#religious whump | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whumpyourdamnpears · 1 month

Text

Fruit of the Wicked: Chapter 1

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

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

Word Count: 2,229 || Next

When Dani woke up, she knew something was wrong.

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

Her apartment didn’t have hardwood floors.

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

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

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

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

Dani knew that voice.

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

Look how much good it’d done her now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She steeled her jaw.

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

All Dani could do was nod.

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

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

“Like what?” She spat out, frustrated.

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

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

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

Dani’s stomach curled in on itself.

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

“Fuck you.”

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

Dani bristled. “Like hell I will.”

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

“This is bullshit,” Dani muttered to herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hoped she sounded braver than she felt.

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

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

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

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

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

“Lessons?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man stopped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another girl.

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

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

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

Dani nodded, turning to enter the room.

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

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

And then, she started to run.

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

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

57 notes · View notes

justbreakonme · 8 months

Note

Hi! I don’t know if you’re taking asks right now, but if you are, could you maybe write some whumpee deconditioning?

Oh this is right up my alley…

Caretaker sat outside on the porch, looking out over the dry grass and gravel drive. There was no one around for miles, well, no one but Whumpee.

He still didn’t know much about where he had come from, mostly that it was not a place he ever wanted to visit. He’d found him curled up in the barn, wedged in between hay bales as tightly as he could managed, like that was gonna do much against the below freezing temperatures. Caretaker was glad he’d thought to double check on the cats, otherwise, who knows if the kid would have made it through the night.

He’d yanked him inside and ripped into him, saying his parents were probably worried sick, and only when he’d ran out of breath did he see the hand shaped bruises, the burns…the belt marks. All through everything, whumpee hadn’t managed a word, merely stared blankly into the middle distance, trembling like a leaf.

That was almost three months ago now, and snow had given way to dead grass and the beginnings of spring, and Whumpee had stayed with Caretaker.

He slept in a real bed, not in a barn, and they ate meals together at a proper kitchen table, and he helped out around the property like he’d lived there all his life. And that was where the normalcy ended.

It was like he couldn’t remember, not in his mind at least. But the things he did were a different story. As horrible as it was, he had expected the flinching. The skittishness, the way he avoided fireplace pokers and belts like the plague. But there were other things that he just hadn’t puzzled out yet.

The biggest problem was that there was something about books that set him on edge. Caretaker was an avid reader, and there was not much he liked better than cracking open a book and sitting back on the porch, but whenever he did, whumpee acted…odd.

He’d watch from the kitchen window, then duck away when he’d look back, and if, after he looked back, he got up and came inside, it would trigger a panic attack like nothing else.

Usually, when whumpee got scared, they went still, and silent, aside from quick, short breaths, his head ducked and his hands clasped in front of him. Those were…easier, in some ways, to deal with. He had worked out that whumpee was needing forgiveness, or reassurance that he hadn’t done anything wrong, or that no one was mad at him. Once that “sunk in”, he would be able to calm down, slowly, but better the others.

The “book scares” as he had started to refer to them in his own mind, would have whumpee scrambling for cover, his hands up in a defensive position, and he would beg and cry that he was sorry, that he would be better, that he didn’t mean to, but he would never say what he was sorry for, and no amount of questions, in the moment or after it, would help caretaker figure it out. It was like even whumpee wouldn’t know.

He didn’t even know how to really calm whumpee down, all he was ever able to do was help him crash safely. He’d tell him to go sit in bed and calm down, and that he wasn’t in trouble, but he would still hear him crying for hours, and would find him passed out, exhausted, on top of the covers in his bed, tear tracks still drying on his cheeks.

He just…couldn’t figure it out.

Caretaker could feel whumpees eyes on the back of his head through the open window. He fought the urge to turn around, and instead, had an idea. He faked a yawn, and a satisfied sigh, and closed his book. He stretched, and snuck a sideways glance over his shoulder to see him watching.

He looked…hopeful, but still ducked away Was that a good sign? He took a deep breath, and decided to try something else. Very gently, he called. “Hey, Whumpee? Could you bring me a pen?”

He didn’t know what to ask for, but Whumpee hadn’t had any reactions to pens or the like, and it was something he could find easily.

“Y-Yes sir!”

Caretaker winced at the eager panic in his voice, and the way he practically ran for the cup of pens by the phone. He was out the door, presenting the pen, in seconds, his hands shaking but still lucid and not lost to panic yet.

“Thank you,” he takes the pen, and gives whumpee a smile, “would you feel like joining me?”

He gestured to the other rocking chair, and Whumpees breath hitched as he darted a glance up for just a second, searching Caretakers face.

He seemed to determine it was the right answer, and nodded, quickly. “Thank you sir.” It was like watching someone held at gunpoint, the way he sat so carefully, the white knuckle grip he held on the armrests.

“It’s nice weather out here, huh? Finally starting to warm up…” he didn’t know what else to say, hell, they’d probably had less than ten conversations that weren’t about what they were going to do or how to do something.

“Yes sir, it is…” He moved his hands to his lap, still not relaxing even the slightest, but his tone seemed less…stiff.

He wished he’d thought this out a little further, thought of more to talk about than the weather. In a way, he hadn’t planned because he didn’t really expect to get this far.

He took another deep breath, figuring he might as well not beat around the bush. “When I come and sit out here and read, I can tell it makes you worried…” Whumpee flinched, hard.

“Look, you aren’t in trouble, you didn’t do anything wrong, I just want to understand why…” caretaker added quickly, shifting to turn his full attention towards Whumpee.

That proved to be a bad idea. Whumpee shrank back in the chair, eyes wide and blank like a deer in the headlights, his mouth open but no words escaping.

“Hey, hey, I didn’t bring it up because I was annoyed or anything… you’re a good kid whumpee, and I don’t want you to always feel like you’re in trouble cause you’re not. Alright?”

It didn’t seem like Whumpee could even hear him. He still just stared forward, his back pressed painfully hard up against the back of the chair.

“Hey, whumpee, you’re okay, you’re good. Can you hear me?”

The question at least seemed to trigger something, and he nodded quickly, tears starting to pool in his eyes. “Good, good, you’re doing great, kid. Look, I just want you to know that you’re okay, right?”

Whumpee nodded again, and Caretaker could tell he was holding his breath.

“It’s okay if you feel like crying, you can, you won’t be in trouble… I just was hoping to find a way to…I dunno, not scare you so much.”

There’s a moment of silence, whumpee still not breathing, then, it was like it all flooded out at once. A sob seemed to rip out of him, and he sank to his knees in front of caretaker, clasping his hands together as if in prayer.

“P-please… I don’t know what- what to do. What do you want me to d-do? I will, I will, I promise- Please, ju-just tell me, please!”

He was shaking so badly that it was making his teeth chatter, and though Caretaker couldn’t see his face from this angle, he knew it would be screwed up in fear and grief like it always was in moments like these.

Shoving his own chair back, Caretaker sank down to meet whumpee on his knees, putting a hand over his clasped ones. “I want you to be able to relax, okay? I want you to trust me. Trust that I’m not going to hurt you, that you’re safe here with me, okay?”

“I can’t!”

