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shes-some-other-where · 14 days

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Rain and Apple Blossoms

Contains: prison, prison camp, forced labour, abuse of power / full list at the bottom of this post

(in progress)

A nameless convict suffers in a prison camp, sentenced to years of hard labour for his crime. There, he is tormented by cruel guards and an even crueller chief overseer who seems to enjoy humiliating him. Eventually, he escapes, and he finds himself cared for by a kind stranger who is on her own journey of grief and self-discovery. With soldiers still hunting for the fugitive, every moment he spends in his unlikely caretaker's company is a risk to them both.

Heavier on whump than plot. Heavier on hurt than comfort. But it's all there.

Full list of CWs at the bottom of this post.

Written for The Merry Whump of May 2024. All drabbles, exactly 100 words. All connected, but many can be read as standalone pieces. However, if you want to read it as a full "narrative," the suggested reading order is below.

Suggested Reading Order

Find the list of prompts in event order here.

🌫️ The Camp

Day 9 - “You’re nothing.”

Day 27 - C for “convict”

Day 8 - A proud, arrogant fool.

Day 2 - Snake venom and molten sand

Day 2 - “Don’t you dare.”

Day 7 - “Forget about them.”

Day 10 - “I don’t have regrets.”

Day 11 - “Pretty little thing.”

Day 12 - “Let me hear you.”

Day 3 - “See what happens.”

Day 14 - “We just want you.”

Day 16 - “Let me get this straight.”

Day 16 - “Say aah.”

Day 16 - “Naïve fool.”

Day 1 - “Get back in there.”

Day 28 - “Water?”

Day 14/23 - “I’m getting out.”

Day 5 - “Put that down.”

Day 6 - “You thought you could get away with this?”

Day 13 - “Tell me how it feels.”

Day 8 - “I’m fine.”

🌫️ The Escape

Day 13 - Leave no trail.

Day 7 - The world beyond

Day 6 - A sombre dawn

Day 15 - A fool, a dead man

🌫️ The Cellar

Day 4 - “Who are you?”

Day 15 - “Let me help you.”

Day 17 - “Wait, are you afraid of me?”

Day 24 - “Lean on me.”

Day 23 - “Close your eyes.”

Day 27 - “You’re trembling.”

Day 12 - “I’m dangerous.”

Day 17 - “You’re not a prisoner here.”

Alt Prompt - “No one knows you're here.”

Day 15 - “I can’t stay.”

Day 25 - “You’re leaving, then.”

Day 24 - “Just forget about me.”

Day 30 - “I think you might be a good man.”

Day 29 - “Just another few days.”

Day 15 - “He was a good man.”

Day 20 - “Are you alone here?”

Day 13 - “I just wish I could repay you.”

Day 28 - “Smile.”

Day 2 - “What are you doing in my house?”

Day 1 - “What were you thinking?”

Day 18 - “Why do you love him?”

Day 11 - “I don’t suppose my grief will ever truly numb.”

Day 6 - “He would never hurt me.”

Day 25 - “I've always loved the rain.”

🌫️ The Recapture

Day 18 - “Take me.”

Day 19 - “Rot in hell.”

Day 20 - “Don’t tell me you forgot about me.”

Day 22 - “It’s been too long.”

Day 22 - “You’ll wish for death.”

Day 31 - “Enjoy your last night here.”

Day 31 - “Now you’re a broken man.”

Day 28 - “Smile.”

🌫️ The Pits

Day 29 - “Chin up.”

Day 26 - “Get in.”

Day 21 - “Sit.”

Day 30 - “Did you have a nightmare?”

Day 25 - “I'll always love the rain.”

Full List of Content Warnings

pain, angst, prison, prison camp, labour camp, forced labour, chains, blood, restraints, cruel law enforcement, branding, taunting, humiliation, physical violence, beatings, very brief minor whump, whipping/flogging, gag/muzzle, exhaustion, thirst/dehydration, mine collapse, minor character death, death mention, failed escape, torture, barbed wire, exposure, guilt, fear, grief, loneliness, prospect of a loveless marriage, betrayal, recapture

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bloodybloody · 2 months

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Do I look like a mad scientist now?

You're lying on the floor now; your ribcage is slightly opened, and blood has dripped and stained your skin.

You flinched uncontrollably as she stuck her fingers inside your wound and breathed against it rapidly. She first made you sick, and she licked your wound like a wild animal. She used you for her animal thirst.

She leaned back and caressed your fading body. She drew hearts with your blood to make you look more alive, and then she kissed each of them.

She pulled away the hair that fell on her face with her palms and cleared her sight. She looked at you in the eyes and stared at you for a quick second.

Then she messed up her hair much more; the blood in her hands penetrated her hair and made them pile together.

She shook her hair as she giggled, then stroked a pose and said, "Do I look like a mad scientist now?".

Her floral smell was blended with the smell of iron, and every hair shake made you remember the playground. You remembered your bleeding knees, the children's laughter, and the bittersweet smell of dandelions.

