#also multiple whumpers I guess

[whumpsandwhimpers]

INTRO POST!

HI fellow whump lovers!! I'm Aster! (my main is @ablatheringblatherskite!)

I have finally decided to make a whump blog. Mostly because I'm having a hard time sorting and finding the posts I reblogged on my main. My main will still be getting a bunch of whump stuff, but this sideblog will be exclusively whump!!

I'm mostly a fanfic writer, although I do have some original stories in the works!

Some fandoms I've written for (and want to write for): Phantom of the Opera, Epic: The Musical, One Piece, HTTYD, Les Mis, Spider-Man, Daredevil, Wednesday

Blorbos I've Whumped (Or will whump): Raoul de Chagny, Erik (the Phantom), Telemachus, Odysseus, Roronoa Zoro, Sanji, Tyler Galpin, Peter Parker, Matt Murdock, Hiccup Haddock III

READ MY WHUMP FICS HERE!

IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm also a Christian. So far the only whump I avoid is explicit and NSFW whump. I'm fine with graphic gore and violence, but avoid the more sexual side of whump. I ALSO DO NOT EVER INTEND TO WRITE KINKY THINGS!

Some whump stuff I like!:

Restraints!!!! (shackles attached to the wall or ceiling, chained, tied to a chair, bound on the floor or in a stress position, gags, cloth gags and duct tape, collars and muzzles, hidden restraints, etc.)

Kidnapped and capture!!

Body horror (especially paired with non-con body mod)

Resigned whumpee, especially a defiant whumpee becoming broken and resigned and afraid

Small cages

Trophy Whumpee (Whumpee to be shown off and be pretty)

Mouth/eyelids stitched shut

Manhandling!!

Royal whumpee

Stress position

Dehumanization, Infantilization, and Humiliation/Degredation

Torture!!

Pet whump (obviously not the NSFW kind)

Roleplay whump (like, when the whumper forces the whumpee to play a specific role for them. Like their child, or spouse, etc)

Creepy whumper

Intimate whumper (yes ofc not the NSFW kind. More like ruffling their hair, patting their cheeks, holding their face, playing with their hair or ears, etc.)

Non-sexual, noncon touching

Exhaustion (but particularly when it's with an art form)

Performance whump (is this a thing. Like being forced to sing/dance for whumper's entertainment, or for whumper's gain)

Art whumpee (whumpee that's somehow turned into art)

Cosmetic whump

Doll Whumpee (Whumpee being treated like a doll)

Experimentation and lab whump/medical whump (Lab rat whumpee!!)

Living Weapon

Forced obedience

Manipulation, mind games and gaslighting

Body control (Like, when whumper is only in control of the body but not the mind, so whumpee is maybe trapped in their mind and forced to watch)

Enslaved whumpee (IDK WHAT THIS IS CALLED but basically when a usually non-human whumpee is forced to serve and obey their master, whether that came about through a contract or the master somehow finding a way to trap them into servitude)

Whumpee being turned into a puppet (literally and figuratively)/Literally being puppeteered with strings

Brainwashing/mind control

Cybernetics whump

Sensory deprivation

Branding

Carving skin with a knife (carving words, or maybe a creepy smile on the corners of whumpee's mouth!)

Public whump (public humiliation and being used as an example/to discourage people mmmmm)

Dismemberment/General Mutilation/Permanent damage

Waterboarding/Head being dunked into water forcefully

Good ol' classic beating while whumpee is restrained/already down

And probably more that I've forgotten!!

Aaaand that's all I guess! Let the whumping begin!

Tags and stuff:

#asterrisks, #favorites, #aster's writings, #aster's snippets, #my reblog additions, #blorbos

#whump writing, #whump writing references, #whump, #whump art, #whump gifsets, #whump prompts, #whump writings, #crack whump, #whump dialogue, #whump humor, #masterlist

#whumpee, #whumper, #caretaker, #carewhumper, #multiple whumpers, #multiple whumpees, #non human whumpee, #trophy whumpee, #lab rat whumpee, #resigned whumpee, #broken whumpee, #possessive whumper, #intimate whumper, #creepy whumper, #creepy/intimate whumper, #royal whumpee, #defiant whumpee, #scared whumpee, #sarcastic whumpee, #stoic whumpee, #royal whumpee, #sadistic whumper, #scared whumpee, #immortal whumpee, #child whumpee, #owned whumpee, #battery whumpee, #doll whumpee

#restraints, #bound, #chains, #duct tape, #hanging from the ceiling, #tied to a chair, #tied to a tree, #cells, #gagging, #muzzles, #mouth stitched shut, #muted, #blindfolded, #leashes, #collars, #shock collars, #electrocution, #forced drinking, #drugged/drugging, #paralysis, #stress position, #forced to watch, #forced to hurt a friend, #forced smile, #forced labour, #forced obedience, #mind control, #controlled, #body control, #loss of autonomy, #punishments, #manhandling, #kneeling, #stepping on whumpee, #noncon touching, #bullying, #torture, #sleep torture, #past torture, #injuries, #digging into injury, #beating, #stripping, #whipping, #starvation, #strangling, #suffocation, #waterboarding, #branding, #tattooing, #noncon haircut, #noncon body modification, #experimentation, #sensory deprivation, #solitary confinement, #gunpoint, #guns, #knives, #glass whump, #curses, #sacrifices, #sickness #being recorded, #used as bait, #transportation, #mutilation, #dismemberment, #gore, #permanent damage, #death

#conditioning, #mind games, #self-deprecation, #self harm, #mind games, #screams, #sobbing, #resignation, #dehumanization, #humiliation, #infantilization, #degradation, #desperation, #trauma, #triggers, #vague discomfort, #distrust, #dazed, #horrified, #mocking, #betrayal, #guilt, #amnesia, #hallucinations, #exhaustion, #begging, #gaslighting, #manipulation, #abandonment

#captured, #body horror, #rescue, #recovery, #hostage whump, #royal whump, #lab whump, #medical whump, #magic whump, #superhero whump, #pirate whump, #superpower whump, #undercover whump, #public whump, #surprise whump, #pet whump, #domestic whump, #cybernetics whump, #performance whump, #cosmetic whump, #living weapon, #hurt/comfort, #parental whump, #family whump, #psychological whump, #roleplay whump, #prison whump, #performance whump, #holiday whump

[loonybun]

hi guys… guess who wrote for mermay… it’s me…. hopefully i’ll also do some more soon

Contains: Mermaid/siren whumpee, siren hunter whumper, multiple (care)whumpers, captivity, very subtly implied murder and torture (for funzies), carewhumper, a really fucked up found family dynamic except one of the “parents” has no idea about it, teenage whumpee, mute whumpee, nonbinary whumpee

hope u enjoy my silly guys…. i plan to write smthn for cady next if my brain is hyped up enough

—

The tank was the only home they’d ever known. Though they were young when they’d been taken from the ocean, it had always been cruel to them. The tank, on the other hand, was made with them in mind. It was comfortably large and filled with things like plants and hides for enrichment.

They loved seeing their caretaker, even if he never had much time to spare. He moved briskly whenever he walked by, never even offering a slight glance towards them. Eye contact was a rarity. They didn’t know why he scowled whenever he was forced to face them. His disgust, whenever he tossed the long-dead fish into the tank, made their guts twist with guilt. They’d done something wrong, they were sure of it, but they didn’t know what it could've possibly been.

Maybe something was wrong with them. The water made it difficult to hear anything from the other side of the tank, but they knew one word he used frequently. “Beast”. That’s what he called them. It hurt more knowing he’d handled other people like them before. Sometimes, he’d even smile at someone. They’d never seen the same person twice after someone was wheeled away in a cooler. There was no need to take any of them out of their tanks after all. They found it strange how they'd never seen any of the other enclosures, but it was the only place they could be. They were sure of that fact.

Besides their caretaker, there was another human that came around every once and a while. She had bright eyes and a playful smile constantly fixed on her face. Her fascination with them was a stark contrast to her caretaker’s aversion. The woman would always come and tap on the glass and grin when they came up. With her hands, she’d make little motions and signals. It took them a while to pick up on the language, but with a bit of time, it became easier to hold a conversation. They’d managed to learn her name. Mel. They were called Marley by her, but they’d never heard their caretaker use that name for them. Or any name, for that matter.

Once, they’d asked why their guardian looked at them the way he did. They noticed the way Mel bit her lip before she responded. “He’s like that to everyone. Don’t take it personally, okay? He likes you plenty.”, she signed. Then, they asked about why he never seemed upset with the others. Her expression shifted into one of horror, then deep discomfort. All she said was that she needed to leave, and then she did. They heard yelling a bit later, but they weren’t able to discern why.

They had a feeling that whatever it was, it was their fault.

—

i know it’s a bit short but take what u can get from me and nibble on it because for all you know it could be months till ur next little meal /j

[montammil]

June of Doom Day 17 - "You don't want to do that."

| Struggle | Blackmail | Desperate Measures |

Characters: Rowan, Sawyer

I think this counts for desperate measures?

Also I got a little too into this writing and got some ideas for making a similar scene like this canon soon >:D If it looks like I rushed at the end you're totally just imagining things (spoiler: yes i did end up rushing the ending--)

CW: Heavily implied noncon, yandere/intimate whumper, forced marriage, depressed whumpee, multiple whumpers(?), failed escape

...

Sawyer had managed to get on Rowan's good side again recently. It wasn't easy, and it took a lot of effort on his part, but he managed to convince him he wouldn't run again. And to a certain degree, he meant it.

He didn't want to run because he didn't want any other innocent people dying, or just getting tortured in the basement. Even the thought of getting locked in that damn shed again made him feel sick.

But still, the desire to escape and return to his normal life plagued his mind. He craved human interaction. He missed his friends, and even the creeps at Indigo. At least those creeps made him money.

And over time, he grew depressed. No matter how many times Rowan assured him he loved him, he didn't feel loved. He felt like a prisoner, a doll he liked to play with. Their relationship had changed drastically; now that he was no longer had the motivation to rebel and escape, Rowan would rather coax him into getting things over with instead of forcing him.

He no longer felt like a person. He wasn't allowed to do anything for himself, and he spent most of his time doing chores or sleeping.

He tried talking to Rowan about getting back to work at Indigo, just to sing on the weekends, but it only earned him a harsh scolding.

"Good evening, darling!" Rowan sang as he entered the kitchen. He went straight for Sawyer, kissing the top of his head. "How was your day?"

Every day, Rowan asked the same question. It was pretty funny, considering he knew how his day was, considering he'd only leave him alone for ten minutes at a time.

Today Rowan gave him a little extra privacy, since he spent a while outside. It was odd behavior, but he thought nothing of it. "You know how it was." He gave a little shrug. "When you were gone, I just cleaned the kitchen."

He'd already done it twice today, but he was bored out of his mind. Being stuck here had turned his life from mildly boring to unbearably mundane.

He barely had any hobbies outside of singing, and he hated whenever Rowan caught him even humming. So his only form of entertainment was cleaning.

Rowan sighed, but kept smiling. "Don't sound so glum! I have a surprise for you outside by the dock."

"A surprise...?" he repeated slowly. He felt like he was being tricked, but he had been on his best behavior. There wasn't any reason for Rowan to be deceitful. He hoped.

He wrapped his arms around his waist, lifting him up from the chair. "Yup, and it's a special one too." He took Sawyer's hand and walked with him through the sliding door. They stepped through the grass, passing by the empty garden. It wasn't the dock itself Rowan was talking about, but what was close by the dock, the overgrown gazebo Sawyer recognized from his early captivity.

Fairy lights had been hung up, shining brightly under the darkening sky. He saw a small table with two chairs. There was a glass vase filled with roses, and a bottle of wine sitting in the middle.

"We're eating outside?" Sawyer guessed.

"Yes," Rowan chirped. "But that's not all, come on." He tugged Sawyer's hand to make him speed up. Rowan was too excited, and Sawyer was worried. He guided them to the steps of the gazebo, leading him up them.

Sawyer took a seat once they got to the tables. He watched Rowan fidget with something with his back turned, but didn't have the energy to worry.

Worst case scenario? Rowan would shoot him. Best case scenario? Rowan would shoot him.

He sat back in the chair, closing his eyes for a moment. He inhaled, and the crisp night air felt good. It was actually sort of nice to be outside, but it didn't do much to calm his nerves. He listened to the quiet sounds of the outdoors.

It was peaceful, despite the fact he had no idea what Rowan wanted from him. Sawyer looked down at the spaghetti on their plates. Rowan must've made it when Sawyer took a quick nap on the couch.

"What's the occasion?" Sawyer asked. Rowan finally turned to him, pocketing whatever he was messing with.

"Can't a man want a romantic dinner with his boyfriend?" Rowan chuckled. He pulled his own chair back to take a seat.

Sawyer didn't even have the energy to laugh. 'Boyfriend'. Yeah, right. More like stalker, abuser, kidnapper. The list went on and on. He prodded at his food. "I appreciate the dinner." He didn't feel like eating, but he knew that'd upset Rowan. He learnt how to pick his fights over the past few weeks. "But why are we eating outside?"

