing #don’t judge me #self indulgent writing

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fulcrumwrites · 2 months

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Speaking is a Privilege

Summary: A prince is taken captive by a rival kingdom. The enemy king attempts to make the prisoner of war his slave, but the prince refuses to break. Luckily, he has an arsenal of tools at his disposal. The prince will soon learn his place.

CW: Medieval torture, scold’s bridle, POW, dehumanization, slavery, humiliation, brief sexist idealism from the villain

He’s a pompous brat, seethed Cor as he glared up at his enemy.

He didn’t choose to be on his knees before that ridiculous throne on a raised pedestal and that pathetic excuse of a king draped upon it. The man didn’t even sit upright and regal, deserving of his title and honor. Instead, his knees dangled over the arm, swinging in the air, with his back braced against the other arm. A goblet of wine swirled in one hand while the other picked from a gold plate of treats; the very image of aloof laziness. It was a mockery to monarchy… Ha, mockery monarchy. Okay, his brain had definitely rotted in that cell.

He didn’t choose to be kneeling before the throne, filthy and weak in chains compared to the exaggerated wealth surrounding them. No, he’d much rather be relaxing in the cold, wet dungeon, which was what he was doing before he was so rudely dragged from his cell before the brat and had his knees kicked out beneath him.

And now he had to entertain his captor’s outlandish fantasies. It’s as if he had some delusion that just because Cor was his prisoner of war, he could make him do whatever he wanted. Good thing Cor was here to set him straight.

“No.”

King Darius leaned forward, cupping a hand around his ear. “Please speak up. I can’t hear you all the way down there.”

Cor licked his chapped lips, scowling. “I said no.”

King Darius balked and placed an offended hand on his chest, like they didn’t play this game a thousand times before. “I beg your pardon. Did you just tell your king no?”

“You heard me. And you’re not my king.”

“So long as you reside in my lands I am.”

Cor rolled his eyes. ‘Reside’, he says. As if he wasn’t a prisoner and could leave anytime he wished.

King Darius dropped his legs and sat up properly. Finally. He brushed the crumbs from his lavish clothes made from the finest textiles and with bright colors that clashed so badly it made Cor’s eyes ache.

He stood and marched down the steps, looking exactly like a proud peacock. He stopped so that Cor was at his feet, peering down at him over his squashed nose. Though Cor could not stand without the guards knocking him down again, he refused to be meek and returned his gaze with his own steely glare.

King Darius threw back his head and laughed. Anger boiled in Cor’s gut as he willed himself not to tackle his enemy. They danced to this song too. Many. Times. Darius would make some ridiculous demand, Cor would be defiant and, instead of lashing out in anger, Darius would laugh in his face and force him to do it anyway. It was exhausting to be so stubborn and yet so powerless. A captive prince was nothing more than a slave in the hands of his enemy.

Still chuckling, Darius fisted Cor’s dark hair at the roots and dragged him to his feet. The manacles around his wrists clinked as Cor instinctively clawed at the hand pulling his hair. A guard stepped forward, but was halted by Darius’ dismissive wave.

“You may be weary of this game, Cor, but I’m not.” The king’s breath was hot on his skin. He jerked him by his hair once, twice. Unbidden tears pooled in his eyes. Cor furiously blinked them away. “In fact, I find your obstinance amusing. No slave would dare treat his master this way, and yet you continue to do so even though you know I hold all the cards. It’s truly a marvel you can keep this up for as long as you have.”

Cor gritted his teeth. “I’m not your slave.”

Darius released his hair and gently patted the spot as if he were a child or a dog. “Believe it however long you’d like, Cor. It has no effect on reality.”

Darius walked off to the left. Cor watched him with suspicion. He stayed standing under his own power, the granite tiles cold beneath his bare feet. Darius approached a silent servant carrying a wooden box. His neutral expression betrayed nothing to Cor.

“You know how this ends, Cor,” the king continued as he opened the lid. “You defy me, and I get what I want anyway because I am king and you are my prisoner.”

He carefully lifted the contents out. It was a twisted shape made entirely out of metal, like a birdcage only the bottom was missing. A short chain dangled from it. Darius turned it in his hands, nodding approvingly.

“As we speak, the palace is scrambling to finish preparing for the feast I demanded. We all have a role to play, and yours is to be at my side: a symbol of my coming victory over your kingdom. I originally planned for you to be chained to my throne merely by your cuffs so you could sit or stand as you please. Now I realize I can’t have you ruining the pleasure of my guests.”

Cor swallowed, throat suddenly dry by more than just a lack of water. “What the hell is that?”

Darius tore his eyes away from the contraption, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. “What, your country doesn’t use scold’s bridles? How very primitive. What do you do when women nag?” Darius shook his head. “It’s a device that locks over one’s head. This piece of metal right here slides inside the mouth, effectively silencing the wearer. This little chain is a handy thing to pull the wearer along or attach them to a wall for all to ogle. Makes a woman think twice about running her mouth.”

Darius laughed again. Cor didn’t see the humor in it. In his father’s kingdom, women were always treated with respect and dignity. Such a punishment was unheard of. As if his hatred for Darius and his kingdom couldn’t run deeper…

Cor was trembling with anger as the king approached him. If he could think through the white hot rage, he would’ve realized the danger. As two guards grabbed his arms, Cor realized what was happening.

“Wait. What are you–?” Darius raised the scold’s bridle over his head dramatically as if crowning him. Cor’s eyes followed it and he began to thrash against the guards’ grips. “Get that thing away from me. You’re crazy, Darius. Don’t you dare.”

His words did nothing as the metal cage slotted over his head. Yet it was the only defense Cor had, and he’ll use it till his last breath.

“You sick, pathetic excuse for a king! You’re a pompous, spoiled brat unfit to rule! We’ll win the war, and it’ll be you at our mer–”

“That’s quite enough now.”

The thick stub of metal was shoved between his lips and held down his tongue as Darius pushed together the sides. It tasted of rust. There was a click by his ear, followed by tugging as the king checked the strength of the padlock. A finger tilted his chin up to look Darius straight into his blue murky green eyes.

“Speaking is a privilege. By all means, be defiant. You know deep down your privileges are mine to give and take away.”

Heat crawled up Cor’s cheeks as he was forced to stand there silent, looking through metal bars as Darius examined him like an exotic animal in its enclosure.

The king nodded and smiled. “Yes, I think this will do.” He tugged the chain as if urging a dog to follow. “Come along, Cor. Let’s get you set up.”

The boy had no choice but to let himself be led by a leash up the stairs to the throne. A forceful yank on the chain threw him onto his knees as Darius attached it to the base of his throne.

“A shame you don’t understand the workings of a scold’s bridle,” Darius remarked as he fiddled with the chain. “Men in my kingdom consider this one of the upmost embarrassments should the bridle be used on them.”

Once he was done, Darius gripped the device, twisting it so Cor was forced to look up at him.

“My guests will be arriving in one hour. Your only task of the night is to be my trophy, a symbol of my power and victory. I would tell you to behave, but we both know you don’t have it in you. That’s why this–” he shook the bridle, causing Cor’s mouth and jaw to ache–“does all the work for you.”

With a triumphant smile, he released the bridle and turned his back, leaving Cor tethered to his throne. “Don’t go anywhere!” he couldn’t resist calling over his shoulder as he and his guards and servants swept out of the throne room.

