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highwaywhump · 3 months

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Febuwhump day 2

soo... probably (definitely) not going to finish this event on time (if at all). my workload suddenly doubled this semester but here's something at least. for febuwhump day 2 i have tried to get to know my nameless guard dog. here's his origin story, starting about 20 years prior to joey's story

CW/TW: captivity, collars/chains, forced drugging, controlled food intake, pet whump/bbu in general

“He’s not breaking.”

“He will.”

“60 says he won’t.”

“90 says he will.”

“Shut up, both of you.”

The two junior handlers snap their mouths shut, turning away from the monitor and towards senior handler Kerry. He’s leaning back in his office chair, unbothered, flipping through a quarterly report on customer success rates. His numbers are good, as usual. In fact, there’s an upwards trend. If it continues like this over the summer, there will undoubtedly be another raise beginning to rear its head from the deep, deep waters of this facility.

Kerry glances at the monitor. Nothing’s changed since he glanced at it last, 20 minutes ago. Nearly nothing’s changed since the feed started rolling, six days ago. He returns to his paperwork again, after sparing a pointed look at his two supposed protegees. They both hurriedly look down at their own paperwork, studying training manuals, only sneaking glances at the monitor when they don’t think Kerry’s looking. But he sees them every time. He absentmindedly clicks his pen and longingly recalls the days when corporal punishment in the workplace - in this workplace, at least - was still allowed.

They sit for another hour or so before Kerry announces that they’ll break for lunch with a grunt, and the junior handlers scurry off to the cafeteria while he unpacks his own meticulously made sandwich. The little domestic taking up space in his laundry room sure knows her stuff, he thinks as he angles the monitor a little, finally allowing himself a closer look now that the twin idiots are gone.

The idea of pets taking on the role as personal security isn’t new, at least not in practice. Rich assholes who think the world revolves around them have always wanted dedicated security. The Guard Dog type, however, is quite new. The specimen on the monitor is only the third generation, and a young generation at that. He was brought in only two weeks ago, a mean fucker just dishonorably discharged, with a glint in his eye and blood on his knuckles.

Well. A tether slightly too high up on the wall and a high-powered cold water hose took care of at least one of those problems. As for his unpleasant disposition … Kerry was doing something about that right now. Had been, for the last six days. And the project was just beginning to bear the flowers which eventually would become fruits.

The previous two generations had been too volatile, too easy to make lash out, and not only at potential threats. WRU could only pay out so much hush money before the media had started to notice. The third generation had to be perfect, and Kerry was one of a small group of handlers who had been served the task. A delicate mission to snuff out every little spark and flame inside the beasts and then create new, tailor-made gas flames in their wake, perfectly controllable and able to be extinguished by the flick of a verbal switch. A killer robot of flesh and blood.

The monitor showed 603-014 sitting against the wall, arms around his bowed head, very slightly shifting his weight back and forth. Kerry almost thought he could see a crescent shape in the floor surrounding him, as if his pacing (of which there was less and less, these days) had created a track in the floor. The nine feet of chain extending from his collar to a ring in the wall contained him like a mean junkyard dog at the end of a rope.

He hadn’t been outside the crescent in a week, much less outside his cell.

In the same period, he hadn’t seen a single other human. Nothing but the same four white walls and his own tethered body. After two days of screaming and crying and cursing and begging he’d lost his voice, and it was still only a hoarse and gravelly whimpering that would come through the speakers if Kerry decided to turn on the sound.

He glanced at his watch. It was soon time for 014’s daily prescribed five hour nap and his allotted 1300 calories - served in a dog bowl, of course. The two goons could do it, he figured, as he considered his own reuben sandwich, which seemed too good to leave right now. As if summoned by his thoughts, the two of them shuffled into his office, each holding a steaming hot styrofoam container.

“Great timing,” Kerry announced, not even allowing them time to set their food down. “Time for some practical training. 014 needs his daily rest and nourishment.”

“Handler Kerry-!”

“I trust you remember where the respiratory gear is,” he broke them off merrily as he reached for the control board mounted on his desk, which controlled every environmental condition in every cell he was responsible for. As they begrudgingly set their food down and removed themselves from his office, he found the right switch and pushed it down. The big lug would be sleeping blissfully in a few minutes, and Kerry would get to watch his mentees undoubtedly fuck up even the simple task of correctly fitting a gas mask on themselves before entering a room filled with anesthetic gas.

It would be lunch and a show.

