#very weird whumper

[whumpwordsoftheday]

“We’ve got quite a few surgeries planned for this one. You can take a look if you’d like”

“Chest reduction? Is the subject trans?”

“Nah, just wanted to try it out, I’ve never gotten the chance to before”

[scratchandplaster]

Just finished watching Barracuda (1997)...

[cepheusgalaxy]

I had an idea for a story a few hours ago:

(Bbu setting.) Carewhumper is a Pet Owner, who had a stable income and thus could afford one, Whumpee. Onde day, they lose most of their money and are thrown in misery. Almost nowhere to go, no food, no money, just their loyal Pet who is the only thing that they own now, and they can't bring themselves to sell.

The story would be relatively short, with the Owner and Whumpee trying to find food for Owner and Whumpee servicing them loyaly, struggling to survive. In the end, however, Owner doesn't manage to survive and the only one left in Whumpee.

End :D

[whumpandothercomfort]

There's a flavor of whump I'm always craving that I don't see very often, I think because the possibilities are so context-specific. You can do some things in some universes that you can't in others! You can do certain things with non-human characters that you can't with others!

But hear me out:

Whumper making physiological changes to Whumpee's body.

Could be through programming for robot characters, dedicated brainwashing for humans, magic for fantasy settings, weird biology for aliens...

A few examples off the top of my head:

Alien species that instinctively responds to neck squeezing by going limp like a scruffed kitten, because this helped them survive encounters with predators. Delicious all on its own -- now throw in a quick surgery to permanently clamp the nerve responsible. Whumpee wakes up in a permanent state of relaxed submission and can't even show how terrified they are.

Obedience programming/training that's wired directly into a character's brain. When the system detects unwanted thoughts, it applies pain. Even after rescue, Whumpee can't think of themselves as an autonomous being because their mind is desperately protecting itself.

Characters with magic having their magic corrupted or bound so it either hurts them to use, or it can only be used to serve Whumper's purposes. Bonus points if Whumper has full control over their magic AND the use of it hurts them.

Characters given a brain implant or parasite that stimulates the reward center of the brain, which would be great, except they can't turn it off. They're kept in a constant state of bleary euphoria... with just enough sense of self left to know they want it to stop.

Characters being spelled or programmed so they physically cannot function independently. Characters who very literally NEED to be given permission to do things like relax or take a walk or even use the bathroom. Not being given this permission leaves them in a state of locked stasis -- fully aware of the time passing. Bonus: Caretaker can't reverse it, so they just HAVE to navigate All Of This.

Alien species that will a develop chronic physical illness if deprived of touch for too long. Said illness can only be treated through regular physical touch. Defiant Whumpees will often be locked in solitary confinement and fed through a slot in the bars until symptoms start to manifest. Sometimes they'll be left even longer, to make sure they end up a severe case. And now, oopsie, the only way to ease this horrible pain is by letting your captors put their hands on you!

Just. Physiological whump. The horror of someone else controlling your body or your mind. Betrayal of body. Etc. Do you understand.

[shshshquietnow]

I think it's so funny when whumper is just strange. Like their organization/other whumpers won't be like disgusted by what they do in any way that matters to helping whumpee, but they're just like "ah here comes our weird coworker who's training the teammate they caught like a pet. What a weirdo". Like everyone is still whumping and torturing they just think whumper is very weird and impractical about it.

"Whumper this is ridiculous. Why are they here."

"Because they look so darling all dressed up with their scars all displayed!"

"It's just a little unorthodox. At the lunch meeting."

No one's really going to STOP whumper. So it's no help for whumpee. But whumpee does get to hear how unsettling this behavior is even to other whumpers, aware how weird this is, with no bit of sympathy, still being seen like an object, a prisoner, or something else these lot see as below a person.

[hywenhei]

CHILDHOOD TRAUMA: Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

CW: Major character death

Caretaker hugging Whumpee's body in an iron-clad grip even after their heart stops beating. People keep trying to pull them away, telling them that Whumpee's pulse has stopped and they aren't coming back, but Caretaker's hands keep holding on with strength that makes their knuckles turn white. Maybe the pain will make Whumpee wake up for them.

"I did good, right? In the battle?" "Yeah, kid, you did great. Now, sit still so I can bandage you up properly."

Whumpee has finally broken off their deeply-rooted toxic relationship with Whumper in a moment of complete clarity, and it hurts more than they could ever imagine. All they can do is cling onto Caretaker, in a state of utter turmoil, as Whumper leaves them behind and Caretaker assures them that everything will be okay.

The moment when Whumpee realises what they went through as a child was not normal. Making a joke about it to their friends and getting weird looks. The slow realisation of wait, that didn't happen to you guys? The initial disbelief and denial because if that didn't happen to anybody else then why did it have to happen to Whumpee? Did they really deserve all that pain?

me and childhood trauma whump go way back. it was actually part of my whump awakening since there was just so much in the tv shows i watched. i was watching very child-friendly tv shows though. trust me :)

anyways, see you guys for day 16!! (⁠♡⁠ω⁠♡⁠ ⁠)

[whump-bunny]

We don't talk enough about hair cutting in whump imo. For example:

- having your hair cut against your will, especially if you've been growing it out for a long time, can be very traumatic and distressing. This could very well cause ptsd and nightmares in a whumpee. Especially if their hair has some cultural or emotional significance to them.

- going from long hair to short or no hair is physically jarring. Once I went from hair reaching my mid back to a pixie cut, and my head felt physically lighter, which was very weird. I kept trying to flip my hair back after putting on a shirt or headphones, only to realize that there was nothing to flip. Also I was colder! These could all be constant, unpleasant reminders to Whumpee of what was taken from them.

- Short hair is beautiful, but Whumpee might not think so. Especially if their long, silky hair was something they took pride in. Can they even stand to look in the mirror anymore? Maybe Caretaker convinces them that their shorter haircut is beautiful too?

- and finally, Whumper forcing whumpee to sit still and lean back while they cut their hair with razor sharp scissors. Maybe whumper "accidentally" nicks Whumpee here and there. Maybe they threaten to cut off more than just hair if Whumpee doesn't stop struggling.

