#implied recapture

[whumpacabra]

I am thinking about a character coming home late. I am thinking about their friends being worried, relieved beyond belief to see them again (because the last time they disappeared…it was bad). The character doesn’t want to talk about where they’ve been, and that’s fine, but their friends just want to know they’re not hurt -

And at that the character snaps at them, violently pushing them away and running to hide in the nearest room with locking door. They’re fine, they just need space - because they are hurt (it’s bad) but they don’t want to worry their friends, they want to be able to take care of themself.

(It wasn’t supposed to happen again.)

[whumblr]

Skip ahead

Desperate tears already streamed over their cheeks. Whumpee backed up a step, nowhere else to go. The man in front of them effectively blocked off their one escape route. Fighting him wasn't even worth considering. Running wouldn't work. They were cornered in every sense of the word.

"P-please..." The plea was barely more than a puff of air. They tried again, cursing how feeble and pathetic their voice came out: "Please. Don't take me back."

"Oh, love..." Whumper stepped forward and carefully reached out. The grip on their chin however was anything but. Whumpee shuddered when they felt the familiar pattern of bruises forming. "We're just talking, we're barely even talking..." He brushed a thumb up, catching a drop of salt, "And you're already such a mess."

Whumpee couldn't do a thing but give a nod and a sniffle, avoiding the piercing gaze.

With a soft sigh, Whumper let go of them.

"Well, if you don't want me to take you back..." He reached behind him and Whumpee nearly buckled in fear when he revealed the gun. Whumper grabbed them by the neck, keeping them from falling over, keeping them close, and crooned: "I can understand if you want to skip all the pain and suffering. I do."

He teased the gun up, watched as their eyes followed his every moment, noticed how their breathing stopped when he pressed it into the soft underside of their chin.

"We could just," he whispered, "skip ahead? To the main event?"

The gun gave a distinct click, the front sight dug uncomfortably into their skin as he tilted the gun to press the muzzle up, aiming at their brain. "No... No, please."

"I mean, we'll get there eventually, so--"

"No!"

"So you'll come with me."

It wasn't a question. Whumpee swallowed hard, another stream of tears streaking down. "Y-yes..."

The pressure under their chin disappeared. A breath released as if said pressure had been blocking their air.

Another click as the gun switched back to safety, releasing the clasp on their muscles, and Whumper put it back into its holster. The grip on their neck, however, only increased, and he lightly nudged them along.

"Good choice."

-

General whump tag: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion

@auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop

[mothmxwhump]

Whump Prompt No. 4

“Hello, sweet thing.” Whumper was reclined on the sofa, twirling their knife in their hands.

“…this isn’t real. This is just a nightmare,” Whumpee muttered, frozen at their front door.

“Oh, darling. Did you really think I’d let you leave that easy?” Whumper stood up. “I’ve made arrangements for Caretaker to watch your dog. They think you got a call to go on a work trip.” They came closer, caging Whumpee between their arms and backing them against the wall. “Your bags are packed. Already in my trunk. Now hand over your phone and come with me. No sudden moves, alright, darling?”

[whumpshaped]

hdhsjd.. thinking about necromancer whumpers.. imagine whumpee trying to escape from them and they suddenly have a whole cemeteries’ worth of mindless, undead beings HUNTING THEM DOWN??? i’d cry

(sorry if this is incoherent it’s like five am and i have not slept!!:!:)

tw multiple whumpers, death, recapture, gore, body horror, implied murder or at least torture possibly cannibalism, necromancy horrors

Whumpee had never minded cemeteries. In fact, during their years of hiding, when every street lamp meant danger and places the locals didn’t really frequent at night provided safety, they had become very closely acquainted with every single cemetery in the area. So much so that they knew the names of the people whose tombstones were the biggest — and thus granted the most cover — and even thought to bring some flowers every now and then, as a little gesture of gratitude.

Cemeteries were safe. Dead people had never chased them. 

Not until tonight, at least.

They thought they had finally managed to get out of Whumper’s clutches, and they were cosying up in their usual spot in the hillside cemetery. The ground was soft from the rain, and the place was entirely quiet. Not a soul around, except maybe the souls of the deceased. But hopefully not. Whumpee sincerely hoped that souls would at least be able to find rest after death, somewhere far away from this mortal plane that held nothing but suffering.

Then they heard movement. At first, they thought it might be someone who simply hadn’t had time to tend to their loved one’s grave during the day. The cemetery was a small one, there was no guard to watch over it, so it must’ve been a regular civilian. 

But then… the sound became louder. More insistent. And it started coming from multiple directions.

For the first time since they had been a child, Whumpee was afraid to be alone in the cemetery.

“What the fuck?” they cried when the first hand emerged from the soil, trying and failing to grab onto something. Still, it kept clawing at the dirt, dragging its body inch by inch to the surface. 

That was a rotting fucking corpse that was crawling out of its coffin.

