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ashintheairlikesnow · 7 months

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The Seas No More

CW: Thoughts of murder, nonhuman whumpee, magical whump, creepy whumper, intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, some noncon-y from Gilly, choking

The moon hung heavy and full, pale light shining through the window onto the only water the siren could have now. The rope with its looped end now hung by itself above him, gently swaying seemingly of its own volition.

A reminder.

Left there so be did not forget the hissing gasps for air or his hands opening and closing where they had been bound behind his back, helpless to save himself as his toes left the safety of the ground.

A reminder of the look of shining need in the eyes of the siren’s captor as he watched life fade with every denied desperate gasp.

A reminder of how, just before he could fight no longer to live, his captor would let the rope go and watch him crash back into the tub, water splashing out the sides, new bruises blooming.

Above him was the constant threat that it could happen to him again, if he dared to disobey the captor’s commands.

Not that he could even begin to try.

Not any longer.

Not with the cruel magic written into his skin.

The siren tried not to look at the rope, feeling his throat click painfully with every remembered swallow, but he couldn’t really escape it without the sight of his landlocked prison taking over. Stone floors and stone walls threatened to close in on him with every passing second, and he would rather mourn what he had lost than fear what he was forced to have.

Panic threatened around the edges of every breath, but he fought it back. Barely.

Deeper in this place, in another room, his captor laid out in a comfortable human bed, covered in the cloth that kept him warm. It would have taken so little to kill him, and the siren now was unfettered. There were no ropes digging into his wrists, nothing looped tight around his neck. No wooden bit between his teeth to keep him from singing.

It would have been so easy to stand, and walk into that bedroom, and bare his teeth.

Except… he couldn’t.

He kept trying, over and over again, for hours while the moon slowly rose in the sky. He would open his mouth and try to sing the man in here, to lure him with soaring tenor song to put his own head under the water and hold it there until his very lungs burst and then the siren could walk outside and find the ocean and-

Nothing came out but whispers, his own magic fizzling away before it left the heat of his body.

He couldn’t sing.

It was like being unable to breathe, just a different way of choking, and yet being forced to keep living anyway long past when he should have died with the sense that his lungs needed to expand but they couldn't remember how.

His voice caught halfway up his throat when he tried to use it, and what came out instead was a strange rasping croak paired with a sudden flickering burn along one of the things painted on his right arm.

He cradled it close, now, staring at the symbols that meant nothing to him… but he understood enough to know that he was caged this way, captive to the very enclosure of his own skin.

He could not even die to escape it.

His heart skipped and then began to race, and he curled up even more, burying his face between his knees with his arms around them to hide everything but his hair, terrified of what it meant to have a voice that someone else could command, but which was kept from him.

His sobs were nearly silent, present more in the shaking of his shoulders than in any hitch of his breath. If the man woke to his weeping, he feared there would be more pain. There had already been so much.

The moonlight in his hair felt like a caress, like the way his mother touched him when he was young, a quick graze of fingertips as he swam with his sisters, a loving smile.

The moon was enormous tonight, such a feature of the sky it seemed as though it might be about to fall and crash into the ocean. As if the moon, the creator of sirens and mermaids and all the ocean things, would come chasing after her lost son to save him and take him back home.

The waves created by the goddess coming down to earth, the siren thought, would crash upon the land far, far inland and wipe away all the plague of men with their greedy hands and grasping fingers. With his eyes closed he could picture them in their thousands, swept out to sea and prey for those like his own people or the black-and-whites up north, tossed about by the shimmery silvered dolphins with their playful violence, ignored by the enormous whales who would eat their krill while evil men died beside them.

It was a beautiful imagining, so he followed it further, let it lead him from the fear that threatened to overrun him entirely.

He pictured the moon's gift pouring through the windows here, his captor coughing up seawater he couldn’t stop inhaling, begging him for help. Those stupid greedy eyes would be wide in fear but the siren would do nothing but watch…

And smile...

And then feast upon the remains.

He would bury his teeth into soft skin and rend it apart, watch blood bloom and dissolve into the saltwater, giving him strength to go back to the ocean.

The moon would shine the way for him, show him where to swim, unceasing, until he found his way home. His mother and sisters would have known how to survive the great waves of the moon’s crashing. The moon’s own children would be sheltered from her wrath, and they’d be there on the rocks with their arms open to greet him.

If any sailors had survived, the siren could rejoin his sisters in singing them onto the rocks, and he would take new joy in dragging them into the darkest waters until their lungs burst and they could be brought back to land for the meal.

It would be a fitting revenge, for how they had dragged him away and into the air.

He found himself smiling, just a little. The vision of destruction calmed his fear and settled his heartbeat. His body throbbed on the right side, remembering pain from whatever dark magic had been done to him by the woman who had kind eyes even while she hurt him. While she made him… this.