Just something to think about... 👀

[mj-iza-writer]

kinda specific but any opinions or ideas fpr pet whump like this-

Whumpee knows very little english, their first language(s) are far from being similar to english, Whumper speaks to them in english and commands them in english but Whumpee cant understand and it makes them feel even more lkke a dog :3

Sorry this took so long. I really like this idea, and I think I've written into it a couple of times in the past. Thankyou for the request, I hope you enjoy the story.

"Whumpee food", Whumper called from the kitchen, and shook the dish.

Whumpee lifted their head from resting on the floor. They had no idea what the stranger in the kitchen was calling for, but learned the hard way that they needed to come when called.

Whumpee quickly peaked into the kitchen and looked around. They noticed a bowl had been set next to where they were served water.

Something Whumpee thought was a weird custom here.

Whumper looked back and saw that Whumpee was standing.

"Down", they ordered while pointing at the floor.

Whumpee frowned but got down into a crawling stance.

"Good", Whumper nodded, "come here, and sit."

Whumpee winced as they crawled forward, this was beginning to be quite painful.

They seemed so interested in having Whumpee as some sort of pet. They remembered being stuffed into some pet carrier while on a trip with their family to the America's.... now, a few months later, they were here.

Where exactly here was Whumpee had no idea. They remembered a lot of traveling, a lot of being in the trunk of vehicles until they were brought here.

Whumpee knew this person had tried to explain what was going on, and they may have seemed a little frustrated that Whumpee couldn't understand English.

Whumpee inched closer to where the person pointed on the floor. They sat down awkwardly and looked up. They were trying their best to behave. Hoping that would help them possibly get out of the situation. It seemed hopeless to escape sometimes.

Whumpee wouldn't even know where to go, how to do it. Who to go to. This wasn't their home, they had no idea. They couldn't even speak the language.

"Go ahead and eat", Whumper pointed at the bowl.

Whumpee cocked their head to the side with a confused expression.

Whumper sighed, and gently lowered Whumpee's head to the dish.

Whumpee was stiff at first, but understood at last to eat.

Whumper watched as Whumpee crawled past and laid down in front of the big window. Their body turned away from Whumper.

Whumper sighed, "this was already going to be hard for you to get use to. Now it's worse because you have no idea what I'm saying. I don't want to hurt you at all. Besides training, I want you to feel safe here. It's kind of hard to do that when a strange person is speaking gibberish all of the time."

Whumpee had a feeling the strange person was talking about them. They continued to stare out the window though.

Late in the evening Whumper sat on the couch reading a book.

Whumpee took some comfort in the tiny whispers of Whumper reading under their breath.

They wondered if the book was good, they figured it had to be if someone was willingly reading it.

They looked back at Whumper quietly.

Whumper noticed the movement and looked up.

"Yes, are you okay?", Whumper smiled, "do you want to hear some of this?"

Whumpee nervously looked down.

Whumper sighed as they watched.

Finally they decided.

Whumper got up from the couch and walked to Whumpee.

Whumpee got up as well to try to get away from them.

Whumper lowered themself to the floor by where Whumpee was laying and showed them the book.

Whumpee awkwardly looked at the book, then at Whumper, then the book again.

"You can look at it. I know you don't understand it, but....", Whumper sighed, "I know this all so difficult. Wasn't exactly what I was planning when I ordered for a human pet on the dark web. I guess that's karma for this situation."

Whumper clicked their tongue on the rough if their mouth, "I guess we're stuck with each other. I don't know where you're from and how exactly you were brought to me. I can't just take you to the police and tell them I bought you, but need to return you... that would be my one way ticket to jail."

Whumpee was looking over the page that Whumper was showing them.

"You seem pretty interested in this book", Whumper watched, "well I guess you need to learn English first, and maybe it would be good for me to learn some of your language. Though I have no idea what that is."

Whumper watched for a few more minutes before they called it a night.

Whumpee woke up to someone shaking them.

They jumped when they saw Whumper kneeling beside them.

"Come here", Whumper beckoned with a grin.

Whumpee followed cautiously 9nce they figured out what Whumper wanted them to do.

They were led to a computer, and they noticed a map of the world had been pulled up.

Whumper poked the screen a few times.

Whumpee nodded, maybe just maybe they were asking where Whumpee was from.

Whumpee looked at the map for a few seconds before finally backing out of the map, and going on the search bar.

Whumper watched as Whumpee slowly clicked the keys to type in their country.

The look on Whumpee's face was quite humorous. Their tongue stuck out to the side as they concentrated.

Finally something came up that Whumpee seemed to recognize: a country's flag.

Whumpee then tapped the screen.

Whumper clicked on it and the flag was pulled up.

"You're from here", Whumper pointed at Whumpee, then at the screen.

Whumpee quickly nodded. They looked at the screen in excitement.

'Finally something familiar to me', Whumpee thought to themself as they scrolled the information.

Whumper seemed to understand and let them look for a few minutes. They could see that familiar images had brought relief to Whumpee. Tears flooded down Whumpee's cheeks.

Whumper had noticed some videos and took control of the computer to click on it.

The video started to talk in English, then said something in a foreign language.

Whumpee excitedly leaned closer to the computer after hearing it.

"Ah, so that's how you feel listening to me", Whumper smirked.

Whumpee said something in their language.

It sounded sad to Whumper.

Whumper decided to look into it. Within a few days some boxes were delivered to the house.

Whumpee shyly watched from the window as Whumper sat down.

Whumper patted the floor next to them to see if Whumpee would come over.

Whumpee had grown a little more comfortable with the stranger. They seemed not to want to harm them to much. Really punishments only came during training.

Whumper also found an app that could translate somewhat well for them.

Whumpee had a little more of an understanding of what was happening. They didn't like this idea of being a pet, but figured they were stuck now. At least until they managed to make a run for it.

Whumper opened one of the boxes and pulled out a few items. They unwrapped one of the items.

Whumpee's eyes went wide as they saw it.

A small version of their country's flag.

Whumper grinned as they handed it to Whumpee.

Whumpee cuddled it close, then saw Whumper pull out a stuffed toy with their flags colors.

Whumpee cuddled them close and lightly sobbed.

Another box was opened.

Whumper pulled out a few books.