Rowan popped the cork of the wine. He filled their glasses, then drank from his own. "I just had a feeling that you would like this," he answered. "It's healthy to get some fresh air every now and then. Plus, look at this view."

He gestured to the sunset in the distance. It was breathtakingly gorgeous, Sawyer had to admit. He'd never seen such a picturesque scene before, yet he had no enthusiasm towards it.

It was like a piece was missing. He didn't feel excited or happy or free, he felt numb.

It was almost scary, how quickly his mindset had shifted. He went from being a hot headed spitfire who was determined to escape, to a broken shell of a man who did everything in his power to appease his deranged kidnapper.

He supposed being isolated for so long did that to a person.

He managed to force himself to eat some of the food, just to get Rowan off his back. It felt like a rock settling in his stomach. It was even worse when Rowan kept touching his arm, rubbing small circles over his skin.

It felt so wrong, yet Sawyer couldn't do anything about it. He didn't even try to pull away anymore. It was useless.

The silence between them felt like a vice grip, squeezing tighter and tighter. Rowan kept stealing glances at him, but Sawyer didn't even notice.

The sound of Rowan clearing his throat snapped him back to reality. "Do you like it?" he asked. He reached out to brush a stray hair from Sawyer's cheek, tucking it behind his ear.

"Yeah." Sawyer nodded, only because he had no other choice. "It's amazing. Thank you."

That made Rowan smile. "Good." He finished the rest of his wine, then stood up and reached back into his pocket. Sawyer could hardly see what it was because Rowan had the small object held tightly in both hands.

Then, suddenly, he knelt. Sawyer's brows knitted together, confused. This couldn't be good.

"Sawyer." Rowan cleared his throat. He took a deep breath, holding out a ring box. When he opened it, a band of silver rested inside, shining in the fairy lights above. "Will you marry me?"

Sawyer had never been so speechless in his entire life. He almost couldn't breathe, he had to swallow to keep his mouth from hanging open. His hands clenched into fists, digging his nails into his palms to keep from tearing his hair out. Of all the things Sawyer thought he would do, this wasn't one of them. This was far beyond insanity.

But then again, Rowan had never been stable to begin with.

"Sawyer, my love, please say something." Rowan's voice was almost shaky. For once he didn't look cocky, he looked scared. Maybe scared wasn't the right word. It was more like a plea.

He really cared about the answer, and Sawyer had no idea why. If Rowan wanted to get married, he could easily force it.

Then again, Sawyer was starting to realize Rowan didn't want to be forceful. He wasn't a (completely) sadistic man.

He really wanted Sawyer to love him. It was sad, almost. Rowan was so pathetic in this moment that Sawyer almost felt bad for him. But that was hard when he remembered the murders and abuse and torture.

"Do you actually care for what I have to say, or do you just expect me to say yes?" Sawyer spoke slow and soft, a stark contrast to Rowan's tense tone.

Rowan looked ready to cry. "If you don't like the ring, I can get you another one! I-I was stuck between silver or gold, but you seemed to like silver more. Am I wrong? Or we could do something entirely different! Something unique, like you. I wouldn't mind, this one only cost me a few thousand." He was rambling, which was almost amusing, in its own morbid way.

Sawyer sighed heavily. He wasn't in the mood to deal with this bullshit. It was ridiculous how much Rowan tried to force this illusion of a loving relationship on him.

An idea popped into his head. "Where would we have the ceremony? Or, uh, the honeymoon?"

"Anywhere you want."

He was surprisingly agreeable, given how protective of him he was. "Could I invite my family and friends?" Not that his family would willingly come. They'd probably be happier to come to his funeral than wedding, even if it was a real wedding.

Rowan hesitated. "I can't do that, honey. It's not worth the risk. But I can bring some of my family! They'd be supportive of us. You would like them." His tone was hopeful. "My cousin is a preacher, so we don't have to go through the trouble of finding someone."

The response was exactly what Sawyer expected. "Great," he said flatly. Maybe this would give him a better escape-route. "Then... I accept. Your proposal, I mean."

He didn't mean for it to come out like they were making a business deal, but he didn't see it as anything else. It was a terrible decision, but one that he felt he needed to make in order to keep what little sanity Rowan had left.

And even if he couldn't get an escape out of it, being legally married wouldn't change much for him.

Rowan didn't seem to notice Sawyer's lack of enthusiasm. He slipped the ring onto Sawyer's finger, then kissed the back of his hand. "Perfect fit," he whispered. "I love you." He kissed his hand again, staring up at him with watery eyes. "I love you so so much."

...

Their "wedding" was being held at a vineyard, since apparently his sister owned one. It took just two months to plan, but it was planned to the nines.

Everything was perfect to Rowan.

For Sawyer, it was the opposite. The flowers weren't the ones he wanted. The decorations were tacky. He was dressed in a suit that made him feel like he was being choked. And to make things worse, the guests consisted of people he never met before. Rowan explained that they were distant cousins and aunt and uncles, but that did little to comfort him.

If he could just find the right moment to escape or beg for help when Rowan finally left his side, then maybe everything would be okay.

He found it slightly odd how accepting almost his entire family was of this. None of them commented on how fast they were getting married, or the fact they never met Sawyer before and now they were just jumping into getting wed.

He assumed they had a little knowledge of his tendencies beforehand.

"Rowan!" a man called.

Sawyer glanced over. It was a guy who was just a few inches taller than him, having messy light brown hair and pale blue eyes. He wore a black dress shirt, and jeans. He seemed to be in his mid-20s. The man embraced Rowan in a tight hug.

"Griffin! Good to see you," Rowan said as they parted. "Where's Felicity, by the way?"

The younger man crossed his arms. "Wooow, that's all I get? Anyway, she's trying to make sure Jessica doesn't try to ruin everything." He laughed. Sawyer noticed Rowan scowl at the name, but didn't get any time to think about why, as Griffin was already making eye-contact with him. "So is this Sawyer?" He flashed a smile. "Damn, Rowan, you picked a good one." He pretended to be hurt when Rowan hit him across the head. "Ow! I was joking! I hope Sawyer knows he's about to marry a dick."

"Sawyer," Rowan started. "This is my little brother, Griffin. Don't mind him, he was dropped on his head as a baby."

Their bickering gave Sawyer some kind of illusion of normalcy, but it was quickly shattered when Rowan gripped his shoulder. Sawyer hadn't even noticed him move. Griffin waved goodbye before leaving, and Sawyer watched him go.

They walked a while to their destination. There were some other people mingling in the halls, and even more outside in the garden.

Some of the other guests took notice of the pair and congratulated them, and Rowan would thank them and dismiss himself as politely as possible.

Sawyer thought he'd only be seeing Rowan after the whole ceremony, but apparently he seemed to have no issue breaking the typical wedding traditions.

Who he assumed was Felicity greeted them both. She looked the most similar to Rowan, having a darker shade of hair and darker purple eyes from behind her glasses.

"It's lovely to meet you, Sawyer," she said, her voice more reserved than her brothers'. "I'm sure you'll take good care of my little brother, won't you?" She offered a teasing smile.

"Uhm, yeah, I'll try. He's been great to me," he lied, forcing a smile back.

"Oh, by the way, where's Jess?" Rowan cut in. He still hadn't let go of Sawyer's shoulder.

"Right here."

Great. Another one. Sawyer was getting tired of meeting new people already. She had long brown hair and green eyes, wearing a knee-length emerald dress.

She didn't look too happy to be here, but it was hard to tell when she hardly showed any emotion. "What? Got a problem?" She swirled what appeared like white wine in her glass. "I thought this was a party."

Sawyer almost wanted to laugh at her exaggerated 'rich person' voice. Rowan did not. "It is, and it's a celebration for my marriage. I hope you don't go making yourself the center of attention like you did at Griffin's graduation party."

Jessie's nose wrinkled. "You'll never live that down, will you?"

It was moments like these that Sawyer was reminded Rowan was human. It was sweet to see him care for his brother and sister, and the rest of his family (save for his aunt). Sawyer reminded himself to not feel guilty for planning an escape. Rowan did not deserve his pity.

After a while longer of mingling, Sawyer and Rowan separated to put on their actual wedding clothes. Sawyer was dragged off by Felicity, and Rowan by Griffin. He watched Felicity grab a white suit with a black dress shirt and tie out of the closet. The white fabric was covered with delicate lace designs. It looked custom-made and beyond expensive. He didn't even realize he never saw his suit until now.

As much as Rowan liked to pretend he cared, Sawyer's opinion didn't matter to him.

"Rowan sure has a lot of family," Sawyer exhaled. He got into his suit while Felicity turned around. He had no idea why she was here, but maybe it was a good thing. He could finally get some help.

She hummed. "Yes, it's quite a lot, and most of them didn't even show up. Rowan has been wanting to get married for a while now. I'm happy he's finally found someone. He's always been a lonely guy, so it's nice to know he's going to settle down."

Sawyer finished dressing in his suit, wondering if he should rip the bandaid or not. He felt like he was on a timer and needed to get this done now. He tried to steady his breathing. "Rowan kidna--"

Felicity stepped forwards to fix his crudely done tie. "Did you know he told me that he first saw you when he was visiting that club you sing at? He wouldn't stop talking about it. I had to cut him off an hour into our call to tell him I had to go. Every time he'd call me from that day, you were always the main topic of conversation. He's tried to talk about you with Griff, but he's more interested in doing... whatever it is he does."

"So did he tell you... um..." No way he told her, right? She had to be oblivious, no way--

"He kidnapped you? No, but I figured it out pretty quick. He's had a history of obsessing over people, he got in trouble for it a lot in high school," she chuckled, as if this was funny. "And the way he described you, well... I gathered you weren't very interested in him romantically. Or at all."

Sawyer swallowed hard. "And you're treating this like it's normal?"

With a sigh, she nodded. "Listen. I know you think you don't want this, but when you get to know him, you'll see he's a great guy. His heart is in the right place, and I'm tired of seeing him so depressed and self-destructive all the time. He needs someone to balance him out. Maybe that person can be you. It already seems to be working, honestly."

He gaped at her. "You... you can't be serious..." He shook his head, desperate. "He doesn't need me, he needs fucking therapy! If not that, then prison! He killed a man, did he tell you that too? He's insane and--"

"I can see that you're not very open to this," she cut in. "So I'll give you a little advice. Just don't bother fighting it. Things will be better for you if you go along with it, and it'll be easier for everyone."

She left the room, leaving Sawyer even more distraught than he was before.

Fuck that. He had to get out of here.

Sawyer peeked out the window. There was a decent drop, but it looked like he could climb out and reach the ground safely. He didn't care about damaging the suit, he just wanted to escape.

He scrambled to the window and threw it open. It didn't have a screen, luckily. He hoisted himself up and was about to make his escape when a voice resounded the room.

"You don't want to do that," he heard Rowan say.

Sawyer's heart raced. He didn't know what to say, but it turned out he didn't need to. He was just glad he was still facing away from him, he didn't want Rowan to see his tears.

"Come back in. Close the window, then turn around and face me." Sawyer didn't move. "Or else I'll just postpone the wedding because you mysteriously broke your legs."

Sawyer gritted his teeth. He knew Rowan's threats weren't bluffs, so he reluctantly pushed the window back shut.

He turned to him, but refused to make eye-contact.

"Good boy." Rowan walked over to him and pulled him into his chest. Sawyer hated how natural it felt to be there. "Are you scared, love? Do I frighten you?" Sawyer didn't respond, but it didn't seem like Rowan expected him to. "It didn't have to be this way. I thought you would've realized this by now. But that's okay." His breath ghosted his lips and his voice turned into a hissing whisper. "I'll just reserve my anger for our honeymoon. I'm not letting this night be ruined."

He heard footsteps approaching and turned his head, just as the door opened. "Rowan?" Griffin called. "We're about to start."

Rowan released Sawyer and smiled. "Coming!" He reached down to hold Sawyer's hand, dragging him out with him.

The ceremony was just a blur for Sawyer. He tried his best to zone out, but he still felt Rowan's heavy stare on him the entire time. He said his vows without stuttering, but he was a wreck on the inside.

This was something he never wanted to do. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Rowan's grip on his hands was almost bruising. "I do." He squeezed even harder.

"And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, 'till death do you part?"

'Till death do us part', Sawyer thought. For some reason, it felt like he was selling his soul to the devil in that moment. He bit down on his lip to the point it bled. "I do."

"I now pronounce you husband and... husband. You may kiss the groom."

The kiss was chaste, but it still felt like a million bugs crawling all over his body. Rowan seemed to have no remorse, he was practically beaming. Sawyer had tears running down his eyes, but it seemed everyone around him thought they were happy tears. He let his shoulders slump and he tried to get out of Rowan's grasp, but Rowan would never allow that. He held his hand throughout the reception, as well. Sawyer just stopped fighting a while ago.

The cake was nice, and he drank a shit ton of alcohol to try to dull the pain. Everyone just thought he was nervous. Rowan's family was too happy to assume anything was wrong, and Sawyer just couldn't bring himself to speak up.

Griffin was the only one who asked if he was okay, but he was quickly pulled away to go dance by Rowan.

