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quietly-by-myself · 2 years

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Shadow By My Fireplace - Chapter 14

This chapter is the last one for a while that contains explicit discussions of and references to noncon.

Minors DNI

Thank you for all your support. I love this story so much and I'm so glad to see that people love it too.

CW: past slavery whump, past captivity whump, conditioned whumpee, silent whumpee, discussions of/references to past noncon, frank language around noncon, whumpee thinks caretaker is their new whumper, self-blame, guilt, and shame in the context of past noncon, PTSD, discussions of autonomy in the case of a conditioned whumpee

===

The truth of the matter hit Sacha like a bag of rocks.

Cyril had never been mad at him. Cyril hadn’t even requested to use him. Cyril had just been genuinely concerned for Sacha’s wellbeing.

His promises of happiness were a bit too kind for a slave - one who shouldn’t have emotions other than to please - but Sacha found something that tasted like reassurance in them.

More than anything though, he wanted to shrivel up and die. That day when Master had used him the first time, he’d vowed never to tell anyone. Yet, here he was, telling someone. Master hadn’t even allowed small nods of his head, so Sacha figured that nodding was as close to telling as he’d ever get.

He was embarrassed. He’d let such a horrible thing happen. He thought nobody would ever believe him. Yet, that was the first thing that Cyril had said to him. How was he supposed to react? What was the correct thing to do?

His shame was so deep and all-consuming. Could he ever really share that part of himself as a victim, like Cyril seemed to believe? Could he ever be brave enough to explore the idea that what Master had done was something other than his purpose as a slave? To see what those emotions he’d buried in a grave long ago held?

Would everything ever be okay? Maybe. Maybe he could be okay if his new Master didn’t want to be serviced. Oh, he would take any punishment, any torture, if it meant not having to be spread open on a bed again. If somebody believed him about what he’d gone through, maybe he could believe it too.

The ringing in his ears was getting particularly loud. It was always there, but got worse when he was stressed. When did that start? Was that before or after his first time with Master? Surely it was the result of a punishment that he’d earned. Maybe it had been intentional.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of the punishments that came when he didn’t service Master correctly.

There was something else there - something that tasted vaguely like relief. Not necessarily relief that he wasn’t going to be forced to service Cyril or that he wasn’t going to be punished for making Cyril upset, but a confusing, strange relief he couldn’t quite pinpoint the origin of.

Was he relieved to not have to act like a slave? To not have to bottle up his emotions?

He quickly put the thought aside. Of course not. He was a slave and he would be a good one. Whatever that meant to Cyril.

Did he believe Cyril? Was it wrong to believe it was all trickery? Sacha didn’t know the answer to those questions. Master might’ve told him that he was perceptive, but Cyril wasn’t like Master at all. Would he be offended? Sacha thought so.

However, he couldn’t bring himself to obey and believe Cyril.

For that, he knew he deserved punishment.

Sacha held back tears, knowing that punishment, that normalcy, would never be his again. No, he was not relieved to not be punished. He needed correction. It was only right.

Nevertheless, he allowed himself a moment of comfort in the idea of being corrected without being in pain.

—

Cyril thought for many hours after “the incident” about how to confront Shadow without scaring him. He was beginning to realize that Shadow needed some sort of structure - more than he was currently providing.

Something felt wrong about assigning Shadow a schedule of things to do. Even if he needed more structure to know that he hadn’t done anything wrong, maybe keep the anxiety away, Cyril felt like having Shadow do chores around the cabin would be taking advantage of his vulnerability.

Yet, if Shadow wanted to do something like that, who was he to deny Shadow that? Shadow was a person. He could make decisions for himself.

Cyril let out a frustrated sigh and wiped the sweat off of his forehead. Shadow was vulnerable. He would do anything Cyril asked him, clearly. So, how could he know that, if he gave Shadow a schedule of chores, that he would listen of his own volition and not obligation?

It was a question that probably had no answer. Shadow was conditioned to act a certain way and believe certain things about himself, clearly. The line between his free will and his conditioning was perhaps blurry at best.

Cyril finally emerged from his garden to Shadow watching the fire with interest. He was still wrapped in the weighted blanket, just the way that Cyril had left him after the incident. Something about him felt calmer with that blanket.

The idea of ruining Shadow’s small moment of peace with a topic that would clearly scare him upset Cyril. He knew he needed to do it, but bringing himself to do it was difficult.

“Shadow?”

Shadow snapped to attention in that horrible, obedient way.

“I need to talk to you.”

Shadow stood up quickly, dropping the blanket on the floor. Cyril was quick to motion for him to sit back down. He couldn’t ever convince Shadow to sit in a chair, so Cyril joined him on the floor and wrapped him back up in his weighted blanket.

“I promise that I’m not angry with you for earlier.” Cyril took a deep breath, saying the words he’d rehearsed in his head. “If ever I seem angry, it’s because I’m mad at the person who did that to you. Not you, Shadow. Never you.”

Shadow looked at him with anxious apprehension.

“I know you’re probably struggling because you don’t know what to expect. So, I thought I’d tell you. I… um…” Cyril gave an anxious glance around the room. “For one, nothing sexual. If someone tries to do something like that to you, find some way to tell me, okay? Because that isn’t right and it won’t happen if I have something to do with it.”

Cyril motioned to the room around them. “This here, this is all safe. I have no intentions of hurting you. I want you to recover and then, well, I want you to be able to go somewhere else and do something in safety. I don’t know how possible that is, but that’s my goal. You don’t need to do anything in return. Chores, anything like that. You don’t need to do that.”

Cyril waited quietly, anxiously for Shadow to respond, but soon realized that he couldn’t. He tried to read Shadow’s body language, but, besides the overwhelming anxiety that always plagued Shadow, Cyril couldn’t decipher anything in particular. If anything, Shadow seemed anxious, but ambivalent.

Could he be relieved? Definitely not. There wasn’t any way that Shadow could be ambivalent. It was a trained response, Cyril was sure. However, he soon realized he was helpless to change it. That would be up to Shadow, when he felt safer.