"English and your language dictionary. How to teach English to your language. Your language for idiots... that's for me", Whumper chuckled, "I wanted you to learn English, but maybe a few special commands in your language would be fun. Just don't laugh if I say it wrong."

Whumper opened the dictionary and turned to a random word and said it loud.

Whumpee looked up in surprise.

"Oh you like that do you?", Whumper chuckled, "now what exactly did I say", Whumper looked at the book again.

"Oh, that's the word for fruit... cool. You like fruit so that's helpful', Whumper grinned.

They turned the book to the English section and handed it to Whumpee, "now you try."

Whumpee took a little more time deciding on what they wanted to say. They studied the definitions carefully. It felt good to read in their own language.

"Sto...stolen", Whumpee whispered.

Whumper's heart sank, of course that was the word they'd select.

Whumper took the book away and turned to the word adopted.

Whumpee looked at the word that Whumper pointed at.

Whumpee shook their head in disagreement.

"Alright we're done with that for a little while", Whumper sighed.

The last box Whumper opened also had a few books.

Whumpee looked them over as Whumper handed them.

They looked excitedly at one.

"Oh, that one caught your interest", Whumper grinned.

Whumpee looked up, then eyed the dictionary.

Whumper handed the book over and watched Whumpee glim through the pages. They found one page and pointed to a word for Whumper.

"Favorite?", Whumper said it out loud.

Whumpee nodded and took the book back and started to scroll the pages.

They held another word up for Whumper.

"Childhood", Whumper nodded, "oh this was a favorite of yours during childhood. It was one of the popular ones I found.

For the rest of the day Whumper scrolled the books on learning the language and teaching English. Whumpee happily layer on the floor beside them looking at the books and saying random English words they had found in the dictionary.

Whumper chuckled at a few of the words.

Whumper vowed that day that Whumpee would have to learn some English and they would have to learn some of Whumpee's language. Their was no other way around it,  and it was only fair to the both of them.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @sunglasses-in-the-bentley

@isikedmyself878

[macknus]

Civilian x Crush kidnapped

TW: lady whump, lady whumpee, male whumpers, multiple whumpers, broken bones, kidnapping, kidnap whump, physical violence against a woman,

please be aware of the tags and don't engage if you don't like lady whump! Thank you :)

*~*~*~*~*

It was pouring out, Civilian realised with a groan, resting her forehead against the office window. “Another late night, Civilian?”

Civilian turned her head to see her crush stopped in the middle of the cubicle, his sweater draped over the crook of his elbow. He was just in his tee shirt that showed his defined arms.

That was just unfair, Civilian thought. Why does he have to have a nice face and body?

“Yeah. I’m trying to finish the report on the increase of Villain activity.”

Crush hummed with a nod and a pretty smile. “It seems we’re always the last two to leave,” said Crush.

“Probably because we have no lives,” Civilian said with a small laugh. Oh god she just said that. Out loud. To her crush. When he was probably gonna think she was a weird, boring loser now. Great. Perfect. And it started to rain heavier. Perfect. As if on cue.

To her utter surprise Crush laughed in reply, and not a forced laugh, like a proper, real one. Civilian could listen to that laugh all day.

“You don’t have to expose us like that, Civilian,” said Crush with a small shake of his head. He cleared his throat and then turned his body more towards Civilian. “Since we’re both workaholics and have no lives, how would you like to grab a drink with me?”

“Now?” Civilian asked, eyes going wide.

She looked like shit, and probably smelled like ink.

“Yeah. Now. Why not? I mean… like only if you want to…”

“Yeah, no. Now works,” said Civilian with a smile and Crush’s shoulders relaxed. Civilian quickly shut down her computer and started to gather her things before putting her jacket on and grabbing her crossbody bag before walking to Crush. He gestured towards the lifts and Civilian smiled and walked with him.

When they got into the lift, Crush pressed the ground floor button and the pair of them leaned against the back wall in silence.

Then they both tried to fill the silence at the same time.

“So what do—”

“This report you’re—”

Then they laughed and both said: “you go first.”

Civilian laughed again as a blush climbed Crush’s neck and coloured his cheeks pink. “I was asking,” Civilian continued. “What keeps you in so late every night?”

“Oh,” said Crush, then opened his mouth and a hesitant hum fell from his lips. His eyes almost nervous at Civilian’s question. “Okay, look. You can’t say it to anyone—”

“My lips are sealed,” said Civilian innocently, miming locking her mouth shut.

Crush smiled and leaned in closer to Civilian his voice dropping to a whisper, “you know the new guy? He covers politics…”

“Oh yeah. I’ve seen him around,” said Civilian, eyes bright as she looked at Crush.

“Yeah. He is such a shit writer,” said Crush and Civilian let out a startled laugh. “Don’t laugh. It’s not funny. I’m in late every night trying to fix it up and make it presentable.”

“No rest for the wicked,” said Civilian with a grin. Crush laughed.

“No,” he agreed. “We must be very wicked.”

“Extremely,” said Civilian, then as the doors open, she looked straight ahead as she added, “I’m going to tell him what you said.”

“Ah no. You can’t do that! I’m supposed to be an unbiased editor.”

“Still,” Civilian teased. Crush grabbed Civilian’s arm, stopping her from going out into the cold wet night. Civilian looked at his hand then up at Crush as he pulled an umbrella from his bag. He stepped out first into the little roofed area and opened the umbrella, holding it high enough for them both to fit under.

Civilian said, “you’re so prepared.”

Crush shook his head. “I just listen to the weather after the news.”

“Then what surprise is left in life, Crush?”

Crush brought her to his local bar just down the road, The Public Domain. Crush told her that a lot of lawyers around the area come drink here too. Civilian smiled politely. Crush always had a good network of people that he trusted for his sources. It always seemed like a secret, and now that he was bringing Civilian here, it felt… well, like he was willing to share it with her.

The bar was buzzing with chatter and life. The smell of carpet dust and stale beer greeted their senses the moment they stepped into it. Crush held the door open with his foot, shaking the excess rain off the umbrella before closing it. He smiled slightly when he caught Civilian’s eye and nodded towards the bar. Civilian got the hint and walked up to it with him. The bar was quaint and bustling with patrons, chatting animatedly, laughter occasionally punctuating the conversations leaving a nice rhythmic lull to the pub.

