#tortured whumpee

[jordanstrophe]

After caretaker brought whumpee home, they stayed deathly quiet. They kept their eyes low and the most caretaker could get out of them was tired mumbles and warning sounds when they were nervous.

"Please tell me what happened. I want to know how to help you," Caretaker asked.

Whumpee shook their head and could barely muster eye-contact. "It wasn't as bad as you think," Whumpee muttered, almost as if they wished to not be heard. "I'm okay, really." Whumpee looked down at their bandages and clutched the cloth woven around their hand.

But whumper in their interrogation told a different story.

A detailed, gruesome, cruel and torturous story that sounds hardly survivable. 

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Little whump detail that I love: at the beginning of a torture session when Whumpee is first chained or tied up, you see them wrap their hands around to hold the length of the rope or chain.

But afterwards when they’ve been through hours and hours of agony, you see their hands now listlessly hanging in their shackles. Bearing Whumpee’s weight, limp and weak.

It shows a Whumpee entering the ordeal being in control or defiant, but ending up losing all of that and having broken their composure. So much so that they don’t have the ability or the strength to posture anymore.

[friendlesscat]

A whumpee that's so used to pain they don't realize they're hurt.

They've been so accustomed to the constant wounds and torture that they gradually grew numb to it. Or maybe to them, pain is a constant state of being, there's nothing unusual about it. And so, there's not much of a difference wether it hurts a bit more or a bit less.

Perhaps, when they've been rescued and getting accustomed to ordinary life, they might get hurt. But, since it's just a dull ache, it's fine, right? After it doesn't get better for a while, they might mention it to someone and receive the advice to visit a doctor - only to find out that the injury is major and that a person normally wouldn't be able to function at all, much less brush it off as a "minor inconvenience".

That would probably make their companions wonder about what they could have gone through to become like this. Perhaps they knew it wasn't good, but never to this extent. :D

[sir-fenris]

Seems like I'm finally able to do a random art again, YAY :D, and it ended up way bloodier than I had imagined at first, but happens.

(Guess my previous offering for the Limbo Gods worked.)

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Just for safety, content warning for: blood, non-sexual semi-nudity, torture aftermath, bruises, burn injuries, and chained up by the wrists. Classic torture whump art.

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(Arts' masterlist)

This Whumpee's first appearance :D. He can't say hi now, because he bites, so Whumper has to keep him with a mouth tape on :'(

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[bilightningwhumper]

Kyrie- The First Two Years

Current "unofficial" Chapter Four of "Belonging to Nightmares"

"Belonging to Nightmares" Masterlist

*Warnings: torture, stress positions, burning, lady/female+nonhuman whumpee, nudity, dubcon/noncon intmacy, SA (very, very brief description/fade-to-black), drugging, manipulation, death, blood, abuse, conditioning, experimentation, manipulation/gaslighting, mentions and description of miscarriages*

[Basically, Kyrie goes through a lot and it's very long; SA in "Tertuary (day#), 1383" and "December (day#), 1384"; Miscarriage des./men. in "Tertuary (day#), 1384" and "October (day#), 1383"]

Her body was screaming. How long had she been like this? Hours? Days? Weeks?

Secunder (day#), 1385

Dr Covenfere had chained and fastened Kyrie's arms up behind her back, raised so they hung at an angle. Not enough to dislocate, but she'd wished to the gods they would. If she had been injured like that, they would have stopped this new method of testing her. Instead, weights had been hung over her neck and shoulders, forcing her to strain to keep somewhat upright.

It had been easier to do this when she had been able to kneel. The floor of the cell was hard and unforgiving, bruising her knees as she shifted against the stone, but it had been bearable. Now her ankles and legs had been chained 'just so' to her waist so she had to keep herself up in the air to kneel or be seared by the burning coals beneath her. A delicate balancing trick that Dr Covenfere had perfected for 'her little test subject.'

Even with the brief allowances to drink water, she could barely sweat anymore.

The door opened in front of her, letting in a cold breeze that didn't even make her shiver or flinch. She'd learned very quickly that moving just a hair would throw off her careful balance. Once she was in pain, brain fuzzed by agony, it was hard to gain it again.

"Hello, my darling." the king drawled, the smirk clear in his voice. "Are you ready to behave today?"

A cover was placed beneath her, extinguishing the burning heat. She was given no warning other than the weights being removed before her chains were released and she fell in a heap to the floor.

Thoroughly exhausted, she just lay there. They were going to do what they wanted to her anyway. Might as well make them work for it.

Her hair was pulled by her ragged ponytail, the sight of Dr Covenfere's face greeting her blurry vision.

"You know what to do, girl." the scientist mono-toned. "Disappoint me and you'll be back in those chains."

She couldn't even grimace, let alone move her limbs. But she was able to her eyes as her head was dropped back to the floor.

It didn't take much effort anymore. Months of poking and prodding, forced to down terrible concoctions, days of painful seclusion... After everything they'd done to her, she could still manage to shift at her most depleted.

Bones shrank and moved. Her skin changed, becoming fluffier as her hair shortened and grew all over her body. When she was done, she'd become a small black dog.

Unfortunately, she couldn't hold the form for long, shifting back after barely a minute. Somehow more worn than before, her darkness edged in behind her closed eyes.

"It appears we have a new limit, your majesty." That aggravating monotone voice kept her from passing out. "But I believe it to be the subject's true limit. Any further may cause permanent damage."

The familiar repulsive feeling of the king's fingers in her hair made her flinch, making her wish she could smack his hand away. "Good." His voice grew closer as the scent of his perfumes and ointments grew stronger, not helping the fogginess in her mind as they overwhelmed her nose. "I told you we could break you, didn't I, bitch? So there will be no more of your rebellious outbursts, or I will order the good doctor to push for a new limit. But next time, it will be for your precious Minna. And we don't want that, now do we?"

