#nonbinary whumper
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I'm Curious...
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Only the Beginning
Masterlist
CWs: Angel whumpee, fem whumpee (though never addressed in fic, whumpee is female/female adjacent), capture, captivity, restraints, cult setting, religion, nonbinary whumper, forced to hurt/kill, semi-cannibalism (consuming a sapient humanoid’s flesh), major character death, gore
Death marks the beginning of our protagonists’ story, recounted by the very one who met her untimely end.
My name is an Infinite Expanse of Starry Skies… and this is the story of how I died.
It’s not an easy tale to tell, nor can I put into words the experience of dying, but I will recount it as well as I can.
I was an angel, a paragon – in my mind I am still, despite no longer living.
I tended to the religious spaces of my Realm. I sat behind a confessional screen, always listening, offering peace to troubled souls. They came to me: young and old, religious and not – and laid themselves bare. Their sins, their regrets, they were mine to hold, and I took them as if they were my own. In return, I gave them words they needed to hear, ones that the Realm never gave them.
I'm not the wild creature I was made to be in my last moments.
When they found me, I was wandering their Earth, searching for someone dear. Someone I would call my love … though the two of us never made that label official despite our affections. We were as different as could be – I, a devout worshipper, and she, a clever being with a tongue gilded in silver. Her sharp edges carried me to places I can’t name, and I was there to hold her steady, balance her out.
Her intensity drew me in, and I’m not sure what part of me appealed to her — but she made sure I always knew how she felt. She’d never been vocal about her opinions except to a close few, and I knew them all. Coupled with her actions, I gained a true understanding of her. Her passions, what she valued, every quiet thought of dissent she had, how she ached to feel real again.
I supported her. I covered her with my wings and offered shelter from the world and its worries, but she pushed me away.
“This isn’t something I can ignore.”
I had no reply.
Eventually, it became too much, and she fled to these lands seeking something I couldn’t offer her.
There I followed, finding myself caught in her motion again. Like a leaf in the wind, swirling and floating on its currents, subject to its whims.
Scouring the ground, the surface soft with the beginnings of spring, I looked for her, heart aching. The new growth padded with every step I took and the sun shone in my eyes, a far cry from the light of the Angelic Realm.
No luck yet.
And there would be no more to come.
They ambushed me when I considered what to do after hours of searching — pausing my ambling and standing tall, unmoving, breathing in the air. The stillness felt tangible in the barely warm sunlight I’d found myself in … and it tore apart so easily.
Ensnared like a beast, with my limbs twisted together and my cheek digging into the dirt, they took me down. They snapped the bones of my wings with swift kicks, tied me up and carved sigils into my flesh. I wailed. My blood welled up to kiss their blades, so eager to spill, something they licked off, tasting, savoring.
They were only humans. Mortal creatures.
I was brought back to their settlement and caged.
My powers had been rendered useless, and it was no use to struggle. Yet I did, hopelessly fighting against my imprisonment, desperate to find a way out. I hated to admit it, but deep in my chest there was a sliver of fear that hurt more than it should... impaling my heart while it still beat.
Help would not come for me. Yet I fantasized anyway, watching the humans come and go.
Over time, one caught my eye.
They were fully clothed in white, with white skin and white hair, save for dark gray streaks in it. They looked to be no more than a few years into maturity. Months? I’m unsure of the rate humans age. Whatever it was, it would be the age where an angel stopped aging so quickly, where time found itself stagnating, as if it were dipped in honey.
They kept their head bowed, seeming to be an important figure in the settlement despite their age. The others would give them flowers or sweets, whisper blessings and praises to them. They accepted them with grace, tipping their head in acknowledgment and responding with hushed words.
They never talked to me. They only stared, eyes lingering on the gilded cage at the center of the settlement that held me. And I stared back.
I had no desire to speak to them, and they must have felt the same. I found no solace in their lingering gazes.
Perhaps I should have.
I was convinced we were too different. We were not the same age, truly, nor the same species. We came from two separate words, each with their own unique history and culture, one in the sky and the other dwelling on the ground. Enough to keep us apart.
They were the one to speak to me first.
“I- I’m sorry..”
I didn't respond, for fear of ruining the moment.
“I have no choice. They want me to kill you. I can’t run.
“I’ve tried so many times.
“Please understand.”
I remembered that. What they said word-for-word, the date — a few days into my captivity — everything. It had been barely a blink’s worth of time, a moment’s eternity.
That was the day I ceased to be trapped.
It was sunset.
The humans had circled around me, opened my cage and dragged me out into the open. I fought them, thrashing and spitting, snapping into a frenzy, something so unlike myself, so violent — but so right.
It’s what she would have wanted me to do.
The hazel-eyed one walked before me, knife in hand. “I’m sorry.” They said again, tears forming in their eyes. They sparkled like rare gemstones or beads of dew, glowing in the dying light.
I realized what they had told me before was a confession, and I stopped struggling, my breath catching in my lungs.
…
Oh.
We weren’t so different, were we?
They slammed their knife in my chest and I screamed, the moment shattering.
My silver blood painted the ground, wet and warm and I thrashed, bucking against the ropes holding me down.
“Please! Please stop!” I begged, shrieking. My voice was sharp. The sound of it was the same as a violin played harsh and high, the notes incorrect, the sonata it played turning into sounds of horror and prayer.
They didn’t stop. They carved open my chest, digging the blade deep into my flesh, dragging it through the meat. It hit bone, scraping against my ribs, and that was when I began to fade. My limbs were untied as my life left my body, splayed out as my heart was torn from the cavity of my chest.
I was then eaten from. Consumed inside out, bled for drinks. The tender flesh of my heart was severed by teeth, chewed and swallowed, found its home in the human’s stomach.
I had died knowing no peace.
And now I find myself here, at The Divine’s judgment.
Once again, I become unraveled, and It consumes me too.
#whump#whump writing#angel whumpee#fem whumpee#nonbinary whumper#forced to hurt#forced to kill#my ocs#my writing#sky oc#blaze oc#starling oc#ImMortal Triplicity
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Look at me, trying to write more bc it's good for you. This is a response to a prompt I saw a while back, kinda lost the original prompt but eh
Masterlist
Non-sexual nudity tw, non con touching tw, non con stripping tw
Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs as Whumper slowly descended into the basement, wearing their customary steel-toed boots. Their Whumpee shuddered and pulled himself up into a kneeling position before them as they approached.
“Awe,” Whumper said with a lazy grin, hands held behind their back, “don’t you look pretty all ready for me?”
Whumpee held their tongue, staring straight ahead as Whumper sauntered over. He really was a stubborn one. Tonight should help with that. Whumper gave them a salacious once over and licked their lips at the plethora of colored bruises decorating Whumpee’s shirtless form. He really was gorgeous like this.
Whumper moved in a slow circle around Whumpee, drinking in the bold colors contrasting with pale skin. The coarse brown rope bound Whumpee’s wrists behind his back, leaving them red and raw. The dirt from the concrete floor, smudged across Whumpee’s body, hiding bruises and highlighting a ruggedness to Whumpee that Whumper loved probably too much. Gorgeous.
Whumper really wanted to add to the canvas with a thick cane or perhaps their own fists, but alas, places to be and people to see.
They stopped in place behind Whumpee, watching them twitch in anticipation and very well hidden fear. That defiance was undoubtedly playing behind his eyes, smothered by resignation and a significnat amount of self preservation. Delicious.
With a gentle grip they carded their fingers through his greasy, unkept hair. Testing just how compliant their Darling was going to be today. He didn’t pull back this time, that was good, they would hate to have to drag this part out now. He kept still, resigned. Resignation from their Darling was always so perfect. They were just in that sweet spot before they break. They might even beg soon.
Perfect.
They could sit here for hours, just petting and watching their Darling grind his teeth together, trying to school his emotions. Because he knew this was far, far better than being beaten bloody. The war of revulsion playing across his face was almost as good as hearing him scream.
But they had places to be, and Darling here was going to be perfect for tonight.
They slowed the hand in his hair, grabbed a fistfull of the filthy strands, and pulled his head back slowly. He could fight, maybe get them to release his scalp. He might even get a lick or two of his own in before Whumper could subdue him.
Whumpee would have, early on. He would never let them touch him without three beatings and two days withought sleep.
Now though, now the threat of what could happen helps him make it through what is. Now he lets them stroke his hair, pull his head back and bare his throat. Now he closes his eyes, grits his teeth and undoubtedly plays: it could be worse, on repeat in his mind. Perfect.
They pull Whumpee’s head back until he was staring at the ceiling, eyes alight with fury and shaded by fear.
“Stay.”
Whumper released Whumpee’s skull and he kept it in the position Whumper left him in.
“Good boy,” crooned Whumper as they strode across the room and selected a length of rope attached to a carabiner clip. Whumpee had taken to staying as silent as possible during these sessions, not talking or engaging with Whumper. It was cute how he tried to shut them out while remaining compliant.
“You’ve been such a good boy lately,” they said as they turned around, “That I think you’ll be perfect for tonight.” They returned to Whumpee, and kelt behind them while they fastened the rope around Whumpee’s neck, looped around his bound wrists, and attached the clip to the D-ring set into the concrete nearly underneath him.
They stepped back and around Whumpee, admiring their bobbing adam’s apple and exposed throat. In this position, they would be completely unable to lean forward or straighten. He might be able to get their feet out from underneath himself and get into a more comfortable position. But doing so would only earn Whumpee one hell of a punishment.
XXX
Whumpee’s face and neck burned red with the humiliation of being so vulnerable and on display for Whumper. He shifted uncomfortably in his restraints, testing them as much as he was trying to shift half a milimeter into a position that wouldn’t hurt, one where his ribs weren’t broken and his shoulders didn’t throb and where that god damned rope wasn’t digging into his windpipe and forcing him to lean back.
He wouldn’t be able to hold this position for very long, but he doubted he was going to be left in a stress position overnight again, not with Whumper’s talk of tonight. Somehow, he thinks that he would prefer to be whipped bloody than go through what is planned for tonight.
He heard Whumper walk over to the side of the room and squeezed his eyes shut.
The sink was along that wall.
He found himself trembling and forced himself to still before Whumper started cooing and calling him adorable in a voice that would sound patronizing if Whumpee wasn’t completely convinced it was genuine.
He just had to breathe. Take a moment to appreciate the ability to take full breaths that didn’t burn his lungs. Just breathe In, 2, 3, 4.
Whumper pulled something out from the cabinet under the sink.
Out, 2, 3, 4.
There was a squeaking sound as the hose was screwed into place.
In, 2, 3, 4.
Just breathe, feel your lungs expand with air as you choose to breathe.
Out, 2, 3, 4.
The water turned on.
Whumpee let out a whimper and immediately cursed himself for it. This was no time to lose his nerve. He is gonna be tortured. It is gonna fucking suck. And then he’ll be left alone for a few hours to sleep before it starts all over again. This is just his fucking life now and whimpering isn’t gonna make it any fucking easier.
Unless it will. He stamped the thought out the second it popped into his head. He is not nearly broken enough to even consider that, and right now he has to be strong because Whumper is walking closer.
His breath picked up in his chest despite his efforts as he heard the water from the hose hitting the concrete floor. This was gonna fucking suck.
The gentle spray of freezing water hit his left knee first, soaking through the filthy sweatpants he has been wearing for weeks, and chilling him to the bone in seconds. Whumper shifted to spray to soak his other leg and meandered up his stomach and chest, teasing at his neck before going over his back with a lazy pace.
So they were freezing him out first, making him miserably cold before drowning him in the same fucking cold water. Delightful.
XXX
Whumper watched their darling whumpee in delight as he flinched every time they worked further up his neck, how he was racked with shivers from the icy water and the look on his face that let them know he knew it was only going to get worse from here.
Delicious.
They quickly put a kink in the hose to stop the water and cause whumpee to flinch at the change. They return to the sink and turned off the water fully before unkinking the hose and detaching it from the sink. They pulled out a bucket as they replaced the hose and let the water run hot for a moment before placing the bucket in the sink to fill up.
Whumpee was still facing the ceiling, as if they were trying very hard not to think about what was going to happen next. As the bucket filled Whumper pulled out several bottles from under the sink and walked over to Whumpee.
Whumpee was still trembling, but they suspected it was more due to cold than fear. Their whumpee was excellent at managing his fear and keeping still for them, a trait they often take advantage of.
They set the bottles down and comb their fingers through their darling’s greasy hair again. It was getting longer as the weeks went by, hanging in front of whumpee’s face and giving a wild dog look to him that only enhanced their artwork. He could do without the beard though, it gave an almost paternal look to his face. Aged him in a way that made you think he was a father of four instead of a recent collage graduate.
Yes the beard will have to go.
The sound of water running over the side of the bucket and into the sink pulls them out of their head. They give whumpee’s head a gentle pat that whumpee pointedly doesn’t flinch at and returned to his side a moment later with the bucket, a comb, and a set of clippers.
XXX
Whumper took several moments to arrange the things they brought over, meaning this probably wasn’t going to just be a simple drowning, meaning this is just gonna get a hell of alot worse.
Images flash unwittingly to mind, and he unsuccessfully tries to shove them away. Whatever is gonna happen, he will survive it. When this is over, he will take breaths with burning lungs, shiver with his hands tied behind his back, and laugh at himself for how he thought he wouldn’t survive.
Because he was going to survive. He is going to walk out that door one day and never have to resist flinches or hold his tongue to survive ever again.
The sound of water being scooped out of the bucket pulls him out. This is it.
He forces himself to take a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.
Those damned fingers return to his hair, warm and sickeningly pleasant. He wants to wrench his head out of their grasp and away from them but he doesn’t. He holds still. He endures the unwelcome touch while he has to, just like how he will endure the drowning. Just like how he has endured every other goddamned torture he has been put through while trapped in this goddamned basement.
A clear, plastic, cup-shaped tupperware container filled with water enters his vision as it’s brought above his head. He closes his eyes and his breathing speeds up.
Burning heat is poured across his face and he gasps in shock as another scoop is poured along his hairline and into his hair. Then another, and another.
Soon his hair is soaked in the hot water and whumper’s fingers return to his hair, combing tangles out and making it lay straight
The terrible, gentle hand in his hair mixed with the warm water feels far better than he would ever admit. He is unlikely to be hurt now, but there is always the chance that the next douse of water will be ice cold and that the hand in his hair will tighten into a fist and hold him in place while the other fist pummels his unprotected face.
He wouldn’t be able to force himself to relax if he tried, the threat of this humilation giving way to pain an all too real possibility. Torture was far far worse than this, this might be the best he’s felt in weeks, but this was still not good. He’d still rather be anywhere but here, under the hands of someone who has beaten the shit out of him for ‘artistic purposes’.
Both the hand and the warm water stop as something is popped open. Whumpee tenses, ready for this to go from not okay to god-awful at lightspeed.
Whumper let out a small chuckle and cooed at him, patting his shoulder in ‘mock comfort’, not unlike a person patting the flank of a horse to calm them down.
Is it mock if Whumper really sees it as comfort? Does it even matter if its mock if being touched where he can’t see only reminds him how fucking helpless he is?
“Shhh darling, you’re being so good for me.” Whumper cooed in a voice that made part of Whumpee want kick out and struggle just to be contrary, but fear is controlling most of his fucking brain. Kicking out will definately turn this creepy, uncomfortable experience into a fucking nightmare.
It might be worth it to avoid whatever was gonna happen tonight though.
He swallows his pride and stays fucking still when whumper’s hand returns to his hair and something cool is massaged into his scalp with Whumper’s blunt nails, irritating the small nicks and cuts along his scalp.