The barman grinned when he saw Crush. “Another late night, Crush?”

Crush’s hand went to the nape of his neck and rubbed it bashfully, it endeared Civilian to him even more if that was possible.

“Yeah, you got me.”

“The usual?” the barman asked, and Crush smiled and said, “yes. A Guinness please and—” Crush said, looking back at Civilian. He leaned into the barman and held up two fingers. “Actually, two please.”

“Two Guinnesses,” said Crush again, and took out his wallet as did Civilian. Crush pushed her hand back and said: “put that away, I’m getting it. We’re here on my invitation.”

“Fine. I get the next round,” said Civilian.

Crush cocked an eyebrow at her. “So confident we’ll have another.”

“I’m just ensuring you know what you’re in for,” said Civilian with a wink. She thanked Crush for the drink, and they went to a small booth in the back. The conversation flowed easy, easier than Civilian flirting with him in the printer room. Or at the office offering to get Crush a coffee from the canteen because she was going anyway. It was better, more intimate.

The conversation got back to work on her third round of drinks and Crush’s smile was far better looking and almost irresistible. Civilian realised halfway through a story Crush was telling her of work that she could just reach over the table and crush her lips to his and all would be well.

His lips stopped moving, then turned up into a grin. “Civilian?”

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering when you got into current affairs?” Crush asked, his husky laugh making an appearance. Civilian blushed at being caught staring.

“Oh,” said Civilian, trying to think back to when she got interested in current events. “I mean… with all the Hero/ villain stories going around, and our paper not really being Pro or Anti Heroes I just wanted to start reporting the facts. As it happened, so people can witness the unbiased information, the before and after, and make up her own minds about it.”

“And?” Crush asked and Civilian let out a small laugh, lifting her hands in a shrug.

“And… Alice liked the idea and told me to handle the Hero–Villain side of things. It got a lot of positive feedback from our readers too.”

Crush leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. “But why were you interested in it to begin with?”

“I was reading about Hero and how good it is that we have them to help us and stop the Villains running around our city. Praising them to the brim, it was bordering on sycophantic…” Civilian trailed off, taking a sip of her Guinness. Crush smiled and reached over the table, wiping some of the foam off of Civilian’s upper lip with her thumb.

It was as if the world had frozen in that moment between them. Civilian’s heart stopped beating for a fleeting second that stretched into eternity. Crush retracted his hand and licked the foam from his thumb with a secretive smile.

Civilian’s face burned redder than cherries, her cheeks heating up. From all the drinking, Civilian told herself, not anything else. Not how hot Crush was, not at all… they barely noticed.

“And you didn’t like that?” Crush asked with his perfect knowing smile. He knew exactly what caused the blush covering Civilian’s face scarlet and continued on the conversation while they were distracted. As if he didn’t do anything at all.  

Oh no Civilian loved that, she wanted to get more foam on her lip just so he could wipe it off again.

What were they talking about again? Oh god, she was making it so obvious. Think Civilian! Oh yes, Heroes and Villains, oh god, she was making it so obvious. Play it cool, Civilian.  

SPEAK CIVILIAN! A voice screamed at her from the back of her mind, and she blushed again.

“No,” said Civilian, turning the clammy glass around in her hands. She continued thoughtfully, “I don’t like when things get shoved down my throat before I know what shit they’re shovelling. Turns out the Hero agency had donated a very generous sum to the publication and that’s why there was a sudden exposé on how good Heroes were.”

Crush sat back when Civilian stopped talking, a small hidden thing twinkling behind his smile. “What?” Civilian asked, cocking her brow.

“Nothing,” Crush said with his handsome smile.

“No what? What’s that smile for?”

“I just didn’t realise you were so passionate about Heroes and villains from reading your pieces. It’s… you’re very surprising, Civilian.”

Civilian bowed her head and Crush laughed, getting to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

Civilian nodded, following Crush out of the booth then out the door to the pub. It had stopped raining. A sheen of water covering the streets the only remnant that it had ever rained. So, when water splashed on the pair of them from a passing car, they could do nothing but laugh.

That laugh got cut off as into a scream as something suddenly slammed into Crush. Civilian whirled a scream of horror in her throat. “Crush!”

Civilian was running after him, deeper into a side street, shoes splashing the puddles up her feet. At the bottom of the alley Civilian saw Crush engaged in a struggle with someone. Civilian pulled pepper spray from her bag and ran up on the pair.

Crush’s eyes found Civilian and widened as he yelled: “Civilian! No— ngh, run! Go!”

“Civilian, hmm?” Civilian turned on her heel, pepper spray aimed and ready at the newcomer, but her wrist was caught in the attacker’s hand, and he twisted it roughly. Civilian cried out, as her attacker twisted her wrist further and plucked the pepper spray from her hand with ease. Her only defence. “How lovely to make your acquaintance.”

Civilian’s eyes went hard, and she balled her hand into a fist. She found her centre in her feet, bending her knees slightly. Then twisted her whole body with the slap that she threw straight for the attacker’s cheek.

The attacker simply caught that wrist too, smiling down at her with a grin that exposed too many teeth. Civilian yanked her wrists down, trying to break free of his grip, but her attacker yanked her forward suddenly and Civilian stumbled, her balance thrown off. Her attacker spun her, so her back was to the attacker’s front, her arm twisted behind her back and pinned there. Then there was a gentle hand on her throat, holding her head up, and when Civilian tried to struggle the attacker lifted her captured arm higher and Civilian cried out.

“Crush. You might want to stop,” said the man holding Civilian. The scuffle came to a pause, Crush’s head lifting to see Civilian and whoever was holding her. His eyes narrowing at the person behind Civilian, but he stopped fighting, nonetheless. Then he got a punch to the face for good measure from his attacker.

“I think…” the man behind Civilian said, “we’re all going to go for a drive, hmm?”

“No,” said Civilian. They were in a public place. Her best weapon was her lungs. So, Civilian opened her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs for “Help! Help! Somebody help us! Police! Ple-”

The coolness of a blade biting into her neck cut her off. “Keep screaming, they’re so pretty… but I would hate for my knife to slip…”

“Okay. Right Hand,” Crush said, glancing between Civilian and Right hand behind Civilian. “I’ll go with you, just… just let Civilian go.”

