#human whumper

[holidayinhell]

Human Whumper / Vampire Whumpee prompts.

tw: gore

experimenting on the unfamiliar creature, slicing off his fingers and pulling his intestines from his stomach to see how long it takes him to heal. 

testing the bounds of Whumpee’s so-called immortality. binding Whumpee with silver chains, forcing him to watch as Whumper goes to work mutilating his body. the human chuckles at the vampire’s shrieks as he saws his chest cavity open, stretching apart his ribcage before delicately placing a cross in the empty space between his lungs. the sinews begin regenerating and closing him up, leaving the cross buried deep inside the vampire even after he heals. the searing burn is always there, constant, inescapable, and agonizingly deep.

rewarding Whumpee for behaving well and treating him to human blood for the first time in ages. the vampire gorges himself on the meal, grateful for every mouthful. “You want seconds?” Whumper offers with a grin. Whumpee reluctantly accepts. the human exits the room only to re-emerge with Caretaker’s pale, bleeding body, which he drags across the tile floor. “What? Finish your meal.”

are the old wives’ tales true, will garlic repel the monster? holy water? sunlight makes Whumpee’s skin swell and blister, but exactly how much can he handle before he bursts into flames?

forcing Whumpee to swallow a rosary, fucking Whumpee with a crucifix, burning the cross into Whumpee’s skin like a brand mark.

((more prompts))

[inkwell-and-dagger]

Caretaker comes from a noble bloodline, as does Whumper, who all specialise in hunting mythical creatures. This trait and activity is passed on for generations, but Caretaker has no interest in it and deems it as cruel.

Until Whumper hosted a "celebration" of this activity, where all who are invited are given the choice to bring their domesticated and captured creatures to show off, Caretaker had no clue what the mythical creatures looked like, nor how diverse the species' were.

Caretaker soon finds out. All types of mythical or otherwise unique animals, ranging from kneeling elves to caged fairies to declawed werewolves to chained dragons, among many more. Though, one stands out to them; Whumpee, frail and small amongst the crowd and activity yet tense and alert, sitting dutifully beside Whumper's seat.

[whump-place]

Non human Whumpee being kept by humans, maybe they don't hurt Whumpee, they just want to make sure that they don't get hurt in the outside world.

But then there's Whumper, a nice human, that gets to hurt Whumpee when no one is watching.

And what can Whumpee do? No one would believe that the sweet and caring Whumper, the one that knows the most about Whumpee's species, and that also knows all Whumpee's weak points; has been hurting Whumpee.

Whumpee can't say anything, what can someone like them do, when they are surrounded by humans? Humans that also believe Whumper.

Whumpee can only keep his pain to themselves. Maybe Whumper will leave them alone if they just behave...

[rabbit-flaying]

Can Fallen Angels be Forgiven? chapter one

Whumpcember 1st - Broken Bones

Content Warnings: wing mutilation, kidnapping, christian narrative, references to prostituation and addiction

Ismat huddled in the corner of the basement, drowning in a mess of mangled flesh and bloodied feathers. Its tear filled golden eyes stared up at its human tormenter. How had it ever trusted him?

Every bone in its wings had been shattered beyond natural repair. It could barely move them. It was in worse shape than all those years ago, when it took a stumble from Heaven and crashed on the unforgiving concrete streets of Los Angeles.

It didn’t look back on those first weeks with fondness or pride. It had, in its bitter folly, taken it upon itself to commit every sin in the good book.

As soon as its marred skin healed in the privacy of a filthy alley, it used its beauty to its advantage. It danced in dens of sin and fornicated with mortals, spending the cash on booze and cigarettes and “angel dust”.

The weeks passed in an intoxicated blur of tangled limbs and sweat soaked sheets. The light of God was replaced by strobe lights illuminating beer stained tables, and His warmth by the kind of warmth that came with the smell of sex.

It seemed that Ismat’s wings would remain eternally hidden from mortal sight.

But mortality had its own flaws. Ismat needed rest and sustenance, something it barely provided for itself, spending its money on vices as soon as it was placed in its hand. Man could not live on bread alone, and angels could not live on bodyshots.

It was these needs that forced it through the doors of a church run soup kitchen. The room was all dingy carpet and gray walls. There was no indication of religion, save for a plain cross hung above the pulpit.

A dozen odd humans sat up to tables, devouring beef stew and stale bread. They looked much like Ismat did in its first days in this city, wearing filthy rags and hair so matted a stiff comb would break in it.

Ismat approached the woman dishing up stew from a steaming crock. She wore a knee length blue dress and nylon stockings, nothing like the nuns of Ismat’s memory. But it could not question the way she dressed. Not when it stood shivering in lace lingerie which barely covered the intimate parts of its russet brown skin and did nothing for the needle marks on its arms.

The woman noticed its shame, but did nothing to humiliate it. She gave it a full meal and a gracious smile. When guiding it to its place at the table, she made sure it was apart from those who looked at it with unfriendly smiles and teeth on their bottom lips.

It was here that Ismat heard what it considered to be its first church sermon. It had been in church before, of course, visiting humans in centuries past.

But what was spoken from those pulpits was nothing more than fear and hatred. It could never understand how humans could misuse the name of God so abhorrently. For whatever this church was lacking in icons and music, it made up for in love.