Left unguarded, of course Cor couldn’t let the opportunity pass up. He raised his chained hands to his face and pulled at the metal encasing his head. It refused to budge. He wound his hands in the chain and pulled with what strength he had as if uprooting a stubborn weed. After a few minutes of struggling, Cor sagged against his heels, muscles burning, hands red, face sore.

Instead of despair or fear as others may feel in his situation, hate burned through every emotion like a purifying blaze. He hated Darius. He hated the guest who would come in and ogle. He hated this kingdom.

He hated losing.

Darius was right. No matter how hard Cor fought, his enemy would win. He was the puppet-master holding his strings. The one who held every card in the palm of his hand. The one who could strip a prince of all his honor.

The one who always wins.

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fulcrumwrites · 2 months

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Prompt #10: Locks

Locks are so incredibly underutilized in whump writing. They are, of course, alluded to, but almost never described. Some examples:

• Whumpee’s heart drops as they hear the heavy, final click of their captor turning the key in the lock to their cell/cage/coffin/closet/etc. Trapped, they listen as the footsteps fade away, leaving them in the cold, dark, and loneliness.

• From the other side, whumpee can hear whumper sealing the door with layers of chains before padlocking it. They throw themselves against the door, screaming for help. But the chains and lock don’t give.

• Locking the padlock on chains, tugging it to make sure it won’t snap. Stepping back and smirking as whumpee tries to move. Then whumper draping the string of the key over their neck to taunt their captive or slipping it into their pocket out of sight.

• Handcuffs, collars, and shackles that lock automatically once snapped shut. Too quickly restrained to struggle, no chance to fight back.

• Alternatively, restraints that require to be locked manually. Whumpee fights as long as they can. Eventually, whumper gets the restraints around them and soon after jams the key in the hole. Whumpee sags in defeat once they feel the twist and hear the click. They’re stuck now.

• Sci-fi locks that require a fingerprint, passcode, or a keycard.

• New objective: find key/keycard/fingerprint/passcode/etc. in order to escape.

• Locked in a room with a bomb, a monster, poison gas, filling with water, an interrogator, etc.

• Metal gags, muzzles, and masks that lock. Even if their hands are free, whumpee can’t remove the gag to speak. If they escape, they’re mute until they can find a way to get it off.

• Locking whumpee in a room, cell, tower, etc. to prevent them from completing their mission, delivering information, or stoping a crisis.

• Whumper dangles the key in front of their captive’s face before throwing it away or swallowing it. “You’re never leaving this place.”

• Trapped in a lockdown protocol.

• Connecting restraints with padlocks to make whumpee even more immobile: connecting two cuffs around the wrists and/or ankles with a padlock instead of a short chain; lock the chain between cuffs to the chain tethering their neck to the floor, padlock a loose chain to a loop in the floor, wall, or pillar; padlock two people together, etc.

• Smashing a lock with a brick or stone or the butt of a gun. Shooting out the lock (I play Uncharted). Even kicking the door and breaking a weak lock.

• Captive has lock-picks hidden in their hair, mouth, or clothing. They quietly and skillfully pick the lock and escape. Maybe they are caught in the act and there are consequences.

• Magic locks. Only the person who enchanted the lock or the right counter-spell can unlock it.

• Emotions of panic and desperation as a whumpee who hasn’t given up yet pulls at the chains in hopes of finding a weak point. Or defeated acceptance once they hear the final click, knowing they’re stuck.

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fulcrumwrites · 2 months

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Another specific trope I love:

Boy is a master with a sword because he practices diligently and it’s custom for boys to know how to fight. Boy falls in love with girl, girl falls in love with boy. Girl, though society deems it unladylike, asks boy to teach her how to fight. In secret, he gives her sword fighting lessons and, over time, she becomes his equal. If they get a little flirty and passionate during training, it’s nobody’s business. Then when an adventure befalls them, they can protect themselves and each other.

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #writerscommunity #very specific trope #romantic tropes #romance tropes #writing tropes #tropes #pirates of the caribbean #willabeth #i’m literally thinking of willabeth #again #bbc the musketeers #constagnan #period drama #miscellaneous #swords!

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fulcrumwrites · 3 months

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My new favorite show is BBC’s The Musketeers. Everything about it is just perfection. Solid writing, consistent storyline, lovable characters, truly evil villains, found family dynamic, hot men in leather with swords… what more could you want?

I’m vaguely familiar with The Three Musketeers novel and I’ve seen a few adaptations, but this show made me fall in love and I want to read the book now. It balances historical accuracy with creative liberties so well. Plus, the character arcs are fantastic. And to think I almost missed out on it.

After finishing Merlin, I was recommended by Amazon Prime to watch The Musketeers. I don’t remember why, but I remember looking at it and deciding it wasn’t going to be good. Only when I recognized Aramis as Lancelot (Santiago Cabrera) did I decide to give it a shot towards the end of last year. Boy, was I in for an adventure.

My taste in media includes adventure and action with a healthy dose of comedy, swashbuckling, and brotherhood. This show has it all and more. d’Artagnan is my favorite, but I love every character for the unique quality they bring to the narrative.

I could go on forever, but there are some aspects that sets this show apart from others. The solid writing and cohesive story are two of them. Media nowadays doesn’t know to quit while they’re ahead, watering down a story for more views and money over a satisfying ending. I love the relationship between the Musketeers and how vulnerable and tender they can be. I adore the portrayal of male characters that’s honorable and chivalrous, but still fun. They hug and cry and kiss on the cheek and call each other 'brother' and I love that. Also, the women! The show stays true to the period, and yet the women characters still find ways to shine so brightly. Constance, Queen Anne, and Milady are my favorites. And not to spoil, but the ending is actually happy and true to the character arcs? Amazing.

I need to stop before this post gets too long. If you haven’t seen this show, check it out! It’s got everything from adventure, romance, period drama, whump, character development, comedy, swashbuckling, good vs evil, and did I mention the attractive men?

“All for one; and one for all.”

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fulcrumwrites · 3 months

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Prompt 9: Types of Assassins

Assassin characters are one of my favorites, but there are many different ways to write them depending on the setting and story.

• Fantasy: in this genre, assassins are limited to medieval weapons such as knives, swords, crossbows, bows and arrows, etc. They typically wear large cloaks and chainmail and bracers. Maybe will have magic abilities or use charms for protection, stealth, and defense.

• Sci-Fi: use guns and futuristic gadgets. May be skilled pilots or have powers to help them kill their targets.

• Historical: depending on the time period, the assassin may reflect the style, race, beliefs, and weaponry of the time and place.

Once you pick a genre, you get into the specific occupation:

• The Spy: part of a spy organization where targets are determined by the government or higher authorities. It’s part of a mission that has a larger impact on their country or world. They are trained to kill as well as gather intelligence.

• The Bounty Hunter: rogue assassins that kill for the money. They don’t ask questions and will kill whomever you ask as long as you pay upfront. Tend to have little to no morals, at least to start.

• The Apprentice: currently being trained in the art of assassination by a more experienced assassin. May not be very skilled yet, but will eventually surpass the master.

• The Hitman: serves only one person; a general, a monarch, a political figure, etc. What ever they say goes, and they answer to no one else.

• The Living Weapon: brainwashed and trained to kill. Sometimes were kidnapped and tortured. Serves one person or organization. They go when ordered and kill without question.

• The Vigilante: they kill for a cause. Either they or someone else is calling the shots and they kill figures they disagree with.

Then you can get to the deep character specifics:

• Morals: were they forced into the assassin profession or did they choose it? Do they hate killing or do they love it? Are they indifferent to it? Where do they cross the line? Do they change at all in the story?