Whumpee screamed and shuffled backwards, only to bump into another hand that immediately grasped their wrist. They yanked their hand away and tried to stand, only for something — someone — to grab their ankle and trip them up. “Fuck!” they yelled, desperately kicking at the corpse holding them. As soon as they landed a good hit, the hand separated from the rest of the body, doing absolutely fucking nothing to stop the thing from pursuing them. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

They finally managed to scramble to their feet and run, but they were surrounded. They were in the middle of a fucking cemetery, all that was around were corpses, corpses that now wanted to drag them down to hell with them.

They didn’t make it to the cemetery gate. Several rotting hands latched onto their arms and legs, making it impossible for them to keep running. The smell of decay was everywhere, and Whumpee was yanked backwards, into the decomposing arms of people they’d only known through fading text on marble. 

“Let me go!” they shrieked. One of them promptly clamped a hand over their mouth, and they screamed again in horror, this time muffled by grey, torn flesh. They wanted to throw up.

Their struggles led nowhere. They were outnumbered. They couldn’t move. By the time Whumper showed up and lazily made their way to where Whumpee was completely trapped, they were honestly out of steam. If the fucking dead people were to let them go, they doubted they would’ve been able to put up much of a fight. But of course, that theory was not going to be tested.

“Flighty tonight, are we?” Whumper asked casually. “It’s a good thing you decided to pick this as a hideout.”

Whumpee’s tears of utter revulsion didn’t seem to faze them. Not even when they screamed for the thousandth time as one of the lackeys’ jaw fell off, tumbling down their shoulder all the way to the ground. It was disgusting, everything about this was so disgusting, they couldn’t take it.

“How about we walk back home and forget about this ordeal? I’m willing to forgive, of course. Just nod your head if you’re ready to behave.”

They tried. They really did. But the corpse holding their head had a grip of steel, and Whumpee couldn’t move an inch. Their wide, desperate eyes held nothing but silent pleas for Whumper to understand, but clearly, they were never meant to be able to agree.

“No? Well…” Whumper snapped their fingers, a wicked grin spreading across their face. “Have at them, pets. They’re all yours.”

[sparrowsage]

Warehouse Drabble: Unsettling Reality - Alex's POV

So, I saw a prompt on here that someone reblogged and it gave me inspiration for this piece! It's set three days after this piece. I also wanted to write Sparrow's POV for this conversation as well and you can find it here. Hope y'all enjoy it! Also, a huge thank you for @oddsconvert for the usage of her oc's Ronan, Henley and Izaak from her series A Taste of Your Own Medicine!

TW: kidnapping implied, reference to past kidnapping, vague reference to past trafficking

“Hello?” Alex said, running his free hand through his hair. It had been a long day at the hospital; he had been too absorbed in his thoughts about Sparrow. He had gone missing three days prior and both Alex and Felix had been a mess trying to work with the FBI on finding him as soon as possible. 

“This is Alex Sharpe, yes?” the voice over the phone asked, his voice low and a bit husky. It reminded Alex of Dr. Greyston and he couldn’t help but frown at the memory of him. 

“It is, yes. Is there something I can help you with?” 

There was a short chuckle on the other end of the line that made the hairs on the back of Alex’s neck stand up. 

“Not really, you’ve been enough help. I just wanted to call and thank you personally for taking such good care of my little Songbird. If it weren’t for you, he’d be dead in a ditch somewhere.” 

Alex was frozen in his chair, his heart pounding. Songbird. Damon’s nickname for Sparrow. 

The doctor grabbed a notepad and a pen as quietly as he could from the corner of his desk, his hands starting to shake, almost too afraid to speak. 

Damon took Alex’s silence as recognition and chuckled again. “I take it you know who I am, that’s good.” 

“I do, yes,” Alex responded slowly. “How’d you get this number?” 

“I have my ways, Dr. Sharpe. How goes the search? I’m sure you’ve gotten some kind of lead on your patient by now.” 

Damon’s remark and patronizing tone made Alex grit his teeth, but his words confirmed his suspicion on where Sparrow was. Felix, Henley and himself had hoped it wasn’t the case, but at least now there could be some kind of lead, even though no one knew where this facility was. 

“It’s going as well as one would expect,” he responded, writing down the time and date in his notepad. “Why are you calling me? Isn’t it a risky move? For all you know, the police are tracing this call.” 

Damon let out a huff of amusement, “You and I both know that is a lie. The FBI isn’t that smart, not this early on in the game. As to why I’m calling? It’s like I said, I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of Sparrow while he was away. There were countless times while he was in your care that he almost took it too far, but you stepped in and made sure that he didn’t.” 

How on Earth could he possibly know about that, Alex thought. They had been at the hospital, which Alex, up to this point, thought was a pretty secure and safe place. He jotted down a small note about it on his notepad as he managed to stop himself from asking how Damon knew about what he and Sparrow had worked through, his mouth hanging open slightly as he tried to find something else to say. 

“I was merely doing my job. He wouldn’t have gone to those lengths if you and the others hadn't treated him the way that you did.” 

“We were merely teaching him what his purpose on this Earth is. I do have to say though, you have given me quite a lot to fix now that he’s back where he belongs. You’ve set back his training a fair bit, but it’ll be righted soon enough.” 