He can’t fucking believe it. They’re fucking washing his hair?
Whumper is cleaning out the blood and grit and sweat and torture from his hair? Not only that, but once his hair was deemed clean, the suds and later the conditioner rinsed out, Whumper took a cloth to wipe his face clean of dirt and blood and all that other good shit that gets on your face when you’re being tortured, and did a fucking skin-care routine on him. They did a whole ass routine with exfoliating and a fucking face mask. They even took an electric beard trimmer or clippers or something and shaved his beard down to stubble, humming something about how that was much better.
What. The. FUCK??
He half expected them to get a tweezers and start plucking his eyebrows or some shit like that.
But whumper just put the things they had brought back to the sink and did what sounded like them rinsing and drying their hands before they came back and stood behind Whumpee their head tilted forward to look Whumpee in the eye.
Whumpee shifted under their gaze, sore from staying in the same position for so long, his feet already numb underneath him and his neck ached fiercely from craning backwards.
“How’re you doing darling?” they asked with a grin.
Whumpee didn’t respond.
“Ready to move on then I see,” Whumper said more to themself than anyone else and straightened to pull two chains down from the mechanism in the ceiling. They attach each manacle to each wrist and cut the ropes that have been digging into his skin for weeks.
The basement air feels pleasantly cool on his torn wrists, until the manacles shift down his wrists and settle into place digging into his open wounds. Terrific.
Whumper cuts the rope holding his neck in place and he leans forward slowly with a groan, muscles burning from lack of movement now equally furious with being moved out of position.
Wary of Whumper, and not wanting to be viewed as trying to get a beating, Whumpee remained on his knees and only rolled his aching shoulders forward. Fuck they hurt, they had been bound with each wrist tied individually and a short length of rope connecting them to allow for some mobility but simply the act of shifting them from back to front hurt like hell.
“Awww, are you sore?” Whumper cooed at them.
Whumpee tensed.
“We just have a little bit left to do before tonight so up up, on your feet,” Whumper commanded with a grin.
Whumpee leaned forward with a groan and braced his hands on the floor to slowly stand. At his full height he was at least several inches taller than Whumper, who stood to the side of the room next to the mechanism that will raise the chains toward the ceiling.
The chains that right now have slack. The chains that might just let him reach Whumper and kill them with his bare hands.
Whumpee froze in place. His moment of opportunity slipping by without him doing more than freezing. They might kill him. If he tried that, they might kill him. Would that be better? No. No it fucking wouldn’t be. As long as he is alive theres a chance.
A chance he might’ve just fucking missed.
Whumper cranked the mechanism, unaware of Whumpee’s internal battle. His arms began to be pulled upward by his shackled wrists and he let them be tugged upward until they were hanging loosely from the ceiling at about eye level, spread in a vaugue ‘I come in peace’ way.
Whumpee flexed his hands anxously. Whumper began humming the tune to a pop song Whumpee was unfamiliar with as they began filling the bucket again with hot water. They pulled out a tall wooden stool that they once tied Whumpee to with his front exposed so Whumper could flog his chest, and set it up within kicking distance from Whumpee.
Whumpee doesn’t do more than contemplate knocking it down. If it comes to it, and Whumpee can’t take it anymore, he can knock it down to get a minute or two of respite. Not that there’s not gonna be hell to pay afterward, but having some semblance of a plan is comforting.
The water started overflowing on the bucket again, so Whumper shut off the water and tossed a sponge in it before hauling it out of the sink and setting it on the stool.
Whumpee watched with detacheted interest and was preparing to brace himself for unwanted contact instead of torture. His mental fortitude however, shattered at the sight of Whumper pulling out a switchblade and flicking it open with a practiced grace.
Whumpee’s breath stopped in his throat and he chastised himself for it. What, you think that the torture will stop for one fucking second as long as Whumper is in here with you? Are you really that nieve, thinking that this will ever not end in blood.
Whumpee took several deep breaths to calm himself as Whumper chuckled and moved toward him menacingly. He wrapped his right wrist around the chain suspending it from the ceiling and gripped it tightly, bracing himself for whatever Whumper is going to do to him.
Whumpee feels the cool blade against place where their stomache meets their hip and holds in a whimper. This is gonna suck this is gonna suck this is gonna suck plays over and over in his head, waiting for the slice.
Whumper chuckles as pats his hip in that same condescending, spooked horse, way and Whumpee wants to kick them. He could. They were well within kicking range, his legs are free and Whumper is about to hurt him. Why the fuck isn’t he kicking them? He should still be fighting. What a few weeks of consistant torture and beatings and he’s fucking conditioned like a dog. Great. Fucking fantastic to know that he’s so easy to break.
He looks down to see Whumper staring up at him with a look of glee on thier smug fucking face. Anger boils inside of him as they soak in all his expressions, fucker was probably gonna say ‘delicous’, he thinks in a mockingly highpitched voice.
“What are you waiting for!” he shouts at them. And he can’t bring himself to regret doing it, even when Whumper’s grin extends to a full out smile and they grab onto his hip to brace themself to cut him. He can’t regret shouting at them. He can’t.
He refuses to regret the only show of defiance he has given in days. So instead, he steels himself for the knife.
XXX
Their darling really was a masterpiece. How he blends defiance and obedience is fucking perfect.
Delicous.
Whumper chuckles and draws the knife down, cutting through the ratty sweatpants from hip to ankle in a single slice of the recently sharpened knife. Whumpee jerks forward and gasps, trying to curl in on himself but keeping his leg perfectly straight. His weight was already shifted to the other side in anticipation of not being able to stand.
They threw their head back and laughed as Whumpee opened their eyes and saw that his leg was in fact fine. If completely bare and leaving him, eh, exposed.
Whumpee flushed a beautiful shade of red - they should get a pair of heels that color, it would match so well with their blue suit - and spat out “fuckin bastard” under his breath.
In half a second Whumper was pulling Whumpee’s hair back and holding the blade to his throat.
“What was that?” They ask in a low and dangerous tone, right next to Whumpee’s jaw.
Whumpee remained silent, difiance overriding fear for a few extremely stupid seconds.
Whumper kicks his knee out from under him and he falls with a painful jolt, his knees inches from the ground with his shoulders and wrists holding all his weight. He sobs and tries to get his feet under him, but Whumper stops him by grinding thier booted foot down on Whumpee’s ankle from behind.
They lean down next to Whumpee’s face and say in an unsettlingly calm voice, “I don’t like repeating myself. What. Did. You. Say?”
Whumpee lets out a gloriously pathetic whimper, but remains silant.
Whumper sighs and mutters a ‘stay’, before walking over to a cabinet and pull out one of their favorite whips, designed to bruise and leave beautiful welts instead of lashes they would have to disinfect and clean and bandage and yadda yadda yadda. This was simpler, meant for quick but effective punishments or drawn out beatings.
And boy did their darling need a punishment.
“You already have four offenses Whumpee,” they punctuate it with a crack of the whip on the concrete floor while circling in front of Whumpee. “One for each swear word,” another crack, “and one for each time you refused to answer.”
They slipped the handle under Whumpee’s jaw and tilted his chin up to see tears dancing in his eyes.
“You don’t want a fifth, do you?” They ask in a low, gentle voice.
Whumpee shakes his head, careful to not accidentily dislodge the handle from underneath his jaw and further add to his punishment. He’s learning. Slowly, but he’ll get there.
Whumper cracks the handle of the whip across his face and grips his jaw with their hand. Squeezing their fingers painfully into his jaw. “Words Whumpee. Use, your, words.” They tighten their grip with every word. “Do you want a sixth?”
“No, no I don’t want a sixth, sir.”
Whumper released his jaw with a shove. “Then what did you say?”
Whumpee hesitates a second too long.
“Thats six, you must really be a glutton for punishment darling. Are you? Are you a glutton for punishment?”
Whumpee swallows, eyes downcast, “No sir, no I’m not a glutton for punishment sir.”
“You know I don’t like repeating myself darling, you have ten seconds to answer.”
Whumpee licks his lips and squeezes his eyes shut.
“Fucking bastard. I called you a fucking bastard sir.” Whumpee swallows and seems to brace himself for a slap.
Whumper grins to themself, this was going to be fucking fun.
“Thats four more, I think you’re finially getting the hang of this.”
Whumpee’s eyes open in confusion.
“Fucking. Bastard. Fucking. Bastard.” Whumper held up their hand, and lifted a finger for every word they said, “Four.” They shrug and let their hand drop, “You did this to yourself darling.”
They start circling around behind Whumpee again, soaking in the angry mess that was Whumpee. “What are we at then Whumpee?”
No answer. Thats eleven
“Whumpee, I asked you a question. How many offenses are you at?”
A soft “ten,” came from Whumpee. Twelve and Thirteen.
“What was that?”
“Ten.” Whumpee states, louder this time.
“Nope, now we’re at Fourteen. Keep up Whumpee. Jeez, I haven’t given you a concusion for a while, seriously.” They crack the whip again, barely an inch from Whumpee’s bare feet. “Now, what are we at?”
“Fourteen.”
“Good, thats good whumpee. You’re doing great, except now we’re at 15 because you forgot to say sir. Again.”
Whumpee shuddered and tilted his head forward between his outstretched arms. He was no doubt gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut to regain some kind of control of his envoirnment, even something as small as shutting his eyes to the world around him.
“Now Whumpee,” They tap the handle of the whip against their chin, “ Just to recap and make sure we’re both on the same page, how many offenses are you at?”
This time Whumpee’s voice came loud and clear, “Fifteen sir.”
Affection bloomed in their chest and they stepped forward to pet their darling’s hair, the movement causing them to sway in their chains. “Good boy Whumpee! I knew you had it in you.”
Whumpee stayed completely still as Whumper ran their fingers through his hair.
“Now Whumpee, I do have to punish you. But I need to know that you’re learning from this,” They walk their fingers along his scalp, “so I can either give you 30 lashes, or I’ll give you 15 lashes and all you have to do is say ‘Thank you for punishing me sir, I deserve it’ after each one. How does that sound eh?”
Whumpee tensed more under their hand, they knew which he would pick, but it was important for him to see that there was always an option, always a way out for him if he ever needed it.
He took longer to debate than Whumper thought he would, honestly they almost expected him to wrench his head away from their hands and spit insults at them. But he doesn’t.
“Come on buddy, we don’t got all day. Choose and say please and thank you, otherwise it’ll be 60 and I��ll leave you up all night.” They put their other hand - still holding the whip - on his shoulder and touching his neck so they could have better leverage to claw their fingers through his still damp hair.
They felt Whumpee swallow and the vibrations from him saying, “Please give me 30 lashes, thank you sir.”
Whumper chuckled and backed up a few feet, “As you wish,” and struck.
Continued
#whump#nonbinary whumper#technically they are genderfluid but at the moment they are nonbinary#whumper#whumpee#torture#conditioning#creepy and intimate whumper#flogging#sadistic choice#sorta#noncon touching#noncon stripping#noncon nudity#nonsexual nudity#noncon bathing#spelling errors cw#I'll send you 10 bucks if you can guess the original prompt that inspired this because its completely lost#prolly gonna have a part two and three if I get around to writing them
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Johnstone, Johnstone, my darling boy Johnstone. "Pleading" on the BTHB card for him?
ID: Bad Things Happen Bingo Card
BTHB 1C - Pleading
BTHB Masterpost
Sorry about the wait, but I don't like rushing UwU Johnnybastard is certainly tough to make plead, but I think I have a way of forcing him :)
CONTENT AND WARNINGS: Dehumanisation, it/its as dehumanising pronouns, whumper turned whumpee, this episode, on 'How Homoerotic Could This Conceivably Get?' (even though Dathrir's gender is unfathomable, the spirit is there, (it's sfw tho dw)), wait, how the FUCK did I write hand whump (sliced thumb, EW), noncon turning (not a vampire thing, but a demon thing... even though vampires are a type of demon in these realms... idfk but Johnstone gets the worse deal) it's not transformation /yet/, forced blood drinking
wc: ~1k
“On your knees.”
Dathrir grabbed the restrained human’s throat, and with their free hand, their fingers wandered through its hair, and the clawed tips scraped over its scalp. The threat sent a chill down the human’s spine despite the snarl that stayed fixed on its face.
It took nothing to force it down, despite its viciously growled protests.
Compared to when he stood tall as a House Master, the human in front of them was small. It was probably the ragged clothes, and grimy, bloodied face that gave that impression.
Fallen from humanity’s grace.
A traitor.
A smile crept onto their features. “What a fun game…” they purred.
Fury burnt in those strange, odd coloured eyes. Dathrir recalled that eyes of odd colours were unusual in humans. It’d make a striking demon…
The human gnashed at the cloth gag, as if sensing the malice Dathrir exuded. The way it tried to cling desperately to any power or authority it previously had was amusing, but did not excuse its insubordination and crimes.
“You stole that belunae from me, you know. By getting greedy, sloppy. By getting stupid. I thought you were one of the more intelligent ones. If you had simply followed protocol, well... perhaps even... made a special request...” Dathrir drawled, “we wouldn’t be in this little mess now, would we?”
Their wandering fingers snapped shut and gripped a fistful of ratty blond hair, tearing scalp. The human let out a muffled roar that was as angry as it was pained. Blood seeped through its hair and a thin trail slid down its forehead.
“Hm, let me think… You failed to appoint another Head Hunter, lied in reports on multiple occasions, knowingly appointed a belunae in your Squad—one that you should have passed up—and you kept another as a pet in your little power fantasy. I must say, I admire your ingenuity… but not your stupidity.”
The human glared.
“Sorrel Johnstone, wasn’t it?” they asked. A shadowy smirk darkened their features as they tugged the gag from the human’s mouth. They spoke again, “You broke the House Order. Beg for forgiveness you pathetic fucking dog—give me one good reason not to execute you for treason, and I just might let you live.”
“NEVER, YOU FUCKING PRAT,” it spat.
Dathrir’s eyes narrowed, “You might consider trying again.”
“I. Will. NEVER YIELD!”
“Ever the fool… That’s okay though, I’ll enjoy spilling your blood.”
In a flash, a blade spun in their hand, the tip finding the snarling human’s throat.
The human inhaled sharply and froze, eyes going wide with an entertaining mixture of fury and fear.
Dathrir hummed a giggle, “Cat got your tongue…?”
The spark of defiance in the human’s eyes brightened to flames at the taunt. Its body quivered. Dathrir could hear the way the human’s hands worked in their bindings, itching to break loose and unleash the rage that so clearly roiled within. In the face of Dathrir, the bravery was almost admirable—it was willing to start a fight it surely knew it would lose. Then again, bravery was just a term to comfort the foolhardy.
Dathrir released the human, but not after a light swipe that left a fine, weeping mark across its throat. Perhaps now it would consider the command.
“This can go on as long as you’d like, but I’m sure you’d like to get back to business and rebuild your House,” they said with a quirked eyebrow. “So, why don’t you make it quick. Beg sweetly for me, and I will let you go.”
This got the human’s attention.
Clearly, it had expected to die here, but a change in tactic seemed to yield the results Dathrir desired. The rage still burned beneath its skin, its heavy breathing was a sure tell.
“Let me go,” Johnstone started in a low tone.
“Tsk tsk, the magic word...?”
“Please. Let me go please.”
“Oh I’m sure you can do better,” Dathrir quipped, “after all, you’ve heard it plenty of times, haven’t you?”
Even if only a mockery, the human’s next attempt was at least a fraction more believable, “Please let me go—I’ll do anything...!”
They would make them beg.
Dathrir stroked its hair. “Good boy... That wasn’t so hard now was it? There’s just one more thing before you go,” they drawled with an odd smile, unlocking the cuffs that bound the human.