@simplygrimly @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @briars7 @hackles-up @doveotions @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @kixngiggles @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpthisway @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumping-snail @pumpkin-spice-whump @pigeonwhumps @whumplr-reader @considerablecolors @dustypinetree @snakebites-and-ink

#again with the verb tenses........#cw captivity #cw collar #cw forced drugging #cw controlled food intake #pet whump #bbu #boxboy universe #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday2 #my nameless guard dog

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wyrdle · 23 days

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AU where Shuji Ikutsuki survives the gunshot wound and is stopped before he can commit suicide. He gets jailed and restrained to stop him from hurting/killing himself, only to be broken out years later and held captive by his angry and maladapted-to-society son, Sho Minazuki.

Cue a lot of father son back and forth that is toxic af whilst Sho struggles to learn how to cook, do his laundry, mop the floor etc. His captive/beaten-up/tortured dad chimes in with useful advice somehow. Though torturing Shuji by destroying some material possessions he still cares about (Dude has zero bonds with anyone) gives Sho an initial kick, he eventually gets bored and eases up on Shuji. Being extremely unsure about his life, the two might even talk it out lol

#shuji ikutsuki #sho minazuki #persona 3 spoilers #persona 3 #persona 4 #persona 4 spoilers #cw violence #cw torture #cw blood #cw captivity #cw injury #cw suicide #cw self harm

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writingphoenix · 24 days

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WoW Birthday Whump Day 3

This is Day 3 of @whumperofworlds's prompt event. If you want to read Day 2, you can find that here.

Prompt: Crying / "Why...?"

Nathan stared at the door where the man had disappeared. His chance for water, company, an explanation of what the heck was going on, all of it disappeared with the man.

He let himself collapse back onto the floor. What little hope he had of rescue or someone to keep him from dying was quickly fading. He didn’t know why he was kidnapped, he didn’t understand. Hours passed by and he lay there.

The door opened again. Nathan looked up but couldn’t summon the energy to move like he had before. The man was back, same as last time. He had a new bottle of water. Nathan stared at it longingly. He was too afraid that the man would leave if he spoke again so he just stared. Something tickled his cheek and he realized he was crying.

The man suddenly grinned. He tossed the water bottle at Nathan and then he was gone. Nathan scrambled to catch the precious liquid and had already finished half the bottle before he realized it might be better to save some. He only waited about half an hour before he couldn’t stand it any longer and finished the bottle.

He slept after that, though for how long he didn’t know. He was woken up by the door opening again. The man was empty handed this time. Nathan forced himself up so he was sitting and stared back at the man. Finally, he couldn’t help himself and caved to the questions burning in his mind.

“Why…” he started, then started coughing as the dryness caught his throat. “Why am I here?”

His captor stared at him in silence for another minute and Nathan didn’t dare move or speak again. Finally, the man spoke, his grin sending chills down Nathan’s back.

“I have a job for you. I think you will be ready to begin your training tomorrow.”

Nathan couldn’t look away from him and couldn’t speak. A million questions raced through his mind but he couldn’t say anything. Then the man left and Nathan was alone again.

#whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump series #wow birthday whump #wow birthday whump day 3 #crying #“why...?”#cw dehydration #cw captivity #cw kidnapping

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moderately-batty · 3 months

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Prologue: The Prince and the Performer Vaddrigan Pol

TW: Captivity, mind control, cults, brief drug mention

Vaddrigan warmed his hands on his mug of tea, taking a moment to appreciate the satisfaction of how mundane this treat had become. Wealth was such a nebulous thing, hard to appreciate from ledgers and reports. Until recently, the only coin he’d needed to handle was whatever tips his acts garnered, quickly tossed to the ringmaster to distribute. Now that he ran his own show, everyone expected him to magically know how to keep records, pay his priests, and fund the repair of the theater. If Huldra hadn’t volunteered as his accountant, this godly act would be wholly unsustainable.

He could, however, appreciate the material comforts his newfound wealth brought. He didn’t need to ration the sugar in his tea, he had his own private room with a fine wardrobe of clothes, and mountains of blankets. Fleece sheets, layers of wool and fur, and a worn quilt that still smelled like his old train car bunk. Luckily for him–and unluckily for everyone who’d ever tried to steal his quilt–the smell of elephants was nigh impossible to wash out without magic.

Somehow, lately his thoughts always seemed to drift towards his bed. It was so cold and damp here that his bones ached, even with all the effort he’d put into insulating his room. The rest of the theater was worse–drafty and dark in a town already rarely blessed by the sun. Once he really was a god, which hopefully wouldn’t be long, he’d abandon this place for somewhere the seasons were measured in rainfall rather than temperature.

His musings were interrupted by a knock at the door and he nearly spilled his tea in surprise. Before he could wonder who was coming to bother him, the door opened–Huldra, then. No one else was quite so lacking in basic manners.

The dwarven woman pushed her way inside, looking like she might fight the door when it stuck on the rug he’d laid down to try and combat the persistent draft. “You need to walk your dog,” she demanded. “His crying is making Dreamrender hungry.”