A rumbling chuckle from behind Civilian sent a shiver ran down her spine. “Oh no, no, no, Crush. Civilian’s coming along to make sure you behave.”

Civilian’s blood went cold as she looked at Crush’s resolve shattering right in front of her eyes. She wanted to fight. She wanted Crush to fight. To try. To struggle to punch to do something…

“Henchmen take Crush, don’t worry. He won’t put up a fight,” Civilian was pushed forward, and she resisted. Her hand was twisted further up her back, and she winced as she was forced a stepped forward.

“Keep walking or I’ll break your arm, Civilian,” Right Hand said into Civilian’s ear. Civilian obeyed because what else could she do?

At the end of the alley there was a black car parked where they had come in. Which meant these guys had been following them… for how long? Right hand kept pushing Civilian forward and when they got to the car, he pushed Civilian into the backseat then slammed the door shut. They did the same to Crush on the other side and Civilian’s panicked eyes went to Crush who just whispered: “everything will be all right.”

“Why do I get the feeling you know these people?” Civilian whispered back. Her hand went to the door trying to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. Child locked, no doubt. Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is going on? Crush opened her mouth to reply when the two front doors opened and their attackers, Henchman and Right hand, got into the front of the car.

Henchman was in the driver’s seat and took off, while Right Hand turned in his seat and smiled at Civilian. She couldn’t really tell his features from here. It was too dark. Did he have blue eyes? Or brown? And his hair… she’d need to remember something concrete to tell the police when she get free.

If they get free.

“Sorry to interrupt your date, Civilian.”

“Go fuck yourself, Right Hand,” Civilian said in reply. Right hand just laughed and stared forward again.

“You got a keeper there, Crush. You tell her who you are? Or does the little reporter want to figure it out all by themselves?”

Civilian looked out her window, but it was all blacked out. She couldn’t even see her own reflection. Of course. Of fucking course.

Crush spoke next. “Right Hand, let Civilian go, okay? I’ll come willingly.”

“You’re coming willingly now, Crush.”

“For now,” Crush threatened, his voice taking on a completely different tone than Civilian was ever used to. Ever knew Crush was capable of.

“Put your claws back in,” said Right Hand dismissive. “We’re almost there now anyways. Besides… you wouldn’t risk putting poor Civilian in danger by trying to stop the car and be a hero now, would you?”

Civilian glanced at Crush from the corner of her eye, her heart hammering in her chest but he wouldn’t look at her. Civilian put her hand out, resting it on the middle seat. Crush put his hand in theirs, lacing his fingers through hers and squeezing gently.

When the car stopped Henchman and Right Hand got out of the car. Civilian’s door opened first, and she was grabbed by the arm and pulled out. She looked into the face of Right Hand, who was still smiling down at her. She mustered up her best glare in return. Right Hand just pushed her in front of him again and told her to walk.

Civilian did just that, trying to take in everything around her. Figure out where they were but all she saw was a garage made of cinder bricks and concrete floors. Then a door opened to them, and Right Hand pushed her through. It just led to a larger room. A man stood at the opposite wall, his back to them as they entered. Right Hand’s grip tightened on Civilian’s arm when he felt Civilian almost stop.

“The prodigal son returns,” said Right Hand to the man ahead of them. Civilian looked over their shoulder, trying to find Crush, but a hand squeezed her cheeks and dragged their gaze to face forward again.

Crush spoke and Civilian’s head flooded with relief. He was still here. Civilian wasn’t alone. They were fine. He was fine.

“I’m not saying shit until you let Civilian go,” said Crush to the room. Then a grunt of pain and Civilian shot forward to help and was yanked back by her hair with a yelp.

The man finally turned to face the group and Civilian’s breath caught in her throat. That was Supervillain. That man was the Supervillain. Civilian and Crush were taken here to see Supervillain?! But then that means the person holding Civilian was… Right hand… Supervillain’s right hand. Civilian felt all the blood drain from her face as a small laugh sounded above her. Civilian took an involuntary step back, but just hit Right Hand’s chest.

“Oh, not so brave now, are we?” Right hand asked and Civilian couldn’t find it in herself to reply.

Supervillain approached them. Fine shoes clacking off concrete, echoing. Civilian didn’t dare breathe as Supervillain came closer and closer to her. Supervillain was taller than Civilian. Taller. Broader. Crueller. Instead of going to Crush he walked right up to Civilian and Right hand pushed her forward, letting go of her hair and arm.

Civilian felt very cold and exposed like this. She nearly missed Right Hand’s brutal hold on her. Supervillain looked down at her without a hint of an expression on his face. He looked almost alien. Cold.

Supervillain took Civilian’s hand in his and pulled it up as if to inspect it. Civilian let him. She hated herself for it, but Supervillain killed people, this wasn’t a time to be brave.

“You’ve been gone too long, Crush,” said Supervillain simply. His voice sent shivers down Civilian’s spine. Then Civilian was screaming, white hot pain burst behind her eyes as a resounding crack tore through her hand. Her legs went to jelly, and she wanted to be sick, but she just put her other hand out for support against the only other solid thing there: which happened to be Supervillain.

“LET HER GO! She has nothing to do with this!” Crush yelled. Distantly Civilian was aware of the scuffle behind her. That Crush was probably trying to get to her, but it didn’t matter because that wouldn’t stop the pain in her wrist from burning.

“Are you going to keep making demands, Crush? Because there are 206 bones in Civilian’s body, and I can break as many as you need to remind you of who has the power here.”

Civilian was shivering at the threat. Or the pain. She didn’t know.

“Please…” Crush again. “Please let them go.”

“No,” said Supervillain, and Civilian wanted to throw up. She wasn’t sober enough to deal with this shit. A hand on her chin tilted her head up to look Villain in the eye. “Just a hairline fracture, my dear. Nothing to worry about. Right hand?”

Civilian felt Right hand’s hand on her shoulder again and she nearly sagged against him. “If Crush decides to make any more demands break something else of her.”

“I won’t,” Crush said quickly, the words rushed out panicky and desperate. Then cleared his throat and said again: “I won’t, sir.”

“Good,” said Supervillain, eyes going between the two of his captives. “Let’s begin again then, shall we?"