• Skill: Are they good at their job or are they terrible? Where do they specialize? Do they prefer poison or weapons? Are they clean and thorough or do they leave a mess and a trail?

• Calling Card: Do they leave a symbol or are they a ghost in the night? If so, what is it? Do they have patches, tattoos or brands? Do they have a code name?

• Motivations: Did they become an assassin for money? A thirst for blood? Revenge? Religion? Circumstance? Are they protecting someone? Were they blackmailed? Is it in service for their home?

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fulcrumwrites · 4 months

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Overused trope, but when a low-born boy falls in love with a high-born girl. He knows the parent(s) don’t approve of him courting their daughter, so he remains courteous and pines from a distance, never guessing she feels the same way.

He doesn’t have any prospects to offer her, but she doesn’t care. Maybe they confess their feelings, but go for a time pretending they didn’t because society wouldn’t let them be together. Maybe she chooses him over a socially acceptable suitor and/or arranged marriage. Maybe she’s even disowned.

And when they do court, higher society shames them. They accuse the boy of marrying her for money and status. They assume the girl is looking for a scandal. They are appalled the parent(s) would allow such a union. The boy feels insecure and the girl is abandoned by her “friends”.

And yet they are so in love that they learn to ignore what others say. They won’t let social norms get in the way of their happiness. And maybe it takes an epic adventure to get there.

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fulcrumwrites · 4 months

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Trial and Error

Summary: After a failed escape attempt, a patient is punished treated with solitary confinement and a new method.

CW: Asylum/psychiatric hospital, medical malpractice, isolation, sensory deprivation, restraints, blindfold, muzzle, chains, straitjacket, mentioned kidnapping, gaslighting

“You can’t keep me here! Let me go!”

Dragged through the vacant hallways, the young man’s cries bounced off the walls unheeded. The grips on his arms were iron-clad as he struggled every step of the way. Digging his heels proved futile; his paper shoes slipping on the vinyl floor.

“As a matter of fact, we can, Mr. Doe,” Dr. Malcom threw over his shoulder. His professional tone only added to the fire that was Luca’s rage. “Your family admitted you into our care. That makes us responsible for your health and wellbeing, even if you disagree with our methods.”

“My family?” Luca laughed incredulously. “You have no right to bring them into this. You kidnapped me! You stole me away from them to satisfy your… your sick little experiments!” He yanked his right arm in hopes of breaking the large orderly’s hold. The desperate attempt resulted in nothing more than a deeper bruise. “And my name’s not Doe. Not ‘Mr. Doe’ not ‘John Doe’… My name’s Luca. Luca Barone.”

“I see your delusions still have a hold on you, Mr. Doe. We’ll have to adjust your treatment and boost your medication.”

Luca rolled his eyes. “Please. The only delusion here is that I’d believe my name is ‘John Doe’. You could have at least tried to come up with a convincing name.”

He was walking at their pace now, submitting to whatever punishment awaited him. This was not his first attempt escaping Mayfield Psychiatric Institution, and it won’t be the last. He wasn’t even sure where Mayfield was. It could be a fake place. A fake name. A fake asylum. All lies.

Dr. Malcom paused at a familiar door. The man shook his head and looked at Luca with those mournful gray eyes that he wanted to punch since he was first brought to this hell-hole.

“I had high hopes for you, John. You were improving. This escape attempt will only set you back. I’m disappointed.”

Luca barked out a laugh in the doctor’s face. “I couldn’t care less about your approval, old man. Do your worst.”

“And what of your family? They sent you to us to get better. Do you want to disappoint your mother, John? Your sisters? Valentina, Contessa, little Mia–”

The glob of spit splattering on his face cut the doctor off, and that’s all Luca could do as the two orderlies held him back.

“You keep their names out of your mouth!” the boy hissed with venom. “And my name is Luca Barone.”

Dr. Malcom removed his glasses and wiped off the spittle with a cloth. Then he pushed them back onto his nose before dabbing away the spit on his skin. His actions were calm, but Luca could see the flush in his cheeks and how his hands shook in contained anger. What once made him afraid now brought a rush of victory.

He held onto that triumph as the old doctor snatched Luca’s jaw and forced him to look him in the eye.

“I’m your psychiatrist with more years of practice than you’ve been alive, boy,” he seethed. “You will show me some respect.”

Luca grinned around the hand squeezing his face. “Only my mama deserves my respect.”

His jaw was released only for his head to whip to the side, cheek smarting. The boy’s impertinent smile only grew.

Fuming, Dr. Malcom turned to the door and jammed his key in the lock. His movements were clumsy with anger, but after a moment, he unlocked the heavy door and swung it open with a bang.

Luca braced himself for what he knew was next. The orderlies would stop in the doorway and shove him in. He would land on the floor on his hands and knees as the door shut behind him, locking him in the dark and silence. They would leave him there for a few days, maybe a week. Then they would let him out, he would try to escape again, and the cycle continues–if he’s caught.

“No,” Dr. Malcom says suddenly, stopping the hands on his back before the final push. Luca and the orderlies look at him expectantly, curious as to the change in routine. Dr. Malcom nods into the dark room. “I think the patient requires a firmer hand. Use the maximum security protocol, if you please.”

The orderlies’ grips tighten once more as they personally drag him into the room. Forcefully, they turn him around with his back to the wall as Dr. Malcom passes a folded white bundle as if summoned from thin air.

“Are you serious?” Luca groans when it’s unfolded to reveal a straitjacket. “Come on. How can you think I can escape this place? The door doesn’t even have a handle on the inside!”

“Your numerous attempts has made me cautious, Mr. Doe,” Dr Malcom replied dryly. “Additionally, this will be part of the upgrade to your treatment plan as other methods have proved inconclusive.”

Luca scowled but managed to not resist as they wrangled his arms into the stiff sleeves. As each strap was pulled snug and fastened behind his back, he felt smaller and more cramped as if the walls of the cell were closing in on him. Luca focused on his breathing as they finished buckling him in. His arms stretched securely around his torso and the final, uncomfortable strap between his legs prevented pulling the suit over his head to freedom.

“Happy now, Doc?” demanded Luca sarcastically.

“We have one more new method to try, Mr. Doe. It may be uncomfortable, but remember this is all for your benefit.”

“Can’t wait.”

As if on cue, a timid nurse stepped into the cell just long enough to deliver a box into the doctor’s hands. With great care, Dr. Malcom removed the lid and slowly lifted the contents into the air for all to see.

A mass of leather and metal dangled limply in his hand. Luca squinted at it in the dim light.

“What the hell is that?”

“This, Mr. Doe, is a device I had specially ordered for my new therapy. Since you were admitted into my care, I’ve been researching and experimenting new psychiatric treatments for your unique case.”

As he spoke, Dr. Malcom set aside the box to hold the contraption with both hands. He examined it from all angles, his eyes never leaving it as he addressed Luca.

“I had heard of an incarceration method where prisoners are deprived of their senses in a white room. I know that sounds inappropriate for a medical institution, but I wondered of the psychological effects as a temporary treatment. My hopes is that this method will help reset the brain and reduce mental ailments.”

Luca stared at him. “‘Reset the brain’? Do you even hear yourself, Doc?”

Dr. Malcom finally tore his eyes off of his new toy to glare daggers at his patient. “You dare question me, boy? What do you know of medical science?”

“Enough to know you shouldn’t get ideas from actual torture methods. And you all say I’m the sick one. You don’t even know if this will do anything.”