“It sounds like it’s your pet who needs a walk then, Huldra.” Vaddrigan set down his tea. “What makes you think you can come in here and tell me what to do?”

“The fact that you have no idea how any of the drugs I make even work, much less how to *make* them?” Huldra gave him a self-satisfied grin, the sort that made him want to feed her to her slime collection.

Rather than hurt her, however, he just sighed and pulled on his coat. Carrius did probably need some attention, especially if he was in enough distress to be attracting the hunger of the resident living nightmare. He resisted the urge to give Huldra the satisfaction of a rude gesture (if only barely) and stepped past her to head towards the prince’s cell.

Huldra chuckled and pulled his door shut, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “Scream if you need me, champ.”

“That’s hardly a proper way to address your god.” He grumbled back.

“You and I both know you’re no god yet.” She trundled off, countless bottles and vials clinking from her belts as she walked. Vaddrigan just shook his head and set out to check on his little figurehead prince.

Thankfully, things seemed reasonably quiet tonight, and the only other people he saw were a handful of priests playing some sort of dice game. He smiled to himself, almost wishing they’d let him join. Of course, he’d been banned from all gambling games after the tenth time he’d played a downright improbable hand of poker. A shame the loaded dice in his coat pocket were little more than decoration now, but games of chance were hardly befitting someone of his station anyways.

He reached the makeshift cell and flicked the key into the lock, pushing open the door and stepping inside to find the young Prince Carrius in a sorry state. He was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, hands over his ears and legs pulled up to his chest. The night’s dinner decorated the floor, untouched food scattered about with bits of broken plate. He picked his way across the room, silently cursing himself for trusting the boy to eat on his own.

Well, he’d have to clean up one mess at a time. He took a breath and relaxed his aching shoulders, focusing his mind on reaching out to make a connection with Carrius’s. A spike of terror and confusion shot through the bond, but he easily brushed it aside, imposing his own far stronger will to drag the boy’s attention away from his fear by force. Almost instantly, Carrius’s hands loosened their grip on his hair and his shaking eased. Vaddrigan lowered himself down to sit beside him, catching his unfocused gaze with a practiced spin of the cell key. It glittered in the lamplight, Carrius’s eyes following the motion.

“What’s on your mind tonight, little prince?” he asked softly. Carrius stared up at him, emotions roiling beneath the forceful calm of Vaddrigan’s will. The boy’s expression hardened slightly, and he caught the sense of hatred burning its way to the surface. That wouldn’t do at all. “We all have nightmares sometimes, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It’s not a nightmare.” Carrius mumbled back, shutting his eyes to tear them away from the key. “Let me go.”

“Let you go? Nothing is stopping you, least of all me. Did you dream you were held captive again?”

“I am being held captive.You, you-” he sniffled, trying valiantly to shake off the spell.

“It’s alright, Carrius. You’re safe.” he leaned into a practiced script, shifting his focus to maintaining his hold. “Just breathe. Try to relax.”

Despite his resistance, Carrius obeyed and took a deep breath. “I want to go home.”

“You are home. Your dreams can’t hurt you, I’m here. Just breathe, focus on what’s real. You’re safe, you’re home.” The fear and hatred he sensed beneath his spell began to dim. “You’re free. There is no one keeping you here, there is no one who’s going to hurt you. You’re just very tired, and very confused.”

Carrius reached up to rub tears from his eyes with his sleeve, and Vaddrigan produced a handkerchief and offered it over. “That is what this was, a nightmare. You’re safe, you’re back in your room.” He took his hand and gave it a squeeze, smiling with the sincerity of an expert showman. “I’m here with you.”

A mumbled reply released the tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in his shoulders, though whether that was from his own worries or Carrius’s, he couldn’t tell. “You don’t need to talk, just relax. Take a deep breath for me, in for a count, two, three, hold…”

Carrius obeyed readily, their connection strengthening as his panic faded.

“And release, two, three…” He guided him through a few more breaths, watching in satisfaction as the prince’s eyes fluttered open to catch his piercing gaze. Immediately, the last of his resistance evaporated. “There we go. Do you feel better now?”

“What did you do?”

“You had a bad dream. I just helped wake you up.”

“I don’t think I-”

Vaddrigan pulled him into a hug, interrupting the protest. “Don’t think. You just need to trust me.”

Carrius felt for a moment like he might pull away, but finally melted into the touch.

“Let’s get your coat. We can go for a walk to clear your head while someone cleans up.” As much as he dreaded going out into the cold at night, Huldra hadn’t been wrong when she’d suggested the prince needed a bit of exercise–a stir-crazy captive was a pain to control.

@oliversrarebooks Thank you for your interest! I hope you enjoy!

