#resigned whumpee

[whumpwillow]

let’s give it up for resigned whumpees, whumpees who just take any punishments inflicted on them without so much as a reaction, who collect scars and barely tend to their wounds because nothing matters to them, least of all themselves

[sir-fenris]

Whumpcember24 - Day 3

Begging

Content: experiment whumpee, resigned whumpee, intimate/sadistic whumper, begging, hand-feeding, implied torture, leg injury, threat of mutilation, starvation.

The first time Whumpee was thrown in the dungeon cell, they thought pain would be the worst, consistent problem. And well... it was, indeed, consistent and distressing.

But somehow boredom was worse.

Because boredom led to overthinking.

Could they have done something to stop the last session's pain sooner? When will be the next one? Will they be allowed water and food? How many days has passed? Is this consistent pain in the leg normal after being stabbed? Is the lethargy and apathy because of tiredness, or were they going insane?

And slowly, there was so much nothing going on beyond the pain, that their mind had to come up with new questions to fill their "free" time.

Like; how many steps there were between the bars and the wall? What's the highest number they can count to before a new session? How long can they keep their eyes open? How much can they move before jostling an injury too badly?

Any question and thought until the cell door opens.

When torture starts, they hope for it to end.

When torture ends, they hope for it to begin again just to take them out of this endless overthinking.

... And to give them a chance to eat. Because that only happened when Whumper was in a good mood and wanted to play, instead of study torture methods.

"Look who's up early today!" Speaking of the devil...

Whumpee raises their eyes tiredly, barely seeing Whumper clearly anymore, their eyesight is getting worse each day. They don't say anything, they don't need to.

"I was thinking of trying out glossectomy today, but I'm reconsidering..." Whumper muses, walking in the cell with a black bottle in hands.

Whumpee hated when Whumper used their weird-ass words. It meant usually some type of surgery or medical thing, by Whumpee's experience, and it always had the immense potential to be an excruciating experience.

At their tiredly confused expression, Whumper grins gleefully and explains, after crouching down. "Tongue removal, little bird."

Their blood goes cold. Whumper has never chopped off a part of their body. No matter how far they went, Whumpee knew Whumper would at least keep them whole by the end of it, why must it change now-

With a chilling chuckle, Whumper opens the black bottle, and the smell of fruit cuts off Whumpee's thinking.

"Now, now, don't lose yourself just yet. I told you, I'm reconsidering," Whumpee says. "I do love you singing for me, little bird... So I'll give you a chance to prove that I'm better off leaving your tongue where it is. And, if you're good enough, you can have a tasty smoothie, hm?"

The pause sent Whumpee in a frenzy to find out what was the right thing to say, which clues they had in hands to guess what Whumper wanted to hear.

'I do love you singing for me...'

"Please..." Whumpee whispers, lowering their eyes to the ground when Whumper grin grows. "Can I please eat?"

A hooked finger presses their chin upwards, forcing them to meet Whumper's gaze. "You can do better, little bird. Let me help."

Pain burns through their body as Whumper uses their other hand's nails to dig into Whumpee's leg injury. They try to curl into themselves with a stifled wail, but Whumper's hooked fingers turns into a whole-hand grip on their jaw, keeping Whumpee's gaze on Whumper's eyes only.

"P-Ple- Ah! Please, please, c-can I eat?" Tears burn their eyes when Whumper just digs their nails further, still with that vile grin. "Please, I'm begging you, I'm so hungry, please let me eat, please, please-"

Their words are interrupted by a choked gasp as Whumper retrieves both their hands to clap. "There we go, that's better."

Whumpee breaths shakily, closing their eyes to urge the pained tears away.

"Your singing is too pretty for me to cut off your tongue, little bird. Aren't you glad I've changed my mind?" Whumper asks cheerfully, putting a straw on the smoothie bottle.

"... Yes, thank you," Whumpee whispers. At least today's game was easy and fast. It's the easiest food they got in a long while.

"Good song bird. Now, say 'ah' for me."

Whumpee's eyebrows twitched at the straw being tapped against their lips, because their hands were fine, they didn't need nor want Whumper to feed them.

But this was the easiest food they got in a long while. They can't lose the opportunity of easy, tasty nutrition because of pride.