Whumpee immediately clapped his hands over his own mouth in horror. “I’m sorry- I didn’t- I- I-“

Caretaker could hear the way he was winding himself up, the reedy, wheezing breathing that was starting to take over, and he couldn’t let him keep going.

“Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

The tone of his voice was calm, matter of fact, but it seemed to stop Whumpee dead in surprise. He was still struggling to breathe, little hitches interrupting every breath, but at least he was still breathing.

“I’m glad that you were able to be honest, and so that we can work together, okay? That was really, really good kid.”

“R-really?” The look in his eyes was both awestruck and disbelieving, but Caretaker would prefer that over terror any day.

“Yeah. Really. Now, when you said you can’t, did you mean you couldn’t relax, or that you couldn’t trust me, or both?” Caretaker cut himself off, raising a hand gently, “It is okay, whatever answer it is. I just want to know.”

Whumpee was starting to panic again, his eyes darting from the ground then to Caretakers face and down again.

“Both.”

“Okay! Now, we can start off on the same page,” Caretaker gently squeezed his hand around both of Whumpees, “Is there anything that I can do that would make you feel more safe?”

Whumpee just cried harder for a moment, and he wondered if he had pushed too far, when he finally managed a weak “I don’t know…”

Caretaker opened his mouth to speak, but Whumpee kept going. “I want to, I want to, you’ve been nothing but good to me and I want to obey- I don’t know how- I’m so sorry…”

“Hey- Hey, kid, the last thing on my mind is obedience, I just don’t want you be afraid all the time… You’re a good kid, you shouldn’t have to feel afraid.”

To caretakers surprise, whumpee laughed, a quick short burst before seeming to get himself under control. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I just, I doubt I’ve ever been ‘not afraid’ my whole life.” He sneaks a glance at Caretakers face, the drops his eyes to the ground again.

Caretaker sighed, feeling his heart pinch. “That’s okay… I’ve never had anyone else on this farm. We’ll just have to learn together.”

Whumpee nodded quickly, seemingly trying to get himself back under his own tight fisted control. “Whumpee, how about you sit out here with me for a bit?”

Whumpee nods, and caretaker relaxes a bit. But, he still wants to know why reading set him on such a narrow edge.

They both ease back into their seats, and caretaker looks around for a change of subject. To his delight, just at that moment, a bird flew into view and perched on one of the trees nearby.

“Hey, look at that! That’s a robin, it’s really starting to warm up. They start to show up in the spring, and that’s the first one I’ve seen this season.”

Whumpee squinted, then nodded, but, caretaker could tell he hadn’t actually seen it, only pretended to. Could he see it? The way he squinted made caretaker wonder if he could need glasses…

“Here, it’s far away, I’ve got a better picture,” slowly, he reaches for his book, and flips it open to the right page, “See?”

Whumpee still tensed up, but, didn’t panic. He looked, genuine interest showing on his face for the first time he’d ever seen.

“It’s a beautiful bird sir…” Whumpee managed, looking up again before letting his eyes fall back to the book.

“Yeah… and there’ll be more, soon.”

He nods, the slightest grace of a smile on his face.

“Is this the book you thought I would be reading? A book about birds?”

Whumpee tensed further, but still didn’t panic, thankfully. “No sir.”

“Is that…good?”

Whumpees breathing stopped, and Caretaker backpedaled. “That’s a bit to open ended, huh? Could you tell me what you thought I might be reading?”

That was better. Whumpee took a deep breath. “The Bible, sir.”

Caretaker felt his heart sink, but also relief. That explained…a lot.

He forced himself to keep the conversation light, knowing the next few questions he was going to need to ask would be hard. “No, just the bird bible I suppose…” he laughs, setting it back down, and though whumpee didn’t laugh, he did relax slightly further.

“Where you were before, after they read the bible, would you be in danger? Is that why it scares you?”

“Yes,” he takes another deep breath, then another, winding himself up once more, “We’d- We would have a sermon, after, and then… sins would be- would be forgiven.”

“Oh…” So that’s why caretaker could never figure out what Whumpee had thought he’d done wrong. He hadn’t been told yet what sins he’d committed.

“I sh-should not be afraid. Sparing the rod spoils the child, I understand, but-“ Whumpee sniffed, and tears dotted the knees of his jeans, “Sometimes I thought I was going to die…”

“Whumpee…” was all Caretaker could manage, horror taking over everything else.

“I d-didn’t want to die with- with sins unforgiven.”

“Kid… that’s- you don’t- that’s not forgiveness, that’s not fair at all…”

Whumpee just shook their head, wiping their eyes.

“Do you- do you still feel like you need to hurt to be forgiven?”

“I do. That’s- that’s what it takes.”

The uncharacteristic steadiness of that sentence made Caretaker very, very worried. “No, no that’s not right. Whumpee, have you been- when I tell you to go to your room, what do you do?”

“I-“ Whumpee had picked quickly on the shift in his tone, the underlying accusation, and seemed to brace himself for the answer he had to give, “I deal with them myself.”

“How?”

Whumpee just shakes his head again, pulling back further, and he wraps his arms around himself like a hug.

“Whumpee, you have to tell me, what have you been doing?” He needed to know, needed to stop this, stop it now.

He shook his head harder, and now Caretaker was caught with an impossible decision. He doubted he could force the answer out of whumpee, but he also couldn’t just let this go, not something like this.

“Whumpee, please, please just tell me. Please don’t make me have to ask again…” He wracked his brain for what was in his room, how any of it could be used in the wrong way, but he was drawing a blank…

“Are- are you going to make me stop?”

“Yes, I have to. You can’t- it’s not- I’ll forgive you, okay? I’ll do it, if you need to be forgiven, I’ll do it. Okay?”

Whumpee looked up, not just a quick glance but held his eyes for a moment. Fear, relief, sadness, all flashed by, but the one that held steady through it all was this bone deep, haunting sense of exhaustion… Whumpee looked defeated.

“I unscrew the top of the bed post… the screw in the bottom is sharp, but, it’s not enough. Please…” Whumpee reached forward with both hands, grabbing one of Caretakers, “please forgive me, please!”

“You have to tell me what you did wrong…” he’s stalling, trying to avoid having to deny Whumpee the “forgiveness” that he wanted so badly.

“I don’t know- I don’t know but I know I have done wrong, but I always do- I know it!”

“Whumpee-“

“You said, you said you’d do it-“

“But I have to know what you did, because I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

Whumpee let go, hitting his forehead with the heels of his hands as he sobbed. “You said! I n-need- I need to be forgiven- I need to be punished!”

“No you don’t!” Without realizing, he had reached over and grabbed Whumpee by the wrists, shaking him, “You don’t need to be hurt, you don’t have to!”

Whumpee shook his head over and over, practically howling as he struggled to free his wrists.

“Please, whumpee, please stop, stop! Listen to me kid, you don’t have to do this!”

“I do, I do, I do I do I do!”

“No, you DON’T!”

Caretaker hasn’t meant to yell, and he instantly regretted it. Whumpee stopped, his chest heaving as he tried to stop crying.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he loosens his grip on whumpees wrists, “Forgiveness doesn’t mean you need to be hurt. I need you to trust me on this. I need you to try.”