#The Encircling Bower #My Writing #Pathfinder #Pathfinder War for the Crown #Vaddrigan Pol #Prince Carrius Stavian #Huldra #mind control #hypnosis #captivity #cults #cw cults #cw captivity

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icannotgetoverbirds · 1 month

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Severe fucking content warning

Content warning for literal fucking torture and abuse. everything else should be tagged. If I miss any content warnings please for the love of all that is holy tell me so I can fix it.

Psychological torture. Those are the words bouncing around my head this morning.

Did you know that sleep deprivation and social isolation are often considered to be tied for the worst tortures known to humankind?

Let me give you some more context. When I left mormonism, I lost everything in regards to my social safety net. Mormonism and my mormon friends and family were all I had.

It's by design, too; how is someone supposed to leave if their only safety net disappears when they do? Why would they even consider leaving if that safety net holds them perfectly because they can conform?

But when you can't conform, you fall through the cracks. As I did.

I didn't just lose everything, though. I didn't stop there. I also gained a neighborhood full of watchdogs who I was sure would herd me back to the cult at the first opportunity.

Going outside on foot was no longer an option - if any of my many mormon neighbors saw me, they would have Questions. If I gave any worrying answers, there was bound to be Visits. I wasn't strong enough to handle that.

Besides, I lived in suburban hell. Fifteen minutes just to get out of the neighborhood on foot, another fifteen to get to the nearest gas station. My depressed, broke self wasn't about to spend an hour walking for a round trip to the fucking gas station when I could barely handle doing my own laundry.

So I was trapped inside the house unless my parents or someone else with a car deigned to bring me with them on a trip. But it was fine at first, because I had an internet connection and multiple online friends; plus, I'd managed to forge one irl friendship with someone between deconverting and graduating high school.

My parents weren't happy about this for some reason (I have a working theory as to why and I'll get to it later). Their justification was that it was just generally bad for me to be spending as much time online as I was.

Of course, I wasn't doing great mentally, but they refused to believe that they could be at fault for that with their "mild" transphobia. Surely refusing to accept my newfangled, sinful identity on the basis of a false moral high ground couldn't possibly be the most significant source of my suffering; surely deadnaming and misgendering me couldn't be doing that much damage.

Surely refusing to assist the transitioning process in any way shape or form couldn't be a good enough reason for suicidal ideation. Surely I was just an undermedicated psycho for considering lighting myself on fire just to get them to understand my pain enough to... help me with the process of buying a binder with my own money.

Surely I just needed to get my act together and get over myself.

So, ever since that psych ward visit that treated me better than they did, they decided that I could only have internet access if I did enough of my chores around the house.

Doesn't sound too unreasonable until you remember that 99% of my friends were online. I tried telling them this, and their response was to encourage me to get back in touch with my old ward member friends. You know, from the cult I had just escaped. That, granted, my parents were still very much a part of.

(Remember that theory I was telling you about? That little tidbit is an important piece of evidence.)

So I was cut off from the world with significant regularity, having nothing but a flip phone to contact the one supportive friend whose phone number I had. That friend kept me alive and sane enough to stay that way for nearly a year as this hell dragged on.

At some point, my brother and his girlfriend moved back in with us. I guess they weren't a fan of all the sinning I was doing, because my parents had multiple talks with me about how I needed to give them more space (aka stop existing in the same room as them).

So, eventually, I was all but confined to my bedroom, since I could never sit them down to have a conversation about what times I was allowed to be downstairs and what times they would be occupying that space.

This all built up to the breaking point. I had just developed a new medical condition that left me basically bedbound in pain. I was forced out of bed anyways, because nobody was going to take care of me (probably due to the nature of the condition being considered 'sinful'). I did what I could as I could, as I always have.

There had been a misunderstanding about chores. My brother and his girlfriend were in charge of one bathroom, i was in charge of the other. Except I thought I was in charge of the wrong one. So while the downstairs bathroom stayed clean (despite me not doing much to maintain it), the upstairs bathroom became absolutely filthy.

It all came to a head when my brother yelled at me to take care of my responsibility. I finally figured out what had happened and explained to him why I hadn't been doing it, as well as why I wasn't about to start until I could actually, you know, stay standing for any significant amount of time. He yelled at me more and threatened to tell our mom.

I told him to go ahead, as any rational person would take one look at the situation and agree that I needed to rest. My only mistake was assuming that my mom retained any rationality for me.

So she called me and attempted to chew me out. mind you, i was ill and in debilitating pain already, so I put my foot down and asked her to save it for later. But I knew what was coming when she said we were going to "have a conversation" when she got home. She was going to take away my flip phone to force me to do as I was told.

My flip phone, 99% of the use for which was to call my one and only friend that i could access. My one and only friend who was the sole support in my life. The only person, the only thing keeping me sane.

That was going to be it for me. If she did that (and she'd done it before, so there was precedent), I was going to fucking kill myself.