“Trial and error, Mr. Doe,” said Dr. Malcom as he lifted the device to Luca’s face. “Thank you for your involvement in the advancement of science.”

Luca instinctively stepped back and was once again trapped by the silent orderlies. They held him still as the leather straps and metal buckles inched closer.

“Don’t touch me! Get that thing away from me!”

He twisted and pulled against the straitjacket in vain. His hands itched to be free to push the offending device away from him.

“No! Stop, you bastar–”

Rubber was shoved between his teeth and over his tongue, cutting off the insult. Leather encased his face from beneath his chin to over the bridge of his nose.

The doctor breathed a sigh of bliss. “At last. I don’t have to listen to your insolence another moment.”

A strap at the base of his skull was tugged tight and buckled, followed by another above his ears at the middle of his head. The final strip of leather ran from his nose over his dark hair all the way down his cranium.

Once fastened, Luca’s teeth clenched over the bit, unable to open his mouth. Already his teeth and jaw began to ache from the strain. He inhaled sharply through his nose and smelled overpowering new leather.

Gently, Dr. Malcom took his chin in his hand again, tilting his head to admire his contraption.

“Excellent so far.”

Luca swallowed a moan of despair. If he could not speak, he would not give Dr. Malcom the satisfaction of hearing nonverbal sounds from him.

Metal flaps swung over his eyes, perfectly cupped to block out any light. He felt the doctor’s hands securing the blindfold. If he could talk, he would inform the overeager therapist that a blindfold was not necessary in a dark room.

“Perfect,” the old man breathed, sending a shiver down Luca’s spine. “I had this made with you in mind, you know.” The remark was casual as if he expected Luca to be grateful. “Used your measurements to ensure it would fit perfectly.”

He hardly had time to processes that information when his ears picked up the rustle of the doctor’s coat and his footsteps. He circled his patient, no doubt taking mental notes.

“You won’t hear me after the final step, so I’ll tell you now that this cell is to be your permanent residence since the normal rooms can’t hold you.”

Horror plummeted to his stomach. Protests lingered restlessly on his tongue, unable to be freed. Now he couldn’t resist a muffled whine, regretting it too late to take it back.

“Try to remember this experience. I’ll be interviewing you on it after I deem this first session complete.”

Hands groped the sides of his head and buttoned down leather flaps over his ears. Plugs precisely measured fitted into his ears. If the doctor was still speaking, he couldn’t hear him over the silence and the roar of his own blood pumping.

In his dark, silent world, Luca had no idea if he was alone. He stood exactly where the orderlies had placed him for what felt like hours, trembling. When his legs began to ache, he built up the courage to walk around his cell.

He only managed two steps when an unexpected pull at his waist brought him to his knees. Without sight, sound, or his hands, Luca twisted and pulled to deduce what had ensnared him. It was strong and unyielding. Possibly a rope, but more likely a chain. They chained him to the wall like some misbehaving dog. Not only must they deprive him of his senses and lock him away, they couldn’t even let him walk more than two paces in any direction.

A scream of frustration tore at his throat. In a surge of mad desperation, Luca thrashed against the excessive restraints. He flexed his muscles, pulled his arms, strained his jaw, and shook his head like the rabid dog they thought he was. For all his efforts, they many buckles and straps and links refused to budge.

At last, Luca collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion. Sweat beaded his skin as the exertion made him hot in the jacket. He took as deep of breaths as he could through the muzzle.

Hopelessness took hold and all the fight drained out of him. The faces of his mother and sisters flashed in his mind; a memory to treasure rather than a reason to rebel.

So long as Dr. Malcom had control over him, Luca had no hope of seeing them again.

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fulcrumwrites · 5 months

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Nadia’s Vengeance: part 4

Summary: The day Nadia promised has finally come. Returning to end the sailor’s life, Nadia is in for a surprise instead.

CW: Talk of eating a human, kidnapping, restraints, muzzle

Part 3

Nadia took her time as she readied herself that morning. Aquata was already suspicious of her. She suppressed an eager smile as her fingers trembled untangling the knots in her hair. Aquata seemed in a hurry herself and left before her. Good. Better the others to be distracted.

Nadia’s blue tail propelled her more quickly through the water. Fish startled as she zipped by. Despite her speed, she was rather sorry this day had come so quickly. It would be fun if Henry could last a bit longer, just enough to see if she could break him. Perhaps today he will beg her for mercy before she slaughters him.

Her stomach clenched in anticipation. The siren licked her lips as she imagined the taste of the boy’s soft flesh. Though her heart wanted to prolong his pain, her hunger argued against it. I’ll make his death slow and painful, she mediated. Her heart and her stomach liked those terms.

At the black rocks, Nadia smoothly surfaced close to shore. Her triumph quickly expelled.

No silent, bound, and blindfolded sailor greeted her with the bow she had been savoring. Instead, the rusted chains lay limp and empty on the sand.

“Nadia.”

That gentle, condescending voice sparked a rage within her chest. Nadia spun around to find Queen Cordelia sitting regally on a rock like it was her throne. Her crown and trident glistened in the morning sun.

Swallowing her hatred, Nadia dipped her head. “Your Majesty, I can explain.”

“I believe I’ve pieced it together. This is not the first time we’ve heard rumors and allegations of your kidnapping and torturing of humans.”

As she spoke, sirens broke through the surface. They surrounded Nadia in a circle that suggested a threat.

“We have never been able to prove it until today,” Queen Cordelia continued. “These are actions against our laws.”

Your laws, Nadia internally hissed. Out loud, she spoke graciously, “Your Majesty, this is a misunderstanding.”

“Is it? Someone followed you here yesterday, Nadia. We arrived before you today and lured a ship to rescue the boy. He testified against you.”

Betrayal burned. Henry she expected, but a spy? Nadia glared at the ring of sirens. Nothing betrayed the guilty, yet her eyes landed on Aquata. Who else could it be?

Nadia tucked the transgression away and returned to the queen. “You would believe the word of prey over my own?” she seethed. Gone was all decorum.

“There must be some respect between prey and predator or the balance of life is lost,” Cordelia countered, repeating the words Nadia heard like a nagging gong since the beginning of her reign. “Our former ruler neglected that and led us to suffering and starvation.”

The queen collected herself. Her fingers flexed around her trident. “I’m disappointed in you, Nadia. This was an act beyond cruel. Since this is your first crime of this nature that we can prove, I’m willing to offer you clemency. You will have guard duty at the palace until I deem your sentence served.”

Nadia’s lips parted soundlessly and she visibly balked. Any other mermaid would find that a merciful punishment. For Nadia, it meant the queen didn’t trust her and was forcing her to stay under her watch.

Nadia’s hands curled into fists. Her face burned red. Guard duty was beneath her. She will not be humiliated like this.

She broke through the circle of her sisters and swam into deeper ocean. She sped on for miles, putting as much distance as she could between herself and those traitors.

“You’ll pay for this, Cordelia,” she swore into empty ocean. “You’ll all pay.”

Swimming so fast, Nadia didn’t see the danger before it was too late. She crashed into a surface that bowed to her momentum and cushioned her stop. Knotted ropes encased her surroundings in an instant and began dragging her to the surface. Nadia struggled only to become entangled in the net. Her heart pounded in her throat.

Forcefully pulled out of the water, the net slammed her against the side of a ship. Desperation climbing, Nadia thrashed harder. Her struggles proved to make things more dire as her skin scraped against the wood and her limbs became more snagged in the ropes.

Hands grabbed the net and dumped her onto the deck. Nadia shrieked at her captors: a crew of filthy pirates.