Whumpee drew his hands away, hugging himself again, and nodded. Caretaker didn’t know if he nodded because he agreed, or because he was afraid not to. At the moment, Caretaker would take either, as long as whumpee would be unharmed.

“Whumpee… Just sit out here with me. I’ll get us some tea, and we’ll watch the birds. You won’t have anything to be forgiven for.”

He shakes his head again.

“What is wrong about that?”

“There should be…no joy except through God.”

“So, you think you need to be forgiven, for being happy?”

He nods quickly. “You- you’ve been so good to me, and- It means I need more forgiveness.”

Guilt settled in a heavy layer over him, even though there was no way he could have known.

“But-“ he wracked his brain for half-forgotten Sunday school lessons, “God created everything, right?”

“Every leaf, on every tree.”

Caretaker had never believed in God, but, now he knew he had to speak for him.

“Every bird? Every breeze? Every sunset?”

Whumpee nodded, eyes on his knees.

“He made every leaf of tea and every grain of sugar?”

He nodded again, eyes still down.

“Then, how could it be wrong to sit outside, and admire his creation?”

Whumpee looked up, stunned, and then out to the dry grass, the gravel drive…

“So, how about that tea?”

“Okay..”

“Great,” Caretaker felt like he could breath again, “I’ll be right back then.”

When Caretaker came back, Whumpee accepted the glass of tea carefully, and, when his eyes met Caretakers, some of the exhaustion had melted away.

They sat, and watched the birds, until the tea glasses held nothing but ice and they had looked through every picture of every bird in his book.

It would take time, and it would take work, and trust, and lots and lots of questions, but, things would get better.

#I’m trying to get to all my asks #this was written in a 4 am burst so please forgive its failings #religion mention #religious trauma #self harm #tw self harm #deconditioning #whumpee #conditioned whumpee #religious whump #whump scenario #whump prompt #whump writing #rescue

145 notes · View notes

species-whump-weekly · 5 months

Text

Angel Week

Creatures from Judaic religion, also used in Islamic and Christian belief systems. Originally the messengers of God with no freewill of their own, but later changed by Christians to be capable of independent thought and even falling from grace due to sin and rebellion.

Sunday: Sin - Holy Messanger and Unholy Recipient - "What's a birdie like you doing down here? Are you lost?"

Monday: Blinding Light - Botched Blessing - "I come in the name of God. Please don't resist. It'll only be worse for you."

Tuesday: Wing Clipping - Demonic Posession - "Do not be afraid."

Wednesday: Divine Punishment - Stranded - "Please forgive me. Something as beautiful as you can't possibly be this cruel.

Thursday: Hellfire - Eternal Separation - "Do angels bleed? I bet it looks real pretty like."

Friday: Feather Plucking - Abandoned by God - "Let us rejoice in the name of our Lord. For he is eternal and we will serve Him until the stars go out."

Saturday: Eye Gouging - Stripped of Freewill - "It was a mistake. That's all. Please don't hurt me."

Have fun ♡♡♡

Divider source

#Species whump weekly #Whump #Angel whump #Angel whumpee #Nonhuman whumpee #Whump prompt #Whumpblr #Religious whump #Whump event

83 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 8 months

Text

The Heretic's Confession, Chapter One

CW: Captivity whump, some... implications... references to branding. This is just me getting a feel for the idea and character, though, really.

The robes he once kept pristine are caked in dried mud around the hem. Grigory frowns as he inspects them, rubbing along the seam. It flakes away, leaving imprints of itself behind.

Maudlin, certainly, but it feels like the stain of their sins painting his soul.

Maybe suffering can give even a man of the Goddess the sentiment of a poet. His lip curls in disgust at the very thought.

Please, please speak to me, Dromada. Tell your priest what he must do to escape this nightmare.

She is, and has always been, silent to his pleas for Her assistance.

The Goddess the people worship may be a paragon of compassion and forgiveness, her sculptures solemn and grave with hands outstretched to embrace even the lowest-born of Her children, but Grigori is beginning to suspect the holy men have got it wrong.

She isn't gracefully wise. She does not reach Her hand out to hold Her children. No, as each day passes without Her so much as whispering a reassurance, he begins to feel She is th goddess of laughter, and he is Her current favorite joke.

A knock at the door to his room - his cell, really, but of course they all like to pride themselves on keeping him in high style in his gilded cage - has him looking up, a little startled. The moon has only made half of its trek across the night sky, through the looping swirls of galaxies far, far beyond the reach of mere mortal men. That milky spin of stars, everyone knows, is where the gods live.

He wonders how many of them are looking down on him, sipping crystalline waters, and mocking his pain.

He would spit on every last temple step, if he could.

If he could just leave the fucking room-

“Brother Grigori,” His guest singsongs, half-dancing into the room. Grigory turns away from him, laying one palm over one of the iron bars that blocks any escape through the window. His fingers close slowly around it.

“What do you want.” His voice is curt, it cuts short and sharp. “Bastard.”

“Oh, see you got my name all wrong again.” The leader of this little gang is tall - too tall - and all knees and legs, lean muscle making him heavier than he looks. Grigori is tall enough for a man, but he seems like he’s half-grown, compared to the bandit. The man’s hair is a shock of white atop his head, shaved on the sides, while Grigori’s curly brown grows to the bottom of his ears, as is prescribed for the priests. He swaths himself in black kohl around his equally dark eyes and shining black leather worn back to brown from age and ill-use at the knees and elbows. Grigori’s hazel and his dirtied robes look like a joke, placed next to the bandit’s appearance. “It’s Bohli, remember? Or that’s what my mother calls me, anyway. Or she would, if she were still alive. She probably uses that when she curses my name from the heavens above, granted. I mean, probably, unless she really is suffering in the Dark After, like she deserves-”

“What do you want, Bohli?” Grigory’s head is already starting to hurt. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Nonsense. You have all the time in the world. You have nothing but time.”

“Not for… you. Please leave.”

“Nope. Not going anywhere. This is my house, remember? I just let you stay here.”

“Let me.” The words are sour in Grigori’s mouth. “Right, of course. Let me. Because I asked to be branded and trapped here in this room-”

“Hush. I take you for walkies every day, little god’s dog.” Bohli winks, and Grigori - who took a vow of pacifism, once - imagines stabbing his own knife through his eyeball until it comes out the other side of his head. “If you don’t want a leash, you just have to prove you won’t run off.”

He would, of course. Run. Outside, the woods stretch far and wide. There’s a path he could take to find a village, to find freedom...

Or… more realistically… to get arrested for being in league with Bohli and his bastards, which he isn’t, but everyone knows the goddess would save Her most faithful, and he’s been here too long. He would be branded a heretic. Everyone knows he’s a heretic. His own fellow priests would turn their backs on him. The people would burn him at the stake, for being defiled, degraded, a paragon of nothing but the filth they have covered him in. Little more than a bandit himself.

Maybe he is one.

Dromada would have saved him if he were truly Hers to save. And instead, here he is, the infamous giver of absolution to the men and women who massacre whole towns in defiance of - in direct insult to - the power and might of His Majesty, the King.

No. he would be burned as an enemy of the King's, and he would have no standing to defend himself. A captive this long isn't a captive at all, in the eyes of the world.