[whumpsoda]

Would it be all right to write about Adrastus entrancing a new student to the study group? Asking for a friend, who is me

@oliversrarebooks

WOHEO Masterlist This one’s a long one! Very excited about it :3

cw: lady whumpee, hypnosis, brainwashing, vampire whumper, kidnapping

———————————————————————

Beatrice swallowed, carefully absorbing the sight lied out in front of her.

She had finally caved, finally told Mary she would accept the excessive, repeated invite of hers. Even after taking eerie notice of the effects this group seemed to have on students, she bad still given a yes. Strangely, no one was seemingly as skeptical as her.

It was odd how her friend’s eyes glazed over with an unfocused touch just talking about the event, a dazed grin spreading over her lips. We’re always open to newbies, she had said, practically drooling imagining this so-called study group, only causing more of a stir of wariness inside of Beatrice’ belly.

Though, at the same time, Beatrice had agreed to go. Even with aching suspicion tugging at her mind, the need to study urged her to take the slightest of a brave chance, just to see what this was all about. Maybe to find if her caution was warranted. Dearly, she hoped it wasn’t it.

At the very least, Bea could not say it wasn’t cozy.

Blankets, pillows, bean bags, and stuffed toys littered the carpet, now light pink and fuzzy after the infamous librarian had arranged for the old stuff to be replaced. The smell of lavender sifted through the tight air, filling her nose and unknowingly calming her pounding heart.

Students filed in behind her, frames drooping and movement gradually slowing almost as soon as they entered. Beatrice shivered with uncertain unease. It was all too much not to raise concern.

“We meet right over there.” Mary told her, placing a hand to her shoulder. That same, chilling smile was already plastered back across her face, churning about Bea’s belly. “But I’ll take you to meet sir, first.”

Sir? Mary hadn’t called them that before.

“It’s alright-,” she didn’t like how almost the whole room shifted her head, and how it flipped her stomach in knots. Beatrice was already prepared to leave, and quickly.

“Why, hello there! Is this our newest recruit?” Someone called, pulling the pair’s attention.

The librarian, with their luxurious outfit- far too fancy for a school setting, that was for sure- sauntered up, sweet yet sly. They must have taken swift notice of Beatrice’ heed. “I’m just kidding, dear. What might your name be, darling?”

They pressed a gentle finger to her forearm, a touch that scattered her thoughts with fog in a quick instant. “Oh, I was just, um… um… leaving.” Was she really leaving? Her thoughts were scrambled inside of her head, hard to reach while she was so focused on the ginger rub of fingers over her skin.

“Her name… ‘s Beatrice, sir…” Mary whispered, keened toward their immense aura that seemingly swirled the two right in. 

“Beatrice? What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Mind if I call you Bea?” Her stomach tensed. No one called her that except close friends. Too distracted by the flutter of a compliment and the brush of a thumb over her skin, words to reply drifted far out of reach. Luckily, the librarian did not waste time waiting for a response. “Wonderful! I have a hunch you may already know, but my name is Adrastus. You, my dear, may call me sir.”

“H- huh…?” Such a title seemed much too formal. Although, it seemed everyone was calling them that… it couldn’t be that weird. Could it?

Adrastus didn’t allow her a moment to dwell. “Come along, darling, let me introduce you to the group!” Pulling her along with their slender, smooth arms, she stumbled behind their graceful stride to where the numerous other students had gathered.

Bea swayed in her spot as they stopped, unable to keep herself afloat and dizzy as the room spun below her. Was she sick? She just knew she should have left.

“Hello, my loves!” The librarian- no, sir- sung aloud, catching the attention of the already hazy group. “This is our newest guest, Bea. Say, hello Bea!”

The group repeated their greeting in a neat fashion, although voices dropped lazy and slow. Most students were already tucking in for sleep as it seemed, sprawled over blankets and one another. Unusual for what was advertised as a meet up meant for studying.

Adrastus guided her slowly drooping frame to an open seat made from a pile of lush pillowing, one she plopped right into. Bea sighed in contentment as she allowed the fabric to swallow her whole.

Soon enough multiple other drowsy minded students rolled over her limbs, trapping her in place with discomfort. She then groaned in displeasure.

Leaning down and whispering, Adrastus set a string of her hair back into place. “How are you doing, love? Comfortable?”

She wriggled around the others, bodies confining her and skin touching that of strangers. “I, um… I’m not… sure…” Beatrice muttered, anxiety crawling it’s way around her insides.

“That’s okay, that’s okay. Just relax for me.” They stroked over her supple skin, pushing her further back and gumming up her head.

“But… when ‘re we gonna study…?”

“In a bit, baby, soon here now. Just take a deep breath and close your eyes.”

Although weakly, Beatrice resisted as they tried to shut her eyes for her. “Don’t… like… leave…”

“You are a bit anxious, aren’t you?”

Their words spun her in circles, her cobweb filled brains unable to keep up with their swift speech. “I guess… um…”

“How adorable. That’s just fine. I can work with that.” Adrastus muttered, more so to themself than her.

“‘M… con… fused…”

“Sure you are. But everything is just fine, okay? Just get all nice and sleepy, letting it wash over you all nicely.” 

“Wash… over…?” The wave of their nimble fingers down her frame was freakishly heavenly, a sensation so beautiful she’d never before felt. Beatrice fell limp almost instantly, so overwhelmed by the magic of the whole situation.

“Yes, dear. Let it take hold of your little body, sending you numb and reeling into slumber. Sir will take good care of you while you sleep.”

“Don’t… can’t…”

“Oh, yes you can,” They corrected. “Good girls like you need sleep. I just know you’re so tired, your whole body is reaching for slumber.”

“Sleep… good…”

“Yes, dear. Sleep.” 

Beatrice had no clue how long she was out, dancing through dreams and listening to the sweet voice of the librarian at the flick of their wrist. She merely gave up her will for however long proved fit, leaving her mind well devoid of thought.

It was… fine. Once she finally awoke Bea had dutifully said her goodbyes to her sir, stumbling out from the building as drowsy and hazy as everyone else. Sure, she barely retained a moment of the night, but with her head still buzzing with slumber she must have just fallen asleep. 

How silly of her to have been so afraid. Nothing was off in the slightest.