So I locked her out of my room that night and tried to get a good night's rest in preparation for what would have to happen in order for me to survive.

At about 4 in the morning the next day, I packed up everything that i could carry and i walked out the door.

Every single thing I have been through since that day has been worth it to get out of that hell. I am still homeless over a year later and the only thing I wish I did different was to leave sooner and prepare better. Maybe get a nice duffel bag and do my laundry first instead of hauling all my dirty clothes in trash bags. I could've saved myself a lot of trouble by getting my documents together beforehand.

anyways. Befoer I came out as trans and not a mormon, my mother seemed fully supportive - or at least, like she was supporting me as much as she was capable of doing.

Afterwards? She never looked at me the same way again.

And so I have to wonder how two changes to my identity and lifestyle could wrench her away from kindness like that. How they could possibly cause such a significant change in how she treated me.

Here's the working theory.

Mormons prey on vulnerable people. Their missionaries are literally told to seek out the meek and weary and poor to "give them rest." This is also how they bring people back - they find out which inactive members are struggling without their safety net (which they often remove for the sin of inactivity/deconversion/etc) and those are the ones that they grasp at to try and bring back. Those are the ones that they reach out to, that they check in on.

So, how better to take advantage of someone's vulnerability than to make them vulnerable yourself? How better to make them vulnerable than to take away all of their safety nets? How better to tear them from their sin than to tear their sinful friends from them?

How better to break an apostate than to back them into a corner and bring in the walls? How better to turn someone towards your god than to give them no other choice except to be crushed?

And if they'd rather die than return to Jesus, well, then, at least you're sending them straight to the afterlife. Then they'll HAVE to see the truth. Then they'll HAVE to repent.

After all, all my mother needs to do to keep our family together forever is to keep me righteous. She already gave me a body. What loss is the rest of my life compared to the rest of eternity?

Better to die young than to live in sin. Better to be forced to come to Jesus than to choose to live free of him.

She wasn't a bumbling fool incapable of listening to me when I told her she was hurting me. She knew exactly what she was doing.

She abused me, TORTURED me, entirely on purpose. Entirely for the purpose of bringing me back to her god.

I have been tortured. I have experienced psychological torture. I probably have fucking brain damage from said psychological torture.

https://solitarywatch.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/SW-Fact-Sheet-5-Neurological-Effects-v230613.pdf

So, all that said, is it any wonder that I thought the streets would be better? Is it any wonder that I never want to see her again unless it's to use her grave as a gender neutral bathroom?

She nearly killed me. I think that was an acceptable outcome to her, too.

Certainly, the last thing she expected was for me to put my back to one wall and my feet to another and clamber out of that trap she made. Should've put a roof on it, I guess.

Anyways. If it seems like I've been less online/chipper than usual, it's because I've spent the past week coming to terms with this shit.

I love you all so, so much. Thanks for being there for me. Here's to staying alive; to escaping the trap; to finding our own families and leaving our abusers behind in the dust.

Here's to all of you. Y'all were worth the trouble of being homeless, easily.

#byrd chirps #byrd's business #cw abuse #cw torture #cw captivity #cw isolation #cw cults #cw cult abuse #cw religion #cw religious trauma #exmo #exmormon #byrd is an exmo #cw ableist language #cw self harm mention #cw suicidal ideation #cw psych ward #okay to rb #cw homelessness #oh and this isn't even mentioning that they pulled the money card after that psych ward visit #literally they were like #'okay sweetie we're gonna pay for it this time but Next Time this happens you need to Show Some Responsibility and pay for it yourself'#which was the tipping point for me realizing that me not making it out of there alive was a perfectly acceptable option to them #because i know them and they may be stupid #but they're not stupid enough to believe that forcing me to pay for my psych ward visits would keep me from needing the psych ward #mind you these people are affording rent on a very nice 4 bedroom suburban house #and they keep fucking guilting me about how much money i'm costing them?#anyways. it was fucked up.#the worst part is i honestly think the lack of acceptance was more painful than the social isolation #if they hadn't isolated me i still don't know if i would've been able to tolerate their transphobia

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redd956 · 6 months

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Mini Whump Prompt 125

"Road trip!" Whumper sung as they secured whumpee's seat belt on for them. "You're going to love the destination."

They didn't care that whumpee barely understood them through the effects of their perfect concotion. Whumpee was going to enjoy it. They had to.

#cw captivity #captivity #cw kidnapping #whumper #cw abuse #whump prompts #cw drugging #cw drugs #cw sedation #drug whump #whump drugging #whump #whump prompt #mini whump prompt #mini whump prompts

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whump-in-the-closet · 9 months

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Multiple Whumpees stuck in the same place together, divided by their different ways of handling the Whumper’s torture

The ones who react with stoic indifference are constantly on edge with the rebellious ones.