If she could have responded, she would have bit him.

Instead, a mask was placed over her face, a bitter smelling gas filling her nose and lungs. She choked at first before her body turned heavy.

Then nothing.

~~~

Tertuary (day#), 1383

When Kyrie got home, she knew something was wrong. The air felt tense, thick. Going into the house, it was too quiet. No candles were lit. No firelight from the kitchen or smell of dinner cooking. No friendly chatter coming from the living room. Neither her parents or her siblings called out a greeting. It seemed like no one was home at all.

Cautiously, Kyrie crept through the hall to the kitchen. She could smell something nearby. Almost like.. metal? But everything was pitch black. Even the shutters had been closed, barely any light coming through the cracks for her eyes to adjust to at all. The only thing she could make out when she made it to the room was the empty dining table and faint bare counter-tops on the opposite side of the door.

“Hello?” she called out.

No answer.

“Anyone home?”

Still no answer.

Huffing, she felt her way to the other side of the room. At least if she could light the oven, she’d be able to see better. She tripped over something. A shoe? Gods, this better not be another one of the twins’ stupid pranks.

“This isn’t funny!” she said loudly, making it to the oven. And of course the flint and steel weren’t in their usual spot.

Something clattered behind her.

She spun around-

Only to see the faint shape of a pot had fallen from the top of the cabinet shelves.

“What did you expect?” she muttered to herself, turning back around. “Mom and Dad are running late and the twins decided to mess with you. Granted in the creepiest way possible. But nothing to-”

A hand clamped over her mouth while a large armored arm constricted around her waist.

Her scream was muffled by the glove. Her struggling meant nothing as more guards marched into the room. Two of them held lanterns, making her eyes water in the sudden light as someone else walked into the room between them.

Dr Covenfere? What was the king’s personal scientist doing here?

“Retrain her to the table.” the woman said sharply. “Hold the girl down and don’t let go, no matter what she does. Gag her, too. Screaming gives me a headache.”

Kyrie fought her best, wriggling and kicking her legs to no avail. Her head hit the table hard as the guard slammed her down. In her daze, four of them held her to the table, which she thought was a little excessive. Then her legs, still hanging over the table, were taken by two others. They held her firmly, tethering her feet securely to the table-legs before she could react. Someone else shoved cloth in her mouth, tying more around her head so she couldn’t spit the wad out.

Hands gripped her waist. “I would suggest you stay still, girl.” Dr Covenfere growled. “That is, unless you want to be paralyzed.”

Tears soaked the gag as Kyrie did her best to comply, but her body shook with the force of her sobs and panic. She felt the cold metal of a blade on her back as her dress was cut and torn down the middle, top to bottom. And it didn’t stop there, cutting through her threadbare undergarments, letting them drop to the floor and exposing her to everyone. Her skin crawled as the woman’s fingers brushed against the birthmark on her hip.

“Well, I’ll be.” She could barely hear the scientist, her voice so quiet she seemed to be talking to herself. “Palore was right. Which means…” Fingers pressed several points roughly between Kyrie’s shoulder-blades, making her yelp. “There it is.”

Now Kyrie did freeze, breath catching as something pricked her spine, numbness spreading from that spot on her back. She couldn’t feel anything at first. Then something warm and wet spread past the area, dripping down her body into her tattered dress. Even through her stuffed nose, she could smell the metallic scent of… blood.

The smell that had greeted her when she first walked into the house. It was blood.

She didn’t even try moving again as Dr Covenfere pulled back. “Got it. Now, one last thing,” she muttered. Then, louder, “Sorry, girl, but Beringer doesn’t like virgins.”

Something hard, cold, and wet touched the place between her legs, somewhere that only she and Minna had ever really explored. She shrieked into the gag as the object was shoved mercilessly inside, unforgiving as it split her open. Panting, she tried to breathe past the pain, tense and rigid as it was pushed back and forth before being taken out. The ache remained.

The guards let her go, but she didn’t move. She was so… confused. Hurt. Scared. Why her? Why her… her family? What had she done?

“Bring her out to the carriage.” the scientist ordered. “The king has waited long enough for this one.”

So they took her limp body, carrying her by her arms as her feet dragged and stumbled against the ground. At least some of her dignity was spared with her blood-soaked and torn dress still hung on by the sleeves to cover her front. Her eyes stayed fixed to the ground and…

She closed her eyes, choking back a sob as the sight of the newly illuminated bloodstained floor embedded itself into her mind. There were trails, pools of blood. It… She didn’t want to know what was there, where they led. She didn’t… she couldn’t look. Her throat involuntary choked and gagged even with the cloth shoved between her jaws as the stench burned into her nose before they went outside. The cool night air did nothing to remove that smell from her lungs.

Was this the truth behind becoming a companion to the king? But she’d seen the families of the new members of court, watched them move up in society, move to better positions as payment for selling their progeny to the king. So why… Why?

They practically tossed her onto the carriage floor, barely letting her sit up before locking the door with a sharp click behind her. Leaving her alone. No, not alone. At the feet of the king himself.

She sat back, curling her legs to her chest as she tried to keep herself covered with the ruined dress.

“Well, aren’t you just absolutely darling?” King Beringer said, his voice a low rumble, consuming and invading the small space.

Kyrie glared up at him. King or no king, she was not going to be treated like some… some thing. Like a toy, a possession, an object. She was a person, a human, same as him. Well, with this man, “human” was debatable. Regardless, her… her parents had taught her better than to accept being treated as less than.

When he reached down to her, she smacked his hand away, tearing the gag away herself and baring her teeth. A more animalistic growl than she expected came from deep in her throat. But when she saw the brief glint of fear in his eyes, she couldn’t help but feel a grim sort of pride.

“Fascinating.”

He actually knelt down on the floor with her, even as the carriage started moving. Sweat built against her brow as he seemed to tower over her, more-so than when he had been seated above her. Backing away did little as she became more cornered against the door. She couldn’t dodge his hand this time as he went for her neck.

Squeezing her throat, he grinned, his own teeth bared, eyes cold. “Try anything and I’ll make your beloved Minna suffer more than her father already has. Understood?”

Swallowing hard against his grip, she nodded. When he let her go, she croaked, “What do you want from me?”

He didn’t answer her, more concerned with attempting to remove the rest of her dress. When she resisted, he gave her a sharp look. “Behave and I’ll tell you the truth. For a price.”

“And if I don’t?”

His eyes bore into hers. “I’ll take what I want regardless.” he snarled, sending chills down her spine. Then he spoke softly, his voice as smooth as honey as he caressed her cheek. “But I am a reasonable man. If you let me take you willingly, I’ll do one favor for you. One truthful answer. One request granted. Whatever you may desire, as long as it is within my ability.”

Her mouth went dry. “But I-” she cleared her throat. “I like women.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem.” he chuckled, pulling out a flask from his robes. “One drink from this and you won’t have to worry about that. So,” He held out the flask to her. “What will it be, my darling?”

She stared at the small metal canteen and for once words failed her. The last, what, hour of events had her head spinning. She wasn’t a noble. She wasn’t even from a well-off family. They’d barely scraped by. Minna was really her only connection to that world, but no one saw her friend as a “real” lady.

But now she had been forbidden from seeing or even talking to Minna ever again. All because Dr Palore had caught them kissing. She was just lucky that… Well, not so lucky. Her family was… They were…

“Why me?” she rasped. “I’m not anyone. Is this because of my being with Minna?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” King Beringer tutted, tilting her chin up with his free hand, that smile shifting to a smirk. “That’s two questions. But I’ll let you have them, since it’s your first time.” Then he offered her the flask again. “But, you have to drink all of it if you want both answers.”

Her stomach churning, she took it. The smell of whatever was inside was odd. Flowery, but bitter. She’d expected alcohol or something similar. Closing her eyes, she chugged it all down as fast as she could manage before she thought about it too much.

The effects hit her almost immediately.

It burned going down.

Her body slowly went fully limp, the flask slipping from her hand just as she finished the last drop. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Something started stirring under her skin. The same sensations she’d feel when kissing Minna, though they’d always stopped before things got too intense. But this fire… it was those same feelings, several times stronger. The ache since she’d been violated went away, replaced by this throbbing. A deep need for something her body wanted, but her mind did not.

If she could have, she would have started crying again.

Instead, she was as pliant as a doll, tears trapped in her eyes. Powerless as the king stripped her of her remaining dignity as he removed the rest of her dress. She was surprised her body didn’t shake with the force of her heart pounding in her chest. King Beringer’s fixed gaze of of hunger and greed made her feel dirty and disgusting all over.

“To answer your second question first,” he rumbled, lifting her onto the carriage bench. “It was because of Minna that I found you. How fortunate you fell for the daughter of the man who delivered you all those years ago.”

Her mind was scattered. It kept trying to focus on the little details around her instead of what he was saying. The coarseness of the seat against her skin. The gold accents blinking in the starlight from the windows on the roof. It took all of her effort to keep her attention on his words, everything to keep from being aware of his hands and-

“As to your first question,”

Gods, he was getting undressed.

“You are the answer to all my troubles. The key to my ultimate desire.” He spread her legs, pressing something warm to where her core had become wet. “Everything will be solved with my child growing inside your precious womb.”

The unshed tears in her eyes fell one by one as he used her, thrusting her roughly against the bench with his force. She could feel the bruises forming on her waist, her back, her legs.

When he was finally finished with her, feeling gradually came back to her body. Her limbs twitched slightly as she laid there, motionless. By the time the carriage had stopped, the servants taking her out and carrying her into the castle, she had mercifully fallen unconscious.