The woman- The preacher told them of their worth. That they could still make something of their life, despite the circumstances they had found themselves in. And she told them of God’s plan to redeem each and every one of them. He would forgive them, she promised, but first they had to forgive themselves and reject their vices and sins.

The sermon had been meant for human ears. But it had reached a fallen angel.

Ismat was too enthralled to notice how the humans around it rolled their eyes and sighed in annoyance. Its desire to do good had been rekindled. It craved to be returned to the light of Heaven more strongly than it had ever craved any of Earth’s intoxicants.

Whether an angel could be forgiven for sin was something for theologians to debate over conference tables. But what could not be called into question was the good Ismat did on its quest for forgiveness.

It found humans in the worst of plights and offered them kindness without judgment and help without cost. It went to every major city in the country, driven by wanderlust and a desire to spread love beyond Los Angeles.

Its years spent on Earth were full of missteps. It relapsed into its addiction on more than one occasion, and found itself in a seedy bar or whorehouse. But it always turned back to its newfound joy.

But now Ismat knelt before a human, chained up in a basement in the outskirts of Las Vegas. It felt more hopeless than it had in any of its plights. It had counted its survival in this cruel human world and a miracle and thanked God for every good thing.

But wherever His attention was focused on this day, it was far away from the repentant fallen angel.

Its only company was the excruciating pain of its broken wings. Unless one could possibly count the human it once counted as a friend. He smiled down on it, the pliers he used to snap the hollow bones of its wings still in hand.

Taglist: @inbloodandtears @i-eat-worlds

Event: @whumpcember

[clickerflight]

I've completed a commission for @whumpcloud!

Click for better quality of course. We love a crying vampire.

Tears are the whump word of this month. If you'd like a commission, have a look at my post here.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whump Prompt 107

Write something based on this concept:

A demon agrees to form a pact with a human...but the human betrays him and turns him over to a group of demon hunters who imprison and torture him just for being a monster.

[stagelightwhump]

Robot Whumpee who gets sick and tired of human Whumper, so they secretly call in a pick-up request for a malfunctioning robot matching Whumper's description, then happily watch as Whumper is captured and boxed up to be "repaired".

[whump-or-whatever]

uhhh got any prompts for an angel whumpee? maybe with a human whumper and/or demon caretaker? (sorry if this isn't specific enough i don't usually request prompts 😭)

Your wish is my command, I shall try my best 🧐 (I’m playing with different potential powers/weaknesses/celestial rules/etc.)

I feel like wing whump is a given (restrain them, injure them, pluck them, etc.)

Angel whumpee whose wings are so sensitive that mere touch can be painful

Angel whumpee crashes while flying

Angel whumpee overexerting their magical powers (MY BELOVED)

Angel whumpee who takes over a human host but the human body can’t sustain them and it starts deteriorating

Maybe a human whumper purposefully traps the Angel whumpee in their human host cause they know it won’t last long

Angel whumpee being tortured while in a human host but the Angel has never experienced pain before so it’s SO much worse

Alternatively, Angel whumpee who has a crazy high pain tolerance to the point that human whumper just tires themself out

Angel whumpee stranded on Earth alone, without their powers, utterly helpless

Demon caretaker wants to help Angel whumpee but whenever they touch each other their skin burns

Demon caretaker trying to help with their eyes closed because seeing the Angel whumpee’s wings is blinding to them

Angel whumpee falling from grace and having demon caretaker show them the ropes in hell

Angel whumpee being really reluctant to accept help from demon caretaker

Alternatively, demon caretaker being really reluctant to help Angel whumpee

What about an Angel whumpee who’s just, like… really bad at angeling? I’m not gonna elaborate on that lol

Angel whumpee who did something wrong is being punished in heaven and demon caretaker risks everything to go up there and save them

Demon whumper turned caretaker?

Human whumper doesn’t realize that whumpee is an Angel at first and when they find out they’re terrified, tripping over themself to apologize

Angel whumpee breaking free and blinding human whumper with their true form

Angel whumpee getting passed around between multiple whumpers because they heal instantly and therefore are endless fun

Demon caretaker going after human whumper for what they did to Angel whumpee

Angel whumpee actually just convincing human whumper that what they’re doing is wrong and they should stop

Demon caretaker who is usually super down for violence and torture and stuff, just not where Angel whumpee is involved

Feel free to add any others y’all can think of!

[chaotic-orphan]

Whumptober No. 12

Starvation

Underground Caverns // Cannibalism // “Just a little more.”

*~*~*~*~*

“How much longer will we be down here?” The dark witchling asked. The hybrid frowned, leaning his head back against the cool stone walls. His ears flickered and strained to hear any threats. Above ground he could hear the cleansing continuing, magic people screaming and dying to the purge.

“I don’t know,” Hybrid grumbled, his tail swishing impatiently behind him. “I don’t know how long this will last.”

“I miss the sun.”

“I know,” Hybrid said, extending his arm so the witchling can cuddle him for warmth. “I know. Not much longer now.”

It was difficult to keep track of time in the caverns. Every few hours, minutes, seconds? There would be a long drawn out silence that blanketed the world above and it pulled at Hybrid, the moon calling his name, telling him it was time to hunt, but he knew if he emerged from the underground he would be hunted. Killed. Made an example of and then the witchling would be all alone and Hybrid couldn’t have that…

Yeah, that’s why, a snide voice chirped in his head. It’s not that you’re too cowardly to fight. To rescue you both. You’d rather rot down here and starve.

