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generic-whumperz · 5 months ago

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“The Aid” (Character Sheet)

How it began /vs/ where we are now (Picrew)

Overview: The morning after his 18th birthday, a Mystic telepathic empath sells himself into high-class slavery at a Chattel Services Inc. facility in order to help his family flee from a war-ravaged and disease-ridden post-apocalyptic world. Stripped of his name, he is addressed only by his newly appointed ID number and later his trained designation title—The Aid. He is quickly bought by Madame Eleanor Sullivan, a So-Cal socialite, and the prestigious Sullivan family matriarch, to serve her as her live-in caregiver and confidant. After her death five years later, The Aid is bequeathed to Eleanor’s troubled and sadistic son, Wyatt. Surviving a year and a half of Wyatt’s draconian rein as his new Master, The Aid’s once plentiful optimism runs out when Wyatt’s relentless torture has no end in sight. That is, until one fateful day, a bloody and badly wounded stranger is brought to him, reigniting his hope for escape.

Full name: [REDACTED]

Role: Main lead protagonist (Caretaker turned Whumpee)

Date of Birth & sign: February 10, 2007 (25), Aquarius (story takes place in the year 2032)

Gender: cis-male

Sexuality: *perpetually confused*

Height: 5’5”

Weight/body type/build: (when not being starved) slender with lean muscle, more on the petite side with compact features; ideally he likes being 135-ish lbs (currently 125lbs soaking wet)

Hometown: Cincinnati, Ohio

Family Members: [REDACTED]

Left/right handed: ambidextrous

Fav genre of music & anthem: alternative/indie, Devil's Advocate by The Neighbourhood

Occupation: slave; designation: Grand Servant, Mystic Domestic Home Aid (professional bitch)

Ethnicity (+ American): white boi (European origin— mostly British, Scottish, Polish, Norwegian, Swedish, and German)

Hair color & length: chocolate brown; (ideally) cropped short, longer on top, brushed to the side. Straight, but slightly wavy when grown out. Facial hair: ideally clean shaven and well-groomed elsewhere, doesn’t have much body hair, will shave it off regardless.

Hygiene: very clean and hygienic, hates being dirty and smelly, takes immense pride in his physical appearance. The kind of guy that has a 10-step skin routine and loves nothing more than new skin care products.

Eye color: chestnut brown. Large almond-shaped hooded eyes, wears glasses

Skin tone: very fair with blue/cool undertones

Facial features: combo of squared & rounded head, square jaw with strong & pointed chin, pointy lips with prominent Cupid’s bow & heavy lower lip, droopy & downturned nose (now with a jagged bend on the bridge from a few badly healed breaks), manicured straight brows with slight soft rounded arch, squared ears that stick out slightly

Mannerisms: internal dialogue/thoughts do not always match spoken words and actions. Confines most facial expression to his eyes which are constantly shifting around and observing surroundings. Small half-smiles that don't reach his eyes. Silent sighs a lot. Generally very still and goes unnoticed. Quiet, soft steps. Mild-mannered. Feels too much all of the time. On high alert. Small nods and head tilts. Lip/side of mouth twitches when thinking hard, confused, or on edge. Shifts jaw a lot.

Nervous ticks: flushes/blushes, rubs fingertips, picks at cuticles/skin picking, chews/sucks in bottom lip, avoids eyes contact & keeps head down, eyes dart, stiff body language, balls hands into fists, lip & cheek twitches, occasional nose rubbing

Posture: straight and proper (currently doing the best he can)

Style: Whatever Madame Eleanor dressed him in! Usually wearing his custom designer Aid uniform complete with a metal o-ring collar. When at home, usually just in lounge wear.

Health: Originally very healthy before all the torture started and was very active. Former high school track star. Now has chronic pain and is addicted to painkillers. Currently in physical therapy and can’t walk for extended periods of time. Vegetarian. Known allergies: shellfish, penicillin, pineapple, pollen, chamomile, nickel metal, dust. Mental health is in the gutter (on anti-psychotic, mood stabilizer, and neuron blocker to nullify his telepathic abilities), anxious, depressed, suffering from psychosis. Having a bad time. Now missing some teeth and has a chipped tooth from Wyatt beating him up.

Piercings/tattoos: ears pierced and has 24k gold ear cuff. One tattoo on upper left shoulder of his CSI given ID number: 070210

Birthmarks/scars: too many scars to count at this point. But noticeable ones on face: long, u-shaped cut spanning under right cheek, a vertical nic on the tip of chin, and a long faint slice across his left temple. 1.5” scar on right palm and top of hand that he usually keeps covered up/hidden from himself. Born with a bilateral cleft lip and now has two C-shaped scars running between the points of his lip and nostrils.

Language(s): English, some Spanish

Personality: before Wyatt—happy, warm and approachable, charming, compassionate, helpful, confident, obedient, subservient, well-mannered, thoughtful, self-sacrificing people-pleaser. With Wyatt—combative, snappy & short, paranoid, jumpy, nervous, closed off and cold, angsty, vengeful, hopeless, depressive.

Vices: weed, panic cleans

Voice: measured, even tone, modulated and silvery. Typical North American accent.

Smells like: clean, zesty and sweet, like aloe, cactus flower, with a hint of citrus.

Face claim(s): I have been going back and forth with this forever. No one will quite look exactly like him, but I’ve finally concluded, after much deliberation, that he looks a combination of Iwan Rheon (left and top middle) and this random Russian guy I found on Pinterest, Arseniy Popov (bottom middle & right). However, both of them are a bit older than he is, so just 🌈imagine🌈 them aged down a little bit. Also, yes, it’s more than ironic that the guy who plays one of Wyatt’s character inspirations, Ramsy fucking Bolton, is also an Aid face claim. Full circle moment or cosmic horror? You decide.

This pic is slay and serving cunt (judging plebs with Eleanor)

Character inspiration: personality and ability-wise only—Deanna Troi (Star Trek TNG), June Osborne (Handmaid’s Tale), Peta Mellark (Hunger Games), Will Graham (NBC Hannibal)

Other: has two trackers, one embedded in his back between shoulder blades, the other in the back of his neck.

Character sheet filled out from his POV, post-Wyatt

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auroragehenna · 1 year ago

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No matter how much you squirm you won‘t get out ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AI-less Whumptober

Day 13 (Words carved into skin)

TW/CW: Deranged whumper vision, creepy whumper, pet whump, defiant whumpee-trying at least, scared whumpee, sadistic whumper, intimate whumper, carving, owning, cconditioned pet whumpees, magical whump, electrocution, lady whump Word count: 2'031

When Harmonia woke up, she did not expect to see Electra wait for her. Sitting on an armchair next to her at the fireplace. Where the fuck did that Ash bather get that chair now?! She quickly sat up, wings flapping a bit. "What are you doing here? So early.”, she asked.

Electra raised an eyebrow.

“I mean-good morning, Ma’am. ", Harmonia quickly corrected her mistake.

Electra smiled. "Well, I am here to sweeten up your morning and I have some good news for you."

"What are they, Ma'am?" Did I finally make it?!

“You're allowed to eat in the cafeteria with the other dolls. For good behaviour!" she replied, still smiling.

“Really? Thank you, Ma'am!" Stupid idiot.

Electra got up and waited for her angel to prepare herself and follow her outside. She led her through the labyrinth of hallways in the mansion until they arrived at a big double door. Two guards were placed on either side. “Now, go inside. Eat. And then wait for me afterwards. Don’t cause me any trouble. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you.”

Electra nodded contently and walked away while the guards opened the door.

Harmonia walked a few steps into the gigantic room until her brain could finally process what her eyes were seeing. Her legs gave in under her and she fell to her knees. There were rows and rows of creatures. Tables filled with them. Barely any empty seats. She couldn’t even clearly see the end of the hall. I never knew there were so many… But before more despair could sink in she was pushed hard into the small of her back by a guard. She had to keep moving. As if in trance she got up, went to get her food-and it looked way better than what she had eaten so far-and searched for an empty seat. Finally she found one towards the end of the hall. Harmonia sat down on the wooden seat and was glad that her legs carried her this far. She felt sick but she knew she needed to eat. Otherwise she would only regret it later.

Next to her was a boy that looked like he was a fae. With short, fluffy hair and elegant clothes. Opposite of her were a centaur laying on a special furniture and a girl that looked like she was a cupid. Or had been a cupid. But definitely an angel.

Harmonia gulped. She scanned the girl’s red hair and her pink dress uniform. Her white wings were smaller than Harmonia’s but way fluffier. She eventually noticed something was off, looked up and met her gaze. She looked terrified and instantly ripped her gaze away.

“You should really eat.”, the fae boy said. “There’s not so much time and you’re already late.”

That’s not wrong, she thought. “Thanks. You’re right.”

The three were loosely holding conversation while Harmonia was eating. They were talking about what they would do today. The fae boy wanted to go outside. Cupid wanted to talk to the others if she could. Specifically to one in particular and the centaur just wanted to lay near the fire, their once broken legs were aching badly today. But they all said the same thing. As long as Electra didn’t need them.

“Aren’t you tired of this?! How can you just accept that that’s all there is? She’s a monster! How can you be okay with that?!”, Harmonia interrupted them with silent urgency.

“Be okay with it? We love her. And she loves us. She’s given us everything. You’ll see.”, Cupid said.

“But you can’t say things like that!”, the centaur said.

“It’s rude. And mean.”, Fae-boy added.

Harmonia was just sitting there in shock but she didn’t want to give up yet. “She tortured you!! Kidnapped you from your old lives and imprisoned you! When was the last time any of you-“

“Quiet!”, Cupid now said sternly. “You’re talking non-sense. And I don’t want to get into trouble only because you’re in denial! The world outside has hurt you but trust me she can make it better. She will make you right.”

Harmonia just sat there, staring at her emptied plate, and trying not to throw up. Then a loud bell sounded and instantly all the creatures around her got up and walked orderly out of the hall. Harmonia followed, again as if in trance until she was held back by the guards.

“You wait here.”

Harmonia rolled her eyes, but she didn’t have to wait very long.

«So? How did it go?" asked the demoness's cold voice from behind Harmonia. She quickly spun around, bowing her head. "It was a very interesting experience, Ma'am, thank you. Electra raised her eyebrows. "So, you had no trouble whatsoever?" she asked again. "I mean the food was something I have never eaten before, and probably something you wouldn't find in Paradisio.-But it was tasty!" Electra took a fast step forward and slapped Harmonia hard across the face. Harmonia's head flew to the side and as the sound echoed in the hallway. She felt the painful sting of the slap paired with a faint needles and pins of electricity. "You're lying to me, doll.", she warned coldly.

"N-No." Harmonia tried.

"Oh please, don't try to make yourself sadder than you are."

Harmonia sent her a hateful glare through the fear that had settled deep in her bones by now.

"Did you really think I didn't know that you would try to turn my dolls against me? Did you really think I trusted you enough to let you out? No, you haven't yet seen the right way, and this was a test to prove it to me and to yourself. Now come along. I am gracious enough to still help you. And we will also have to punish your disobedience, am I right?"

"Bullshit!", Harmonia cussed out.

"You can either come willingly or I can make you, your choice."

"Okay, okay.. ..I'm coming…"

Electra led her through the labyrinth of hallways until they somehow arrived at a familiar wide staircase. Honestly how was her orientation in this mansion so bad?! Yes, she hadn't been let outside of her room much but still. This couldn't be right. Carefully, afraid of overstepping a boundary she reached out and let her white skin grace over the marble of the railing. It felt so familiar. An ache flared up in her heart and she had to hold back tears. "Fuck, I wanna go home.", she whispered to herself.