She had finished and looked tired, swaying on her feet, and left with one final soft touch of her hand to his face.

She had done this to him. The moon would kill her, too. But… she had settled her fingers in his hair, stroking gently, while she had painted over his back with her strange paintbrushes and humming ink. She had held him in her arms when the second agony came, even while the man who held him captive had scolded her.

She had soothed him, whispered things he thought must be apologies from her tone, and encouraged him to rest his head on her shoulder. She had only said soft things, and his captor had not started to truly hurt him until she had taken her leave and gone back to her sleeping-place for the night.

Until he and his captor were alone, she had stood between them even as she built the bars of his cage into his body.

He… changed his imagining, then.

He let his dream shift and told himself the moon would show her mercy, kill her quickly so she had no time even to know what had come upon her. The siren wouldn’t eat her. He would lay her out on a sunny rock somewhere higher up, closer to the sky, and let her go back to her own gods that way.

A kindness, for holding him while he screamed, even if she had been the reason for the screaming.

No human had ever held him before.

“Areyto.”

He stiffened, turning away from the moonlight to look back at the doorway. His captor stood there, hair a mess and little round metal-and-glass things down to the end of his nose. The hated man spoke the hated word that the siren had been given as a name. And he… had to answer, now.

Something in the magic had twisted inside his mind, and he knew he had had another name, a real name, but the magic had stolen it from him, taken the sound of his mother's voice whispering it in love away.

All he remembered now was that the human man called him Areyto.

The magic burned, a lick of fire just beneath his jaw, and he winced, closing his eyes as the obedience was compelled. “Ye-es…” He managed, voice still hoarse from his earlier screaming. “Master?"

His captor’s smile widened, and Areyto felt sick at the sight of it, slick like the whale oil that sometimes they found in shipwrecks, dirtying his skin like the black rocks they burned in their metal cooking things.

“I can’t imagine I’ll tire of that,” His captor said, cheerfully. “What a rush, to be called what I am by what belongs to me. What is mine." The siren understood only bits and pieces, but he understood enough, and let his eyes drop back down to the water he sat in. His captor either didn’t notice or didn’t care - he kept talking.

He never stopped talking.

In his dream, Areyto thought, he would rip the man's tongue out first.

His captor chuckled. "Can’t sleep either, huh? I understand entirely. We had an eventful day. I keep thinking about it… thinking about what we’re going to do together. A thousand years… we could do anything. I could do anything. Imagine what I could become with a thousand years of knowledge built up, with all that power and influence. A thousand years of knives being unable to penetrate my organs, of no weapon able to murder me.”

He stepped into the room.

Areyto fought the urge to cringe away from him, trying to hold still and seem unmoved, unafraid, when panic beat inside his chest like a seabird’s frantic wings. He could not escape this, no matter what happened. There was no way to cover himself enough from the human man's filthy smile and glittering eyes.

He listened as his captor stepped closer, and then closer again. He could feel the heat coming from him when he stood beside the washing-tub. His nose wrinkled at the smell of sweat.

Areyto did not look up.

He was afraid the tears would begin again if he did.

With effort he held perfectly still even when his captor touched his hair, disgust like insects crawling from the roots down the back of his neck, his very nerves desperate to hide away and escape from the way fingers scratched his scalp and twisted into the curls.

His captor pulled and the siren’s head was forced back until it knocked into the metal side of the tub, looking up at the human man. Those eyes, behind the glass and metal, shone with ugly triumph.

And… something much worse. Something he recognized only because the man looked at him like that over and over again.

“Out,” His captor ordered - and the buzz of magic moved the siren’s body for him as he found himself standing, stepping out of the washing-tub that was his only hint of safety here, looking down at the ground to avoid the way his captor’s awful eyes moved up and down his body. There was a desire to his expression that was terrible in a way Areyto didn’t yet understand… but he knew to fear.

“Kneel,” His captor commanded in a whisper.

Areyto dropped to his knees, shuddering when that hand with its heavy weight was again in his hair, resting on top of his head, rubbing his thumb between his dark curls. He kept his eyes on the ground and tried to remember his dream about the moon falling into the ocean, the thousands of evil humans swept to their deaths for he and his kind to feast upon.

This man would die slow, and in agony.

“Say, ‘yes master,” His captor ordered, voice thickened. "Say it for me."

Areyto fought not to, but pain burst in a sudden burn down his back and he groaned, shuddering, unable to fight the agony for long. “Y-... yes, Master,” He whispered, hoarsely rasping hated words. Once he obeyed, the pain vanished all at once.

Where it had been, though, there was something hollowed out inside. A sickly self-loathing, a seed taking root that would only ever grow.