After what felt like days the pair had grown weaker, and Hybrid had to get used to Witchling’s laboured breaths. Witchling conjured water for them and that staved off hunger for a while, but the hunger grew teeth and it felt like it was trying to eat Hybrid from the inside out.

Hybrid looked down at the Witchling, his tail curled around the Witchling’s waist. He didn’t know if they were awake or asleep, he didn’t think his brain could compute the difference. He removed his hand from the Witchling’s shoulder and drew away as gently as he could.

A small hand bunched his shirt. “Where’re you going?”

Hybrid grabbed the Witchling’s wrist. “I have to hunt. We’ll starve down here if I don’t.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I know.”

“I can go with—”

“No,” Hybrid said, pulling Witchling’s hand away. “No. The purge has lasted longer than before, or… maybe it hasn’t, but either way you’re not coming. You have to stay safe here.”

“We’ve been here for days,” Witchling moaned. Hybrid’s tail twitched in irritation. Everything irritated him more when he was hungry. He had to remain calm; not show panic at their situation or annoyance at his job.

He put a hand in Witchling’s hair and forced a smile on his face. “I know, little one, but I promised I’d look after you, okay? Just a little more time down here, just until the purge dies down. I can get a lay of the land up there and see what is happening. We can plan and get out of here.”

“And then what?” Witchling asked and it pulled at Hybrid’s heart strings. I don’t know, he wanted to say. It was the truth after all. Hybrid had no clue what they were doing, or why they were chosen to protect this little Witchling over everyone else the coven knew.

“And then we survive. Okay?”

The Witchling was silent. Their brown eyes searched Hybrid’s face for any sign of doubt or trickery, but eventually their shoulders sagged and they nodded. Hybrid smiled. He pulled the Witchling’s hand away. Before he could move, the Witchling’s other hand shot out and grabbed Hybrid’s wrist.

He was about to growl his frustration when the Witchling whispered, “please don’t die up there.”

All tension unwound from Hybrid’s body as he softened. “I won’t. I promise.”

He just didn’t know how long he could stay true to that promise.

*~*~*~*~*

Whumptober masterpost here

[inkwell-and-dagger]

xavarias lore which I'm making up right now because I have some sort of idea but idk if it'll change in the future or not

so Xavarias is like. a vampire. obviously. a silver tongue (metaphorically, or course; if not, he'd be in pain 24/7) enables him to get what he wants, when he wants, how he wants. he's probably british, cuz what vampire wouldn't be /j

when Xavarias was alive, he was known as Xavier Smith instead of Xavarias Seth. or doctor Xavier Smith, except he did 'treated' (basically experimented on) himself and animals instead of a human patient (foreshadowing raahh), like any sane doctor would. in polite society, he was a smooth-speaking but generous man. I'm not sure what century he lived in, but he's old as fuck. he looks around 29 physically though. he died at 29, so his current body hasn't aged past that. as expected, he died from one of his experiments. he also probably ate hemlock at one point cuz he's a stupid piece of crap /j

just like any other vampire, he has to feed some way. plucking random people off the street and trapping them in his house, not bothering to make any of them into thralls; their defiance and aversion to being a vampire's blood bag always amused him. he doesn't really care what condition they're physically in, just that their blood tastes nice. pretty much all of them die

uuuntil his whumper rolls along

you see, Xavarias likes to make his status as a vampire everyone's problem. he's a menace, an absolute bugger. he wants everyone to know how powerful he is, but maybe he's a little too open about his status as being nonhuman, which is where STS rolls in

(STS BELONGS TO @ash-1s-wr1t1ng RAAAHHHHHH)

uhhh so sts. now Xavarias is trapped in a cell with the wonderful test subject serial number 0055 after being monitored for weeks and captured with a lot of struggle. he's defiant, he's aggressive, he'll do anything to escape from this place.

buuuttttt his main whumper, Kaden (who was again, created by the wonderful ash), doesn't let him get anywhere near to that <3

sure Kaden works for STS, but in his eyes, Xavarias is HIS test subject. idk bro has some obsession with Xavarias or something. and the worst part is that Xav probably has to rely on Kaden for blood bags and stuff, meanwhile Kaden does whatever he pleases with his little vampire so long as the Specialists either don't know or approve of it <3

anyway I'm going insane. uhm what should their series name be lmao

[macknus]

A Benignant Mischief (I)

While I work on the next part of the series, enjoy some of the updated version for refreshers :)

*~*~*~*~*

Cosimo ran through the forest with a sharp urgency, an unconscious boy cradled close to his chest as he went. The rain pattered down on his head as he ran, bare feet clawing at the ground to keep his grip. To an onlooker he could have been running on plain terrain instead over the wiry and rough forest, leaves slick with water; as if he were one with the Earth; knew every root, every nettle and broken tree bows that he hopped over with graceful ease.  

His sharp eyes searched the forest frantically, pleading for a shelter to open up to them. Ahead was a wooden barricade, tree branches crisscrossing with hedges and leaves before him like a blockade. Cosimo bowed his head and turned to the side, curling his upper body around the smaller one in his arms. Branches snapped and scratched at him as he pushed his way through with a determined resolve.  