Electra's gaze quickly shot back to where Harmonia was walking. She had heard the girl's comment and as much as it angered her, she could make use of this yet.

After a few minutes the two arrived before a dark wooden door. It wasn't Electra's bedroom that's for sure. That door looked different. The door now opened after Electra had laid her hand on it. She stepped to the side and made a gesture for her to walk first.

"After you, my doll."

Harmonia suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and walked into the dim room. It had no windows, but a large number of spotlights illuminated the room. Now she could see that the walls were over and over covered with portraits. There must be pictures of thousands of creatures, she guessed by the length of this gallery. There were little plackets with text under each picture. Harmonia read one under the picture of what looked like a night elf or something. There was the date when she was kidnapped and how, the date in which she became...obedient and date of death.

Electra kept silent, just watching her doll. She could see the horror on her face. It was beautiful and she was excited at the thought of getting to see more of it very soon. Her angel looked down the hall and her wings twitched nervously. Then she looked up. Electra guessed that she was trying to calculate the number of slaves she owns and had owned. Then her doll slowly turned around, wings spreading out threateningly. "Yes? Speak your mind.", she encouraged her.

“You’re a monster. How can you do this? What is wrong with you?!”

Electra just chuckled humourlessly. “I thought I made clear that you shouldn’t call me that last time, my doll. Did I not?”

Harmonia shivered but she didn’t let go. “These are all people! They have their own lives! You-You’re-They don’t love you! They’re just scared!”

“Yes. Criminals”, she drawled the word out. “They were all on a misguided path. Unhappy says the fucking criminal herself, hypocritical bitch I took them in and gave them a better life. And all I ask for in return for saving them is a bit of devotion and obedience. That is not too much to ask for. Soon enough you will see it too.”. She stepped forward to Harmonia, from the flick of her finger a fine line of electricity shot towards her angels left wing. She instantly pulled them in in pain and her demeanour significantly lost fire. Electra gently but firmly grabbed her shoulders and led her forward to the end of the gallery. There were some newer looking portraits and Electra guided her angel to one particular portrait.

Harmonia’s breath caught as she recognized who was on the picture. It was her! It was a picture from when she was still with her family. Filled with dread she forced her gaze lower, onto the metal plaquette. There was the date of her capture-her failed mission. There was no date of death yet. And at the date of obedience-Harmonia froze, dread settling itself in her so overwhelmingly powerful that she couldn’t sense anything else.

Date of obedience: Soon…

“So? Have you seen enough?”, Electra murmured next to her doll’s ear, nuzzling her head into her fluffy hair. I really hate to do this to you but I need to make sure my message settles in. I can’t stand seeing you suffer for so long. She pulled a blade out of the folds of her clothing and with ease let it magically pass though the layers of clothing. As soon as she felt the tip of the knife touch skin she heard Harmonia whimper. A silent, barely audible, beautiful sound. She began to carve, line for line, using her magic to cauterize the wounds instantly. With another flick of her hand she projected a mirrored image in front of Harmonia’s face, so she could see what she was working on. But her angel struggled and nearly made her mess up. “Stop!-Moving so much! I might hurt you.”, she warned and was pleased to feel her doll’s resistance die. She finished the circle around her work and felt the old-known feeling confirm that she did everything right. “This.”, she said slowly, simultaneously craving the word on the line of her spine upwards, between her wings. “Is.”, another whimper from Harmonia, “Home.”, she finished and stepped back to admire her work. Her sigil and three words lining herself up over her back. Electra heard a broken sob coming from Harmonia. She gently turned her angel around, cupping her doll’s cheek, wiping away a tear. “Hey, I’m sorry my dear, I don’t want to hurt you, I’m only trying to help. So you don’t plague yourself. As soon as you understand that you will be happy. Truly happy. Come here.”, she said and hugged her angel, careful not to touch the wounds on her back.

Harmonia started sobbing in the demoness’ arms, she didn’t want to but there was no stopping it. She barely realized that they were leaving the room, walking with her head buried in Electra’s clothing and the demoness’ arm wrapped around her. She only faintly realized that they sat on a bed and her hands were pulled up and chained to a bed post. She felt Electra’s arms wrap around her again and the softness of the bed and allowed herself to just cry.

Electra held her angel tightly and the last thing her maids saw of her before they closed the door was the triumphant sadistic grin laying on her face.

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt, @ailesswhumptober Series introductory post

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sideblogformindtrash · 3 years ago

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CB & Sideblog’s Christmas Special

We proudly present you... a CB ( @cowboy-anon ) and Sideblog’s Christmas Special!

Chapter 1, The Great Tree

Masterlist - Next Chapter

Cw: Multiple whumpees; hybrid whumpees; slavery/forced labor; fantasy whump; cold whump; exhaustion; hunting; animal attack (dogs); enviormental whump; broken nose; mentioned: shock; domestic whump; impaling; starvation; stress position;

“Work your stupid shits” Santa said to the elves, smacking the whip on the air to startle them. He didn’t hit them though, not when they were working to lower the giant ornament into the wagon Vixen was pulling, tied up by chains and leather. Upon close inspection, he realized this one was the set up for Blitzen and Donners torment: a crystal ball, the insides reinforced by a wire structure, the center what looked like a coil “Careful with this one. It’s special, one of my best creations”

He swallowed the knot on his throat. Back in the day, Santa would spend his days creating toys. His entire life was to bring joy to kids all over the world, and in his spare time, he designed new ornaments and decorations for the season.

Not anymore. The office wasn’t clean anymore, it was piled to the roof with papers and ideas and blueprints, each of them showing horrors worse than the last. Pretty, still, but designed to torment and torture. Santa said there was no point in making toys, anymore. Kids only cared about their ‘damn phones’ and ‘stupid brand toys of movies’. So, he made something that would make him happy.

If Vixen had a place to speak, he’d say Santa should go on the naughty list.

Of course, it wasn’t his place to decide that, anyway. He dragged the wagon across the fluff snow, towards the Great Tree.

The pine was colossal, ancient, residing over the pole for as long as Santa had. Decorating it was always stressful, but back in the good old days, it was a job they carried with pride, the silence of winter cut by hundreds of voices breaking into joyful songs, and finally turning the lights on announced the beginning of Christmas Season, with all of them feasting together and celebrating, the tree towering over them like a giant lighthouse, bright against the darkest of nights.

Today, like the other days of the week, there was only eerie silence, as everyone kept to themselves, trying to save their strength and just be done with it as soon as possible.

Well, silent except for…

“...SEVEN SWANS A-SWIMMING, SIX GEESE A-LAYING, FIVE GOLDEN RINGS…” Rudolph passed through him, with the brightest smile on his face as he pushed his wagon “FOUR CALLING BIRDS, THREE FRENCH HENS, TWO TURTLE DOVES, AND A PARTRIDGE IN A PEAR TREE”

Vixen didn’t even had it in him to roll his eyes anymore. Rudolph was a poor thing, and maybe… Maybe he was right. He seemed to suffer less than the others, clinging to his delusions, still thinking everything was fine, that Mrs.Claus would be back soon, that the Christmas Spirit was alive, that they were still a family.

He ignored the blood dripping down his nose. It was always prone to bleeding, earning him the ‘Rednosed Reindeer’ title. Was a bit dark, but overall harmless joke back in the day, and sometimes, Rudolph would pick up a clown nose from the pile of toys and walk around telling jokes. Nowadays, he didn’t even need the clown nose anymore, he got slapped and punched so often he always had a red smudge of blood across his face.

He crossed Cupid, as well. He was looking fearfully at the tree. Cupid was terrified of heights, but the fact that he was Santa’s favorite meant he would be sitting on the very top of the tree, tied in some ungodly position for hours or days.

It also meant he got to sleep inside most days, eat more, and do domestic chores and help in the office instead of working outside. Some of the others were pissed about this and despised Cupid, especially Prancer. Vixen didn’t hold any grudge, in fact, he was just fucking glad it wasn’t him. He’d rather be hunted any day than have to deal with the constant gaze of Santa over him. So much so he stopped to hold Cupid’s shoulder for a second, the pretty reindeer boy giving a soft smile. He was so desperate for any affection that didn’t come from Santa, that he almost teared up, holding Vixen’s hand for a moment.

Then, they got back moving, pulling their wagons with the ornaments to the platform where the elves would secure them, and use a series of levers to hoist them up and put them on the branches of the trees.

He took a moment to breathe as the elves unloaded his wagon. That thing was fucking heavy. He was worn out before his hunt even begun, from pulling those things all day. He knew he wouldn’t escape, anyway… But he needed to put on a good hunt, or there would be hell to pay.

This was the last week of the year on which Santa could freely hurt them, as he needed everyone in shape for the Gift Giving day. The weeks that preceded it, despite being insanely stressful, meant no lasting punishments, and warm clothes, and enough food. Even Dancer and Prancer got to eat freely during this time of year, and the both of them would gain some weight, stuffing themselves as much as they could knowing they’d go back to sharing one portion of food as soon as the holiday ended.

It also meant that they would pay for every moment of rest later, Santa being more cruel than ever on the first month of the year.

Another wagon stopped beside him. Comet stopped beside him. He used to be beautiful, once, Santa’s right hand with his star-like fur, the guardian and leader of the small pack of Santa’s reindeers. Now he was curled over the weight of his sorrow, eyes deep in purple circles, sunken on his face and lightless. It was sad to see him on this state, truly defeated, and even more to know he had been suffering longer than everyone else.

Comet sighed, resting as they unloaded his wagon, and reached a trembling hand to touch Vixen’s shoulder, a sad, concerned expression.

“Good luck on the hunt” And he leaned forward, whispering in conspiratory tone “...Don’t hesitate. If you get a chance to leave, please for the Spirit of Christmas, runaway, and never turn back… please”

“Yeah. I’ll go, if I have a chance” He whispered back, holding his hand gently, keeping it on his shoulder a little longer “But he makes sure there is never a chance”

“I… know” Comet replies. The elves hit the back of Vixen’s wagon, and that’s his sign to return to the factory to get the next decoration, before they get accused of slacking off. At least it is easier when it’s empty. He knows the others get back pains and twitch muscles from doing it for so long, but he will be let off soon.

His heartbeat goes fast as he approaches the huge factory building, passing under the fairy lights that decorated the gray walls. Santa is still screaming and shouting at the elves, but he stops and smiles when he sees Vixen return.

Alright.

It 's time.

He takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm and not flinch as Santa approaches, touching and cradling his hair. He can smell him, and the scent is danger. Time freezes, his jaw clenched, the cold air is not enough.

“Vixen, my dear fox” Santa touches him, unbuckling him from the wagon, letting the chains and letter stripes fall on the floor, taking a moment to hold his jaw, just staring into Vixen’s wide eyes, while his body tenses so much it hurts “...One hour. Run”

“...One hour. Go”

And time begins to move again as Vixen runs out the factory, tracing the white snow. Other reindeers and elves turn to watch him go with tired eyes. The first few times? They cheered, hoping he could escape. Right now, this was a pitiful mockery. They knew Vixen wouldn’t make it. He’d be brought back, screaming and kicking, dragged through the snow behind Santa’s sled.