…

Beatrice promised herself that this time, she would study. She would not fall to her body’s need for slumber, and would in turn remember the night in full. Very much unlike the first visit to the library.

She had neatly arranged her things in the midst of sprawled out, snoring students, burning with roaring determination. Even if, oddly, no one else seemed to be doing much studying, Beatrice was going to make the most out of the chance to do so.

But, in a strange turn of events,

Beatrice was crying.

Her cheeks flushed vibrant red with embarrassment, eagerly wiping tears away with her wrists.

She had no clue as to what had come over her. Why the work was so painfully difficult, why her head was clouding and gradually slowing, leaving her mind muddled in confusion. Why students flopped around her, touching all over absentmindedly. Why all she wanted to do was sleep. 

A hand snuck down her neck, brushing it’s way over her shivering spine. She twitched in surprise before melting under the contact. “Oh dear, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t, um, don’t…” Beatrice turned to face the glimmering face of the librarian, eyes blurring with moisture. “So confused!”

“Oh, baby. Tell me what’s bothering you.” They pouted, curling up beside her with concern. Beatrice yearned for their aid, for their pity, and her heart fluttered at the notion of her sir paying her specific attention.

“Don’t, um, so confused… uncomfy…!” Furling into a ball she exclaimed, expression twisting and muscles tightening.

“Well we don’t want that, do we?”

“Nooo…” Bea whined, wracking her brain for words that were becoming difficult to reach. “Work, uh, hard… ‘m head hurt…”

“Of course, dear. Your little mind is too distracted by the difficulties of school!” All the while they spoke arms slithered around the distraught woman, hoisting her into their lap and swaddling her sweet. Almost in likeness to a parent and their beloved child. Beatrice instinctively accepted the warmth of their hold. “You must relax, love.”

“But… gotta study…” she reached lazily for her work, arms far too restricted by the librarian’s hold to complete the act. Though, she didn’t really mind, the embrace growing warm and splendidly comfortable.

Maybe… 

Maybe she could relax… 

Just for a moment. The wash of calm that gently rolled over her was to great to ignore, just enough of a push to force her into acceptance.

“Goodness, you are determined, aren’t you? Even while all confused and sad. How cute.” They brushed her face with their sleeve, tickling her with pleasure and wiping her tear stained cheeks. “Come on over, my loves. Gather around, let’s help our dear Bea, here.” Their voice raised, calling out to the other dazed out students.

Soon enough strangers were crawling their way over, slow and sleepy, eyes all unfocused and glassy. They collapsed in a heap around the two, all smiles and content.

“Don’t, um, I don’t… like it…” Beatrice mumbled, twisting closer to the chest of the librarian and away from the others. Still, she couldn’t ignore the turmoil of seein

Pressing a peck to her forehead, their hands rubbed tender circles over her flesh as they whispered. “Yes you do. It feels so very delightful to be surrounded by your fellow classmates, heads empty and smiles wide.”

“Oh… delightful…” she mewled, eyes glazing over like all the others.

“You want to come back. To take the time to dance around in this bliss with all of your little companions, and to see your sir.”

“Want… come back… sir…”

“Good girl. So good. Now take this time to calm, and get some well needed sleep.”

“Calm… sleep…” She could do that for her sir. So very deeply she wanted to obey, and obey Beatrice would.

Settling her back into the heap of sleeping students, Adrastus hummed a quiet whisper. “Sweet dreams, baby. Sir will be right by your side for as long as you need.”

…

Every night that Bea returned to see her sir proved so much better than the last. The first few were so very magical and mind melting, the thoughts of floating through such pleasant clouds her sir planted through her mind were all she could think about during the day. Beatrice was obsessed.

Because they were her sir. She was their favorite, and everyone knew it, Bea was sure. 

She was always picked first for blood draws, always welcomed with more soft touches and kind coos than everyone else, even getting the longest of her own private study sessions with her sir.

Bea was sure she was the favorite, and favorites cannot stop coming back for more. Even if her grades were dropping and her mind was gradually coming to a halt, the thought of distancing herself from the magnificent librarian never dared to enter her mind.

Just like now. Slumped against her sir’s leg, drooling over their calf from the corner of a strung up, dopey smile. Sir’s fingers twirled nimbly through her hair, gentle and kind, just like them. She shivered with blissful sensations.

“Alright, dear,” they started, breaking through the silence of the library, words hushed and light, fingers receding from her locks. “It's sleepy time, okay?”

Lazily Bea clawed for their touch to return, puppy eyes twisting with puzzled hurt. “B- but… like looking at sir…”

“I know, I know, but I need to get up for just a moment.” They climbed to their feet, beginning their journey away from Beatrice, an action that did not sit well with her. She did not want her master to leave, detested it. Especially if the reason was to go dote on anyone else that wasn’t her.

“But… but…”

Adrastus patted her head lightly, bouncing the worries from her brain with a swish of bliss. “I’ll be right back, I know you are quick to miss me. Do not worry your pretty little head.” They gave her that gentle, soft smile they always did, that fluttered the endeared butterflies in her tummy.

Bea melted into that of a puddle of smiling sludge, too distracted by her sir’s spell to think much at all. “Okay… sir…” 

“Good girl.” They nodded, heels clacking off as they ventured to who knows where, Bea’s cheek making its soft descent into the carpet.

Soon enough her sir returned to Bea’s delight, only, her satisfaction contorted in distress as she took notice of the dazed out student trailing behind them, hand in hand. His head craned to the side, ready to donate blood. 

“Sir! Nooo!” She squealed on instinct, crawling desperately to claw at their ankles in the attempt to cease their betrayal. How could they do that to her? She was right there, so ready to donate or do anything her sir so wished, and they chose someone else? 

Adrastus tisked, face firming. “Shhhh, hush, dear. So loud for someone supposedly asleep.” They cupped her cheek, so delicate it almost distracted her from the pain of their treacherous actions.

“Why… ‘re, why’re you taking him…?” She whispered, anger twisting to pitiful hurt, as she leaned right into the touch of their soft skin.

They booped her nose. “That’s none of your concern, baby.”

“But you love me! Me! Take… me!” They had to! She wanted so badly to be of use to them, to be loved by them more than anyone else. They had to see that, didn’t they?