When he finally emerged from the branches, he found what he knew would be waiting for him. A small burrow made in a circle of trees, an opening in the trunk of a thick Elfbow tree, the size of three fully grown oaks. A shelter mercifully presenting itself. Cosimo let out a soft sigh and whispered a soft thank you to the forest for providing.  

His limbs grew heavier and heavier the closer he got to rest, but he walked on, slower now, but just as strong as he was when he set out from court. He lay the boy in his arms down on a bed of leaves for the moment under the shelter of the Elfbow. Cosimo touched the trunk as he entered, his heart feeling full as he did.  

“Thank you protecting us,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to the entrance. He pressed his knuckles against the unconscious boy’s forehead, letting out a soft sigh. He was okay. Not as hot as he before. Cosimo would gather food and herbs tomorrow to help the fever, but at least he was stable for now.  

Cosimo took off his pack that he had hastily gathered from home. Two blankets, two pillows, a canteen of water, a hunting knife — just the essentials.  

“The very bare necessities, Cosimo,” Cosimo chastised with a sigh, running a hand through his soaked hair flicking the rain from it. Cosimo put a pillow under the boy’s head and wrapped him in a blanket to keep him warm. Cosimo sat with his back against the trunk of the tree, arms wrapped around his knees that he hugged to his chest. He watched the rain patter down on leaves outside the Elfbow. The gloomy grey of the evening bled into a darker, broodier grey but the rain let up before night fell with its coat of deep purples and midnight blues.  

Cosimo didn’t know at what point he fell asleep, but he woke to footsteps cracking the leaves beneath its feet and he was immediately alert. His hand shot and grabbed the hunting knife, unsheathing it and lunging forward into a deep crouch, teeth bared.  

He came nose to snout with a fox that was frozen in place, brown eyes meeting Cosimo’s with a slightly dazed and stunned glimmer to them. Cosimo let out a breath that reflected on the air with a rolling wave of smoke, before settling back into the nook-like shelter of the Elfbow. The fox didn’t retreat, instead he sniffed the air and timidly took a step towards Cosimo and the unconscious boy beside him.  

Cosimo inclined his head slightly and the fox entered the Elfbow with all the inquisitiveness of a cat trying to sniff out the source of fish. The fox turned his head to the boy, and glancing back at Cosimo quickly for permission he climbed up on the unconscious boy’s chest, curling into a little ball on top of him, deep brown eyes meeting Cosimo’s again before closing half-lidded.  

Emotion clogged Cosimo’s throat as he reached out to pet the fox, allowing the animal to sniff his hand before allowing the affection.  

“See?” Cosimo whispered to the sleeping boy. “You’re not nobody. You’re like me.”  

Cosimo didn’t sleep exactly, but he at least got some semblance of rest before dawn broke, and he woke with it. He looked down at the sleeping boy, the fox had moved from his chest and was curled up to the boy’s side. Cosimo reached his hand out and brushed the boy’s damp hair back from his forehead.

He was warm, not too hot. Maybe the fever had passed with the rain? Cosimo didn’t know enough about it, but he knew the rejuvenation powers of rain that came with him so he suspected maybe it could be the saviour of the boy too.  

Cosimo drank some water from the canteen before grabbing the empty rucksack he took with him and slinging it over his shoulder across his body. He took the water and the hunting knife and set off about the day. When he exited the Elfbow the sun was only starting to rise, birds heralding the morning.  

Cosimo looked back to the sleeping boy and the fox. He pressed his hand to the tree and leaned his forehead against his knuckles.  

Protect them, please. I’ll return with food.  

Cosimo felt the rush of feeling that flooded him when he was surrounded by nature. He took one last glance at the boy before he turned and walked out of the small clearing and into the embrace of the forest again. He remembered hearing rushing water when he was running with the boy, the sound distinct from the patter of the rain.  

The dense woods were not nearly as imposing as they were the night before, when Cosimo’s thoughts were on finding shelter and nothing else. There should be some mushrooms nearby he could roast, maybe some berry bushes if he was lucky, and water. Not enough to feed them properly, but to sustain them? It would be enough.  

Cosimo found the stream under a thicket of leaves. It was slightly lower than the ground Cosimo was on, so he simply extended a leg and slid down the bank to the stream, opening his canteen as he went. His feet settled into the damp earth, and he crouched down to refill the canteen. Not before drinking the last of the remaining water.  

He heard a huff from his left so Cosimo glanced towards the sound and saw a horse lapping up water from the stream. Cosimo froze like the fox the night before, before kicking himself into action. He sprung up, canteen forgotten in the stream and bolted back up the bank, his fingers clawing into the clay.  

He scrambled to the top and was met with a pair of legs. There was a flash and a pressure on his chest and Cosimo was airborne, gravity grabbing at him and bringing him down hard into the outer bank of the stream. Cosimo let out a gasp of air on impact but quickly sprung to his feet and turned to hop the stream to the other side.  

A hand grabbed him by the strap of his rucksack, and he was yanked backwards. “Hey! Wait!” Cosimo cried, bringing an elbow back sharply and his head back too. He slipped under the strap of his bag and grabbed the hunting knife, hopping over the stream with ease. He didn’t look back.  

Humans were bad. They killed people like him, there shouldn’t even be any for miles around!  