Alex’s whole body was shaking now, doing all that he could to keep his cool. It felt like he was being baited, almost like the Keeper wanted him to lash out. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

“It won’t last long,” he said finally. “The FBI will find you and shut that place down-”

“Oh, will they?” Damon cut in. “Are you banking on Henley remembering where this place is?” 

“How do you-,” Alex started, his composure slipping. 

“I know a lot of things, Dr. Sharpe. Henley’s owner took measures to prevent both him and Izaak from ever knowing where this place is. Any lead you manage to find, it’ll go cold within days. It would be in your best interest to forget about your patient. He’s back where he belongs and will stay here.” There was a pause, and all Alex could hear was the faint sound of walking before he heard a few low groans in the background as Damon stopped walking. “Have a good night, Dr. Sharpe.” 

Alex was about to say something, but there was a click on the other end before the line went dead. 

Alex stayed frozen in his seat for a couple minutes after the line went dead, not knowing what to do, his body refusing to move no matter how hard Alex willed it to do so. 

He was terrified, to say the least. The groans he heard at the end of the call, they sounded like Sparrow and the doctor’s heart was in pieces knowing he was back with that bastard, enduring only god knows what at the Keeper’s hand. 

It took Alex a bit before he could move again, writing down everything he could about the phone call before he forgot. Once he had everything written down, he picked up his phone again, dialing the number an FBI agent had given him the day before with shaking hands, holding his phone up to his ear as it rang, praying the agent would answer at this hour. Hopefully they could help now that it was confirmed where Sparrow was. 

Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch, @whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @flowersarefreetherapy, @goronska, @blueyellow8green, @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @whumpcereal, (If you'd like to be added, let me know!)

[echoingalaxies]

Whump related ask! Any kidnapping whump scenarios in mind? 👀

Heyy! Ohh yes!!

Recapturing (my belobed): Whumpee is let go on purpose or manages to escape after a relatively short time being kidnapped (a couple of weeks at most), and they get to be free only for equally short period of time before the same Whumper takes them again, and this time they won't let them go or have made sure escaping is impossible.

It's even better if Whumper corners Whumpee and Caretaker during this freedom, threatening to take Caretaker this time, and Whumpee begs to be taken again over Caretaker ever having to experience the horrors they already know Whumper will do

Whumper targets people who no one will miss: they lure Whumpees in by offering them a job, deal including having a team to work with, a roof over their head and warm meals every day, anything that might sound appealing to lonely Whumpees who are struggling to get by.

A few Whumpees will actually get to work for them, but the job is not how they've imagined; Whumper is making them to hurt people. If Hired Whumpees start to refuse, Whumper takes them to the basement where all the other Whumpees are locked in, beaten and injured, and gives the Hired Whumpee a choice: either keep doing as you're told or become one of them.

Can be done even without actually hiring any of them, that would just be some extra fun for the Whumper. Point being they know the Whumpees have no one, and so there's no fear of anyone coming for them.

To combine these prompts: When Whumpee has been let go after only days with Whumper, they get into an argument with their Team/Caretaker, who don't understand why Whumper would have let them go so quick. Whumper is known and feared for keeping their prisoners for years, if not forever, and Team/Caretaker blame Whumpee for giving into Whumper's will and becoming a spy for them or that Whumpee would've told Whumper everything they wanted to know and is let go for that reason.

None of this is true, and Whumpee has no idea why Whumper let them go. Either way, the Team/Caretaker is so convinced Whumpee has betrayed them they kick them out.

And isn't this what Whumper had planned all along... Whumpee is now alone and vulnerable, and no longer has anyone looking out for them.

(I've been imagining two stories with the combined plot but knowing myself I'll never write them </3)

[scratchandplaster]

FEBUWHUMP 2023 DAY 6 - Secrets revealed

CW: recapture, mentions of a cult, reference to non-con touch (non-sexual), drugging, alcohol, Whumpee being awkward

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The bass nearly deafened all other noise surrounding them. He took two full hours to let his longing gaze finally turn into a pickup line, a stuttered mess about fallen angels or whatever corny phrases he googled beforehand. He had thoroughly prepared for this, even written it down on his forearm to not mess it up.

Embarrassing, but she still laughed. Maybe about him, but she did nonetheless, until they laughed together.

Now their bodies were moving closer on the dance floor, basking in the beats drumming from the speakers, which acted as an ever thinning layer between them. Everything around them was like a new taste hammering onto his senses: the music, the drinks, the people…

God, he didn't know any of them, different faces hitting his eyes like a refreshing splash of water, clearing his view. Everything adding up to outline the person now mere inches away from him, inviting him closer to dance, to touch-

He waited so long for this, to finally decide for himself when and how he would show his affection. But there was something that stopped him from moving closer, a very familiar sensation: Fear.

"So what are you looking for tonight?", she practically screamed into his face, when his movements started to turn into more of a tense flinching than anything else.

"Umm...just some company." he replied nervously, probably way too quiet, judging by her lost expression.