...He heard a gunshot, in the distance. He could barely believe an hour had passed already, Santa beginning the hunt with his sled and the awful dogs. The hounds would be on his heels very, very soon. He needed to do something to make this entertaining for Claus, and maybe if he managed to do it well enough, Santa would be in a good mood, and go easy on his brothers.

Was the best he could hope for, anyway. He was an easy target, despite his experience from running over and over, his bright orange fur made him a very obvious spot on the wintery landscape. And of course, he was a hybrid reindeer, so the cold wasn’t so bad - he was made for it, with hooves firming him even in slippery ice - but the weather eventually started to wear him down.

Especially after this next step. The river was a good landmark, meaning he was already far. Enough that now, only the tip of the colossal tree was visible. But crossing it was tricky.

He bristled his fur, as he made his way into the freezing water of the river. It always brought him some time, weakening his scent to the dogs, but it came with a cost. For the most part his fur kept him dry and safe, but the water was treacherous, and even his hooves weren’t a guarantee of a safe cross, against the current.

He still had to try. This hunt was important, his safety and his brother’s were important, so he slowly started to move on the icy river.

The dogs howled, a little closer. He felt cold, unable to tell if from the wind that blew or sheer fear. He needed to run, move faster, go faster, but it was dangerous right now, he little rocks on the edge of the river offering little support.

Alas, he reached the other margin, panting, he climbed the little hill, unable to stop panting. It had been an hour of non-stop moving and running, right after a couple more pulling wagons with the huge ornaments. He was exhausted, but stopping wasn’t an option for his panicked mind. Not that he thought he’d run very far.

The howls again, even closer. He needed to move.

After the river, there are more trees, which Vixen is always grateful for. They shield him a bit more, hiding his awful color in their dark branches, covered in snow. Once, he decided to climb and hide on one of them, thinking he disguised his smell well enough, only to have Santa shoot him with a harpoon-like weapon, and drag him back home through it.

He darts in between them, ignoring his screaming muscles, his exhaustion, the pouding in his head. He keeps on running, playing the rigged game.

Santa catches him after three hours of the start of the hunt. He can’t keep running, yet he tries, as the dogs gnaw at his ankle, carving sharp teeth on his legs. He whimpers, falling over the snow, trying to claw away from them, to no avail.

“Enough-” Santa’s voice echoes once he tires of the pathetic display, and the dogs stop their vicious attack. He gets out of his sled, kicks Vixen stomach “Found you my little fox”

He doesn’t know what to answer, so he doesn’t, as Santa picks up a rope and ties him up, dragging him behind the sled.

The way back is torturous, his fur being dragged in such a way snow gets in betweem them, runing their insulation, and Vixen starts to freeze, feeling wet and disgusting. Not to mention the many cuts he gets all over his body, each time he meets a little stone or a sharp piece of ice or even fallen branches.

He doesn’t complain. He wouldn’t dare. At least, he did well. Santa was smiling. He doesn’t look at the tree, his face illuminated by the Christmas lights as Santa’s sled goes under it. He is carried inside the stable, left to rest on the piles of hay. RIght now, even if they are uncomfortable, they just feel like heaven.

“It was a good hunt” Santa grants him.

Vixen smiles. He is too tired to fix his own wounds, and his brothers won’t be sleeping here today, so he curls up tight and small under the pile of hay, and passes out.

TAGLIST: @kim-poce @as-a-matter-of-whump

#whump #crack whump #CB & Sideblog's Christmas Special #fantasy whump #hybrid whumpee #vixen the whumpee #cupid the whumpee #rudolph the whumpee #blitzen the whumpee #donner the whumpee #santa whumper #dancer the whumpee #prancer the whumpee

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cowboy-anon · 3 years ago

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CB & Sideblog’s Christmas Special

Meant to get this up way sooner and also yesterday, but welcome to the second part of this Christmas collab with @sideblogformindtrash! :D Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Krampus

Prev - Masterlist (Soon) - Next

CW: Amputation mention, beating, blindness mention, bleeding out, blood, bloody nose, body horror (I think??), brief food and alcohol mention, broken bones mention, burning, captivity (in a cell, temporary), chains, Christmas stuff, cold whump, discussed whump of minors (nothing happens during the drabble but it’s very much implied), electrocution (and lingering effects), evisceration mention, gore, hunted for sport, hybrid whumpees, imprisonment of minors, impaled, inhuman whumper, kicking, magic whumper (mind reading, healing), manhandling, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, near death experiences mention (quite a few times), passing out (almost), punishment mention, sadistic whumpers, screaming, sleep deprivation (self-inflicted), thinking he’s dying, torture, whip mention

Comet didn’t mean to do it, but the night before he’d stayed up late tending to Blitzen and Donner after a particularly brutal session with Santa, and the exhaustion and disorientation he felt afterwards couldn’t be helped.

It was his own ornament, one made of ice as thin as glass and twice as fragile. Inside was a snow globe-esque scenic, filled with almost life size trees and a wide opening at the top that would be perfect for letting real snow drift into it. More likely than not while Comet was inside.

But Comet’s wagon got caught on something he couldn't see, and he tugged it free a little too forcefully. He felt the wagon tip and felt the load lighten considerably, and then he heard it--ice shattering, loud as a gunshot.

Comet remembers it distinctly, the way Santa strode up to him and his toppled wagon. His breath smelled of spiked eggnog and poor Cupid’s cookies.

Comet froze in place, peering not quite into Santa’s eyes and staying quiet, neither acknowledging guilt nor begging for punishment. It’s what he always told the others to do when Santa got into one of his moods. Don’t give him any further excuse to hurt you. Don’t beg or show fear, he likes that, and don’t run or cry, he’ll only hurt you worse.

Comet follows his own advice, because on typical days like this, it works. He’s dealt with it long enough to know that.

“You’ve just broken one of my newest toys for you,” Santa says. He dips his foot into the sea of shards and crushes it beneath his boot for emphasis. “That’s alright, sweet Comet. Since I don’t have anything special planned for you anymore, Krampus can take care of you. Let’s see if you ever break something of mine again.”

Santa cracks the whip overhead. Comet pulls his cart forward and away from the commotion, ignoring the way the ice crackles like glass under his hooves. Whatever Santa had planned with this toy, it was intricate and precise. He doesn’t doubt he’ll receive a more severe punishment for this, but whatever it’ll be, it doesn’t draw the terrified reaction Santa was no doubt hoping for from him.

That’s because Krampus is just Santa’s boogeyman. Comet doesn’t believe in Krampus.

He sighs as he steps out of the biting arctic air and into the stables. Rudolph, Blitzen, and Donner are waiting for him in the center of the little building and staring up at him with big scared eyes.

Rudolph wipes at some of the blood dripping down his lip. “Comet, how are you so calm?! Aren’t you afraid?”

Comet sighs and closes the rotting wooden door behind him. He already knows what this is about, but he asks anyway. “Of what?”

Donner and Blitzen are trembling, half from fear and seemingly half from the shocks they received earlier this evening. “Of Krampus of course!” Donner squeaks. He buries his head in his brother’s chest, even though Blitzen seems just as scared and jittery.

Comet dusts some of the snow from his fur and approaches the three of them, spying Dancer and Prancer in the corner. Prancer rolls his eyes at Comet, all too aware of the spiel he’ll spout to make them feel better.

Well, what he’s going to say is true. Krampus isn’t real.

“Come here, you three. Yes, Rudolph, that means you too.”

The three of them huddle together in the center of the stable in front of Comet.

“Krampus isn’t real,” Comet says firmly. He looks the three of them in the eyes, particularly Rudolph. He’s not even sure if hears things like this anymore, things like the truth and reality. “Remember what I told you? Don’t show him you’re afraid. It only makes Santa hurt you worse. You remember that, don’t you?”

Blitzen and Donner enthusiastically nod, still clinging to each other. Rudolph’s nod is a lot more reluctant and confused. Of course it is. He’s still the same old Santa in his book.

“Well, he only ever mentions Krampus to get us afraid. You see? We’ve never seen him, only heard horrible stories. But I showed no fear. Whatever Santa has planned for me, it can’t be worse than usual.”

Donner and Blitzen still look skeptical, but the three of them nod again, even Rudolph, who looks more convinced than the others.

Comet rewards them with a faint but genuine smile, and he motions to one of the only two beds of dry hay in the room, the one at the center of the stable. “Come on then. It’s getting late and we’ll need our strength for tomorrow.”

Blitzen, Donner, and Rudolph give a final nod, and Rudolph scurries off into the back and grabs a thick fleece blanket from the only other dry spot in the stable. It’s worn and discolored an odd shade of red and green and in the center, there’s a large cartoon picture of Santa himself, but it keeps them warm during cold winter nights like tonight.

The four of them settle into the brittle hay on the ground, getting comfortable. Then they curl up together close under the one blanket.

Tucking himself in between his brothers and feeling the instant reprieve from the bitter chill, Comet peers over at Dancer and Prancer, huddled together and shivering in their own damp corner of the stable. Comet’s never understood why they don’t join them. Maybe the two of them like their personal space, or maybe, more realistically, the two are so accustomed to their relationship being the source of their pain that they think anything otherwise is foreign and wrong. If only that wasn’t the case. There’s room for more under the blanket.

At least Vixen knows that. When he gets back from tonight’s hunt, he’ll be bruised and bloody, a state they all know too well by now, and he’ll need Comet’s attention. At least once Comet’s fixed him up, the two of them can crawl back under the blanket and try to get as much sleep as they can before one of Santa’s rude awakenings.

Comet sighs and pulls one of his brothers closer, either Blitzen or Donner. He can tell by the faint uncontrollable spasms that leave them juddering in his arms.

It’ll be alright, Comet thinks to himself, and he closes his eyes. Tomorrow will be another day, and they’ll all survive that too.

***

Cold. Comet wakes to numb fingers and half frozen-shut eyes. There’s a terrifying moment where he can’t see, feels nothing but the cold sting of blizzard-like wind in his fur and stark nothingness when he reaches out to touch Blitzen, Rudolph, anyone--

His eyelashes pry apart. It’s only a little better.

Now he knows two things: Cold and dark. Comet sniffles against the cold and presses his unfeeling palms into the floor below him, not hay but smooth stone. Cobble maybe?

He gets his hooves beneath him and stands, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth. It’s then that he notices the third thing--a quiet unlike anything he’s ever heard before. There’s no way this is Santa’s workshop. There the noise is endless, clambering elves and hooves against ice and, in even the quiet peaceful moments of the night, the huff of his sleeping brothers’ breaths throughout the stable.

Instead he hears disturbing silence. Comet takes a blind step forward. His hooves plod almost deafeningly against the stone beneath his feet. “H-hello?” The only response he receives is his own echo. He sniffles again and reaches out in front of him, desperate for anything familiar to orient him in whatever this place is.

Comet takes another step forward, then another.

He hits something cold and solid. Comet feels along the surface with his hands, touches over smooth metal and--they’re thin. Thin metal with spaces between, a big row of these tall columns. His heart drops into his stomach and the touching grows more frantic. Bars. These are bars, cold, solid steel. “He-hello?” he calls again, and he clumsily feels around, searching for the end of these bars, hoping perhaps, naively, that he’s on the outside rather than inside.

Instead of more bars, his shoulder meets a rough wall and his hoof lands in some puddle he’d rather not think too hard about. Wherever he is, he’s inside a cell, completely blind and colder than he’s ever felt in his life.