Though the situation was frustrating, Cyril recognized that it somehow represented significant progress. At least Shadow was calm.

Cyril had a feeling that if they’d had that conversation a couple weeks ago, Shadow would’ve broken down into a panic attack.

Yes, his ambivalence was, indeed, some twisted form of progress.

For that, Cyril allowed himself to feel proud - both of Shadow and of himself.

“We’ll work on being able to make decisions again, okay? We’ll work on you choosing what you want to do, instead of what… you must think I want you to do, okay? It’ll get better, eventually. You’ll be able to tell me ‘no,’ one day, I’m sure.”

Somehow, Cyril felt like he was making a promise he couldn’t keep. That feeling only made him more determined to end up keeping it.

—

Sacha watched Cyril in the kitchen cautiously, still mulling over what Cyril had told him. He’d fully expected to be punished, not to be gently… was scolded the word? Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn’t. It didn’t feel like a scolding, not the way that Master had scolded him.

Scolding perhaps meant that he would feel small and powerless. With Cyril, he’d almost felt the opposite. Cyril had talked about saying no and making decisions for himself.

That wasn’t what a slave was meant to do.

Decisions were for his Master to make. They weren’t his. He couldn’t tell anyone no. That wasn’t his place.

It was all so confusing that he wanted to cry.

However, Sacha found quickly that he wouldn’t really need to. Cyril walked over with a mug full of hot chocolate, freshly made with the whole milk he got from… somewhere.

Where does he get his milk?

It wasn’t Sacha’s place to ask.

“I’m not hungry after everything and I guessed you weren’t either, but I wanted to make you something before I head back outside.”

Sacha accepted the hot chocolate because it was what Cyril wanted him to do. He drank a bit of it hesitantly, but found it only to be pleasantly warm. He could’ve breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have to drink something scalding hot.

Sacha almost thought that Cyril would stay and make sure he was appreciative of the gift. However, what he’d said before, combined with the quiet way he picked up the weighted blanket Sacha had left on the floor, told him otherwise.

Cyril wrapped Sacha tightly in it, ruffling his hair a little. Then, he left out the door.

Sacha felt as empty as the room, a hearth without a fire. Some part of him wished that Cyril had stayed. Some deep, buried part of himself almost wished he could call Cyril back.

—

“Shadow, can you come here?”

Cyril’s cabin had few windows. Cyril preferred it that way. The privacy of not having anyone peeking into his quarters was reassuring, especially now that he had such traumatized, injured company with him. He also lived very far away from any cities. Again, he preferred it that way. The town had everything he needed.

Shadow walked over to him.

One of the other good things about living far from the city was the sky. Cyril had wanted to show Shadow the sky, but ever since he’d run in from outside having a panic attack, Cyril had second guessed himself.

In his garden, looking through the window in the side door to the kitchen, Cyril realized that he didn’t need to take Shadow outside for him to see the stars.

Cyril motioned for Shadow to stand by the door.

“Let me get the lights.”

Shadow nodded.

Once all the lights except the fire in the hearth were extinguished, the sight outside the window became clear.

A cloud of stardust had covered the night sky in a wave, like sand through a current. Millions of stars twinkled above them, dancing through the sky, singing stories of worlds far away. Cyril always felt awe when looking at such a magnificent sight. It never got old or normal.

He smiled a bit when he looked at Shadow. Shadow, for a moment, looked happy. Nostalgic, maybe.

Has he seen something like this before?

Cyril realized he knew nothing about Shadow other than his trauma. Surely Shadow had a life before what had happened to him. What was that life like? What did he do? Did he have family? Someone he loved? Did he go to school?

The idea made Cyril’s heart hurt. All that would have been stripped away. Even if his life hadn’t been good before his captivity, surely it was better than the constant torture Shadow must’ve endured.

Cyril wanted to know. If it was good, he wanted Shadow to be able to return to that. If it wasn’t good, then he wanted to help Shadow build a new life for himself. Maybe, even if it was good, he wouldn’t want to return to it and want to build a new life. That would be fine, too.

Determination filled Cyril. Shadow would have a life beyond his cabin. Shadow would be able to build a new life or return to his old one. Cyril would make sure it was a good life, too.

===

Tags: @whumpsday, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @pigeonwhumps, @darkthingshappen, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @darlingwhump, @maracujatangerine, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @flowersarefreetherapy, @33-sdtr-45, @octopus-reactivated, @quietshae

#shadow by my fireplace #whump #whump writing #cw are above #whumpblr #conditioned whumpee #silent whumpee #slavery whump #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #whump fic #whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper #whump community #recovery whump #cyril #sacha #elements of noncon #captivity whump

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darkthingshappen · 2 years

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Three Days: Chapter 2

This is a collab with @quietly-by-myself for @the-whumpers-soiree. It features Faolan from her Mercury and Time series (link here) and my original whumper, Finlay Iver.

This story will contain elements of explicit noncon, references to past violent events, including noncon, torture, among other adult/dark themes. Reader discretion is advised. It's much darker than what I normally post.

That being said, it's about 36k words total, so we're starting a tag list.

Content for Chapter 2: PTSD, kidnapping, noncon touch, panic attack, intimate whumper, torture, begging, electric shock

The plane ride from the soiree to the private New York airport was less than an hour. From there his chauffeur drove his heavily tinted SUV out to his estate outside of Middletown, NY. He liked it here because it was quiet. Open. No prying eyes or ears. And since Faolan would be staying underground for a while… he’d be able to scream as loud as he wanted and no one would disturb them. Of course, that didn’t mean he’d be talking. Finlay liked the way his toys sounded when they were gagged. But that would come later.

He ran a delicate finger down Faolan’s cheek as they pulled into the driveway. His two henchmen, Parker and Lucian, came out of the house and helped to carry Finlay to his new room. It was a cell adjacent to Finlay’s playroom. Well, an outsider might call it a torture chamber, but Finlay thought of it in more positive terms than that.