And when the delicious, cold and fresh smoothie reaches their kept tongue, Whumpee forgot why they had even hesitated.

There is no space for pride in survival.

-

(Kinda late, but stills counts as day 3, right? Shhh, for me, it does.)

-

[echo-goes-mmm]

Moonflower Masterpost

A stolen fae is forced into slavery. Tortured into giving up his true name, he doesn't feel much of anything anymore. Until he's given to Queen Iris, who wants to make a deal.

Contains Caretaker x Whumpee (slowburn)

Based on this post

Warnings: slavery, torture, past non-con, dehumanization

Chapters:

Arc 1:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | -

Drabbles:

one | two

Picrews:

one | two | three | four

My Writing Masterpost

[angels-whump]

Obsessed with whumpee telling whumper, “don’t bother”.

When they’re trying to bait whumpee’s team or demand a random and whumpee knows/is convinced they don’t care so it’s not gonna work. When they’re already resigned to whatever happens next as soon as they’re captured. When they’ve been through it before, there’s nothing else you can do to hurt them

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 2

2. (Jan 03-04) "Get away from me" / Collapse / Choking

cw celebrity whumpee, exhaustion, fainting, controlling whumper 

Whumpee stumbled offstage, lightheaded. Every muscle in their body ached, down to their feet which were unbelievably sore from endless nights of performing. They wanted nothing more than to unlace their boots and chuck them into the nearest trashcan. At the very least, sneakers might be more comfortable onstage—but that wasn’t their look, according to Whumper. 

“Hey, you did great out there!” The guitarist from one of the opening bands clapped Whumpee on the shoulder as they passed. 

Whumpee gave her a weak smile. “Thanks.” They could barely hear their own voice through the cotton that filled their ears. 

Sit. They needed to sit. Whumpee scanned the backstage area desperately for somewhere to rest—just for a minute, that was all they needed. Spots swam in their vision and a wave of dizziness sent the world spinning around them. Before they knew it, Whumpee’s eyes rolled back and they collapsed to the ground. 

“Whumpee,” a voice said, from what felt like a million miles away. “Hey, Whumpee, are you alright?” 

A hand smacked their face lightly, and Whumpee groaned. They blinked away the spots in their vision as someone helped them sit up. 

“What the fuck was that?” the voice demanded, anger concealing a hint of genuine concern. It was Whumper kneeling beside them, looking Whumpee over. 

Still a little out of it, Whumpee rubbed their eyes with the heels of their hands. “Mm. Tired.” 

Their manager sighed in annoyance. “So you’re just gonna pass out on me every time you get tired?” 

“No, ‘m sorry,” Whumpee muttered. A few people had stopped to check on them, but Whumper was shooing them away. “Just so many shows. I need a break.” 

Whumper rolled their eyes, reaching out to straighten the singer’s shirt. “You’re fine. I don’t hear any of your bandmates complaining. You’ve only got a couple more shows on this tour and then you can go home and get as much beauty sleep as you want, princess.” 

“Don’t condescend me,” Whumpee said, pushing away the hands that had begun fixing their hair for them. 

Whumper pulled back with a glare. “Don’t forget who’s making sure you get paid.” 

Of course they were right—that was why Whumpee did what they said, no matter how much it broke them down. No matter how badly their body ached or how numb the exhaustion left them. This was the life Whumpee had wanted. The fame, fortune, and everything that came along with it. They looked down, sniffling. 

“Oh, come on. Don't cry,” Whumper said, voice a bit gentler. They pulled Whumpee into a hug. “Just a few more shows. I know you can tough it out.” 

Whumpee nodded. They’d do it—they’d push through the sleepless nights in the bus and the ringing in their ears and the spotlights blinding them. It’s what they had to do. 

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Experimentation Begins (Magician's Bait, Part 2)

WoW Birthday Whump Event Day 2: Starvation / Thirst / "Please…"

Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

<- previous part | next part ->

TW: tied up, starvation, thirst, headache, creepily intimate whumper

Context: Damian has been trapped for a few days now, probably. His captor hasn't given anything to eat or drink. But he thinks he's figured out who she's after.

-----

How long has it been?