“Release me!” Her words filled the air, heavy with authority. The men didn’t move, didn’t trip over themselves to obey her. Nadia frowned and her struggles stilled to confusion. “Release me this instant! I command you.”

The pirate with the large, fraying hat looked to the others with a nod towards the captured mermaid. They surged forwards. One straddled her tail while the others pinned her wrists to the deck. Nadia screamed loud and shrill, enough to make their ears bleed. Their grip remained fast and strong.

As they held her down, others cut the net away.

“What are you doing?” Nadia demanded, perplexed by their contradicting actions. “Answer me!” Still no one spoke.

Now free from the net and still pinned down by the pirates, another held her head still. The pirate with the large hat bent down. She could smell the filth that clung to his clothes, his skin, and his breath. The hold on her head prevented her from recoiling. The hovering pirate dangled a contraption of leather and metal above her face.

“What is that? What are you do–”

Her demands were cut off by the leather-covered metal shoved between her lips, causing her to gag. Her teeth were forcefully clenched shut as the device tightened over her head and below her chin. Straps were pulled snug behind her head and finished with a final click of a lock.

The hands released her head, letting it thud against the wooden boards. Nadia strained her jaw in vain. As strong as a siren is, her power is in her voice. Without it, Nadia never felt more weak.

The pirate with the large hat rose to his feet and plucked wax from his ears. “There we go. Sorry about that, miss. Couldn’t hear ye before.”

The other pirates followed their captain’s lead, removing the wax from their ears and chuckling at the mermaid’s stunned expression.

The captain swept his hat off his head and bowed. If it wasn’t a mock, Nadia would have relished it. “Welcome aboard the Red Revenge. I’m Billy Wade, yer new captain.”

Unable to respond, Nadia continued to glare daggers, silently swearing all manner of curses upon him and his crew.

Captain Wade straightened and plopped his hat back on his head. “You see, lil’ missy, my crew and I need to sail through the Siren Sea. Legend says to be granted safe passage, ye must capture a mermaid and tie them to the bow as a figurehead. The sirens will not risk their own and will be warded off by our warning. That will be your role to play.”

Nadia pulled her wrists against the bruising grips and flapped her tail under the weight of the large pirate only for them to increase pressure. I will not be a means to your own ends, Nadia thought and attempted to convey this through her eyes.

Captain Wade seemed to get the gist of it. He barked to his crew, “Get her to the bow and get ready to set sail.”

There was a chorus of “Aye aye, Captain!” and the ship descended into chaos.

Multiple hands flipped the mermaid onto her stomach and wrangled her hands behind her back. There was a jingle of chains as iron manacles clamped around her wrists. A fresh net cast over her like a less than comforting blanket. Nadia watched the boots pound around her as the edges of the net were gathered and they dragged her across the deck.

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #writerscommunity #whump #whump community #tw restraints #tw kidnapping #mermaid whump #siren whump #pirate whumper #tw muzzle #pirates #the plot thickens #whumper turned whumpee #nadia’s vengeance #is this karma?#bound and gagged

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fulcrumwrites · 6 months

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Prompt #8

Sensory deprivation but your victim gets to keep one of their senses/functions as a form of torture.

• Touch: Unable to see, hear, smell, taste, talk, or move, your victim is prone and helpless. A random touch startles them as they can’t hear or see a person approach. It can be as soft as a caress or a a sudden blow. They never know what’s coming or when, keeping them in a state of constant stress. They can feel something wet or sticky or hot or cold, but they can’t flinch away or react to it other than in their head.

• Smell: Only able to breathe through their nose, they detect scents that cause distress or alarm. The smell of toxic gases and they realize they are slowly dying by breathing in poison. The smell of delicious food cooking that they cannot eat. The perfume/cologne of their loved one or of the one who hurts them.

• Taste: A captive who can only taste their meals through a tube they can’t talk around. Maybe it’s disgusting, but it’s nourishment. Maybe it’s the best thing they’ve ever tasted, but it’s tainted by the lacking of their other stolen senses. Feedings are their only method of telling time in their dark, silent world.

• Talk: Unable to move, see, or hear, your character does the one thing they can do. They beg, plead, bargain, scream, insult, and threaten, feeling their mouth move and vocal cords vibrate, but deaf to their own voice. Worse, they don’t even know if someone is there to listen.

• Movement: Either blindfolded or kept in the dark, muzzled, and kept in silence, your captive is still free to roam. Maybe they have mittens on or a device turning their hands into useless stubs to prevent touch. They bump into walls and trip over obstacles. Eventually, they’ll discover that escape is pointless. Maybe they’re trapped in a maze, doomed to walk for miles and never find the exit. Maybe they are kept in an unlocked room, but they’ll never know escape was so easy.

• Hearing: A captive can’t see, move, talk, feel, taste, or smell, but they can hear everything that’s going on around them. They can hear people talking about what they’re going to do to them. They can hear footsteps and imagine where their captor is in the room. They can hear the scrape of a scalpel, the jingling of chains, the screams of other victims, the buzz of a drill. They can also hear sounds they can’t identify, which amps up the fear of not knowing what’s going on. They can hear the echoing footsteps of someone coming and bracing themselves for more torture.

• Sight: Immobile, numbed, silenced, and deafened, the only thing the victim can move is their eyes. They dart wildly as they take in everything that’s happening. They watch helplessly as whumper performs experiments on them or takes samples or does tasks around them. They desperately attempt to read lips to get some information on where they are and what’s happening. They can see the world through a window, and are abstained from being part of it. They communicate through they’re eyes and are ignored. They’re afraid of the dark because then they would truly lose everything. And maybe they are left alone for hours, staring at the ceiling and losing their mind.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #whump #prompts #writing prompt #whump prompt #tw restraints #tw kidnapping #tw muzzle #tw gagged #lab whump #captive whumpee #tw captivity #sensory deprivation #sight is my favorite #torture

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fulcrumwrites · 6 months

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Nadia’s Vengeance: part 3

Summary: Nadia returns to her prisoner to find him dying slowly, just as she likes it. To her frustration, she discovers that he’s still got some fight in him.

CW: restraints, exposed to the elements, dehydration, starvation, stress position, siren powers, blindfold

Part 2

“You seem chipper this morning.”

Nadia’s comb paused mid-stroke through her wavy, raven locks. Aquata was squinting at her suspiciously.

“Just found some good loot the other day, is all.”

Aquata raised an eyebrow. “You found a new wreck?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Care to share?”

Nadia smiled and finished combing her hair with a flourish. “You know me, sister. I never share.”

The sun was climbing high in the sky when Nadia was able to slip away and visit her jolly sailor bold. He had survived high tide, it seems. He was slumped forwards against the chains. The heavy rise and fall of his chest assured Nadia that he was not dead… yet.

She thought him asleep as she swam up to him. Hearing her, he raised his head. The bleariness of his eyes and the dark circles beneath confirmed sleep had eluded him. His skin was red and charred from the sun.

“You,” he croaked through cracked lips. It was an exhausted statement with a thin layer of anger or annoyance. This was a boy who refused to be broken. Nadia didn’t know if she admired it or felt sorry for him.

“Me. You fought the tide and won, my sailor. You are of great service to your queen.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “By that, I assume you mean yourself.”

Nadia shrugged. “Interpret what you will. I only hope that strength can save you again when the next tide arrives.”

Henry sagged against the rock. “What does it matter? I’m dying anyway.”

“Not yet.”