Instead of sputtering further, she pulled him by his sleeve and off to the side, between the cocktail bar and the toilets.

Very nice, I bet the stench of piss will make me look more sympathetic, he thought with a sour expression.

Careful to pull his cheap dress shirt down to cover the notes, that were currently getting smeared around by a combination of sweat and iridescent glitter, he felt like the biggest idiot in town.

"Um… I thought about getting one of those," he pointed at an electric blue chalice of unknown contents, currently held by a woman dressed in the shortest skirt he'd ever seen. It looked like the fur of some animal. 

A tiger maybe, he pondered, or a cheetah, they are known for-

"Ah, yeah. They're great. Ever had one?" The little reflective umbrella on top almost waved at him.

"No, but if you recommend them, I'm sure I'll like it!"

Her round face turned avid at that comment. Dragging herself through the crowd, she made her way up to the counter. He continued to look for her between the illuminated shapes that swayed and jumped all around him, using her glitter-freckled skin and wild red hair as an anchor in this unfamiliar environment.

It was calming to know that he didn't waste his evening tucked away in a corner watching, like he used to often enough.

Don't be such a freak, act normal, the desperate voice in his head kept yelling at him. It never revealed something new, even when following him across state lines.

Lifting his gaze off the bar, he took the time to take in the view. Hundreds of people, all different in the most unique ways he'd ever seen: hair, clothing, make up. Now collected in one place for the sole purpose of having fun, being free to express that in any way they liked. He still wasn't part of that mob, but gradually learned how to better take part in this life, the life he always wanted. Finally, finally being on his own, escaping his so-called life and moving far away to start living-

"This is a Blue Lagoon," she explained, ripping him away from his line of thought.

She leaned against the wall holding a bulbous glass in each hand, gradually moving one towards him. Bright liquid sloshed around inside the glass and made the ice cubes softly clink against each other.

"I can't wait for you to try it!" she kept on going, all the while the nauseating presence at the back of his neck started to make itself even more present, "But be honest, it's not for everybody."

Danger. Danger. Danger.

"Mhh...can we...can we maybe switch?" he finally pressed out.

A long stretch of silence followed, he could see her face gradually starting to lose its smooth features. He was not able to place the expression that slowly turned her smile into a grimace of aversion...disgust even? He knew that he ruined it, every chance of living out here was just a thinly veiled lie.

You know where you belong, don't fool yourself.

Wordlessly shrugging, she outstretched her other hand, now holding nearly the same drink as before.

Stop acting like an asshole was the only thought left in his mind, as the thick tension between them was getting worse and worse by the second.

"Sorry," he tried in a last attempt to save himself from being ridiculed, "I just really like the green one."

His fingers grabbed the drink out of her hand, the cursed quiet between them slowly began to dissolve, as her eyes started to widen with insight.

"It's okay, really. It's not a big deal." She looked down at her own glass, decorated with a purple umbrella tucked between an orange slice and a maraschino cherry, and back at him.

"Suits you. So, what are you doing here in Nashville? You don't look like a tourist."

Tell her something, don't be a fucking idiot.

What was he supposed to say: Escaping a cult in Cincinnati? Google didn't encourage that kind of chit-chat.

"Just visiting an old friend." Come on, keep it going.

"Sounds fun!" It was apparent that she was trying her hardest not to turn around and dump him on the spot. A beat of uncomfortable silence started to announce itself again.

"Thank you for being so patient with me, I'm not really great at this kind of conversation," he admitted at last, slowly sipping the alien liquid through the funny shaped straw. Being honest was the least he could do.

A sudden punch of sugary alcohol hit him, making his nostrils burn from the inside out and letting him cough like a high schooler trying their first beer. It truly was great.

"That's alright," she smiled, followed by a quick wink and slurp of her own drink, "It's not the small talk I'm here for."

--------

"I'm so glad I met you tonight."

They hadn't stopped after one cocktail, he could feel the fruity aromas the bar had offered them still enclosing his tongue. She showed him all her favorites, each coming with their own ornament he secretly put into his pocket, evidence of his adventures.

Now, sitting on the passenger's seat of her old Ford Fiesta, he never felt so free in his life.

"Me too, I waited so long for this!" he breathed through a pleasant shiver, the tingly heat all across his body slowly sinking deeper into his bones. She sat on his lap, straddling him while holding his heavy head between her palms. The copper curls framing her sparkling blue eyes lovingly stared back at his, searching his gaze.

He hugged her waist softly, dragging them both close once again, but not moving down any further. He would never do anything she wouldn't request, exactly as he hoped he would be treated.

She would stop; if I'd tell her that I didn't like it, she would stop.

A notion he never had dared to think back then.

The little voice that mocked him for a good part of the night finally shut up, being replaced by the bliss now warming him from the inside. His vision had long turned fuzzy from the vodka or whatever juice the barkeeper had filled them up with, little black dots dancing up the in the air like TV static. Motionless in their embrace, they remained. She was better than any company he could have hoped for.