Sawyer could only silently dread waiting to find out what Rowan meant when he mentioned saving his anger for their honeymoon.

[auroragehenna]

AI-less Whumptober

Day 22 - Torture Tuesday (Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.”)

"Torture, watching stuff, singing"

TW/CW: Forced to kneel, livestreamed torture, multiple different torture methods, whipping deluxe, knife whump, multiple whumpers-sorta, creepy/intimate whumper, electrocution whump, taunting, prideful whumpee, scared whumpee, smug whumper, quick mentions/implications of non-con and cannibalism, cursing Word count: 2'544

Adam had spent the last hours setting up everything on his laptop. Camera, livestream, cash automatics. He was sitting popped up against the wall of the pool, occasionally lifting his gaze from the screen to leer over at Lyra.

Lyra was camped in the middle of the room, sitting as straight as possible on a metal floor for hours. She refused to sit to the other side of the room, now knowing what Adam was planning. But also knew it was pointless to try and sit next to him. At best he would just close his laptop, at worst he would...Do something. Taunt her or use it as a opportunity for a punishment. So she stayed right where she was, sitting straight, observing Adam or thinking.

Adam hit a few last clicks until everything was ready and connected. Then he set his laptop aside and caught Lyra's gaze with a sneer. "Well then, feel free to see for yourself. I know you've been dying to know what I'm doing."

Lyra narrowed her eyes, internally she was seething. Adam once again got her right where he wanted her. But she might as well indulge him now, it was better than waiting for him to commence his sick game. So she clumsily stood up, trying not to fall on blood-less legs. Once she got to about an arm's length away, bit more, she stopped. Remaining standing.

Adam smiled at her. „Sit your ass down, before I break your kneecaps and make you.“, he threatened saccharinely sweet.

Lyra glared but yielded nevertheless. Sitting down with her legs propped up. „So what‘s now?“

Adam in one fluid motion reached out for his laptop and turned it screen facing Lyra. So that his plaything could see the waiting screen of a livestream including a few of the set ups. The camera showing a dimly lit tiled looking just like…The storage rooms of this building…! Oh no. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Lyra‘s face slowly losing colour as realization set in told Adam everything he needed to know. „You value your cute little defiance like it’s gold. Well tonight its gonna benefit me.“

„What‘s your plan?“, Lyra asked, banishing the fear out of her voice as well possible. She knew that some people on the dark web watched and payed for live streams of people getting tortured or eaten or…other things. Adam bringing this up terrified her to the bone because it wasn‘t him! It didn‘t fit his usual style. And that made it and him unpredictable.

„Where would be the fun in telling you beforehand?“

„You do know that streaming is a hardworking field, I’m sure even more so in the dark web. I doubt you‘re even gonna get one viewer. You can’t do this shit from scratch.“

„Oh yeah. You‘re probably right. I guess then we‘ll just have to work up to it regularly, am I right?“, Adam mused.

Lyra closed her mouth. If looks could kill...She hated when he twisted her words. And he always did.

„Or you know. We could just assume that I prepared and thought of that already.“

In front of Lyra‘s inner eye the last couple serious torture sessions flashed by. All of them had have a camera present. Sometimes in the corner, sometimes directly in front of her. „Oh you motherfucker…!“

„Finally counted one and one together, hm? You‘re already known, sweetheart. And now move!“ He grabbed her by arm and stood up, effectively dragging her along. Towards the edge of the basin and then pulling her out, after climbing out first. With one arm keeping a bruising grip on Lyra and the other one carrying the laptop, they made their way down to the storage rooms. They had originally been used to keep PE equipment and were quite large. Now Adam had turned them into his personal torture video stage.

Lyra wanted to resist so badly but if she trashed and Adam‘s laptop dropped then…Yeah she'd rather not imagine. Instead her thoughts drifted to what Adam could do to her for views...But that wasn't something she wanted to dwell on either. Especially because she wasn't so sure where his limits laid...Not anymore.

It was really hard for Adam to keep himself from laughing since he could basically hear the panicked wheels turn in Lyra's mind. It was a little nerve wrecking for him as well, seeing that he never did anything like it. After setting down his laptop, he led Lyra to a pole in the middle of the room. Untangling the shackled lengths of chain and letting them run over his hands loudly. Just playing with his prey.

"Stop looking at me like I'm meat and get to the point.", Lyra impulsively spat out. Immediately regretting it at Adam's delighted grin.

"Aww.", He closed in on her. "What's wrong, Thýma? Hm. You're not scared, are you?"

Lyra's gulped, her breath hitching as her personal space was reduced to ashes. "Scared that you're going to mess up and embarrass us both." she answered, attempting to sound unimpressed. It clearly wasn't working. She hated when he got this close. Hated it.

The red haired guy stepped even closer, seeing clearly through her facade. He raised his hand and with one singular finger tilted her chin up until she was all but forced to keep eye contact with him. "Oh please, Lyra. We both know you can't lie. Not to me."

Adrenaline surged through Lyra's veins like lightning. She knew she should say something, anything. To save her mask, but she couldn't.

Adam laughed. "Save yourself the trouble." He dropped her chin and returned to pulling the chains to a ring at the top of the pole and locking Lyra's wrist in the metal shackles. Currently they were long enough for her to stand with her arms stretched above her. Then he went to turn on the camera, he also had a projector attatched to his computer, projecting the video of the livestream to the wall opposite of Lyra. So she could see everything, see herself. When everything was working and double-checked he started the stream and put on a mask. Then he added a title at the top of the frame "Forced to kneel"

Lyra gluped hard. She did already not like this game. And yet she knew she wouldn't just give up. Couldn't. And deep, sharp grief flamed up in her chest at that.

Adam now began to talk again, pacing the area with slow, measured steps: "I'm sure your eyesight is good enough to see the title of today's session. That's where were gonna be by the end of it. When people come to watch they can donate money and wish for certain things to happen to you. Any questions?"

"Fuck you, you little shit!"

"Guess not then, let's get started, shall we?", he said and unfurled a whip at arm's length. This particular whip was loosely wrapped with barbed wire. When he aimed two lashes to the floor to warm up his wrist the sharp sound was layered with the tear of metal hitting metal.

Lyra shivered as she saw the whip. She hated wips. But so did Adam?? Didn't seem to matter though. She was just about ready to lose it at that, the feeling of losing her grip on everything she thought she had analyzed! No. Fuck that, ignore it for now and just focus on what's happening now. Don't break the rules.

Without further warning Adam snapped his wrist and the whip hit Lyra across her collarbone, immediately drawing blood and tearing skin from the impact and the barbed wire. Blood quickly quelling out of the torn skin.

The hit tore an involuntary scream from Lyra's throat, despite her having braced for the pain. The barbed wire's impact on her skin amplified the fire to a thousand. Instinctely Lyra had ripped her arms down and now the shackles were biting into the tender skin around her wrists. "Ughfuck. Fuck you, Adam!", she bit out hatefully, voice pressed from pain. Then she got distracted by the projected life steam of herself. Oh gods. There was someone, there were people. Not many so far, but oh gods there were other people, seeing her, watching her get tortured. More danger more danger more danger.

Adam followed his plaything's horrified gaze and smiled broadly. "Welcome, welcome. Enjoy the show or influence it. Its about to become so much fun."

Lyra stretched her legs again until they supported her weight and held her chin up high. She would not be reduced to a pathetic, sobbing mess for these people!

When Adam flicked the whip again it hit Lyra square across her thighs. Blood splattered across the floor as he hit the thighs right afterwards again. And then again.

At that point her legs were a bloody, torn mess and the chains on her arms were straining in the shackles, trying to hold her body up while her legs turned into pure pain and fire. With how much pressure she pressed her teeth together in order to keep control it was a miracle they hadn't shattered yet.

Suddenly a loud ping sound interrupted the two and both looked over to the projected livestreamed. Lyra looked away as she saw herself as if burned but then couldn't stand not knowing what was going to happen so she looked back. Someone had donated money. Adam grinned as he approached the laptop. "Thank you so much username for your donation. I will now spin this lovely wheel you see here-he pulled a previously opened tab into the screen-"And whatever we hit I'm going to do to her."

Adam clicked the wheel and it sprang to live, turning into a mix of colour before eventually settling on: Electrocution. "Ah a classic, wonderful." He minimized the tab again before spinning around on his wheel and all but skipping towards a small table and rummaging on it before turning around with a taser in hand. "Now." He approached Lyra, his entire attention noticably falling on only her. "Where to start, where to start. What should I do, hm?", he asked luringly. Without activating it yet he placed the taser against the enby's side.

Lyra who was painfully, horribly reminded of many other tortures at once tried to figure out the best strategy through the fog of pain fear. But it felt like grasping at nothing.

"Come on now, Lyra, suggest something or I'm going to make it twice as bad."

"Okay, fine. But under protest. Under the arms, the skin there is quite sensitive isn't it..." She wanted to rip her own tongue out.

"How right you are.", he exclaimed, smiling and in the next moment jabbed the taser on exactly onto that place. Stepping aside to show the camera fully just how much she convulsed and shook under the elecricity. A beautifully raw and half-repressed scream rang through the room and Adam could see tears glistering in Lyra's eyes when she opened them again. Still pressing the taser into her skin he let it travel over her stomach and ribs to the other armpit. But before he shocked he looked to the stream. There was a comment being read out loud: "Non-con?"

"No.", Adam simply replied, before turning around again. He scooped his hand under Lyra's head and tilted it up, making her hold eye contact.

Lyra, still shaking from the aftershocks, bit back a terrified whimper at the question but relief drippled through her veins at Adam's rejection. She didn't pull away when he lifted her head, needing the gentle touch in all of this, even for just a moment.

Adam's neutral expression turned into a snarl as he released her head and jabbed the taser into her throat with force.

Lyra's entire mind exploded into pain as guttural, strained noises wound themselves out of her throat. As fast as it started as fast it was done.

Then a new donation goal was reached and Adam let off his prey to step towards his laptop. Electrocution had already been removed. After spinning for a few moments the wheel landed on "Knives"

Perfect. One last gig. He had already collected a lot of money for a an experiment. Adam walked back to the table set the taser down only to pick up a fitted blindfold with which he walked back to Lyra.

"What's your plan?", she rapsed out as she saw her tormentor approach with the blindfold. For her taste it had been enough about thirthy minutes ago already, she thought sarcastically. Exhaustion stained her being and she wanted only to cower somewhere in a darkened corner alone. Far away from these other people, with their obscune and sadistic comments, and away from Adam. She did not want the blindfold and whatever it entailed.

"Oh you'll see. Or...well you won't. But I'm sure you'll feel it.", he grinned and pulled the blindfold over her braided hair and over her eyes. Then he walked back to the table and off camera took off his shoes before picking up a set of knives and the taser.

The comments on the screen turned even more euphoric as Adam approached Lyra again with this setup.

Lyra couldn't see any of that, didn't know what was going on. And she detested it! Anxiously she strained to try and hear Adam's foosteps, maybe he was still at the laptop or the table. But then she flinched hard and her heart seemed to jump out of her chest as electricity crackled to live right next to her left ear. A terrified whump escaped her lips. And then she heard Adam's laughter. Mocking, luring and sadistic. And way.too close. Suddenly cold metal glided across her lips, the blade of a knive!

"So, Thýma, what's it going to be...? Are you going to kneel?", Adam asked. With a quick motion of his hands he lengthened the chains so Lyra would be able to fall to her knees.

"No.", Lyra protested weakly. Nearly whispering.

Adam chuckled and continued to circled Lyra, cutting her on different patches of skin, different directions, no rhytm, catching her off guard every time and scaring her. With one last glance to the timer on his clock he soundlessly stepped behind Lyra and swiftly cut a harsh line from the bottom of her spine upwards. Knowing damn well what it would do.

Lyra screamed, her eyes widening underneath the blindfold as her body collapsed to the floor, crashing to its knees. Oh no. SHIT. She wanted to stand up but her legs didn't want to comply, the open wounds on the floor felt as if her legs had been dipped into pure acid. Tears welled up in her eyes, dampening the blindfold as her whole body shook. Suddenly a hand was placed a top her head, forcefully pressing it even lower the next second. "Told you it would always end like this.", Adam's voice sounded above her.

The pleased viewers behind the screens had watched everything and heard everything thanks to mics attatched to Adam and the pole. They surely would have had more money and motivation to continue but as the masked torturer stepped towards his laptop the livestream cut off roughly and dissapeared. Session over, thank you for watching and donating.

Taglist: @ailesswhumptober, @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt

@shattermind-8

[paingoes]

Questions for any/all/however many of your OCs because I'm bored and curious.

How have they changed throughout their development? (I don't mean in-character --- like how do they differ now from the previous versions? How are they different now from the very first time you thought of them?)

How would the story differ if a character/s were in the position (societal, emotional, etc, any or all) of other character/s?

What's something (or multiple things) that they'd never, ever tell anyone?

What's something they'd never tell anyone, but really want to?

What do they think of when they hear the word "home"?

Are they religious? What are their thoughts on religion?

ooooo this is so much fun thank you for sending!!! okay!!!