His captor smiled, fingers sliding down to take the siren’s chin in hand, tipping it up until their eyes met. His captor was flushed, breathing more heavily, and he stepped closer. It would take so little, the siren thought as the man’s thumb pushed into his mouth and pressed against his tongue, to bite him.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t do anything at all but taste salt and skin and hold still as his mouth was forced open, tongue pressed down, before his captor let go and let him look away.

“You have a lovely face,” His captor said, and Areyto didn’t know the words very well but he knew there was something hideous in the way the man formed the sounds. “It’s too bad you weren’t a female siren, isn’t it? Terrible waste of such beauty. I guess you need a male siren for some sailors, that makes sense, but why could I not have caught a female one? Seems like a ghastly joke, doesn't it?"

The siren, looking towards the window just to try to wash himself clean with the moon, swallowed around the nervous heart beating in his throat. When he saw the way his captor’s eyes dropped to watch his neck shift with the motion, he wished that he hadn’t.

His captor sighed, wistfully, crouching slowly down with a grunt of effort. “I suppose it’s not like anyone else would ever know… You can’t tell them. You wouldn’t even know who to tell or what to say. Besides, you’re not even actually a man, either, are you? Wait. No, Gilly,” He muttered to himself, “No, that line of thought is much much worse. You’re overthinking it. It’s yours, now, and who’s to tell you what to do or not do with your own things? Might as well be my own hand." He met the siren’s eyes, with a smile thick and heavy on his skin, a smile like a hand around his neck. “Besides… you really are too beautiful to waste. I know what I promised Beibei, but…” He trailed off, swallowed hard, moving his fingers to graze along the siren’s jaw and watch him shiver. “She won’t know, will she?”

His captor paused, as if waiting for a response. When the siren only stared at him, he sighed and pushed himself to standing.

Then he backhanded the siren across the face.

Areyto hadn’t expected it, and was thrown to the side, landing hard with one arm bent wrong beneath him, a bright flash of pain. He cried out, but before he could push himself back up those thick fingers were back in his hair, pulling him by his scalp along the floor, through the doorway, into the bigger room.

His cheek hurt where the man had been wearing a ring that had torn skin open, hot blood dripping down his face and onto the floor. He managed to scramble onto his hands and knees, half-crawling and half-dragged along, until he was shoved, and then kicked, and his ribs joined his other pains as he came to a stop and found himself staring at the big human bed in a room that had little else in it.

He didn’t know much about how humans lived - only what he had learned in his time imprisoned here, and what could be gleaned from swimming through the shipwrecks after he and his mother and sisters had eaten the sailors. He didn’t know why the man had brought him in here.

But he knew enough to miss his time alone in the metal tub of water. At least that prison had been a solitary one.

Tears burned hot, blurring his vision. He could hold them back no longer. When he hitched out a sob, his captor gave a shuddering exhale behind him, making a groaning sound that Areyto understood too well, with a new fear that broke like a cold wave against his back and into his chest.

“Listen to you,” The man murmured. “I’m going to enjoy this. And if I want you to… so will you. Isn't that something..."

His foot pressed into the siren’s back, forcing him down onto the cold stone floor until he could barely breathe for the weight on his spine. It felt like having the rope around his neck again as he clawed at the floor but found no help there, no rescue.

No way out.

“Beautiful,” His captor whispered. “You’re mine, aren’t you? Really mine. Say ‘yes, master.’”

Areyto pressed his forehead against the stone, the words coming obediently from a throat that no longer belonged to him. He couldn’t hold them back. “Yes… m-master.”

The man’s foot briefly left, but then was replaced by the weight of his body, sitting over Areyto’s lower back, one hand between his shoulder blades and the other gripping into his hair, forcing his head back. “Don’t hide from me. Say it again.”

“Yes…” He gasped - wanted to fight, but felt the threat of the agony returning in the symbol on his neck. Tears stung the cut on his face. “Yes, m-... master-”

His captor groaned again, and it felt like the sound was right beside his ear. He felt the man’s hot damp breath on him and would have begged for mercy, if he could, but those words weren’t allowed to him now.

“Again,” His captor demanded, yanking on his hair so hard his scalp burned, fingernails digging into his back. “Say it again!"

Areyto's wail went from nearly a whisper to something sharper and loud when he felt a tongue move up his neck over the marks that branded and caged him, hot and wet and repulsive. “Yes-... ye-es… master!”

“Again.” His captor’s voice was rough, and he pulled away but then his tongue was replaced by his hands closing around the siren’s neck, grip tightening in a sickeningly familiar feeling.

Spots danced before the siren’s vision, the world spun. He tried to obey, but had to fight for every single searing gasp for air.

His captor moved against his back. “I said say it again.”

“Yes…” Areyto’s chest heaved, his lungs burned. There was nothing to fill them with, and it took the last air he had to finish the words. “M-... m-ah-... master-”

“Good. Again.”

His captor’s grip tightened.