“And what’s that?” it said, strangling its harsh tone.
Perhaps there was hope, it knew its unspoken boundaries and attempted to adhere, if only as a means to an end.
“This—” Dathrir sliced their thumb on the knife. Thick, dark blood immediately pooled at the tip and dribbled down in a fast stream. Dathrir lunged at the human faster that, it could blink, and shoved their thumb between its lips.
The human recoiled instantly at the taste of Dathrir’s foul blood and tried vainly to spit it out. Dathrir sealed its mouth, but it bit down hard through its clear disgust, tearing at their skin with blunt teeth, clearly trying to dismantle their hand one digit at a time. Had Dathrir been human, they would have screamed.
Instead, what they called pain was a warmth that blossomed and spread up their thumb and through their hand. The tears in their skin simply released more of their blood, prompting a muffled, frustrated scream from the human at their mercy. It struggled harder. It gave up causing them pain, instead trying to quell the sickening burning in their mouth and remove the substance that caused it.
Dathrir smiled, satisfied when the human had swallowed enough. They released it suddenly, letting it hurl itself across the floor. Blood glistened on its lips and the corners of its mouth, and more, mixed with saliva dribbled out of its mouth as it coughed and gagged, groaning lowly.
“What the fuck was that,” the human spat in a raspy voice.
Dathrir smiled, revealing fangs. “Oh,” they purred, “you’ll see.” It won’t be human for much longer, they thought, to be hunted by one’s own people is the most fitting punishment for a traitor.
“Guards, get rid of it. Take it to an alley near here, and then leave me,” they said, “I’d like to watch the show.”
“What the fuck—do you mean, you demon piece of shit?!” the human seethed between coughs.
Before Dathrir deigned to give another vague answer, the human twisted suddenly with a scream, no doubt caused by the corruption that flooded its body.
“Make it stop—! ARGH!” it yelled, agony cracking its strained voice. “Let me go and I’ll—consider letting—you live! If the other houses found out—”
“They won’t,” Dathrir said, “they haven’t for almost a thousand years~ Besides, no one would ever listen to a demon.”
“Let me FUCKING GO!” it screeched, leaping up and lunging toward Dathrir.
The guards caught it and held it back a mere inch from the unflinching Dathrir’s throat. It scrabbled in their hold, the bout of corruption seemingly over. The first ones they endured, Dathrir noted, always seemed less severe, and were shorter. For now, the pathetic creature that struggled restrained before them, murder in their eyes, would be fine. Perhaps it wouldn’t even notice what was happening until it was too late.
It was always captivating to see what a hunter would do when stripped of their humanity. Perhaps this one would be especially interesting, given its ego.
Dathrir hummed lowly, an ominously victorious, jovial sound, “As you wish.”
If you read and enjoyed this, please consider a reblog ^-^
Taglist
@dang-i-like-whump
@whump-cravings
@willowtreewhump
#whump#whump writing#emc's writing#Sorrel Johnstone#Dathrir#dehumanisation tw#whumper turned whumpee#Bad Things Happen Bingo#BTHB#pleading#bthb pleading#nonbinary whumper#ig i can put that as a tag? if yall want your whumpers to be unfathomable?#hand whump#finger whump#HOW IN THE eVERLOVING FUCK#dathrir what have you done!#the content warnings sound really weird when i say them outright#i promise i'm sane /j#original whump
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here's a new little unnamed thing! idk if i'll continue with this, but i just had the idea for a bit of the dialogue and wanted to run with it, so here's the results of that!
TW: guns, threats, held at gunpoint, brief mention of stalkery behavior, implied abduction and captivity, multiple whumpers, nonbinary whumpee (Indigo, they/them), nonbinary whumper (Lee, he/him)
"Hey, uh, we just moved in across the street! Thought we'd come over and introduce ourselves."
He was handsome, Indigo would give him that. And charming for sure. They both were. Indigo was not the type to just invite strangers into their home, neighbors or not, but before they could stop themself to think, all three of them were sat chatting in their kitchen. The chided themself silently, one small voice scolding them, telling them that they were being overly cautious, paranoid. But there was another voice, too. This one told them that this was a huge mistake. Just opening the door had been a mistake.
The first one introduced himself as Michael. He was tall, with deep, dark eyes and sharp features. His voice floated through the air like a birdsong. Combined with his curly, honey-blond hair, he reminded Indigo of an angel.
Michael introduced the other as Lee. He was quiet, soft-spoken. His eyes were soft and gentle, a soft gleam shining behind them. Everything about him was soft. Hell, if Indigo wasn't getting over a breakup, they'd probably pounce the poor boy's bones.
They chatted for what felt like hours. Indigo, at one point, got up to make tea for all of them, but once they returned, it was back to chatting. They couldn’t figure out what it was, but something about them just broke down their walls in a way that they had no chance of anticipating.
The problem with broken walls is that they no longer keep out any danger.
"So then, this has been a great chat, but let's cut to the chase." Michael smiled, that light, charming smile. "Who would you rather belong to?"
Indigo sputtered on their tea. Certainly they had misheard.
"Sorry?" They asked, laughing nervously and setting their mug down. "Maybe my tea's gone bad."
"Oh, ha, nah your tea is fine. We checked the expiration dates of your things the last time we came over." Michael hummed, setting his own mug down in turn. "I said, who would you rather belong to?"
"It's not a hard question, is it, love?" Lee followed. Indigo stood from their seat, almost frantically grabbing all three mugs and quickly setting them in the sink.
"Last time you-? You're freaking me out. I think it's time for you to see yourselves out." Indigo turned back to face them. Then, they froze. Michael was holding a gun. Had he had that the whole time? How had Indigo not realized?
"You're going to have to choose one way or another." Lee said lightly. "We're just trying to make it easier on you." He smiled that same, soft smile at them, standing slowly.
"Get out. Right now." Indigo took a step back, still eyeing the gun. "This isn't funny. Get out."
"You know we're not gonna do that, Indigo." Michael smiled. In an instant Indigo was running. Where they had been sitting, Michael and Lee were given easy access to block any exits. Michael stayed in his seat, he just so 'happened' to block the back door. (Though maybe he'd planned it that way. Indigo couldn't tell.) And when Lee stood before, it gave him a perfect opportunity to move to block the front.
Think, think. Ok, exits are blocked, so... Up it is?
They ran towards Lee, but not at the front door. As they neared him, they swung themself around the stairway, speeding to the upper floor before Lee could grab them. Indigo could hear him following closely, Michael behind both of them.
Luckily, Indigo was fast. Fast enough to get into their bedroom and lock the door behind them and fast enough then to run into the connected bathroom, locking that door just the same.
They huffed, sliding to the floor in an attempt to catch their breath after barricading the door with whatever they could find. They jumped at the sound of the two slamming through the door into the bedroom.
"You've blocked yourself in, Indigo. Did you forget that there aren't any windows in there?" They heard Michael say through the door. Fuck. He was right. "We can wait all night, so just save us all the time and effort and come on out."
They stayed silent, though let out a quick shriek when someone slammed against the door.
"Make this easier for yourself now, sweetheart." Lee said, knocking carefully on the door. "If you come out now, we won't have to punish you."
"Punish? I- What?? You can't do this!" Indigo yelled. "We're in the suburbs, dipshit, the neighbors will hear the gunshots and call the cops. They'll hear me yelling!"
"Naughty, naughty. Such bad words, Indigo, maybe we'll cut out your tongue to teach you a lesson." Michael sighed. "Remember, whatever happens now is your fault."
Indigo shrieked again as one of them slammed against the door.
"You fucking psychopaths! Leave me the fuck alone!" They cried, now frantically searching around their bathroom for some sort of weapon. All they could find was a small pair of scissors that they use to trim their hair, holding it protectively out in front of them as the door continued to shake.
Finally the moment they feared came to fruition when the door cracked violently open. Lee panted, looming in the doorway, with Michael slightly behind him, now directly pointing the gun at Indigo.
"And what do you think you're going to accomplish with those, dear?" Michael grinned, pulling the hammer of the gun. Indigo felt their blood run cold as they sat on the tacky green tile floor of their bathroom. Were they about to die on this floor? The green taken over by red as they bleed out?
"They'll hear." Indigo repeated shakily, clutching the scissors like a shield.
That didn't matter much. Indigo heard a whoosh and a thunk from behind, distracted and turning to see what the noise was only to see a fresh bullet hole in the wall. The shock alone caused them to drop their makeshift weapon and scramble further from the two people boxing them in.
Indigo fearfully looked back at the gun in Michael's hand, only now looking long enough to see the silencer on the end of it.
"I have some money." They stammered. "It's not a lot, but- but just take it and go and I won't tell anyone alright? Just take it and go."
"We're not after money, dear. You could give us literally everything you have and it wouldn't be enough." Michael finally took a step into the bathroom. "If we were looking for money, we'd just sell you like most of the others we've picked up. No, Indigo, we want you."
"We were planning to wait until night to take you," Lee explains, "Though Michael got a little excited and let out the surprise a bit early. No worries though, that just gives us some more time to get to know each other before we make our moves."
Indigo's mind was reeling. This had to be a nightmare, right? Michael took a few more steps into the room, kicking the scissors away as he stepped closer to his target. Indigo watched their only weapon slide away across the floor. Shit, they hadn't even realized they had dropped it.
They looked up at Michael who was looming over them now, then to Lee, still standing by the door. Yeah, this was a nightmare. It had to be. All they could do now was hope they woke up soon.
tags uwu @whumpsday
#i'm sorry i just love the two whumpers one whumpee dynamic so much it's all i think about#also i was high during at least half of the writing process so if this doesnt make snese then you know why lol#multiple whumpers#whump blog#whump community#whump drabble#drabble#whump fic#guns#whump stuff#general violence#whumpee#whump#gun whump#threatened#threats#held at gunpoint#nonbinary whumpee#nonbinary whumper#creepy whumper
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New Home
First installment of what I hope is a long series, but who knows. These are characters I have been messing around with for a while so it's nice to finally get something concrete down. This series is partially inspired by @whumpsday 's Kane and Jim series. It is amazing, go read it. My vampire lore is different, I'll eventually post it, but for now have fun with this.
Masterpost
Content: Vampire thralls, kneeling, past referenced abuse, human trafficking, vampire whumper, vampire carewhumper, human whumpee, nonbinary whumpee
Humans were the least of Kairos’ worries. They were there and that was that. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them, they just existed opposite to her. A dolphin isn’t overly concerned with the life of a shark. So when her father called her into his office for an unstated reason she did not expect this.
There was a rather deplorable looking human trembling on the floor in front of Duke Eldon Orfeo. He stood in front of his desk giving the human not even a glance as he waited for his daughter. Kairos gave her father a weird look as she stepped into the room. It was unlike him to engage with even the humans in his own household except for swiftly disciplining them and sending them on their way. Yet this human, Kairos didn’t recognize, confusing her even more.
“Father? You called for me?” The Duke nodded at his daughter and then glanced down at the trembling figure on the floor.
“Yes, I need you to deal with this.” His voice was cold and smooth, commanding ultimate authority. Kairos looked down at the shaking form. She could hear small whimpers coming from the human as they wrapped their arms around themself.
“And this would be-?”
“The human was a thrall of one of Edward’s intolerable friends who has recently been sentenced by the Council of Lords. It was gifted to Edward, but I see no reason to reward him for associating with such people and so I am giving the human to you.”
Kairos had to admit she was stunned. She very rarely had personal thralls, they were more of a hassle than they were worth. The last time she could recall taking one was when she first moved to France and refused to spend another several decades alone with no one who would speak to her.
“I appreciate the offer, Father, but wouldn’t Michél appreciate the gift more? He is far more inclined towards personal thralls.”
“Michél agrees that you should be the one who gets the human. He has several already. Besides, this one fits your preferences, does it not?” Kairos looked down at the thrall, who seemed increasingly distressed by the path of the conversation. They were indeed the kind of human she would normally go for, frail and feminine. Their hair fell just below their chin in a mess of brown curls not unlike her youngest brother James. Yet, she was inclined towards women in bars who would readily come home with her under the promise of wine and good company. Few complained that her good company came with the price of their blood. They left with more pleasure than any man could give them and a wound that would heal in a week. She had no need to ever see them again.
“My preference is normally for less permanent meals, Father. Not for second hand ‘gifts’. Besides, there are plenty of thralls in your household that I drink from. I have no need for another meal.”
“Then use the human as a test subject for your experiments. Do whatever you please with it, but I am assigning it to you.” Her father’s tone was becoming terse and she knew that if she pushed him any longer this would become a significantly more painful exchange for her. She would have to figure out what to do with the human later. For now, she figured it would be wise to get out of her father’s sight.
“Yes, Father. I’m sure I can find some use for the human. Thank you for deeming me worthy for this gift. I doubt Edward would be mature about this anyway.”
Her father nodded and she felt a small amount of relief that she defused the situation before it became too extreme. She looked down at the human who glanced up at her only to quickly shoot their eyes back to the ground.
“Come,” she ordered the human, “I have work to do.
---
Quinn tried to still their shaking. They didn’t understand what was wrong with them. They knew how to behave in the presence of vampires and yet everything their Master taught them escaped from their mind. They had been brought to this house with the expectation of being immediately handed to the vampire their Master had gifted them to and yet they still hadn’t seen him yet. The vampire they knelt in front of was no less terrifying than Master’s friend. They had met Master’s friend before. He was cruel, even crueler than Master was.
This vampire was tall with dark hair that was short and neat. From the few words they heard him say, they could tell he had a French accent. They wondered if he was going to be their new Master instead of Master’s friend. They knew it was forbidden to want anything, but they hoped he was.
When the woman walked in Quinn couldn’t hold back their confusion. They risked a glance up at the vampire. She looked dangerous, with long red hair and intense eyes. Quinn wondered who she was. They had seen more vampires in this night alone than in the rest of their life. With every one Quinn could feel their dread getting deeper and deeper into them.
There was a time, when Master first took them, that Quinn thought about running away. Those forbidden thoughts had been gone from their mind soon after, but they came back with a terrifying realization. They were going to be given to a vampire in a house surrounded by other vampires. Even if they got away from whoever was meant to be their new Master, they would still have to get past all the other vampires in the house. Quinn blinked hard as they realized what they had been thinking about. How dare they think those thoughts, here of all places. This was supposed to be a new start, and yet they were already messing it up by misbehaving.
When Quinn heard the French vampire say that they would be given to the woman they thought they misheard at first. Did this mean they wouldn’t be going to Master’s friend? Quinn felt a rush of relief run through them. Quinn was ecstatic, anything was better than belonging to Master’s friend, as disobedient as they were for thinking about it. He was horrible, even when Master told him to go easy on Quinn. They started to calm their breathing right up to the point when the woman spoke.
“I have no need for another meal.”
Quinn was crushed. The two vampires above them were debating their fate as if it was nothing. The small part of Quinn that was angry about that was squashed down by the part of them that knew this was their purpose. Master had taught them that they existed in this world purely to serve vampires. They knew better than to doubt that, but what these two were doing now was cruel; dangling a better option in front of Quinn like a worm on a hook.
“Use the human as a test subject for your experiments.” Quinn whimpered at the words and then bit their lip to silence themself. The vampires did not want to hear their pain. They were supposed to take this torment silently so as to not inconvenience their Master. Quinn cursed themself. Of course the woman didn’t want them as her thrall, they couldn’t even stay quiet when they weren’t in pain. How could she expect them to stay quiet when they were being disciplined or even when she wanted to feed? Quinn trembled at the thought of making any noise when their new Master fed. They would certainly be punished severely if that ever happened.