They laid him down on his cot and chained his ankle to the wall. He liked for them to be conscious and not on the verge of vomiting when he started working with them. Finlay smiled down at him and kissed his forehead.

“You’re going to be so beautiful while you break I just know it. See you soon.” He ran his fingers over Faolan’s lips and then turned and left. The heavy door swung shut behind him before it was bolted shut.

As Finlay left, Faolan made small whimpering sounds. It was apparent that the whimpers from a nightmare. Little did he know the nightmare he’d be waking up to.

Sometimes, those nightmares of William, Master, whatever Faolan found the strength to call him that day, were vivid.

However, when he woke up a few hours later with the worst hangover of his life and a chain clasped around his ankle, Faolan soon realized that the nightmare wasn’t just vivid. It was absolutely real.

Immediately, Faolan began to panic. Had one of William’s friends found him? Was he being held by one of them?

I can’t go through that again. I need to sleep! I need to see people. I-I don’t have anything to give. I can’t betray someone again.

As Faolan tried to sit up, a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. Another wave of panic hit him. What if he was sick?

His foot hit a bucket, which he gladly took to vomit in. He felt awful as everything that was in his stomach came up in waves. Part of the vomiting brought on more panic before he tried to orientate himself in the cell. There wasn’t really much to it - the cot, the bucket, and the chain on the wall. No windows and a light. A light. Faolan could only pray that it would turn off.

Faolan whipped his head around so hard he almost knocked himself completely over when he heard the door open behind him.

It was the man from the bar - Finlay.

Faolan stood up immediately, too quickly, as he tried to steady himself on his feet. His combat training came back easily as he prepared to confront Finlay.

“Do you want to explain what’s going on?” He practically growled his response at Finlay. His instincts from that time in the great “before” always came back when he was reminded of the time he spent as a prisoner of war. He was ready to fight if he needed to.

Finlay smirked at him for half a second. Time to play. His hand was lightning fast as he backhanded Faolan across the face. “On your knees when I come into this room. Here, you will do as you're told. You will not question me. If I want you to know something, I will tell you. Is that clear?”

Faolan grabbed his cheek where Finlay had slapped him. At first, it made him angry. Yet, at the same time, it seemed all too familiar.

Faolan swallowed his fear and put on that tough front again. “You could be as clear as the world’s most expensive diamond and it wouldn’t make a difference to me.”

Finlay punched him in the gut, again, with no warning, causing Faolan to double over. He grabbed a fist full of Faolan’s lovely blond hair and held his head back at a painful angle.

“I’m going to have so much fun watching you eat those words. Now get on your knees. You really don’t want to make me angry. Right now I’m simply amused. Cross me and that will change.”

Faolan doubled over in a gagging fit. The punch to his gut had irritated an already upset stomach and burnt esophagus. He felt more bile rising in his throat, but did his best to keep it down.

“Maybe you should’ve learned more about me before you decided to pick me. You seem to know Atticus. You know he will come for me, right?” Faolan put on more of his faux moxie. He couldn’t look weak. Not after everything he’d done. Not after all the progress he’d made.

“Mmmmm. A fighter. I knew it. You’re still going to regret not obeying me. You’ll learn your place here soon enough.” Finlay held his hair as he drew something from his back pocket. He could feel Faolan struggling, but it wasn’t going to matter. He pressed the stun gun against Faolan’s ribs and engaged the button, sending blue lightning through his torso.

Every muscle, bone, and cell lit up with pain as Faolan let out a horrible scream at the force of the stun gun. Seconds became minutes and minutes could’ve easily become hours. It felt like he couldn’t breathe. His hair was being ripped out of his skull as he thrashed and screamed, unable to claw at the arm holding him up.

Finlay smiled as he watched his prey thrashing and dangling by his hair. He pulled the stun gun away. “Would you like to kneel now or shall I keep going?” He smirked as he watched the lingering tremors running through Faolan.

Faolan struggled for air, hardly catching a word of what Finlay was saying. Tears formed in his eyes, but he convinced himself that they were from the uncontrollable movements. As he tried to breathe, he realized he was too winded to give much of an answer. If Finlay wasn’t holding him up, he would’ve collapsed.

“Can’t…” He swallowed his breath to speak. “You won’t win… this fight. I’ve taken down guys much bigger than you.”

Finlay patted his cheeks. “Sure you have, honey. You keep telling yourself that. In the meantime…” He shoved the stun gun against him again and pressed the button, sending waves of torment though the smaller man.

The tears were genuine this time. More screams ripped through his throat as the jitters ran through his system, ripping his muscles apart. Eventually, he screamed his burnt throat raw and he couldn’t even manage a squeak.

He’d been in this position before. Suddenly, he felt every bone in his body freeze as his blood ran cold. If he wasn’t convulsing from the shocks, he would’ve been completely still. He felt those familiar hands as he managed a scream.

“Stop! Stop! Stop, please!”

Finlay stopped. “Change of heart, darling?”

Faolan looked at him with the eyes of a scared rabbit. He was clearly stuck in some sort of intense memory as he nodded a little - subtly - just like he had that night with William.

“Good.” Finlay released his hair. “Then kneel.”

Without a second thought, like that night, he kneeled, having to use his hands to hold himself up. He was in too much pain, too weak, to keep himself propped up with just his knees. He could only hope it would be enough.

Finlay stroked his hair. “Much better. I hope we won’t have to do that again. This is how you will present yourself every time I come here. Failure to do so will result in more pain than is necessary.” He moved his hand under Faolan’s chin, tilting it up to look at him. “Am. I. Clear?”

Faolan cringed back from the hand stroking his hair, but tried not to let it show. Seeing the malice in the man’s eyes was perhaps more terrifying than the prospects he was proposing. “You’re very clear.” His voice was raspy from all the screaming.