#whump #whump community #whump prompt #whump writing #whumpee #whump tropes #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #light gore #limp #fiona apple

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whumpacabra · 7 months

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There’s a post going around recently about how the whump community tags for disabled characters and I…have to disagree with its main point.

Simply tagging a post with ‘disabled whumpee’ does not give me enough information to know if a fic will be validating or triggering for me. I need more specific tags to filter out my squicks and triggers, and to identify posts of interest. Specific tags are the keystone of a community that specifically talks about potentially triggering or upsetting content.

For example, I like reading stories with characters that use prostheses and mobility aids. I find these stories relatable and validating as someone with both! But should those posts simply be tagged ‘disabled whumpee’ because it might conflict with the other users of the mobility aids and prostheses tags? I can only find out the nature of the whumpee’s disability by reading, and a negative outcome can at best turn out to be a waste of time or at worst deeply upsetting.

Cancer is a difficult topic for me given my past and current experiences with it. I have the cancer tag and a dozen variants of it blocked. Of course, people on tumblr with cancer or talking about their experiences with it use that tag to talk about it. If someone is writing about a character who has or had cancer, but only tags for ‘disabled whumpee’ I won’t know that I’m getting into a story that will cause me great distress.

I’m disabled. I have severe nerve damage, limited mobility, chronic pain, a plethora of other medical bullshit, and my condition is progressive. Whump is part of how I’ve been learning to deal with and process my struggles, and part of that involves writing and reading about disability in whump.

Do I just block all ‘disabled whumpee’ content and never know if I’m clicking on a story I’ll find relatable and validating or if I’m clicking on a story that will upset me so badly I won’t use tumblr for a few days? No - I block specific tags and specific blogs as necessary. The idea that we should stop using specific tags, when writing about a specific condition or disease, to put everything under one vague blanket is naive at best and dangerous at worst.

I understand the frustration of seeing posts you don’t want to see in a specific tag (the number of x reader headcanon blogs for fandoms I’ve never heard of that I’ve had to block when trying to browse is ridiculous). But at the end of the day if those posts are tagged appropriately (ie. not crosstagged spam in violation of the TOS) you just do what you always do for something you don’t want to see on this site: blacklist, block, and move on.

#whump #whump community #tagging etiquette #beans speaks #it’s fine if you disagree/are changing how you tag your disabled whumpee writing but I’m not so please feel free to block me (genuine)#if you see me in a specific tag you don’t want to see whump writing in #I understand where that post is coming from but also. is we stop tagging specific tags. how the fuck am I supposed to avoid my triggers???#I just don’t understand tumblr’s block and blacklist options are wayyy more effective than they’ve ever been.#and I don’t see how tagging a post that contains the depiction of apples would be clogging the apple tag? it’s an appropriate use of the tag #do I want to see posts about the fictional mlp character applejack when browsing the apple tag? probably not.#but I understand why the tag search included those posts and why the poster tagged the post with such. I block them and move on.#my blood sugar is low sorry if this is rambly and incoherent and. I don’t know stupid or insensitive?#disabled people are not a monolith we all have different opinions and preferences for how we interact with the topic of our disabilities #and removing specificity for the sake of…inconvenience just seems silly #sorry I haven’t read that post in a few days I might sound like a complete asshole in which case idk send gore and death threats I guess #I haven’t done tumblr discourse since 2015. do people still send KYS or is it all kungpowpenis these days?

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whumperer-86 · 2 years

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Alchemy of souls korean drama episode 02

The male lead got poisoned by the female lead and he was going to die in six hours unless someone opens his energy gate ,, his master did it for him and he survived barely

it was all whump scene and I think it will have many more to come

#korean drama #jay wook #Alchemy of souls #whump #whumper #emotional whump #drama #bromance #asian whumper #asian whump #whump tropes #whumpee #choked #choked out #tortured #unconscious #poisoned apple #poisoned #hurt male lead

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roccinan · 2 years

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“Blood? Oh, it’s not mine.” or “I’m good, I promise.” 👀👀

I decided to do both ;)

Injury and Illness Denial Prompts

Sergio lay awake, listening to the walls rattle and the drunken rambles of whoever stayed in the next room over. He flipped on his side, pyjamas stiff, the blanket too scratchy above his head. There was a musty smell to the bed he didn’t like, and a heater that he doubted could work. But he supposed it didn’t matter in the summer weather. And Andrés told him that they wouldn’t stay here for long.

It was better, he admitted, than the stuffy cab they’d sheltered in for the past two days, most of it spent playing the radio while Andrés rolled the windows down. Then the car broke down, and here they were. Andrés told him not to be too concerned because the taxi was never theirs anyway.

“Get cleaned up,” his brother had said, pulling Sergio’s suitcase out of the trunk, “have a nice long nap and we’ll be in sweet Paris soon enough.”

Andrés claimed to know a woman in Paris. Then the destination had changed to Brussels, and then bizarrely enough, St. Petersburg. Sergio was quite certain Andrés had no idea where they were going or how they were going to get there. And always, it was with the promise of lavish dinners and golden lights. (They shared a bowl of leftover gazpacho that night, under the shine of flickering neon from the tacky storefront across the street because the electricity had shot out in the little motel.)