Time was immeasurable in Damian’s prison of darkness. The only indication that he was still alive at all was his heart beating in his chest, the aching in his wrists and ankles, and the steady gnawing of hunger.

His captor rarely visited. When she did, it was only to undo his bonds for short bursts at a time so he could walk around the cell and relieve himself. The room he’d been imprisoned in was small, only a couple paces across. The walls and floor were cool, rough stone, acting like sandpaper whenever he ran his fingers over them.

But she hadn’t fed him.

Was this one of those “tests” she’d mentioned?

Starving him was a cruel form of torture.

The lack of water, however, would probably kill him first. 

Currently, Damian was back in the chair, the rough ropes continuously wearing away at the skin of his wrists as he tried to find a comfortable position to sleep. The muscles in his shoulders burned from the strain, and his neck and upper back were no better. The cut on the back of his head from the fall on his first day was slowly healing, and it was probably responsible for the dull ache in his head.

The Stalker wanted him alive, didn’t she?

That’s what she said, at least.

Damian ran his tongue over his cracked lips. It was surprisingly dry in the cell, considering he’d been abducted during the peak of the humid season. Or maybe it was another symptom of thirst. That was more likely.

He sighed heavily through his nose, anxiously curling and uncurling his fingers. Being bound in one spot for so long was strange. He’d never considered himself restless, but he'd never been forced to stay still in such a brutal way. 

Despite the headache, Damian had been doing a lot of thinking.

And he was pretty sure he’d figured out who the Stalker was after.

The resident magician in the Torrent Territories wasn’t a private woman. Her name was Caiya Ebony, and she was well-known for flashy performances and daring escapades. It was an open secret that the king paid her well to limit her excursions to Torrent and occasionally around Zariya.

It made perfect sense. Stalkers were once magicians, after all. Magicians who chased after the promise of power at the cost of the lives of those who were once their colleagues. They’d been named such because of the way they tended to track their targets, like a hunter stalking prey. Once a Stalker caught her target, she would consume the magician’s power… somehow… and become stronger.

And unlike magicians, Stalkers didn’t need to draw the runes to cast spells. They only needed to speak. Damian didn’t know how it worked, and it really didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was bait. Bait for Caiya.

His father would have sent his best soldiers and detectives on the case, but when it became clear the abduction was supernatural, he would turn to his magician. And that was what the Stalker wanted. And after that? Damian couldn’t guess. Certainly not a Draigo. The entire species had vanished almost overnight.

Whatever she wanted, Damian was smart enough to realize that he didn’t want her to get it. And if that meant he had to die here? Then so be it. Roland could have the throne.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the cell door opened. “Hello?” he whispered, the words scraping against his dry throat.

No response, only the gentle stirring of the air around him, disturbed by the open door and the Stalker’s movement. The only noise in the cell was her breathing.

“How long do you plan to starve me?” Damian demanded, voice raspy. He’d given up on screaming for help when it became glaringly obvious no one was around to hear him.

His captor still hadn’t closed the cell door. Instead, she moved from one side of the cell to the other. Despite the magical blindness, Damian’s eyes followed where he estimated her path to be, judging from the movement of the air and the sound of her footsteps and breathing.

“Please…” he murmured, “at least give me some water.”

The spell was jarring, the runes spoken with harsh tones. Damian flinched, expecting pain. 

Nothing happened.

Without warning, something touched his head. “There,” the Stalker said softly, running her fingers through his hair, “was that so hard?”

He tensed, waiting for her to tug and yank him back until she let him fall.

“You know,” she continued, “for an heir, you’re not a polite guest.”

“I’m not your guest,” he hissed.

The Stalker’s hand paused mid-stroke. Damian gritted his teeth in anticipation. Knowing what was about to happen still didn’t prepare him enough for when her fingers curled, the nails digging into his scalp. “Call it what you like,” she snarled, “guest, prisoner, whatever. It doesn’t change your situation. It doesn’t change how helpless I’ve made you.”

Damian wanted to respond, to shoot back a cutting remark. But it wouldn’t make matters better. And she was right. 

He was helpless.

And he hated the feeling more than anything.

As quickly as she’d appeared, the Stalker withdrew, slamming the cell door closed with such force the floor shook. Damian listened to her retreating footsteps as he fought to control his racing heart, the fear curling in his stomach like a parasite.