“Y-... yes-... M-...” He couldn’t finish. The moon moved behind a cloud. Even the goddess hid from her child's fear and shame.

Areyto fell tumbling into the mercy of the dark.

Taglist: @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump

Covers @whumptober prompts 10, 11, and 12

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rizzoto-whump · 8 months

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"Why? Why does your country torment us so?" Whumpee asked, their voice trembling with pent-up anger and sorrow.

Whumper, slathered in medicinal paste and bandages, looked at them with pained eyes. Their silence sounded louder than any apology they could have offered.

"We.. we were told that this is for the greater good. We didn't know... I didn't know the pain we were inflicting on people," Whumper admitted solemnly, guilt etching a deep crease on their face.

Whumpee inhaled sharply, "You choose to invade our lands, impose your laws, take our resources and you didn't know? You say you didn't understand what you were doing?"

"We were soldiers, orders were orders—" Whumper started, but Whumpee cut them off.

"No, Whumper. You have choices. Always. Every time you raise your sword, that's a choice." Whumpee tears welled up in their eyes as they looked away.

#whump #whump prompt #military whump #whumper x whumpee #injured whumper #guilty whumper #reluctant caretaker #field care #soldier whumper #writing prompt #traumatized whumpee #angry whumpee #war whump #whump tropes #invasion whump

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auroragehenna · 3 months

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I think you should let your Whumpees have petty revenge. As a treat.✨

#whump treat #whump #whump blog #whumpee #whump idea #whump prompt #whump scenario #revenge whump #petty revenge whump #whumpee treat #angry whumpee

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whumperofworlds · 9 months

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"We're sorry. We should have listened to you."

Whumpee opened their mouth, about to accept Team Leader's apology, only to pause.

When the accusations hit, Team Leader and the rest of the team immediately abandoned them. They kicked Whumpee out of the team, and they all glared at them with nothing but discust. Whumpee has proof that they didn't do it, but they refused to listen. They all abandoned them without a second thought.

They hated Whumpee secretly. They didn't want them around.

Why should Whumpee accept the apology after what they had done?

Whumpee turned to face Team Leader, their glare so intense that even the brave Team Leader cowered down.

"Yeah, you should have," Whumpee growled, their voice filled with hatred. "Now my life is ruined, and Whumper is on the loose, thanks to every single one of you."

#whump #team whump #my whump stuff #rejected apology #angry whumpee #false accusations #whumpee #team leader #whump prompt #betrayal

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secret-whump-basement · 6 months

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Whumpee who, after being rescued, reacts with anger and takes it out on Caretaker(s)

Where was all this kindness when they were locked up and being tormented? Where’s that kindness for the other people who could’ve been there with them? Why settle for care when Whumper is still out there and capable of hurting more people? Any kind word or gentle touch feels like a mockery of the horrors they’ve endured, like they’re being treated like some fragile thing and they hate it

Most of the time they just yell at Caretaker until they eventually get left alone. Maybe it escalates to Whumpee calling them nasty names, maybe it escalates to Whumpee hitting Caretaker. Caretaker just looks so hurt every time and it makes Whumpee feel bad and they hate that they do

#atlas posts #whump #whumpblr #whump scenario #whump prompt #angry whumpee #complex reactions to trauma! yay!#I don’t think necessarily whumpee turned whumper I just think this particular guy has some issues #they probably settle down at some point I imagine

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waywardwhump · 1 year

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A clatter as the world falls to its side, the floor coming up to meet both bodies as one shoved the other to the ground.

Movement. A startled cry, noises of alarm, distress, and then silence.

Thick, heavy silence, looming like a sharp toothed beast as indescribable rage flooded the whumpee's veins.

Every cruelty they've suffered burst out from them. Every humiliation. Every moment of helplessness. Every defeat. It all burned inside them into a blind inferno.

Their hands grip the whumper's throat, digging in as hard as they can, hard enough to feel the whumper's pulse, hard enough to to crush their windpipe. They push all their weight into it, watching the whumper's eyes bulge as they thrashed against them.

They do not feel the fingers scrabbling at their wrists. They don't feel the nails drawing blood. All they feel is anger.

The whumper's expression begs for mercy.

But all the mercy they had was beaten out of them a long time ago.

#whump #mine #angry whumpee #whump the whumper #strangulation whump #tw: death #revenge whump #waywards favorites

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ficsick · 1 year

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The “Angry” trope

This trope is just any prompt where one character is mad at the other. This could cause the caretaker to not help whumpee, whumpee deny caretakers help, or even be the direct cause of the pain.

• Whumpee is in excruciating pain, and is unable to leave to get the medicine they need, but Caretaker is angry at them and refuses to do it.

• Caretaker and Whumpee fight, leading Whumpee to need to sleep on the couch. When they wake up, they are experiencing pretty bad neck/back pain from it.