Cosimo climbed up the opposite bank of earth with deft speed and hoisted himself to the other side, knife ready in one hand, the sheath in his other with one thought and one thought only — to go back to the boy in the Elfbow.  

He didn’t account for more soldiers to be on the other side of the stream. Cosimo froze again when he was first recognised by another man. They were all fully grown humans. Fully grown male humans. Cosimo had yet to pass his fifteenth year, at least he had a slight boost in height, but he was too skinny to fight.  

There wasn’t time to think before a hand was bunched in his shirt again. Cosimo whirled on his heel, slashing out blindly with the knife. The blade cut into the soldier’s cheek Cosimo realised with wide eyes, and the Soldier let him go. Cosimo fell to the side at the sudden lack of force holding him, but quickly got his bearings again and ran to the right of the soldier’s camp.  

An arrow whizzed by his ear, startling him and Cosimo lunged to the left only to be caught with a kick to his leg. Cosimo stumbled but remained standing, turning to his new attacker baring his teeth only to get a punch to the face. Cosimo’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fell, stiff as an oak onto the forest floor.  

A boot stomped down onto Cosimo’s wrist wielding the knife and Cosimo cried out, reaching over with his free hand to paw at the boot but it wouldn’t budge. A knee to the chest followed and Cosimo cried out, trying to wiggle himself free but the human was too heavy. Whether his weight was from his diet, or the weight from his uniform of metal Cosimo didn’t know.  

“Well, well, well,” the human man remarked. Cosimo swallowed the lump in his throat, struggling to free himself from the man’s pin. “You’re only a baby, aren’t you?”  

Cosimo bared his teeth in response. They were so close to where Cosimo had left the boy and the fox, and he prayed that the Elfbow would protect them from the soldiers.  

“Let go of me,” Cosimo demanded, eyes blazing up at the man. The man smiled, something wicked twinkling in his eyes.  

“Have you run away from home? You do know what we do to your people in these parts, don’t you?”  

Cosimo let out a cry of frustration at trying and failing pathetically to free himself from the man’s grip.  

“Please,” Cosimo said. “I don’t mean you any harm. I was just coming for water.”  

“Won’t do harm my arse,” the soldier that Cosimo cut ground out, fury winding his features tight. Cosimo didn’t see him lift his leg, but his head whipped to the side with the impact. Cosimo righted his head too early as the man he injured stomped a foot down on Cosimo’s face.  

Cosimo heard the bones in his nose crack inside his head while he screamed out loud, a quiet whimper following after his scream died in his throat.  

“Hey!” The soldier pinning Cosimo growled. “You can’t kill him. He must be brought to court before their execution.”  

Execution?  

Cosimo’s struggles to break free renewed at the thoughts of the soldiers taking him away from the boy. “No! No, you can’t! I can’t leave the forest, please!”  

The man above him tilted his lips down into a frown. “Sorry kid. Orders are orders, we have to bring ya in.”  

“Don’t talk to it like it’s a child,” the angry soldier scolded. The man on top of him reached over and plucked the knife from Cosimo’s grip. Cosimo let out a soft whine at the object of his defence leaving his grasp.  

“Just get the irons and let me deal with h—” the man above him said, then corrected himself, glancing down at Cosimo with a frown. “It.”  

The angry man stormed off out of sight. Cosimo swallowed hard and stared above at the man pining him to the forest floor.  

“Please…” Cosimo tried. “Please don’t kill me.”  

“Like I said kid,” said the man. “There has to be a trial in front of the king.”  

Cosimo’s eyes widened significantly. There wasn’t a king for miles around court… how far had Cosimo travelled, and in what direction? The question lingered on his tongue, and he wanted to voice it, but thought better of asking the enemy… or even worse, letting them know just how clueless Cosimo really was.  

The man stared down at Cosimo with a stern glance. “I’m going to get you to sit up, if you try to escape, we will catch you, and the other soldiers will hurt you again. Do you understand?”  

Cosimo nodded. He hated himself for it, but he had to listen to this man if he didn’t want to die. He couldn’t die or else the boy would die too, he’s the only one who knew where he was, he was stupid for running away. So stupid! What was he thinking?

He stared at the man above him as he moved his knee from Cosimo’s chest. He seemed to be the only one who didn’t want him dead at that moment. The angry soldier returned with two bands of metal attached together with a thick link of metal between them.  

“What— what are they?” Cosimo asked, his voice cracking with fear. The soldier helped Cosimo to sit up which caused a wicked amount of pain in his nose to flare up and Cosimo grunted with the effort.  

The man took the metal from the angry soldier and dismissed him with a wave. The other soldier didn’t want to listen but obeyed the man when he told him to go verbally.  

The man opened the metal loop and showed it to Cosimo, saying with a reassuring smile: “They open like this, see?”  

Cosimo leaned in closer to inspect the metal. “What do they do?” He asked, a little less scared at seeing them up close. The man lifted his hand and put the metal over his own wrist.  

“They tighten over your wrist like this, see? They lock— well, they essentially keep your hands tied behind your back so you can’t hurt someone again.”  

Not have use of his hands. Cosimo shook his head vehemently. “No. No. I won’t hurt anyone else; I promise. Don’t put them on me.”  

The man’s smile faded back into a frown. “I’m sorry, but I have to. Please don’t fight me. I don’t want you getting hurt again.”  