~~~

Tertuary (day#), 1384

The dish shattered against the wall near Kyrie as she sat, shaking, on the floor. She could feel the blood leaving her body as her insides cramped and tore themselves apart. Something that shouldn’t be happening since she was… she had been… Gods, it was happening again. She was really losing another one. Sobs bubbled in her chest as she desperately tried to hold them back. It would only make the king angrier.

“Are you doing this on purpose just to spite me?!” he roared, pacing around the room, hands raking through his usually carefully styled hair. “Do you really think you can keep getting away with this?!”

Frantically, she shook her head, stopping as it made the world spin. “N-no, I don’t- I don’t know what h-happened-” she whimpered, flinching as another plate flew past her head.

The door burst open, Iris storming in, Cirila close behind her.

“Beringer, stop.” she ordered, eyes flashing.

As the king rounded on her, Cirila went right to Kyrie. He ignored the other companion, shouting at Iris, “This is none of your concern!”

“Seeing as she is not currently pregnant, your abusing my companion is very much my concern!” the queen shot back. Her words were even and firm, but Kyrie could see how her fists shook, hear the almost imperceptible tremble in her voice.

Cirila put a hand on Kyrie’s back, drawing her attention away from the couple. “Can you walk?” she whispered.

Kyrie shook her head, lip quivering as the arguing got louder.

With a nod, the other companion picked Kyrie up in her arms, barely hindered by the smaller woman’s many skirts. Not that she weighed much under the bulk of her dress anymore.