Finlay tilted his head and wiped the boy’s tears from his face. “Tsk. Tsk. So unnecessary. But also so lovely. I knew you would be. You’re quite pretty. Do you know that? Has anyone ever told you that before? Maybe Atticus? Maybe someone else? Mmm?” He raised an eyebrow at Faolan.

Even against his best instinct, Faolan couldn’t help but melt a bit into the wiping of his tears. “Atticus never says such things, but I’ve heard it…” he swallowed a lump he was sure was choking him. “I’ve heard it many times before from a different person.”

Now that was interesting. Finley wasn’t expecting the young man to lean into his touch like that. Not this fast. Very interesting indeed. “Really. Tell me about this person.”

“He’s dead.” It was the first thing Faolan thought to say. After that, Faolan couldn’t really put together words to describe William.

He didn’t see the trial a couple years ago? The thought almost surprised that part of his brain that constantly worried that people would recognize him.

“Oh yes, I read about this. Your William. And that’s how you became Atticus’ little pet.”

Faolan froze. His heart might’ve stopped dead in its tracks for a moment. He wasn’t sure how to respond. Hearing William’s name, hearing it said as his brought some primal part of his brain out.

“I’m going to be ill.” He felt his unsettled stomach doing flips. Whether it was anxiety, medication, alcohol, or his reflux, Faolan couldn’t be sure. “There’s medicine in my wallet. I keep one pill on me.”

“There’s a bucket if you need it. I’ll have my men look for your medicine. What is it?” Faolan was full of surprises.

Faolan crawled his way to the bucket, grabbing the edges. The smell of it made him feel more sick. “Zofran. Zofran oral dissolving. 4-” he felt himself heave a little bit. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. 4 milligrams if I remember correctly. It’s in a silver blister. Pepcid if you have any, too.”

Curiouser and curiouser. “I’ll see what I can do.” Finlay was thoughtful for a moment. Faolan was already apologizing. This may be easier than he thought. “If you’d like to avoid these unpleasantries, I would suggest that you obey from the outset. What do you think?”

The last of his statements earned Finlay a glare from Faolan. However, he quickly became sick and dry heaved a bit.

“Don’t you dare hold my medicine back for that. It’s going to be a bigger problem for you than for me. I’ll lose weight and lose that beauty. Loose skin, less muscle.”

It was an assumption from his time with William that came bubbling to the surface.

Finlay grabbed his hair and wrenched it back. “Don’t you dare fucking tell me what to do. You can be force fed. Injected with meds. There’s lots of ways to get you to do what I want that are far less pleasant.” He motioned with his hand to their surroundings. “You think I have a set up like this because you’re my first plaything? You think I’m new to this?”

At the mention of force feeding, Faolan’s eyes seemed to glaze over. His mind went back to a different time and a different place. He didn’t even really register Finlay’s questions. He only felt the pain of his hair being pulled back.

“Hey! Hey, I asked you a question!” Finlay yelled. When Faolan still didn’t respond he slapped him hard. Not as hard as that first back hand, but hard enough to jam his teeth together. “Answer me. Do you think I’m new to this?”

Faolan gasped, genuine tears in his eyes. He seemed dazed as he moved his hand quietly to his face, grasping where he’d been struck twice now.

“I-I don’t think you are.” He still seemed a bit dazed. It was clear his mind was retreating a bit as he looked at Finlay a bit blankly.

“Good. I think it’s time we move to the other room. I want to have a proper look at you and maybe see about testing your limits. I’ll have one of my men get your meds.”

He stood and opened the door. There were two men standing outside the door. One of them handed Finlay something. When Finlay turned around, he had a collar and a leash in his hand. “I wouldn’t want you trying to run off. Now be a good boy and we won’t have to hurt you.”

Faolan looked at the collar, then at the chain around his ankle. He only had one thought in his mind: get away from the collar. He knew what that meant. He knew what would happen next.

He ducked and darted to the cot, sliding himself under it. He was small enough that he could fit snugly without Finlay being able to easily reach him.

Finlay sighed with exasperation. But this is also what he wanted. Too easily obtained submission and he got bored. Still, he had a lot planned for today and this was already taking longer than he wanted. He snapped his fingers and the two men from the door entered the tiny space.

“Parker! Lucian! Get him out and get him back on his knees.” He rolled his eyes at the childish protest. Like this would actually work. The collaring was inevitable.

Faolan saw the two men and his eyes went big. He only pressed himself further against the wall. Something inside him wanted to beg for them to not hurt him, even if he knew begging was futile. The anxiety was overwhelming - paralyzing even - as he hid, like the situation would disappear if he buried himself for long enough.

One of the henchmen simply reached down and grabbed the end of the chain and pulled. They were stronger and bigger and Faolan was not heavy, at least not in comparison to them. The second man helped as they dragged him by his ankle out from under the cot.

They seized him by his hair and arms, each of them holding one arm and pulling his hair back.

Finlay advanced on his cornered prey. “Do you really think that was the best idea? Now, not only do you still get collared,” he slid the collar around Faolan’s slender neck and buckled it behind him. He pulled the padlock out of his pocket and locked it into place, “but now you’re also going to be punished. He looked straight into Faolan’s eyes. “That means more pain, in case you weren’t sure.”

The sheer helplessness of the situation began to send Faolan over the edge. He felt his chest tighten as he remembered the last time he was collared perhaps a little too well. He thought he’d put that memory out of his head, but apparently, it was still there.

“I-I’m sorry.” His ankle hurt. His scalp hurt, His face hurt. His leg was covered in scrapes now and the one man was practically wrenching his shoulders out of place. He needed a break, but he knew he wouldn’t be getting one any time soon.

“Oh… you will be, baby. The sorriest little pet I’ve ever had down here.” Finlay looked up to his guards. “String him up.”

#three days #faolan dufort #finlay iver #the whumpers soiree #whump #whump fic #whump writing #whump community #elements of noncon #noncon toughing #intimate whumper #kidnapping #captivity #recaptured whumpee

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flowersarefreetherapy · 2 years

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Perfect Obedience

CW: needles, tumor mention, negative self-talk, mentioned teeth modification, some dehumanization, cold weather whump, creepy whumper

Please come save me! Where are you? You left me! You left me!