They heard the woman agree to taking them and Quinn wondered if they should feel relieved. Of course they didn’t want to belong to Master’s friend, but this woman did not want them. What if they gave them to him when they got bored or irritated with Quinn’s bad behavior. They tried so hard, but Quinn always misbehaved. Master told them all the time that if they ever wanted to be free of punishment they had to be more obedient, but Quinn was dumb and they messed up all the time.
They tried another glance up at the vampire, but this time they were caught. Quinn quickly looked back down at the ground. They held back a whimper. Their new Master would surely punish them for this disrespect. Master-no their old Master now-would have slapped Quinn across the face if they ever dared to look at him without being told. But their new Master ignored the disrespect and simply gave them the order to follow. Quinn, confused but not willing to mess up twice in a row by ignoring the vampire’s commands, stood and quickly followed after their new Master.
---
Kairos led the shaking human to her room. She needed to get some work done before she could even speak to the thrall and despite their trembling they seemed well-behaved enough to sit quietly while she worked. She walked through the hallways and noticed the human glancing around at the artwork. She was glad the human was not totally petrified that they had lost all ability to think. That would be irritating for her to deal with. She opened the door to her room and gestured for the thrall to go in. The human walked past her slowly, obviously still quite nervous. Kairos shut the door and caught a glimpse of the human finching at the sound of the lock.
“Sit and be quiet,” she said gesturing to a chaise next to the bed, “I have work I need to get done before I discuss some things with you.”
The human nodded quickly, but didn’t say anything. Kairos, usually unbothered by thralls giving her no response-it was typical of any of her father’s thralls to ignore her completely-felt the need to correct this.
“When I give you an order I expect a response, understand?”
The thrall shook where they stood and Kairos noticed the human looked about ready to fall over, but they forced the words out of their mouth.
“Y-yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master.”
Kairos gave them an affirmative nod and turned to her desk in order to continue her work.
After about an hour of writing she turned around to see the thrall, staring at the floor in front of them. They sat with perfect posture on the chaise, with their back straight and their hands in their lap. So the thrall at least knew how to follow a simple order. That was good to know. Kairos had interacted with many thralls that seemed to think they could ignore or disregard her orders simply because they answered to her father first. She had almost forgotten what it was like to actually be obeyed without question. She had to admit, it felt nice.
---
If you wanna be on the tag list just lmk :)
#whump#whumpee#whumper#vampires#vampire whumper#carewhumper#past whump#kairos#quinn#nonbinary whumpee#Kairos MacCaélan
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To Protect You
A/N: First time doing OC ladies in whumpy situations! I know that it's not everyone's cup of tea, so feel free to skip this story! I wanted to experiment since the only time I did that kind of thing was with Edelgard from Fire Emblem Three Houses. Also, this is my Fierce Forests OCs Hazel and Maple's debut! Anyway, hope you enjoy!
TAGS: @robinbugbanned
TWS: captivity, beaten up, blood, forced to watch, cursing, nonhuman whumpee (Maple is a Magical Elf), Whumpee x Whumpee, female whumpees, male whumpers.
_____
Days. It had been days since Hazel and Maple were taken captive by Brennus. Days of being beaten up and tortured for opposing against the king. Days with very little food and water.
Hazel could only sigh as she curled up into a ball, trying to protect herself from the freezing air in their prison. Anger coursed through her over the sheer helplessness she was feeling for those days. They took all of her weapons, including her signature Bolt Blade, a sword that was infused with Lightning magic passed down by her father. Without her weapons, she was nothing but a helpless woman who was unable to fight back.
She hated it. She hated it so much.
She heard the chattering of teeth, and she turned her head to see her best friend, Maple, also curled up into a ball to protect herself from the cold. However, judging by the chattering teeth, she wasn't able to keep warm.
Hazel crawled up to her, shivering now that she was no longer in a ball. "Hey," she whispered, sitting beside Maple. "You okay?"
Maple turned her head to face Hazel, and Hazel gritted her teeth at the bruises and cuts her best friend had on her face. Those guardsmen had given her quite the beating the past few days, and Hazel's anger grew at the thought of that.
"I..." Maple tried to speak, trailing off for a second to tighten herself into a ball. "I'll be fine, Hazel. Don't worry about me."
"You're cold..." Hazel pointed out, frowning. When Maple gave no response to that, only shivering, Hazel knew what she had to do.
She slipped off her fur coat, feeling the chilling air biting her skin as soon as her coat left her body. She placed it around Maple's shoulders, covering her with it. The coat was filthy due to not being washed for days, but Hazel figured that Maple wouldn't mind.
Maple glanced up at her, eyes wide, but no longer shivering. "Hazel, what--"
"You need it more than me," Hazel said, a small smile on her face.
"But--"
"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine..." She trailed off when she felt the biting cold hitting her skin, leaving goosebumps on her. She shivered, curling up into a ball once more.
Maple frowned. She didn't have to sacrifice her own coat just to keep Maple warm. "Hazel..." Maple whispered, inching closer to her friend. "We can share this, you know? You didn't have to give it up to keep me warm."
"I said I'll be fine, Maple," Hazel insisted, shaking her head. "You don't have to--"
"I don't have to, but I want to." Maple said, before taking the coat and wrapping it around Hazel's body. It didn't leave Maple's body, as it covered both of them partly. It wasn't exactly a blanket, but it would have to do.
Hazel blushed as Maple curled up beside her to share body heat. She didn't admit this to anyone, not even her sister Holly, but... lately, she had been crushing on her best friend. She wasn't sure why she felt that way--they knew each other since they were small children, and it wasn't until recently she began to feel this way.
She shook her head to get rid of those thoughts. Now was not the time for that. She and Maple had to find a way to escape--
The door to their cell opened, and the two women jumped at the sudden sound. At least five guardsmen, all wearing golden armor, entered the cell, their weapons drawn.
Maple curled up tighter against her friend. Hazel, however, glared at their captors.
"What do you want?" Hazel demanded.
"Isn't it obvious?" One of the guardsmen chuckled, approaching the two. His sword glistened in the dark, to which Hazel shuddered. "We're here to get information out of you two ladies. Now, be good little girls..." he held out the sword close to Hazel's face. Hazel tried not to flinch at the sword's tip touching her face. "...And tell us where those damned Fierce Forests are."
"Go to hell," Hazel growled, her glare saturated with hate. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around Maple, holding her close in a protective manner.
The guardsman seemed to have noticed this and smirked. "Ah, protective, aren't we?" He chuckled. He moved the sword away from Hazel, only to point it at Maple. The Magical Elf gasped, curling up against Hazel once more. "Tell us, and we won't hurt your girlfriend here."
"Go. To. Hell." Hazel growled again, her hold on Maple tight.
The guardsman tsked, before he raised his sword. Towards Maple.
Maple yelped in fear, burying her face in Hazel's chest. She shut her eyes tightly, awaiting the inevitable blow.
The sword hit skin, and a feminine cry of pain echoed in the dungeon.
Except... it wasn't her scream.
Maple slowly opened her eyes, and she gasped in shock and horror upon seeing the sight.
Hazel had her pushed against the wall, her back facing the guardsmen. Hazel gritted her teeth in pain as her eyes were squeezed shut, and crimson dripped down from her back. Her eyes widened, and her mouth gaped open at the realization.
Hazel took the attack for Maple.
"Dammit!" The guardsman cried, throwing his sword to the ground in frustration. With a growl, he grabbed Hazel by the scruff of her tunic and tried to pry her off of Maple. However, Hazel held on, her hold tightening around Maple's body, as the Magical Elf tried to hold onto her friend.
"No!" Maple screamed, "Don't hurt her, please!"
"Shut up!" The guardsman grabbing Hazel yelled. "And let go! Or else!"
"Never!" Maple cried, her hold tightening once more. "I'll never let you hurt her!"
"Maple," Hazel whispered. Maple glanced up at her friend, whose eyes were filled with worry. Maple could also see the fear in her eyes, but she could tell that she was trying to hide it from her. Likely to not make Maple worry. "Let go. I'll handle it."
"Hazel, no," Maple gasped. "I can't let them hurt you! Please, I--"
"Maple," Hazel whispered again, this time her tone firm. "Let go. They'll hurt you otherwise. I'm strong, I can deal with it. Please, Maple... before they hurt you."
Maple gulped, tears pooling in her eyes. If she let go of Hazel... what would these guardsmen do to her? What if they ended up killing her? What if--
"Let go now!" The guardsman bellowed.
Without another thought, Maple released Hazel from her hug, and Hazel was pulled away from her. She could have sworn she saw a small, relieved smile on Hazel's face when she was taken away from her.
The guardsman holding Hazel threw her to the cold, stony floor, and Hazel grunted in pain. The cuts and bruises she had endured the past few days burned and ached, as she grunted when a sharp boot met her stomach.
"Dumbass," the guardsman who grabbed her muttered under his breath. "Should have told us where your pals were!"
The other guardsmen surrounded the swordswoman, before a rain of blows attacked Hazel's body. Each kick, punch, and strike hit her body, as she grunted and growled. Tears began to form in her eyes due to the sheer pain, but she held on. She refused to cry in front of these bastards!
Maple could only watch, tears falling down her face. She sniffled, shaking her head, as if doing so would make the guardsmen stop their assault on Hazel. However, she could only watch in horror as they continued to beat Hazel for her crimes.
A sharp boot hit Hazel's lip, splitting it, and that was when she screamed. A single tear rolled down her cheek from the blow, and she couldn't help but blush in embarrassment. Ugh, she hated crying. Even when her father was executed by Brennus, she didn't cry at all--she didn't want Maple or Holly to see her weak.
"Heh, are you gonna cry?" The guardsman taunted with a grin.
"Damn you," Hazel growled.
That rewarded her with another kick to her eye, nearly gouging it due to how sharp the boot was. Thankfully, Hazel shut her eye in time, only leaving her with a black eye. The tears she was holding back from that eye began to fall, to which her captors taunted her over.
"Look at the crybaby crying!"
"Heh, what a wimp!"
Maple couldn't look. She turned her head, tears continuously falling down her face. However, her sharp hearing could still pick up the beating her friend was getting, and she couldn't help but imagine what was happening.
Hazel smiled in relief when she looked behind one guardsman to see that Maple was looking away. Good. I don't want her to see this...
A headache began to form as she was kicked on the head a few times. But she held onto her consciousness as she saw the black spots forming in her eyes. No. She shouldn't pass out now. Not like this.
To her, it felt like hours when she was being beaten. And just like that, it stopped.
She slowly glanced up at her captors, an eyebrow raised. The guardsman who pried her off of Maple scoffed, before throwing two pieces of moldy bread at Hazel and Maple.
"That's what you get for not telling us," the guardsman growled. "We'll be back tomorrow, and if you two still want to be stubborn, we'll beat you again. This time, starting with her." He pointed at the shaking Maple, who continued to cry.
Hazel gritted her teeth, anger flowing inside her. They wouldn't! "Don't you--"
She was met with another boot to the face, this time, hitting her cheek.
"Shut up." The guardsman who struck her growled. And with that, the five guardsmen left the cell, closing and locking it behind them.
Hazel couldn't move. Pain flared up everywhere, as she attempted to get up to no avail. She heard Maple gasp before she was gently lifted to sit. Maple held her best friend close, Hazel's face buried in her shoulder, as Maple ran a hand through her bloodied hair.
"Hazel," Maple whimpered, "I'm sorry. I--"
"This isn't your fault..." Hazel whispered. "Don't blame yourself, Mape... I took the hit to protect you. I'm sorry you had to see that..."
Maple cried into Hazel's arms, and while she didn't notice it, Hazel was, too, as the pain was too much. Both of them could only hope that they would be rescued soon...
#whump#my whump stories#captivity#woman whumpee#male whumper#<<<as suggested will do this for male and female whump as well as trans and nonbinary#beaten up#multiple whumpees#blood#forced to watch#nonhuman whumpee#maple#hazel
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After everything Whumpee did to her, it felt like a new beginning to see him passed out and chained up in her basement.
Whumper had been so angry when she escaped. So unlike the meek little person she was, even before Whumpee clawed her already tattered confidence into pieces. And it didn't help that the target of all of her newfound ire had been the very person that was housing her, Caretaker.
Whumper tried to behave at first.
Not only was everything that Whumpee did to her so fresh in her mind, but her and Caretaker had never truly been close. There was no bad blood between them, but they'd never bonded the way siblings were expected to. Whumper made peace with it early — they were nearly a decade and a half apart, and she never saw Caretaker much anyways.
She should have tried harder, she realized.
Because Caretaker didn't just house her after everything Whumpee did. They went above and beyond to help her heal.
Keeping their cool even after she'd smashed every piece of ceramic they owned. Ditching soup, coffee, and tea after she had a panic attack from them heating up a kettle. Brushing her hair aside and telling her to let herself heal at her own pace after she'd spent an hour sobbing about a setback.
And now...
Now, this.
Whumper giggled quietly, euphoric at the sight of the numerous tools Caretaker had left her.
A perfect solution to her little anger problem.
#female whumper#whump drabble#nonbinary caretaker#debatably bad caretaker#whumpee turned whumper#sibling caretaker#diversity win: the one that kidnapped your abusive ex for you to torture is nonbinary#female whumpee#in the past#whump prompt#whumper turned whumpee#whump#lady whump
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Conquest, Chapter 28: Perfectly Defeated
Chapter 28 of Conquest, a novel-length fantasy whump story about a timid royal clerk captured by the disgraced prince who needs their help to rule their newly conquered country. This series is best read in order. Masterpost here.
Contains: fantasy setting, nonbinary whumpee, male whumper, broken whumpee, royal whumper, reluctant whumper, emotional whump, fantasy politics
---
Miranelis
When Kezul brought Miranelis back to the stable that night, Miranelis sank onto the straw with their legs folded messily under them. They sat slumped against the wall like a discarded toy. They didn’t bother wondering why Kezul had brought them back to the stable himself, instead of assigning the task to one of his Wolves. Or why he stood in silence and watched them for a long moment before leaving. Maybe, if they had looked into Kezul’s face, they might have been able to gather some kind of clue. But why would they bother? It didn’t matter. And they weren’t supposed to look Kezul in the eye anyway.
They knew these things now. There were a lot of things they understood now that they hadn’t before. Like how all their fear had been pointless in the end. Whether they lived or died, there was no real difference. Either way, their life had ended the day the Wolves had invaded. The day they had been defeated.
They sat in the straw, not thinking, not feeling. Finally, their control was perfect. They weren’t able to show any emotions—they wouldn’t have been able to if they had wanted to. Because they finally felt none.
They knew they should be angry at the thought of Kezul. Or maybe they should have been afraid. But they felt neither one. They certainly didn’t feel any hope.
They might have slept. They weren’t sure. There no longer seemed to be any difference between sleeping and waking. There was darkness, and then there was light. There were periods of more awareness, and periods of less. But there were no real thoughts in their mind, nothing that went beyond a vague consciousness of their surroundings. There were no feelings. Not even when heavy footsteps echoed outside the stall. Not even when the rusted stall door squealed open and Kezul stood on the other side.
Kezul was talking. Miranelis shook their head and tried to focus. They didn’t know how long Kezul had been speaking, or why he was addressing Miranelis in the first place.
“It will have to be all the noble houses at once,” Kezul was saying. “That will make as big a spectacle as possible, and that way, none of them will have any advance warning. I’ll have them all brought here, under some pretext or other. For the ones who are on my side, or think they are, it will be easier. I can get them here with the prospect of… oh, I don’t know, some kind of negotiations. That would work, wouldn’t it? Do you think they would believe it?”