She weakly protested as they left the king’s chambers. “But Iris-”

“Will be back later.” Cirila said firmly, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

Unable to argue, Kyrie let her head fall against Cirila’s chest, her arms wrapped behind the other woman’s neck as she brought her to the queen’s wing. She let herself cry now, shaking as the blood still flowed from her body. It was so much worse than the first time.

By the time she’d been brought to her bed, the queen’s doctor called for, she was in a daze, barely able to follow what was being said to her. Barely able to stay awake as they tended to her, trying to stop the bleeding that didn’t seem to end.

As darkness came over her, Kyrie’s thoughts floated through her mind. Not for the first time, she asked herself: What if she never gave the king a child?

~~~

October (day#), 1383

Kyrie wrapped her arms around herself as she huddled on the bench. Her whole body ached. After having to shift so much in the past week, it hurt not being able to. She’d just started getting used to it, too. For so long she’d felt odd in her body. Her whole life, really. Being able to shift felt so… freeing. Changing into whatever she wanted, even if she wasn’t able to right now. Not that she could control it yet. But it felt… nice. Really, really nice. Maybe that was the same thing Minna and her sisters felt when they used their abilities. Something as natural as breathing. Because it did feel suffocating when they put this cursed thing around her neck.

An itch built up in her nose.

Oh no.

She sneezed, wincing as her body attempted to shift, but her necklace burned, stopping the change before it could begin. The chip Dr Covenfere had dug out of her back months ago was now disguised as a lovely golden locket on a delicate golden chain. A chain that couldn’t be broken, no matter how hard she’d tried. Only the king and the scientist held keys to the damn thing.

“Hello.”

Just about jumping out of her skin, Kyrie looked up to see- Queen Iris?!

She scrambled to her feet, attempting to curtsy as best she could. “Y-your majesty!” she stammered, head bowed, eyes fixed to the floor. “I, um-”

Hands gently took her arms, lifting her out of the curtsy. “Oh, there’s no need for all that.” the queen laughed lightly, sounding almost… bitter? Sad?

Curious, Kyrie risked glancing up.

There were bags under the queen’s eyes. She didn’t wear makeup, Kyrie discovered. Her shoulders were down, but not relaxed. More like if she was carrying the weight of the world, though she held herself upright as if trying to hide it.

“You’re Kyrie, aren’t you?” she asked in that same tinged quiet voice. “You can just call me Iris. In settings like this, that is. I don’t mind.”

Humming, Kyrie chewed on her lip before blurting out, “Are you okay?” She immediately flushed, wishing she could take the words back.

But the queen just laughed, smiling more genuinely now. The regal woman sat on the bench before she offered the seat next to Kyrie. “You’re a straight-forward one, aren’t you?”

Still flushed, Kyrie took the seat. “I’m working on it.” she mumbled, fiddling with the decorative ribbons on her dress. The low neckline only made her more self conscious than it normally did being in the presence of someone so dignified. How was she supposed to hold herself? Or talk without looking like a fool?

A soft, warm hand took one of hers. She looked up to meet Iris’ eyes again. They were brown, like her own. Though a lot of people had brown eyes. Strangely normal for a noble.

“I don’t mind.” The queen was still smiling, her eyes kind. “It’s refreshing. Even my companions hesitate speaking so bluntly to me.” Then she frowned, her other hand coming up to Kyrie’s cheek. When Kyrie winced as the freshly covered cut met her fingers, her eyes hardened. “He’s not a gentle man, is he?”

Weakly, Kyrie smiled. Unsure if she could speak freely of the king here, she just said, “King Beringer isn’t bad. I just… Um.” Her breath shuddered, a lump forming in her throat. Memories of waking up, legs covered in blood, pain, so much pain, all flooded back to her. She tried to push them down, tried to forget again. The queen couldn’t help her with her troubles. Not that she would dare to ask. She cleared her throat, doing her best to give a more reassuring smile. “It’s nothing to trouble you, your majesty. The king cares for me in his own way.”

A bitter smile on her face, Iris tucked some loose hair behind Kyrie’s ear. “Sweetheart, you’re not alone. We’ve all been… cared for by him in the same way.” Then she did draw back, pulling down her neckline to show Kyrie her collarbone. A long jagged scar ran down, no doubt past her heart.

Kyrie could only manage to inhale sharply, clenching her hands into fists, as the queen put her clothes to rights before reaching into a hidden pocket in her skirts. Out of it, she took out a small jar.

“May I?” she asked. “It’s a healing salve.”

Tears sparked in Kyrie’s eyes. Suddenly she was at home, her mama gently chastising her for getting into another fight while she treated her various bruises. But she’d never got that mad, not really. Not when it had been because she’d been standing up for her friends. Usually it was for Minna, whom her parents had practically taken in as another daughter. Her parents…

The dam broke when arms wrapped around her, pulling her into the warmest and most comforting hug she’d had since being brought to the palace. Each sob heaved from deep in her chest. In the back of her mind, she worried about ruining her makeup or the queen’s dress. But the arms only pulled her closer, holding her tight. As the smell of Iris’ perfume grew stronger, she stopped caring about being dignified.

Even after her crying died down, after she had stopped sniffling and shaking, the older woman still held her close.

So she drew back herself, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. No doubt her makeup was already a mess and she didn’t really care much about her own dress. But she still took the handkerchief she was offered with a quiet thank you, using that instead. “Sorry, I’ve- I guess I’ve been feeling a little…” She swallowed hard. “Homesick.”

“That’s perfectly alright, hun.” Iris said kindly, rubbing her back gently. “Have you written to your family? I can arrange a visit, if you’d like.”

Kyrie hid her face, looking down as she fought back a new batch of tears. “They’re dead.” she croaked.

Silence fell between them. The queen just sat there with her as now silent tears traced down her cheeks, taking her hand again. Every time Kyrie thought she’d cried her last over her family, the grief overwhelmed her again.

“I lost my daughter. He took her from me, when he took my husband.”

Unsure, Kyrie looked up, tears still clouding her vision. She’d thought talking of before King Beringer’s rule was forbidden. But this was Iris. She was probably the only one that could.

“Genevieve would have been around your age now.” she continued, her voice turning wistful, eyes turned to the sky.

“How old would she be?” Kyrie asked, her own voice croaky and rough.

Sighing softly, the queen’s sad smile returned. Her own eyes were full of unshed tears. “Twenty-six years old.”

Kyrie couldn’t help but let out a small rueful laugh. “Just a year older than me.”

Iris hummed softly, turning to look at the younger woman thoughtfully. “Would you like to live with me?” she asked. It was odd to hear a woman with her position and power so hesitant and hopeful. “You would be the youngest, as most of my companions are closer to my age. But you would be welcome to join my court if you wished.”

“I-” Words failed her again. Live with the queen? Her? “Would it be allowed?” she asked tentatively. “He-” She couldn’t finish. Did Iris even know what the king was doing with her? His intentions? The experiments?

It was almost like a mask went on, like what she’d seen happen to Minna over and over. But it was different, like seeing a new side of Queen Iris. Someone with a spark in her eye, a jaw firm and determined, head held high and shoulders back as she nodded to Kyrie.

“I’ll see to it that it is.” she said fiercely.

Then she stood, turning on her heel to stride back into the main castle, leaving Kyrie to wonder ‘what just happened?’