Still, it was better than the hospital. His lungs worked and he wasn’t so weak he couldn’t take care of himself. Sergio curled his legs in, tighter into a ball. It was a trick Papa taught him, meant to calm his nerves. The night was dragging on, his stomach was since empty, and Andrés still had not returned.

His mind was already jumping places- go to the front desk, tell them your brother disappeared, your parents are dead, you have nowhere to go- and he hated himself immediately. Andrés was coming back. And he was going to take Sergio with him to Paris, or wherever else, once he had the means.

The door unlocked. Alert, Sergio lifted his head, the rest of his frame following as a figure stepped in. Andrés, heaving for breath, and smearing something along the inside of his jacket, a piece of brown leather that once belonged to a friend Sergio never knew.

“Andrés?”

But Andrés didn’t answer. He shuffled to the bathroom instead, steadying himself along the way, as if oblivious to Sergio’s presence.

Sergio pushed the blanket aside. He replaced his glasses, and swiftly, grabbed the box of matches Andrés left behind. He lit the candle (a cheap birthday decoration the front desk had given them when Andrés complained about the lights), and held it out.

There was something on the wall. He approached, swallowing as it made itself clear: blood, spread out in the shape of a hand. Smearing into the bathroom.

“Andrés,” he said again, meeker than he wanted, “are you okay?”

He backed up, startled by his brother appearing then. Andrés was in front of the candle, his lips pale, sweat clinging to the top of his brow, the collar of his shirt thoroughly ruffled. A faint bruise at the end of his eye. He smiled, sharp enough to make Sergio shudder.

“You missed me, hermanito?”

Sergio’s eyes wandered to Andrés’ waist, one of his hands still hidden under the jacket. “You were gone for a while, I thought-”

“You’re a big boy. You can sleep without me for one night.”

“That’s not-”

A sweaty palm ruffled his hair, Andrés chuckling like a tumbleweed. “I came back, didn’t I? As if I’d let my little professor spend the night alone.”

Andrés removed his hand, and again ignoring Sergio, moved to the chair in the corner. He fell into it with uncharacteristic clumsiness, and drew the jacket tighter around his sides. Sergio stayed standing, looking between Andrés and the bathroom. And the blood on the wall.

“Andrés, you’re bleeding.”

Without sparing him a glance, Andrés pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket. Wrinkled, crumbly, and stained with cherry red. “Hm?”

“There’s blood on you.”

“Blood?” Andrés blinked, as if now noticing the stains around him. “Oh, it’s not mine.”

Sergio did not find that any more comforting. He walked up to him, sticking a hand over Andrés’ forehead. “You’re sick.”

“I’m fine.” Andrés swatted him away. “Go back to bed, hermanito- we’re going to Barcelona tomorrow.”

It was supposed to be Paris.

Sergio wanted to say no. He wanted to drag Andrés over to bed and ask him where he was hurt. He wanted to tell Andrés, “you always do this.” He wanted to yell at him, stomp his feet, and say he never asked for any of this. But as always, Sergio nodded and climbed back into bed.

He shut his eyes but he didn’t sleep. Until he did.

In the morning, Sergio glimpsed a sewing needle in the trash, smelling of iron and wrapped in toilet paper stained with dried blood. The end of a thread still clung to it, the strand still fresh with red.

---BONUS---

“I’m good, I promise.”

Martín was still saying something on the other end, but Andrés chose then to end the call. He pocketed the phone, a flip burner that would soon be out of battery anyway. Maybe the divorce had gotten to his mind, or perhaps it was one cocktail too many, but- as the rest of his companions insinuated- he had hardly been in his right mind. The robbery had ended in disaster, their muscle arrested, and a fingerprint left at the scene.

He’d flown too high, like Icarus upon the sun. And now he was trudging through backlit streets, clutching broken ribs in place and trying to ignore the bullet in his arm. The worst part was the mud on his shoes, designer leather that he would never clean out at this rate. He supposed the second worst part was Martín lecturing him in a tone irritatingly similar to Sergio’s on his most pedantic days, the two of them for once not on the exact same wave of thought.

“You could have gotten all of us killed, or thrown behind bars. We talked about this, Andrés- I mapped out everything for you-”

“But I didn’t get anyone killed, did I? If you’ll recall, I was the only casualty.”

“La concha de tu madre! You could have gotten yourself killed and where would that leave the rest of us? What the fuck, Andrés-”

“And here I thought you thrived on spontaneity. Or was that just an act?”

“You know what was an act? Whatever the fuck you were doing today-”

And so on. Until Martín’s rant circled back to the state of his battered body and whether or not he could make it back to the safehouse on his own. I’m good, I promise. It was true enough. It wasn’t a lie. He could walk. He could breathe. Perfectly cognizant of his surroundings. (And he’d been humiliated enough in one day as it was; he was not going to let Martín pull him over like some kind of injured dog on the road. Andrés was more than happy to rescue, he was not going to be rescued.)