• Caretaker mocks Whumpee [Talking about food, not giving them the ice pack, acting oblivious to where the medicine is, etc.] because they are still upset at them.

• Caretaker helps Whumpee, but is not doing very good because they are too busy with their whole “I told you so” act.

• Whumpee denies any help from Caretaker, since they got into a fight beforehand.

• Whumpee is angry at Caretaker, so they decide to be as stubborn as possible while they are sick.

• “I don’t want your help! Wouldn’t wanna be a bigger burden to you than I already am..”

• Caretaker and Whumpee are angry at eachother. Whumpee is in a lot of pain and hopes Caretaker comes back in so they can make up, but Caretaker is worried Whumpee will not want them to come back.

• Whumpee gets sick after eating Caretakers food, leading Caretaker to assume its because Whumpee just didn’t like it.

• Caretaker and Whumpee are rivals. And..

Caretaker is trying to help Whumpee, because they are genuinely worried.

Whumpee is begging Caretaker for help.

• Caretaker sits in the bathroom, essentially keeping Whumpee from it, when Whumpee is about to get sick and they know it.

• Caretaker trying to make Whumpee sick by describing food or saying “It would be a shame if you were to vomit..” then explainging everything that happens when vomiting.

• Whumpee wakes up in the middle of the night throwing up, unable to leave their bed, and writhing in pain. All Caretaker does is get up and leave the room to go sleep on the couch.

• “Too bad, so sad. You should have thought before [whatever made them mad].”

Remember to tag me! °•*^w^*•° make sure to follow for more scens!

#whump #whump ideas #whump prompt #whumpee #whumpblr #whump art #sickfic #sickfic tropes #whump blog #whump community #caretaker #angry whumpee #angry caretaker

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generic-whumperz · 8 months

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They just had to get in the last word

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sickophantic · 2 years

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adoration

this isn’t very whumpy for my first piece but it’s more like... whumper as a caretaker? but also whumper is the one who made whumpee need the caretaking so hm..

[tw: creepy/intimate whumper, noncon touch (not sexual)]

Whumpee groaned as they hit the wall, too tired to fight and too tired to stand. When their legs soon buckled, they slid down with a darkening vision. Whumper walked towards them, speaking to them, but their ears were ringing and everything hurt and they were just so, so exhausted. Their eyelids grew heavy and soon enough, they were out.

When Whumpee woke, they didn't open their eyes. They simply laid there, reflecting on the hollow aching in their flesh, the dull gnawing of their bones, and the overwhelming exhaustion that clung to their very being. Their thoughts felt slow, sluggish, and Whumpee simply could not think. What the fuck? ran through their mind several times before they finally remembered.

They had tried to escape.

And, of course, they had failed.

God. They were so fucking stupid.

They knew they would never leave this place. They knew they would never leave Whumper. They knew they could never leave their past behind. They were stuck here. With Whumper. Forever. They would never see their family, they would never see their friends, they would never see their home. They were just…trapped. Here. Fuck. They wanted out. They wanted out, so, so bad.

But… why even try? Maybe if they just shut up, they’d be okay. Whumper would leave them alone then. Whumper only hurt them when they deserved it. They deserved this. Didn’t they?

Yeah. Yeah, they did. They disobeyed Whumper. They tried to run. They tried to run because they were tired of an existence only filled by pain. They tried to leave them because Whumpee was exhausted from the constant terror. They tried to leave because they were so sick of the beatings and the games and the starvation and the tears and the blood and the screaming and the mockery and the laughter and when Whumpee saw that unlocked door they just couldn’t control themselves.

And now? They were lying on the cold floor feeling worthless. Wasted. Ruined.

They let out a miserable whimper.

"Finally awake, huh?" Whumper said flatly.

Whumpee jolted at their voice, eyes opening and scrambling away from Whumper. They attempted to push themselves backwards with their arms, but they only moved a foot. They stared back at Whumper, shaking, mumbling a quiet mhm as a response. Whumper glared back, standing above them, arms crossed. They moved closer to Whumpee and sat back on their haunches. Whumpee shut their eyes as tears began to brew. They tried to quiet their breathing, but they couldn't stop the panic spreading when Whumper's thumb touched their forehead, brushing something away.

They sat in silence for several seconds as Whumper tilted Whumpee's head this way and that before Whumper finally spoke.

"You look like shit." Whumper murmured.

At that, Whumpee wanted to laugh. Their eyes shot open once more as they looked at their tormentor. This psycho, this sick fuck, who had spent so much time and effort hurting Whumpee, was now telling them they looked like shit? What a joke. What a fucking joke. Yet, when they tried to laugh, to jeer and mock their comment, they broke into a coughing fit that wracked their broken body. They choked on their air for several seconds, tears blurring their vision as they watched Whumper's face blur.