~~~

December (day#), 1384

Gods, she must be insane. After being so harshly thrown out from the king’s chambers for something Iris and the others assured her (repeatedly) was not her fault, here she was, standing in front of his door.

She’d already told Iris what she was planning. How she needed to know. Her queen had understood, even if she worried. After all, even with the experiments and testing she’d still had to endure, Kyrie was finally healthier now than she had been in months. Getting sleep, gaining weight, real color in her face rather than covered in layers of makeup. Doing this would most likely reverse all of her progress.

Before she could lose her nerve, Kyrie knocked on the door. With every heartbeat, she wanted to run. But her feet stayed rooted to the floor, even as she flinched when the door swung open.

King Beringer remained expressionless as he gazed down at her. “Well, well,” he drawled, his rumbling echoing through the empty hall, save themselves and the posted guards. “What brings you here at this late hour, my darling?”

Swallowing back bile, she stood at her full height. Even if she barely came up to his chest, she felt more confident in a dress she’d chosen, hair in a style she wanted, with the lucky charm Iris had given her heavy in her pocket. Looking directly in his eyes, she declared, “I came for a drink.” She couldn’t help but falter at his smirk, but continued, “And an answer.”

“Oh really?”

She forced herself to stay still as he took her chin in his hand, fingers tight on her jaw. It was extremely hard not to smack him as he looked her up and down, as if already undressing her with his eyes. So she settled with glaring at him.

He let go, stepping back as he held his arm out into the room. “After you, darling.”

Her heart pounding, she walked in. The original plan had been to stand outside, demand an answer before she even crossed the threshold. But her fear was beginning to override her confidence, desperation taking its place. She needed to know things and he was the only one who could tell her

The door shut with a firm thud. Now she was trapped. A mouse in the lion's den.

"So what is it you wanted, my darling?" He was behind her, his hands on her waist. They traveled up, his fingers brushing the neckline of her dress, his palms pressing into her breast's. His words were dripping in poison honey as he continued, his mouth hot against her neck. "Are you sure you didn't just miss my company?"

Without thinking, she shoved his arms away, red faced and shaking. It was already bad enough she had to do this. He really didn’t have to make it worse.

Stepping away, she turned to face him, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Why did you kill my family?” she asked shortly.

He regarded her, a look in his eyes she couldn’t read. “Your family,” he said, closing the distance between them, taking a loose strand of her hair between his fingers. “Was in my way.” His eyes bore into hers. “And I don’t like it when people get in my way.”

Pressing her lips together, she met his eyes firmly. That wasn’t a real answer and they both knew it. Every instinct told her that it wasn’t just because of her abilities that he wanted her for. He wanted her child, but why did it have to be his? And there was no guarantee that it would even gain her genes. So what was he not telling her?

“I came for the truth.” she said, firm and clear. “Not another half-truth. The full truth that you owe me.”

His face darkened as he grabbed her hair, yanking it back as she yelped and fought to free herself.

“That I owe you?” he snarled, face close to hers. “I owe you nothing, whore. You should be thanking me, freeing you from that pathetic life they’d given you.”

She had no choice but to stumble with him as he drug her across the room, still ranting.

“Dr Covenfere wanted to lobotomize you. Make you a nice little obedient doll for both of us. But, lucky for you,” He threw her on the bed, his smile not matching the lividity in his eyes as he looked down at her. “I like a challenge.”

Kyrie’s lip quivered as she retreated on the bed covers. Words stuck in her throat, only a strangled sound of protest coming from her mouth.

“Strip.” he ordered, taking off his shirt. “Unless you want me to rip that hideous rag off of you.”

She did as she was told, doing her best to keep it out of his reach. “Sh-shouldn’t I drink the potion now?”