He was about to turn out of the alley when a grip closed around his torn arm, the pressure producing a cry in spite of himself. It pulled him back into the dark, and then his back slammed into bricks, head cracking against the wall in a flurry of red.

“Hijo de puta,” a heated voice huffed, “don’t go to sleep-”

An arm pushed over his chest, pressuring the broken ribcage with such malice his breath cut short.

“You left me to die,” the voice hissed, “piece of shit-”

Andrés managed to spit a chuckle into the bastard’s face. “You knew what you were getting into, my dear friend. Nothing stipulated that we had to babysit you.”

The pressure grew, practically pushing his ribs into the wall behind.

“-So you only have yourself to blame,” Andrés wheezed.

His companion evidently took offense to the answer, because he was met with a punch to the nose, cartilage splitting under an angry knuckle. The next blow met his cheekbone before cracking over his mouth. He tasted mouthfuls of blood, head absently spinning side to side as the punches continued.

The bastard’s other hand kept him from slumping forward, kept pinned to the wall. Andrés stared at the blood on his collar, quite aware of the rouge still trailing from his nose and coloring his jaw. His vision blurred again when another fist struck him in the gut.

This time, he did slump, unceremoniously buckling into his associate’s arms. And judging from the fingers digging into the bullet wound, the son of a bitch had no desire to let him go any time soon. He hit the wall again, bricks scraping his face as the bastard folded his arms behind his back, a burning grip on the injury. Hot blood leaked out.

“By the time I’m done, you’ll wish you were dead,” was the ensuing threat, followed by elbows digging to his shoulders, shoving him flat.

He stifled a moan, shattered ribs grinding under the weight of it all. And still, he heard himself grit out, “I look forward to it.”

He very much did not.

(Andrés was somewhat sure he was more broken bones than man by the time the inconvenience had passed. Uncertain which parts of him still worked and which were now shreds. Each breath shot a needle into his lungs. The less said about the blood soaking his limbs, the better. Crawling, let alone walking, was currently too daunting a task, and he’d forgotten the taste of anything except iron. But when Martín called again, he still picked up- on twisted fingers- and said, “I’m good, I promise.”)

#a. for apple #applpapel #thanks for the prompts and hope you enjoyed these!#with you there's no question of who the whumpee for these needed to be LOL #drabble #injury denial prompts

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whumpdaydreamerx · 3 months

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Whumper forcing Whumpee to swallow something, whether it be a sedative, poison, maybe even the key to their own chains.

Whumper’s hand covering their mouth so they can’t spit it back out. Whumpee’s half lidded eyes pleading with Whumper as they maintain eye contact. Throat taut and Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as they struggle.

Clamping their eyes shut as they finally give in and whatever it is makes its way down to their stomach.

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cowboy-anon · 2 years

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CW: Cutting, implied neglect, self harm, knife mention, Stockholm Syndrome, pet whump, wound reveal

Thinking about how instead of a collar, Apple probably marked himself with Clay’s name on his body. He could’ve used a marker, but I like to imagine he wanted something more permanent. He uses a knife.

And he does it in the bathroom mirror, but maybe doing it that way, it ends up being cut into him backwards. At the very least, he can see it right when he looks in the mirror. A mark. Proof he’s Clay’s. Maybe he cuts it into his arm or his tummy. Or maybe, for the fun of it, he makes some shallow cuts on his collarbone or throat. It hurts, sure, but they’ll be more visible for sure. Bonus points if Benji is helping Apple with his wounds one night, and they peel off that gross bad bandaging and they see it… Something Apple did to himself, on purpose. Something permanent. Proof he’s Clay’s… even though Clay doesn’t even want him.

#just some thoughts 👀👀👀👀#apple the whumpee #benji the whumpee #clay the whumper #bonus bonus points if jimmy also sees them 👀👀#canon? ……canon lol #i do like a collarbone wound 👀👀#rambling?#but like kinda relevant rambling #pet whump #whump #whump writing #my whump writing #neglect tw #stockholm syndrome tw #cutting tw #self harm tw #knife tw #wound reveal tw

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whump-blog · 10 months

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Whump Art 10

Caretaker feeding pieces of apple to an injured tiny Whumpee.

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delicatewhumps · 4 days

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caretaker feeding whumpee.

spooning broth into whumpee’s mouth when whumpee is too weak to do it themselves.

bringing apple slices or bits of bread up so sick whumpee can take small bites.

cooking meals and bringing them to bedbound whumpee’s bedside.

holding a glass of water to whumpee’s lips and helping whumpee sip it little by little because their hands are too shaky.

helping whumpee eat forkfuls of dinner because whumpee has broken arms or a shoulder injury and can no longer lift their hands that high.

gently wiping whumpee’s face with a warm cloth to clean up any mess. shutting down the weak “no, i don’t want to be a burden” protests. putting away dishes and sitting back at whumpee’s side to assure them they’re not alone.