Just a man who no longer wants to be saved.

Tears prick at his eyes, and he struggles not to let Bohli see them and mock him even more. It’s not like he hasn’t already been marked. It was one of the first things they did. Bohli had given the order and watched while they tied him down. Grigori himself had been made to look as they put the iron in the fire, made to watch them heat it to red. Bohli had been whispering in his ear when when they pressed it to his pelvis, and Bohli had cooed over him while he screamed, stroking through his sweaty hair.

“Just leave,” He whispers, the area aching all over again. They branded him over the symbol of Dromada tattooed, a mark of his vow of chastity.

Another one broken.

Maybe that was when She stopped listening.

“Oh, but I can’t, darling Grigori. I’ve come to make a confession.” Bohli laughs, and his laughter could make you bleed even better than his blade. But somehow Grigori can’t seem to die from the loss. “Isn’t that why I keep a priest of Dromada around, anyway? For to save my poor mortal soul?”

Grigori fights the urge to wish aloud someone would poison the asshole’s food. “You would burn if you touched the Hem of her robe.”

“Maybe.” Bohli shrugs, kicking a chair over and dropping down into it, loose-limbed. His eyes spark with delight as he takes in Grigori’s misery. “But you wear Her robes, and yet I never burn when I touch you-”

“Speak your confession,” Grigory snaps, his heart twisting and going briefly silent and still in his chest. He feels blood rush to his face, and Bohli’s peal of bright, brittle laughter tells him the flush isn’t going unnoticed.

“Say it.” Bohli watches him, and it’s like being watched by one of the terrifying big cats that roam the woods just beyond this hideous prison. Unblinking, a predator’s stare. “Say the words, priest.”

Each time he does, they feel more bitter on his tongue.

But still.

Grigori draws the ruins of his robe closer around himself, and sits up straight. He swallows and sets his jaw. “Bohlinde hir Maksma en Ygridsen, the goddess Dromada hears and forgives all from those who love Her. You have only to ask. Speak, child, and be forgiven.”

Bohli licks his lips, leaning forwards. Somehow, Grigori can’t make himself look away. The bandit leader’s teeth are sharp - those canines can rend skin from bone. He’s part-elf, they say, somewhere in his bloodline the half-mindless shrieking hordes of the elven race lurk. You can always tell, so it’s said, from the sharpness of their teeth. From how little they care for the lives of men.

Maybe he’s half-elf.

It would explain why he’s so fucking smug.

“Forgive me, Dromada’s Chosen, for I have sinned against Her,” Bohli says, and he doesn’t even try to feign sincerity. Why he even plays this game, when Dromada isn’t a goddess for the elves of their wretched offspring to begin with, is beyond Grigori’s understanding.

Grigori fights the urge to sigh. He makes Dromada’s Sign, wondering if it even calls to Her any longer. If She even feels the spark of a follower’s call, or if he’s cut off from Her entirely. Who hears him when he prays?

Does anyone?

“How have you sinned against Our Mother, She Who Gave the Waters?”

Bohli licks his lips. His smile is a little too wide, shows too many of those sharp, sharp teeth. He'd be blisteringly handsome, if it weren’t for the sight of fangs where none should be. “I won’t lie, Brother Grigori. I set some stuff on fire yesterday. And I’m going to do it again. Will I be forgiven?”

Grigori imagines the mud climbing higher and higher up his robes, pulling him into the earth, forcing itself down his mouth and pressing over his eyes. He imagines the gods in the sky, looking down from their stars.

The image shatters with the memory of first sitting at the table with the dozen or so of Bohli's favorites, each of them smiling at him, while he sat in his pure white robes and felt himself bared, as if naked, before them.

Until Bohli had given the order for what to do with him.

“Dromada forgives all who seek Her,” Grigori intones, thoughtless. The words memorized before he was even thirteen years old, before he was old enough to take his vows. Before he was taken, and they were all broken, one by one. Bohli loved breaking Grigori's vows. “You have only to ask.”

“Good.” Bohli’s voice drops low. He has to focus to hear it, which is probably the bastard’s entire point. “Because I really, really love asking, and I love the sound of your answers.”

The bandit stands, walking over to him, putting one finger under his chin and forcing Grigori to look up - and up, and up, and up - to see the demon smile.

Grigori is sure, as Bohli watches him with his head tipped to the side and his black eyes as bright as the stars, that he can hear the goddess laughing.

#whump #new whump #the heretic's confession #captivity #captivity whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #fantasy whump #some weird fantasy race stuff happening here #just go with it #religious whump #religion whump #fantasy writing #bohli is a bad bad man #grigori is just a tired blorbo

91 notes · View notes

whumpsday · 10 months

Text

Petrichor #1

Writing Masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, buried alive, begging, rescue, asphyxiation, religious whump, death wish, starvation, claustrophobia, sensory deprivation, touch starvation, comfort, harming self for vampire feeding purposes, possible historical inaccuracies

Whumpmas in July Day 15: Buried Two Weeks of Whump Day 14: Coffin

this is vampire whump, but it does NOT take place in the K&J universe! i wanted to play around with some vampire mythology that i chose not to incorporate into K&J lore.

thank you to @lost-in-labradorite-halls for beta-reading and helping my clueless jewish ass with the christian bits and generally inspiring this piece via the wonderful vampire torture you regularly concoct!!

also have a song:

Petrichor's endless, airless torment was punctuated once again by the sound of a shovel entering the earth.

It was worth noting strictly because anything was worth noting down here. The digging wasn't out of the ordinary: it was a cemetery, of course.

This time, it sounded close. Every time it sounded near, Petrichor dared let himself hope it might reach him, though he knew such a thing was absolutely ridiculous. People dug graves to bury bodies, not exhume them.

It was utterly maddening. Someone was so close, another soul- a soul, rather, given he did not possess one any longer- and he was unable to make even the slightest peep to alert them to his distress, all oxygen having vacated his tiny box what must have been decades ago, if not centuries. At least he didn't require air anymore.

A tear rolled down his cheek at the thought, his body unable to conjure up more than that. He could not even raise an arm to tap on the wood of the coffin, the weakness having deprived him so effectively. Petrichor listened to the digging longingly, laid still and silent in his grave, the corpse he was.

I'm here. I'm still here, after all this time. Please, it can't be like this forever. I care not whether I'm rescued or slain, but please, someone put an end to it. Dear Lord, I know I'm not one of Your creatures any longer, but please help me.

As if answering his prayer, the digging slowly grew closer as the hours passed. It was odd: usually there would be a bustle of people around, and only one grave would be dug. But he could hear nothing but the digging, and it almost sounded like multiple graves. Perhaps some tragedy had befallen the family owning the plot next to his.

It was disappointing, in a way. The voices, though he could hardly make them out from under the earth, were the only human connection he had left in his horrible fate. Sometimes, he could even make out bits and pieces of the priest's sermon, which never failed to make him cry. He could not even utter a prayer aloud in his wretched state, if the Lord would even have him as he now was. And clearly, He wouldn't.

Petrichor's melancholy thoughts were swiftly interrupted when the sound of digging grew yet closer. Much closer.

As if it were right above him.