“Oh,” Her stomach dropped as he pushed her to the sheets, his eyes more like a predator’s than hers would ever be. “We won’t be needing it tonight.”

~~~

Tertuary (day#), 1385

Kyrie was furious. Manipulating and telling half truths to her was one thing. But she’d obeyed King Beringer! She’d been playing by his rules, staying in line. Yet now he’d done this?

Her anger only grew as she watched Minna be supported by her sisters out of the palace and into one of their carriages home. How she longed to help herself, not to be trapped behind a window, stories apart from her.

As soon as the king returned to his chamber and removed her collar, Kyrie slapped him across his face.

“You bastard!” she snarled. “You scheming, vile-”

He hit her. Hard. A fist to her jaw, sending her tumbling to the floor.

She didn’t make the mistake of looking up as the king overshadowed her. Even as pressure on her ankle caused pain to surge through her nerves.

“I let you see her again.” he snarled, putting more weight on his foot to make her whine. “I gave you a choice. And yet you lash out at me when you don’t take it?”

Instead of breaking her ankle or leg, he stepped away, going to the fireplace and holding the metal end of the poker inside the burning flames. As he held it there, he met her eyes. “Here. Now.”

She didn’t know what would be worse. Him breaking her limb or whatever he planned for her now.

Reluctantly, she got up, resisting touching her still throbbing jaw. As she’d done so often, she automatically knelt by his side.

When he moved his free hand, she flinched. But he only reached into his pocket before letting the golden locket on its golden chain swing in front of her nose.

She put it on before she registered that’s what she was doing.

“That’s a good girl.” he purred, petting her hair. Gentler than before, he gripped the back of her head, pulling her head to make her look up at him. “Now that Dr Covenfere has her new test subjects, I’ll be fully in charge of your punishments.” He released her, pushing her down as he did so. “On your stomach.”

Shaking, she laid down on the carpet, her jaw and cheek becoming irritated by the coarse material immediately. This was worse. This was so much worse. She didn’t like being blind like this, not being able to see what he was planning. Powerless as she heard the king moving near her. There was no warning as he knelt on her back, pinning her firmly to the floor.

Kyrie could hear the smile in his voice as he gripped one of her ankles firmly in his hand, making her bend her knee as he pulled it up off the floor. “Feel free to scream as loudly as you please, my darling. I quite enjoy hearing your delicious sounds.”

Then, she was burning.

Of course she screamed. How could she not? The sole of her foot felt like it was on fire. No matter how hard she tried to wrench her leg away, his grip was unyielding. When he took the poker away, she wept freely, not caring if he punished her for it. Her tears only fell faster as he switched to her other ankle.

“Please,” she blubbered. “Please, don’t. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

His grip only tightened. “It’s far too late for apologies, my darling. Clearly, I’ve given you too much freedom as of late.” The heat of the metal grew closer as he ignored her sobbing pleas. “Perhaps now you’ll remember you belong to me.”

This time when the poker came down and she screamed, louder than before, darkness gathered at the edges of her vision. She passed out before he’d even let her go.

---

When she woke up, she was disoriented. Both her hands and feet throbbed. As her eyesight cleared, she realized she was in her room. It was hard to focus on anything because of it. And her vision was blurry even in the dim light of the dark room. Not the king’s chambers or in the room by his. Her bedroom in her queen’s wing. And she was dressed. Only in a robe, but it was light and soft. Odd after so long of not wearing anything at all, but comforting.

Her attempt to sit up only resulted in a soft cry of pain and further throbbing in her hands.

Not even a minute later, Terrell walked in, Iris close behind him.

“I can’t even leave you alone for one second, can I?” he chided her, a wry smile on his lips but worry in his eyes.

Kyrie managed a weak smile, rasping, “Sorry. How long-” Her voice caught, coughing from her dry throat.

The two of them jumped into action, fussing over her. Iris helped her to sit up against the pillows and to drink some water, while Terrell checked on her bandages.

When Iris brushed her bangs out of her eyes, Kyrie couldn’t help but lean into her touch. Her fingers were cool against her skin. It was then that she registered that there wasn’t even a blanket over her.

“You’ve been unconscious for almost two days.” Iris said quietly, putting her full palm against Kyrie’s forehead. “But your fever’s gone down now, so that should mean we’re past the worst of it.”

Terrell hummed in agreement. “If Beringer wasn’t such a stubborn asshole, we would have been able to help sooner. But instead he had to wait until your burns got infected before we could step in to help.” His voice was fierce, but his hands were gentle as he began unwrapping her hands.

They... were not a pretty sight. Kyrie's stomach churned, seeing her mottled pink and red skin.

"It was worse," Terrell said, carefully applying ointment as her skin tingled and stung. "We had to use the serum. I'm sorry."

Iris put her finger over Kyrie's lips before she could say a word. "If we didn’t, we would have lost you." There were tears in her queen's eyes. "You can be mad, but we didn’t have another choice. Kimberly is confined with her sisters in the manor. So..." she trailed off as her voice broke.

She deflated, what little energy she had leaving her body. As much as it hurt, Terrell's soft ministrations were somewhat relaxing. And she didn’t know what to think about the serum. On one hand, she hated the way they discarded her one wish. But on the other... she understood. And Minna would no doubt have insisted she used it, even if they both knew what it had cost.

"Your other friends from town. Their names are Sarah and Jarred, right?" Terrell asked.

Humming, Kyrie nodded, unable to keep her eyes open.

Iris' voice floated in her ears. "They're here, in the castle. Evidently, they sought employment here in an effort to find you."

Oh. That was nice.

"Wanna see them." she mumbled. Then yawned, trying to stay awake. "But not yet. Don’t want them to see... Tired..."

If anything else was said, she was too asleep to hear it.

Hope you liked it! No taglist so far, so let me know if you want to be on one for this!

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[honeycollectswhump]

Augusnippets Day 27

migraines/chronic pain/phantom pains