“Hello!” Comet calls, the loudest he’s dared so far. He buries his hands in his armpits and paces the length of the barred cell. “Rudolph?” he whimpers at the bars. No answer besides the echo and the silence that follows it. “Blitzen, Donner? Dancer?” He grows louder with the building desperation, turning in the cell and beginning his pacing in the other direction. “Prancer? Vixen? Cupid?” Comet squeezes his eyes shut and sees no difference. None of his brothers are answering. They must not be here. “S-Santa?” he cries at last.

No answer.

Comet forces himself to stop in place despite the frigid cold and takes a breath. There’s no use getting himself worked up now. He needs to gather his thoughts, keep it together like he tells the others to. This is a situation that can’t be helped. What can be is how smoothly whatever it is goes along. Another breath, deep and steadying, and Comet steps back towards the wall, something to keep him grounded. Slowly, his breathing returns to normal.

“Santa told me his sweet Comet would be a tough spirit to break.”

Comet whips around, looking away from the radiating cold of the metal bars and deeper into his cell.

Black, nothing but black. His eyes frantically tear between the nothingness, trying to find the source of that sound. Like chains dragging across a hard surface, grating and foreboding and yet with a musical quality to it too. He can’t even tell if he imagined it. Comet’s never heard a voice so odd before.

Staring into the blackness, he finds calm in convincing himself he did imagine it. All Santa’s talk of Krampus must have him on edge. In fact, that must be the case. This has to be his latest attempt at entertaining himself. Perhaps even the toys have gotten boring to him.

“It’s easy enough to think that, isn’t it, sweet reindeer?”

Comet hears it then, the strike of a match, and with the burst of light it brings, his ears go flat against his head and his eyes impossibly wide.

Not a man or a reindeer or anything Comet’s ever seen, but one thought strikes him like the deafening ring of a church bell on Christmas Eve: Krampus.

Comet’s frozen in place, unable to comprehend a single thing at once, because in a single second, the entire place comes alive.

Light. It’s nowhere near blinding, hardly even comparable to moonlight through a wall of curtains, but it’s enough. The silhouette it reveals is twice as horrifying as Comet could’ve conjured by imagination himself. Broad shoulders and an odd, powerful gait—and horns, tall and sharp. Maybe even weirder, the match doesn’t seem to be burning out at all.

And sound. Cries and moans. Comet forces his eyes away from the figure. He turns around then and squints to look past the barred cell he’s in, his heart pounding too quickly in his chest as he fights for verification. He gets it in the shape of a hunched form—no, two—whimpering mindlessly in the cell across from him.

Children. It’s a prison full of children.

Comet feels the air burst from his lungs. He’d heard stories, but— He whirls around again to face the horrifying thing, the monster that could do this.

In the darkness, illuminated by the faint firelight from the match, his eyes meet a wretched smile.

He’s truly never felt so afraid.

“That’s good, Comet,” Krampus rumbles. “Take it all in. There’s so much I want to show you…”

Comet, trembling now from both the cold and the fear, can’t do anything more than stare.

Krampus steps towards him.

Comet wonders briefly if he can stand to take his own advice. Don’t beg or show fear, he likes that, and don’t run or cry, he’ll only hurt you worse. Don’t give him any further excuse to hurt you. Those rules worked with Santa, but he was predictable and needed them and he was human, at least in part. But Krampus? A part of him is yelling at him to run as far away as possible, even if he knows he’ll just be dragged back kicking and screaming.

“You poor, darling thing.” Comet glances up at Krampus, still endlessly torn by the conflicting sounds of his voice. “Are you afraid?”

Comet barely avoids Krampus’s eyes, bright and shimmering like gold, enough to look like he’s paying attention but not enough to offend. Is he supposed to answer that?

“Well, it was a question,” comes the gruff reply.

Comet pales slightly. That’s likely answer enough.

Krampus hums some wordless acknowledgement and stalks his way closer. Comet feels the way those golden eyes rake over his body, from his trembling legs to the scattered spots patterned across his dull, half-lifeless fur.

Finally, after what feels like hours, he speaks again.

“You miss it, don’t you?” Krampus slinks around Comet, so close behind him at one point his stinking breath raises the fur on Comet’s neck. “I don’t even have to elaborate, do I? You already know who and what I’m talking about.”

Comet does know. Santa’s Christmas spirit.

Comet opens his mouth to say it, to cooperate like half of him thinks he should, but before the words are even out of his mouth, Krampus hums, “That’s right. I can feel it, feel your own in fact.” Comet barely fights off the urge to run when faced with another terrifying smile. “Poor Comet,” Krampus continues, and his voice actually hangs with an odd sort of pity. “Your own feels so weak. So damaged. It grows dimmer by the minute.”

Comet doesn’t move or speak or think. He doesn’t know what to think, not with Krampus seemingly reading his mind at will.

“You could get it back, you know.” The odd musical quality to his voice returns full force, almost silvery now. “There’s a reason he’s there and I’m here.”

Is Comet supposed to reply to that? He doesn’t know, so he stays quiet and waits for Krampus to read his thoughts: What do you mean?

Krampus grins. “Santa and I are quite alike, contrary to what he might have told you.” He gestures to Comet to relax, which is the last thing he wants to do, but directly following orders tends to lend a hand to less sticky future situations, he’s found, so Comet takes a deep breath and tries to do so.

Krampus huffs a breathy, content sound. “Good. From what I’ve heard, you’re smarter than your brothers.”

More experienced, Comet thinks curtly, and then his eyes widen and he wills his mind to go blank.

But Krampus just breathes another almost laugh. “You're protective of them. That’s good. From what I hear, your ‘experience’ is one of the only things keeping them alive.”

Speaking, or rather thinking, doesn’t seem to have its consequences, at least not yet, so Comet dares to venture, …what do you mean there’s a reason you’re here? He thinks he can guess but...

“I suppose you wouldn’t know,” Krampus says in that deep, melodic rumble. “Santa’s only ever spoken poorly of me and my tactics. If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black…”

Comet…supposes that’s true. He’s only ever heard from Santa the sadism Krampus was capable of, all while enduring what he’d already subjecting them to years before.

“That’s right, little reindeer.” Krampus steps closer to Comet, and Comet realizes his breath reeks. “We’re cut from the same cloth, he and I. The Christmas Spirit, our magic, the rewards of being on the, as Santa calls it, ‘Nice List.’ The only thing we disagree on is what to do with the naughty children.”

The… children.

Comet takes a step back, away from the nauseating stench of Krampus’s breath, and he takes his first real sniff of the air in the rest of this place. Damp, like mold and rot, but also metallic. Like chains, like the penny collection Rudolph keeps for some inexplicable reason, like blood. The scent is so familiar now Comet thinks he wouldn’t have noticed it if he wasn’t really looking for it just now.

Paired with the sounds he heard earlier… Comet looks back at Krampus and for the first time he speaks directly to him.

“You… torture children?” Not quite sure if it’s true, hoping to all that’s good and Christmasy that it isn’t.

Krampus smiles that toothy smile behind the still-lit match and his heart sinks. “Only the naughty ones, Comet, so I suggest you behave.”

The thought makes Comet sick. Santa was right, he was right. All the stories, the tales of sadistic endeavors and brutal happenings here, they hadn’t happened to reindeer hybrids like them but human children. And the stories that he did tell, they were awful...

“You don’t even know what I really do to them yet.” That smile on Krampus’s face grows wider, showing more teeth, golden eyes sparkling. “And you haven’t even heard my proposition.”

Fear, sharp and visceral, cuts through Comet’s stomach like a knife. Whatever it is this monster has to offer, he wants no part of it.

But he doesn’t have a choice, does he? There’s no place to run, no way out even if he could manage to overtake Krampus. Comet feels acutely aware of the way Krampus’s eyes search his face while he thinks, no doubt reading his thoughts.

He sighs, and without a single other option, Comet nods. “Your proposition?”

Krampus seems to calm despite approaching him further. “Good choice.” The match in Krampus’s hand, his claws really, momentarily flickers but keeps burning bright with the intensity of a fresh one. The haunting shadows it casts on his face does nothing to soothe Comet’s nerves. He still hasn’t gotten a real look at him.

“We were talking about Christmas Spirit earlier, weren’t we, Comet? About how yours is weak and Santa’s is near nonexistent?”

It’s not a real question. They both know Comet remembers. He nods anyway.

“Well, mine, as you might have noticed, is still going strong. The good children are rewarded accordingly, and as monstrous as you might think I am—“ Comet flinches at the word choice, pulled directly from his thoughts “—I enjoy what I do. And you, sweet little reindeer, could be a part of that.”

Comet looks at Krampus, straight-faced to seem neither interested nor completely disinterested. “What do you mean?”

“Here, you wouldn’t hurt. I could use the help—and the company. I can’t punish them all myself.”

Comet only has to think of two things to make up his mind. One— “You torture children.” That’s one thing Santa would never do, no matter how pissed he got. That why they were even doing this in the first place, wasn’t it? For them? For the sake of Christmas cheer? Even the thought of turning on them like that makes him feel traitorous.

Krampus’s smile pulls into a sort of grimace. “I encourage you to reconsider, little reindeer.” It’s a threat if Comet’s ever heard one.

But the fact still stands. Besides, there’s still reason two: Comet could never leave his brothers behind.

He thinks this fact hard and looks into Krampus’s eyes. “I can’t.” He tries to keep his voice steady but firm. “Now either do what you’re going to do to me or let me out of here.”

Krampus’s toothy grin contorts into a vicious sneer. At this moment, Comet realizes that was the wrong thing to say.

He decides if he’s going to try to run, now is the time, but one of Krampus’s hands, clawed and terrifying, grabs onto one of his antlers and yanks his head back so hard it’s a choice between following the pain and his neck snapping like a twig. He follows the pain.

“You think he’s so much better than me?!” Krampus roars into his face. Chains, chains, chains. Chains in his voice, the scent of chains in the air, a burst of too bright light and—there’s chains in the room hanging from the ceiling. “You have no idea.”

The match is gone from Krampus’s fingers, and that second hand digs into the fur on the back of his neck and wrenches him forward. Towards the chains, towards big hooks Comet realizes as they get closer, towards whatever Krampus has planned–

Comet abandons whatever strategies he thought worked with Santa. He fights, and in this brightened light, Comet gets his first full view of Krampus himself. He wishes he didn’t.

He hardly knows what he’s looking at now, fur or flesh or cloth or some horrific combination of the three. He’s afraid of the answer, and even if he did have it, he wouldn’t know if it was true. The grime is caked on thick, so old and disgusting Comet can’t even make out what it is.

He grabs a hold of it anyway, ripping and tearing and clawing.

It does nothing. Krampus drags him to the chains.

Krampus hits Comet across the face. It’s harder than Comet expects, and if it wasn’t for the hand around his antler, he would’ve tumbled to the ground. Instead he takes his filthy hands and cups them under the blood spilling from his nose.

Krampus yanks him upright and grabs his chin so hard it hurts, seemingly unbothered by the blood dripping into his hand. How often has this happened for him to seem so indifferent to this? To how many kids?

“Only to the ones I like, little deer.” Krampus grins sadistically. “Still too many to count. Now stand up.”

Krampus lets go of his antler and his fur all at once, and Comet collapses. He earns a harsh kick in the stomach in the time it takes him to hit the ground. It leaves him gasping, and he gets another in the second after that.

Comet wheezes and coughs, but he manages to get his hooves underneath him and stands, if only to avoid getting kicked again.

He didn’t know it was the lesser of the evils.