She was long gone when he realized he was no longer thirsty.

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds

[fleur-a-whump]

ok this was not at all how I was expecting it to go. IM SO INTRIGUED?? like wtf why?

and this is a spoiler but HIS LITTLE 'okay' TO HERO ARE YOU JOKING I WILL SOB??? PROTECT HIM!! LOVE HIM!! HES A BABY HE DOES NOT DESERVE!!

also another spoilerish but I hope 'take care of them' meant kill them bc they deserve it ok

Resource L10#11 - Part 2: A dumpster fire of a day - Crestlen universe

Contents: waking in a dumpster, description of injuries, left to die, freaked out whumpee, resigned whumpee, whumpee who considers himself an object, mentions of past horrible trainings

I love Lionel. As I’m sure you can tell >:)

Part 1

……………………………………………

The underlying throbbing of his muscles on top of the ripping pain in his arms, legs, and nose was what Lionel woke up to. He tried to take a deeper breath, but only succeeded in choking on the blood that had dripped in to rest in the back of his throat from his nose. 

He rolled his head and weakly let the blood slip from the back of his throat to his mouth before he dribbled it out between his lips. After spitting weakly a couple of times, he rolled his head back over the bumpy surface he was laying on to pry his eyes open and figure out where he was. 

Blue grey skies and the sharp line of a building’s eave above him met his eyes, all within a greenish metal container. He blinked a couple of times and rolled his head to the side to spit again and found that he was laying on a bunch of trash bags in a dumpster. 

Keep reading

[whumpity-whumpwhump]

Failed escape attempts are great and all but you know what’s even better? Failed escape attempts that get civilians involved.

The whumpee nearly escaped and yes they will suffer for it but you know what else will happen? The whumper can kill whatever poor innocent soul was trying to help whumpee. And they can make the whumpee watch as they do it, making sure that they know that this wouldn’t have happened if not for them. That this person is only dead because the whumpee tried to escape and they tried to help them.

The whumpee then gets to spend some wonderful moments stirring in guilt and self loathing, along with anger at whumper.

Bonus points if the next time they have a chance to escape or alert someone they don’t. They stay silent and pliable as whumper guides them through a train station. They barely even need the threat of the knife in their back to comply, all too aware that whumper won’t hesitate to kill anyone who helps them. Or they go out of their way to assure the police officer that pulled them over that everything is fine, they haven’t seen anyone or anything suspicious. They’re just on a trip with their friends.

[bloodybloody]

Whumper who records the process while the experiment is occuring✨✨✨

Whumper is checking the equipment and medical devices after tying the whumpee down to the operation table. They gaze upon the camera, which is in the corner of the room, and start the voice recording. They plainly state the date, time, whumpee's number, which is determined by whumper when they are captured, and the experiment's subject. Then they inject muscle relaxants in order to hold the whumpee still.

Despite the medications they've taken, whumpee is in excruciating pain. They can't save themselves or even move; they merely cry and scream in pain. Whumper is unable to record their voice properly because of whumpee's wails, so they shush and calm whumpee down with comforting words, caressing their hair and holding their hand. Whumpee is barely fighting the urge to scream; all they can do is sob and whine while clutching whumper's hand tightly.

Whumper leaves whumpee immediately after finishing the experiment to examine the record while whumper is writhing. They notice whumpee's desperate but resigned gaze at them while watching the record. 

They thank whumpee for being a good lab rat while treating, headpating, and kissing them.

Whumpee watches whumper for a couple days studying the results of the experiment while they wait for whumper to finish their work on their knees. Whumper randomly asks questions about what they've felt in specific moments and makes them remember the pain they've felt, intentionally or unintentionally.

[jump-in-the-whump]

am I the only one who LOVES starvation whump??? it hits so hard but I can barely find any

Yeahh, this is another big favorite of mine!! Everything about starvation is golden because you can torture your whumpee with so many fun symptoms!!

Hunger is just so powerful, and your whumpee will find themselves empty inside, and this emptiness will eat them out, not only physically (with constant spasm and cramps), but also mentally, they’ll always think about food, consuming each one of their thoughts, dulling every other sensation.