When Miranelis didn’t answer, Kezul went on. “The ones who are already planning to rebel, I’ll have to arrest out right,” Kezul continued. “Of course, the problem there is that it could spark the rebellion all on its own. That’s not what I want.”
But killing them all will spark the rebellion anyway, Miranelis thought, and wondered why some corner of their mind was bothering to engage at all. Better to sit quietly and think of nothing.
“But killing them all will spark the rebellion anyway,” said Kezul, and Miranelis’s head jerked up with a start. Kezul looked at them sharply, a question in his eyes.
Miranelis’s head slumped back down again. They didn’t say anything.
After a moment, Kezul spoke again. “It’s not what I want,” he sighed. “But it’s necessary. The rebellion will come one way or another. This way, it will happen on my terms. I’ll strike the first blow. I’ll control when the war begins. I’ll be ready.”
It’s not what’s necessary. Miranelis’s mind echoed with the words some part of them wanted to speak aloud, even though they knew there was no point. What you mean is that it’s what your father wants.
They half-expected Kezul to echo their thoughts again. But this time he didn’t. “I’ll need another pretext to get them here,” he said instead. “Something more subtle.” He looked at Miranelis.
That distant part of Miranelis’s mind, the part that still cared about all this for some reason, wanted to laugh in Kezul’s face. Did Kezul really think Miranelis would help him with this? If so, he should have asked for that help before he had shoved Miranelis into that pit and burned all the fear out of them.
“You’re good at subtle,” Kezul pressed. “Better than I am, at least.”
There was no resentment in his voice at having to ask a prisoner for something, no shame at admitting a prisoner might be better than him at anything. He certainly had come a long way. Under other circumstances, Miranelis might have found it funny.
Under other circumstances, Miranelis might have been proud of him.
“Well?” Kezul prompted. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
Miranelis stared down at the straw. They didn’t answer. It should have been obvious that they didn’t have anything to say, so they didn’t know why Kezul was still here, demanding advice. Whatever they said, it would make no difference; Kezul had made that clear.
If they didn’t give Kezul what he wanted, maybe he would beat them. Maybe he would force them to fight him again, place a knife in their hand and make them stand there while he went through the motions, until he claimed his inevitable victory. Maybe he would kill them. What did it matter? Miranelis knew the truth now—there was nothing to be afraid of. They were already dead.
Kezul took a step closer. He leaned down into Miranelis’s face. “Aren’t you going to call me a coward for not standing up to him?” He crossed the rest of the distance between them and tilted Miranelis’s chin up to meet his eyes.
For an instant, Miranelis was reminded of the first time they had ever stared into those eyes. As had happened that day, he seemed to fall forward into their black depths as they stretched to fill the entirety of their vision. But this time, there was no fear. This time, they welcomed it. They wished those eyes would yawn wider and swallow them whole.
“Well?” Kezul’s voice rose, filling their hearing the way his eyes filled their vision. “Say something.” Maybe Kezul was shouting. Maybe he was whispering. Miranelis couldn’t tell the difference. The sound was all-consuming either way.
If they gave Kezul what he wanted, maybe he would leave them to their silence.
“As the ruler of Danelor, you know what is best,” Miranelis said, in a voice of perfect neutrality, perfect control.
Kezul made a furious noise deep in his throat. “Don’t give me that. Tell me what you think. You were honest with my father the other day—you can’t be honest with me?”
“I have no advice to offer you,” said Miranelis. It was true. Once, they might have tried to figure out how to dig Kezul out of this hole and salvage what the two of them had built together. But there was no chance of that anymore. Maybe they had never had a chance. Maybe, like Miranelis, all of Danelor had been dead from the time the Wolves had marched over the mountains.
“If you have no advice, then what about your opinions?” Kezul demanded. “You certainly had enough of them before. Don’t you have anything to say about me doing exactly what my father wants?”
“You will do what is best,” Miranelis said, and closed their eyes. What they meant was that Kezul would do what he wanted, and nothing else mattered. Not Miranelis’s advice. Not what would help Danelor. Not even what Vorhullin the Unmaker demanded.
For Danelor now, there was no best. There was only what Kezul wanted. His will had scoured Miranelis clean, and soon it would scour Danelor, leaving it a ruin of famine and fire. Miranelis knew, now, that there had never been any point in fighting for themselves. Maybe there had never been any point in fighting for Danelor, either.
Kezul stood. He paced restlessly back and forth across the filthy straw. “I have to do it,” he said. He wasn’t looking at Miranelis. Miranelis didn’t know if he was talking to them anymore. “I have to do it, because otherwise they’ll rebel.”
He paced back and forth, back and forth. “They’ll rebel no matter what I do.”
Back and forth. “But this way, it will be my choice. It’s the only thing I can control. I can’t put things back the way they were. I can’t go on ruling the way we started off—it would never have worked.” He stopped in front of Miranelis. “Do you understand? We never had a chance.”
Miranelis said nothing. They hoped Kezul wouldn’t insist on an answer this time.
He didn’t. He resumed his pacing. “They never really respected me. The noble houses, Danelor—it was never real. They were afraid of me, that was all. I saw it in the eyes of that man at the Poets’ Academy, before it burned.”
Who had he spoken to before the academy had burned, and what words have been exchanged? And what had become of that man afterward? Miranelis knew the answer to that last question—he had burned like all the rest. But what did it matter? Like the rest of Danelor, the man had been dead already—he just hadn’t known it.
Miranelis took a breath and tried to smother the faint spark that flared to life inside them. There was no point. Like the fire that had destroyed the academy, the fire in them was long dead. There was nothing left but cold ash.
“They feared me,” said Kezul. “They hated me. And why shouldn’t they?” Back and forth. Back and forth. “And that was when I was helping them! Why did we ever think they would trust me enough to help me rebuild their country? That idea of ours, that we could do all this peacefully… it was always an illusion.”
Kezul’s restless footsteps paused. Their feet stopped in front of Miranelis. Miranelis didn’t look up, but they felt Kezul’s eyes on them.
Miranelis didn’t react. They didn’t even know what Kezul wanted from them. Agreement? Argument? Absolution?
Miranelis had nothing to give. They had left it all behind in the pit of bodies.
“I have to do it,” Kezul repeated. “If I don’t, my father will. And when I fail his test, there will be no more second chances. I’ll be dead, and you’ll be worse than dead. Do you understand?”
Miranelis said nothing.
Kezul leaned down and grasped Miranelis’s chin between his fingers. “If you think I’m bad, you don’t know what he would do to you. You’re lucky you’re with me. You’re lucky I broke you before he could. You know that, right?” He shook Miranelis’s head back and forth once, sharply, as if in emphasis.
“I understand,” said Miranelis in the same perfectly controlled voice, before Kezul could decide to shake them again.
Kezul’s fingers dug in tighter. They growled. “Don’t fawn at my feet like them. You don’t fear me like they do—not anymore. Isn’t that right?”
“I don’t fear you,” Miranelis echoed. It was the truth. What did they have to fear now?
“You’re smart enough to understand why I have to do this.” The fingers dug in still tighter, Kezul’s nails pressing painfully into Miranelis’s skin. “Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” Miranelis repeated obediently.
Abruptly, Kezul let go. Miranelis didn’t look up, but out of the corner of their eye, they saw Kezul shake his head, his brows drawn furiously down. “You’re just telling me what I want to hear. You’re not afraid, so stop acting like you’re afraid. Stop acting like all the rest!”
What did Kezul want? Miranelis had no fear left in them because they had nothing much of anything left in them. What was Kezul looking for, then, if not the echo that was all they had to give?
Miranelis glanced up, just long enough to get a look into Kezul’s eyes. Kezul’s eyes shone with fury, but there was something else buried deeply there. Not the hidden fear Miranelis had grown used to seeing. This was shame.
It was easy enough for Miranelis to recognize. They had felt enough of it themselves in the days since the conquest. Every time they proved themselves once again to be a coward.
Forgiveness, Miranelis realized with a sharp shock that briefly brought a flicker of fire back to life inside them. It hit them like the first prickles of a limb coming back to life after having fallen asleep. Like hunger pangs after a long illness. Like the first painful rays of sunlight interrupting a long sleep.
It was anger, Miranelis realized.
Kezul wanted forgiveness from them? After all this?
They didn’t want to be angry. They wanted to stay numb and empty. It was easier that way. It was easier to be dead, to be cold ashes. Anger would bring their inner fire back to life, and fire meant pain. Fire meant dying all over again.
“Tell me you understand,” Kezul was saying. “Tell me you know why I have to do this. Don’t pretend. Don’t act afraid. Tell me the truth, the way you used to. Give me your advice. Tell me I have to do this.”
Miranelis couldn’t give him what he wanted. Not if he wanted it to be real. If they succeeded in killing the fire inside them, they would have nothing to give. If they didn’t succeed, all they would have was anger. Either way, it wasn’t what Kezul wanted.
So they said nothing.
Kezul crouched down and leaned in toward Miranelis. He grabbed the side of Miranelis’s head and forced Miranelis’s eyes to him. “Tell me I have to do this!”
At the touch of Kezul’s hot breath on their face, their anger flared again. It felt like fire on bare skin, burning and bubbling until the flesh was gone. They didn’t want it. They tried to push it away. But like that day with the torch held against their arm, they were helpless to pull away. The burning grew, and it grew, and it grew.
They didn’t even know if they were angrier at Kezul or at themselves.
They had trusted Kezul when they shouldn’t have. They had trusted him despite all evidence. They had helped the man who had stolen the murdered queen’s throne.
They were worse than a coward. They were a traitor.
And then, in the end, Kezul had done what Miranelis should have always known he would do. He had rolled over for his father. He had done what Kyollen Naskor always did—he had destroyed in the name of Vorhullin the Unmaker.
Unexpectedly, Kezul sat down heavily in the straw. He heaved a sigh and leaned sideways against the wall. Miranelis found enough life within themselves to shrink back—not in fear, not this time, but in revulsion. Why was Kezul sitting with them like they were friends? They would have preferred it if he had screamed in their face.
“I wish we could have made it work,” Kezul said with a sigh. His voice took on a sharper edge again; so did his eyes. “But it was never possible.”
Miranelis’s revulsion turned to anger. Their hands clenched around the spiky bits of straw, driving it painfully into their palms. It was the least of their pains. They wanted to shove Kezul away as hard as they could. For one dizzying second, they thought they actually might.
What was Kezul doing? Did he actually think Miranelis would offer him reassurance? The way he was looking at Miranelis, the weariness in the set of his shoulders that he never would have dared showed one of his Wolves… it was like he thought Miranelis was his friend. No, not even that—it was like Miranelis wasn’t real, wasn’t a person to him. Like they were a dog whose head he stroked when he felt sad, someone to lick his hand and curl up at his feet. Not one of the conquered people whose countrymen he was feeling bad about murdering.
Their time of conspiring together was officially gone. Now Miranelis wasn’t even human to him.
The feel of him so close, the heat of his body, the smell of his breath and his furs… it was sickening. The look on his face, even more so.
He was less than an arm’s length away. Close enough to kill. Just the thought made Miranelis’s face flush and their heart speed up. They were too much of a coward to do that, and they knew it. That had the chance before, and they…
They had taken it, in the end. And it hadn’t worked. But Kezul had been prepared for a fight then. Right now, he didn’t look prepared for anything. He had finally let his guard down, showing vulnerability he would never have shown to someone he considered human.
And what did Miranelis have to fear? They knew the secret now: they were already dead.
But they didn’t have a weapon. No matter how little fear they had left in them, they knew better than to think they could strangle the life from Kezul with their own spindly hands.
Kezul was wearing a knife, though. And it was close enough to grab. Miranelis knew where the knife was. In those early days, they had often watched the spot midway up Kezul’s side where the knife lay hidden, strapped to his side. He had been afraid to look away, afraid the knife would come out at any moment to rest at their throat again. Those days felt like so long ago.
Kezul wasn’t expecting a threat. And Miranelis’s hands weren’t bound. They could—
Kezul stood. Inwardly, Miranelis cursed. They had waited too long.
It was just as well. They would have been too slow again, no match for Kezul’s combat-honed instincts. They would have failed, and then Kezul would have…
Would have what? Killed them? They were already dead.
Even as Kezul resumed his pacing, the thought wouldn’t leave Miranelis. Every time they imagined the knife slicing across Kezul’s throat or sinking into his heart, their blood heated more. The fire within them was painful. Unwanted life surged back into their limbs, into their empty heart. They didn’t want it. They wanted to go back to being numb. They didn’t want to think about something they could never pull off.
They didn’t want to have hope.
Once, they would have found it unbearably sad that the only thing they could think to hope for anymore was the chance to kill Kezul and die in the attempt. Now they just longed for the return of despair.
But hadn’t they wished they could do something for Danelor? Hadn’t they tried to find an answer when Kezul had begged them, even after Kezul had burned the academy? They had wanted to help Danelor badly enough to put Kezul’s sins behind them.
Maybe this was the answer. Maybe this was the one thing they could still do for Danelor.
They eyed the place where they knew Kezul’s knife hid. They imagined surging to their feet, lunging for it, fumbling with their clumsy fingers. No—they couldn’t move fast enough, not with their injuries, and their muscles that ached from sitting in the same position for hours on end. Kezul would have to get closer.
Could they coax him closer?
They opened their mouth to speak, unsure of what they planned to say.
But Kezul was already turning away, reaching for the stall door. “My fears were right the first time I saw you,” he said. “You’re useless. Even for this.”
He stalked out of the stall, locking the door behind him with a heavy clang.
With that, Miranelis was alone—alone with the idea that wouldn’t leave them be.
They had tried to help Danelor. They had failed. But perhaps they could still do this one last thing.
And they had Kezul to thank for it. Kezul had shown them they had nothing left to fear. Because of Kezul, they were no longer a coward.
---
Tagged: @suspicious-whumping-egg @halloiambored @whump-in-the-closet @whump-cravings @sunshiline-writes @annablogsposts @whither-wander-whump @seaweed-is-cool @bloodinkandashes @sonder35 @cakeinthevoid @looptheloup
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#whump#whump writing#whump story#whump novel#my writing#my writing: Conquest#fantasy whump#royal whump#nonbinary whumpee#reluctant whumper#emotional whump
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DAY #1: SANTA CLAUS
Claustrophobia | Forced celebration | Panic attack
Fandom: Original work/OCs
CWs: Captivity, nonbinary whumper, demon whumper, masc whumpee, angel whumpee, nonbinary whumpee (mentioned), restraints, humiliation, alcohol use/drinking, forced drinking, choking, beating (past), neck whump/gore (past)
@amonthofwhump
Hearing footsteps, Oath looks up, his face dark. His body is tense, forced to kneel, chains holding him down — pinning his wrists and ankles to the ground, with a slimmer chain around his neck keeping him from holding his head up. His muscles burn with the strain of holding the position. His wings are secured, bound together with tough leather, cramping and twitching, the tightness of the bonds creating a horrible ache that spreads from the limbs to his back.
There’s a spell circle keeping him from escaping too — but it has no use, because he has no way out of the restraints anyway.
The rest of his surroundings serve no further purpose than to humiliate and break him down. Blank concrete walls littered with cracks on every side box him in, still leaving too much space that he can’t occupy because he’s tethered to the floor. He’s cataloged every detail of this place, and still he hasn’t been able to leave. Now the only thing worth paying attention to is the person walking into the room, waiting for whatever cruelty they have in store for him now.