Krampus towers over him now, reaching above his head for something he can’t see through the involuntary tears.

Comet hears a squeal, then the deep click click click of heavy chains descending fast. He hears the sickening squelch twice because of the cell’s echo. And he doesn’t hear his own scream at all, not over the blood rushing in his ears.

Because sweet Christmas, he’s dying.

No, he’s not. It’s his shoulder, just his shoulder. Something went right through it and the pain is bright and blinding and has his body trying to double over. When he moves, he hears the click click of chains.

Chains… the hooks on the chains. Comet dares to look, barely holding himself upright on his hooves to begin with. He just about faints seeing it with his own two eyes. He cries instead and the pain doubles.

Impaled. His shoulder’s impaled on this disgusting rusted hook. Hot blood pours from the wound and soaks his fur like Santa’s sickly sweet candy wine.

It’s bad, easily the worst thing Comet’s ever felt. With every jostling breath, the hook only seems to claw its way deeper, and the thought of ever having to remove it is beyond nauseating.

But it feels like it’s over. This wound in itself could easily kill him if they aren’t careful, but this will be the worst of it, Comet decides.

Only Krampus starts moving again, to Comet’s other side. The dread drops in his stomach like lead.

“K-Krampus–” Comet starts, but when he tries to turn his head, something in his shoulder pulls and he cries out.

“You wanted worse, little Comet,” Krampus practically purrs. “And he’d usually stop here, yes? Don’t bother answering, I already know he would.” The clink clink clinking of another line of chains. “But sweet thing, we’re just getting started.”

And then he feels the new worst pain he’s ever felt in his life.

So bad in fact it doesn’t feel real, but it’s real enough that his scream of agony gets trapped in his throat and chokes him.

Comet’s side, his–his fucking side!

There’s a hook in Comet’s side and it’s tearing his insides apart.

The blood loss makes his knees go weak and his head pounds and his eyes swim as the darkness races to fill his vision. He’s passing out, or maybe he’s dying, or both, probably both in that order.

Krampus hums introspectively and takes a step back to take in the sight before him: Comet, impaled on two hooks, pale, sobbing, in a cold sweat, bleeding heavily, and clearly on the verge of blacking out.

An almost perfect picture.

Except if Krampus keeps this up, Comet’s not going to last an hour.

Comet’s pretty sure he’s never felt this weak in his life, and watching Krampus’s yellow eyes scan over him, he feels even weaker. Powerless even. When Krampus approaches again, he doesn’t even bother trying to stop his tears. The old rules don’t apply here, and even if they did, it’d be an impossibility.

So when Krampus puts a terrifying hand over the wound in his side, he cries, expecting them to dig into his flesh and twist. What he doesn’t expect is the burn. It’s a familiar sensation, warm then hot then too hot. Santa hasn’t yet realized Comet can mostly breathe through it, but Krampus must know. He’s thinking it now. Maybe he should not think it, for the sake of a little familiar easy pain. Well, he’s already thought it, so Krampus must know–

“Little reindeer, your mind is just too loud when you’re dying.” Krampus looks at him with those golden eyes. “And you’re not dying. Anymore at least. I’m not letting you go that easily.”

The white heat of the burning heightens considerably. Comet grits his teeth, breathing as deep as he can without moving. Another few seconds that feel like minutes and the impossible heat coming from Krampus’s hands dies off. With it, so has the other unbearable pain. What...?

“Go ahead and take a look,” Krampus says, stepping back. “You should know the state you’re currently in. We’ll always return to this. Again and again and again until I get bored of you.”

Comet dares to peek at his injured shoulder.

Underneath the skin and fur, Comet can see a bulge, big and unnatural. He looks down then, careful not to pull too forcefully on the strained muscles of his neck. Another big swollen lump, more noticeable from this angle than the one on his shoulder. Where there was once exposed flesh, there’s simply fur and skin. His wounds have seemingly healed over.

But the hooks are still inside of him.

Comet’s alive and healed mostly, and somehow that thought it more terrifying than when he was sure he was dying.

“I should warn you,” Krampus continues. He closes the gap between them again. “I’m very creative. I hardly ever get bored.”

Krampus tilts Comet’s head up with a finger under his chin. When Comet meets his eyes tearily, he grins.

“Let’s begin, shall we?”

***

Comet wakes up screaming.

“Sweet Christmas!” someone shouts, and the next thing Comet knows, the thick fleece blanket he was fighting with is torn off his body and he’s squinting up at his brothers.

The light in the stable, it’s blinding compared to his cell with Krampus.

Krampus. Comet scrambles to his feet, turning every which way, trying to catch a glimpse of him. Nowhere, he sees him nowhere. Instead he sees six pairs of eyes staring at him in varying degrees of fear and annoyance.

Comet falls onto his knees.

“He… he…” What didn’t Krampus do? Thanks to him, Comet knows what his insides look like, how they feel in his hands. And he knows blindness and broken bones and amputation and crushing hopelessness and how it feels to almost die, again and again and again, only to be brought back from the edge of what would at that point be mercy–

“Who?” Dancer pipes up worriedly from his damp corner with Prancer.

He forgets momentarily that his thoughts can’t be read here, that they’re his own. Comet shivers and stammers, “K-Krampus…”

“Hey…” Blitzen says, creeping out from behind Donner. “That’s not funny, Comet.”

“Yeah,” Donner chirps. “We know Krampus isn’t real. You don’t have to rub it in our faces that we’re still scared…”

Comet shakes his head. No no no, they don’t understand–

“Guys,” Rudolph butts in, and he actually sounds serious. “Comet would never make fun of us.” The hopeful look Comet gives him is almost pathetic, as is the heart-wrenching whimper he gives when Rudolph bursts into a smile and says, “He’s only kidding! Right Comet? It’s a joke so we’re less scared!”

Comet feels stinging tears welling in his eyes.

Vixen pipes up then, wincing terribly at the hand he’s pressing into his side to staunch his own bleeding. “Come on, guys, there’s only a few hours until sunrise. Back to bed.”

Comet sighs, his breath tremulous but relieved as everyone starts settling in for bed again.

Donner, Blitzen, and Rudolph curl up under the blanket, Dancer and Prancer cuddle together in their corner of the stable, and Vixen luckily seems to be taking care of his own wounds today. Comet glances between them all and fearfully slips under the covers again. He wraps himself tightly in the blankets and closes his eyes.

But Comet doesn’t sleep.

The next morning, Comet is out of it and jumpy, but pulling Santa’s toys in his wagon, he takes every precaution not to let it tip.

The next night, Comet goes sleepless again. Too scared, too terrified to go to sleep and wake up in Krampus’s cells again.

Rudolph, Blitzen, and Donner still don’t believe Comet wasn’t dreaming that night, and though Dancer and Prancer don’t say it, Comet’s sure they don’t either. They don’t believe he’s suffered more in a night than they will in their entire lifetimes.

But every time Comet meets Santa’s eyes in the workshop, he can see it. Santa knows. Somehow that doesn’t reassure him in the least.

On the third night without sleep, Vixen comes back from a particularly vicious hunt and pulls Comet aside, barely conscious as it is, and tells him enough is enough. “You need to sleep.”

“I can’t…” Comet says. He sways a little on his feet, more exhausted than he thought possible.

“If you start having another nightmare, I’ll wake you,” Vixen offers. He gently but firmly grabs Comet by the shoulders and leads him to the center of the stable.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion or maybe it’s the sheer amount of trust Comet seems to be putting in Vixen, but he follows relatively easily and lets Vixen tuck him in–beside Rudolph this time. A moment later, Vixen slides under the blanket beside Comet. He pets Comet’s fur a little. It’s gotten even more dull over the past few days.

“I’ll wake you,” Vixen promises again.

Comet nods his head reluctantly, terrified of what’ll happen when he closes his eyes. He does it anyway.

Vixen pets his fur until he can’t feel it anymore. Comet guesses that’s when he falls asleep.

And when Comet wakes up several hours later, he’s still in the stable and in Vixen’s arms…

TAGLIST: @kim-poce, @as-a-matter-of-whump (Let us know if you want to be added/removed!)

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ppiripampam · 10 months ago

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My Man is Cupid ep 16 part 1

#asian whump #stabbed #whumpee #collapse #kdrama #whumpy #jang dong yoon #asian whumper #kdrama whump #my man is cupid

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blackberry-bloody · 3 years ago

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Oc list (updated as I go)

Just realized that I never made an actual list of my ocs and where they fit within my whump stories! So this is my attempt!

(some ocs won't have tags yet, but the ones that do are under their names followed by either "oc" or "vibes" )

Some ocs fit in multiple categories so I'm just putting them where I feel they fit best.

Whumpees:

Dayzel (he/him)- He technically fits in all three, but he's mostly a whumpee at this point. Ice/(born) shadow demon. He's a whumperee, and no mater which au he's incredibly snarky and defiant. His story involves lots of domestic/familial abuse, living weapon whump, lab whump, and pet whump. One of my favorites to both draw and write.

Jane (she/her)- Touch/shadow demon. An absolute sweetheart that needs to catch a break... Her story involves lots of pet whump.

Dare (they/them)- Occurring shadow demon. Co-king with Richard. Is Jane and Ian's estranged parent. Their story involves a lot of domestic/familial abuse, royal whump, and mind control whump

Mindy (any pronouns)- Angel of death, but rogue/fallen. She's also Dare's caretaker, but she also gets badly whumped by Richard and Berkley (at separate times). Her story involves pet whump/dehuminization, and living weapon whump.

Ian (he/him)- Mind/shadow demon. Richard and Dare's son. He also counts as a whumperee. He is incredibly emotionally unstable, but he's trying his best... (he's also adopted Talon as a son/younger brother). His story contains familial abuse, living weapon whump, lab whump

Ash (he/him)- Technically a touch demon, but due to experiments he's something entirely unknown. Also somewhat a caretaker to Ian. But it's complicated... His story is full of lab whump and pet whump.

Reigns (he/they)- Occuring shadow demon. A runaway demon that got caught and put to work in a lab. Ian's mentor and also sorta caretaker. Lots of lab whump and dehumanization.

Nom (he/him)- A gnome Paladin in one of the DND campaigns I play in. He's supposedly a sunshine boy... But that's not quite accurate. Lots of team whump (bad teams), character death, pirate whump, living weapon whump, and unintentional whumperee.

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Rain (he/him)- A (born) shadow demon. He's somewhat snarky when he thinks he can get away with it, but isn't outwardly defiant... No matter how much he wants to be. Lots of lab whump, pet whump, and living weapon whump.

Elizabeth/Beth (she/her)- a (born) shadow demon and ice demon hybrid. Dayzel's younger sister (a year younger). She's puts forth a "perfect little princess" persona but absolutely can keep up with Dayzel's snark. She is currently no contact with Dayzel however due to a situation leading to Dayzel leaving/being disowned.

Whumpers:

Octavian (he/him)- (born) shadow/ poison demon. Mibium's former whumper. Part of the royal court. An intimate/emotionally manipulative whumper that more or less kept his guardian angel as a pet/guard dog

Nox (he/him)- Cupid angel. Dayzel's ex-husband and former whumper. Very snarky/showy and manipulative. Wanted Dayzel basically as a "trophy" and just because of his looks, rather than his skill.

Rupert (he/him)- Fire demon. Dayzel's ex-boyfriend and whumper in the pet whump au for Dayzel. Incredibly possessive and creepy towards Dayzel. He essentially wants Dayzel to "be his" and is making Dayzel's life hell if he resists.