1.) How have they changed throughout their development?

i wanna say that delta has been pretty watertight since inception. the story was created with him in mind. honestly i didnt always know where the plot was going and a lot of that was improvised, but his character and the way he reacts to things are fundamentally what holds the whole thing together. living weapon-whistle blower dichotomy was always there. thats my boy :)

paris and lorelai were both like. they invited themselves in and havent left basically id say that was their effect on the plot. ive said this a lot but the early paris characterization is kinda weak, he was just meant to be a kind of controlling and cruel whumper. and he was always supposed to be close to delta in age. that was basically it. i feel like the first time i really "got" him was when i wrote him in Moonshine blacked out and sobbing on the floor. and even now when i reread it im like. Oh there he is.

lorelai i guess ive also had her characterization down for a while. she has a good heart and despite her sheltered upbringing she has a very strong revolutionary spirit! shes kind of an idealist and she has a really rigid moral sense which is a good contrast to paris's ability to justify literally anything.

i planned to write rubies before crash out or to have crash out be like. a side story to rubies. but i remember the exact moment i realized when i wanted to do with paris and lorelai and it hit me in the head really hard. i was like. they neeeeeed to do fear and loathing in las vegas.

2.) How would the story differ if a character/s were in the position (societal, emotional, etc, any or all) of other character/s?

gonna hold my tongue on this one because the roleswap/princess delta AU is coming!!!!! no spoilers hehehehe

3.) What's something (or multiple things) that they'd never, ever tell anyone?

hmmmm. i feel like delta would really try to avoid talking about times where he was like. gleefully and proudly complicit in hurting and destroying other people. "glee" is definitely a strong word but he takes pride in his work and he knows hes the fucking best at it. he really enjoys the dopamine rush of hitting targets on a purely mechanical level and he enjoyed being The Favorite at the institute. hes knows its wrong now but at the time? he lived off the validation.

one thing lorelai would never tell anyone is that she thinks the living weapon thing was hot.

lorelai: omg poor delta :(((( thats so sad lorelai: it shouldve been me

while lorelai is pretty morally upright she defintiely has a thing about violence and control CTRL. lorelai is a foil to paris but she is a parallel to delta and i think she also really really wants to feel useful in the same way he can be. this doesnt mean shes okay with what paris did to him AT ALL but she is very. captivated by the concept to say the least.

4.) What's something they'd never tell anyone, but really want to?

i cant think of anything tbh! lorelai is mostly an open book and she says what she's thinking. if delta felt strongly enough about anything to confide in someone, and he felt safe to do so, i think he'd cave to that too. i feel like i should have an answer here for paris because he's definitely in the business of "i can't admit this even to myself" but i think if he really wanted to say something he would just say it. i dont think any of them are really good at keeping secrets.

5.) What do they think of when they hear the word "home"?

paris thinks of thales, which is silly. it's not like he ever spent that much time there.

loreali thinks of absalom! she loves her home and its kind of incredible she ever left. she made a big sacrifice doing it and she doesnt regret it but she does get homesick a lot.

delta has no immediate associations and that is something that definitely eats at him. minor spoilers for rubies i guess but he will eventually come to associate Galatea -- and especially Levon -- with home.

6.) Are they religious? What are their thoughts on religion?

i think it would be funny here to say lorelai's family is southern baptist. delta was raised atheist and in fact i think Martino was probably a total snob about it and made him read Space Richard Dawkins. none of them are particularly spiritual but paris and lorelai are both weirdly superstitious. paris believes in the afterlife.

destroyer does not have good religious lore but i did once canonize Space Catholicism so i could make a dick-sucking joke

[ccieatchildren]

Bedridden

TW: Noncon Kissing

Whumper paced across the floor, his muttering filling the room. “I made sure to only make shallow cuts… how did they… the blood loss should’ve been minimal… where did they get it…” Whumpee’s eyes followed the way his curled finger tapped against his bottom lip.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Their mind was in a haze, the fever taking its toll on their body. All their limbs were sore, their throat was scratchy, and their wounds stung, creating an uncomfortable blend of symptoms that left Whumpee bedridden and exhausted. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Whumper had been waiting for their daily torture session, but Whumpee collapsed before he could even begin. They had been feeling queasy and more tired than usual throughout the week, but they had simply assumed it was the many hours spent in pain catching up to them. Whumper had also noticed, though didn’t say much, almost excited about something. It pissed them off how much enjoyment he got from their misery. He wouldn’t stop grinning at them when the early signs of sickness sprung forth. Though Whumper didn’t seem as happy now, the fever obviously was not what he had thought it was.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

They coughed weakly, jostling their still healing cuts, releasing a groan of pain. Whumper snapped his gaze to them, quickly walking over and resting the back of his hand on their forehead.

“I didn’t realize you were actually sick darling, I had thought that you…” he cut himself off before moving his hand to their cheek. “I promise to take care of you, hero. You’ll get better soon, and then we can continue our little games.” He moved, bringing Whumpee closer to him, resting against his body.

His words were comforting. Normally the mention of their torture sessions would send their heart racing and anxiety spiking, but, right now all they wanted was to get better, Whumpee didn’t care about the after.

Whumper’s cold hand was a nice offset to their burning skin. His gentle caresses reminded Whumpee of their mother’s care when they were sick. The way he held them to him, however, brought back the memory of Caretaker when they had gotten the flu after one of their winter missions. 

They had spent the night staking out an illegal weapon trading ring, and though they had gotten what they were there for, Whumpee ended up sick after being out too long in the chilly air. They had mentally prepared themself to spend the next few days alone in their home, trying to make themself get better as quickly as possible. However, Caretaker showed up with homemade chicken noodle soup, planning to stay at Whumpee’s home to take care of them. Whumpee was initially reluctant, but Caretaker’s insistence of wanting to help prevented them from turning the other away. 

Caretaker had spent the next three days at Whumpee’s apartment, cooking for them, giving them medicine, and soothing them to sleep. Whumpee had spent multiple nights curled up against her body, Caretaker’s fingers through their hair and gentle humming a comforting sensation. Caretaker had almost gotten sick herself, emphasizing the guilt Whumpee felt, but she brushed them off saying it was worth it. Whumpee was back to work quicker than they ever were when they were alone, and was much healthier. They guessed that’s when they truly fell in love with Caretaker. Her unwavering commitment to them, and desire to see them get better just from the kindness in her heart made Whumpee smitten with Caretaker.

It was almost like they was with her again.

Whumpee leaned into the touch, “Caretaker…” 

The hand on their cheek stilled and Whumpee looked up in confusion before their face was roughly grabbed from both sides. Lips crashed down onto theirs, teeth knocking, and a tongue slipped into their mouth at their gasp of shock. Whumpee’s addled brain couldn’t keep up with the sudden change, their body even more sore from the sudden jerk.

What is happening?

The hands on their face fiercely tightened, almost clawing into their skin, refusing to let them go. The tongue exploring their mouth didn’t stop, sucking up all the air in their lungs. Whumpee’s arms moved to the chest in front of them, trying to push it off, when they finally registered where they were, and who they were with. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck!

Whumpee froze, letting him have his way, claiming their mouth for his own. How could they have been so stupid, to drift off and think of her when they were stuck here with him. Whumpee had already learned this lesson, had convinced him he was all they needed, and now all that went down the drain. One step forward, two steps back.

Whumpee reached up to wrap their arms around his neck hoping to placate him, but he pushed them away. Their lips were connected for a second longer until Whumper pulled his mouth from theirs, biting their bottom lip as one last marker. When Whumpee finally looked up at him, his eyes were dark, betrayal and fury shining through them. His fingers moved down to their neck,

“I will make sure you never forget who you’re with again, dearie.”

[what-if-i-just-did]

A M B E R

Guilt & Revenge Masterlist (Amber's story)

Okay so this is the first thing I've written for this OC- I will be using him for the entirety of Whumptober. So, let me introduce you to Amber Ruane!!!! Kinda nervous ngl, it's been a while since I've posted writing here and I haven't written proper whump here in forever.

This is also for @alphabetofwhump's alphabetic whump prompts!!! Apology, Memory, Bawl, Emotion, Reinforcement = A M B E R

Trigger warnings: sobbing, begging, victim blaming, mentions of school bullying, hand whump, multiple whumpers, torture device... tell me if I missed anything!

(Credit for the divider to to @steddiecameraroll-graphics)

“No- please please please please please, please no, please- don’t! Please!” Amber begged fruitlessly as they dragged him to the table with the device. The dreadful device that he couldn’t rip his eyes from. The device that was making him beg desperately and mindlessly, scrambling to be anywhere but here.

The device on the table looked gruesome, and it’s function was undeniably obvious. It wasn't anything Amber had seen the likes of before, and yet he knew exactly what it would do to him. It was made of metal, with a hand-shaped base. On top of that base were small metal restraints, meant to restrain each individual joint in his fingers. Then a type of clamps to go on his nails… attached to a mechanism that would yank them right out of his fingers. Like a goddamn medieval torture device.

Of all the pain Amber had already experienced, he did not want this one added to it. It would be horrible. At least they hadn’t figured out yet how to mess with his teeth- the thought sent an extra shudder down his back. He hoped they never would.

“Please- anything, I’ll do anything, please don’t- please don’t- please!!!” 

His hysterical prattling was ignored.

Eileen and Hugo continued to drag him to the table, fastening his hand as the attempts at begging replaced themselves with little terrified noises. 

“Guys, don’t you think he- “ Paul had started to make an argument on Amber’s behalf as the begging and the sheer terror got to him, but he was quickly cut off by his girlfriend. 

“Shush!”, Mercedes said. “Let them do their thing!”

Amber barely noticed amidst his terror, but he tried to make note of it- if Paul was susceptible to begging, and would even go so far as to try to speak up for him… maybe he could push that, could make Paul help him somehow… but that would have to wait until he wasn’t about to have his goddamn nails ripped out. “Please”, he uttered, brokenly.

“You deserve this”, Hugo said coldly.

“No, I don’t, I don’t, I’m sorry, please, please, no, don’t, I don’t..”

There was a wretched grin on Eileen’s face as she tore out the first nail- his pinky finger’s.

A short, involuntary scream was heard, as Amber almost immediately lost his energy and voice.

“Don’t you remember all the times you pulled on my ponytails, my braids? I asked my parents to cut my hair because of you! I cried when they didn’t let me! This is only fair. You deserve this.”, she said, in an accusing and upset voice.

“You stole my backpack- don’t you remember? All the schoolbooks my parents paid for, my lunch, my own books- gone!!! And guess who got blamed for that? Guess who got told to ‘stand up for myself’, like that’s not what got my bag stolen in the first place? HUH?”, Hugo said. 

Amber recalled the event. He’d eaten the lunch, a pb&j. There was a little note in the box, from his mum. Saying she loved him… He’d burnt it. 

He dropped his head… he did deserve this.

Eileen pulled the next nail and, regardless of deserving or not, the yelp that escaped Amber and the instinct to curl up his hand and cradle it to his chest were still present. He started crying in earnest. Heaving sobs wracked his chest as thick tears fell from his eyes, ruining his face further as the third nail was pulled. “Please!!”, he yelled out. Surely no one could deserve this? It wasn’t as if he’d been a child rapist or a murderer. He’d just been a confused kid taking out his emotions on other kids rather than working through them… he’d gotten better since then, on his own! Right….?

“I- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I’m so sorry- “ It was all Amber could do. All he had left to him. Sorry, over and over, falling on deaf ears- another scream interrupted his prattling apologies. Sobs and shaky breaths, his voice wavering and breaking and growing quickly hoarse as he apologized, over and over and over…

“You broke my glasses!”

“You made me hate myself”

“You ruined my desk”

“You got me expelled”

“You made my mom cry”

“You put gum in my hair!”

Amber bawled and apologized, over and over, as the idea that he deserved the pain was reinforced, until it was the only thing he could think about, the pain clouding everything else. He remembered all the things he was being told, and how he’d felt at the time. Proud, smug, mischievous- like a fucking heartless asshole. Or did someone call him a heartless asshole? Amber didn’t know, his thoughts were in disarray. He thanked his lucky stars they only seemed to have the right hand of this horrible device.

Hours later, he would have noticed that Paul left at some indeterminable point. That Mercedes was still there, watching but not speaking. That it was mostly Hugo telling him all the horrible things he’d done to him, Eileen occasionally adding something. That was only two… two of the four that had found him to exact their revenge. How many more had there been…? How horrible had he made the lives of multiple other people? 

Amber had been left with his hand stuck in the device overnight. When they came back in the morning and released him, Amber protectively cradled his hand to his chest, apprehensively looking at them. He knew the day held nothing more but pain and solitude… but he knew now also that he deserved it. Just like they’d been saying all along. Silently, he sat where he was told.