Cosimo was trembling in the man’s hands, but he nodded his consent for the man to grab Cosimo’s wrist. Cosimo screamed when the metal touched his wrist and bolted back away from the man.  

“Wait! Please! Please! Wait! Ow, please! I won’t hurt anyone!” The man caught Cosimo’s ankle before he could get further away from him and dragged him back across the damp ground. Cosimo clawed the soil, trying to gain any purchase, but the man was strong, and the earth wasn’t helping him escape. “Please don’t. Please! I’ll be good.”  

A shadow crossed the man’s face as he grabbed Cosimo’s arm and pulled it behind Cosimo’s back before locking the second cuff around Cosimo’s wrist.  

Cosimo let out a hiss as the metal burned a circle around his wrists, tears coming to his eyes. “Please, I’m sorry. Take them off. I’m sorry. What— agh! What is it?!”  

The man grabbed Cosimo’s arms to stop him struggling more and hurting himself. “Iron. It’s a metal that is poisonous to your kind.”  

“Please,” Cosimo whispered, the plea coming out soft and childish, fat tears trailing down his cheeks. “Please take them off.”  

“I can’t,” said the man. “I’m sorry,” and it sounded like he meant it. The man got to his feet and waited patiently for Cosimo to do the same. Cosimo pushed himself up, his balance off and he hissed as he moved his hands to catch himself. All they touched was iron and it burned. The man put a hand under Cosimo’s armpits once he saw the boy struggling and helped him into a standing position.  

“Thank you,” Cosimo said, the words like ash on his tongue. Thanking humans now? What would court think of him? His mind trailed back to the boy in the Elfbow, and guilt flood his body as he was pushed forward gently by the man.  

“Change of plan, boys. We are bringing this one back to the King.”  

One of the other men stood up, his face the shape of a weasel’s; small wisps of hair clung to his upper lip and chin in what Cosimo could only assume was supposed to be a beard and a moustache. The soldier lifted his nose high in the air when he looked up at Cosimo, grinning up at him and revealing yellowing teeth.  

“It’s not even fully grown,” said the soldier with a high-pitched voice. The nice man holding Cosimo scoffed and pushed Cosimo forward again.  

“Either are you, McClagen.” The soldier holding him said, earning laughs from the other soldiers.

“Does it know that we kill things like that?” McClagen sneered. The man didn’t reply, but Cosimo’s fate weighed heavy on him, heavier than a cloak made of stone.  

[thecareandkeepingofwhumpees]

My entry for @febuwhump day 4: obedience.

Content warnings: nudity, blood, demons, vague religious references, and knives. Let me know if you need anything added!

When Seshdhar felt themself being summoned by a human, they didn’t bother putting on clothes. Draping oneself in fabric wasn’t something demons did, given that they didn’t care about modesty, and cold wasn’t exactly a problem down there. On the rare occasion that a human managed to find an actual summoning ritual, and work up the nerve to complete it, the nudity served as a bit of a power play. For some reason, seeing someone stand in front of them, wearing no clothes yet fully confident, made humans squirm. It was amusing to watch them desperately keep their eyes on their face.

But something had gone wrong.

They hadn’t been summoned in a long time, so maybe humans had just changed since then? But no, demons in general traveled fairly often between the human realm, and a change this significant would’ve garnered at least a little gossip. So why wasn’t this human scared? Why had they not cowered, or even seemed intimidated in the slightest?

Why the heaven was their lack of clothing making them feel vulnerable? That wasn’t how it was supposed to work!

All the man — he was what humans would consider a man, they were pretty sure — had done once he summoned them was to remind them that, as he summoned them, they were now bound to his will, required to obey his every demand. Then he proceeded to command them to kneel and keep their hands folded behind their back. They could feel their face heat up, but thankfully the parts of their face that weren’t covered in keratin scales were already a deep red color, so it wouldn’t be visible.

Then, the man knelt down to their level, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I have so many questions to ask you. Let’s begin.”

“Let’s,” they agreed, with biting sardonicism.

The man laced his fingers together and squeezed them, as if he’d wanted to harass a demon for so long that he could hardly contain his excitement now that the time had come. “Alright. Firstly, can demons be hurt by human tools?”

Seshdhar did not like the sound of that. “No.” Probably.

The man tilted his head. “Hmm. I now realize that I can’t be sure that you’re answering truthfully. I suppose I will have to… see for myself. Making sure your sources are reliable is very important for a scholar like me, you understand.” He pulled out a knife from his satchel and pressed it into Seshdhar’s bare chest.

Nothing happened, and the demon almost let themself hope.

But the man merely leaned back and pulled a second knife out, because of course he carried multiple weapons on him at all times. “Now, that first knife was made of silver, but this one, though it looks very similar, is actually iron.” With an odd amount of precision, he once more brought a blade to the demon’s chest.

This time, however, it sliced through their skin.

Seshdhar hissed, not in any kind of figurative way, but very literal, with their fangs bared and everything. This did not dissuade the man in any way from continuing to carve lines into their chest. If anything, the only discontent on his face was sourced in the fact that their blood failed to stand out against their naturally crimson skin.