The tension cuts deeper than any knife wound, and the two groups drop so far as to mock the other. Pointing out their scars and how quickly they screamed. Getting into late night blurry eyes brawls.

Burning comments about how the stoic ones “don’t have it as bad” “haven’t been really hurt.” “don’t know what real pain is”

It doesn’t matter if the “stoics” stumble into a corner of their cell and stare at the opposite wall, at the ceiling, saying nothing. Doesn’t matter if their hands twitch like they’re still feeling leftover electric pain.

There is of course, retaliation.

“You’re all so stupid. You think sarcasm will save you?” “you’re always the first to scream” “you broke so quickly, we could hear it from down the hall.”

They turn a blind eye to how the “rebellious” ones will beg for one of their own companions to be given a brief reprieve. How their screams are interrupted by savage curses. How they stare Whumper down, even when forced to kneel.

#guess who’s phone is about to die #woohoo #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump community #whump ideas #whump scenario #whump tropes #defiant whumpee #stoic whumpee #cw captivity #cw implied torture #team dynamics

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leahdarkspear · 2 months

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The House Guest

Leah offers to help a strange troll with an even stranger problem. CW: intrusive thoughts, threats of violence, mentions of animal cruelty, captivity, mentions of blood

The darkness had come on in earnest by the time Leah and her party of trackers had come to an agreement on what to do with the strange troll they had discovered in the cave near the Warbeast Kraal. It was finally decided that rather than turning him over to the authorities for his poaching, he would stay with Leah, and she would seek to unravel the mystery around the mon who called himself Kian.

Kian, the poacher with the bad memory and the even worse mojo. Everything about him was odd - his skin, his eyes, his dialect, the bizarre and decidedly evil aura around him. He seemed like he was from another world, almost. Leah wanted to know everything about him - who he was, where he came from, why he killed those animals, and most importantly, what the hell the presence was she had felt overtake him in the cave. As loath as she was to admit it, she had no idea where to start. She watched her departing companions disappear down the paths to their respective homes, and then turned to her captive.

“So what now?” Kian asked. “More interrogation?”

“Eventually,” Leah replied. “First though…”

She unsheathed the dagger hanging from her waist and used it to cut the bindings that held Kian’s feet and helped him to a standing position. The huntress then led him around to the side of her house where there was an outdoor shower with fresh flowing water spilling onto stone tiles.

“I thought you might want to get cleaned up a bit and change clothes. I’m not sure what I have that will fit you, but I think I can find something.”

“What, are you going to watch me?” Kian inquired. He didn’t want to be stared at by a stranger while he was bathing, but she wasn’t really going to just let him go unsupervised, was she? He didn’t get the impression she was that stupid.

Leah gave a sharp whistle, and a large, fierce-looking white canine bounded outside to meet her. “No, but he will. This is Aiden. He’ll be sweet, so long as you don’t try anything.”

She turned to the beast and addressed it in the language that Kian now knew was “Orcish.” The dog snapped to attention, his guard dog gaze fixed on Kian. Leah then cut the bindings around his hands and inclined her head in the direction of the outdoor bath. “Go on, I’ll be waiting.”

Kian hesitated for a moment. Now that his hands were free, it should be simple enough to snap the little trolless’s neck. If he were quick, he could kill the dog too without being attacked. Oh, how his insides ached for him to take her life, how his fingers itched to close around her throat. But he would never get away with it, he knew; her companions would find her body, and they would hunt him. No, he should wait. Still, the bilious urge to kill rose in his throat, but this time, miraculously, he was able to choke it back down.

He proceeded to the shower and waited for Leah to turn her back before disrobing and stepping into the water.

Sure that her dog Aiden would do his job of guarding her captive, Leah dashed upstairs to her room to fetch him a clean towel and something to wear. She opened her wardrobe; she still had a few items of clothing from her late mate Ja’mez, but he had been shorter and much, much slimmer than the mon downstairs. Finally, her eyes settled on a waistcloth with a simple Zandalari pattern along the edges of the fabric. It was a long, single piece of cloth that was meant to be decoratively wrapped around the waist, and this style of cloth would fit trolls of many different sizes. It wasn’t much, but it would protect his modesty. She tucked it along with a towel under her arm and dashed back downstairs.

Meanwhile, Kian was surprised to find the water in the shower was warm, and he allowed himself to unclench his tense muscles and enjoy the feeling for a moment. He watched as the rust colored blood that was caked to him rehydrated and ran down his body in crimson rivulets. It puddled at his feet, and he let himself get lost in watching the color swirl in the water, until he heard the trolless call from the other side of the wall.

“I’m draping a towel and some clothes right here over the edge of the wall, you should be able to reach them when you’re done.”