He jolts awake, heart pounding, lungs gasping for air. The floor under him is slick with his sweat.

Air conditioning blasts in his face, reminding him of cold wind, snowflakes falling softly down, down, down. Deceptively soft. Covering the streaks of blood, so much blood.

My head hurts.

Beeping echoes from down the hall. Like the MRI. What is that? He isn’t supposed to know. That word means nothing to him.

You’ll never be a doctor. . . My head hurts! . . . A tumor, tumor, tumor . . . It’s too late to operate.

Too late. He is always too late. Too late.

Something is going to happen. He pressed his forehead to the wall, trying to ease this headache building. There is something important in the fragments floating through his mind. Something he must remember.

The only thing that matters to me is my master’s safety. I exist to protect my master and my master alone.

The door slides open. A soft hiss of compressed air followed by his handler’s heavy tread. He doesn’t look up as he gets to his feet, hands clasped behind him. His handler praises him, words he can’t hear over the pain in his head. Pain is familiar. This pain is different. It hurts in both his heart and his head. How is that possible?

Someone else enters. White coat, glasses, a nasally voice. A walking cartoon.

What is a cartoon?

They tell him to relax, to lay down, that he’s being good. His handler hits him when he doesn’t move fast enough. It’s what he deserves. A needle slides into his arm, cool liquid pumping through his body. His handler and the white-coated man talk. His eyelids grow heavy.

When he forces them open, there is nothing. He blinks. Again, nothing but darkness fills his vision.

Can’t panic, don’t panic. Use your brain.

He’s not stupid. Not fully, no matter what his handler says. There is no blindfold as he can see a few pinpricks of light. He tries to move forwards and knocks his head against a wooden lid. His heart stops.

With words that come out feeling right, but he doesn’t understand why, he reaches out, hands shaking. They hit wood. It surrounds him on all sides. His knees are drawn to his chest. They left him in his flimsy shorts and thin t-shirt he has been wearing for as long as he can remember. The collar around his neck feels heavy, wrong, like his old one, but not molded to fit flush against his skin. Prongs jab into the soft skin of his throat.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again I promise don’t please I’m sorry!

His limbs seize at the memory of every nerve lighting in pain, the crackle of electricity in his ears, the stiffening of limbs, and the screams that tore his throat and took his voice. He knows this device. But he’s been good! He doesn’t need it any more!

Sleep pulls at his mind, but he pushes it away in favor of pressing against the walls of his prison. He is in a box. It’s too small for him to stand and too small to stretch out. He bends over his knees in an attempt to ease the pain in his back.

Something thuds. The box shakes. He hears swearing in a voice he doesn’t know. Where am I? What’s happening? Was I bad, I was bad, this isn’t good. Stupid, stupid, stupid mutt. Dumb, stupid, thinking you were good enough.

The box shudders. He bites his arm to hold back a scream, forgetting about his filed teeth. A hiss slips free as his teeth break skin. Tears well in his eyes. Someone curses again. This is wrong, all wrong. Why isn’t he in his room!

“There we go.”

He yelps again as the box thuds to the ground, knocking his head against the roof. The hair on his neck and arms raises at not being able to see. There is no way of knowing what is happening outside of this box and that twists his stomach. He can’t protect himself if he can’t see what is coming.

“Damnit, the thing’s awake.”

“That doesn’t matter. Just get him up there and let’s go. He isn’t our problem any longer.”

Not your problem? What are you talking about?

He wants to scream the words but they twist in his throat and stick there. An engine revs, then fades into the distance. He shivers as a cold wind whips through the holes in the box. Now there is a positive to being so cramped. At least it provides the body heat he requires to keep from freezing.

It’s not that cold. Your body can survive far colder than this . . . how do I know this information?

His teeth knock against each other. Muscles throb and cramp, body desperately trying to keep his temperature up. His eyelids grow heavy and he curls over himself. Sleep sounds good. He’ll just close his eyes for a few minutes. Just a few–

The opening of a door. He flinches. The box lifts and he hears, “Thank you, Greg, I can take it from here.”

The creaking of wood. Bright light floods his vision. He winces as an outline of a person comes into view. His mind fills with images of pain and white walls and the body armor that the handlers always wear.

“Well, well, well,” a man says. “Here I was thinking I wasn’t going to get what I paid for. On your feet, mutt.”

He hurries to get to his feet, blood rushes back into his toes. He totters, catching himself on the edge of the box. The world tilts around him. After a moment, he catches his breath and looks at the man standing across from him.

He is approximately middle-aged, dark hair dotted with the first signs of gray. His vest and pants are tailored to him and his dress shirt wrinkle-free. The room around them is spotless even functioning as some form of mudroom. The tile floor is spotted with dirt and puddles of melting snow.

“102854, get out.”

His number, the command, all of it hits him at once and he scrambles to obey. If he doesn’t there is pain and electricity and he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want that at all. When he is standing on the tile, the cold smoothness leeching warmth from his toes, the man steps up to him and grips his chin, forcing his head up.

“I am your new master, mutt. You will obey me perfectly. Anything less will be met with instantaneous punishment. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, master,” he whispers, keeping his gaze lowered. Perfect obedience.

“Good.” His master smiles, steps back. “Very, very good. I think you’re going to be exactly what I need.”

Tagging: @darkthingshappen (let me know if you want to be added!)

#John is tired and done #Erik #needles #elemental whump #creepy whumper #teeth modification #mentioned mouth whump #dehumanization #tumor mention #hamilton au #bbu #pet whump

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redd956 · 1 year

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Whump Ideas: Electric Theme

Whumper: Electric/Lighting Elemental Or Creature

Whumpee knows that whumper doesn’t even have to be near them for the shock of their life to come to them.