As Oath turns his eyes upward to see who it is, he sneers. The approaching figure is tall, imposing, with long curly hair tied back in a low pony — messy and wild otherwise. They carry themselves with a confidence like what Oath once had long ago, lips curved into a toothy smile, canines sharp like shattered glass. Their face is dotted with dark red markings, as if they gored someone only moments before, the deep black of their eyes reflecting back death and untimely demise.
It’s Marrow.
A demon, a beast of hellfire. Someone who thinks they can tame Oath, turn him into a trained animal, rip apart his spirit and turn him into something he’s not. Like it’s simple.
Oath’s eyes narrow.
He should be in its place.
He doesn't speak, merely eyeing the demon suspiciously as he bites his tongue. And despite refusing to speak, his gaze communicates his inner thoughts perfectly.
What do you want, scum. Going to beat me again?
The marks from that have already healed anyway.
Marrow stands, regarding him thoughtfully. Or at least appearing to.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” it teases.
“Shut up.” Oath scoffs.
Marrow goes silent for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that pretty little mouth of yours would look so much better without a tongue. I’d have half a mind to chop it off if that little halo around your neck didn’t do that wonderful thing where it stabs you!”
Oath jerks a hand against his restraints, trying to bring it to his throat. The halo around it does exactly what Marrow describes. It punishes liars for their dishonesty.
Oath has tiny little scars in a ring around his neck.
…
He’s been lying a lot recently.
He says nothing more. He’d rather not test Marrow. After all, he’s not the important one here. That’s Starling.
“Oh, don’t worry!” They wave their hands, brushing off the threat like it’s a silly joke. “You won’t be punished for that. I’m here to celebrate, after all.”
“… Celebrate what.” Oath says, his voice flat. He can’t imagine anything Marrow would celebrate is worth celebrating at all.
“Oh, you don't know?”
Oath shakes his head, regretting it when he hears it crack. No, he doesn't.
“I’m going to let you go!”
Oath stares. “Really?” Yeah, right. They still haven’t finished questioning him. The irritated pinpricks around his neck are evidence of that.
Yet for a brief moment, he indulges in the fantasy that his captor might actually let him go free. Albeit probably without his charge, but the cost of freedom is great sometimes. It would be worth it — besides, he could come back later to save Starling. Just to save his reputation. Just to save his job. Nothing more.
“That’s… that's—” That’s unbelievable, when did Marrow ever express any sympathy or care for him? Who is he trying to fool?
Marrow’s expression doesn’t look right, and Oath knows they don’t mean it.
“You're lying.”
“Oh no, I’m not! You’ll never see this place again, I promise.”
“Sure.” His voice is laced with sarcasm. He doesn’t have time for this bullshit. There’s two options: let him go or don’t. Simple.
Just pick one already.
Marrow grins. “Come now —” it tips Oath’s chin up to look at it, bending his neck backwards; Oath bites back a groan, knowing he isn’t truly able to stretch it that far, not without the chain around his neck — “that’s no way to act during a celebration! Loosen up!”
Marrow pulls out a flask from its pocket. “Here,” it holds the container out to Oath. “Drink.”
“Oh-“ He stares at it. “No… no thanks.” It has to be a trick. Besides, how does Marrow even want him to drink it? With them holding the flask for him? Heat rises to Oath’s cheeks. The idea is humiliating.
“I insist!” Marrow smiles, all teeth, and Oath shrinks back, as much as he can while immobilized by the chains.
“No, I don’t —”
“You don’t what?” Marrow growls. “You don’t want to? I don’t think you have a say in that.”
Marrow unscrews the cap and presses the lip of the flask to Oath’s, holding his jaw tightly, tipping the container back. “I. Said. Drink.”
The liquid spills down Oaths' chin and he chokes, sputtering as the bitter liquid floods his throat, almost too fast for him to swallow.
Marrow takes the flask away before it’s emptied, leaving Oath to hack and wheeze, spit and whiskey dripping down his chin. Gasping in fresh air and hacking, he doubles over with every cough. The taste of it coats his tongue and throat, hand in hand with searing pain.
“Was that good?”
Oath stifles another cough.
“W-wonderful.” He doesn't want any more trouble.
“Then surely you'll want more.”
“No no no —”
Marrow dumps the rest of the flasks contents on Oath. The alcohol drips down his forehead, into his eyes and down his cheeks, and for a minute, Oath is too stunned to speak. His mouth fails to form the words.
His body is so warm, the drink is like lava across his skin, washing him away as it dribbles down his face.
“Aren’t you just drowning in excitement? I know I am! I’ll be rid of you and someone else will have to deal with your bullshit.
“Someone stupid enough to sign a contract over you.”
Oath goes rigid.
“I only have so long to whip you into shape, now. So maybe you’d best behave.
“I know you’d hate to spoil all of this for yourself.”
#amow winter whumperland 2023#winter whumperland 2023#day1#forced celebration#captivity#captivity whump#demon whumper#angel whumpee#nonbinary whumper#masc whumpee#my writing#oath oc#marrow oc#i started doing this challenge like. really late so if some prompts are a couple days late or whatever dw guy#guys#im not retyping all that to correct hitting return on my keyboard too fast#anyway yeah i only have this written so far as of typing these tags#and an extremely rough draft of day 2#i have ideas for all the days im just trying to get through them
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𝔽𝕝𝕠𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕡𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 #𝟙 𝔸 ℙ𝕆𝕆ℝ 𝔻𝔼𝕍𝕀𝕃
𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠
AHJSOWNXOQNIXNQ I CANT BELIVE I'LL FINALLY WRITE ABOUT MY OWN CHARACTERS AAAAAAA
TY ALL MUTUALS AND PEOPLE TO INSPIRE ME TO DO THAT
THIS IS JUST A BLOOD LOSS WHUMP DRAFT,BUT WHO CARES AAAAAAA
pls tell me if you want to be tagged for more stuff like this idk
Word count: 1674
𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠
Warnings
;Suicide/suicide attempt
Blood loss
Torture hints/mentions
✨️Trauma,Of course
Mourning(????? Mild mourning???
Self hatred
Major character death :)
All warnings happen almost randomly,But not immediatly,Like— I gotta first explain and then the fuss happens you know
𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹
The dizzness was starting to became hard to ignore
Damm,It was expected,You cant lock yourself in the bathroom after accidentally torturing an innocent and then go free like nothing
Well,In her defense,Carmen did not knew that liam was innocent
Now she was the monster here,Isnt she? She had good meanings,The suspect's actions were too much to get ignored by the police Even if she was there,All by herself,She could still hearing her friend's cries that night....
She didnt know what happen in the woods until she saw wesley,Her best friend,Cover in a blanket while sitting in the border of an ambulance
They were shaking,All bloody.Carmen couldnt let the things like that!! Since childhood carmen was told she was 'way too impulsive' And why would they care?! She only did what was needed
Blood didnt stop coming as the yells didnt stopped. They wanted her to go out of the bathroom. Now.
Of course,The needed was to kidnap liam and torture them just like he did with wesley....
So one good day,She grab choloform and kidnap him in the middle of the night
How fun!,Guts,Blood,Burns,And a little syringue to make sure they dont pass out
The begs where even more satisfactory considering that,It was probabily how wesley beg in liam's hands,he deserve it!
What was not fun Was the call....
After being done with liam,And without any more ideas She decided to call wesley!,Yay!
Little problem,She did not tell wesley anything about her little plan ....Carmen was sure they would accept no matter what.
Or maybe she fogot it? In all the rage?
Staying awake was hard,Breathing was hard. She deserved it thought. They were always right and this wasnt the exception.
or Atleast thats why she throught
It didnt matter now
God,Wesley was mad.
So,So mad :(
And they had the right to be it! It was the wrong person!! Carmen is the heartless monster In here.....Atleast that was Wes said.....
"B-But I did it for.... you!"
"YOU'RE A MONSTER— I CANT BELIVE SOMEONE CAN BE THIS...TORTUROUS!"
God,And they used to be friends
Dear fucking God,It was truth....
Liam was aslo bleeding out,Atleast kind of
Carmen was so careless that she sewed up the wound with the first Thing she found,It wouldnt last forever
But the diference is that wesley was there for him
Such a backstabbed!,Or was she?
Did it care anyway?
Why was wesley yelling at her to get out?
Why did they wanted her alive?
Wesley was just there,Outside the bathroom,Trying to get who was once his friend out,For their own fucking sake
Liam was still there too,Watching quietly the blood stain the floor under the bathroom's door;All while squirming slighty In pain
The sedatives of the first aid kit did barely anything,Atleast he wasnt crying
Wesley was scared too,Goddamit,They were way too scared of anything that happen
Why the fuck did they told carmen about it? Knowing how she was?
It didnt matter now,They went mad and they know it.
They aslo knew that she was way too sensitive for reasons that they told eachother on countless outings to eat, walks, just being together
The worst part it was how close they were from eachother,And how that somewhat end in this absolute Mess
Now wesley has to cope with Not one,But two persons bleeding out.
Why do they always need to be so rude?
They felt way too guilty too
Guilty about the person in the couch who didnt hurt them,But everyone thought against it because they say "He look similar"
Well,They didnt know it was gonna end like this.
They didnt know how Mad carmen was for someone hurting them
How much Rage in order to find someone to blame
It wasnt till then that they noticed The stain that they relized it.
All the restroom was quiet since they kick the door open to the basment
And find their best friend torturing an innocent person,Liam
They didnt think carmen could do this and yet? It was there
Just there
And the worst part its that All was Her fault,Thats what she thought.
Carmen was alredy blood-stained when she run upstairs trying to hide from wesley,Who didnt stop yelling at her how much of an horrible person she was
And in part,It was right,The problem is that She alredy knew that.
She alredy knew that
So when wesley saw the blood under the door,open the damm bathroom door,
He wasnt ready.
He had to leave liam just to...
Just to see it?
How one of the most important persons in his life was laying om a pool of her own blood.
Well,She regret it.
How do you deal with the thought that you're a monster who deserved to be put down?
Its not like somebody would care anyway,Is not like they would care anyway
by this point,The blood lossed was enough to just
Pass out
Wesley was terryfied. Standing there,In the bathroom door....
Liam was still laying on the couch,In pain after Everything that carmen put them throught horryfing torture...
How was they supposed to fix this?
Was it any way to do it,Was it possible?
And now they were crying.Over the dying figure of someone who tried to be a good person
And failed.
𓃠 𓃬𓃠
Carmen was...confusing
A year ago,They were the one in an ambulance
And they werent that...bad
wesley remembered how bad it was...
They remember a strong hand dragging them to the white van
They do remember the pain,They got beat up and starved
But that was nothing compared to what carmen did to liam
What was most heartbreaking it was that there was no "villian" to blame
The ones who actually kidnap them were in fact,An entire gang.
They got confused following instructions and end up getting the wrong guy
Wesley
The gang promised them that,If they didnt say a word they would free them and never meet agaim
Wesley accepted
And now they're here
With two people on the ambulance
All because they didnt talk...and because carmen went insane
was it her fault tho?? Wanting revengue for her friend??
Was it wesley's fault? They were too focused on trying to keep liam alive they didnt notice when carmen— ...
Carmen was only concern. It was her fault the way she decided to be ruthless about it
But she didnt deserve...death.
She thought she did tho
That was wesley's fault.
Wesley was shocked when carmen,Practically drunk called him to say to him that she kidnap one of the suspect and gut him alive.
And other unspeakable stuff that left Liam way more broken than Wesley. All in one night.
The second worst night!— who would guess it...
Wesley tried to get an first aid kit being on the restroom, trying to atleast help liam
Even so,They did not measure their words....
Carmen felt hurt. Attacked,Even so!
by a Friend.
That she thought she could trust...
But could she? They instead called her inhuman and disgusting
Because? Just for wanting revengue?
Camen felt alredy sick when she lock the bathroom door and got left alone with her thoughts...
Thoughts that didnt stop ominously chanting what wesley said.
Liam was innocent you heartless monster.
Liam was innocent.
Liam was fucking innocent
All this time it was wrong
Because liam. Was. Innocent.
There was no one to blame more than the monster that looked back in the mirror
The monster that did all of that to an innocent person
The monster that cried while hearing who was supposed to be their friend yell at her for all that she has done
Nothing but a fox that deserved to be put down
She was gonna get killed anyway,If she didnt do it,The police would.
So...she did it
Eventually wesley give up and just stay,Trying to keep liam alive
Wesley thought that carmen would just hide in the bathroom
The police would kick the door open and all would be over
Carmen felt backstabbed.
Wesley wouldnt even care,Probabily.
He did.
He did when they understood that it went more far than that....
She was dying. Atleast liam was stable
She wasnt.
Wheb the ambulance finally arrived to the place,Wesley finally got to open the door snd rushed to her
The cuts in the wrist were too deep. Too bad.
While he tried to hold on her,To just try to stop the bleeding and made her sit up,To just have a last moment!...
She lean in his ear whispered with hatred,Her voice straned because of the blooe loss
:"Hypocrite."
the whisper of the devil. A self-proclaimed demon
Wesley was destroyed
Liam was healing
And carmen died. That very night,Commited suicide
All because wesley went mad. All because they didnt say a word
All because carmen was impulsive,And ruthless
All the pain for revengue,All the death for guilt
All for nothing at all.
𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠
YAYYYYYYYY I FINISH IT
TYSM ALL OF U
@theres-whump-in-that-nebula
@sillywhumpcreature
@whumpy-wyrms
(The ones who anwsered the last post :3)
:D
Pls tell me if you want a taglist,I think im gonna do more content if you guys like this <3
i gotta admiiit this wasnt what I had in mind buuut...again is just a draft sooo
Yeah
This is literally the First one
If
If this gets 10 notes or something imma start the next
#whump#emotional whump#blood draw#kidnap whump#First time writing AND posting#Be kind pls im trying#major character death#Following Floating Steps tag#My writing#writeblr#Whumpee turned caretaker#Yeah we got all the weed here lmaooo :3/j#guilt tw#cw suicide#tw blo0d#I HATE THAT IS CENSORED LIKE THAT???#Anywayyyys#Whumper turned whumpee#Is not what u think#guilty whumper#Regretfull whumper#The story is still a wip#I know theres plot holes#nonbinary character#Lmao??? Idk if tag that ehehhe#gore ment tw#Self hatred tw#Pls tell me if i need to tag something else!!!
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So I got myself a @badthingshappenbingo card and used it to continue this with the prompt "Bruises". I have plans to continue this and plan to use this Bingo Card to do that.
Part 1, Masterlist
Tw Non-sexual nudity, non-sexual stripping, non-sexual non con touching, negative self talk, intrusive thoughts
Pain exploded across Whumpee's back as Whumper struck him with the whip. The heavy one that always forced the air out of his lungs whenever it made contact and made him swing like a punching bag hanging from the ceiling.
Whumper seemed to be aiming for parts of him that weren’t already layered with bruises, heavy blows landing on his exposed thigh and up the backs of his arms.
Whumpee was suspended by his torn wrists, hanging from the ceiling with his knees mere inches from the ground and struggling to hold in his keens of pain. He knew he wouldn’t fucking last long, his keens will turn into groans, which will turn into sobs, which will eventually turn into screams, that's just how it always fucking goes.
Whumpee let out a pained whimper as Whumper lays another strike across the bruises on his shoulders.
Why couldn’t he just fucking get used to this already? Why does it always have to hurt so fucking bad? He swears it gets worse every goddamn time and he is so tired of it. He’s tired of being beat to hell for swearing. He’s tired of Whumper touching him. He’s tired of waking up every day on a cold, hard floor. And most of all he’s tired of being terrified that Whumper’s god-fucking-damned lessons are gonna work. That he’s going to learn to ‘be good for them’.