[whumpcloud]

Things End | People Change - Long Enough

masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, captivity, multiple whumpers, sadistic whumper, lady whumper, non-binary whumper, dehumanisation, whipping, sun and silver burning, knives, cigarette burns, muzzles, restraints, stress positions, collars, begging, literal bootlicking, gagging, whumpee believing they deserve it

Sawyer is the smoker and makes you call him sir. Vincent can remember that because of the alliteration. Leigh-Ann has bright pink hair, the colour of the sky before the sun rises when she chains him up outside. Ezekiel is the sadistic one, and brings his own knives, sharp like the sound of his name. Ainsley is also sir, but Vincent doesn't really have anything clever for them. They're just more merciful, and Vincent's pain-wracked mind latches onto that.

He doesn't know why he bothers remembering. It isn't as though they ever told him their names, he just overheard. But it's something. Something to hold onto. It's a different pain every day, but it's the same four people. Consistency.

How long has it been since the hunters captured him?

Vincent doesn't know.

—

When Sawyer pulls the blindfold from Vincent's face, the vampire keeps his eyes closed anyway, whimpering softly.

"Come on, parasite." Sawyer, smoker, sir. "If ya make me drag you up it'll only get worse. Knees, now."

Vincent whines, but pulls himself upright. Sawyer turns him around and shoves him against the wall with his boot, tugging on Vincent's hair to make him straighten his back. There's no arguing with Sawyer. The one time Vincent tried, Sawyer stabbed a silver knife through his palm to pin him to the leg of the table, and left him there until every nerve in his arm went numb from holding it up.

The muzzle comes off. Vincent doesn't need to be told to count anymore. Sawyer cuts him open with the silver tipped whip and in between screams he obediently counts, multiples of six. Sawyer always stops on a multiple of six.

It's twenty-four, today - either he has something else planned or he's already getting tired. Vincent doesn't dare to slump, to think it's over before he gets confirmation.

"Hands behind your head," Sawyer grins.

Vincent doesn't have the instinct to make a sound when it doesn't really hurt in comparison to much worse things, but he cries out anyway as Sawyer cuffs him, using the chains dangling from the ceiling instead of the ones on his belt, just so Vincent can't lower his arms, and lights a cigarette.

"If you didn't scream so nice we'd never take the muzzle off," Sawyer muses.

"I know," Vincent mutters. "That's why you took me. You remind me all the time."

Sawyer narrows his eyes, and presses his cigarette to the base of Vincent's neck, making him sharply scream and try to writhe away.

"Don't get mouthy, bloodsucker," Sawyer snaps.

"I- I'm sorry, sir!" Vincent says quickly, tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry, p-please don't-- hnn-- th-thank you for reminding me…"

Sawyer has his favourites and he sticks to them. Whipping and cigarette burns and stress positions and beatings. Vincent knows what to expect. It doesn't hurt any less.

—

Vincent is almost immediately let out of the chains when Leigh-Ann arrives, but he quickly scrambles away, shaking his head frantically. He whimpers and whines, but Leigh-Ann grabs him by the wrist and drags him across the floor like he weighs nothing. She hums to herself, punctuated by Vincent's strangled sounds as his broken body hits every stair on the way up.

Both of them know he could run, if he really tried, but he can't remember the last time he even got to stand.

More chains, this one attached to a post. Vincent struggles until Leigh-Ann kicks him in the face, and he can only sob pathetically as she puts the collar around his throat. It's close, it's so close, but it doesn't burn, because he begged desperately at Ainsley until they agreed to give him a bandage for his neck. He doesn't know why it hurts worse there. He guesses it's something to do with the scars. She pulls off the muzzle too. Just to hear him scream.

Leigh-Ann sits down at the picnic table they've set up just outside the door. She has a book with her. Vincent's vision is too blurred to be able to read the title. It doesn't matter, what matters is that it's almost certainly minutes before the sun begins to creep over the horizon.

"Thank you for letting me keep the shirt on, this time," Vincent says softly.

Leigh-Ann snorts. "You're adorable. Yeah, you should be grateful."

He knows. He should be grateful for every tiny mercy, even though he should know there's no real mercy here at all.

Vincent starts crying before it actually burns. The anticipation is almost as bad as the pain. He knows it's coming. He can't stop it. All he can do is play this game. He feels the first bit of warmth on his body. It doesn't burn, yet.

It creeps and coils up his legs, and he tries to take comfort in the cold concrete as the sunlight reaches the back of his knees. He knows it's no fun if he starts to struggle too quickly, but he wants to, he so badly wants to beg, even though Leigh-Ann won't give him anything for begging.

He chokes himself on his first scream, the collar digging into his larynx and making him gag as he rushes forward. They set up an umbrella to create shade, shade that, logically, Vincent knows he will always be just a few inches short of. It doesn't stop him from bruising his throat trying to get to it.

"PLEASE!" he screams, tears streaming down his face. "Please, p-please!"

His only saving grace is that he's allowed to have his back to the sun. It won't burn his face more than it already is. But the sun is already blistering his pale skin and he feels like he's inside a bonfire and it's another hour before he's allowed under the shade to grovel at Leigh-Ann's feet.

All she does is smirk lazily and smother his face into the concrete as he babbles thank yous.

—

Vincent sleeps for a little while before Ezekiel comes. He isn't sure how long. Ezekiel isn't a morning person, he knows that, so maybe it was even a few hours. Vincent feels like a fool for being so happy at that idea.

"Oh, they've already fucked you up today, huh?" Ezekiel laughs, pulling Vincent up by the hair. "Well, there's always more I can do."

Vincent limply lets himself be cuffed to the table, sobbing quietly when the silver burns his skin. He wishes Ezekiel would get sick of the knives, just once, but it's never going to happen. Ezekiel stuffs Vincent's shirt into his mouth as a gag. He could just use the muzzle, but that would be far less humiliating.

Fangs tear holes into the fabric as Vincent cries out and bites down, trying to handle the pain. He fixes his eyes to the ceiling so that he doesn't have to watch his skin blister where it's meant to bleed. He screams himself hoarse and that's about all he can remember of the whole ordeal.

Ezekiel doesn't replace the muzzle. No, Ezekiel has never feared Vincent, and for good reason. How stupid to believe that he was ever something to be feared. Ever anything more than something to be abused until he breaks and lets his animalistic monstrosity consume him.

Vincent curls up tightly in the corner when Ezekiel throws him down. He couldn't even drag himself back onto the floor. He doesn't put his shirt back on. It's filthy, anyway.

Ezekiel puts his shoe under Vincent's chin, pressing against his throat. "Don't you have something to say?"

"Thank… thank you," Vincent murmurs.

Ezekiel presses harder. "For what, leech?"

"F-For hurting me," Vincent replies, eyes fluttering. He's so tired.

"God, I love that you say that!" Ezekiel laughs delightedly and gives Vincent one last kick for good measure. Vincent barely feels it at all.

—

"N-No, please," are the first words out of Vincent's mouth when the door opens again. "Please, I can't, I'll do whatever else you want…"

Vincent hates Ainsley's commanding silence. He feels so small, even though he's sure he's taller than Ainsley by a good few inches. But his place is on his bruised and burned knees, and he forces himself onto them as Ainsley approaches, bending so that his forehead rests on the floor.

"Please, sir," Vincent whimpers. "I- I'm in so much pain, I--"

"So?" Ainsley says montonely. "Get up."

"Please!" Vincent's hands curl into fists. "A-Anything else. Whatever you want, p-please, I don't care how humiliating it is! Please j-just don't hurt me anymore, just for a little while, please, sir."

Ainsley doesn't reply for a long moment.

"Alright then, go on," Ainsley finally says, shoving their boots under Vincent's nose. "Lick my boots clean and you can sleep for the entire night."

Vincent doesn't even hesitate. He fills his mouth with leather and thanks them for the privilege, because it isn't pain, because he knows it's all that he deserves, because the only thing he's useful for is being hurt and used and if they aren't going to kill him at least he can still be useful.

How long has it been?

Vincent doesn't know. Long enough that the taste of Ainsley's boots is something he's willing to be grateful for.

—

taglist: @whumpsday @whumpycries @whumpwillow @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @whumpshaped @suspicious-whumping-egg @chibichibivale @melancholy-in-the-morning @zillastar13 @bloodinkandashes @whump-me-all-night-long @sickophantic @itsmyworld98 @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @annablogsposts

[whump-me]

Conquest, Chapter 30: Rebellion

Chapter 30 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, defiant whumpee, royal whumper, reluctant whumper, multiple whumpers, whumper who is also a whumpee, really not sure how to describe the whumper and whumpee dynamics here tbh, whumper POV I guess, fantasy politics, threats of death

---

Kezul

It was time.

Here was where Kezul would say that the time of cooperation was over. That Danelor could never what it was, no matter what its people desired. That it belonged to Kyollen Naskor now, and to the exalted Unmaker, and that it was time for everyone here to stop pretending otherwise and acknowledge defeat.

Here was where the Wolves would hold the members of the noble houses in place, and bring out the ones imprisoned in the palace. Here was where the Wolves would lead them forward one by one. And instead of taking the head of Vorhullin the Unmaker, Kezul would take theirs, one by one.

Here was where the rebellion would begin, and where it would meet its bloody end.

If only he could make himself speak.

This was the only part of the speech he hadn’t asked for Mir’s help with. Not because Mir wouldn’t have helped, blank-voiced, blank-eyed. But because he couldn’t bring himself to voice his intentions aloud. Not to Mir.

After today, Kezul would return home to be made equal with his brothers. He would return home as an extension of his father’s will. And really, that was all he had ever been born to be. His failure to do so was the source of all his childhood shame. It wasn’t even his own will conflicting with his father’s—he wasn’t sure he had ever had a will of his own. All he had ever had was the knowledge of his father’s will and the inability to carry it out.

What might it have been like to have something he had wanted for himself? A desire beyond proving himself? A desire his father hadn’t planted in his head?

For a moment, in the courtyard listening to Gyoras, he had seen what that might be like. There had been a handful of other moments, too, in the throne room with Mir. It was strange—he had thought he had hated every moment of it, listening to the weak prisoner’s demeaning advice, knowing that taking their advice was nonetheless his best option. And yet, when he looked back, he could see only in retrospect that in some of those moments, he had been… content. Content in a way he had never been in his life, except for a few brief times riding alone on his horse, with no expectations beyond strength and speed.

He tried to look straight ahead at the crowd as he willed his words to return to him. He didn’t even know what it was he was avoiding until he glanced to the side and his eyes landed on Mir. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized he had successfully avoided meeting Mir’s eyes ever since he had come out onto the steps.

From where he was standing, it was hard to tell whether Mir was looking back at him. Mir’s eyes seemed to look everywhere and nowhere at once. They were flat. Dead. Like the eyes of a statue, or of a corpse. Kezul couldn’t tell whether they were seeing anything at all.

Was it Kezul’s imagination, or was Mir standing closer than they had been a moment ago?

His imagination. His conscience, rather. Speaking in Mir’s voice, telling him not to do this. Maybe it was that imagined voice that had a grip on his throat, keeping him from speaking.

Maybe he should have had his Wolves kill Mir in the courtyard on that long ago day, before Kezul had ever said a word to them.

Then Mir glanced at him��only for an instant, but it was unmistakable. A brief flash of life came into those eyes. The sight made something unnamable rise up in Kezul’s chest. He hadn’t known how much he had missed that sight—but the feeling that rose in him at the side of it wasn’t a good one. It was slow and thick like despair. It was prickly like shame. It had the hot restlessness of pure fury.

And underneath it all was a quiet but profound disappointment, because in the next moment, Mir’s eyes were flat and dead again, even as they continued looking at him.

Kezul turned away.

It was time. No more stalling. To wait any longer was to refuse to do his father’s will, and that was an impossibility. Or that was what he told himself as he tried to force the words from his throat.

The Wolves were growing restless. They kept shooting furtive looks at him, no doubt wondering when it would be time to execute the plan, and whether they were supposed to have acted already. Another moment of this, and people would start noticing the warriors’ strange behavior.

And yet the crowd was still quiet, apart from a soft murmur of confusion. Everyone was looking at him, and everyone was waiting. He saw resentment in some of their eyes, but for the most part, they only looked at him the way everyone had been looking at his father all his life.

That was what he had craved all this time, wasn’t it? The only thing he had ever wanted more than that was to see that look in his father’s eyes—and now he had both.

Was it genuine respect in the eyes of the crowd, or was it simply fear? Once, he would have thought it was easy to tell the difference. Once, maybe, he would not have understood the difference. Now, as he looked out on the waiting crowd, he wondered what it had been when he had stood at his father’s side in his childhood, when he had stared out at the massed crowds gathered before the exalted Unmaker. Had it been respect then? Had it been only fear? Has there been buried resentment underneath, for the ruler who understood only war, only conquest and defeat?

And today, all the respect or fear or whatever it was… it was a lie, whether or not the crowd believed it. He was no ruler. He might have come up with this plan, but it had been his father’s doing. His father was the one had waited until the right answers came from his mouth, carefully prompted by his disappointments and his silences, his lessons and his accusations.

But that was what he had been born for. To be a conduit of his father’s will. A few more short words, and a few minutes that would feel even shorter, and he would finally succeed where he had failed all his life.

But as true as that might be, he was wrong about something else. He knew it, with a heaviness deep in his gut, as he looked out on the crowd and hated the lie of respect in their eyes. He had told himself he wanted nothing. But even if that had been true when he had first come to Danelor, it wasn’t true now.