Whumpee running away from whumper, only to be struck down by lightning

Whumper scooting closer to whumpee, static electricity flickering between whumpee’s skin and their mittened hands. Whumper purrs watching whumpee trying to squirm away from what is coming.

Whumpee being tortured by electricity, somedays it’s a static shock, other days like a tazer, but whumpee is worried that someday the voltage will be too much for them.

Whumper siphoning the electricity out of Caretaker’s home, letting whumpee know they’ve returned.

All electronics glitching or powering down as whumper enters their vicinity.

Whumpee’s own electronics attacking them as they’ve become possessed by something inhuman

Whumpee talking to caretaker when both of them watch their hair raise into the air. Caretaker doesn’t understand what’s suddenly gotten into whumpee.

All of whumpee’s friends being suspiciously struck down by lighting, shocked by outlets, in freak broken wire related accidents. Now whumpee avoids everyone one, fearing one day whumper will grow tired of them.

Whumper the robot: cold, calculating, and not exactly easy to punch and get away with. Today whumpee got caught trying to hack them.

Electric/Lightning Whump

Villain whumpee convulsing and screeching in pain in front of hero, prying at an electric collar no one knew existed.

Whumpee trying to escape whumper and meeting the new electric fence he installed. Whumper only laughed when they arrived on seen to see their whumpee right where they wanted.

Caretaker trying convince whumpee to escape along with them. However whumpee breaks down, revealing the collar around their neck, explaining it goes off if they leave whumper’s establishment.

Whumpee being conditioned with electric shocks, now won’t do anything caretaker wants them to, reacting in utter fear and pain to nearly everything they ask of whumpee.

Robotic whumpee’s wiring/battery being fried from too much electricity.

Whumper interrogating whumpee, threatening them with a tazer

Caretaker witnessing someone in the distance getting struck by lightning, and rushing out into a thunderous storm to go help them.

Stoic whumpee (or my preferred formal stoic whumpee) removing their shirt to unveil permanent electrical scars scattered across their back, shoulder, and chest. They hiss, rubbing at their shoulder idly.

Whumpee being trapped in a cell with electrified bars. Whumper sneers at them curled up against themselves as far away from the bars as they can be.

Robotic whumpee being possessed by an electrical/lightning creature.

#whump #electric whump #electricity whump #lightning whump #nonhuman whumper #electric whumper #elemental whumper #cw electric collar #cw electrocution #whump prompt list #whump ideas #whump stuff #whump prompts

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the-three-whumpeteers · 2 months

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The whumpee would be left alone, chained up and in the mercy of the elements- it’s the way the whumper scared the desire for freedom out of their captivate. In the whumper’s captivity, the whumpee at least had warmth.

#whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #aramis stabs someone #whump prompts #whumper

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whumpninja · 3 months

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*crashing in through the whump community’s skylight*

oh hey, what’s up? I’m Jack, I’ve been lurking in the shadows of the community for way too long and I’m now revealing my presence!

Name: it’s Jack, didn’t you just see it up there? I will also accept Jacques, Jack-Jack, Jackrabbit, Jackalope, Jack Sparrow, Jack Daniels or J-Money

Age: old enough to drink, not old enough to say “back in the good old days…” while I stare wistfully out the window (I could do that, but I’d just be reminiscing about when everyone wore their jeans around their knees)

Pronouns: he/him, they/them, hey/you, call me whatever you want as long as you don’t call me late for- nope, I’m not finishing that joke

About Me: why are you asking? who do you work for? WHO SENT YOU?! Just kidding. Here are some things I like doing- writing, thinking about whump, thinking about writing whump. Here are some things I like doing but am bad at- cooking things, climbing things without falling off of them, running without feeling like I’m going to die. Here are some things I don’t like doing- studying, going to the gym, watching romantic comedies, eating canned vegetables, getting my socks wet.

About Whump: love it. Love, love, love it. Whump is great. I like almost all flavors (but hold the nuts and butts and sexy bits.) My particular favorites- defiant whumpee, whump with magic/fantasy elements in it, whumpers who just suck, uh…whumpees in gladiator fights?? But…cage matches. Not bare-chested men in loincloths stabbing each other.

Here are some blogs about whump I really like: @smellofsnoww @weirdstrangeandawful @whumperofworlds @whumperfultime @redwingedwhump @painsandconfusion @newbornwhumperfly @pigeonwhumps @caspia-writes @spookyboywhump @oddsconvert and literally so many more, I have been lurking here for *a while* also I will probably make a blubbery post about why I like these blogs the next time I have a drink

About WIPs: I have a grand total of one. It currently exists as a complicated red-string-board of a Google Doc with way too many characters and at least three plotlines. It’ll probably still have too many characters and plotlines when I post it. It’s mainly about vampires and humans whumping each other into absolute oblivion, so if that’s your speed, stay tuned, sports fans.

Anyway, it’s me, finally coming out of the shadows to join the whump community in their mission to make fictional characters suffer! I have the power of God and whump on my side- AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH-

MASTERLISTS!

Here’s the masterlist for my vampire whump series The Angel of Death!

Here’s the masterlist for my specialized ask game series Ask Me About…!

#whump blog #whump blog intro #whump community #whumpblr #hello hello!#very excited to be here!#I mean I’ve *been* here #but aside from reblogging some shit here and there I haven’t been participating in the party #I’ve been that guy in the corner watching everyone like he’s choosing who to kill #but now I’m hitting the dance floor #I need to stop typing before this gets weird #weirder

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whumpndump · 1 year

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Android Whumpee stripped down to their bare essential elements by Scientist Whumper, just a few circuit boards and some wires. They're still aware, and as sentient as they were before, but they just cant do anything. They can't see, or hear, or smell, or talk, nothing.... and then they get stored away like that, put into some box in a lab storage closet, likely to be forgotten about for a loooong time.