#whump #whumpblr #whumplr #mine #whump prompt #whump trope #whump prompts

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a-living-canvas · 1 month

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Routine

It's late afternoon. Whumper wandered around the mall, grabbed this and that; filling their cart with groceries. Thinking about Whumpee at home too, and what they should cook for dinner. Truly a busy person. Whumper got in line to pay for their things. Scanning all the people inside the mall. Hm, not interesting enough for their liking. Maybe they should stop doing whatever they were doing before—

Oh. A Chinese girl, with her mom. Short hair, innocent face, and a loose…shirt. Her collarbone…she looks vulnerable. Her shoulders must look pretty too…

Okay, stop staring you creep! But maybe, just a little more. It wouldn't hurt.

Aww, she's helping her mother. How kind. The desire to pinch her cheeks…maybe to take care of her too. To make her as vulnerable as she can be.

Put her in a dress where her shoulders and collarbone and thighs could be exposed. But just that, I'm not interested in other things. Maybe place her on my lap, patting her thighs and playing with her hair. Would she mind?

Would I prefer her to be silent or giggle during that? It's between that. I want her to stay still like a doll, but at the same time I want her to be alive. Okay, since when have I had these weird thoughts??

Ah, okay, she's leaving. Bye-bye sweetheart.

Whumper placed their groceries on the counter. Waiting for the cashier to scan and tell them the price. They flashed a warm smile too, just to be friendly with people. And not just some cold blooded monster who torture someone everyday and night.

Whumper walked out of the mall. They made their way to the bus station. It's not like they didn't have a car or something, they just wanted to observe people around them. They sat on the bench, waiting for the bus. There's a young man beside them. Whumper glanced at them before they froze.

Probably in his 20s, brown hair, pointed nose. Short navy pants and a white shirt. And ah, his Adam's…apple. It looks enchanting. Unguarded…exposed…perfect to be licked. Or bite, so so hard until it crush. How would he scream then? What sounds would come out from that pretty mouth?

And the blood. It would slide down across his torso. Soaking his white shirt. What a sight to behold. And oh God, his veins. Spreading from his wrists to his elbows, like tree roots. If only I could—

Oh man, he's leaving! Not fair…

The bus arrived and Whumper waited for the others to get in first. They sat on the last row of the seats. Before the bus could start moving again, someone entered in a rush. Another young man, black hair, white skin. He was shirtless, sweat trickling down his skin. Probably back from the gym. There's no seats left in the bus so he just stood in the middle, fingers gripping hard on the bus holder.

Pretty. Why is he so pretty? The way he's panting. The freckles on his face…it's aching to be poked with a needle. His necklace, how it would be more beautiful with a large collar. And those pretty lips, begging to be kissed and bit.

Whumper gripped the palm of their hands tightly. They needed to calm down. They have Whumpee at home. Gotta be loyal to them.

Calm down, calm down, calm—

Did he just wink at me?! Okay, you've got this. Just smirk back at him. Act cool.

Good.

Maybe he noticed someone's staring at him. Ah, pretty face, let me stare at you longer. Let me imagine how nice it would feel to grab your hair and yank it harshly. Or how you would scream, the sounds of your pleadings, I want to relish it all.

I want to brand your soft skin, playing with your muscles, seeing them tense up at the mere touch of my hands.

The bus stopped and Whumper watched the young man get off the bus. They squealed silently inside when he waved them goodbye as the bus started moving again.

Whumper arrived at their house. Unlocking the door before they passed through the living room to the kitchen. They placed the groceries bag on the table before they got ready to cook for dinner.

"Shh…" Whumper said without looking up at the person who was tied up and gagged on the chair. His quiet whimpers filled up the room. Tears trickled down his face as he watched Whumper with a knife on their hand, cutting down the onions and vegetables.

If only he didn't wink at them.

#whump community #whump writing #intimate whumper #intimate/creepy whumper #whumplr #whump ideas

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whumpyourdamnpears · 2 months

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Fruit of the Wicked: Chapter 1

CW: lady whump, male whumper/female whumpee, poc whump (whumpee is a Black woman), age gap whump (whumper is an older man), religious whump, implied drugging, use of restraints

A huge shoutout to Marz, Gen, and Beck for beta reading this first chapter

Word Count: 2,229 || Next

When Dani woke up, she knew something was wrong.

It didn’t occur to her while she still floated in a black haze from last night. It didn’t even occur to her as the bright, offensive sunlight struck her face, pulling her from sleep. All of those things could be explained away as ordinary occurrences, the result of a long night’s rest. However, what could not be explained was the hardwood floor that rested against Dani’s cheek.

Her apartment didn’t have hardwood floors.

She awoke slowly, despite her panic. She still felt submerged in a sea of tar, and she knew that something was wrong about that, too. She was sure she hadn’t had anything to drink last night, and she hadn’t worked a long enough shift to be this tired. She couldn’t remember going to bed last night. She couldn’t even remember stepping foot in her apartment. Even if she had, she clearly wasn’t there now. When her eyes finally peeled open, she begun to see a room she didn’t recognize, and the shape of someone seated in a worn leather arm chair across from her.

She wasn’t in her apartment, and she wasn’t alone.