"Oh, I have to pay you back still-" he slurred, his hands suddenly breaking contact with her soft skin to fumble for his wallet, "...the drinks, y´know?"

His fingers tucked at the zipper of his fleece jacket, but slipped every time they got a hold of the little slider. If he'd known that being wasted would make him this weak, he would have abstained from one Malibu Sunset...

But only one!, he silently smiled to himself.

"Don't worry about that," she whispered, her weight lifted off his thighs as she placed herself back into the driver's seat, "I just hope you had fun tonight."

He did, but couldn't find the strength to tell her that. His mouth wasn't moving on his command anymore, he felt himself weightlessly sinking into the darkness creeping in at the corners of his heavy-lidded eyes.

"We all missed you so much!", was the last thing he heard before gently drifting towards the void of unconsciousness, thinking nothing at all.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2023 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[flowersarefreetherapy]

Hold On: I’ll Be Home

CW: Vaguely implied past noncon, escape, dehumanization

The apartment heater bangs and rattles in the corner. The warmth it provides does nothing to break the frigid cold settling in Daniel’s bones. 

He curls tighter on the bed, knees to his chest, blanket pulled around his shoulders. When he exhales, a cloud forms in front of his face. The tips of his fingers are purple and numb, have been for hours. His teeth knock against each other hard enough to worry him. The wound throbs deep in his jaw. 

As long as he continues to feel cold, he is fine. 

Where did that fact come from? 

Daniel tries to trace the thought back, but he hits a wall: a wall that pushes back. He pulls away seconds before the push can become a splitting headache. 

Some past of him misses Samuel. He had to leave today, go and meet with some agent. There’s hope with this book, some horrible, trashy romance novel with the photoshopped cover and no plot. Samuel has explained to him that people read these books and that with Daniel’s help, he is going to make millions. 

Daniel will not think about how he assisted. 

The TV drones on and on and on. Talking about some dead white man. Daniel is sick and tired of hearing of dead white men. What about the people in this apartment? The woman down the hall, yelling into her phone at doctors who don’t listen, desperate to get a second opinion even as everyone ignores her? What about the man on the floor above them, who was found dead in his apartment only because everyone was complaining about the smell? No one cared about him before then. No one cares about any of them. 

Star doesn’t care about him either. He hasn’t come looking. He hasn’t done anything. Of course he can’t. Why would he? What is he going to do, put up wanted posters? Daniel doesn’t exist, there would be nothing to bring to the police.

He shouldn’t be thinking about the police. That is a bad thought. He can’t be bad. It means he’ll be hurt when Samuel returns and he can’t take that again. If he behaves, then Samuel will be happy and it won’t hurt as badly. He can handle it as long as it doesn’t hurt. 

I wasn’t trained for pain. My body is not my own. I am not my own. I don’t belong to anyone. No, no, no, no, I belong to my master.

But Samuel isn’t his master. His master is six feet under in some graveyard, put there by his own hand. Because he was protecting his bonded, his love, the only person in life or death he belongs to.

He needs to return to his bonded. He must go home, must protect him, keep him safe. It’s his job and what he’s supposed to do as Star’s bonded. He has to protect him. What if he’s been hurt? What if the people he left Star with hurt him, take advantage of him? What if he is sold again, turned back to the company and destroyed? Another Drip session will break his mind. He nearly didn’t survive the first one.

I can’t! I can’t go and save him. I don’t even know where he is!

But if he’s hurt, and Daniel wasn’t there, and that makes it his fault . . . he would never be able to live with himself after something like that.

Daniel buries his face in the blanket. It smells like soap. Plain, boring soap. Like how Star used to smell. Does he smell the same? Or has he changed soaps? Does he now smell like the floral scents the advertisements list? 

Stop! You need to focus! Pay attention, you have to make it back to him!

Another slow exhale and Daniel pushes himself from the bed. He stumbles to the kitchen, staring at the knives in the block. His hands don’t move. So much blood on his hands and he doesn’t want to add any more. 

The flame of rage that has brought him this far ebbs and splutters. He blinks. The knives loom large in his vision. It would be so easy to grab one, wait, plunge it deep into Samuel’s chest. Daniel reaches for a knife. His hand falls back to his side. 

No, he can’t. He cannot kill again. Star doesn’t want him to kill. Star would want him to return in a way that keeps his humanity intact, in a way that keeps him from adding to the blood already spilling down his hands. 

Just run. You don’t need to kill again. Just go out that door and never look back.

Daniel presses a hand to the gash across his cheek, numb feet carrying him forwards. He hesitates at the door long enough to grab a coat. It smells like Samuel, like the cologne he wears, wrapping around Daniel’s face, choking him until he can’t breathe, can’t scream even as his world burns away around him. It’s determination enough for Daniel. He steps up to the door, numb fingers forcing the lock to turn. The lock sticks, then pops free with a grating sound. He holds his breath as he forces the door open. 

No one is in the hallway. The lights flicker as he steps out. The carpet is rough against his bare feet, barely better than the cement. A radio plays in the distance. Some female singer, crooning about being with her love.