#whump #whumpdumps #whumpblr #whump scenario #whump prompt #android whump #nonhuman whumpee #android whumpee #nonhuman whump #sensory deprivation whump #not thinking about the concept of batteries bc if sentient robots exist here then so can battery-less ones

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quietly-by-myself · 2 years

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Shadow By My Fireplace - Chapter 12

Minors DNI. This chapter contains 18+ content

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for being a sounding board and beta reading

CW: conditioned whumpee, intimate/creepy whumper, slavery/captivity whump, severe depression, horrible mental health, PTSD, panic attacks, whumpee offers themselves up for noncon, references to past and feared noncon, starvation (self-imposed), cages, dehumanization, force feeding mention, past whump, death wish, broken whumpee, nonsexual nudity

===

Three days after the last day Sacha ever spoke…

Sacha never thought that he could taste dust. However, locked in a dark room, all alone, dust was about all he could taste. It had been days since he’d had anything to eat, though it was of his own volition. Master had tried to convince him to eat, but food lacked the taste and color it once had. In fact, the world might as well have been just his cage. It would’ve made no difference. Not even the sky would be blue anymore.

“He won’t eat. He won’t move. He’s just been sitting in that cage for days!”

Master ripped the tarp off of the cage, revealing Sacha’s naked, battered form to Master’s personal physician. The doctor had to force the look of pure disgust off of his face. Sacha couldn’t bring himself to care.

“What the hell have you been doing to him?”

“What do you think?” Master snarled. “Stop fucking questioning me and tell me what the fuck’s wrong with him!”

“I don’t need to look at him very long to figure out that he’s traumatized, sick, and depressed, Emery.”

Sacha flinched, remembering all too well what had happened to him when he called Master by his name.

“Sick? Well, give him some medicine, then. What can be done about the rest?”

The doctor looked exasperated and tired. Sacha was amazed that the doctor wasn’t hurt for calling Master by his name directly. Then, he remembered with a heavy heart, that he was a slave. A slave that would never talk again.

“I’ll give you some antibiotics to give him, if he’ll take them. As for the rest, nothing, Emery. Absolutely nothing. I know you. You wouldn’t give him a break to let him recover, even if I told you that’s what he needed.”

Master growled a bit. “Stop your disrespect. You can be dealt with and I can find another doctor. They’re a dime a dozen when you work in my industry. Just have to pay off their student loans.”

Master’s doctor went quiet, collecting himself. “I would recommend that you let him rest. Give him something to make him feel safe. A blanket or some clothes would be a good place to start.”

“The cage is enough. It’s his safety.”

“Rest. He needs rest, desperately. You wanted him quiet and you’ve gotten that. He can’t even move. He’s too scared of what you’ll do next.”

Sacha felt like the doctor was reading his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d been violated. His body wasn’t his own. He wasn’t Sacha anymore. He was Master’s slave. Nothing else, nothing less. That was his purpose. That was all he was. He didn’t deserve rest. He didn’t deserve anything nice.

I should just die.

“Hmm…” Master kneeled down to Sacha’s level. Sacha’s gaze darted away from him. “So he needs predictability?”

The doctor nodded hesitantly.

“A schedule, then.” Master smiled. “I like the idea of making a schedule for him, so he knows exactly what to expect. That way he can prepare himself.”

The doctor, behind Master’s back, looked exasperated. He had no sympathy for Sacha - that much was clear to Sacha - but, if the doctor got Master to let him rest, he would be thankful.

“That would work, yes.”

Master nodded. “I’ll bring you a clock soon, little Sacha. We’ll make a schedule so you know exactly what you’ll do each day.”

Somehow, knowing ahead of time seemed much worse a torture than not knowing at all. Sacha would've cried, but his tears had dried long ago. Well, perhaps not long ago, but after that night three days ago, he had no more.

—

Sacha didn’t know what led him to that closet between Cyril’s bedroom and the bathroom. Maybe the living room-kitchen-dining room that had become his home was suddenly too big and too empty. Maybe he remembered that open rooms were never meant to be his safety. Maybe he thought about how he belonged in a cage when he disobeyed.

The day that the cage had gone away, the torments seemed so much more painful. He had nowhere safe to go anymore. Everywhere was dangerous. Everywhere was hell. Nobody would ever understand why a cage was safer than a room. Nevertheless, it made perfect sense to Sacha.

One day, he heard the tight, quiet comfort of the closet calling him. It called louder than any attachment he had to the fire.

Why did it all have to happen to him? Why did he crave that comfort of the only time he’d been given a blanket with Master?

Sacha didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to have to confront the pain. So, leaving Amber by the fireplace, he took his blankets and hid in the bottom of the closet, wrapping himself tightly.

Time passed differently there. His mind was quiet for once. The memories that plagued him were less… intense. Though they were more real, it was easier to detach himself when not surrounded by reminders of his own humanity.

There, in the closet, he could find comfort in what he’d been taught. He was a slave. He was for serving and for pleasure. Nobody would be kind to him. That, somehow, was easier to believe than his victimization.

Sacha was still. He felt no hunger, there, in his own mind. He felt no thirst, no will to see little Amber who he’d gotten so attached to. Nothing mattered anyway. Amber deserved better than him. Cyril didn’t need him, clearly. He was worthless, useless, and disgusting. Used goods that didn’t deserve life.

Tears didn’t find him in the closet, not like they did outside. The flashbacks brought numbness. It was a peaceful hell. If his life would always be some form of hell, Sacha certainly preferred the hell he found there, with his weighted blanket, in the closet - alone.

—

Cyril would leave food outside the door for Sacha, but Sacha had decided that he would never leave the closet. He would die there. That would be better than disappointing the Master that had never hurt him time and time again. That would be better than the chance of ever disobeying again.

Sometimes, he would knock on the closet door and tell Sacha things like “I’m worried about you.” How could a Master ever be worried about a slave? If he was so worried, why didn’t he take Sacha out by the arm and beat him? That was what a slave deserved, after all, if he was truly worrying his Master.

One day, however, Cyril sat outside of the closet.

“Shadow, I’m really, really worried about you. You haven’t eaten in three days.”