It scares him almost as much as the thought of being stuck here for the rest of his life.
Another strike hits him on the back of his thigh and he lets out a pained whimper, hoping that Whumper will just ignore it and keep beating him instead of cooing and petting his goddamn hair again. He’ll probably have to get his head hosed off after this.
Whumper began circling around him to hit at his broken ribs with the heavy fucking whip and tears started streaming down his face as he screams.
They’ll break something this time he knows it. He’ll get fucking kidney failure and die or something because it hurts. God it fucking hurts. It feels like his ribs have been broken into shards that are stabbing into his organs and he can’t fucking take it.
He can’t suck in a fucking breath and he can’t fucking take it.
They’d stop if you begged. He smothered that thought. He wouldn’t do that, not yet. When did he stop telling himself that he’d never beg? When did breaking become an inevitable event? Or was he already broken and just living in denial.
Would it be the worst thing in the world if he minimized his pain? If he broke? If he just couldn’t do it anymore and stopped fighting? He was already trying to limit his pain, he just wasn’t doing everything he could to stop it.
The next strike crosses his chest in a prominent line, shoulder to hip and he releases a sob as the next strike crossed the other to form an X.
How many had that been, he hadn’t even bothered to count but it couldn’t have been less than 20. He vaguely wonders if it even matters, Whumper will beat him no matter what, and even if he was counting and called them out, he would just be beaten more for talking back.
To Whumpee’s dismay, Whumper laid the next six strikes over his chest in the same X shape and Whumpee screamed in agony.
He took sobbing breaths as Whumper took a step back and tapped the whip to their own chin as an artist might tap a pencil. It was a look Whumpee knew meant there was nothing he did could deter what they were going to do to him, nothing he could do to ‘inhibit the art’.
Whumper’s eyes came alight and a smile pulled its way across their face, they pulled back to strike and before Whumpee could even flinch, his forearms exploded with pain. Whumper had managed to hit both of them in a single stroke.
“Hey Whumpee,” Whumper tapped the center of his chest with the tip of their boot to get his attention and causing him to rock back slightly, “do you think I’ll be able to hit the same spot on both arms again?”
He only moaned in response, not trusting himself to not rack up more punishment.
“I mean I am good, but with two targets and them being a distance apart, plus of course the one on your right is slightly higher. . .” They mused for a second, giving Whumpee an opportunity to steady his breathing and flex his hands.
“Eh, what the hell I might as well try, what with 10 strikes left and all.” They sent Whumpee a wink and struck again.
By the time Whumper was done, his wrists were bleeding steadily and his arms felt like that one time he dipped his finger into a large vat of melted wax, except if the wax was boiling and his arms were shoved in.
His hair hung around his face, again damp with sweat, Whumper’s hard work now undone. Whumpee felt a smidgen of satisfaction, beating might just have inconvenienced Whumper.
XXX
“Ah, what a mess,” Whumper grabbed hold of Whumpee’s hair and lifted his head to look at his face. Whumpee looked exhausted, their eyes were half lidded and tear tracks streamed down his cheeks. They’re glad the beard is gone, at least this was good for something. As it was, there just wouldn’t be enough time to clean Whumpee up and get ready themself to bring him with. It would just have to wait for another time.
“Yup you, my darling, are unfit to party. Tsk tsk tsk, I was looking forward to seeing you behave for me tonight, too bad it seems you just arn’t ready to be good.”
Whumper straightened, released his hair and surveyed the damage. Red welts stood out against the pale skin of his arms and the large X on his chest was already starting to bruise, the lashes across his back stood out with raised welts. Aside from that, Whumpee still only had the one leg clothed as they were interrupted while cutting his sweatpants off to bathe him.
They sighed and turned to the large bucket of water they were going to wash Whumpee with, still sitting on the stool nearby. It hadn’t been that much effort getting him ready, in fact it was rather fun watching him squirm under their hands as he tried to decide if he was allowed to accept that it felt good.
It was still fucking annoying. They wanted to have his first party to be as disorienting and uncomfortable as possible. Ah well, they’ll just have to wait for White Elephant next month to show him off. Hopefully he won’t distract them again.
They heft the bucket of now lukewarm water and proceed to dump the whole thing over Whumpee’s head, effectively soaking him. While Whumpee sputters they quickly flip out their knife and slice the rest off the cloth right off of whumpee leaving him soaked and naked.
They look around dramatically and sigh disappointingly solely for Whumpee’s sake, “Well, better get to it.” They turn and grab the stool to drag it back to its place against the wall and replace the bucket before wringing out the sponge and putting it back. A smile creeps onto their face as they grab a dry washcloth and shove it into their pocket before releasing the mechanism holding Whumpee in place all at once, causing him to fall to his knees and topple over with a groan.
Whumper re-locks the mechanism, keeping the chains at their current length and turn to crouch in front of the miserable Whumpee.
“Hey Whumpee, how’s it going?”
No response.
“Hey Whumpee,” They try again. “Whumpee. Look at me.” The order was clear and Whumpee turned his head to look up at Whumper’s face.
“Good boy,” Whumper ruffled his wet hair. “Now, I’m going to go get ready to go to a party that you don’t have time to get ready for, and thats your own fault. So, Whumpee, you are going to prove that you don’t need further punishment and you are gonna do that,” they pull the washcloth from their pocket, “with this.
Whumpee’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and fear and Whumper chuckles.
“Tell me Whumpee, have you ever smacked any of your friends in the locker room with a wet towel?” Whumpee shakes his head slowly. “Well I can tell you it stings pretty damn bad, but it doesn’t do any real damage, so you,” they point at him with the towel, which hangs limply between them, “are going to give yourself a bruise right here,” they tap the undamaged back of Whumpee’s left hand, “with this.”
They stand and drop the dry washcloth next to Whumpee, who grabs it gingerly and rolls onto his knees, chains clinking softly with the slack.
“You have until I come back down here before I leave, if you manage to give yourself a bruise you’ll get a sandwich and shorts. But if you don’t,” they pause for dramatic effect, “you won’t eat for a week.”
The threat lingers in the air for a few seconds before they start up the stairs, “Good luck Whumpee!”
Now comes the real test. They left him a dry towel which he could try to wet with his hair or the ground, but theres no way to get the towel as wet as he’ll need to give himself a bruise. Or he could-
“Sir?”
Whumper stops in their tracks grinning to themself but turns to Whumpee with faux concern. “Yes darling?”
Whumpee swallows and looks down at the concrete under his knees, the picture of submission.
“Could I use a wet towel sir?”
Whumper doesn’t respond, they let the question hang in the air for a few moments, waiting for their darling to finish his question properly.
It took a few seconds for him to realize his mistake and a brief internal battle before their darling ducked his head down to his chest, took in a deep breath and lifted his face to stare at the wall across from him.
“Please.”
He spoke it clearly and loud enough that Whumper felt no need to make him repeat it.
“Of course darling, thank you so much for asking nicely.” They continued praising him as they walked down the wooden steps, took the towel from his offered hand and wet it in the sink before returning it to him, slipping a hand into his hair to pet him for a second or two longer than necessary. “You’re such a good boy for me darling, I’m so glad you know how to ask nicely for things darling. Such a good pet, so well behaved for me arn’t you.”
Whumpee’s jaw tightened at the praise, but he clutched the towel tightly as soon as it was handed to him.
“Now Whumpee, what do you say?”
Whumpee closed his eyes, blocking out Whumper and quietly said “thank you sir.”
“Good boy Whumpee!” They ruffled his hair one more time before heading up the stairs and closing the door behind them.
They locked it with a soft click and spun in circle. Whumpee begged. Not only that, but he did it preemptively! He thought ahead and knew how to be good. Oh they were so proud of him and had no doubts that he would be able to complete his task.
XXX
Shame burned across Whumpee. You thought you were so strong? That you could survive without being changed? Well turns out you’re just a spineless coward who would rather beg for mercy than skip a few meals. Whumpee tried to shove the thoughts away but couldn’t, maybe he just didn’t want to.
He deserved them.
He knew those thoughts didn’t define him, and that thinking a thought enlarges the neuron or some shit that makes the thought easier and easier to think. He knows he should rationalize and compartmentalize and just stop. But he doesn’t.
Because right now, right now he hates himself. He hates himself so much.
He hates himself for being scared. He hates himself for being in pain. He hates himself for fucking begging for a fucking wet towel to fucking hit himself with!
He presses his thumb into a welt on his forearm and hisses but doesn’t stop.
No. If he’s going to cause himself pain, he might as well get something out of it.
Yeah, you already begged for it like a little bitch how long until you ask for the 15 lashes instead, pussy.
He raises the towel and spreads his left hand across the ground. He really had never done this before, but he has a feeling that it won’t bruise easily. Meaning he’ll have to swat it against his hand as hard as possible and as many times as possible before they get back.
Whumpee brings the towel down as hard as he can against his hand with a loud thwack, but his aim is off and end of the towel hits the concrete above his hand while the middle portion of the washcloth hit it’s target with less impact.
Wow, so you can’t even hit yourself with a fucking towel correctly? Jesus you really can’t do anything right can you.
He raises his hand again and takes more time to consider where he is hitting. This time he hits his hand but without nearly enough force.
It takes a few more tries but he eventually gets better at aiming and using as much force as possible, he started flicking his wrist more with each strike until he got it down right. By right, he means it stung like a bitch, each strike made it burn more and his broken ribs protested angrily, but he had to keep hitting
He heard water rushing through the pipes like it did every morning and stopped his strikes to listen. Whumper was in the shower, he glanced down to check his progress and to his dismay he only saw a red splotch.
Imagine if you just debased yourself and begged for no reason pussy, they’ll still starve your sorry ass and theres nothing you can do about it.
He continued with renewed vigor, making himself bite his lip through the pain. Honestly a wet fucking towel should not hurt this bad. But the pain is a good thing, the pain means its working. Hopefully.
He stops checking every 10 strikes for a bruise and just slams the towel down on his hand when the water shuts off. He won’t have any more clues for when Whumper is coming down. They could have already picked their outfit and do minimal makeup, they could be on their way to the door right now.
Hell they could open it any second and see that there’s no bruise and they’ll give a pitying voice, maybe they’ll come down with the sandwich just to taunt him with it when they see that he couldn’t give himself a fucking bruise.
Air hitches in throat as he cries while smacking himself as hard as possible.
What a fucking mess. This is what you become when things get bad? A sobbing, pathetic excuse for a person? Hitting himself for the promise of a sandwich, a fucking sandwich.
A sob tears through his throat and he salivates, he fucking salivates at the thought of a warm sandwich, one with lettuce and tomato and thick wheat bread with ham layed heavily on it.
His arm burns as he sobs out a scream. Over an imaginary fucking sandwich. One he knows he would kill for, but for the love of god hopes he won’t beg for.
You mean beg more for, you already fucking begged so you can stop pretending to have any dignity left. Why don’t you just get on your knees for them and promise you’ll be a ‘good little pet for you master’ like the fucking bitch you are. Begging for a scrap of food.
He’s not even fucking starving, he gets fed most days. A bowl of unflavored oatmeal that usually goes cold before he gets a chance to eat it, but its food. Not enough food and with a fucking spoon for toddlers if he’s good. But he’s not starving.
The pang in his stomach is easy to ignore compare to the pain and bruises littered across every part of his body. He’s not fucking starving.
“You can stop now Whumpee.”
Whumpee freezes and looks up to see Whumper at the bottom of the stairs.
They were wearing a black, yellow and white sleeveles top, unbuttoned to halfway down their chest and a black pair of slacks. Their hair was dry and styled and they had only minimal makeup on with gold studs in their ears.
They were holding a plate.
Whumpee forced himself to look away but couldn’t bear to look at his hand.
The sound of heels clicking against the concrete echo in his ears and he closes his eyes.
“Show me your hand Whumpee.”
Whumpee lifts his hand and opens his eyes turning his head away from Whumper inspecting his hand, plate set on one of the stairs.
He waits for a backhand, for a sigh and tutt, for Whumper saying that they really thought he could do this simple task.
Just like that and your pride is fucking gone isn’t it, you would pull your hand away from them and spit in their face if you weren’t such a broken fucking pet.
“Whumpee,” they speak in a soft gentle voice. “Look at me Whumpee.”
Whumpee turns to them and feels every inch of dirt and bruises across his skin, how unkept he must look compared to Whumper.
He has to remind himself that Whumper can shower whenever the fuck they want and isn’t fucking sleeping on concrete. There is no fair comparison between them.
They might let me shower if I- Fucking stop it! They shove the thought down and focus on Whumper’s face.
“Whumpee, you did so good for me darling!”
They, what?
“Such a good boy for me Whumpee arn’t you.”
He, he did it? Oh fuck he actually did it?
Whumper ruffles his hair and he’s too stunned to feel revolted. He actually did it.
He looks up to see Whumper bringing the plate over and he doesn’t let himself look at the sandwich on it, afraid that if he sees it, it will disappear or Whumper will throw it to the other side of the room or something.
But when Whumper sets it down in front of him and nothing terrible happens he can’t believe it.
He glances up at Whumper, waiting for the other shoes to drop. They just chuckle at him. “Go ahead and eat darling, you’ve been a good boy.”
He turns back to the sandwich and picks it up gently, like its made of glass and takes a careful bite of it, quickly chewing and swallowing.
It doesn’t explode and thats all he needs, he can’t hold back anymore and devours the sandwich. Its thick, with multiple layers of turkey and cheese with lettuce and mustard and mayo and he swears this is the best thing he’s ever eaten in his life.
When he finishes he feels more full than he’s felt in weeks, he’s slightly worried about puking it all up, but he wasn’t starving before so he’ll be fine.
Whumper plucks the plate off of the ground and pets Whumpee’s head again.
“You are such a good boy for me Whumpee,” Whumper coos and Whumpee tries very hard to convince himself he’s not broken.
Tagging @whumpsday
Previous Continued here
#whump#whump writing#bad things happen bingo#nonbinary whumper#i mean they're genderfluid but use they/them most of the time#whumper#whumpee#defiant whumpee#defiant whumpee breaking#torture#creepy and intimate whumper#flogging#bruises#noncon touching#noncon stripping#noncon nudity#nonsexual nudity#self harm tw#negative self talk tw#like he is having a great time#intrusive thoughts tw#I had a field day with this#was gonna have them go to the party but then decided its alot of work to write that so not yet#sandwiches#why are sandwiches just the whumpiest food ever
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My entry for @febuwhump day 4: obedience.
Content warnings: nudity, blood, demons, vague religious references, and knives. Let me know if you need anything added!
When Seshdhar felt themself being summoned by a human, they didn’t bother putting on clothes. Draping oneself in fabric wasn’t something demons did, given that they didn’t care about modesty, and cold wasn’t exactly a problem down there. On the rare occasion that a human managed to find an actual summoning ritual, and work up the nerve to complete it, the nudity served as a bit of a power play. For some reason, seeing someone stand in front of them, wearing no clothes yet fully confident, made humans squirm. It was amusing to watch them desperately keep their eyes on their face.
But something had gone wrong.
They hadn’t been summoned in a long time, so maybe humans had just changed since then? But no, demons in general traveled fairly often between the human realm, and a change this significant would’ve garnered at least a little gossip. So why wasn’t this human scared? Why had they not cowered, or even seemed intimidated in the slightest?
Why the heaven was their lack of clothing making them feel vulnerable? That wasn’t how it was supposed to work!