With this insatiable hunger comes the weakness! The whumpee will struggle to move, each step heavier than the last. Their legs and hands will shake uncontrollably, muscles twitching in spasms they won’t control because of exhaustion but also because a strong cold seeping into their bones, and tremors make it difficult to hold any object or to simply stand. Their limbs will feel as though they’re made of lead, weighed down by exhaustion that sleep won’t cure. Their energy is fading, they will know it, and so their body, which was initially begging to be fed, will soon beg for any kind of rest, their brain shutting down, unable to have any single coherent thought.

It’s gonna be difficult to concentrate: names, faces, memories will seem distant, slipping away no matter how hard they try to hold on. When they try to speak, they will often pause, forgetting what they were about to say, the words evaporating before they can form them. Hunger will pull apart the threads of their mind, making them a stranger to their own thoughts.

All these things the whumpee will feel inside, will soon be visible outside, with their cheekbones jutting out sharply, casting shadows on a face that seems to have aged a decade. The skin beneath their eyes will be so dark, bruised, and sunken, their sockets deep and hollow and their lips will be chapped. Their complexion will be an unhealthy, pallid shade, that, together with a haunted look in their eyes, a mixture of desperation and resignation, will make the character guess whether the person they see in the mirror is really them or someone else. And perhaps it is someone else, they will never be them ever again.

Thank you so much for the ask! you're so right, there's not enough starvation writing out there, but i promise i'll try to fix it ;)

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee thought they were a monster, and they thought that every single thing the whumper did to them was justified. The whumpee had hurt so many people, and intentionally or not, they could never forgive themselves. There weren’t any escape attempts anymore, no sudden snaps towards the whumper, just quiet resignation.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Whumpees that are mostly resigned and accepting of their role. They understand that they’re the punching bag. They understand that they’re going to get hurt. They accept this.

They’re not going to fight back, they know how this all goes.

So an odd question for the whump community.

What is that one trope that is your "brand" (as in, you write/draw it all the time, you love reading it, and the trope always bleeds into your stuff without you realizing)?

Mine is the "used as bait" trope 😆

[unforgivenn]

CHOKING IN WHUMP

I know this is like very basic in whump but its something I just CANNOT get over with.

It’s not just about the physical pain but also the mental and emotional anguish. It’s like a perfect storm of fear and helplessness, and that combination really gets me hooked.

Plus, there's something about the dynamic it creates between the whumpee and whumper. It adds layers of control and power plays, which can make the whole situation even more intense. The way it forces characters into such a vulnerable state is just sooo deliciousss.

What I love the most is the thought's that whumpee gets while being choked. When a character is choking, it’s like everything else fades away, and it’s just them and this immediate, life-or-death struggle. The thoughts are the one thing that changes the whole situation. It ramps up the tension and keeps them on edge, wondering how they’ll get out of it or if they’ll even make it.

Whumpee's breaths are ragged, each gasp a desperate plea that falls on deaf ears. The world seems to be narrowing, collapsing into a pinprick of darkness as their lungs scream for air that isn’t coming. Their mind races, a jumble of fragmented thoughts. Is this how it ends?

Whumpee can feel the pressure tightening, relentless. Their vision blurs, and they struggle to focus on anything but the suffocating grip around their throat. The room spins, and their heartbeat feels like it’s trying to break free from their chest. It’s like being trapped in a nightmare where the walls are closing in, and there’s no escape.

There’s an almost surreal clarity in this moment of terror. They think about everything They won’t get to do—no more sunrises, no more laughter, no more moments of peace. All those simple things I took for granted are slipping away, one choking gasp at a time.

Whumpee's hands claw uselessly at the constriction, nails digging into their skin, but it’s like trying to fight a storm with bare hands. Whumpee's thoughts are a blur of panic and regret, all mingled with a helpless resignation. I’m fading, losing grip on everything familiar.

The worst part? The absolute isolation. In this moment, no one can hear my silent screams. I’m utterly alone, drifting into the darkness with only the oppressive pressure as my cruel companion.

Is this it? Is this what it means to truly lose yourself? To have your life squeezed out of you, one choking breath at a time? The fear grips them like icy fingers, and whumpee can’t help but think that there’s no coming back from this.

Oh god oh god oh god Please please Im sorry im sorry

Please let my family be okay..