“No? I haven’t eaten or drunk anything in days and I have been exposed to the hot sun since you kidnapped me. If you insist on keeping me alive, you are doing a poor job of it.”

Nadia pushed out her lip in a mock pout. “Aww. My sailor, if you were lacking, you could have simply asked. However–” she stretched out her hands to gesture to the surrounding ocean–“there’s not a drop of suitable water for you here.”

Henry closed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’d rather die than be kept alive for your enjoyment.”

“That is where you are wrong.” Nadia pulled herself onto shore, sitting beside the man’s outstretched legs. She gripped his chin and angled his face so that his listless green eyes stared into hers. His flesh was dry and hot to the touch. “You will die by my hand; for prey is only good when it is killed. You can forget whatever mission motivated you or any other queen you served. Your only purpose now is to serve me and eventually feed me. Forget any former honor or glory. This will the most noble thing you ever do.”

To her surprise, Henry smiled, splitting his chapped lips. “You’re desperate to be in power. You think I am the prisoner, but you are enslaved to your own greed. Even if you had my submission, it would mean nothing. It won’t be enough for you. In the end, your ambition will be your ruin.”

Nadia shoved his head away and bristled like an angry sea snake. “Be silent.”

Against his will, Henry’s jaw clamped and his lips sealed shut. He settled against the rock with a victorious air. His words have already done their damage.

Nadia snatched the cloth dangling from his neck. She twisted the material between her fingers. Raising her chin, Nadia declared, “I don’t need your loyalty to be your ruler. Look at you! You are powerless against me. You submit to my every command whether you wish to or not. In your end, my bold sailor, you will inevitably satisfy me.”

Nadia took the cloth that pirates had used to gag him and covered the boy’s glare. Those green eyes that once reminded her of the kelp forest now represented her lack of control. She tied the ends behind his head, tightening the knots more firmly than necessary.

“Now… bow before your queen.”

A slave to her powerful voice, Henry’s legs instantly folded beneath him until he was on his knees. His torso bent down as much as the chains would allow as his head dipped toward the sand. Silent, blind, hands shackled behind his back, the sailor bowed before her.

“Good. Stay until I return.”

The rage cooled as Nadia dove back into the sea. The image of the helpless man bowing before her brought some satisfaction. That was a mere taste of what she could have if she were queen.

If only she could be queen.

Part 4

#writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #whump #tw restraints #tw captivity #captive whumpee #tw chains #siren whumper #sailor whumpee #blindfolded whump #defiant whumpee #whump community #stress position whump #Nadia’s Vengeance #bound and gagged

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fulcrumwrites · 7 months

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Jedi Vault

Summary: During the Mandalorian and Jedi war, a young Padawan finds herself captured.

CW: claustrophobia, teenage captive, capture, restraints, muzzle

Ciera groaned. Her mouth tasted of metal. Pain pounded behind her eyes. Every muscle in her body felt sore like she had run through her master’s drills a hundred times. Her skin tingled, like the aftermath of a blaster stun.

The pull from sleep was a long one. When she finally cracked her eyelids open, her vision was murky. They slipped shut and she fought to open them again. A few rounds of this and her vision cleared as she returned to wakefulness.

The sight before her was just as confusing. All she could see was a glass window–just wide enough for her eyes–surrounded by a gray wall, mere centimeters from her face. The light illuminating the darkness was blood red, like that of a Sith’s blade.

Ciera made to reach out and touch the wall, only her hand didn’t move. Her muddled brain detected the cold, bulky cuffs that pinned her wrists at her sides, then the same around her ankles. Her heart leaped in her chest and she strained her neck to look down at her restrained limbs. Her head refused to respond. A band of metal sculpted her face, locking her jaw and trapping her head in place.

Ciera’s heart pounded against her rib cage. Her chest felt tight as she tried to breathe. She pulled and twisted against the restraints, only succeeding to bruise her skin. Her eyes–the only thing she could move–darted around wildly, searching for an escape. The walls to her prison greeted her, a coffin no bigger than her own body.

Panic made her dizzy. A scream tore at her throat, trapped by her involuntarily clenched teeth and the muzzle over her lips. Her master’s voice echoed in her memory, but the words about calm and meditation and focus were muted.

Ciera concentrated on her breaths. A deep breath in and out through her nose. She ignored stale taste of her oxygen. Breathe in, and out. Repeat the rhythm.

Gradually, Ciera felt her heart calm and her mind become sharper. She needed a clear mind if she was ever going to find a way out.

A mask swallowed her view, drawing a jolt of surprise from the Padawan. The red and silver helmet with the black T-visor stared at her, expression unreadable. After a long moment, Ciera squirmed, feeling like an animal in an exhibit under his scrutiny. Finally, the Mandalorian pulled away and Ciera could see him and his companion standing below.

They looked at each other. The woman had one hand on her hip and gestured casually with the other. The man folded his arms and his helmet bobbed in response. They were talking, and Ciera couldn’t hear a single word. All she could hear was her own steady breathing and the hiss of oxygen.

Ciera closed her eyes. Unbidden tears pricked the corners.

“Master, are you out there? Are you alive? Please, help me. I don’t know what to do.”

There was no response. Ciera wasn’t sure if it was because he was dead or that her prison cut her off from the Force. She felt hollow.

The cage shuddered. Ciera opened her eyes to find the Mandalorians gone and she was moving. Guided by invisible beings, her coffin moved deeper into the dark halls of the Mandalorian palace.

They placed her in a lift and the Mandalorians from before stepped into view again. The man pushed the lowest button. Ciera watched the numbers count down. Her heart sank with each level as hope for escape or rescue dimmed.

At last, the lift stopped and the doors slid open. They were moving her again, past what were clearly prison cells. Mandalorians sat or paced in clear cells, no privacy to be had. Ciera would trade what they had if she could be free of this coffin.

They passed them all, stopping before a set of heavy metal doors. The woman punched in a code. The doors slowly slid open and Ciera gasped in horror.

Rows of metal cages identical to her own filled the room. Countless pairs of eyes peered through the windows, weary and frightened.

Against her will, Ciera’s cell moved into place; another nameless, faceless captive among the masses.

“Master? Where are you? Help. Help me.”

Her pleas went unanswered. The two Mandalorians turned their backs and walked away. Judging by their body language, they were still chatting as if they had taken out the trash.

The vault doors sealed shut behind them, thrusting Ciera into darkness. The red glow of her prison her only comfort.

At last, the tears fell down her cheeks, dripping onto the cursed muzzle.

Trapped, immobile, helpless, all Ciera could do was be patient and wait and hope her master was coming.

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fulcrumwrites · 7 months

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Nadia’s Vengeance: part 2

Summary: Nadia takes her new prize to her secret place, eager to have some fun.

CW: chains, drowning, kidnapping, captivity, non-con kiss on the cheek, mentions of eating sailors

Part 1

Chin resting in her hands, elbows planted in the sand and tail flapping idly in the air, Nadia waited for him to wake up.

She had taken him to her secret place last night. It was an outcropping of black rocks in the middle of the sea. The largest of which had a shallow cave. Nadia suspected it was an old pirate stash, once filled to the brim with treasure. When she found it, there was nothing left but empty barrels and bottles, rusty chains, and a skeleton pinned to the wall by the sword in its chest.

The siren had cut the boy’s ropes with her abalone knife, which she carried on her hip by a belt made from the rope of a sunken ship. The ball and chain was a bit trickier. She had fashioned a pair of lock picks from the spikes of a sea urchin for situations such as this, carefully packed in a small bag made of cloth from a sail. In a matter of minutes, the shackles sprang free.