It hurt, it hurt so badly, burning and stinging and not stopping, but Seshdhar didn’t want to give the man the pleasure of hearing them express it. So they dug their fangs into their tongue — because what the heaven, it’s not like they weren’t already bleeding — in order to prevent any pained sounds from escaping. This was mostly successful.

After an indiscernible amount of time, the man pulled back, wiped the blade clean, and slid it back away. “Now, on to my second inquiry…”

[mightaswell-whump]

Goody nuff

Centaur whump

Warning: sapient creature being treated like an animal, horse-typical riding crops used in a non-typical manner, overheating whump, lemme know if there’s more.

The sun scorches the bare shoulders of the competitor. His boxy, faintly-muscular upper half was covered in a thin jersey, displaying the number thirteen. Second to last in line, usually first to cross the line. Hips down, a strong, muscular, quadrupedal body, clothed with only a riding saddle, fidgets in anticipation. The massive beast constantly shifts its weight off of one hoof and onto the others, before putting that hoof back down again. The metallic taste from the bit between his teeth didn’t much calm his nerves.

The forward rocking motion on his horse back made number thirteen “Goody Four Shoes” shiver. A hiss in his ear of “don’t embarrass me” made him shiver worse.

On either side of centaur and rider were metal barriers separating them from other jockeys. Number twelve, Bullseye, was a jet-black monster of a horse with a deeply tanned human half. Where Goody’s owner had decided to let Goody’s long hair flow, Bullseye kept his short, not even long enough to put a clip in. On the other side was Jigsaw, number fourteen. Slightly taller than the rest, his dappled grey coat contrasted the dark human skin. His hair was kept in tiny braids at the back of his head.

He didn’t know whether it was nerves or the heat, but Goody began to feel dizzy. He tried to widen his stance, but a riding crop to the flank told him otherwise.

Silence from the crowd. The starting gates fall away as a loud bell sounds.

——————

“The FUCK was that?” Dimitry spat. “A silver? A fucking silver?”

Goody looked away, turning his gaze down and to the side. “I’m…I’m sorry, master,” he mumbled, punctuating his guilt by licking his lips.

“People expect you to win the gold! They bet on you winning first prize! Can’t you see that?!”

Silence.

“You could barely even start right, you dumb, good-for-nothing animal!”

He wasn’t expecting a riding crop to the face, and he certainly wasn’t expecting it to sting this harshly. And he absolutely wasn’t expecting another strike.

After Dimitry had his fill of lashes, he gave one final grimace as he spat at the horse, turning away. Sweaty, thirsty, and still dizzy, Goody sank to the floor and laid his head in the hay.

[ash-isnt-writing]

{<*>} Aqua Blue {<*>}

Characters used/mentioned; Helix Vellen, Layna Ramirez, TS-0026, other unnamed characters

Writer’s note!!; Sudden impulse writing idk. Might make this a series if people like it, blah blah blah.

standard disclaimers apply, etc etc. you get the drill.

(not bothering with a border this time. i’m tired. i’ll add one later.)

TS-0026, confined to a glass tank filled with water and whatever else the containment team’d had the mercy of providing, surrounded by researchers in white coats and black button ups.

It was a particularly chilling sight to Helix, for whatever reason. More so than the others. Hell, they were only.. what, 17? It felt wrong, in every sense of the word. But he was tied down to this job. He had no other option.

The ginger sighed, and proceeded forward into the surrounding chamber, Layna, his assistant snd secretary, following close. “Does this thing ever sleep?” Helix remarked, more to himself than anybody else, but he wouldn’t mind an answer either.

“Apparently” A nearby researcher responded, Helix’s keen eyes darting over to the speaker. “It just finds a spot, gets comfy, and falls asleep right on the spot, straight into deep stage sleep.”

“…Huh.” Helix murmured, eyes drifting back to the tank. Straight into deep stage? How… weird. “Do we know how it does that?”

“Not a clue” Another passing researcher replied. “It’s harder to run tests on.. well, a merman, considering half our staff don’t know how to swim, and it’s generally quite hard to run exams under water.”

Ah, of course. Helix didn’t know why he hadn’t considered this earlier. He barely knew how the containment team had secured the subject in the first place. It would’ve been a feat in of itself. Actually trying to run tests on it was going to be a whole marathon.

“Well, find a way” He snapped after a moment. “I need answers, and I need them now. If it has some way to just snap into sleep like that… I want to know why, and I want to know if we can utilise it.”

The thing with Helix, Layna had come to learn, was that when he said ‘we’, he never meant himself. Sure, he did the paperwork, but it was rare to see him himself in tests anymore unless he felt he was the only one capable, or it was a test subject he was particularly interested in.

Either way, she found he’d refuse involvement with younger test subjects. Which didn’t seem to stop him when she and her siblings were younger, but alas…

“With all due respect, Doctor, we should probably consult Administration first” Layna cut in. “We really shouldn’t be running any sort of tests until we have their absolute approval.”

As much as Helix wanted to snap at her, she had a point. It would be a stupid idea to just go in and do whatever without authorisation. He’d tried that before, he wasn’t making the same mistake.

“..Right” He sighed, then turned to the younger researcher once more. “Keep an eye on that thing. If it does any shit while I’m gone, do not engage.”

“But sir-“

“There’s no buts here, damn it! Do not engage it at any point until we have greenlit testing approval, is that clear?”