"Yeah. Ni-" they coughed, "nice observation."

Whumper glared.

"You need a bath."

Thin rays of moonlight crept through flowing curtains, lighting up a cold stream flowing from a metal faucet into a tub, raising the water that Whumpee crouched in. They shivered, and goose bumps rose on their arms, but they stayed silent and pulled their knees closer. Whumpee fumbled with their fingers, their breathing uneven as they picked at the grime between their nails. It was so dirty.

Whumpee listened to Whumper's quiet movements behind them. They walked around the small room, opening cabinets and apparently searching for something. They placed a towel on a counter beside the tub before leaving the room without a word.

The door, rotting old wood that had once seen better days, creaked as it closed. After several seconds of silence, Whumpee let out a sigh and lowered their head to hide their face between their knees. They closed their eyes, attempting to control their uneven breathing, contemplating their past life and where they were now. They’d fallen so far.

They let themselves cry in that tub, warm tears spilling down their face into cold water. Their eyelashes grew wet as they covered their face with pale arms. They sunk deeper into the water, trying so very hard to bury themselves beneath. If only it was higher. Then they could hide. Then their mind could drift away and they could leave Whumper, if only for a moment.

At that second, Whumper returned, entering the room in silence except for the whine of the door and their padded footsteps.

They crouched beside Whumpee, placing their palms on Whumpee's neck. Whumpee's breath hitched before Whumper began to massage them, kneading away their tension through slow, practiced motions. It made them want to jerk away, but for now, it felt warm and safe. They felt themselves ease into Whumper's touch, allowing themselves to become more pliable. Whumper moved downwards, sliding their fingers along their neck to their shoulders with a gentle pressure.

"Frankly, I'm disappointed in you."

Whumper tightened their grip for a moment before releasing Whumpee. Whumpee instantly stiffened at both the words and the physical tension.

Whumpee felt the gentle motion of Whumper brushing their hair. They began with their fingers to detangle the worst parts, but quickly moved on to using a comb. Whumpee stared down at the water in silence.

“I expected better, Whumpee.”

Whumpee winced as cold water rained down on them.

“I thought you had finally learned.”

Whumpee chewed the inside of their cheek.

“But no. Of course not. Of course you always have to prove me wrong, and always have to prove your stupidity, hm?”

Whumper tucked a stray hair behind Whumpee’s ear and turned the water off. They pumped shampoo into their hands and began to work it into Whumpee’s hair. Whumpee focused on the night time atmosphere during Whumper’s silence; they listened to a breeze run through the trees every now and then, heard the crickets chirp, and focused on the soft buzz of the fireflies’ dance.

“It’s strange how you always seem to best your last stunt. Strange how you always fuck up even worse than before. And you know? I give you anything you want. I give you food, a home, and everything you ask for, yet you never stop bitching.”

Whumper worked on the back of Whumpee’s head, their movements light and gentle.

“You’re always crying, always whining about how something isn’t exactly to your liking.”

“And I put up with it! I put up with all of your bullshit. But as soon as I turn my back, you try to leave.”

Whumper’s hands move from the back of Whumpee’s head to their shoulders, gripping them tightly. They move their face closer to Whumpee’s ear, their breath hot and wet.

“You’re such an idiot.”

“Such an ingrate.”

They drag their hands to Whumpee’s neck and lift Whumpee’s face upwards, leaving behind soapy trails. Whumpee looks eye to eye with Whumper, lips quivering and breath catching.

“But you know what?”

“That’s okay. I’ll give you another chance. I always will.”

“But why? Why should I forgive someone like you?”

Whumper’s pupils dilate, brimming with…adoration?

“Because I love you. I really do.”

Whumpee stares up, tears freely flowing now. No. They didn’t love them. Whumpee knew that. They were lying. Lying. Lying. They tortured them, for fuck’s sake.

“Oh, darling, don’t cry.”

Whumper moves their thumb to Whumpee’s terrified eyes, wiping away their tears.

Whumpee fumbles with their words as they try to think up a proper response. But they only have one thing to say.

“No. No, you don’t.” They mumble.

Whumper looks hurt, but they continue on.

“I know you don’t understand what I’m doing, you’re too stupid to know,” they knock on Whumpee’s skull, “but you’ll see. You’ll see, eventually, that I’m doing what’s best for you, Whumpee, because I care about you, I love you.”

Whumpee feels sick. Their chest tightens as Whumper smiles.

Whumper takes Whumpee’s silence as acceptance.

“I love you, Whumpee.”