Nadia tossed them onto the sand and rolled the ball aside. She may use that later.

The long, heavy chains left behind by the pirates had been conveniently wrapped around a pillar of rock. She could guess what they used it for.

The unconscious boy was slumped against the chains, just as she had left him. She could wake him up with her voice, but she preferred to watch him awaken on his own.

Nadia didn’t have to wait long. It began with a twitch in the shoulder. Then his knees bent slightly, the heels of his boots leaving grooves in the sand. He blinked sleep from his eyes, wincing from what she assumed was a pounding headache. At last, he raised his head and looked at her.

He jumped. Planting his boots beneath him, he jolted only to be yanked back down by his bonds. His pretty green eyes widened in surprise and confusion, now fully registering the chains around his chest and the irons cuffing his wrists behind his back, pinning him thoroughly to the rock.

Nadia smiled. “Hi.”

“H-hello,” he rasped, mouth and throat dry. He turned his head this way and that, trying to get his bearings. “Who are you? Why am I chained up?”

“My name’s Nadia. What’s yours?”

“Henry.” He tugged his chains for emphasis, glaring sharply. “Now answer my question. Why am I here?”

Henry. The name suited him, Nadia decided. She could see his features better in the daylight. Freckles dotted his cheeks from exposure to the sun. His once fair skin was darkly tanned. Earlier, she had noticed calloused hands from the rigging and oars and other things sailors do. His blond hair had dried in ringlets around his face, crusty from salt and sand. Despite the signs of experience, he looked young for a human.

The chains clinked, pulling Nadia from her thoughts. The anger in his eyes was fierce. To think he could intimidate her; it was adorable. Angry captives were amusing, but Nadia preferred them afraid.

“As I told you before, darling, I saved your life, so now it belongs to me.”

“Why? What could you possibly want from me?”

“For now, nothing. My sisters and I ate our fill last night and it’ll be a few days before we feed again.” She leaned forward and stroked his cheek. He flinched, but there was nowhere for him to go as she brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. Her fingertips followed his jawline down to his chin, tipping it up ever so slightly. She relished the shiver beneath her touch.

The water was crawling up the shore now, soaking Henry’s leather boots and lapping at his legs. Nadia almost laughed at his obliviousness to the danger he was in.

“I could have let you drown,” she continued, flashing her sharp teeth, “but that would have been a waste. Lucky for you, you get to live and entertain me until I become hungry again.”

Henry threw himself against the chains, twisting uselessly and splashing. “No! You can’t do this!”

The fear in his eyes contrasted the growl of his voice. Nadia licked her lip as if she could taste his fear. It was delicious.

“Those chains held many a pirate, and you will not be the last. Please, keep trying. I enjoy watching you struggle.”

Her words had the opposite effect. He ceased his attempts in order to shoot daggers through his eyes.

“I’m no pirate. I’m a sailor in the Queen’s Royal Navy. Our ship was attacked by pirates and I was captured. When I refused to be press ganged into their crew, they threw me overboard to drown.”

As he spoke, his voice turned bitter. Nadia found herself resting her cheek in her hand as she listened with fascination.

The sea level had risen to his waist. Only then did Henry notice.

“What’s happening?” he demanded, golden eyebrows drawing together as the corners of his lips turn down.

“It’s high tide, my sailor. Or have you forgotten after so many years at sea?”

“How high does it get?”

Nadia glanced pointedly at the rock he was chained to. He followed her eyes to find the dark waterline ending at his head. He began to struggle again, more desperate than before.

“You said you weren’t going to kill me!”

“Yet. You shall not drown as long as you keep your head above water.”

Waves splashed against his chest. Nadia used the risen water level to swim closer. She kissed his left cheek as she gently patted the opposite side.

“Good luck. I’ll return soon.”

“Wait!” Henry pushed against his restraints, trying to stand and get his head above the quickly rising water only to slip each time with a splash. “You can’t just leave me here!”

Nadia smiled. Grabbing his chin, she forced him to look into her blue eyes. “My jolly sailor bold, remember this: I’m your queen now, and I do what I please. Farewell.”

Hidden behind a rock, Nadia watched her lone sailor pathetically fight for his life from a distance. Waves splashed into his face, filling his mouth with seawater. He barely had enough time to cough it out before the ocean returned in full force.

Maybe for once, Nadia conceded, pirates had the right idea.

Part 3

#writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #whump #tw restraints #tw drowning #tw chains #pirate whump #sailor whumpee #siren whumper #captivity #water torture #Nadia’s Vengeance

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fulcrumwrites · 7 months

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Nadia’s Vengeance: part 1

Summary: When Nadia finds a sailor drowning, her duty is to either rescue him or put him out of his misery. Instead, the siren sees an opportunity.

CW: restraints, drowning, non-con kiss (not romantic or sexual), kidnapping, foiled execution, gag, siren powers and eating sailors

Nadia swiped her tongue over her sharp teeth, savoring the salty, coppery taste. Her belly was full and swollen from her meal. Her sisters swirled around the blood-tinted water, pleased with the successful hunt.

Bones and scraps of clothing sank into the dark water. Sirens swam through the carnage, claiming the best spoils to repurpose.

Queen Cordelia watched on. Her crown of shells gleamed in the moonlight atop her golden-brown head. Two guards posed on either side of her, though it was clear she didn’t need them. With her trident held firmly in her hand and her chin lifted high, she was the image of power and beauty. Power was of no doubt. Beauty–well, Nadia would like to challenge that.

“A successful hunt, my sisters.” Queen Cordelia’s voice rang clear through the water, demanding every siren’s attention even without the use of her power. “Let us return to our dwelling and allow any other ships to pass unopposed.”

With a sweep of her trident, the queen led the army of satisfied sirens down into the depths.

Nadia lingered until even she couldn’t see the glitter of a mermaid’s tail. A frown twisted her lips as she glared in the direction her sisters had gone.

If she was queen, Nadia would make certain that no humans passed through their territory. Any man who tried would find themselves prey to the fearsome sirens. Queen Nadia would be the terror of the seven seas, her name whispered in pirate legends with reverence and horror. They would be right to fear her.

Alas, she was not queen, and Nadia knew better than to cross Cordelia. With a sigh, Nadia propelled through the water with her blue tail to follow her kin.

A heavy splash stopped her. A wide shadow passed overhead, blocking out the moon for a moment. Nadia glanced up to find the belly of a ship. Aided by the current, it sailed on quickly.

Left in its wake, the cause of the splash, was a man.

The human squirmed and twisted frantically in the water. His efforts proved futile as he sank rapidly into deeper water.

The man could not see her in the darkness, but Nadia could see him. She quickly realized why he would not simply put those two legs to use and swim to the surface.

They were cinched together at the ankles by shackles connected to a heavy ball and chain, dragging him down to the depths. Thick, knotted rope pinned his arms to his sides and bound his hands behind his back. A cloth gag covered his nose and mouth, tied behind his head. This man had been doomed to die.

Most sailors Nadia had seen–and eaten–were pirates. Dirty old men who looked as unpleasant as they smelled. This one was different. His long blond hair floated around his face like gold in the water. His tanned skin was clean and soft-looking. His clothes were neat and well-kept despite being soaked. And his wide, blown out eyes were as green as the kelp forest.

Nadia grinned wolfishly and thanked Amphitrite for the gift; wrapped and practically handed to her.