Berkley (he/him)- Angel of Death, rogue/fallen. A mad scientist that experiments with souls and creatures. Mindy's former whumper/mentor. And Dayzel's current whumper in what's more or less canon (as of right now).

Richard (he/him)- Mind demon. King of hell... Dare's husband. Dare's, Ian's, Reigns', Ash's, Mindy's, and Jane's whumper...... Never really together, but all separate. He's not a good guy, despite what his subjects think.

Past(he/they)- Demon of life, eldest of the fate siblings. Somewhat of a reluctant whumper, or at the very least not as sadistic/participating. They just go along with a lot of what their siblings want.

Present(they/she)- Demon of life, middle of the fate siblings. The most actively sadistic and outright cruel, but has a kind/genuine facade that people believe.

Future (xey/xem)- Demon of life, youngest of the fate siblings. Not as active in the actual whumping, but is just as, if not more sadistic than xeir sibling.

Cynthia and Lucian (she/her and he/him)- Dayzel and Elizabeth's parents. Cynthia is an Occuring Shadow demon, Lucian is an ice demon. Cynthia was more active in actually whumping/training Dayzel into her perfect little weapon. But Lucian still stood by and did nothing/was incredibly negligent. Cynthia also showed extreme favoritism towards Elizabeth.

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Caretakers:

Mibium (he/him)- Guardian Angel, fallen. Former whumpee of Octavian that managed to escape/heal. Is currently Dayzel's caretaker/love interest. He's very much a gentle giant type and an absolute sweetheart. (That is also very morally grey...)

Phoenix (she/her)- Succubus demon. Jane's Wife and caretaker. Very hot-headed but caring. She's also a protective mamma bear to her and Jane's kid.

Ryan (he/him)- Born shadow demon. Caretaker for Ian and love interest. Also takes Talon under his wing as an adoptive son. He's very laid-back, but also very sassy when he wants to be. Very socially awkward.

Alithea (she/her)- An elf (dnd version). She's Nom's caretaker and girlfriend. A pirate/sailor. She's a bit of a social outcast, but she's fine with it. Is childhood friends with Nom.

Marley (he/they, poi/pois/poiself)- Poison demon. An alchemist and healer, as well as a somewhat scientist. Currently an NPC in my DND campaign where poi is a caretaker/fellow whumpee with @icyheart-and-friends 's Eliza character. In a later idea/story/outside dnd, will be Rain's caretaker as well.

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Uncategorized:

Dee (they/them)- Jane and Phoenix's kid (17). Touch/succubus demon. Typical rebellious teenager, but added on the fact they don't know pretty much anything about their moms. And are a demon being raised amongst humans, but in hiding.

Talon (he/they)- A clone of Ian, but as a child (10-ish). Mind/(born) shadow demon. Was rescued from the lab by Ian and looks up to him as the only father figure he knows. Also absolutely adores Ryan as well.

#jay jabbers #my ocs #not gonna bother tagging all of them

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starrysky-whumpfics · 4 years ago

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Whump Idea

Instead of figuring out my final speech topic for tomorrow, I’ve so far managed to do the Cupid Shuffle with my roommates and then come up with this prompt

How far would you go for fame and fortune…?

Whumpee is a famous actor/actress, known for their wealth and success. A few years ago they had nothing, and now the world was their stage.

“I can give you everything…fame…fortune…your name in shining lights. Just say that you’re mine it’s all yours. No one will even know…” Whumper had promised them, and they delivered. Whumpee got what they wanted, and all it cost was signing their life over to Whumper.

#whump #whump community #whump writing #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump prompts #writing prompt #prompt #whumpee #whumper #famous whumpee

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0idril0 · 5 years ago

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Absence

Sorry for the long absence everyone! Been dealing with a lot at home and it’s translated to writers block. Huge thanks to @whumpywhumper for writing all of “Selene’s” part with very little help.

Anyway, this is part 17, check out my page for the link to the rest of the series!

Tagging @comfy-whumpee @whumpitywhumpwhump @genesissane @doityourselfbombs @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @imagination1reality0 @voidwhump @captivity-whump

Evan pulled the makeshift bandage from Nico’s throat, tsking when he saw the IV was gone. Fuck. He’d barely gotten the first one in. Nico’s skin cracked as he pulled the remnants of tape away completely, his muscles tensing when Evan gently palpated his sore encrusted neck to find his pulse. It fluttered under his fingers, weak but steady. What a mess.

Clint was growling softly, glaring at the fingers he had on Nico’s neck. He pulled his fingers away, and Nico relaxed, Clint’s growling stuttering to a stop. Huh.

“We’ll need to see what this healer can do, but I can wait till they take a look.” Evan heaved a sigh as he threw away the soaked bandage, watching Clint’s exhausted face. The wolf had been up for almost eighteen hours now. He and Brian had barely been able to peel him away from his injured mate to shower the first time, they’d never get him away now.

Stealing one more assessing glance at Nico, Evan entered the kitchen to clean the remnants of blood off of his hands. Despite Nico’s fall the boy still looked better than he had when they’d brought him into his office, soft breaths wheezing instead of gurgling, cheeks flushed instead of a deathly grey. But Evan’s hands still itched as he scrubbed them in the sink, desperately wanting to peal the bandages away and make sure his patient hadn’t done more damage to himself.

Nico was just so delicate right now.

“Is he okay?” Brian’s voice was barely a whisper coming from the hallway, and Evan stole a look at Clint and Nico before joining him.

Brian looked wrecked, cheeks splotchy, eyes red rimmed and wet. Sighing, Evan pulled the siren into a tight hug, rubbing at his spine until he felt some of the tension ease.

“I don’t know, B’. He could have hurt himself worse falling off the lounger, his hip’s in rough shape... but it’s nothing we can’t deal with when Kristy gets here.” The younger man’s shoulders shook for a second before he squeezed and stepped back, wiping at his eyes. Evan caught his shoulder, stopping him from walking away. “Brian, we absolutely cannot leave him alone right now.”

More tears wet Brian’s eyes as he looked away, scrubbing at his cheeks. “I didn’t even think about it Evan, I was trying to make sure Clint had everything he needed, and Nico hadn’t moved in hours and —“

“Hey kid, I’m not doubting your heart was in the right place, just pointing out what needs to happen now. We can’t leave him alone, not until he’s more stable.”

Brian nodded tightly, and Evan pulled him back into a hug. Brian was a good kid, Evan doubted he had a malicious bone in his body, but the siren was young and impulsive.

He’d told him when he and Clint had gone to get cleaned up not to leave Nico alone and, in his desire to help, he’d done exactly that. They needed to know they could trust him, and Evan wouldn’t have been able to rest if he hadn’t said something.

Brian stiffened in his arms, pulling away abruptly.

“What’s wro—“ A fissure of heat lanced up his spine, and Evan jerked. The wards. In tandem, he and Brian jolted towards the front door, shoulders knocking as they rushed towards it.

Brian reached it first, nearly breaking the handle as he jerked it open, leaving Evan to catch the door before it smashed against the wall.

The rattle of Kristy’s car covered Brian’s thundering footsteps on the stairs, the tank of a car spewing rocks as it came to a stop in gravel driveway. Thank god.

Evan felt some of the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders ease. Brian and Clint were doing their best, but he needed someone with experience. He hoped this healer could be that.

He didn’t know what he’d expected from the healer, Kristy had been frustratingly vague due to blind paranoia. But the young woman who stepped out of the vehicle wasn’t it.

The first thing he saw were dreadlocks, multicolored hair wraps encasing pitch black hair. Tattoos graced the column of her neck, working with her loosely fit dress to cover her alabaster skin. His gaze was quickly arrested when she turned to him, ice blue eyes freezing him in place as they roved over him.

Well hello ,Handsome. Her voice was loud in his head, echoing into his bones. A coquettish smirk lifted the corner of her mouth as she stalked up to him.

Fuck. Evan swallowed hard, his eyes burning as they glowed red. He slammed them shut, shaking his head hard before opening his eyes again. The woman was still smiling at him from the bottom step but there was more of a playful edge to it. He was in trouble.

The woman was beautiful, and now that she was closer, he could see a spiderweb of silver scars on the right side of her face. Instead of distracting, it added to the pull he felt towards her, his magic could feel the wildness of her spirit, and it wanted to get closer.

Instead, he stood his ground, swallowing thickly. This definitely wasn’t the time for that. After she looked at Nico. He could wait.

“You must be Kristy’s contact—?”

“Selene.” She said it with a smirk and a dramatic tilt of her head. “You must be Dar.”

Evan snorted at the reference to the tv show Beast Master. Well at least she’s figured out what he was, he didn’t have a real clue about her. Kristy had said healer, but that could be any number of things.

And didn’t believe for a second that Selene was her real name, it tasted off, like tofu disguised as chicken. But they couldn’t afford to push, if Kristy trusted her they should be able to. The girl was like Fort Knox with trust issues.

“Well, now I know why Kristy’s been so vague about her little pack since she moved here. She’s been hiding you from me.” The smile was back as she took another step up the stairs. “You should catch me up on what’s going on, then we can remedy that.”

Evan gulped, taking a step back as she completed her ascension to the porch. Shit.

“As fun as this is to watch, I really need to pee.” Kristy pushed past Selene, breaking the spell that Evan had fallen under. The other woman followed her, brushing past Evan as she entered the house.

She smelled like palo santo wood.

Evan shook himself, grabbing at the door to stop it from closing. “Hang on, I need to—“

A snarl rumbled through the house as they entered, rooting the group to the floor. Fuck.

Evan threw himself forward, skidding in front of Selene as Kristy fell backwards. He collided with the blur in midair, eyes glowing red as he and the snarling man smacked into the hall wall.

What air he’d had gushed out of his lungs but he forced his hands up to grapple with the growling mass. He slid his wry limbs around Clint’s waist and neck and hung on, throwing his magic at the wolf. “Fuck! Clint! She’s here to help, CALM DOWN!”

His weight didn’t seem to affect the werewolf, his magic making him pause for a second before he threw his mass forward again, dragging Evan with him.

Selene screamed as Clint jerked forward against Evan’s mass and magic, his claws sinking into the wall beside her head as she fell away.

A high note joined the cacophony, followed by another crash and bounding feet. As Clint went to pry his claws from the wall the unearthly sound cut through the air again. The wolf snarled, teeth bared as he turned towards the source.

Brian had followed them into the house, dropping the bags as he sped towards mayhem. The siren’s skin turned pearlescent, color fleeing from his iris and pupils. Unearthly vibrations spilled from the siren as he started to hum, head cocked as he focused on the werewolf.

“My heart is pierced by Cupid...”

Clint’s hands dropped to his side, face fixed on the siren.

“I distain all glittering gold...”

Brian’s teeth were bared as he sang, sharp points vibrating against his thick lips, the base of his throat moving as the humming reverberated through his chest.

“There is nothin’ can console me...”

Clint whined, claw tipped hands grabbing his hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. Evan could feel the muscles in Clint’s back relaxing, harsh pants airing through his nose. He pushed more magic into the werewolf, and yelped when the man’s knees collapsed, hitting the floor with him.

“Explain, NOW!” Selene’s voice was thunderous, the slender woman scrambling to her feet.

“Fuck...” Evan groaned, releasing his strangle hold slowly, practically sitting on Clint’s back. He shook his head at the woman’s glare, gulping air back into his lungs. Brian held his hands up as his skin slowly started to return to normal, teeth and eyes still pearlescent as the unearthly music started to fade.