#idk if you can tell but i didnt wanna actually write a bath scene so shampoo is all u need #whump #whumpcommunity #whumper #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #noncontouch #angry whumpee #captive whumpee #sad whumpee #lol they're obv sad #forced bathing #sunnywhump #i wrote this in docs so i think i might've forgotten some italics ngl #ALSO if i had to manually shorten the post i’m so sorry idk how to do it #YO I ADDED THE READ MORE PLS CLAP FOR ME #writing ೃ⁀➷

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soursagas · 1 month

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inspired by this prompt by @the-three-whumpeteers

writing s keeping me alive. m using “Whumpee” bc that what’s prompt used

content: murder, described repeated murder

Whumpee’s eyes snapped opened for the fifth night in a row.

It had been another one of those dreams.

They didn’t have to remember specifics, they could tell by the way their body slightly shook with tremors. The way it was covered in sweat.

They’d even tried sleeping with one thin sheet this time. It was practically a miracle they got to sleep at all, it wasn’t exactly very warm outside.

In a way the dreams helped. They considered it practically the only reason they hadn’t actually physically attacked someone yet.

They did all they needed to within their dreams.

Last night, it was with their bare hands.

They snapped the neck of that wretched person. The satisfaction of the loud crack was unparalleled by anything they’d felt before. Two nights before, they’d thrown some heavy object, like a giant boulder, and hit the assailant directly on their skull. On the ground, the blood pooled in a giant puddle. Or it must’ve been blood, by logic, the body on the floor couldn’t bleed black tar ink even though at a glance that’s exactly what it looked like.

Even better, in a dream they didn’t have to worry about getting caught, cleaning up the disgusting liquids, or dealing with any consequences for their actions.

No, the only one paying for their actions always ended up dead. Some way or another, they would always find them in any dream. Any way, from the simplest poison, to simply hacking the head off. Over and over again.

So they rolled over on their bed, the satisfaction blooming once again.

It was just as they had been taught, an eye for an eye. It had not all been for naught.

That thing couldn’t escape.

Not anymore.

short but sweet. or something.

#the-three-whumpeteers #prompt fill #whump #whumpee #angry whumpee #murder #dreaming whumpee

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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 year

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Oh, oh, you know what I'd love to see some time? Kauri getting an electric shock from a domestic appliance or something. It doesn't need to be serious, we just know how much he hates getting shocked 👀

"You need a new toaster."

Jake looks up, rubbing a hand over his face, blinking where he sits on his bed in a pair of pajamas pants. Things are blurred and bleary, it's too early for this on one of the few days he doesn't have class. Still, though - he can't help but feel a little... happy, maybe, to hear Kauri's voice. "What...?"

"Your toaster's fucked up." Kauri has it in his hands, gripped white-knuckle tight. Jake reads in his appearance the story of his night - his hair is a mess of black curls, there's dark circles under the bright blue eyes, he's still wearing clothing he had on two days ago, the last time Jake saw him.

His shirt is on inside out. Whose cologne will be smell like if Jake gets close?

There's a twist of something odd and sharp in Jake's chest. "... Our toaster is fucked up?"

"Yeah. It... It's broken. It shocked me. When I plugged it in." Kauri dumps the toaster on the floor in Jake's room, and Jake winces as he watches ancient crumbs scatter everywhere as it tips on its side.

"... And you brought it up here because..."

"Because it's broken. You should get a new one. I wanted to tell you." Kauri's voice is short and sharp, Jake can see his eyes are a little too wide. He crosses his arms and Jake thinks it looks like he's hugging himself, trying not to be obvious about it. "It's a stupid toaster. It hurt me. It-... It shocked me, and-"

"Yeah. I'll handle it, I will. But, are you okay?"

"What?" Kauri looks... uncomfortable and surprised. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, but. You said it shocked you?" God, he's too tired to think. Jake leans into instinct instead. "Like electric shock?"

"Yeah. Just. A little one, but..."

Silence draws out between them. Jake rakes a hand back through his hair, and then pushes himself to his feet. If Kauri's eyes drop to Jake's bare chest down to his stomach and the waistband of his pants, Jake doesn't notice. Or he pretends not to, anyway. There's a Tshirt on the floor, and he pulls it on over his head. "Yeah, but... Still. Are you okay?"

"I'm not hurt-"

"That's not what I'm asking. Kaur, you used to be shocked, before. Even if you're not hurt..." He looks back down at Kauri. "That doesn't mean you're okay."

Kauri's smile fades for just a second - then it's back, but brittle this time. "I'm always okay."

"No, you're not. Kauri, I just wanted to know if you need to talk-"

"Absolutely the fuck not. I just came here to get some breakfast, not get trauma interrogations at six in the morning."

"I'm not interrogating you-"

"Then take 'i'm fine' for an answer for once."

Jake's mouth opens and then closes again.

Kauri's smile is small and vicious. "Like I said. Buy a new toaster."

"Kauri, just-"

Kauri disappears from the doorway and is halfway down the stairs before Jake can get out of his room.

"Kauri, wait-"

The front door closes and Kauri is gone.