The young man started when she swam into view. His struggles stilled as he stared at her, somehow forgetting for a moment the ball and chain pulling him to his death. Nadia blushed and smiled, pleased by his awe. Gently, she pulled down the cloth gag so that it hung loose around his neck. She giggled at the puffed-out cheeks trapping the human’s last breath. Delicately holding his face in her hands, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips onto his.

He gasped in surprise, unwittingly releasing the last of his oxygen in a chorus of bubbles. He pulled away and closed his mouth futility, now filled with water instead of air.

Nadia laughed at his adorable face. She gripped the ropes around his chest and began swimming to the surface, her great strength and powerful tail carrying them both with ease.

Nadia broke through the surface first and held up the sailor in her arms as he coughed and spluttered.

“Tha–thank... you,” he managed between gasps as he inhaled sweet oxygen into his starving lungs. Humans are so weak. “You… you saved my… life.”

“Yes,” she murmured. She turned him around so that he was now facing her. His blond hair was now plastered to his face in wet ringlets. He looked much prettier underwater, Nadia mused. That didn’t change the fact that he was the prettiest one yet. “I saved your life, now it belongs to me.”

Nadia watched his face fall with pure delight. “Wh–what?”

She giggled. Silly human. “You’re mine.”

“W-wait. I don’t–”

“Shhhh.” She placed a finger on his soft lips. “Sleep.” She put power into the command, knowing the sailor would hear a thickly sweet, compelling echo in her voice that he could not refuse.

The boy’s head lolled against his chest and his eyes fluttered shut. In an instant, he was snoring softly.

Carefully keeping his head above the surface so he wouldn’t drown, Nadia dragged her captive behind her as she swam.

She’ll take him to her secret place. No one will find her new plaything there. No one ever has.

Part 2

#writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #whump #tw restraints #tw kidnapping #mermaid #siren #mermaid whump #siren whumper #sailor whumpee #tw gagged #tw drowning #captive whumpee #possessive whumper #pirate whump #Nadia’s Vengeance #bound and gagged

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fulcrumwrites · 7 months

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My favorite fun fact that never fails to make me happy: C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien were best friends and were part of a literary group called The Inklings.

#c.s. lewis #j.r.r. tolkien #the inklings #fun facts #miscellaneous #fantasy #i love them #they’re my favorite authors #I aspire to be like them #authors #they met in pubs #and talked literature #they also dressed up as polar bears to a party #it was not a costume party

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fulcrumwrites · 8 months

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Blanket Burrito

Summary: Caleb has been kidnapped by a woman who hopes to replace her long dead son with him. Even the simplest actions of tucking him into bed at night reminds him just how much of a captive he is.

CW: kidnapping, parental yandere, claustrophobia, unconventional restraints, drugging, non-con (non-sexual)

“Time for bed, sweetie.”

If Caleb could shudder at her honey-sweet voice, he would. Instead, his disgust remained trapped in his drug-induced paralysis. The bed beneath him dipped as his insane kidnapper sat on the edge. Her cool fingers stroked the hair off his forehead. Unable to pull away, Caleb could only close his eyes and pretend she wasn’t there.

Helen mistook it for contentment as she cooed fondly. Caleb grimaced and opened his eyes again, glaring. The middle-aged woman ignored it.

“I’ll tuck you in, honey. I make a mean blanket burrito.” She winked and booped the tip of his nose.

Caleb made a face. He was twenty years old, damn it. Five days in captivity and he was sick of her babying. It wasn’t his fault he shared the same name as her son, nor that they would be the same age if he hadn’t died in a car crash fourteen years ago. At least she didn’t insist on changing his clothes for him. Caleb convinced her he could do that himself. The blue pajamas she gave him reminded him of the pair he wore when he was six.

The mattress shifted again as she rose. Caleb watched her move to the armchair and pick up a pile of neatly folded, navy blue sheets. She hummed what he assumed was a lullaby as she shook out a single sheet.

With little difficulty, Helen maneuvered the sheet underneath him. She folded it over his body and pulled it tight and snug before tucking in the edges. The pressure of fabric all over sent signals to his muscles to squirm and get loose. His limbs refused to respond. Didn’t even twitch.

To Caleb’s dismay, Helen pulled out another sheet and draped it over him before folding those edges underneath him. She even tucked the corners into the first sheet.

“Wow,” Caleb murmured sarcastically, sliding his eyes down his nose to his burrito-wrapped body. “That’s an excellent blanket burrito, Helen. Five stars, truly.”

Helen’s eyes tightened as her smiling lips thinned. “It’s “Mommy”, dear. That’s what my poor baby Caleb called me.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes. Uh, yeah. No way he’s calling her “Mommy”.

“And I’m not done yet.”

A groan escaped his lips as another sheet was wrapped around his paralyzed form. Then another.

With the fifth sheet, Helen collected the corners across from each other and knotted them together tightly against his chest. She did the same with the bottom corners at his ankles.

Finally, she straightened and admired her handiwork. “There. My Caleb always liked being wrapped in a blanket burrito.”

Yeah, so did I. When I was five. By my real mother.

Helen draped the comforter over his still form and tucked the edges under the mattress, pinning him to the too-small bed even further.

Her cool hand rested on his flushed cheek. When did it get so hot? Her touch sent a minuscule shudder down his spine. Hey, the sedative is finally wearing off.

“Goodnight, my dear boy. Sweet dreams. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The nightlight on his nightstand was switched on before the door closed behind her. Caleb didn’t miss the sound of the bolt locking him in.

He winced against the harshness of the ocean-themed nightlight piercing through the darkness. He had a similar one as a kid, back when he was afraid of the dark like any other child. He’s embraced the darkness since he was ten after he learned there was nothing to fear and that total darkness helped him sleep. He thought he should be afraid of it now, only instead he missed it.

Closing his eyes to block out the light, Caleb tried flexing his fingers in order to regain control of his body.

Slow as a snail, his muscles began to respond, starting with twitches in his fingers and toes. It took what felt like hours for him to be able to move. By then he was exhausted by the time of night and the sedation.

Caleb tested his bonds. He didn’t know why Helen decided not to cuff his limbs to the bed frame as she had done the previous nights, but he wasn’t complaining. A blanket burrito was much easier to escape.

He felt as weak as a limp noodle as he twisted and pushed against the sheets. Sweat soaked his thick pajamas and sheets. It was the middle of summer. Was Helen trying to kill him with all these layers?

Caleb struggled a bit harder and the bed creaked loudly. He froze and nervously checked the glow beneath his door. As far as he knew, the light was always on. Like some immortal guardian, Helen never sleeps.

Caleb resumed his battle with the blanket burrito as quietly as he could. The sheets barely even loosened. A growl of frustration crawled up his throat.

At last, he lay still on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Energy spent, hair sticking to his forehead, far too hot, Caleb lay there quietly. Defeated. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids and he found himself succumbing to its demand.

Before he drifted off, steps outside his door made him tense. He feigned sleep as the door unlocked and swung open.

He recognized Helen’s heels clicking against the wooden floors of the hidden cabin. Caleb steeled himself to avoid flinching as hands adjusted the heavy comforter and tucked it back in, undoing all his hard work.

Lips brushed his temple and she was gone. The thud of the metal bolt sealed his fate. Tears slipped down his nose as Caleb finally surrendered to sleep.

#writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #whump #tw restraints #tw kidnapping #yandere whumper #blanket burrito #inspired by #the fact that #i can’t sleep #in summer #it’s too hot #unconventional restraints #tw drugging #whump community #captivity

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