Oh dear Lord, please. This could finally be it, couldn't it? If his grave were to be exhumed, for some odd reason?

The shovel knocked against wood. Petrichor could feel it reverberate through the coffin, the first physical sensation interrupting the suffocating stillness in longer than he could know.

He wanted to weep for joy. It was finally happening, it was over. His prayers had finally been answered!

Someone opened the coffin, trading the wooden finish he'd stared at for so long for a starry sky.

Petrichor gasped for breath, his first in what may as well have been lifetimes, smelling of freshly-turned earth. It was nearly impossible to move, his muscles stiff and dry, but he was able to breathe through his nose, and open his mouth just a small amount. It was more than enough: he had air, his lungs no longer drowning.

"Holy fucking shit!" His rescuer tried to jump back, but they were inside his grave with him, and space was sparse.

It was difficult to move his eyes, but he managed it, fixing them on the first person he'd seen since his funeral. They looked young, around his age when he'd been buried or perhaps younger, dressed in an androgynous black cloak. Their clothes and face all ranged from speckled with dirt to absolutely caked in it.

Petrichor stared at them with wild, desperate eyes, and with fresh air in his lungs, made what little sound he could manage: a strangled, pleading cry.

"Oh my god. Oh my fucking god." His rescuer continued to take the Lord's name in vain and spew profanities, but Petrichor couldn't bring himself much to care. All that mattered was getting out of his coffin, the end of his suffering. But he was unable to move.

His rescuer seemed to recognize this as well, their string of expletives tapering off as they tilted their head, staring back.

They glanced up at his gravestone. "Here lies Petrichor Adams," they read out. "1797 to 1820."

They looked back down at him, squinting. "What the hell are you?"

Petrichor whined again, a tear making its way down his face once more.

His rescuer leaned in, their initial shock having given way to a surprising lack of fear. They knelt beside him, peering at his face. "You sure got some chompers in there, huh? What, like...?" They looked out over the edge of the hole, like someone would come out and announce it was all a trick, but no one did.

Petrichor could do nothing but stare pleadingly.

His rescuer tapped him on the cheek. The first touch he'd felt in forever, it almost tingled. They tilted his head to the side, exposing the scars he supposed must still mark his neck: the fangs that had condemned him to this fate.

"You supposed to be a vampire or something?" they asked, incredulous. Having picked up that he could not reply, they continued on. "Well, fuck. What, you need blood or something, is that it? Oh, no no no. I've seen the movies, I've played the video games, alright? I am not fucking with this." They produced a small rectangular object from their pocket, angling it at him in various positions and tapping it oddly before replacing it in their cloak.

The soaring hope in Petrichor's long-dead heart crashed against the rocks. He could not understand some of what the digger said, but the sentiment was clear: he would receive no help.

He would remain locked in his prison.

Petrichor's chest quaked with dry sobs. He trained his eyes upward, thankful that his wretched body could not produce tears very quickly, as his vision remained unblurred when he took in the stars. The sight of something beautiful, one last time.

The digger sighed, glancing at his headstone once more.

"Well. It does say you were beloved," they remarked. "Beloved son. They wouldn't've put that there if you were some bloodsuckin' serial killer, huh?"

Petrichor made no further attempt to look away from the stars, but allowed himself to hope again. Perhaps he would be allowed out, if the digger would take pity on him.

His rescuer shook their head. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

They produced a small blade, rolled up their sleeve, and sliced themself across the back of the arm. They positioned the wound just above his mouth, allowing their blood to drain across his tongue.

Petrichor had never tasted blood before- not posthumously, that was. He had been buried shortly after his death, without time to fall prey to his new, monstrous nature. It was nothing like blood had been as a human: the coppery taste when he'd split his lip roughhousing as a child. This, this was everything. It was the sweetest honey, it was the finest glass of red wine, it was the flavorful broth of his mother's pot roast, it was life itself flowing into his veins.

Slowly, the muscles in his body lost their stiffness, and he could move once more. He raised his head up toward the source of the lifeblood, but his savior placed their boot firmly on his chest, keeping him pinned to the floor of his coffin.

"Think that's enough for now. Don't wanna get woozy." They tore a piece of cloth from their cloak, wrapping the wound. "Cat still got your tongue, buddy?"

"P-please," Petrichor rasped, his voice weak from disuse, "Kind... sir? I cannot go on like this. Whatever fate you'd bestow upon me, I care not, so long as I'm not forced to remain inside this box. I am a vampire, it's true, but I had never consumed even a drop of blood before tonight. I mean no harm. Please allow me to leave this coffin." His voice broke, his words coming out squeaky. "I was human once, too."

Desperate begging. He'd never thought his life would come to this, but he supposed it never had. His life had ended long ago.

The boot was removed from his chest.

"Alright, Petrichor Adams, take it easy," his rescuer said. "I'm not gonna leave you down here no matter what you are. That'd be crazy fucked up." They extended a hand. "Robin."

Petrichor took their hand, his own shaking. "Thank you so very, very much. You've saved me from an unbearable fate."

Robin pulled him up to standing, his bones creaking with the unfamiliarity of movement. "Huh. It's almost like you time traveled or something. Says you died when you were 23, that's like, practically my age. Guess the 200 years in between don't really count."

Petrichor wasn't sure what came over him, but he burst into tears instantly. His body had no trouble with it now, two centuries' worth of crying flowing forth all at once as he bawled.

"They count!" he wept. "I was down there, I- I was down there the entire time! I did not sleep!"

"Alright!" Robin agreed with haste. "Okay, grandpa, you're 226 then, whatever's good. Jeez, c'mon, you don't gotta cry. It's gonna be okay."

They rubbed their thumb over his hand, and he gasped from the sensation. After so long, every touch felt one thousand times stronger than it was.

Petrichor attempted to pull himself together. "Yes, yes of- of course."

"And listen, you gotta be quieter. We're reeeeally not supposed to be out here right now." Robin hopped up, pulling Petrichor up with them.

A knapsack laid at the foot of his grave, varied pieces of jewelry and a few golden teeth visible from the top.

His rescuer was a graverobber and a thief. But Petrichor knew his situation was desperate, and chose to say nothing. He was no better, given what he was now.

Robin noticed the direction of his gaze nonetheless, offering him a mischievous smirk. "Yeah, Graverobbin' Robin, that's what they call me. And by they I mean me, 'cause no one knows I do this." They began shoveling dirt back into his grave. "Good thing I do, though. Never thought I'd save a vampire on my side hustle, but life throws you curveballs, I guess. You know baseball?"

"I do not, I'm afraid," Petrichor replied, watching mesmerized as his coffin became entombed once more.

"Bro, how are you gonna die in Boston and not know baseball? I gotta take you to a game sometime. Literally first order of business, now that I've got money for tix!"

None of it felt real. He was finally out, but two hundred years had passed. Everyone he'd ever known and loved was long-dead.

He turned, looking to his family plot, but his eyes instantly caught a horrible burning sensation. A headstone in the shape of a cross.

Petrichor averted his gaze. Of course: he'd almost forgotten. He was no longer one of The Lord's creatures.