“Thank you,” Kian replied. Now that Leah had torn him away from his sanguine daydream, he hurriedly finished scrubbing up and got himself dressed.

When he stepped out from around the shower wall, Leah had to stifle a gasp. He now looked a far cry better than he had while squatting in a cave like a feral madmon. Freshly showered and in new clothing that showed off his physique, Leah was surprised to find that he was downright handsome.

The huntress tried to ignore just how nicely the mon cleaned up, but Kian noticed her looking.

“What?”

Leah shook her head. “Nothing. Do you feel better now?”

“Like a new mon,” he replied.

“Good,” Leah nodded, trying to sound all business. “Now c’mon in.” She motioned for Kian to follow. “You’ll be staying here on the first floor, at least until I get to know you better. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

The huntress and her canine companion ascended the stairs together. As soon as they were out of sight, Kian made an attempt to stealthily follow behind. However when he reached the door, he found he could go no further. Confused, he stepped back and looked around. That was odd, he thought, for he could see no obstructions. Yet each time he tried, his feet simply refused to cross the threshold. Now he turned and eyed the front door. He crossed the room with the intent to dash outside and into the jungle but as soon as he reached the threshold, again he just stopped.

“Dammit,” the troll muttered. She had fixed the door - a simple charm to keep those with ill intentions from coming and going as they pleased. Clever. Kian looked around for the source of the working, but it was well hidden.

Frustrated, Kian went back to the kitchen table and flopped down on the bench with a sigh. He looked around the room. Salted meats and smoked fish hung from the rafters, and baskets of vegetables, fruits, and spices lined the shelves. The terracotta indoor fire pit was adorned with bas relief decorations glazed in a turquoise color. It sported a rotisserie spit and a cooking grate, and beside it was a griddle. Behind him on the wall was a shelf with pegs for hanging and drying herbs. The table and benches where he sat were well used, but also well cared for. He noted the turquoise dinosaur mosaics in the table’s corners and the warm, sturdy wood used in its construction. The door and window frames were intricately carved and sported decorative inlays of blue and gold tile. There were colorful bead curtains adorning both the doors and the window, and charms of bone and bead hung from the ceiling. They all tinkled gently in the breeze that wafted inside. This place looked comfortable enough, cozy even, but without being able to come and go as he pleased, Kian felt like an animal in a cage.

It wasn’t long before he heard Leah descending the stairs to rejoin him in the kitchen. “Here, I got you a mat to sleep on. It’s not much, but it’ll be better than that cave you were staying in. Are you hungry? I can make us something.”

“I am going to kill you, you know,” Kian informed Leah. His tone wasn’t menacing; he said this more like a fact he had resigned himself to.

“Oh really?” Leah responded, bemused. She sat down opposite of her strange visitor and looked him right in his colorless eyes. “That’ll be quite the trick, seeing how you couldn’t even walk through an open door just now.”

“You fixed that door,” Kian said with irritation.

Leah smirked. “Damn right I did.”

“You really do not understand, baby witch, your little tricks will not save you.”

Leah tilted her head. Curious, he really seemed to be trying to caution her, rather than threaten her. But the “baby witch” remark, well now, that was just rude.

“Now see, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m not a witch doctor’s apprentice, I’m not a baby anything. I’m a shadow hunter. I walk with the Loa, and they walk with me.” She smiled. “Coffee?”

Kian scowled. “Yes, please,” he replied flatly.

Leah got up from the table and went to retrieve the kettle from a nearby shelf. “This arrangement doesn’t have to be unpleasant, you know.”

“Easy for you to say, you aren’t a prisoner.” Kian glared in her direction.

Leah shrugged. “It’s only temporary. Besides, you’re better off here than you are exiled to Vol’dun. At least here there’s a chance I can help you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“That’s the awesome part, you don’t have to,” Leah grinned impishly. “I offer my services for free.”

Kian narrowed his eyes. He had a headache and this trolless’s snark annoyed him. “I don’t know if I like you.”

Leah’s sarcastic grin quickly faded. “That’s okay,” she responded softly. “You’ll have plenty of time to figure that out.”

The kettle began to whistle. Leah turned her back on her visitor to remove it from the cooking stone. As she quietly prepared two mugs of coffee, she could feel his eyes on her, like a stalking jungle cat sizing up its prey. For a brief second she swore she could feel the same ominous presence she felt inside the cave, but as soon as she turned back to him, the feeling dissipated.

“Cream and sugar?” she asked.

The troll shook his head.

Leah passed him the mug of black coffee and once again sat opposite him at the kitchen table. She watched as Kian took a couple of tentative sips of the hot beverage. She tilted her head and shot him a sympathetic look. “Seriously though, do you want help?”

“That depends,” Kian said as he stared into his mug. “What are you getting out of this?”