It’s a good sign.

He steps out, closes the door behind him. The sound echoes down the hallway. 

Final. Determined. Irreversible. 

Daniel wraps the coat around him, and starts walking. 

Tagging: @blood-is-compulsory @darkthingshappen @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whumpinggrounds (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

[wolfeyedwitch]

Zera and Bailey in the *redacted*

Whump Prompt

“What…what did they do to you?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just get me out of here. Please.”

[returnofismasm]

Given how much of the immediate backstory to Dragon Age: Inquisition was found in Asunder and the Masked Empire, I think some people might be wondering if any of the short stories, anthologies, or comics are also "homework" for The Veilguard. Obviously, the game's not out yet, so I can't be 100% sure, but here's my best recommendations based on what we know about the characters (done in alphabetical order because why not).

Bellara: She's new! The Veil-jumpers are in a single issue of the Missing, but she's not any of the ones named there. They investigate magical disturbances around Arlathan forest, and that's kind of all we know.

Davrin: Also new! The reason he seems to have a juvenile griffon (or at least, why there's a griffon at all!) is covered in the events of the novel The Last Flight, but it's hard to say how much any of those specifics are relevant to Davrin.

Emmrich: Emmrich (and Manfred!) is in Down Among the Dead Men in Tevinter Nights, and another, The Eternal Flame released during a Dragon Age Day and archived on the wiki. We learn he's a senior member of the Mourn Watchers, somewhat eccentric, and capable of talking to the dead. Also he's got a last name, Volkarin, so that's neat. All of that seems pretty easy to catch people up on in-game. (Down Among the Dead Men is really good though).

Harding: Harding is in the Missing, accompanying Varric on his hunt for Solas. Her buddy-cop-comedy-ing it with Varric is apparent from the trailer. Her apparent magic powers are completely new though!

Lucanis: He and Neve probably have the most backstory in Tevinter Nights of the bunch. Lucanis's story is found in the Wigmaker Job and he's mentioned in Eight Little Talons, both in Tevinter Nights. A Dragon Age Day short story called the Wake seems to have implied that he died, so mayhaps he faked his death? To hopefully set some people at ease, even though he's advertised as "The Magekiller," the mages he's killing are Venatori, so it's all good. I doubt he'd have beef with Neve or Emmrich or a mage PC JUST because they're mages. Also he's got a last name, Dellamorte.

Neve: Neve has a last name too! It's Gallus. Neve is the viewpoint character of the Streets of Minrathous, where she stops a Venatori plot to unleash a giant sealed demon underneath Minrathous. Her story is very Noir-vibes in a fantasy setting. She's also in the Missing for an issue, where she meets Varric and Harding and they work together to help escaped slaves avoid recapture by the Venatori. The giant sealed demon business did feel very "preview of a boss battle" but who can say if it actually is.

Taash: Like with Bellara, Taash herself is new, but the Lords of Fortune have featured elsewhere. They're in a number of stories in Tevinter Nights, as well as in Dragon Age: Absolution. The group doesn't seem to have a formal role, they seem to be sort of "adventurers for hire." Side note though, Ataashi is Qunlat for dragon, so I wonder if that's where Taash got her name.

[whumblr]

Memories

"So, you remember all the rules, hm? And the punishments that go with them, of course."

"Of course," Whumpee mumbled and, prompted by a sharp gaze, continued: "The whip."

Whumper nodded, slowly circling the kneeling figure. A sly smirk crossed his lips as he threw a quick glance to Caretaker, subdued, helpless, utterly powerless as he too was forced to his knees.

"Good," he said and stopped pacing, kneeling down in front of Whumpee. "Tell me, what do you remember from that, exactly? Hm?" He brought up a finger to their chin and before he even brushed over their skin, Whumpee's eyes found his.

Reluctantly, trembling under Whumper's expecting gaze, Whumpee forced themself back to the recesses of their mind, the place that they avoided at all costs. A little corner with dark memories from their previous captivity, memories that despite all their safeguarding sometimes slipped free at the moment they were least wanted, when Whumpee was least prepared.

What did they remember... The pain, obviously. That blinding sharp pain crossing into their skin. How it didn't fade, how the pain just spread and lingered and worsened with every following lash.

But those weren't the memories that slipped free. In unguarded moments, they heard a voice crooning, echoing in their mind.

"I... I hear the lashes of the whip. And... your voice. Cold. Counting after every crack."

Whumper nodded. "How about your own voice? Do you hear your own screams?"

Whumpee thought for a bit, tensed up, reliving the memories in vivid detail. The pain, the despair, the rotten sound of the whip. How their lips parted in a scream, how their voice rasped in their throat... but they couldn't recall the sound. "No..." they simply said in barely more than a whisper.

Whumper hummed. "I do. I remember them well, especially how your voice cracked."

He stood and with the lightest brush over their cheek, Whumpee followed right along. "But I don't mind if you refresh my memory."

-

General whump tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan

[blasphemousclaw]

I’ve been seeing a lot of people argue that Radahn would never agree to Miquella’s plans because he loves the Golden Order and would never want to replace it… but I think there are some nuances about the current state of the Golden Order that call that assumption into question?