CW: chronic pain, past pet whump, past torture

The moment Atlas tries to get out of bed, still dizzy and confused from a nightmare’s claws digging into him, he collapses onto the ground in a heap of whimpers. Barbed wire digs into his legs, bending them in a useless crooked position as if they forgot they haven’t been broken in a while. The bones never healed right, and how could they? It’s a wonder he’s able to walk at all. 

No matter how hard he tries, his Master’s mark has forever been left on his body, after years of neverending torment, of torture he once thought deserved. Of hammers and bats and whips. Of merciless glee at his cries. 

Another wave of burning hot pain crashes into him, too recognisable from Atlas to keep his whining down. A hammer to his hand, a foot grinding it into the ground, without mercy. For a moment, he could see the bloody pulp that had once been his hand, before the tears in his eyes made his vision blur and twist.

His back arches, making his head hit the bed frame. 

He can’t do this. He can’t. 

Bones crushing and breaking, rubbing against each other in ways they never should. Atlas gasps, desperately, drowning, banging his cramping fists against his thighs, begging it to stop. They don’t listen. He can do nothing but writhe on the floor like a maggot, haunted by his Master in the only place that was supposed to be safe.

Distantly, he can feel Mutt inch closer to the forefront of his cursed consciousness. Pain is the only thing it recognises. The only familiar thing. 

And Atlas loathes it.

@augusnippets

taglist: @octopus-reactivated, @sodacreampuff, @topsheepstudent, @clickerflight, @rabass let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

[cuteangsty]

Whump prompt #6 - Catatonia

Caretaker just rescued whumpee. Maybe they were tied up, or locked in a basement, a cold cell, completely immobile.

"it's ok! It's ok, alright?!" Caretaker pulls them into a hug "it's ok you are safe now"

"s...safe...n-now"

"yeah, see? Everything will be okay now?" They say in shaky breaths, happy they are finally together "you are safe now!" They repeat "you are safe with me..."

"s-s-safe...wi-with..." Whumpee repeats, emotionless.

Immediately caretaker notices something is off

"whumpee...?"

"w-whumpe-e..." It's only repetition from whumpee's part.

"no- uh... You. You are whumpee." Caretaker looks deeply in their empty lost eyes. There's no response.

"wha-... what did they do to you?" Caretaker pulls them into a tight hug only now realizing how catatonic whumpee is.

[sickiehugs]

Spin-off:

A princess of a wealthy kingdom, who is a whump writer, has an assistant in the palace, from whom she asks for advice on how to write this or that torture method.

They always say "I'll tell you later." Hours later, they would come back to the princess and give her a very detailed, gruesome story on how the torture method works, how much pain the captive would be in, if it kills them, etc.

The princess is always appreciative of their insights, despite the strange way it's given to her... until she eventually learns why they knew this kind of stuff: The King and Queen have a Whumpee captive in the castle's dungeon, and whenever the princess comes to them for writing advice, their assistant leaves to use those exact torture methods on the Whumpee and report back to the princess, unbeknownst to her.

A Caretaker who is a whump writer goes to Whumper for advice on how to write this or that torture method.

And Whumper gives them a very detailed, gruesome story on how the torture method works, how much pain the captive would be in, if it kills them, etc.

Caretaker is always appreciative of their insights... until they eventually learn why they knew this kind of stuff: Whumper had a Whumpee captive in their basement and using those exact torture methods on them.

[jordanstrophe]

Water as cold as ice was dumped over them. Whumpee gasped awake, feeling themselves getting dragged across the ground by their leg. They're thrown into a room and the door slams shut, leaving them in pitch dark.

Rather if whumper intended for it or not, whumpee knows they'll die here. They tuck their knees to their chest as tight as they can. It offers them no extra warmth, and the shivering only burns away their energy.

Suddenly, a hand touches their face, they didn't even hear the door open. It feels like the warmest thing they've ever felt. Another hand touches their arm and pulls them to sit up. Caretakers voice makes a comment about their injuries, but whumpee only hears bits and pieces; they're only focus is the hand pressing against their cheek.

Caretaker's terrified of hurting them as they pick them up. Their only comfort is feeling whumpee tight clinging to their wrist with their eyes closed.

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Caretaker or team member immediately hugging and latching onto Whumpee once they’ve been rescued or returned home.

Whumpee groaning or hissing at the pain from contact. Caretaker apologizing profusely, hurrying to let go. But Whumpee doesn’t budge, just holds on tighter. Tucking their face into Caretaker’s neck, reminded of the reason they endured their torture.

[friendlesscat]

I think there's some nice whump potential in gradual loss of senses. :D

For example, whumpee has been subjected to sound torture for an extended period of time. After countless hours of agony, they come to the horrifying realization that they're becoming less and less affected by it with each time. Hearing was something they had always taken for granted. But what happens when they realize they're losing it and there's nothing they can do to stop it?

[whump-in-the-closet]

Five Types of Living Weapon Whumpees

The guard dog -> loyalty has been ingrained into their bones, following their handler around like their shadow. No one dares stand against the organization because of the legendary dread surrounding this living weapon. They hardly say a word but every movement is calculated, eyes always darting, always watching. (“You always were their lapdog.”)

The loose cannon -> dangerous for both sides. Always talking back and never predictable, their value is dependent on their skill. If it wasn’t for that, they’d be dead a long time ago. Their loyalty is earned, not bought. No one wants to be on their bad side, walking on tip toe whenever they show up. And they enjoy it. (“What’s everyone looking at? Aren’t you happy to see me? I even brought my rifle!”)

The broken down -> most common type of whumpee I’ve seen. They’ve been overpowered and forced into the commission. They hate their handler more than anything else but see no way out. When they’re told to shoot, they don’t even blink. It’s always “yes, sir” this and “yes, sir” that. If they feel any sympathy, they don’t show it. They’ll do anything to avoid punishment and flinch at quick movements. Nothing they face on the field is worse than the cards they’ve been dealt. (“I understand, sir/ ma’am. I-I’m sorry.”)