“Well, your condition intrigues me, for one thing,” Leah replied.

It was Kian’s turn to be sarcastic now. “And what? You just like a good mystery?”

Leah smiled. “Yeah. Doesn’t everyone?”

“You’re lying.”

Leah raised her eyebrows and scoffed, “I assure you, I am not.” Kian’s eyes flashed with anger. “You either tell me the whole truth, right now, or I will choke you until the bruises ring your neck like an amethyst necklace. Then, fixed door be damned, I will smash a hole in the wall and walk out of here.”

Leah sat back and crossed her arms, eyeing the mon with curiosity as she considered what to say to him next. “Alright then. Just before you attacked us in the cave, I felt something. There was a - I don’t know what - around you, some kind of dark mojo. I felt it just now too, when I turned my back on you to get the kettle. I feel like I should know what it is, it seems familiar, though I’ll be damned if I can place it. It’s almost like you’ve been marked somehow. I want to help because something like this happened to my mother once. I couldn’t save her back then, but…maybe I can save you.”

Kian hunched in on himself, hugging his arms to his chest. He looked sick at the description Leah had given of the outward manifestation of the things he’d been feeling inside him. He didn’t mind the killing so much, if he were honest with himself, but this dark passenger that stole his memories and wrested control of his mind - that he couldn’t abide. He looked at Leah. He hadn’t been able to figure her out entirely just yet, but she seemed like a kind, genuine soul. He didn’t like the idea of being a prisoner in Leah’s home, but he liked being a slave to forces beyond his understanding even less. If she could truly help him, perhaps he could suffer the indignity of being trapped here for a little while.

Leah could see his mind working and leaned in to meet his eyes. “So do you want to get to the bottom of this?”

Kian nodded.

Leah smiled softly. “Okay then.”

#leahsidhe #kian #world of warcraft #leah stories #cw blood #cw violence #cw captivity

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captive-caffeine · 3 months

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......my hair has grown.....how long have I...been here...?

...when was the last time I ate...? ...or spoke, or played...?

....

....it's a miracle I can access...whatever this method of contact is....

...

...I don't want to fall asleep again. I've been dreaming for so long....

#caffeineposting #tw captivity #tw implied drugging #cw captivity #tw kidnapping

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failyaoi · 1 year

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bro is the apple of my eye...

#wally darling #welcome home #welcome home arg #cw eye contact #scopophobia #he is captivating my BRAIN #6thArt

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swordsswordsswords · 10 months

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some memes from the first book in the Captive Prince series

#captive prince #capri #captive prince spoilers #damianos of akielos #laurent of vere #cw child abuse #cw sa

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writingphoenix · 24 days

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WoW Birthday Whump Day 2

This is Day 2 of @whumperofworlds's prompt event. If you want to read Day 1, you can find that here.

Prompt: Starvation / Thirst / "Please..."

Nathan woke up to the cold stone of the basement floor, just like he had the day before. Or at least, what he thought was a day. There weren’t any windows in the room he was in, a room no bigger than a closet and bare of anything save a bucket. It was lit by a dim, flickering light that never went dark.

He hadn’t eaten or even had anything to drink since before he had been kidnapped. He had woken up when the men were taking him out of the car and had been led down the stairs and into his prison. They had removed his blindfold and the gag and replaced the ropes around his wrist with handcuffs chained to the floor. Then they closed the door and locked it. He hadn’t seen anyone since.

The gnawing at his stomach was easy enough to ignore. It’s not like this was the first time he’d gone a few days without eating. The thirst, though, was nearly unbearable. His lips were already cracking and his head throbbed. He didn’t feel like moving anymore.

The day passed slowly, hours crawling by as Nathan lay unmoving on the floor. He didn’t want to waste what little energy he had. The door creaked open.

Nathan flinched and forced himself up into a crouch. There was a man in the doorway, leaning on the frame. It was dark beyond it and Nathan couldn’t make anything out. Instead, he focused his attention on the man.

He was tall, over six feet at least, and stocky. Nathan was only 5’7” and skinny from a lifetime of barely enough to eat. His eyes were cold and the gun on his hip made Nathan’s blood run cold. But the man was holding something else, a bottle of water. And Nathan was getting desperate.

“Please..." Nathan croaked out. He was startled at how raspy he sounded. “Please, water.”

The man looked at the bottle in his hands, then back at Nathan. He cracked open the bottle and Nathan watched in dismay as he drained it, turned, and left, closing the door behind him. Nathan was left alone to his hunger and thirst again.

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Let me know if you would like to be added to a taglist for this! I'll also create a masterpost for this story in the next few days.

#cw starvation #cw dehydration #cw kidnapping #cw captivity #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump series #starvation #dehydration #“please...”#wow birthday whump day 2 #wow birthday whump

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