“That would be Clint, our resident idiot, who seems to have been running on instinct instead of intelligence for the past day and growling at anything that moves!” Kristy red face peered around the corner, anger making her voice shake.

“Well Clint, I just drove 10 hours based on the word of a friend, with absolutely no information, so maybe pull your brain out of your ass and put it back in your head.” Selene’s snarl rivaled Clint’s, and Evan felt his pulse quicken again watching her glare at the wolf.

God, he was in trouble.

“I’m sorry...”Clint was panting, holding his head in his hands. “There was just someone new in the house and I-I just—“

Evan felt the shudder of a sob rock the wolf’s thick frame before he heard him sniffle.

“I couldn’t— c-can’t—“ Clint twisted, pleading green eyes turned to Evan. There were flecks of dried blood blending in with his freckles, dark bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep.

Evan grimaced, hugging Clint’s head to his stomach and easing some of the threads of magic away. “It’s okay bud, we’re going to get it figured out...”

Clint took a trembling breath, barely holding his weight as he leaned into him. “I’m sorry...”

Selene’s eyes softened, but she didn’t move towards the kneeling wolf, giving him plenty of space. “I think it’s definitely time someone tells me what I’m doing here.”

Evan nodded taking a deep breath as he scrubbed a hand through Clint’s hair, letting the wolf take a moment to gather himself.

“An uh...ex pack member... took a friend... who had happened to be Clint’s unbonded mate.... and...” Evan couldn’t meet Selene’s intense gaze, swallowing roughly as he stared at the archway to the living area. After a moment he gestured at the entry way. ��It’s easier to show you.”

<***>

Sorina watched the werewolf warily for a moment, ready for the explosive anger to return. The werewolf’s aura had crumpled though, hiding behind the beast master’s. Like an injured wolf with a pack leader.

Keeping a close eye, Sorina turned her shrewd gaze to what she supposed was a living room. A large sectional couch and chair were sitting in her way, and she couldn’t see the person she was suppose to be treating. Keeping a wary eye on the werewolf, Clint, she offered a hand to Evan to pull him up. “Why don’t you show me the way?”

The beast master ran his hand through Clint’s hair again before accepting her hand and pulling himself up. He looked exhausted (everyone looked exhausted), but his hand was strong in hers, his grip sure and steady as he stood. She stifled a wicked smile at the way he looked at her under his lashes as he dusted off his pants, unconsciously licking his lips. His aura was blushing a pretty pink, but she was a professional. They’d have plenty of time later, hopefully.

The pack house wasn’t large, but it wasn’t small either. Big enough to hold several people overnight, and Sorina counted multiple bedrooms when they crossed a hallway. Kristy followed her, stepping into the house after she pointed her finger meanfully at Brian and Clint, murmuring, “Behave you two.” She did smile to herself at Kristy’s admonishment, noting the way she still held herself so tightly even after all of these years, scared to get close but not being able to help it.

On the long, long, drive here, Kristy hadn’t been able to hide her affection for her new found family. Not that she had a chance against Sorina’s ability to see straight through her bullshit, not after being her foster sister for so long, but it was cute none-the-less. She was so happy for her.

Sorina’s cheerful little bubble was quickly popped as soon as her eye caught on her patient, a black horror rolling through her as she stopped, wide eyed. “Oh goddess,” she whispered.

It was a young man, at least she assumed, his emaciation hiding everything but a strong jaw and broad shoulders. His slender frame was covered by a light black sheet, soiled bandages criss-crossing his exposed skin. Blood stained the fabric of the lounger they’d laid him on, and there were more small pools smeared on the floor.

His aura was a dusky, feverish red, a tiny thing that shimmered just on the outer boundary of his skin, barely there, translucent and weak.

Kristy brushed past her, hissing at Evan, “What the fuck happened, Evan? There’s blood all over the floor!”

Her eyes snapped over to the beast master as he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like it pained him. “I didn’t get a chance to clean it up before you got here, it just happened. Nico’s fever is up, and Brian unintentionally left him alone while we were trying to force Clint into a shower.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Evan grimaced. “He tore his IV line out and tried to hide.”

She startled at the name, Nico, feeling her heart clench up for a second as her knees weakened. “His name is Nico?”

Her murmured question was lost as Clint walked unsteadily into the room, Brian trailing in his wake with his hands raised like he was going to catch him if he fell. A low rumbling growl filling the crowded space as he stalked to his unconscious mate’s side. She wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion as she saw Clint’s aura reach toward the other and start filling it, golden tendrils wrapping around the red. She caught Evan’s shirt with pinched fingers, “I thought you said they were unbonded?”

Evan sighed and grabbed the back of the recliner, fingers turning white. “They were, we forced the bond.”

“You what?” she gasped, hand flying to her mouth in shock. She let go of Evan’s shirt like she’d grabbed a pit viper and took a step away.

He had the decency to hang his head, aura flooding with a despondent blue as he clenched his teeth around his answer. “It was the only way. . . believe it or not, he looks good compared to what he was a few hours ago. He wouldn’t have survived without it, for multiple reasons. We did what we had to do.”

His deep voice was gravely but firm, lips pressed in a tight line as he looked her in the eye. Former fluttering nerves gone. Resolute.

She glared at him, swallowing back her instinctive first words. It just wasn’t done. You did not force a bond like that. It was at the level that made up Nico and Clint’s entire being, unbreakable, and life-long. If he survived this, there might be hell to pay for both of them.

The wolf settled on the lounger beside the injured man, and she felt a flutter of anger at the possessive way he arched over over him, hands pressing into the cushion on either side of sharp hips. Forced, you forced him, you don’t get to be possessive.

The man- Nico- she’d never be able to look at him without thinking of her brother now- shifted as Clint’s weight rocked the cushion, and he gasped weakly, aura rippling with waves of black pain. The wolf’s thick fingers brushed against an ulcerated cheek before falling away, pushing at the cushion enough to move him.

She took a closer look as Nico shifted towards consciousness, Clint’s gold aura feeding and strengthening the weak shell. His eye lids fluttered, a pain-filled furrow creasing his brow.

Clint immediately grabbed a washcloth from a stack hidden beside the lounger, dunking it in a bowl of clear water before wringing it out and gently placing it on his eyes. “Shhh, it’s okay Darlin’...”

The wolf was exceedingly gentle as he soothed his distressed mate, brushing his hand gently over his flushed forehead, catching his hands and pressing him back to the lounger with quiet, exhausted affection. “Hush, Baby,” he murmured, “I’m here, it’s okay.”

Sorina frowned, but nodded, noting as she did so that the sheet was slipping down Nico’s torso, revealing more and more bandages. “Okay, I guess that will take a back seat for now. But I want the full story once this is done.” She let the threat hang in the air like a barely contained thunderstorm, moving around the sectional to her patient. “Kristy, can you go get my bag? I think your siren dropped it.”

The jab was halfhearted, said with the ghost of a smile as she stepped up to Nico. Looking at the werewolf, holding out her empty palms, she stopped a few feet away. “Hey snarly? Can I come closer?”

Clint’s eyes flashed a shining yellow when he looked at her, but apparently he was in a better frame of mind now because he nodded, going to Nico’s other side. “Yeah, yeah, you’re just here to help, right?”

She felt a little tug at her heartstrings, and let her eyes soften. Extending her aura, she brushed against his with a feather light touch. A shiver worked through the tense wolf, and he rubbed one of his eyes with the base of a thick fist, obvious worry lines still marring his face. “What do you need, Clint?” she asked, her knowledge of bonds running through her mind. “If you’re not settled, then Nico’s going to be even more scared than he already is, what do you need?”

The werewolf looked at her with a hitch in his breath, fatigue dragging his big shoulders downward. “I just don’t want it to hurt, he’s hurting so much already.”

As if to force the point Nico whimpered, neck arching against the lounger, aura practically yanking at every thread that connected him to the wolf. Clint’s eyes flared yellow, a low rumble shaking the chair. Instead of scaring Nico, she watched his aura settle, a sea blue swallowing some of the red. It was amazing to watch.

Gently, she reached over Nico and put her hand on Clint’s shoulder, kneading the tight muscle there. “I promise, it won’t hurt, no more than touching him hurts. You can try it, if you want? Before I help Nico?”

His brows scrunched together, and he nodded, chin firming as he struggled not to let his lips wobble. “Yeah, yeah, please.”

She watched as his hand transformed, and he, without flinching, drug four deep wounds down the top of his forearm, holding it out to where she could touch him. “Oh! Shit, Clint,” she said, accompanying his friend’s own startled exclamations as she grabbed onto her gram and gripped his arm. Concentrating, she pushed her magic into him, weaving and knitting the skin and muscles back together.

The big wolf shivered as the slight chill that accompanied her magic ran down his spine, but her magic never hurt anyone unless she wanted it to, and she could see his lingering fear and doubts fade. They didn’t disappear, and Sorina was fairly certain that they would never fully go away when it came to his mate, but anything was better than the fear and suspicion that had been leaching from him.

“There, okay? Satisfied?”

Nodding, he gave her a watery smile, “Thank you.”

She couldn’t help but smile back. Regardless of their first meeting, she had the feeling that she and Clint would get along just fine. Her smile dropped as she looked down at Nico, taking in the damage that needed to be healed. A fountain of worry rushed through her chest as she gathered some magic in her palms, perching next to him on the dip of the lounger. “Hey, sweetheart,” she whispered, looking at how his chest rose and fell gracelessly. Sorina took a deep, steadying breath, opening her palms and letting the air go slowly as she started to brush the magic over his head.

Immediately, she was on the defensive as frantic panic blossomed under her palms, the heat from his fever enough that she didn’t even have to touch him to tell that it was dangerously high. Nico whimpered, and Sorina saw how his aura reach toward Clint, pulling at him. The werewolf growled, teeth showing automatically, and Sorina hushed them both. “Shhh, nothing to be scared of, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

Like she’d done earlier with Evan, she lowered her defenses and let her consciousness connect with Nico’s. She heard his fear as it ran through his mind in a fevered torrent of words, but she didn’t try and listen, didn’t want to invade his already limited privacy. Instead, she let her voice be heard the only place he’d probably really understand it. “Hush, Cola,” she soothed, feeling a prick at the back of her eyes and a rush of warm affection when she said her little brother’s nickname, “hush, little bear, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Nico calmed slightly, still anxious, still fearful, his body shifting with painful black swirls that made her wince, but the torrent slowed to a stream, and he didn’t put up any struggle as her hands moved from his head. She focused on finding the most serious of Nico’s injuries, brows furrowed in concentration as she moved her hands down over his body. Evan, Kristy, and Brian shifted nervously behind her, their weight making the boards under the carpet creak and groan.

A wave of dismay curled in her gut, threatening to cause an overwhelming burst of nausea as she catalogued what injuries were contained in the shell of this poor man. He was so broken. Sorina shuddered, as she got to his ribs and felt the cracks, the crinkled phlegm in his lungs, the tormented and bruised muscles that struggled to work. She had to bite her lip to keep from keening as she got to his hips. “No wonder he’s in so much pain,” she thought. Looking over at Evan, feeling drawn to give him all the information she could, she said, “He got hit by a car.”

Evan’s face creased with worry, and he took a step forward, hands twitching before he crossed his arms over his chest. She caught his eye moving over to the bags stuffed with medical equipment and nodded to herself. That makes sense. “Any internal bleeding that won’t take care of itself?”