He wanted what he had asked Mir for the other day—what he had begged Mir for.

He wanted to rule—to rule his way. To rule Mir’s way. He wanted it because he liked the feeling of finally succeeding at something. He wanted it because he wanted to see that respect in Gyoras’s eyes again. But more than either of those things, he wanted to feel the way he felt when he knew he was doing something well, and doing something right.

He had told himself he had no desires. He had told himself that all his illusions of desire had melted away when his father had come to Danelor. He had told himself that, because it was more tolerable than the truth: that he had swallowed down everything he desired and everything he knew was right, because he was every bit the coward Mir had named him.

He was a worse coward than the prisoner who had hidden in a closet when in battle had come. When battle had come for him, he had shoved Mir into the path of the blades in his place. He was the one who shouldn’t be in the room with anyone of any consequence, lest he pollute their air. He should have been the target of the Wolves’ games in the courtyard, not Mir.

He should have been dead in the courtyard right now, arrows pinning him to a tree trunk. Not standing in front of a crowd, giving a speech, pretending to rule.

He took a breath—and as he let it out, he felt his words return. His chest tightened in sudden fear—there was the fear he hadn’t felt before, coming for him all at once. But he welcomed it. At least the fear was honest.

“You have extended your hand to me when you would have been well within your rights to slap my own away,” said Kezul. The crowd went silent again at the first word from his mouth. “Your desire to do what is right for Danelor at all costs is humbling—and it is one I share. I wish to continue our cooperation… if you are willing.”

He lowered his eyes to the crowd, as if he were kneeling in front of them, presenting his weapon. It was a message most of them would not understand. That didn’t matter. He had said what he needed to say.

The waiting Wolves on the steps shifted restlessly. They shot him—and each other—looks of confusion.

Kezul didn’t look at Mir. He didn’t want to see that dead eyed look in Mir’s eyes again. Better for him to imagine, in these last moments before his father had him killed, that Mir was looking at him with pride.

His father stepped forward, radiating authority in his every movement. Now Kezul could see how he had been holding back his natural aura of leadership to make room for Kezul to do what he was here to do. That respect the crowd had shown him had never truly been his. It had always been given to him by his father. Now his father was showing him how quickly he could take it away, how easily he could eclipse him once again and take back the throne that had always truly been his. He could do it with a few quick strides.

“Hold him,” he shouted to the Wolves.

Confusion from the Wolves—first at Kezul’s departure from the plan, then at the Unmaker’s order. Confusion from the four heads of the noble houses standing on the steps, and from the members of the crowd who had been in the know, or thought they had been—they had thought Kezul would order the Unmaker seized, not the other way around.

They hadn’t understood, of course. They couldn’t, not when they didn’t know the Unmaker as anything more than a fearsome figure from a distant part of the world. They hadn’t understood that no one could have done what they had expected. It had been all Kezul could do simply to defy him.

And what would his defiance gain him, in the end? He knew what was coming next. The only question was which gruesome death his father had in store for him. And what good would his defiance do for Danelor? No more good than it had done for him. He knew better than to think his father would simply retreat and leave Danelor be now that Kezul had officially failed his test.

And what of Mir? Nothing he had said to Mir about how much better they were in his hands than his father’s had been an attempt at manipulation. It had all been nothing more and nothing less than the truth. What would happen to Mir, now that Kezul had made his choice?

He had proved himself to be more than the coward Mir had accused him of being. In the moment, it had seemed worth it. Now, though… now, he wondered why he had bothered.

For a single frozen moment, no one moved. Kezul thought, briefly, that perhaps they wouldn’t. Perhaps they would all stand here in this tableau as the world moved on without them. It was, he thought, the best ending he could possibly hope for.

But of course that didn’t happen. The Wolves recovered from their confusion first. A dozen of them started toward him at once.

He might have taken out his sword and gone down fighting. He was no fighter, but even he could see where dying in one last bloody battle would be better than waiting for his father to choose the manner of his death. But the Wolves that reached the first were, of course, the Wolves who were standing closest… his Fangs.

He remembered that day in the courtyard, and he hesitated.

By the time he recovered his power of movement, they had disarmed him, tossed away his sword and knife before he could have fought back. Even then, he wasn’t so sure he would have if he could have.

Their hands weren’t as rough as he had expected. It seemed almost as if they were trying to be gentle with him. He could have told him how dangerous that was. If he had tried, he could have pulled away from their weak grip.

But he didn’t. What would have been the point? All it would have gained him was the ability to run—like a coward. To run straight into the arms of several dozen more Wolves, and—if by some chance he made it past them—to the crowd below. And despite his words, he knew there were many among the crowd who were not and would never be his allies. To them, everything that had happened since the conquest was weighted much more heavily than a promise of cooperation from one of the conquerors.

And who could blame them?

He didn’t fight. He let his Wolves hold him in place. One of them squeezed his shoulder—maybe in warning, but it could just as easily have been a show of support. When he glanced to the side, he thought he recognized Gyoras’s furs.

The show of support was, of course, empty. The hands didn’t let him go. But what else could he have expected? His Wolves knew their role, just as he knew his. They were conduits of the Unmaker’s will, nothing more. He had chosen to throw that away and become powerless. Even that had taken all the strength he had. He could hardly expect them to do the same.

In his mind, he heard Mir’s voice. If he won’t leave, then get rid of him another way.

Had he really done all he could do?

He banished the voice. Of course he had. Acting against his father was impossible. Those stronger than him had tried and failed. He was weak. A coward. A failure.

Kezul the Defeated.

But even as he pushed Mir’s remembered words away, he his eyes sought out Mir against his will.

Mir was definitely standing closer than they had been—it wasn’t his imagination this time. And in Mir’s eyes—those dead, empty eyes—he caught a flicker of life. Barely more than that—a tiny spark of surprise, that was all.

But it was something.

It would have heartened him more if he hadn’t known what would happen to Mir once he was gone.

He opened his mouth to speak—although he wasn’t sure what he would say. Would he apologize to Mir for what was about to happen? For all his failures that had led them both to this point? Would he simply warn them to run, run now, while they had the chance? If it wasn’t too late. If they still had enough life left in them to do so.

But before he could speak, his father raised his hands to the crowd, in the same way Kezul had mere moments ago. And despite the crowd’s confusion, despite their rising panic, the shouts quieted and the restless bodies went still. Such was the power of the Unmaker’s aura.

His father spoke. “My son seeks cooperation,” he said. “But what my son wants no longer matters. As of now, he does not have the power to make pronouncements about the fate of Danelor. He is no longer a child of my blood, and he no longer sits on the throne of Danelor. There is no Danelor, and it had no throne. There is only Kyollen Naskor, and its only ruler is the one standing before you now.”

Murmurs rose from the crowd again. But even now—even when the rebels in the crowd should have been gathering their weapons—their voices were muted, and their movements were hesitant. Kezul, from where he was standing, saw no flash of metal. His father held a kind of sway over the crowd that Kezul could never have hoped to achieve. Even when they had listened to him, they had never listened quite like that.

Now he could see that the respect the crowd had given him had only ever been a pale imitation of what his father could command.

Once, he would have been jealous. Once, he would have studied his father hungrily, still under the impression that this was something he could learn if he only tried hard enough. Now he felt no hunger. Nor did he feel unworthy. All he felt was pity for his father, who only knew this, who mistook it for the skills of rule. And he felt fear, fear for the gathered crowd and everyone else in the Danelor who would suffer for it. And, of course, for Mir.

Not for himself. It wasn’t death he had feared all along. It was taking that final step, crossing a line that could never be uncrossed. Losing all chance at his father’s approval for good.

Now that he had lost that chance, he couldn’t imagine why he had ever wanted it.

His father wasn’t done speaking. “These would-be usurpers,” he said, waving a hand toward the four heads of the noble houses on the steps, “will die for their presumption in trying to steal back the Danelor throne. Their schemes may have worked on my son, but they will not work on me. And as for my son…”

The hands holding Mir seemed to tense as his father’s voice paused.

“As for my son,” his father continued, “he has defied the will of Kyollen Naskor, and as such, he shares in their crime. He will be the first to die.”

---

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[starryybrained]

❄️ • Whumpmas in July Day 2 - Favorite Tropes • ❄️

Ohh I have so many... but for this post, I’ll list just a few.

Waterboarding

Remember when I said waterboarding wasn’t one of my favorites? Yeah well guess what, I found out there are multiple kinds of waterboarding. My eyes have been opened, folks. (I just discovered that the one where whumper forces the whumpee’s head underwater counts so… yea)

This is some good stuff right here. First off the whumpee gets all wet — their hair, their clothes (or lack thereof), their face, everything. Second, you get the fun of repeatedly watching whumpee react to nearly drowning, and all while whumper controls when they get to breathe.

There’s also a kind of pseudo-messiness that comes with it that I like. Coughing up water, the tears and snot, the struggle … ooh. That is the good stuff. Plus if there’s blood? Ohh that looks fantastic mixed in with the water

Anyway it’s all about the power exchange and the proximity to death and it is very good I love it

Factory whump

It is such a shame this trope is so rare because it is like catnip to me — tell me there’s a factory extracting things from people or a factory converting people into things or any other fucked up stuff involving factories and I will immediately want to hear more.

AND when it’s combined with transformation or brainwashing or non-con body modification? I’m hooked.

It’s so specific but I loveeee it it just has such a freaky industrial feel to it aaaahhhh

Dehumanization

Love this one. When a whumpee is stripped of their humanity? Oh that’s the good stuff. Maybe their name is replaced by something else, a new name or maybe even just an identification number or something derogatory like idiot or dog…

There’s just something about the rights we mostly take for granted being stripped away or even never there to begin with and it’s fascinating and fun to see in whump

Ugh it’s such a fun trope but also very profound if you think about it you know… dehumanization has so many themes and storytelling potential and ugh. Just. Dehumanization.

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[inkwell-and-dagger]

Ring-Bound Notebook

Hey! Yeah, uh- you! Before you proceed, this written work may contain:

blood, torture, prolonged captivity, multiple whumpers, whumper-turned-whumpee, amputation, multiple failed escape attempts, immortal whumpee, potential re-living trauma??, impalement, phrase repetition, slight rescue / recovery whump at the end, suicidal ideation / thoughts

Vanté Ramirez, Vesker Faithern and Fletcher O'Harris belong to my wonderful mutual, @er0s-1s-whump1ng / @paranoia-exe!! go check him out!!!!

—> —> —> —> —> —>

Looking down at the bloodied notebook he'd resented for so long stuffed into his bedside table, Rayan sighed. He swore to never re-read the notebook, reluctant to live out the years of captivity he went through, but.. he just couldn't handle it.

Vigorously snatching the notebook up, he flopped down onto his bed, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping bandaged arms around them. He despised how the damned thing felt so right in his hands; it fit in his grasp perfectly, cold and familiar.

He'd never admit it, but it took him a while to even start the first page, let alone open the notebook itself. He just stared at the cover, at the stickers — worn down with time, scratched or even peeling and ripped— caked in dried blood. His dried blood.

But eventually, to his own dismay, his finger clasped tighter around the notebook, and with strangely baited breath he flicked open to the first page. It seemed as though a nice little trip down memory lane was in order.

Zayn never exactly had a purpose for a notebook. Ring bound with multiple stickers he'd collected during their childhood stuck onto the cover, he just didn't know what to do with it. The useless thing was just.. laying around; plus, he had a diary of his own now. Esrana told him to give it to "the thing in the basement". And her reasoning behind giving it to Rayan? It was because both of them were useless. Great.

"Hey. I've got this for you. Es told me to hand it to you since I don't need it. It'll keep you occupied!" Rayan distinctly remembered Zayn telling him that before setting the notebook down in front of him, his soft Welsh accent ringing pleasantly in his ears.

Alas, Zayn handed it to Rayan during one of their visits, along with two pens. One's ink was in black, the other was in blue, since the former didn't know which colour he preferred. Looking back, it seemed to Rayan that he preferred blue, and the black pen he must've used to doodle and scribble in the margin of each page or wherever else he could fit it.

They promised to give Rayan new pens whenever they ran out and, as usual, he stuck to it; not once did Rayan see even a hint of the ink on either of the pens running dry.

The first few pages were worn and torn, some having been ripped out entirely. The ones that weren't were filled with notes in Zayn's unusually neat script about god knows what — from his time in school to his mother and Esrana, from simple reminders to full paragraphs of rambles. Rayan didn't have the heart to judge them, even now.

A couple pages after, and it was the start of Rayan's own ramblings. Oh, how Rayan dreaded this moment.

He set the notebook down in his lap, evergreen eyes skimming over the pages.

Date: ?

Time: ?

I don't know how this is meant to benefit me. Sure, the notebook's nice and all, I like it. I don't know. There's not much I can write in here, since my captivity isn't very special. I guess I can just I think nevermind. I'll just ramble about fuck all.

I hate this place. I can hardly sleep because I keep hearing footsteps from the floor above this fucking basement. I don't know how many of them there are. I know about the guy with the bat, and the one who keeps staring at me and who I've never really seen blinking yet, and the girl who's Zayn's sister. That's all. I swear there's more of them, though.