Finally.

So, yeah, choking in whump isn’t just about the physical act. It’s about the emotions, the stakes, and the dynamic it sets up. :))

[echo-goes-mmm]

Moonflower #1

Prompt

Masterpost

Next

Warnings: torture, rape mention

They had stolen him in the summer, which seemed like cheating. He was a spring, and summer was for laziness and play after a strong season. He shouldn’t have had to worry about mortals trapping him in iron.

It didn’t matter now. 

Moonflower had no idea where he was, except that he was far from the fae realm. The cell was unforgiving cold stone, with horrid iron bars that burnt his skin and weakened his magic. There was no sun, or clean air, or any plants at all. Not even moss.

It was suffocating.

What did they want from him? Wishes, or luck charms? Moonflower was a simple nymph, not gentry but wild. His magic was unimpressive; not suited for the miracles mortals often craved.

He could hear distant footsteps coming towards him.

___________________

Moonflower stuck his fingers down his throat, vomiting up the saltwater they forced him to swallow. The salt hurt like a thousand tiny cuts, the sheer amount of his making his tongue bleed.

The wound wouldn’t last long, but he’d rather get his mouth salted than see what it would do in his stomach.

The air stank of his burnt flesh, and the sizzling sound of iron on his skin still echoed around in his mind.

Summer was slipping through his fingers, and he was so tired. But he had to hold out. 

He would not give them his name. No matter what they tried.

___________________

Stars, he was weak. Couldn’t even fight back anymore. In the beginning, he trashed and bit and clawed. It took three men to hold him down then, and now mundane rope kept him in place.

Fall was turning to winter, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to make it. Winter was hard on him; springs didn’t do well in frost. His color was fading, which had never happened, even in blizzards. His hair was graying, becoming brittle like dead leaves.

Moonflower was starving to death. He was starving for more than fresh meat and water, he needed light and air. He’d even settle for eating soil like a seedling. Just a taste of something other than cold stone and salt and iron.

He curled up on the floor the best he could, trying to stave off the cold. His clothes were long gone, and his nakedness bothered him when it hadn’t before. Plenty of fae wore nothing, but here-

He saw the way they looked at him.

He didn’t want to think about it. Moonflower closed his eyes and tried to sleep the hunger away. 

___________________

“Good morning, fae boy.” Moonflower opened his eyes slowly. He had a headache, and the blood on his skin was still tacky.

“What, no snarling? Not even a little growl?” Moonflower said nothing. It didn’t matter what he said; it was only wasted energy. It was midwinter, and he just wanted to sleep.

“You look like shit,” said the mortal. He crouched down in front of him. Moonflower must look really pathetic if the mortal was so blasé about it.

“Got anything to tell me?” Moonflower stared at him. He felt numb, an aching emptiness.

“Suit yourself,” shrugged the human. He pulled out an iron knife from his belt. The mortal pressed it to his neck, searing his skin.

Moonflower whined, high in his throat. He couldn’t take this anymore. The salt, the iron, the rape.

And when he died, they’d just take another of his kin. Maybe they’d even snatch a seedling. He couldn’t let this happen to a child.

“Moonflower,” he croaked. The human pulled away, and the cool air did little to help the burning.

“What did you say?”

He dug his nails into his palms. “My name is Moonflower, and you may have it.”

The human grinned down at him, a sadistic look on his face, and Moonflower immediately regretted it.

“Moonflower,” said the human, and every muscle and nerve in his body was alight with magic, waiting for a command.

But then the human let go of the puppet strings. He sank against the cold stone, trembling.

“Now we can finally start your training.”

Of course.

It was never going to be over; it was never going to stop. No matter what he did.

Moonflower looked up at the human, and felt nothing at all.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

[whumblr]

Ball and chain

Whumpee meekly walked along, resigned, hands cuffed in front of them, two henchmen clinging to both arms as they were marched into the large room. Like they were both walking them down the aisle.

Except the man who they were tied to was all but bliss. And did not accept any form of seperation.

And he now stood waiting for them in the middle of the room. He turned and his eyes immediately fixed on Whumpee. Myeah... they were in trouble.

The man barely contained himself, his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, and his rage plain to see in his eyes, swirling about like thunderclouds.