The first thing to know about Radahn is that he’s defined by his idealization of Godfrey and his reign as Elden Lord. His lion armor is an explicit tribute to him, and he tries to emulate the “Lord of the Battlefield’s” martial prowess and heroic, honorable nature. When looking at the iconography associated with Radahn, it is always directly tied to Godfrey alone.

But Godfrey isn’t here anymore, he was banished… and the current state of the Golden Order is now extremely culturally different than it had been under his rule. The crucible and those associated with it gradually became less and less accepted, and more and more “disdained as an impurity as civilization advanced.” Godfrey’s crucible knights used to be heroes, and it’s even implied that they were the very face of the colosseums’ ritual combat… the Ritual Sword Talisman is “patterned after swords used in ritual combat held to honor the Erdtree,” and it’s the exact same design as Crucible Knight Ordovis’s sword:

so there’s this connection between the colosseums under Godfrey’s reign and the crucible.

But, in the present day, both the crucible knights and the colosseums have fallen by the wayside: “In time, the strength shown by these knights, and even their appearance, was seen as chaotic and deserving of scorn,” and regarding ritual combat, “the practice had died out by the age of King Consort Radagon.”

We do in fact see these hallmarks of Godfrey’s reign in association with Radahn as well — from Freyja’s backstory, we know that Radahn first met her by watching her fight as a gladiator at the colosseum (probably the one in Caelid!). And there’s a boss fight at Redmane castle with a Crucible Knight and a (red-haired!) Leonine Misbegotten! It’s also worth nothing that Godfrey, his crucible knights, and Consort Radahn all share the same earth-stomp move! Another interesting point is that Godfrey is associated with lions (Beast-Regent Serosh), and of course Radahn wears lion armor inspired by this, but there is also a Lion Guardian enemy at Redmane castle that has horns:

the old crucible society of the Hornsent revered the horned lion above all…

and Radahn, the “Lord of the Battlefield’s lion,” gains horns after being resurrected in Mohg’s body… literally becoming a horned lion!

I think it means something that Radahn is associated again and again with these symbols of the OLD Golden Order and the crucible… the time when Godfrey ruled, the crucible still flourished, and glorious combat reigned supreme. Yes, Radahn is absolutely defined by nostalgia and trying to recapture the glory of an old age… but I think this is actually a reason for him to OPPOSE the current Order, because now all the things he loved and admired about it are GONE! Indeed, there’s no evidence that Radahn made any attempt to preserve the current Order during the Shattering, and Morgott considers him to be a “willful traitor” with the rest of his siblings!

Does this mean that I think Radahn planned to be where he is with Miquella at the end of the dlc? Not necessarily, and I personally am really skeptical that where he ended up was entirely of his own choosing… I just think that the logic of assuming Radahn would want to preserve the Order in its current state is flawed, because the differences between Godfrey’s reign and Radagon’s reign are quite significant!

[kroosluvr]

yay!!!!!!!

typo that im too lazy to fix: on the last page, "kasumi was one of the best gymnasts [in japan]"

edit: BRO I IDDNT REALIZE AKIRA ND SUMIRE WERE SHARING A SPOON TO EAT THE CURRY AM I INSANEEEEE <- She literally drew this image

1st 2 pics are genderbent akira+goro as well as sumire, 3rd pic is canon akira and sumire

in my head m!sumire is dedicated to rhythmic gymnastics, but the fact that it's not a popular sport somehow causes a mental block for him: kasumi was a trailblazer in men's rhythmic gymnastics. he was setting the course, but now he's gone. so does sumire live up to that? does he have to fill his brother's shoes? or can he just strive to be the best rhythmic gymnast he himself can be?

he was always solemn and driven growing up, but after the accident, he drove himself further into his practices and routines in an attempt to "recapture the spark" that kasumi had. of course, this is mostly in vain... chasing his shadow doesn't get him anywhere

he slowly develops the cognition of "sumire" being "kasumi's replacement." the younger brother that stepped up to the plate. to attend to his anxiety/depression he goes to dr. maruki (i'd say this takes longer than in canon, because he was always so busy with practice that he didn't really. comprehend 'oh perhaps i need counseling after my brother died' LMAO. and even then it's more "ok im gonna start competing internationally, so i need to make sure my mental is in tiptop shape"

he starts to reveal his insecurities to dr. maruki who. yknow. does all that. i don't think this sumire would specifically say "i wish i was kasumi" but more "i want to continue his legacy the way only he could have done it" which dr. maruki himself takes as "ok so u want to literally be kasumi"

i'd also say his "transformation" into "kasumi" is more jarring than in canon? canon "kasumi" is polite, eager, cheerful and sunny, but i imagine m!"kasumi" to be more boisterous, more outwardly outgoing/extroverted/outspoken, a little bit of a daredevil

on top of that, i think (perhaps) since men's rhythmic gymnastics isn't super popular, maybe not many ppl have heard of "kasumi yoshizawa" to begin with? so maybe ppl accept him as "kasumi" a little easier, which is. um. bad LOL

not sure if this helps his gymnastics at all. i thinkkk it does give him the confidence to execute more complicated routines that sumire himself didn't have the self-confidence to try before. but, of course, this doesn't affect anything in the rhythmic gymnastics world since. erm. everyone knows kasumi died. awkward!!!!