Robin finished, slung their pack over their shoulder, and motioned him to follow. "You can crash at my apartment while you figure your shit out. I'll grab you some more blood from the butcher's once the T starts running. That's like the subway. Uh, I mean- never mind, not important. Hope pig's blood's enough for you, 'cause I can't do that every day."

At the very least, he had Robin.

"That sounds lovely."

this was originally gonna be a one-shot but i think i might write more? oh god, am i really starting another vampire series? THIS ONE WILL BE SHORTER. A MINISERIES.

if you liked this but want something a more hurt/no-comfort flavored i recommend Our Man Flint by @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night!!

tune in on tuesday for some kane & jim!

everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

one-shots taglist (this is only gonna have 3-4 chapters max so im lumping it in with the one-shots):

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@whumpycries

@reborrowing

event: @whumpmasinjuly @promptsforyourwhumpfic

141 notes · View notes

whumpshaped · 8 months

Note

demon whumpee begging, with either angel whumper or angel caretaker

tw dubious angel caretaker, demon whumpee, religious whump, lethal injury, non-descriptive gore

"Please," the demon tried again, weaker, more earnest this time. "Please. I used to be one of you. I, I just made a mistake, please. Please have some compassion. Please help."

"I can help." The angel's many eyes surveyed the demon's broken body constantly, over and over again from top to bottom, assessing their injuries. "But I can only help those who are willing to devote their lives in exchange."

Deep in the valley of the shadow of death, that didn't seem to faze the demon much. "I understand. I do. Please. I'm ready to correct my mistakes, I'm ready to do whatever it takes."

The angel didn't respond right away, finding themself looking for a different way to explain the situation, as if continued pleading and a will to repent hadn't been the correct reaction. As if despite all the blood and gore peeking out from under their tattered clothing, the demon's request and behaviour had been unreasonable. As if it had shown a lack of comprehension rather than acute awareness of the danger they were in.

"I suppose the question is... would you rather die as your own person, or live serving a god who had banished you to Hell once before?"

Maybe some of their own bitterness had gotten out through the cracks in their mask. They didn't mean to sound like that, really. Like they were jealous. Envious of the courage it must've taken to survive in the face of continuous injustice and curses after falling. They doubted they could've done it, had they ever been caught making a mistake.

But was that twisted admiration really some sort of justification for phrasing their question that way? Making this pitiful creature feel like choosing life over death was some sort of failure, just because they wished their own life looked a little different?

"No, that's not the right way for me to ask," they muttered. "There are so many things to ask. So many things you might have forgotten already." So many things I wish to warn you about right now, but if I do, it might be taken as being disloyal to Heaven and God.

"I don't have time to answer them all," the demon rasped, getting that hint of a gurgle in the back of their throat that let the angel know everything about their condition that they needed to. From where they stood, protected and safe in their gilded cage, dying as a free being seemed honourable. Desirable, even. Yet, if they had no courage to throw themself into a situation like that by choice, what right did they have to force someone else to stay in it? What right did they have even attempting to live and die vicariously through them?

They knelt next to the demon, putting both of their pristine hands over their wounds and trying not to let the wet feeling of blood underneath them bother them too much. The sleeve of their robe started soaking up the viscous liquid immediately, but they resisted the urge to lift their arms any higher to avoid it.

"Do you believe I can heal you?" they asked finally, their heart shattering when they saw the desperate demon nod frantically. "Very well. According to your faith let it be done to you."

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

#augh did i get too in my head w this one #is this incomprehensible word vomit #it seems like all my drabbles r like that lately #ugh #i hope its readable #whump #whump drabble #dubious angel caretaker #demon whumpee #religious whump #lethal injury #non-descriptive gor #asks #whumpsday

80 notes · View notes

whumpsandbumps · 26 days

Text

intro :)

Hi! My names Jay and I’ve been a massive lurker in the Whump community for a while now and I’ve finally found the courage to actually write it so here I am i guess lmfao.

Feel free to give prompts either for me to post or write about in my ask box or dms :)

I also do requests!

My favourite tropes to write about (so far) are Kidnapping Whump, Creepy intimate whumper, Caretaker who is also an ex whumpee and other stuff i cba to list.

Basically I’ll write anything, depending on how much I actually know about it! For example I got a lovely ask about Factory Whump Prompts however I didn’t know a thing before I searched it :) But if I don’t I’ll definitely try!

Have a good day/night or whatever time it is for you <3

-Jay <3

#kidnapping whump #defiant whumpee #ao3 writer #caretaker #religious whump #intimate whumper #whumpee rescue #whump drabble #collapsing writing prompts #sick whumpee #Whump community

23 notes · View notes

whumpyourdamnpears · 28 days

Text

Fruit of the Wicked: Chapter Two

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

Thank you Marz, Gen, and Beck for beta reading <3

Word Count: 2,406 Previous Next

Dani’s feet skipped beneath her as she ran to the other side of the kitchen. Behind her, the man pulled himself up from the wall, still rubbing at his jaw. She had maybe a minute before the shock wore off and he’d catch up with her.

She ran up to the other girl in the cabin, frantic.

The girl was pressing herself back against the counter, breathing heavily, eyes wild and terrified. It hadn’t registered to Dani yet that it might be because of her.

“What are you doing?” Dani demanded, panting. “Run!”

The girl looked at her like she was crazy. It was only when they were in such close proximity to each other that Dani could make out the blonde of her eyebrows, the rosiness in her cheeks. Her piercing blue eyes.

The same features of the man, just arranged differently on her face.

Dani backed away from her, now realizing her mistake. Of course the girl wouldn’t run. Why would she? She was clearly part of the man’s family.

The man started to move forward, and Dani knew it was time to go.

The front door slammed into the wall as Dani yanked it open, swinging as she bounded down the wooden steps leading off the porch. She ran down the dirt driveway and quickly turned to see how far behind her he was, taking in the sight of the small wood cabin she’d just run from. The man rested against the frame of the front door, looking out at her. Blonde hair peeked out from behind him. “Let her run.” Dani barely made out. “She won’t get far.”

Dani staggered to the treeline, still staring behind her, before finally turning back around to run. She didn’t have time to wait for him to follow her. The sun was already starting to set, golden light washing over the woods ahead of her, and she had no idea where the fuck she even was to begin with. She would probably get lost. But being lost in the woods was a lot better than whatever was waiting for her back at that cabin.

It was only a few minutes in when Dani wished she had her shoes. Somewhere between the parking garage and the cabin, she’d lost them. God knows why he’d taken them off of her. Maybe he didn’t want her tracking dirt around his study. Maybe he had a sick perversion for feet. The reason wasn’t important. What was, however, was now she was lacking a very vital form of protection against the elements. No shoes, no socks. Just her bare feet scraping across the various twigs and little stones strewn across the ground in front of her.

Dying sunlight peeked through the trees as Dani continued through. The birds screamed as she passed through, flying up from the brush and into the trees. Her feet were raw. Her ankles were itching like mad. Her chest felt like it was on fire. It was becoming apparent how truly lost she was. There was no end in sight to the trees. There was nothing to follow, no landmarks, nothing to take note of as she ran.

If he didn’t find her, would anyone?

A tree branch floated in Dani’s path. She pushed past it and began to step forward.