She tried to move, despite how heavy her limbs felt, and felt resistance as her legs attempted to kick out. She looked down at them and saw a metal cuff clamped around one of her ankles, its chain snaking down and looped to a matching, rusted ring in the floor. She stared at it, the pieces slowly coming together in her muddied mind. She was chained to the floor in a room she didn’t recognize with a person she didn’t know sitting across from her. It felt so surreal. She gave her ankle a little shake, just to be sure.

“Well, look who’s finally awake.” A voice rang through the air.

Dani knew that voice.

She remembered when she’d first heard it at the diner, its southern drawl different from the way her regulars usually spoke. He was from out-of-town, there for one reason or another, whatever reasons brought a man like him to a small town like theirs. Maybe that knowledge, the thought that she’d never have to see him again, made her particularly brave that day. To do what she had done to him.

Look how much good it’d done her now.

As she squinted her eyes to make him out through the shroud of sunlight surrounding him, she could tell that not much about him had changed. He still had that sandy blond hair, perhaps streaked with more gray than the last time they’d spoken. His square jawline was now covered in stubble. The harsh sunlight deepened the lines on his face, especially as it shifted into a grin.

The man stood, faintly groaning as his knees snapped into place, and made his way over to her, then bending into a crouch. He was so much closer to her now. Dani wanted to crawl away, far from the appraising gaze of his piercing blue eyes, but her limbs simply would not cooperate.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last spoken, hasn’t it?”

Whatever strength Dani still had went into kicking her leg out towards him. The chain pulled and stopped her short. He sighed as her foot lightly made contact with his work boots. “We’ll work on that.”

She could make out so much more of him now that he was closer. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed as his eyes made their way up and down her body. She wanted to kick him again. As if reading her thoughts, the man leaned back, out of her reach. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he chided. “I don’t think you’ll like what happens if you do.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Dani croaked, her tongue heavy.

He gave her a small smile. “Do you remember me, darlin’? What happened the last time we spoke?”

Of course she did. She almost lost her damn job over it. “I’ve got some sort of notion,” she growled, attempting to push herself away from him. It was a clumsy ordeal, but she managed.

He laughed. “I’m sure you do. I can’t imagine that went over well with your boss. Tell me, how close was he to firing you after what you’d done?”

She steeled her jaw.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, darlin’. Let’s be civil about this. I just want to have a conversation with you.”

“Maybe I’ll consider it,” Dani said, attempting to ignore the way her head swam as she pulled herself into a sitting position. “Once I’m not chained to the floor.”

The man shook his head. “No, not yet. You haven’t earned it.”

Earned it? “Then I’m not interested in speaking to you.”

He sighed again, fiddling with the pocket of his jeans. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll realize that talking to me is a lot better alternative to what else I could be doing to you right now.”

“Like what?”

He chuckled. “Would you really like to find that out?”

No, she didn’t. But she wasn’t going to be the one to admit it.

The man pulled a wrapped up piece of thick leather from his pocket. “Do you know what this is, darlin’?” He asked, wrapping the leather around his hand. “It’s a whip switch. Now, I’m not opposed to using it on you if that’s what you really want, but I’m sure you’d prefer talking to me instead. Wouldn’t you?”

All Dani could do was nod.

“What do you mean about having to earn it?” She asked, voice wavering.

The man hummed, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I have plans for us, darlin’. Plans you aren’t gonna like. But that’s okay. You don’t gotta like them. You just have to go along with them, save yourself some trouble that way.”

“Like what?” She spat out, frustrated.

He stood up, groaning as he straightened his legs. “Now, it wouldn’t be any fun if I told you from the jump, would it?” He began to pace the room, a study of some kind. Dani could feel the wall to wall bookshelves pressed against her back. Could see the leather arm chair in the opposite corner of the room, with the side table and lamp next to it. It would’ve been charming, had Dani not been chained to the floor. “I’d say we’ll start off slow, but that wouldn’t quite be true. I like to get the dirty work out of the way first, makes it easier down the line.”

“You say that like you’ve done this before.”

He looked at her, amused. “What makes you think I haven’t?” He gestured down to the metal ring. “That’s not new, you know. It’s seen plenty of girls before it’s seen you.”

Dani’s stomach curled in on itself.

“I think we should establish some ground rules first. How does that sound?”

“Fuck you.”

The man cleared his throat. “So, rule one: you’re gonna do what I say, when I say it. No, don’t look at me like that—you’re gonna want to follow this rule. Because if you follow it, you’re gonna save us both a lot of time and energy avoiding some of the punishments that’ll happen if you don’t. Do you understand me?”

Dani bristled. “Like hell I will.”

“It’s non-negotiable. Break a rule, I break something of yours. It’s simple, really. Rule one won’t be as hard as you think it will. At least, not after a while, it won’t. You’ll catch on fast.” He fixed her with another look. “Rule two will be harder for you. You’re gonna have to watch your mouth.”

“This is bullshit,” Dani muttered to herself.

“Ah, ah. We’ve barely even gone 0ver the rules and you’re already starting to break them. Would you really prefer to have this conversation end in a punishment?” Dani shook her head. “Then watch your mouth.”