“No,” she looked back to Nico, troubled, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “There’s this. . . aftertaste of magic here. Did someone already try to heal him?”

She jumped when Clint snarled, eyes widening as his face cramped on his change, teeth morphing into long, dagger-like points. Evan shuttered forward, hands out, eyes flashing red, “Clint!”

Her hands still hovering over Nico, magic cupped in her palms and consciousness open to the energies in the air, she shivered as she felt Evan’s magic work on the unruly wolf. She clamped down on that feeling harshly, now wasn’t the time.

Clint swallowed heavily when Evan’s magic hit him, reverting back to his human form even as his eyes remained an eerie yellow. “Sorry, sorry, I can’t. . . I can’t even think about him without wanting to tear his heart out.”

Eyes still wide, she looked at Evan for explanation. He grimaced, taking a step backward. “It’s a long story, Selene, but yes. It was the guy that hurt him. Is it going to affect anything?”

She grayed out as she imagined someone capable of healing another person doing this to the same person. Shaking her head, Sorina recovered quickly, examining the remnants of magic. She grunted a negative, pressing her lips together. “I can work through it.” The rest of her examination went smoothly, and she motioned to Kristy to bring over her bag. “Okay, I think I can do something about his hip and some of these open wounds, but after that he’s going to have to rest. He’s too weak to handle any more than that.”

Clint nodded beside her, taking Nico’s hand as she rummaged through her bag. “I—“he swallowed, cutting himself off as he tsked behind his teeth, “we’ve got you, Darlin’ “ He closed his eyes and curled over Nico, pressing his face into the couch cushion next to his mate’s neck, taking deep breaths. Quiet murmurs were muffled into the couch, but she felt Nico relax more and more, turning his own face toward the werewolf.

Sorina took out a small, ceramic bowl, drawing the side table laden with towels closer so that she could set out her materials. Palo santo wood came next, followed by a shungite crystal wand and matches.

None of the others in the room moved. It was like they were holding themselves close with the anticipation, holding their breath as they watched. Brian sat in the recliner just behind Evan, his hands in his hair as he watched her. Kristy was leaning against the wall, the sleeve of her sweater pulled over one of her hands as she gnawed on the nail of the other. Her body was angled away from Nico, but Sorina could feel the amount of attention that Kristy locked on to her hands as she lit the matches and started the wood to burning.

Evan hovered next to her shoulder, practically vibrating, his hands clamped firmly on his biceps. She shot him a look, raising her eyebrow, “you’re harshing my vibe here, Dar.”

The side of his lip quirked, but it was a forced gesture. “Sorry, I’ll give you some space.”

She sighed, turning back to him as she closed her eyes and put him out of her mind. Fingering her grahm, she nestled it between her breasts, against her skin and over her heart. Breathing deeply, she concentrated on Nico, taking the bowl and palo santo wood in hand as she found her center, opening her heart. Opening her eyes, she pulled her power from her center, feeling the warmth start burgeoning in her chest. Sorina tasted the ash in the air, subtle notes of lemon, mint, and pine lighting her up as magic started singing through her blood.

Focusing on Nico, she tapped the wood on the bowl in triplicate, letting the wood continue to burn as she trapped it between her thumb and the bowl. Smoke drifted over them all as she dipped her finger into the cooling ash, feeling the lingering warmth spread through her hand. Sorina felt her eyes lose focus as she let her fingers start to trail over Nico’s forehead, drawing symbols lightly, her hand barely touching his skin.

Absently, she noted that Clint started to growl, Nico shifting as magic started to touch his skin, but she was too far gone to stop. Her fingers dipped back into the the ash over and over as she traced Nico’s skin. The bandages, stained with blood and other bodily fluids, were stained again with the gray as she steadily worked. Sorina didn’t notice Evan as he leaned over her, holding his hands out to Clint again as his eyes burned red.

Taking another deep breath of the palo santo smoke, she placed the bowl to the side as she grabbed the shungite wand in one hand, cupping magic in the other. Pushing her magic through the crystal, Sorina hummed a deep, unearthly note as she placed her hand over Nico’s hip. The poor, broken body under her hands arched as she thrust the magic into him, but he didn’t scream. There were no black swirls of pain as she worked, just a cold crack under her hand as the bone shifted back into place, tentatively knitting back together. Feeling her power wane as Nico’s aura started failing, she spread her palm over his chest, reaching through him to find the open wounds on his back.

She sighed shakily as Nico settled back to the lounger, trailing magic as she swayed. Evan caught her as she fell backward, eyes rolling back in her head, the shungite wand falling to the floor. His arms were warm, and he smelled of soap.

His soft murmur, “I’ve gotcha,” was the last thing she heard.

#nico series #nico #whump #poor nico #my ocs #clint #magical healing

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whumpersworld · 5 years ago

Text

Misery and Intrigue

pt. 1 of my box-boy series I have planned, this follows Daniel and his experience not only with Kneeel, but with pet ownership in general.

started by @sweetwhumpandhellacomf and I'd love to get on on the box-boy masterlist @shameless-whumper

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It had taken a lot of strength to get past his intial nerves, you know. It was an ordeal for him to, an effort; opening the again site that is. It was hard almost for Daniel P. Boyce, the nearly twenty-five year old. He had heard whispers, praising the company on the street, and others joyously exclaiming how much they adore their 'pets', but they had money you see. They had an excess of it, and it took months to save up for the amount needed. Well, for what he wanted specifically. There was no way he was going through some dodgy company no matter how many couplons he has gotten sent. He did have a well paying job, any was lucky enough to be able to work from home, thank god; comumute was hard considering his whole situation with his legs, he just didn't consider himself rich. Rich people bought what they wanted when they wanted, they didn't have to save for anything. Yes he was a bit bitter, but enough of that.

Kneeel, a lesser known but highly praised company caught his eye when he was looking into where to buy his pet from initially. Their products were photographed like models and advertised like dogs, intimate bits artistically covered by the company logo and a description of their best qualities below their photographs. It was interesting, shoping this way. It felt casual though, too casual almost, like he wasn't buying a human pet and was simply purchasing the designer shoes they were wearing. It eased his conscience still and allowed him to shop freely.

His eyes were drawn to a lanky redhead girl and he clicked into the arrow beside the first picture which showed him another photo, this one was a close up of her face. She had a deep cupids bow and her face was absolutely littered in freckles. She was sweet looking, and also a hard pass. He wondered if there was a filtering option, there were too many women being advertised and he simply was not interested. He hummed gleefully when he found the filtering options, of them there were plenty. 'Helpful, user friendly.' Dan chided internally. He designed websites you know, and couldn't help but praise the features of those he was pleased with.

Within the filters there of course was one for separating the men by use, one for both sexes likely but once again, he had no interest in what the Women Of Kneeel had to offer. He needed someone who could assist him properly. Dan couldn't have told you what that meant at the time but he knew after looking through those made for physical assistance that the athletically built 6'3" blonde 49021 was practically made for him. Catalog shopping was easier, Dan thought, it made it easier not to obsess over every aspect of the babes appearance. He looked fine, he looked better than fine to be quite honest. Dan knew that no man like this would never lay his eyes on him naturally.

Looking through the boy's bio was interesting. Of course there was no listed reason for way he had be previously refurbished but it did give him an idea of what he was like, you know, before. He was going to be an EMT, studying really hard. Life had other plans and harsher things to throw at him. He's lost everything. That of course wasn't in the bio, Dan just knew, he knew what it was like to be poor and desperate but he had never sunk that low. Not that the big bad corporate slavers would want him, him being crippled would likely make it hard to kneel. The man shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, things were good now. They really were. He lived in a beautiful condo and had a fantastic job as a software developer he pumped out content like know ones business and he deserved this damnit. He deserved to have someone take care of him like he needed taken care of, he's suffered long enough. The loneliness, the hurt, the physical pain, it could all be avoided now, he'd have someone to help him and thank God for that, truly.

"49021, what are we going to do with you? Pretty boy, nice rack." Daniel joked to himself. He noticed that his original distributor was listed as Whumpee Barn and he cringed and bit his cheek, it'd be a risk. He heard good things about Kneeel, maybe they were good at retraining. Whumpee Barn was dreadful, not only with their shipping but lacked the ability to create a blank impressionable slate. They always left something desperate and quietly violent, ready to strike. Quite frankly he was scared of violent. Quietly, or otherwise. Calling him fragile would be an overstatement but out of his chair he'd be rendered stationary and if 49021 decided to wail on him he'd be an easy target.

"He wouldn't have a reason to." The man uttered his broken thought. He wouldn't abuse him you know. He planned to treat him, just about standardly. He couldn't think of much that the boy wouldn't be able to do, that he would be forbidden from. Going outside without him at his side, probably. Going through the fridge without permission. Watching television without permission. He could read! Books that Daniel provided and specifically handed to him.

He felt like he was moving too fast, getting way ahead of himself, he hadn't even ordered him yet. Fake shoppers didn't get the luxury of fantasizing. He went about the process of ordering, finalizing it his brain that this was actually happening. He had specific training in mind, mostly regarding how he should be handled. He could get around just fine on a wheel chair, but the thing is, he was extremely busy with work, or passion projects when wasn't working. He really was a busy body, pushing himself for no real reason other than that's how he liked spending his time. He didn't have the time to cook for himself, to tend to his plants, he felt like he wasn't managing the house as well as he could, he wanted someone who could do that for him.

He also wanted company and was sick of making conversation with nothing. He had friends but they rarely visited, always wanted to FaceTime. He hated FaceTiming. He wasn't the most confident in his appearance, especially after depriving himself from sleep because making his way to his bedroom was too much of an ordeal.

He folded his hands on his desk, looking over his filled out form, quite pleased with everything. He was going to be emailed by a respondent who'd look over his requests and have a conversation with him about how his disability impacts him and what they should be aware of. Oh, and they'd give him an estimated time of arrival.

Within the next twenty minutes he was greeted sweetly by an email from a Dab Grier. Daniel was surprised by the email because it didn't feel like a copy and paste. The way it read felt like it was written by someone fairly young, but don't mistake that for meaning it wasn't well written. He replied with more information about his legs, and his needs, and how he didn't want them to rush to make sure he was trained properly. Dab shot him an email less than ten minutes later like he was waiting for him. It made him feel heard, and like his money was in good hands.

He was satisfied getting off his computer that night and heading to bed, after getting the photos of his boy off the internet and saved to his phone of course. He just wanted to look at him some more, it wasn't weird. He would partially be his romantic companion, at least that's what they called it. Boytoy was more accurate really. Dan wasn't sure what he wanted out of the relationship but, being held would be nice honestly. Now that he was in bed he could help but fantasize about those arms around him. He suddenly had a pit in his stomach, a feeling of longing. He couldn't remember the last time he was held, it really had be a while huh. Since Seth. Since he tore out his heart with his huge fucking hands of his, and his strong grip. How he pierced him with his eyes as he said he couldn't do this anymore. How he kicked his chair away from the couch and called him pathetic. He rolled back as he walked out the door, taking none of his belongings, but still. Dan was pathetic, and it was scary. He almost regretted ordering help, he really was defenseless.

He couldn't think about that now, not before bed. Wallowing was detrimental to a good night's rest.

#whump #box boy universe #box boy #whump blog #pet whump #whumplr #whumpblr #oc: daniel boyce #oc: unnamed #oc: dab grier

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