The dissenter -> Usually recruited into the organization or joined as a last ditch option. Not necessarily against using their abilities or skill, they just hate being told what to do. As time goes on and their disobedience is punished over and over again, they grow reluctant. Bitter. With every order, they slip in a snarky comment. Roll their eyes. Anything to assert their own identity. Or what’s left of it. (“ah ah ah, you didn’t think i’d notice? The middle finger was a bit much. I’m afraid it will have to go.”)

The ghost in the machine -> known only by their codename by outsiders and by their number in the organization, they’ve been stripped of all humanity. They live, breathe, and think by their handlers orders. They’ve been told over and over again that they are just a weapon. And a weapon does what it’s told. Their anonymity is attached to the organization in the same way a gun is simply an extension of their arm. But at night they still stare up at the ceiling with a blank stare— did they ever a life before this? They can’t remember. (“It’s not like it’s a person. It doesn’t have feelings like that.”)

[bilightningwhumper]

Migraines suck (currently having one) so imagine Whumper setting off one of Whumpee's on purpose. Or making it worse.

Ie, mine get worse with heat (especially from an oven or being near a heater), smelling weed/pot, smell of or being near someone vaping, then the normal sound and light sensitivities. Ice pick in the skull feeling.

Also Caretaker doing their best to take care of Whumpee but all they can really do is just let them sleep it off.

Which is now what I'm going to go do.

[cravesunconditionallove]

Military whump prompts

(because Reddit is down and I’m chronically online)

Hearing the whumpee’s screams over the radio as they’re captured, the rest of the team frozen in horror.

• Patch job in the middle of the battlefield, someone pressing down on a wound with their bare hands, whispering, “Stay with me, okay? Just stay.”

• Post-mission debrief, but the whumpee is barely holding it together, swaying on their feet as the adrenaline wears off.

• The whumpee refusing pain meds because they need to “stay sharp,” only to pass out mid-conversation.

• “I don’t leave people behind,” they growl, limping and bleeding but refusing to abandon the unconscious teammate over their shoulder.

• Waking up in a field hospital, disoriented and panicked, pulling out the IV before being restrained by a firm but gentle voice.

• “We’re not going to make it.” “Yes, we are.” Cue one of them doing something reckless to ensure the other gets out alive.

• Cold, soaked to the bone, huddled in a ruined building during a downpour, one of them feverish while the other desperately tries to keep them awake.

• Hiding an injury to avoid being benched, only for it to get worse at the worst possible moment.

• “You don’t understand—I can’t go back. I can’t be discharged.”

• A high-ranking officer demanding a mission debrief while the whumpee is barely conscious, words slurring, bleeding through their uniform.

• A medic struggling to save the whumpee in the back of a jolting vehicle, yelling for the driver to go faster.

• Post-rescue, sitting by the whumpee’s bedside, counting every beep of the heart monitor like a prayer.

[whomeidontknowthem]

okay but do you ever think about the inherit twisted intimacy of torture?

two people spending hours together, lost in the same process. fingers on your skin. the only voice you hear for days on end. the only presence you know. the closeness of having your skin be torn apart under their fingers. having another understand perfectly just how much pain you're in. having to rely on them to treat your wounds, being you water and food so you survive and heal. cry before them, break and have your every emotion on display. having them turn into your whole world.

do you get it?

and then -- the way the torturer can use it as another tool.

torture that leans into intimacy. hands stroking your hair as your warm blood pours out of you. soft whispers urging you to stay awake when the pain is overwhelming. strong arms holding you as you cry, those same arms holding you down as you thrush from agony. suddenly gentle fingers pulling your skin back together because you need to heal before you can take more. having your begging be answered with words of comfort that don't stop the torture. waking up to their gentle smile before the pain begins anew. hearing your name on their lips. taking all the comfort from someone who hurts you, because that's the only comfort you'd ever get.

or -- torture that is clinically, intentionally devoid of intimacy. no questions, no words spoken. the only touch you feel is that of the blade and the thick gloves. not being allowed to see their face. knowing no matter how much you beg not a single word of yours will be acknowledged. never being addressed until you forget that you're still a person. being trapped in a hell with not an ounce of comfort. isolation while still seeing someone daily.

or -- a torturer that combines the two. that goes from all the intimacy to none if you do something wrong or if their mood changes. they come in in gloves and you cry and beg to be acknowledged. constant anxiety from not knowing what kind of day it'd be. getting used to their hands closing your wounds before they're gone. breaking down and trying to do your best to fix whatever mistake you've made to have it back. getting used to no skin contact until they take off the gloves. flinching away from touch as if it burns only to immediately lean in. twisted gratitude when they hug you. always fearing losing what little comfort they give you.

you get it, right?

[whumper-cars]

Whumpee is being tortured in front of Caretaker, with Caretaker restrained in the corner of the room. Caretaker knows Whumper wants them to beg them to stop, so out of defiance they don't.

After a while, Caretaker starts to get restless, but they won't cave in. The thing that finally breaks them is when they make eye contact with Whumpee. With that moment, all of Caretaker's walls came crashing down.

Whumpee was looking at Caretaker with an expression between hope and fear. They wanted- no, they needed Caretaker to save them. They were being tortured for god's sake and Caretaker was just sitting there letting it happen.

The moment Caretaker started begging, Whumper paused and smiled at them. "Aww, Caretaker, if you wanted me to stop, you should've just asked!" Then they left the room, leaving Whumpee and Caretaker alone, along with Caretaker's guilt.

Feel free to add onto any of my prompts!