All the man — he was what humans would consider a man, they were pretty sure — had done once he summoned them was to remind them that, as he summoned them, they were now bound to his will, required to obey his every demand. Then he proceeded to command them to kneel and keep their hands folded behind their back. They could feel their face heat up, but thankfully the parts of their face that weren’t covered in keratin scales were already a deep red color, so it wouldn’t be visible.
Then, the man knelt down to their level, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I have so many questions to ask you. Let’s begin.”
“Let’s,” they agreed, with biting sardonicism.
The man laced his fingers together and squeezed them, as if he’d wanted to harass a demon for so long that he could hardly contain his excitement now that the time had come. “Alright. Firstly, can demons be hurt by human tools?”
Seshdhar did not like the sound of that. “No.” Probably.
The man tilted his head. “Hmm. I now realize that I can’t be sure that you’re answering truthfully. I suppose I will have to… see for myself. Making sure your sources are reliable is very important for a scholar like me, you understand.” He pulled out a knife from his satchel and pressed it into Seshdhar’s bare chest.
Nothing happened, and the demon almost let themself hope.
But the man merely leaned back and pulled a second knife out, because of course he carried multiple weapons on him at all times. “Now, that first knife was made of silver, but this one, though it looks very similar, is actually iron.” With an odd amount of precision, he once more brought a blade to the demon’s chest.
This time, however, it sliced through their skin.
Seshdhar hissed, not in any kind of figurative way, but very literal, with their fangs bared and everything. This did not dissuade the man in any way from continuing to carve lines into their chest. If anything, the only discontent on his face was sourced in the fact that their blood failed to stand out against their naturally crimson skin.
It hurt, it hurt so badly, burning and stinging and not stopping, but Seshdhar didn’t want to give the man the pleasure of hearing them express it. So they dug their fangs into their tongue — because what the heaven, it’s not like they weren’t already bleeding — in order to prevent any pained sounds from escaping. This was mostly successful.
After an indiscernible amount of time, the man pulled back, wiped the blade clean, and slid it back away. “Now, on to my second inquiry…”
#caretaker talks#whump#human whumper#demon whumpee#nonbinary whumpee#demon whump#whump writing#seshdhar#febuwhumpday4#febuwhump2024#febuwhump
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Whumptober 22
No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”
Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”
Day 22. Part of Lo's story with Allan. Last part was from Day 19. CW: nonbinary whumpee, creepy/possessive whumper, shock collar, car accident, non con touching, death.
- - -
It had been months.
Lo was on the brink of losing their sanity, going crazy with playing the role Allan had set forth for them. But they knew that there was no way orf getting out of it. Not with them constantly being chained up or watched 24/7. Not with how Allan hovered over every single breath and movement.
Not until that night Allan took Lo out of the house.
A reward for their “good behavior”. Which basically meant letting Allan do whatever he wanted.
He had dressed them up again in a skimpy little outfit, done their makeup and hair, and he was taking them out to dinner. There was a lovely little collar under the scarf Lo was wearing, complete with a little box digging into their throat, and a remote controlled by Allan. Any toe that was stepped in the line would get a button pushed- and Lo electrocuted.
Keeping them docile and completely controlled.
Lo thought about getting the waitress’s attention. Scrawling something on a napkin. Sneaking off to the bathroom- but Allan watched their every move like a hawk. There wasn’t even an opportunity to say a single word as he ordered for them the whole night.
There wasn’t any opportunity- that was until they were driving home.
The road was dark. It was just starting to rain a little bit- the road slick and damp. Late enough that there weren’t very many cars about as they followed the few roads to Allan’s place.
That’s when Lo’s mind started spinning.
Allan was driving, one hand on the wheel, the other on Lo’s thigh, playfully touching and fondling.
When Allan brought both hands up to make a turn, Lo took theirs, and placed it on Allan’s thigh.
They moved their fingers higher, holding their breath- waiting for his response.
“Darling- what are you doing?” He questioned, as Lo’s hand moved higher- but he didn’t stop them.
“I’m just- just trying to please you. You bought me a nice dinner, I should say thank you, right?” They stated, breath low and sultry.
“Oh you’re completely right darling. You behaved very well tonight.”
Lo continued touching him- dipping a few fingers below his waistband as they carefully kept an eye on the road. There was a turn up ahead- a few large trees at the side of the road.
Allan let out a soft moan as Lo dipped their hand further beneath his pants, he closed his eyes for a brief second, right as he was about to make the turn-
And then Lo reached over- as quickly as they could, and yanked the steering as hard to the right as was possible.
The tires spun as they caught on the slick asphalt.
“What are you doing?” Allan screamed, shoving Lo away as he tried to gain control of the car. Lo didn’t let go- yanking the wheel harder as the car spun- tipping off the road into the dirt- and then everything stopped.
The car flipped- spinning in slow motion as it crashed- landing with the front end smushed against the trunk of a tree.
Lo had covered their arms over their head, shards of glass raining down on them as a crash fell through the window- and there was a sickening squelch beside them.
After a few moments Lo pried their eyes open.
Everything was so silent except for the patter of rain against the car.
They scanned their eyes over to Allan- his face frozen in silent terror. A large branch of the old tree had fallen- shattering right through the window- straight into his chest.
Lo’s face fell in horror as their body throbbed and ached from the crash.
There was- there was nothing left of him.
And Lo was free.
The door was jammed against the ground and bushes- unable to be opened enough to climb out, so Lo scrambled over the dashboard, climbing through the broken windshield. They winced as shards of glass dug into their skin, before their feet sank down on the cold, wet ground.
Lo kicked off the heels they had been forced to wear, and took off into the cold, dark night.
- - -
Tag List: @imagination1reality0 @thecyrulik @whumpsday @termsnconditions-apply @spectral-whumpy-writer @raddyscoops @whumptober-archive
#whumptober2023#no.22#glass shards#vehicular accident#ocs#whump writing#death tw#nonbinary whumpee#intimate whumper#shock collar#marlowe the immortal
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I've been reading this whump series lately and
Damn.
Well, I wanted to say I love Damiel Cartier.
They are nonbinary
Black
Polyamorous
Neurodivergent
Have C.I.P.A. (congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis) - a disease
Are AFAB
They're all the cissexist ableist traditional western system hates and I love them
Dami belongs to @angst-after-dark and is from the amazing bbu series, Like A Bullet Loves A Gun
(I have heard of c.i.p.a. before, but I didn't know the name, so @angst-after-dark made the favour of explaining me and I did a bit of research - it is a disease characterized by the inability of feeling pain and insensibility to temperatures, which can be very dangerous to the patient, and can lead to many accidents and episodes of self-harm, and lead to have the patient sick often, since they don't sweat - a natural mechanism of the body to regulate temperature - and hurt themselves a little often. I'm not an expert, of course, since I only found it out a few hours ago, and it may have some informations missing here, but it looked interesting to share.)
If you're into whump/bbu I hightly recomend this series!
But it has a huge amount of non-con (aka sexual abuse) so be careful if you don't like it or has sensibility to it. All the chapters have trigger warnings.
#yeah i may be an abuser and a crazy torturer#but a transphobe NEVER#damiel cartier#nonbinary#afab characters#nonbinary characters#whump#nonbinary whumpee#disabled characters#neurodivergent whumpee#If I said something wrong here please correct me#Also#Something I love about the series#The whumper - damiel's “owner” (a motherfucker) never misgenders them#Like -#if i said something offensive here please WARN ME and i'll edit the post#just some friday thoughts
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Tied Up
Of Vampires and Men Masterlist
Whumtember 2022 Day 4: Accidental whumper
CW: Nonbinary whumpee, nudity, dehumanization, restraints, stress position, anxiety, slavery, threat of noncon in the form of a "joke", consensual spicy times (not very detailed) but probably still NSFW
The vampire led Hayden through the halls of the castle. The stone floor was freezing on Hayden's bare feet, but they hardly noticed over the pounding of their heart and the squeezing of their stomach. They were terrified. There meeting with Master had been brief, but they had noticed how much bigger the vampire was than them. And that meant it would be easy for Master to hurt them. Hayden knew that they were Master's property and if Master wanted to hurt them that's what they would do, but that didn't mean that it wasn't scary to think about.
The servant stopped at a door and pushed it open. Hayden followed them inside the dimly lit room. It seemed to be some kind of receiving room with a few overstuffed sofas. The servant led them through the room and into a bedroom.
The servant didn't say a word to Hayden as they positioned them at the foot of the bed. The servant undid their golden shackles and then took a long piece of golden ribbon out of their pocket. Hayden tried to keep calm as the servant tied their hands and legs to the bedposts so that they were standing spread eagled. Their body fully on display for their Master. The servant left and Hayden took a deep breath. They flexed their fingers to keep their hands from falling asleep. The restraints were uncomfortable, but hopefully Master would come up to their rooms soon.
Hayden tried to take in the furnishings. It was a large room, with thick rugs on the floor. Maybe Master will let me sleep on one of them, Hayden thought. It would be better than the hard stone floor they had had in training. They didn't see any windows, which they assumed was due to vampires' aversion to sunlight.
The hours passed slowly. Their shoulders ached from the unnatural position and their back muscles strained. Hayden didn't know when they had started to cry, but hot tears coursed down their face. They just wanted to move, to relieve the pressure on their body, but they couldn't. They were scared, and tired, and in pain, and Master was obviously ignoring them.
At some point they dozed off, only to jerk awake with a scream when the ropes painfully pulled at their shoulders.
"Please Master," Hayden whispered out loud. "Please come get me." The night was probably almost over by now, and on top of their sore muscles their stomach was painfully empty. They hadn't had anything to eat or drink since dusk and now the room seemed to be spinning around them.
It was sometime after dawn when Hayden heard footsteps outside the door. They tensed. They needed to bow before Master, but they were still tied to the godsforsaken bed. Hayden hoped they were forgive them.
The door slammed open and Hayden saw two figures stumbling into the room. One of them was Master, with their long blond hair, and the other was a vampire that Hayden vaguely remembered seeing at the reception. The two of them were in the throes of a passionate kiss. Hayden felt heat rise to their cheeks as they watched the unknown vampire tear at Master's shirt to bare their chest. They don't know I'm here, they thought with rising mortification.
"I want to get inside you," the vampire growled.
"Fuck, yes," Master moaned. The two of them started towards the bed and Hayden cringed. The vampires were still locked in an embrace when they walked right into Hayden.
"What the hell?" Master's lover said, looking up. Master looked up as well and Hayden would have laughed from the look of surprise on their face if they weren't so terrified.
"Have you been here this entire time?" Master asked. Hayden nodded and Master blushed. Hayden hadn't even known that vampires could blush.
"Um...well this is a bit awkward. Let's get you down from there," Master said reaching for Hayden's right wrist. "Sam, will you get their other side?"
Sam sighed but moved to release Hayden's left wrist.
"I didn't know they had left you tied up, if I did I would have come to let you down a lot sooner. I'm sorry about that," Master said.
Hayden didn't know how to respond to that. They had never had a vampire apologize to them before. Hayden held still as Master's cold fingers undid their restraints. Sam was struggling with the other wrist, cursing all the while.
"I told you you shouldn't have had that last glass of wine," Master said, gently pushing Sam away to untie Hayden's arm.
Hayden suppressed the scream that rose in their throat when both of their sore arms were free. Their muscles gave out now that nothing was supporting their upper body and they fell forward. Right into Master's arms. Master cursed, but Hayden's head was spinning and they couldn't seem to get their legs to support their weight. Vaguely, they were aware of Sam cutting through the restraints at their feet as Master held them.
"You're a very cute human," Master said to them. Hayden warmed at the praise. They were pleasing Master. Just then their right leg was released and they let out a hiss. As soon as the sound left their throat they felt a stab of fear and started to shake in Master's arms. They weren't supposed to make noises.
"You're all right, you're all right," Master said calmly. "You must be really sore, huh?"
Hayden nodded against Master's chest as their limbs screamed. They were so dizzy right now.
"You know," Sam said slyly as they worked on Hayden's other leg. "They could join us in bed." Hayden's stomach fell to the floor. No no no they didn't want that they didn't want that. They were suddenly very aware of their nakedness. They shook even harder in Master's arms.
"No, absolutely not," Master said sharply. "I won't do that to you," they said looking down at them. Hayden's blew out a sigh of relief.
"Gods, I was just kidding Em," Sam said. With those words he freed Hayden's other leg.
"You scared them," Master admonished. "That's nothing to joke about."
Sam sighed. "Your right, I'm sorry."
"I'm always right," Master said with a bit of a smile in their voice. Without another word they scooped Hayden up so that they were holding them against their chest. "You must be tired," they said as they walked across the room.
Hayden didn't dare move an inch. Master didn't seem mad, but they couldn't be sure. They had interrupted Master and Sam's passion-filled activities, and right now Master was literally carrying them. They wouldn't blame Master for being annoyed with them.
Master stopped at a door and reached out with one hand to turn the knob. It opened into a small room. It took a moment for Hayden's eyes to adjust to the dimness. That was when they saw the chains. They couldn't stop the whimper that escaped their lips. The slammed their hand over their mouth as fear overtook them. They weren't supposed to complain about anything Master did. If Master wanted to keep them chained, they had every right to do so and Hayden had no right to question them. Even if they still ached from the hours they had just spent tied up.
"Can you be good for me?" Master asked, ignoring Hayden's whimper. Hayden nodded their head vigorously. "Excellent. I don't have to restrain you then." They gently set Hayden down on the floor. "You should sleep now. We'll talk tonight."
With those words Master left the room and closed the door. Hayden heard the lock click into place and only then did they relax. Everything hurt and they were still hungry, but at least feeling was returning to their hands.
Hayden took in their new home. It was plain, with a hard wooden floor. There was a window in the door with metal bars across it letting in just a bit of light. Two of the walls were wood and two were stone. On the wall opposite the door were the chains. They were heavy metal, with shackles for wrists and ankles and a collar. Hayden was glad that Master hadn't chained them in those monstrosities. Besides that, the room had a hole in the corner that they assumed was to relieve themself. And nothing else. Not even a blanket. Hayden sighed as they leaned back against the wall.
I'm alive. I'm safe. Master hasn't hurt me. Everything is going to be alright.
Hayden curled up on the floor, too anxious to sleep. They would be fed on soon. They didn't know what to expect, besides that it would be painful. But that was their purpose. Feed their Master.
Hayden was pulled from their thoughts by the sound of moans.
"Fuck, Sam, do that again," Master's voice drifted through the window.
"There's my slutty little prince," Sam growled. "You love my cock, don't you?"
Master moaned again. "Yes, oh fuck yes."
Hayden could feel their blush. It's not that they were a prude; they had had several partners. It was just that sex had always been a private affair. Hayden jumped when someone screamed. They could hear the vampires rustling around and they were sure they would die of embarrassment. They were literally right there, but Master and Sam clearly didn't care that about Hayden hearing them having sex.
Hayden sighed as they stared at the ceiling. This was their new life. They had better get used to it.
Taglist: @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whump-cravings @thecyrulik @neverthelass @michelleswhumpyreblogs @whumpsy-daisy @the-monarch-whumperfly @aswallowimprisoned @secretwhumplair @whumpzone @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @nicolepascaline @susiequaz12 @princessofonwardsworld @itsleighlove @pumpkin-spice-whump @wiwinia @sunflower1000 @whump-blog @blushing-snail @melancholy-in-the-morning @pizzasthengym @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpsday @ceph-the-writing-spook @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @quietly-by-myself @honey-is-mesi
#whumptember2022#whumptember 2022 day 4: accidental whumper#nudity tw#threat of noncon tw#dehumanization tw#restraints tw#nonbinary whumpee#anxiety tw#slavery tw#vampire whump#slavery whump#nsfwhump#stress position
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