#erase to control #jake the shelter guy #whump #traumatized whumpee #ptsd tw #i love Kauri lashing out #just love it honestly #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #recovering whumpee #escaped whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #angry whumpee

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snaillamp · 1 year

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Cranky Whumpee - Part 2

Caretaker helped Whumpee swivel so they were seated on the edge of the bed and moved their hair over their shoulder. They opened the nightstand drawer, grabbing gloves and sliding them on. Opening their box, they pulled out a sanitary sheet to set on the nightstand, arraigning their tools on top and then began examining the old dressings. They looked better, at least compared to the last dressings, not nearly as much leakage, but there was still a mix of large green, yellow, red and brown stains all over them. Pulling out another sheet to protect the mattress from any spills, they got to work peeling off the dressings, cleaning and redressing the wounds.

Whumpee shuddered every time the cold, saline soaked gauze touched their angry looking wounds. Caretaker sighed as they thought about what Whumpee had been through. Whumper had tortured them, leaving them with injuries all over their back, infected and painful, but Whumpee hadn’t told Caretaker much else. Whumpee hissed in pain as Caretaker accidently poked a wound with their tweezers. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I just zoned out.” Caretaker was mentally kicking themselves, they shouldn’t have been so lost in thought. “Well pay better attention then.” Whumpee snapped. Caretaker felt their face flush with guilt, as they continued their cleaning. They had moved through each wound, saving the biggest and worst till last. This one they had to really focus on.

Peeling it slowly off Whumpee’s right shoulder blade, trying hard not to pull the skin too much, they worked their way down to Whumpee’s mid-back. Whumpee tensed in pain at a few points, and Caretaker would stop, mumble a “Sorry.” and keep peeling. Eventually they got it off and let it drop into the bin by the side of the bed with a heavy thud. “I have to check this one for a minute, ok?” They checked with Whumpee, who was hunched over a little, with gritted teeth. “Just hurry up.” They growled. Caretaker smiled sympathetically, they completely understood why Whumpee was in such a bad mood. They were in so much pain and had hardly been able to sleep. That, and they hated their wound dressings being changed, especially when they get accidentally jabbed by tweezers.

A small, pained moan escaped when Caretaker rested their hands on the wound to check it. It felt quite hot, and made Caretaker frown. “Did that hurt?” They asked tentatively. “Yeah, no shit it hurt.” Whumpee turned to glare coldly at Caretaker. They knew what was coming next. Caretaker felt a pang off guilt, but brushed it off, focusing on cleaning the wound. They gently applied medicated cream into it, which apparently stung as Whumpee jolted away from Caretaker when the cream touched the raw wound. The cream seemed to have been helping though, but not as fast as Caretaker would like. Finishing up, they gently applied a new dressing and collected all their things, binning them.

“You still want the massage?” They asked, unsure as Whumpee, who was hunched over more, refused to look at them. “Give it a minute.” Whumpee‘s reply was strained as they let out a shaky breath. They sat in tense silence together for a moment, before Whumpee straighted up and gingerly pulled their hair back over their shoulder, exhaling sharply. “Ok.”

Caretaker gently rested their hands on each shoulder, but quickly removed them when Whumpee winced. “Cold.” Whumpee groaned. Caretaker rested their hands on their own face, and realised their hands were cold. Rubbing them together, they warmed them up a little and tried again. Gently, they began very softly massaging small circles into Whumpee’s shoulders, moving towards their neck, then down their back. Sometimes Whumpee gasp in pain and Caretaker would move to a different spot. They worked their way around the dressings, watching as Whumpee relaxed, the tension slowly leaving their back.

When they were done, Whumpee let out a sigh. “I needed that.” They turned to look at Caretaker, sheepish, “Thanks, seriously. I know I haven’t been the easiest to be around lately, but I really do appreciate you looking after me. And… I’m sorry about before. I shouldn’t have been so rude… you’re only trying to help.” They looked away guiltily as Caretaker smiled and gently wrapped them in a hug.

Whumpee, surprised at the sudden display of affection, awkwardly wrapped their arms around Caretaker. “It’s fine, I get it. I’d be the same in your position.” Caretaker reassured Whumpee, who shook their head. “No, it’s not. I shouldn’t be treating you like that. Eugh, I just haven’t been myself lately.” They pulled out of the hug and leaned back a little. Caretaker brushed some hair out of Whumpee’s face, “Well, that’s understandable. Get some rest, I’ll be back with some food in a while.”

Caretaker helped Whumpee shift back onto the bed properly, and watched them as they relaxed against the mattress. They let out a contented hum and settled down, their eyes drifting shut. “Sleep well Whumpee.” Caretaker whispered, going to draw the curtains closed. “Nah… leave ‘em open.” Whumpee mumbled, “The light is nice.”

part 1

#whump #whumpee #soft caretaker #angsty whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #angry whumpee

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