Dani looked around the room for something, anything, that she could reach. She had the books behind her, but they wouldn’t do much, not against him. You couldn’t pick a lock with a book, either. And she wouldn’t be getting very far with that damn cuff on her ankle.

“Rule three: you won’t, under any circumstance, leave this cabin without a chaperone. That will most likely be me. There are gonna be some pretty damning consequences if you do, and, quite frankly, I don’t feel like chasing you down to see where you’ve ended up.”

“How the hell am I gonna leave the cabin if I’m chained to the floor, genius?” Dani asked, chain rattling as she shook her ankle.

The man sighed. “You really are a bad listener, aren’t you? You’ll lose the chain when you’ve earned it. Which means following the rules. Which you are currently doing a piss poor job at.” He got closer to her. Dani tried to push herself into the shelf behind her, but there was nowhere left to go. “Do you know why I’m doing this? Why I’ve gone to all the trouble of doing this instead of just killing you?”

“I’m gonna guess it’s because you get off on it.”

She hoped she sounded braver than she felt.

He just shook his head. “It’s because I think you and I’ve got some unfinished business to attend to. And killing you just ain’t gonna cut it.”

Dani straightened up. “And what happens if I keep breaking the rules?” She asked. “Will you get sick of me and get it over with?”

“No,” He said slowly. “But you’re gonna wish I had.”

“Oh my God,” Dani groaned. “You’re insane.”

His eyebrows rose. “Is that right.” Dani could tell his patience for her antics was dwindling. His finger tapped against his crossed arms impatiently. “Well, I think I’ve had enough of this for the day. We’ll get started on our lessons together tomorrow.”

“Lessons?”

He ignored her and started for the glass paned double doors on the other side of her.

A thought came to Dani. “Wait,” she called out. The man turned back to her, eyebrows raised. “Do you think you’ll do it?”

He sighed, exasperated. “Do what, darlin’.”

“Whatever it is you plan on doing with me. Do you think you’ll do it?”

The man gave her a small smile. “I sure hope so.”

As he went to leave again, Dani piped up, saying, “I really need to use the rest room.”

The man stopped.

“Can I—” Dani sighed, frustrated. “Can I go to the bathroom, please?”

He considered it. “It’d probably be best to get that bit of business over with, wouldn’t it.” He made his way back over to her.

“Good to know you’re not into that as well,” Dani murmured as he began to mess with the cuff around her ankle. He yanked on her ankle as he gave her a dirty look. “Jesus, sorry.”

The man pulled at his collar, producing a necklace with a key hanging from it that he then pulled over his head and held in his hand. Dani watched reverently, noticing how the dull metal rubbed against his fingers as he brought the key to the cuff and turned it into the lock. She yanked her ankle out of the cuff as soon as the lock popped open, leaning down to rub circles into the tender skin. He didn’t wait for her to finish, instead pulling Dani up by the arm to stand.

Walking her to the door, he turned to her and said, “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she grumbled back.

They were instantly met with the back of a sofa once they stepped out of the study, into a room with both a living area and a dated kitchen. Dani glanced past the red knitted blanket hanging from the arm of the sofa and the end table to stare at the wooden door from across the room, sunlight peeking through the window in it. An exit. As they walked past the kitchen down to the hall, she saw a figure standing by the sink, who turned to look back at her.

Another girl.

She was young, younger than Dani was, but taller, too. Long, blonde hair hung down her shoulders, running down in rivulets that reached past her elbows. Her height had left her willowy, limbs slim enough to snap at the slightest bit of pressure. She pulled down the rolled up sleeves of her blue sweater and worried the loose threads as she stared back.

The man quickly ushered her along, not giving her any more time to watch as the other girl stared right back at her. “Who is that?” Dani asked, craning her neck to get another look.

“She’s none of your concern,” was all the man said back, pulling the second door down the hallway open to reveal a modest bathroom, tightly squeezed with older fixtures. “Make it fast, I don’t have all day.”

Dani nodded, turning to enter the room.

Then, she turned back around and swung her fist right at his jaw.

It connected with a crack, sending him careening towards the wall, gripping his face and groaning. Dani could hear a gasp from across the cabin. She didn’t waste a moment. She wrenched her arm away and backed out of his grasp.

And then, she started to run.

Tag List: @flowersarefreetherapy, @generic-whumperz, @heartinthehospital, @another-whump-sideblog

#whump #whumplr #intimate whumper #defiant whumpee #religious whump #fruit of the wicked

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emmettland · 17 days

Text

I. No Evil II. The Blood and the Body III. He Is Inside You IV. The Original Sin

Image descriptions are under the cut.

my art x my whump x evil church au x ko-fi all ocs in the images above use he/him.

There are four images total, each one utilizing stark contrasts between black backgrounds and other colors, most notably red, yellow, green, and white.