I can't be sure. But, at least Zayn gives me food and also gave me a blanket and some pillows so I can sleep. Sure, the ground isn't comfortable, but I can somewhat lay on the pillows, which is good enough. Totally not as if my back hurts already and this is just making it worse. Totally not. Why am I even mad at Zayn?

I'm gonna try and sleep. Emphasis on try. Everything hurts.

"God's sake.." Rayan mumbled hoarsely, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had to admit, that one wasn't all bad. But, he knew worse was to come.

He flicked over to the next page.

Date: ? sometime in October (Zayn told me)

Time: ?

There's more of them. It's- this is ridiculous. Fucking Ezra???

I can't believe he'd side with them. Hell, I don't know what to say anymore. Fuck this shit.

I also keep getting hurt by the bat guy; their names Foster, apparently. I don't wanna explain what they did with that stupid fucking bat of theirs, other than they hit me somewhere on the back and it really hurts because they screwed fucking nails into the bat. I hate this.

I don't even know what I did wrong.

Rayan scoffed. "'I don't even know what I did wrong', my ass.."

His attention turned to the next page. A little more blood was splattered across the paper, and there were obvious signs he'd been crying when he wrote this.

Date: ?

Time: ?

Everything fucking hurts. More and more of them keep coming down and torturing me and hurting me and I'm just sick of this shit. I can't get even a moment of fucking peace anymore. What did I do?

He was surprised how short this one was. He couldn't remember why he had cut it so short in the first place.

The next page.

Date:

Time:

Oh my god. Oh my god. Fuck. He- Holy shit.

I can't even fucking what the fuck. It hurts so bad. Fuck. Okay. I need to calm down.

Oh, no.

Rayan flicked to the next page with shaking hands.

Date:

Time:

Writing this whilst Zayn bandages me up. I'm so tired. So much has been going on.

Madir, he. He cut off my fucking leg. I had tried to escape by attacking Foster and getting out of the basement, and I was so fucking close when Madir got me (Madir's the one who keeps staring. I don't know what his problem is). Then.. I don't even wanna remember.

The torture's been getting worse. Esrana threw me out a window at one point. They've also found out that, despite me being immortal, I can somewhat die if they slit my throat. They keep doing it, and from what I understand they play some sort of game where they compete and the winner is the person who keeps me "dead" for the longest. So far, I think Ezra has.

I should've never started killing people. I've already served my time in prison, and now this? I don't deserve this I think I deserve it, though.

Next page, and this time Rayan had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from tearing up.

Date:

Time:

There's so much blood. The floor is stained with it, my restraints are stained with it, Hell, even my bed. Thankfully, Zayn let me out of the restraints so I can write.

I swear, this is the only thing I can rely on to not lose my fucking mind. The smell of blood and.. other stuff is intoxicating, I hate it. I hate this. I hate Esrana, and Foster, and Zayn, and Madir, and Ezra, and Fletcher— God, fucking Fletcher! We were friends! And now he just watches me waste away here?!

I've felt too sick to eat and sleep. I don't care anymore. I doubt people even remember me. I hope Maddie's okay. And Vee. And.. I don't know. Who do I have?

I'm gonna try and escape. I can't walk, given my leg from the thigh down is missing, but.. whatever. I'll manage.

Next page. This one seemed more recent.

Date:

Time:

It didn't work as well as the other times. There's a fucking- I don't what it is, but it's stuck in my other leg and practically keeping me impaled and pinned onto the floor. It hurts so bad.

I've given up trying to fight by now. I just want to make it stop. I wish I could die. I wish I never existed. I wish I never began killing people. I wish I could kill myself.

I deserve this.

Rayan's spare hand ran over his prosthetic leg, sighing. He never realized how much he himself had suffered. It all felt unreal. It's why he thought about it as if it were just a story, or a silly nightmare. Everything was silly at this point.

He flicked past the other pages, skimming through them, until one near the end of the notebook caught his eyes. Reading cautiously, he placed his chin on his hand and couldn't help but notice his handwriting was more neat. And no blood was splattered on the page.

Date: 26/10

Time: 3:26 PM

It's my birthday! I forgot how old I am. I'm in the hospital right now, I think. It's a long story, but I'm alone right now, save for Maddie sleeping and Vee idly talking to me. I've got plenty of time.

The Survivors got arrested. I escaped from the police - they scare me, okay? I thought they were gonna hurt me - and went to god-knows-where. I stayed homeless for a time, occasionally couch surfing or staying at a new friend's house. She's called Evelyn. She's nice.

Anyway. Maddie and Vee eventually found me, and took me home and then (after seeing how shitty I looked) took me to the hospital instead. It's been a funny couple of days, especially with me learning that these doctors don't want to hurt me and that the things being put into my body won't harm me, but.. at least I'm free. They're gonna get me a prosthetic soon.

I get to see Vesk again. I get to see Theo. And Maddie's fiance, Vivian. Maddie's reluctant to invite me to the wedding, since she knows I need time to recover, but I can tell she really does want to.

Something feels wrong, though. That I don't deserve to rest. I keep imagining restraints around me. I keep hearing them laugh. I keep.. nevermind. It's fine, though.

I don't think I'm gonna be sharing what's in this notebook. It's better to keep it a secret. I don't want people worrying about me more than they already are. Especially Maddie.

Maddie's waking up, I think. I'm home now. I think. I'm gonna be okay now. I think. I don't know. I hope so.

Rayan suddenly glanced up as he heard his bedroom door creak open, squinting up at Vanté. He was a mere silhouette against the absurdly bright hallway light. The notebook slammed shut.

"Hi, Vee." They both grinned.

"Hey," The demon responded, his deep voice rumbling pleasantly in Rayan's ears. "Mum's called you down three times, cause we're going out for dinner today. She said you can bring Tadhg if you want to, too. You coming?"

He chuckled, getting up with a soft groan and setting his notebook down, grabbing a jacket as he spoke. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be down in a sec. Is this—" he gestured to his outfit— "too flashy?"

"Of course not," Vanté waved off his question with a smile. "It's perfect."

"Oh, hush."

Both of them couldn't help but laugh. Vanté's diamond eyes glanced downwards, noticing the notebook. "What's that?"

"Huh-? Oh, that?" Rayan chuckled nervously, quickly shoving the book under his pillow. "Just a uh- a thing."

The demon didn't respond directly, but gave him a knowing smile. Rayan had an inkling the demon had experienced something similar to what he himself was feeling.

Before the silence could get more uncomfortable than it already was, the demon grabbed the immortal's hand and dragged him out of the room, earning a surprised laugh from the latter. "Come on, lazy ass. Don't bother getting platforms, it's a long walk.

"Awwhh, we're not driving there?"

"It's not that bad, kid."

"Hey- I'm not a kid!"

"You are to me!"

They both laughed. Maybe life wasn't that bad after all.

—> —> —> —> —> —>

[montammil]

superhero au is so great! Definitely needs a part two!

I'm not good at fighting scenes, but I tried in attempt to make things interesting. Also I focus on Nathan the most here, I promise continuing this I'll focus on Marshall and Sadie some more too.

I decided to give Nathan electricity powers, Sadie fire powers, and Marshall has generic healing powers.

CW: Parental whumper, violence, possessive language, multiple whumpees (one female whumpee)

Marshall has never recalled a time he felt more anxious, as he picks at his food with a fork. He glances at Sadie to see her staring down at her food with an equally anxious expression, and then to Nathan, who's glaring at Lawrence. Sadie's sat next to Lawrence, Marshall's right across him, and Nathan gets the spot furthest away from him. Marshall envies him.

Lawrence quickly notices Nathan's angry gaze on him. "I gave you multiple warnings, Nathan."

Gritting his teeth, Nathan says, "I don't even care about that. You kidnapped us."

"I'm protecting you, kiddo. From the outside world," Lawrence retorts. "Besides, it's clear none of you are fit to be fighting. I looked into each of your medical histories and I nearly got a heart attack!"

If he weren't a stranger, maybe that'd be reasonable. Marshall had multiple near-death experiences. He wouldn't be shocked if that were the same story with Sadie or Nathan.

"You're so wrong about me being 'not fit to fight,'" Nathan says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've been training since I was a kid."

A chuckle comes from the older man. "There's a difference between being strong and reckless. Sometimes it seems like you don't ever think ahead, given your history of fights."

Sadie mutters something under her breath, but she keeps her eyes on Lawrence.

"I know you think you're invincible," Lawrence continues, "but I can assure you, you aren't. If you don't stop being so impulsive, you'll get yourself killed."

A growl emanates from Nathan's throat. "I'm not going to take anything a delusional crazy guy tells me seriously. If you think I'm so weak, fight me, asshole."

Marshall and Sadie both want to cut in, to say something that'll help, but all they can do is exchange nervous glances to each other.

Lawrence seems not affected in the slightest. "What good will that do? You'll just get your ego hurt further, Nathan."

Breathing heavily, Nathan stands up from his seat and leans against the table. "Then if I win, you let us all go. If I lose, then you can keep us here."

Sadie's eyes widen. "Nathan, you can't just--"

"Deal." Lawrence takes a bite nonchalantly. "After breakfast, though. I think it'd be unfair without getting our full energy first, right?"

"M-maybe we should get an opinion on this, too?" Marshall laughs, but is visibly shaking in his seat. It's not that he doesn't believe in Nathan, but showing how confident Lawrence is, it makes him scared.

Lawrence chuckles. "Of course, of course. I wouldn't want to make a rash decision without consulting all of my kids. If it'd help, why don't you all join in, too?"

Marshall still hesitates. As someone who fought against Lawrence before, he knows he's as irritating as he is powerful, even if he rarely does anything to show it. "It's... it's not worth it. I won't fight you." He knows he can hardly lay a finger on him, anyway, since he's still primarily a healer.

"Aw, are you afraid of hurting your dad? That's so sweet!" Lawrence coos, making Marshall want to throw his fork at him. The other two don't seem too happy about it either.

Fiddling with her fingers, Sadie says, "Marshall can heal us. He doesn't need to fight."

Lawrence shakes his head. "No can do, Sadie. It wouldn't be very fair that way. Besides, you shouldn't rely on your brother to heal you, that's my job."

"I don't need to be healed. I'm done eating." Nathan shoves his surprisingly empty plate forward.

"Well, then I guess we should get started, huh?"

...

Outside the house, Marshall is shocked to see an open area, isolated and even serene. It's an open beach, which Marshall can assume is his private property, considering it's too beautiful to be empty on a sunny warm day like today.

"Alright. You can make the first move," Lawrence tells the two. He looks rather unbothered.

If Marshall could run away right now, he would, but seeing what happened to Nathan, he knows that'd be an idiotic choice. He stays rooted in place, hands clasped behind his back.

"Fine." Nathan darts forward, hands lit with electricity, and lunges at Lawrence.

Lawrence easily sidesteps him, and when Nathan tries to go around, Lawrence grabs him by the back of his shirt and yanks him backwards. Nathan easily catches his fall, sliding backwards in the sand.

Sadie takes the opportunity and tries attacking similarly to Nathan. Lawrence reflectively kicks her in the stomach, knocking Sadie to the ground and sending her rolling in the sand.

Nathan quickly jumps up and charges Lawrence again, who just rolls backwards in the sand and avoids the blow. He kicks Nathan in the gut as well and sends him crashing onto the shore, where he struggles to push himself off the ground.

"That's the best you have?" Lawrence scoffs. "Try again."

Nathan groans and stands up, rubbing his stomach. He tries again, but Lawrence dodges again.

"Come on, Nathan. I'm not that hard to hit," Lawrence taunts. "What happened to all that training you did as a kid, hm?"

Nathan grumbles under his breath. He tries again, but Lawrence ducks and punches him in the side, making him stumble.

Lawrence smirks. "Raw strength is nothing if you can't even coordinate your attacks."

Sadie brings her hands together and shoots a flame at Lawrence, but he easily skirts out of its direction, and then grabs Nathan by the back of his shirt to throw him at her. She barely misses it, letting Nathan hit the ground on his side yet again.

Jaw tight, Nathan glares up at Lawrence.

"When you're ready to give up, just tell me and we can stop this nonsense," Lawrence chuckles. "I don't want you to get hurt, buddy. Either of you."

Sadie is silent for a moment, and then she says, "I'm done."

"What!?" Nathan glares at her next. "You can't quit!"

Sadie doesn't reply. She stares down at the sand, refusing to meet his eyes. After a brief pause, she goes to where Marshall's watching, on the porch of the house.

Grinning, Lawrence says, "Your sister has more common sense than you, kiddo." He opens his arms for a hug. "Come on, stop this. You'll be so much happier here than anywhere else, you just need to give it a chance."

"Never!" Nathan spits, and charges at Lawrence yet again, but just as he tries shooting another volt of electricity at Lawrence, Lawrence knocks him to the side and kicks him in the side this time.

Now that Marshall thinks of it, Lawrence has never shown any kind of powers. To see that he's overpowering them so casually and effortlessly, makes him wonder if they really are weak. Especially Nathan, who's insisted he was strong this entire time.