You'd think that, with all the trouble they caused, he would be glad to see the back of them... instead of sending out a search team and dragging them back to their cell.

They stopped right in front of him and Whumpee swore they saw something twitch in his jaw. His eyes bored into theirs, but they didn't look away.

"Leave," Whumper growled.

The two men gladly let go of their arms and turned to leave the room.

Whumpee however followed suit: they spun on their heels and made to follow them out. But before they could even take one step, a hand clamped around their shoulder.

"Not you, you goddamned little gargoyle, what makes you think I was talking to you."

Willfully ignoring the fingers digging into their shoulder, Whumpee simply watched, a little rueful, as the henchmen succesfully made their way out, leaving them alone here. Then they turned around again, shrugging the hand off with the softest huff.

"Well, you were looking at me, so..."

-

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

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom Day 17

"You don't want to do that." / Struggle / Blackmail / Desperate Measures

Prompts List | Masterpost

Next part ->

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 600

Tag List: @juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf

CW: unconsciousness, imprisoned, headache, net, stress position, captured, multiple whumpees, blood, knife, reckless behavior, swearing, implied starvation

A/N: It’s Draven-whumping time >:3

Side note: the name "Reprobus" was the original name of the Catholic saint better known as St. Christopher, a holy man in the 13th century abouts who according to legend carried the child Jesus across a raging river. The name means "the reject," hence why I named one of the other prisoners Reprobus.

Okay history lesson over onto the whump.

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Draven groaned as he came to, his head pounding as if his skull was being used as a drum. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew he was in a bad spot. From the throbbing in his head, the aching in his neck and limbs, the sensation of ropes against his face… it didn’t take a genius to figure that kind of thing out.

Of course, intuition can only get you so far. Suffice it to say that when he did open his eyes, he was unprepared for exactly how bad of a situation he was in.

For starters, he was entangled in a net.

Suspended in the air.

Over a pit of damned spikes.

He wasn’t the only one, either. Several other nets identical to his hung nearby, all containing their own prisoner. Nobody else appeared to be awake, and from what he could tell, Octavian was not among them. So he’d managed to escape.

Good.

That meant rescue was likely.

The ropes creaked as Draven shifted, trying to get into a sitting position in the net. The entire thing swayed precariously as he moved, but he managed to maneuver himself into a somewhat upright position.

“Oh… hello.”

Draven’s head snapped to his left to find one of the other prisoners staring at him from where he lay limply in his own net. He hadn’t moved initially, so Draven had assumed he was unconscious or asleep. Obviously, he’d guessed incorrectly. The prisoner’s face was gaunt, his eyes sunken and cheekbones prominent in a way that couldn’t be healthy. Unless he wasn’t human, of course, and he just looked like that.

Doubtful.

“Evening,” Draven returned, checking his sleeves, “or morning. Depths if I know. Last I remember it was evening.”

“They lowered you down about two hours ago,” the prisoner said quietly. He lifted a thin finger and traced a spot on his temple. “You were unconscious, bleeding from here.”

As soon as his attention was drawn to it, Draven noticed the stiff, crusty sensation of dried blood on the side of his face. He didn’t remember much from right before waking up here, other than a lot of noise. Shouting, some gunshots, pretty indistinguishable from every other day in Draven’s life. Octavian was also there, of course, but he had a knack for slipping out of most tight situations.

Draven drew one of his small knives hidden inside the sleeves of his duster. “What’s your name?”

The prisoner hesitated. “Why do you ask?”

“I like to know the names of the people I try to save,” Draven said, placing the knife against the coarse fibers of the net close to where the rope attaching it to the ceiling was bound. “I’m Draven.”

“…you don’t want to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Try to escape. They’ll only catch you again and send you right back down.”

Draven sighed through his nose and began sawing through the net. “Well, I know from experience that I’m pretty damn good at escaping. And if I get the rest of you out, we’ll have numbers at least. So what’s your name?”

“…Reprobus.”

“Well, Reprobus, how about you help out by waking up everyone else trapped here while I attempt something stupid, okay?”

“Stupid like…?”

Draven cut through the last few strands, making a hole wide enough for him to crawl through. He put the knife away and reached through the hole, grasping the thick rope. “Like scaling this damn rope.”