A jolt of red-hot pain pulsed through Dani’s legs, sending her careening towards the ground. She couldn’t help the scream that ripped out of her throat as she hit the ground, grasping for the source of the pain. Her ankles were hot to the touch, inflamed and pulsating. She gripped onto one of them as she laid face down in the dirt, gasping for air. The sensation continued, the shocks unrelenting. As Dani’s hands clamped around her ankle, she could feel a small, almost undetectable bump under the hot flesh, a bump that hadn’t been there before. Gasping, Dani let go of her ankle and pushed it away from her.

The shocks stopped.

Dani laid there, staring down at the leg she had just pushed away from her, face burrowed in soil and rotting leaves, stupefied. Her ankle still burned with the aftershock, the muscles of her lower legs cramped and aching, but the source of the pain had simply… stopped. Dani began to pull her ankle back towards her, and as she did, the painful sensation came back to life. She shoved her leg away, and again, the sensation stopped.

What the hell?

She knew she couldn’t stand, as any time Dani pulled her legs towards her, the shocks came back. Tears pricked in Dani’s eyes. This couldn’t be it. She’d tried too hard for this to be the end.

As she began to bury her face into the earth to stifle the keening noise that’d begun to come out of her mouth, she could hear the sound of rumbling in the distance getting closer and closer.

No.

No, no, no.

Eventually, the rumbling of the pickup truck’s engine cut out, and the sound of one of its doors slamming echoed throughout the woods. The birds stopped screaming. Footsteps crunched through the brush, making their way towards her. Eventually, the footsteps reached the clearing, stopping right beside her.

“Are you proud of yourself?” The man asked.

Dani said nothing as she turned her head to look over at him. He stood there, arms crossed and eyebrows cocked as he stared down at her prone form. She could only imagine how pitiful she looked, face down in the dirt, with muddy cheeks from where the dirt and her tears mixed. She quickly wiped her face, sniffing.

“You weren’t very successful, you know. Only got about a mile out before you hit the fence line.” He looked past her, sighing.

Fence line?

As the man reached down to grab her leg, Dani began kicking wildly to avoid his hands, stopping only when another shock hit her ankle. “What am I gonna do with you?” He muttered, wrapping his hand around the bottom of her calf. Her skin burned where he touched her.

As the man pulled her towards him, the movement shifted Dani from her shoulder onto her back, her head bouncing against the earth as he dragged her forward. “You know,” he said, grunting. “I think there’s a lesson to be learned here. And I’m getting the feeling you only learn with experience.” He twisted her around so her foot was just over where she’d been laying, her back a few feet behind it. “You see, years ago, I had an electric fence dug around the property for situations just like this. Now, you don’t got a collar on or nothin’ to set it off, then you could just find a way to take it off, but I found another means to get the same reaction.” He fondled the skin around her ankle, and as he did, a small lump rolled around under his fingertips.

Son of a bitch.

“It seems like you already found out what happens when you step onto the fence line, but I think it’d be good for the both of us if we revisited that.”

Before Dani could say a word, the man was already dragging her back over the spot where she had fallen. Try as she might, the scream that ripped out of her throat once her leg made contact with the fence couldn’t be stopped. The fire erupting from her ankle traveled up her leg and hips and into her chest, burning everything in its path. It was too much. She couldn’t breathe. Her attempts to crawl back from the spot were unsuccessful, as the man’s hold on her ankle was too strong for her to break. She could feel her body begin to flail from the pain, her arms smacking down onto the ground.

Before long, the man pulled her leg off of the fence line. Dani gasped for air as the sensation stopped, going still. Dropping her leg, the man walked to her side, bent down, and quietly said, “Next time you run, I’m leaving you out here.”

Dani laid there for a moment, panting for air, as the man stayed crouched beside her.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson yet?”

Dani swallowed, nodding.

“And what’ll happen if you try something like this again?”

Dani said nothing. The man began to reach for her leg again. “You’ll leave me out here,” Dani croaked, throat raw from screaming.

“Damn right, I will.” The man glanced behind him and sighed. “It’s getting dark. We better get movin’.”

As the man dug his arm under her legs and back to lift her up, Dani squirmed, uncomfortable from the proximity. The man gave her a scathing look. She stopped squirming. He hoisted her off the ground like she was nothing, carrying her through the brush towards the bed of his red pickup truck. Dani did her best to resist leaning her body against his as he carried her, but there was only so much distance she could put between the two of them while she was in his arms. He was probably strong enough to outpower her physically, if it came to it. Definitely strong enough to toss Dani into the bed of his truck like she was a sack of potatoes.

Dani swore to herself as she hit the truck bed with a resounding thud, curling in on herself once she was in it. She’d fucked up. She had one chance, and she had managed to fuck it up. She should’ve noticed that something weird was going on with her legs. Then she could’ve done something about it, before she decided to make a run for it and effectively fuck up any shot she could’ve had at freedom.

The truck rumbled as it started, and soon it was pulling out of the trees and down the beaten dirt road it drove up on. Dani almost had the mind to throw herself out of the truck bed, but didn’t in the interest of less pain. It didn’t matter. The drive decided to throw her around the truck bed anyways.

It felt like forever when the truck finally pulled to a stop. She could hear the ignition turn off and the keys jingle as they left the key fob before the eventual click and swing of the truck door opening. Dani nearly jumped out of her skin as the door slammed shut, scrambling to sit up before he got to the back of the truck.

When the tailgate swung open, he was there, offering his hand.

“What are you doing?” Dani asked, eyeing his hand in disgust.

“Offering you a hand down.” The man said. “Unless, of course, you’d like to brave the way down yourself.”

Dani glanced down the foot of the truck bed. The drop to the ground was steep, probably too steep for her to jump down onto without her knees buckling. If she fell now, there was no guarantee he’d help her back up.

She took his hand.

The contact was brief, but it made her skin crawl all the same.

As soon as Dani’s feet settled onto the dirt, the man pulled his hand away from hers and started walking back to the cabin. When Dani didn’t follow, he turned around and said, “What, did you think I was gonna help you walk the rest of the way back? You ran out on your own two feet, surely you can walk back on them.”

Asshole, Dani thought to herself as she took a tentative step forward. Her ankles practically screamed as she moved, threatening to give out the further she walked. She took another wobbling step. And another. Every step was hell, but all Dani could do was grit her teeth and keep moving.

Moving got easier once she reached the stair railing that led up to the cabin porch, but hurt more as she pulled herself up the steps. One ankle finally gave out on her when she hit the second step, nearly sending her hurdling down the steps before she threw her body onto the railing. The man said nothing as it happened. He just watched her from the top of the steps, patient as a saint.

When she reached the door frame, she caught a quick glimpse of the girl from before before she disappeared behind the hall wall. The only thing Dani could make out from her were the slender fingers wrapped around the edge of the wall and the wave of hair that hung out from beyond it. Behind Dani came the man, who crossed the cabin within a few strides and stood at the doorway of the study they came from minutes ago, expectant. She limped her way over to him, and then past the doors. The man led her back to the ring in the floor and gestured toward it. “Sit down.” He told her, poking at her ankle with his boot.