All the better. The fear of being force fed through a feeding tube was difficult to ignore, but he didn’t care what happened to him anymore.

I’m not worthy of your food. He was worthless. He did nothing for Cyril. He had no clue why Cyril cared so much for such a useless slave. If he wasn’t serving his Master, he didn’t deserve food.

“Can you come out, please? I know you’re probably going through a lot right now and I understand that you probably don’t want to see me, but you need to eat.”

Just drag me out. I can’t do the impossible.

It was an order.

An order that Sacha decided to disobey. Some part of him missed the pain. He wanted to be shown his place forcefully. He wanted someone to hurt him. That was his normal. He wanted his normal back. It was also his life. He wanted his life back, too.

How selfish of him.

Instead of pulling him out of the closet, Cyril merely stood up and walked away with a sigh.

A darker, more sinister thought lingered in his mind. He was right next to Cyril’s bedroom. Had his coaxing been an order to enter?

Suddenly, Sacha realized that he’d made himself completely unavailable to Cyril. That was the one thing a slave could never be - unavailable. He’d manipulated Cyril into feeling bad for him. He was a bad person. Cyril had wanted him and he’d denied Cyril that.

It felt like marching to his death to walk into Cyril’s bedroom. Sacha didn’t know if he’d prefer his clothes to be taken off ahead of time or if he preferred to strip Sacha himself. Master had never let him wear clothes, really, so it was never an issue before. Now, Cyril gave him clothes. What was he meant to do with them?

Sacha looked around and realized that Cyril didn’t have cuffs or anything of the sort to tie him down with during the act. Would he expect Sacha to lie there and accept it? Without restraints? Sacha wasn’t sure he could do that.

Cyril always kept a length of rope in his storage cabinet near the front. Sacha decided to go get it and beg for Cyril to tie him down.

Sacha sat there quietly, obediently, kneeled next to the bed. When rustling came from the door and he saw Cyril, his heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t ready for such an intimate betrayal.

“Shadow…?”

Sacha bowed his head and offered out the length of rope. He hoped that Cyril would be gentle and use lube. He hoped that Cyril would be quick in taking his pleasure. He hoped that he would be enough for Cyril.

“Shadow, what’s…”

Sacha squeezed his eyes closed, pushing the rope out more with his scarred hands and wrists. Please. Please just take me. Take your pleasure. Let me be useful, please.

Sacha wanted to be useful. He wanted his normal back. He’d do anything at all to have some semblance of what he knew back then. He wanted to rip his skin off for Cyril to prove his loyalty and commitment. He wanted to show Cyril how much it hurt him not to be hurt.

Sacha didn’t understand. He needed Cyril to make him understand. Sex felt like the way that Cyril would want to do it.

===

Taglist (open to adults only): @whumpsday, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @pigeonwhumps, @darkthingshappen, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @darlingwhump, @maracujatangerine, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @flowersarefreetherapy, @33-sdtr-45, @octopus-reactivated

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bbu-on-the-side · 2 months

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BBU Community Days 2024! In April!

Thank you, BBU community, for existing! To celebrate this community and our shared universe, I'll host a second instance of the BBU Community Days.

The event is open to everyone who enjoys the BBU. You don't have to be a writer or a long time participant, or anything, it's enough to just be someone who is fascinated by the universe! There's also no need to fill in all the prompts; no completionist badge will be awarded. The only "rule" is: if you want to boost your own content, please always boost someone else's too.

This year's prompts are in parts similar to last year's, some even stayed the same due to their success and popularity. Looking forward to seeing your new takes to it.

[Rules]

All prompts and a transcript of the image can be found under the cut as well.

April 14 / Community Prompt: (Re)Introduction / (Re-) Introduce yourself and give a little overview about your BBU writing / creations, favorite tropes, and the like.

April 15 / Worldbuilding Prompt: Questions (and Polls!) / What's an open question you've always asked yourself about the BBU?

April 16 / Writing Prompt: "RULES" / Write a BBU story based on the one-word-prompt and share it!

April 17 / Showcasing Prompt: Boxies / Talk about your current favorite boxie OCs (one of your own, one or more by someone else) with commentary on what makes them special to you!

April 18 / Creation Prompt: Memes & Prompts / Create a BBU meme (that would work in-universe or as a meta commentary - your call!), or curate a little BBU prompt list to inspire fellow writers, artists or roleplayers!

April 19 / Community Prompt: Favorites New & Old / Talk about the writers, characters or stories that most inspired your BBU journey - and if possible include a "new" favorite that you discovered (or that has only been been written) after last year’s event!

April 20 / Worldbuilding Prompt: Inspiration / What's an idea about the BBU worldbuilding that particularly inspires you, be it to daydream or to write?

April 21 / Writing Prompt: "OUTSIDE" / Write a BBU story based on the one-word-prompt and share it!

April 22 / Showcasing Prompt: Handlers or Owners / Talk about your current favorite BBU whumper OCs (one of your own, one or more by someone else) with commentary on what makes them special to you!

April 23 / Creation Prompt: In-Universe Media / Create a piece of media that could exist within the BBU!

April 24 / Community Prompt: Fanwork / Create a piece of fanwork (fanart, fanfic, moodboard, playlist…) for someone else’s BBU story, character, setting, pairing, or whatever inspires you about them!

April 25 / Worldbuilding Prompt: Archetypes / What’s a standard element of BBU worldbuilding you love to come back to in your own writing, and that makes you happy to see in others’? What are potential spins to it?

April 26 / Writing Prompt: "MADE FOR IT" / Write a BBU story based on the prompt and share it!

April 27 / Showcasing Prompt: Caretaker / Talk about your current favorite BBU caretaker OCs - be it pet lib activists, kind (?) owners, a boxie's loved ones... - (one of your own, one or more by someone else) with commentary on what makes them special to you!

April 28 / Creation Prompt: Collaboration / Create a piece of BBU content together with another community member!

#bbu #bbu community #whump community #whump event #bbu prompts #bbu community days #bbucd24

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