"This is getting boring, isn't it?" Lawrence walks forward and pins Nathan to the ground with his shoe. "Do you know what my power is, kiddo?"

"What?" Nathan grits out.

Lawrence smiles. "I can predict five seconds into the future before an attack comes. Which means I can do this forever, but I can tell you're getting worn out. Poor thing. Why don't you give up?"

Marshall's eyes widen to get that information, but it does make sense. He hears Sadie's breath hitch, as well.

"You're lying," Nathan replies, though he's clearly struggling. He tries attacking Lawrence again, but Lawrence moves his foot away and dodges yet again, giving Nathan the opportunity to spring back up.

Picking up speed, Nathan rushes Lawrence, throwing every punch he can muster and attempting to hit Lawrence with lightning.

His attempts are only hindered again as Lawrence grabs his hands and points them at the sky so the attack doesn't hit him. He looks a little tired from dodging each attack, but Nathan looks five times even more worn out, as he's definitely putting the most effort in, not to mention how hard he's panting from both exhaustion and anger.

Lawrence delivers a punch to his stomach, causing Nathan to stagger back and fall onto the rocks along the shoreline. When he regains his footing, Lawrence grabs Nathan by the collar and hoists him up.

"You can't win," Lawrence continues, "just give up. I don't like hurting my son, you know."

Nathan tries mustering more of his power, and though a few jolts emit from his palms, he's too exhausted to form anything worthy of another attack. He claws at Lawrence's hands instead.

"This is cheating," he huffs.

A smile spreads across Lawrence's face. "You get to use your powers. I think it's only fair I get to use mine, right?" He drops Nathan back to the ground. "I think we're done here."

"No," Nathan insists as he tries to get back to his feet, only to fall to the ground in exhaustion, gasping for air. "We're not done yet."

He doesn't acknowledge his words, instead picks him up like a sack of potatoes and grins at both Sadie and Marshall, who are looking at him in horror. "You know what this means. You're all mine now."

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Friendships Don’t Always Last

Sometimes your friends will continue down the path of evil and anger despite you telling them that creepy mentor was wrong and they need to heal. Just another sad fact of life.

Anyway, this is just a prompt that anyone can use, but the charterers demanded genders when I was writing it. You don’t have to use their genders if you do write tho. Also, it’s not long, but I put it in a read more because I like them. I think I should be allowed to use multiple read mores. Make people continuously click buttons to get more of the post. That’d be nice.

CW: crying, betrayal, villain whumper i guess, fist fight, broken nose, implied abusive mentor figure / implied past abuse

———

Whumpee began to tear up as she raced toward her friend's side.

"Please, Whumper, there's got to be another way. Mentor was wrong, okay? He was just a selfish, stuck-up old man! You don't need revenge or power or any of that!"

Whumper looked out the window, refusing to face their friend.

"Whumper, you know this is wrong-"

"Do I?" He spun around, glaring at her. "Do I, Whumpee? Because every single interaction with you and your Mentor taught me that the only thing that mattered was hurting people to get your way. So why is it so wrong when I do it?"

"He was using me, Whumper! He was using both of us."

Whumper held eye contact with Whumpee for a moment, searching her expression. Eventually, his gaze dropped.

"So, that's it, huh? You won't help me get revenge. And what, should I just give up forever?"

Whumpee began to smile. "Well, I wouldn’t have worded it so harshly, but yes. Come on, let's go home-"

"No!! You may have given up and become weak, but I didn't. I don't need your support! I only need your skills. And luckily, I don't need your permission to get that."

Whumper shoves her to the ground. Between the two of them, Whumpee was always the better fighter. But Whumper was right. She had grown soft. She couldn't bring herself to hurt her friend, only to defend herself.

But Whumper held no such qualms. After a few minutes of struggling, he grabbed her hair and smashed her face against the floor, smiling at the crack of her nose. Twisting her arms behind her back, he hoisted her to her feet.

"Come on, Whumpee, don't be like that. I've got a nice cell for you. And tomorrow, we can go over the plan."

"You are an idiot if you think I'm helping you. I don't care what you do to me! When I said I left anger and vengeance behind, I fucking meant it."

"Oh, we'll have to see about that, old friend~. I recall you saying something similar to Mentor before we knew better. Before we got our first scars."

[allergic-to-four-leaf-clovers]

Restraints

woo hoo!! my first genuine piece of whump writing, hell fucking yeah! I've been lurking in amongst whump writing for oh so long, and I decided it was finally time to grow some balls and actually post a thing. so, without further ado, enjoy this absolute bloody mess featuring the skrunkly himself, the one and lonely, Rayan :D!!

Cw: immortal whumpee, multiple whumpers, mention of past torture, blood, stabbing, restraints, minimal swearing, whumper-turned-whumpee I guess??, whumpee-turned-whumper except There's Two Of Them Now™, slight manhandling maybe?? I don't know??, slight degradation. view with caution!!

(note: Foster (whumper) uses they/them. all other ocs mentioned (Rayan (whumpee) and Ezra (whumper) use he/him. Also note I have no clue what I'm doing, so some of this may not be accurate lmao)

- - - - - - - >

I had tried to cut the bonds long ago.

Ever since I had first acknowledged your pathetic little band of "survivors" hunting for my very head, I had tried to block contact with you — or anyone you knew, for that matter. I changed my phone number, multiple times, may I add, I considered moving to live with my sister and her fiancee, hell, I would've altered my identity entirely or even gon into hiding if I hadn't been told I was probably overreacting. But I wasn't, was I? Time and time again, I had tried to steer myself away from danger, but time and time again, you persisted. You wanted to make my life utterly miserable. And, I hate to admit this, but you succeeded.

But I could tell from that smug smile of yours that you knew damn well of this, and you relished in the fear in my eyes. I could tell from the scalpels, and knives, and bats, and hammers, and other godforsaken weapons you held in the very same basement you held me in that you would stop at nothing to inflict pain upon me. To give me a taste of my own medicine. You're all just kids with saviour complexes, aren't you? Pathetic.

Our pathways along life are forever intertwined. Though, mine may or may not be mixed with the blood of not only my victims, but of myself. Of guilt that weighs down on my heart, of burdens I am forced to carry on my now fragile shoulders. You have reduced me to a mess of a man. My very being is scarred and bruised from your relentless, merciless torture. I would say I deserve it — I did torture you all first, after all — but I'm not that harsh upon myself, now am I?

I despise you all. Though, I can tell from the disdain and disgust you try to conceal behind those grins and smirks that the feeling is mutual. We're all antagonists in the same story, only lacking a protagonist or better side of the story to oppose. I would say said side is, in fact, each other, but none of us can be deemed as good.

Despite all this, I remain in one piece. I have been humiliated, abused, drowned, suffocated, stabbed, bruised, cut, choked, starved, deprived of both sleep and my own senses. Though, somehow, I am still alive. Perhaps it's just sheer luck making my heart continue to beat, or maybe, just maybe, there's something more complex, more.. supernatural going on. Alas, you'll have to find that out on your own. Some secrets are best to be kept to yourself, after all.

- - - - - - - >

"You should be dead by now," Foster mused with a smirk that Rayan knew oh-so-well. "I stabbed you in the aorta minutes ago, yet you're still alive."

"Oh, yeah? And since when were you a medical expert?" Rayan spat back, craning his head to glare up at his captor. The latter merely chuckled humorlessly at that, guiding Rayan's chin back to face the wall, holding his jaw down with a vice-like grip. Their other hand was rested on his shoulder, which would most definitely leave a bloodstained handprint on his clothes — not that it mattered, anyway. Rayan squinted and stared at the wall before closing his eyes — well, more eye now; Ezra decided it'd be an oh-so-wonderful idea to slash a knife across Rayan's face, leaving him blind in one eye and in immense agony, as he described it himself — trying to ignore the flare of pain in his stomach and the press of ropes against his skin.

"This is boring," he eventually heard Ezra, speak of the devil, complain, his Texan accent cutting through the uncomfortable silence which had begun to linger in the basement. "Why don't we just.. kill him now? Leaving him alive'll do us no good."

"Be patient, Ezra." Foster leaned forward to Rayan's height almost mockingly and rested their head on his shoulder, the sudden proximity making the latter flinch. They smirked and added: "After all, leaving it alive means we can toy with it more, okay?"

Foster knew that would strike a nerve. Rayan absolutely despised degradation of any variety; they knew that perfectly well. Their smirk grew wider at the sight of Rayan's body stiffening and tensing, restrained hands balling into fists under the ropes, speaking through gritted teeth. "Don't you fucking dare."

Foster pouted sarcastically, patting Rayan's shoulder before stalking away. "Well, we'd best get going for now. Staying here is gonna make me die of boredom."

Rayan had his eyes closed still, so he couldn't see what they were doing, other than the fact he knew they were exiting the basement. His eyebrows furrowed in suspicion as he heard incoherent mumbles from in front of him, before hearing footsteps advance upon him. He had no time to react as he was stabbed once more, only letting out a strangled gasp, eyes shooting open.

Ezra's laugh startled him. "Never fails to make me laugh." He said, before twisting the knife in the wound, causing a small cry of pain from Rayan. He laughed again. Even Foster managed a light chuckle.

Ezra had opted to just leave the knife in the wound, which caused much more discomfort for Rayan. But it's not like he could care. Foster and him eventually left, even shutting off the lights in the basement as if Rayan wasn't actually there. Or, maybe as if Rayan wasn't a person, as if he were an item of furniture they had discarded.

Rayan managed a small scoff when he knew they were out of hearing range, rolling his eyes. "They're so fucking stupid..." He muttered, watching the wound on his body heal unnaturally quickly, the blood already beginning to dry out. They had all tried to kill him more times than he had counted, and all attempts had been unsuccessful. It was only a matter of time until they find out — it's inevitable, after all. Rayan just needs to use the amount of time he has left with his secret to his advantage.

[whumpspicelatte]

I come bearing question.

Do you have any OC’s or Whump scenarios that came along via spite? I know for me I get a lot of inspiration by eating traditional media where they imply something bad did/or is gonna happen, but then they cut right before it!! And I’m like “well I guess I’ll do it myself!!”

Is this pretty much the basis of fanfic yes yes it is but are there any specific instances you remember or want to mention?

Not really; sure, sometimes I hit something like that general feeling in what I'm reading or watching, but generally I don't use that for the sake of my own work. The closest I'd get in terms of whump is my love for the whumper-turned-whumpee trope. It just hits something very good in my brain meats.

Revenge whump is also pretty good, so long as the whumpee is the actual cause for the revenge and the revenge itself feels at least somewhat fulfilling. Having that moral complexity between a Whumpee who has terrible things and a Whumper who suffered so greatly as a direct consequence of those things... tasty. Very tasty.

On multiple levels.

[dragyouthroughthewhump]

Apparently I've had episode 2 in my drafts and never posted it? Welp, I guess you'll get a few of these from me today as I listened to episode 3 on my walk and will write that one next.

The Grey Rooms : Season 1 Episode 2 - I Loved My Human

Production - Good quality like the first. There are some dialogue sections that are hard to hear. They're meant to simulate characters behind doors and in other rooms, which is cool, but I had to be in a quiet room with the volume up to make out those lines clearly.

This one is gory and damn those sound effects hit the squishy sound just right. If you're sensitive to wet/squishy sounds this one might be a bit much. But, if you like visceral gore, this is good immersion for it.

CW - I won't be going over/telling the main story or one off, but these are in there. Child abuse, minor whumpee, multiple whumpers, parent whumpers, alcohol, comfort item abuse, anthropomorphic teddy bear, gore, dismemberment, knives, beatings, multiple character death, whumper turned whumpee. Also, prisoner whump, mild torture, fear of rats, illusion of choice.

Okay. Even several seasons in, this episode is likely my favorite, definitely top 3.

Main story

Raymond. A wet dog of a man, don't expect him to get any comfort. Given a rat as a "souvenir" from the last room. I wish the whumper saw how funny it actually is. Though I love that he just doesn't understand why Raymond is so scared of it lop.

Side note, what's with the voice behind one of the doors? Is this someone trying to help Raymond? Interfere with the test? Personally, my initial thoughts are that Raymond is so terrified of the door but that will be the one for Salvation.

One shot

I thought having audio of child whump would be too much. But I'm glad it's more narration than full whump scenes. I think people would either like or dislike the voice actor because I feel like I can tell it's an adult making a child voice, but it's still a good voice for the character. It pulled me out of the story just enough so that I wasn't squicked out.

The story, very well written, satisfying ending for sure. There was no holding punches and if you've been around child abuse or heard first-hand accounts, I'm sure some of this was really close.

In this podcast there is always death of main characters. But sometimes one of them lives lol. The revenge also, the punishment absolutely fit the crime(imo of course, open to discuss if you'd like). It felt so satisfying to get back for the hurt.

The gore, omg the gore. It was written well, plus the added audio, and voice actor. It was so amazing to listen to the first time and each time after; it still hits just right. I love me some gore and bloody violence. This one delivered it. That teddy sure loved its human.