Dani trembled as she sat on the floor next to the ring. She should be fighting back, but then what? There was nowhere to run, no escape she’d be able to find tonight. The man clamped the cuff around her ankle, produced the key from around his neck, and locked it into place. “You know, things would’ve been so much easier for you if you hadn’t decided to run.”

“Had to try,” Dani grumbled as the man let go of her ankle.

He didn’t even acknowledge her as he made his way to the door. “We’ll be seeing each other in the morning,” was all he said before shutting and locking the double doors behind him. The lights followed him, plunging Dani into darkness.

She couldn’t help herself as the tears began to pour down her dirty cheeks. She laid herself down onto the floor and curled into a ball, letting the tears run off her face and into her tangled curls. What the hell was she gonna do now? She couldn’t run with whatever the fuck was in her ankles, and she was in the middle of nowhere. Dani had gotten herself into enough situations to know which ones she could and couldn’t get out of on her own. She wasn’t getting out of this one by herself.

Dani hiccuped with sobs. She knew no one was coming. She was going to die here, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @generic-whumperz, @lektricwhump, @heartinthehospital, @deluxewhump, @another-whump-sideblog, @pigeonwhumps,

#whump #whumplr #intimate whumper #defiant whumpee #lady whump #(let's see if this post gets shadowbanned for using that tag #religious whump #wanted to post this on Sunday but the queue function fucking sucks so surprise! y'all get it on Saturday instead #happy early easter

37 notes · View notes

whympy · 3 months

Text

Whumpees who are absolutely irredeemable. They are getting what they deserve.

Perhaps they wronged Whumper, and used to be a whumper themselves.

Perhaps they were supposed to be an authority figure, like a teacher or drill sergeant. But instead of using their power for good, they exploited those below them for their own personal gain.

Perhaps they were a criminal, a gang leader or a mafia boss. For someone so brutal, they sure don’t handle the same treatment well.

If you feel like getting religious with it, maybe they are a demon, or a malicious spirit, trapped in a hell of their own making and knowing that Whumper is in the right for treating them this way.

Do they ever get out? Does their suffering cleanse their rotted souls? Do they even deserve to dream of an escape, given that they never afforded that to anyone else?

#whump drabble #whump prompt #whumpblr #whumpee #whumper #religious whump #military whump #nonhuman whumpee

29 notes · View notes

echo-goes-mmm · 7 months

Text

Divine Intervention AU #4

Masterpost

Warnings: attempted murder, murder, religious whump

She shook her head. “We’ll make it quick for you.” The wealthy man next to her barked orders, and the knight firmly turned Plaything towards the altar. The knight marched him forward, up the platform, bending him over the altar. He could hear the woman begin to chant behind them.

Oh. He could deal with sex, even if it was a strange religious ritual. Harldy a problem; she said they would be quick.

But then the knight wrenched him up by the hair, shoved him to his knees, and put a dagger to his neck.

No. nonononono.

He was going to die. Sacrificed to a god he didn’t even know the name of.

“Don’t! Please, please don’t,” he sobbed, tears running down his face.

The knight’s grip tightened and the woman stuttered, but continued chanting.

“Please!”

He screwed his eyes shut, preparing for the blade to slit his throat.

There was a flash of golden light, and the dagger clattered to the floor.

Plaything opened his eyes.

Sitting on the altar, their crossed legs mere inches from his face, was a god.

He peered up at the god’s face. His hair was blond, his eyes green, and he was beautiful.

Plaything looked away. The air became thick for a moment, his throat and ears itched, but the sensation was gone as quick as it appeared.

“What are you doing?” said the god, his tone even.

“I bring a sacrifice in the name of the king, your highness. He wishes to gain your favor.”

“My favor…And you thought this would please me?” the god smoothly moved to stand next to Plaything. His hand came to rest on Plaything’s head, guiding him to lean against the god’s thigh. His fingers carded through Plaything’s hair, and he wasn’t sure if it was meant to comfort or intimidate.

“I- I mean, your priestess said you preferred rare and valuable offerings. There are no slaves here, and this one has exotic coloring. He will obey your every wish.” the god’s hand stuttered half a second, and resumed petting Plaything.

“My every wish, hmm?” the god’s voice was unreadable. “And you encouraged this, Hannah?”

“No my lord. I suggested sapphires, or perhaps emeralds. I specifically warned against a living offering.” Plaything couldn’t help it. Hysteria bubbled up in his chest, and he laughed through his sobs.

“What is it, pet?”

Plaything sniffed, turning away from the altar and towards the god and his audience.

“They pierced my ears,” he explained, his voice watery, “with emeralds.”

The god cupped his face, turning him to see. His thumb stroked his cheek.

“So they did.”

The god turned back away, his hand returning to scritch at Plaything’s scalp.

“We did not mean to offend you, your highness,” said the lord, desperate.

“And yet you have.”

“Your highness-”

“You know nothing about me,” snarled the god.

“You bought a slave, in my name, and nearly murdered him on my altar.”

The lord and the knight stepped back, trembling.

Hannah did not move, her expression bored.

The god stalked forward, grabbing the lord by the throat. A strangled gasp escaped his mouth, and he thrashed in the god’s grip. The god lifted him effortlessly in the air.

“You disgust me.” The god plunged his arm into the lord’s chest. The knight screamed.

The god pulled out the lord’s heart, blood streaming to the floor, and crushed it like paper. It spurted blood over his clothes.

He dropped the corpse.

“Tell your king I will deal with him later.”

The knight turned and fled.

The blood must have reached his boots, because he left a bloody trail of footprints as he ran.

Plaything watched the viscera drip down the god’s fingers.

“I’m going to have to clean that up, you know.” said Hannah.

“Sorry,” said the god, who did not sound very sorry at all.

“I tried to tell them,” said Hannah, “but the king insisted.”

“What did he want?” The god twisted his wrist, summoning a cloth. He began to wipe off his arm.

“He wanted your blessing to lie to some politician or something. Making sure they would fall for it, yadda yadda. The usual.”

The god scoffed. “Drop the body on the front step, please. I’m sure the royal guards will come for it sooner or later.” Hannah moved to drag the corpse outside.

The god turned to Plaything.

“What’s your name, pet?”

“Plaything, Master.” The god raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not calling you that. Pick something out, then. It doesn’t matter what.”

He racked his brain, and said the first thing that came to mind.

“Pet?”

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?" The god sighed.

"You can be my pet if you want to. But pick out a person name. Alright?”

He thought it over. He’d had masters who owned pets, like dogs and cats. Slaves weren’t pets, but they weren’t people either. Maybe to a god, their worshipers were people, people were slaves, and slaves were pets.

He’d be offended too, if someone tried to kill a kitten on his altar.

“Yes, Master.” He thought of the cute tabby cat one of his masters had. What was his name, again?

“Could I be Elliot, Master? If it pleases you.”

“Very nice. I'm Ambrose. Let’s get you home, hm? I have work to do, and you need proper clothing. Not whatever's going on here,” he said, gesturing to Elliot’s outfit.

“Yes, Master.”

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

#Elliot's naming is a lot smoother in the au than in main. i wish i fleshed that out a little more in main tbh #ambrose and elliot #divine intervention au #my writing #whump #slavery whump #religious whump #pet caretaking

45 notes · View notes