ID (1): A profile view of Logan from the Evil Church AU. He is facing towards our left with his eyes closed. A red circle is behind his head with eight yellow lines extending from the background to appear as if they are piercing him in his head, forehead, eyes, mouth, chin, clavicle, breasts, and lower ribs. The right side of his body is outlined in red, the left side in yellow. He is wearing a simple black shirt with puffy sleeves. The image cuts off at his waist and has a black background to create contrast with the reds and yellows.

ID (2): A slightly abstract image depicting David facing the viewer and holding what appears to be his son. Logan has no visible features; he is represented by a solid black veil with no folds and his black habit extending down to the bottom of the image. His left arm is a bloody stump; his right arm is grasping David's arm. David is leaning over his son and looking at the viewer with a cold expression. There is bright red blood smeared all over his lips, the same color as the blood on Logan's arm stump. The only distinct features are in David's face and the gold decorations of his robes. His skin is white (just like Logan's) and his robes are pure white with no folds, cascading down the image in contrast to Logan's black habit and veil.

ID (3): Logan is laying on a thick red cross with a black background behind it. He has his right arm extended and is lifting his left leg slightly to make it look bent, while the right leg is straight. His habit is torn near his hips where there are two glowing white tentacles emerging from the crotch area. The rest of the tentacles are wrapped around his left leg, left arm, and covering his eyes. His lips are slightly parted.

ID (4): A solid black background with green grass and leaves in the foreground, and a branch hanging in the right corner of the picture. Logan is laying on his front in the grass, naked, with his head leaning towards a hand reaching out of the ground. The hand, which is in Derek's skin color, is holding a shiny red apple. Logan leans towards it with his tongue out and his eyes lidded, a slight pink blush on his cheeks. The leaves and grass are covering most of his body, so nothing explicit is showing. At the bottom of the image is a row of black upside down crosses.

Evil Church AU Taglist:

@skittles-the-whumpee @whumper-whimsy @sparrowsage

#whumplr #whump art #religious whump #emmett whumps #whump tag #emmett draws #emmett ocs #logan oc #david oc #derek oc #dergan (ship)#Evil Church AU #Evil Church AU (art)#ask to tag

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whump-place · 4 months

Note

A prompt for you!!

Whumpee after being rescued is scared to death of Caretaker, they just sit on their bed all day, believing they're locked like Whumper always left them locked in their room (though they're not). Caretaker sits with them and caresses their hair saying they care about Whumpee and are never gonna hurt them, but Whumpee is still scared because that's exactly what Whumper used to say after their torture sessions!

Poor Whumpee doesn't know how to act, they're so afraid </3

First of all, thank you so much! You are the first one to actually send me a prompt I hope you like it 😭

ontent: Whumpee thinks Caretaker is their new Whumper, self isolation, fear of punishment, past torture.

"Whumpee?" Someone was knocking at the door, Caretaker spoke, she sounded worried. "Are you there?"

What kind of question was that? Of course they were there, where else would they be? They wouldn't ever dream of escaping, they swear, they were good! They had to let Caretaker know that!

"Yes, ma'am. I'm here, this is where you left me, i didn't move, I promise." That was half true, Caretaker had left them on the bed, blankets covering their body, she had told them to rest and sleep and so they did. But in the morning they made the bed and sat on the edge, they didn't want to be punished for slacking.

"Oh, um. That's good? I guess." A small pause and then Caretaker spoke again. "Can I come in?"

Whumpee shoke their head. They don't want Caretaker near them, they just want to be left alone. But of course they didn't say that out loud, that would be suicidal.

"You can do as you please, ma'am." They answered instead. Their eyes were already tearing up, Whumper never visited them unless it was punishment day, and that hurts so much, please, they'll be good! They can be good, please!

The door slowly opened, Caretaker was right in front of them, holding a glass and an apple.

"Oh." That was all Caretaker said, her eyes wandering around the room, Whumpee made sure that it was spotless, was something wrong? "You...? Nevermind."

Caretaker set the glass and the apple on the nightstand, carefully taking a step back.

"Whumpee... can I speak to you for a second?"

"You can do as you please, ma'am" but please, don't hurt me. Not yet, please.

Caretaker frowned a bit, and Whumpee was sure that they already messed up, but instead of a beating, Caretaker said:

"Thank you"

Whumpee hadn't expected her to actually sit next to them, usually Whumper would 'talk' throwing things at Whumpee, yelling, sometimes they even kicked them, Whumper doesn't sit next to them, never.

"You see, Whumpee. I... Ahg. What am I doing?"

Caretaker didn't say another word, Whumpee realized that she wasn't good at showing her feelings through words, but through actions.

Her hand slowly caresses their hair, not saying a word.

"I know you are scared, but I promise that I will never hurt you. I... I don't really know what could I say to make you feel better, I'm sorry"

Those were really kind words, Whumpee must admit. But there was still something that made him shiver; Whumper used to do the same. Exactly the same.

Kind words, kind touch. Whumper liked to see their pet at his feet or with their head on their lap, begging for a gentle touch just before being...

Whumpee shut their eyes, leaning on the touch, they were so damn afraid.

#whump prompt #whump tropes #whump writing #whumpee #caretaker #pet whump #whumpee thinks caretaker is their new master #fear of punishment

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