i think the shame would be all-encompassing when he breaks out of the delusion. he never wanted this.... all he wants is to keep competing with his brother, to keep supporting him into the limelight, and he'll never have that again. so i think, like canon, his arc is learning how to support and uplift Himself -- but more like, become more self-sufficient in terms of his own gymnastics instead of always seeing himself as second place to kasumi (and being okay with that)

it's different than canon as kasumi always told sumire they'd take the world stage... TOGETHER! ->

while i think for m!kasumi and m!sumire they worked in tandem, it was never really a dream. kasumi simply decided "i want to do this" and so did sumire. the thing is, kasumi's skills just far outweighed sumire's, and that much was painfully clear to him. kasumi was one who could bring men's rhythmic gymnastics into the international lens, and sumire has no idea if he could ever be strong enough to do that.

there's an interesting sort of dissonance here....... like. big fish small pond (genderbend au) or small fish big pond (canonverse.) i think its interesting.. okay enough rambles from me its 4am sdjsdjfh

edit: last thing i think. in canon it’s heavily implied that kasumi took the reins and pushed sumire to do stuff / pick out clothes for them both / kinda set the stage for both of them but i think in gb au sumire just follows kasumi as a result of kasumi being such a bright light. sumire has ambitions the same way kasumi does but he lacks the self-esteem to back it up…. it’s similar in canon but not 1:1 if that makes sense? i think in canon sumire is still questioning if it’s even her dream to compete in gymnastics so that’s the main diff

[sleepyiswhumping]

anyone else thought about kisses in whump? theres potential for a bit of fluff/angst/creepiness

[although it isnt always the case, whumpee x caretaker is implied as a possibility for quite a bit of these]

caretaker giving whumpee a soft kiss on the forehead when theyre sick/exhausted/injured

(if theyre partners) whumpee and caretaker sharing their first kiss after a long time separated, probably due to whumper

a goodbye kiss, on the lips, on the forehead, wherever. maybe whumpee or caretaker is leaving the other for a bit (to get meds for a sick other?), maybe its a desperate, last sign of love between the two as whumper recaptures whumpee, [mcd] maybe whumpee or caretaker is kissing the other goodbye as one of them dies, a last "i love you"

whumper kissing whumpee, as a sign of possession, faking a relationship in public, or just being awful and creepy

whumpee kissing whumper, maybe before they know how awful whumper is, maybe playing along with the fake relationship, whatever

idk i find kissing in whump fun no matter the reason behind it bc no matter the reason it has potential for something delicious

[purpledemonlilyposting]

The shots she's talking about are this scene in the movie where Miki and Kozue are in the bath. Miki says they "can't go back to the garden", meaning Miki has given up on recapturing the intangible nostalgia they both share of their time together as kids before their falling out and their parents' divorce. Kozue calls him a traitor for this and threatens him with the razor she had been using to shape his eyebrows.

And I guess Lily didn't finish the Utena movie cause the next time we see Kozue she's one of the swarm cars that try to stop Utena and Anthy at the end of the movie. And there's a shot that kind of implies Miki murdered her.

And no, Lily, you're saying the same shit James Somerton did. Who also didn't watch the series completely. It is not about abuse on the macro level. Utena is a very personal story about the struggles of the individual characters within it. No one was doing this "media has to have a modern political message" bullshit 30 years ago in Japan.

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Content: Multiple whumpees, self-sacrifice, whumpee-turned-caretaker, implied recapture, captivity, PTSD/trauma, comfort, mentioned torture.

"I want you to be safe," Caretaker whispered. "I want to do what I can to protect you from this but- but I... don't think I can offer myself up. Not like you do for me. I hate it, but I just..." Their voice trailed off into a quiet weep. This was the first time Whumpee had ever seen them cry so much, and it broke their heart to know that they had ever thought it was an expectation Whumpee carried.

They tentatively brought Caretaker closer to them, bruised arms wrapping around their shoulders as an invite for them to sink into the hug they were offering. Caretaker didn't hesitate to take it, their sobs now muffled against Whumpee's bare shoulder. "I never expected you to do anything of the sort. Hell, I don't want you to. Why do you think I do so much to ensure that you're not the center of their attention?"

Caretaker didn't respond, but Whumpee could feel the way their entire body relaxed against them as they spoke. Relief, that they were being protected. Relief that they weren't expected to do the same. Their guilt, however, remained. That much was clear.

"I don't want you to know what my time here was like," Whumpee murmured, quieter than before as their eyes did a quick scan of the darkness that surrounded their cell. "I don't want you to know what torture feels like. I want you to remain blissfully unaware of it all, and it is my choice to do what it takes to make that happen."

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