A solemn nod. Helix grunted, and then made his leave. He fucking hated these meetings, but authority was authority, and he knew they were watching him.

[ladywhumplady]

Louisa's Lessons

Hi! This is my first time posting whump writing on this account and I hope you like it. I have my asks open if anyone wanted to request something lady whump related or something to do with Louisa.

Louisa peered down the the road, careful all was clear. Her nails still dropped with blood so she had to be careful not to touch the wall as she did so. The acrid air reeked similarly of the liquid she'd seen her family covered in.

Her hair, tied up into a messy bun, would no longer be able to be used as evidence if it attached itself to any walls or floors. After they'd found her last time, she hadn't worn her hair down since. Anything to prevent her capture, anything to avoid ending up like her parents.

In her pocket, a bomb – her last bomb – quieted her nerves. While it may not be able to save her from a close-distance attack, some her pursuers would at least be dealt with if she was swift. Afterwards, she was sure she'd find herself rather panicked.

But despite all the running, the screaming, the crying, the suffering she caused others who aided her, anything was better than becoming owned. She'd seen the pathetic wretches crawling about, mutilated beyond belief. She'd seen the blank, dazed looks in their eyes, the missing teeth, eyes, skin-chunks and limbs. Behind closed doors, it was sure to be worse.

She darted down the next street, her bare feet padding desperately on the rough stone floor. It stung – of course it stung – but she’d had to sell even the shoes on her feet days ago for a meagre bowl of mystery soup. Louisa still maintained there was no way the slop she'd been served had been worth even one shoe but she'd been truly desperate, perhaps a week without food. 

The road she'd found herself on was actually rather busy, busy enough that a car passed another at every moment, a constant flow of cars on either side of the road. But a bin thankfully provided her a safe barrier from the road to squat while she planned a way out. 

She breathed a warm breath into the winter's air, white wisps floating up to the billboards looming over. The bright things flicked from advertisement to advertisement, though one flashed up more than all others combined.

‘Have You Seen These Traitors?’ It enquired, photographs of all those that the government hated flashing up in rows. There were four faces on each row, four rows in total. Sixteen, with two faces blacked out. 

Louisa recognised both of them.

In fact, Louisa recognised every face on that board: Simon, Alastair, Elodie, Mona- the list went on. But there was no face she recognised more than the first face in row two, a picture of a frowning brunette teenager with what looked like a mullet. Louisa hadn't had a mullet in quite some time and her face was a fair bit more aged, dirty and gaunt, but there was no doubt about it that it was her's.

The dull, calm girl who wore government mandated apparel, who was poster-pet material, who would roll over and do whatever was asked of her, had gone years ago.

When had it all gone so wrong?

Louisa surveyed the road. Far too busy for her to cross unscathed and unnoticed. She debated whether turning back would be the better option. On the one hand, the Tolian government was on her back. On the other, better dead than tortured.

The gaps between cars were few and fast-lived but if she tried… If she really tried, she understood she might be able to get to the middle of the road and eventually the other side. It was risky, put her in public view, but would be very good at putting distance and breaking the trail between her and her pursuers.

It was too rewarding an answer to ignore.

It could save her.

It could kill her-

It was the best solution she could think of.

It was her final choice.

Louisa was not a free woman, had never been a free woman in Tolaris and her actions were of the rationality of a caged animal. She knew it was stupid, reckless and insane but what else could she do? Wait for the agents that were likely less than a mile away? Wait for the helicopter to chase her down like they did Magnus?

She breathed in a sigh of calmness and contemplation as she waited for a gap to emerge. If she died, she died as a fugitive of the state, someone who the history books would know didn't sit down and be the state's obedient little citizen. She would die a martyr – who could ask for more?

Twelve cars in the distance, Louisa could see one car was a good three metres away from the one behind. It wasn't much – not at the speed of the traffic – but it was enough, just enough.

Louisa inhaled, she exhaled, and took in a final breath, charging forward at the traffic. She wouldn't make it, she realised, halfway across the lane.

It was a good thing something tugged her back.

[rosewriteswhump]

mOVING TO NEW BLOG I QILL NO LONGER UPDATE HERE BUT @OFCLrosewriteswhump and Masterlist Link!

Hello!

My name is Rose (she/her) and I write whump.

Most of it is hurt/comfort leaning towards comfort. The writers I follow and look up too cos I am new to posting my writing.

@livelaughwhump @whumpsday @whumpshaped @emmettnet @a-crumb-of-whump and @nullb1rdbones

Click the readmore for yes tropes, no tropes, dni, and anything else I might think of!

Favorite Tropes: pet whump recovery, strong willed yet passive whumpee, non-human whumpees and caretakers, lady whumpers, mostly lady characters, I'll add more as I think of them

Least Favorite tropes: explicit Non-con, caretaker turned whumper, Eds, anything with bugs or arachnids, animal abuse,

DNI if you: Support trump, are racist, transphobic, homophobic, hate any religion because it is not your own, rad fems, pro life, were happy when roe v wade was overturned, against univeral health care, agaisnt minimum wage being livable, support animal abuse, are and ableist, think all cluster b people are bad, judge a group by the actions of one and refuse to listen to anything else, support autism speaks

That's it for now! I'll make posts about characters as I finish naming them and I'll add them here. Please enjoy your time here and My askbox is always open my main blog is @rosekins621