“Calm down. Sleep, now.” They commanded, stroking down her skull in a wash of drowsiness, so immense she could never have resisted, no matter how much distress she was in.

She whined, loud enough to stir a few others from sleep. “But… but mine…”

“Remember what I told you?”

Her sir’s words flew up and out of her memory, plastering to the walls of her brain and filling her up with mind boggling sensations of goodness. “Master… Bea is, um, master’s favorite… al… always…” the repetition reassured her, feeding her back into the trance of her sir’s. “Good… good girls ‘re… um… good girls listen to sir…”

Their face softened, gentle and tender and so very loving it as they settled her head back to the floor. She had forgotten completely what had been so horrifying she had made such a dreadful scene, and with oncoming unconsciousness did not have the mind to think about it. “Remember that always  my dear. Meet me after group, okay? I’ll grant your every little wish then.”

“Oh… ‘kay…” Bea nuzzled into the lush rug below her, purring with warmth. “Love you… sir…”

With one more pat to the head Adrastus huffed a grin, licking her ears with a sweet whisper. “Of course you do.”

…

“But… but I don’t want you to leave…” Bea whimpered, raw with confusion and anguish.

“I know, baby, I know.” Her sir soothed, petting her kindly as she curled in their lap. 

“You can’t… please…!” How could they leave her, just like that? How could she possibly live without them? Even their blissful magic proved futile against the pain of their horrid news.

“Oh, darling I’ll be back. It’s just for a few weeks. A simple vacation.”

Bea whined, guttural and grating, an animalistic noise that gnawed at her throat, so overcome by the desperation of needing her sir to get by. “But… I can’t… without you…!” She could never survive without their pleasant touches and words. How had she ever done so before?

They chuckled condescendingly, still sweet to their pet’s ears. “Yes, love, I know. So helpless without master, you are.” 

“Mhm, mhm!” Bea nodded, so very eager for her sir to understand. 

“Pitiful, really, but so very cute.” They scratched below her chin, sending her reeling back into the void of mindlessness for a mere moment. 

They just had to see how helpless she was without them! They had to know how dearly she depended on them! “S… stay…?” She whispered, meek and timid.

“I told you, pumpkin, I can’t.”

“Please! Please!” She squealed, clawing at their exquisite dress. They clutched her wrists, rubbing over her skin with those wondrously heart pulsing thumbs of theirs.

“I have business to attend to, darling, I simply cannot. Tell you what though, my dear,” They started, their endearing grin creeping its way over their lips, melting Bea into a puddle of adoration. “How would you like to accompany me?”

Bea’s heart practically stopped, words choking in a bubble in her throat. “R- really? Really?”

They smiled, satisfied with her unbridled excitement. “Yes, love. Doesn’t that just sound wonderful? Meet with me right after group, and I’ll take you home. To your new home.” Her sir cupped her chin, mixing her mind with heaven and glee.

“Oh, sir, I, I love you… sir…” Bea mewled, blindly prepared to start a new life with her sir. What could ever be better?

“I know, dear. I love you too.”

“Love… you… can’t wait…”

They pulled her tight, hugging in an embrace of love and care. “Me neither.” Bea had no clue what was yet to come.

———————————————————————

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @iys-cloud @battyfantasy @xx-adam-xx @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @mis-graves @3-2-whump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

prompt ask game — bad caretaker

[tw bad caretaker, victim blaming, manipulation, conditioning, conditioned whumpee, abandonment, emotional whump, psychological whump]

25 scenarios and 25 dialogue prompts :)

scenarios

caretaker accidentally injures whumpee

caretaker accidentally triggers whumpee

caretaker loses their patience and snaps

caretaker forgets about whumpee

caretaker forgets about an important event/date

caretaker is overworked and whumpee is the last thing they want to be thinking about

caretaker purposely abandons whumpee because they're fed up

caretaker lashes out and ends up saying something very hurtful

caretaker purposely uses whumpee's conditioning against them

caretaker purposely triggers whumpee for whatever reason

caretaker is too rough when handling whumpee

caretaker has no idea how to communicate properly, they're so gruff and blunt to the point of rudeness

caretaker is friends with whumper and ends up believing whumper over whumpee

caretaker is victim blaming

caretaker is reluctant and constantly whining

caretaker perceives whumpee as a huge burden

caretaker feels like their life ended when they got tasked with caring for whumpee

caretaker gets too possessive/controlling over their charge

caretaker can't keep it consistent with the house rules

caretaker has their own issues so whumpee's sometimes get swept under the rug

caretaker x whumpee romance (gone wrong) (it's weird and toxic and dubcon-y)

caretaker can't cook and it ends up causing serious issues

caretaker has no idea how to take care of a sick person and makes it all worse

caretaker is too squeamish to take care of whumpee but they're the only one around

caretaker is trying to solve a medical issue with zero experince (stitches, splints etc.)

dialogue

"how can you be so ungrateful?"

"how do you think i feel?"

"i can't believe you can't even do that."

"look, i'm sorry, it's just... a lot."

"oh, here we go again."

"so now i'm the bad guy."

"i can't keep doing this anymore."

"you can't keep doing this anymore."

"you're being so difficult."

"can't you just give me a break for two seconds?"

"oh, fuck. you look like shit."

"if i have to hold you down, i will, and no amount of tears will convince me not to."

"stop crying already, fuck."

"i told you not to do that."

"one more sound and i swear i'll bring you back to whumper."

"you have to get over it at some point."

"yeah, yeah, i know, trauma this, trauma that..."

"you're such a victim."

"have you ever thought that maybe... it was kinda your fault?"

"do not go outside without me."

"what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"oh, you're really messed up/broken."

"i really can't do anything anymore, can i? it's all about you, you, you."

"it's just a fucking [object of phobia/irrational fear], stop being so childish."

"you know what? maybe you deserved it."

[whumpshaped]

famous whumpee attempting to cover up for whumper (maybe a partner) because there have been allegations of abuse in their relationship? all eyes are on whumpee for explanation.

content: domestic whump, stockholm syndrome, known whumpee, past trauma, manipulation

"Hi, guys," Whumpee said, trying to keep up a cheery attitude for the camera. It didn't sound honest. They cleared their throat and tried again. "Hi, guys!" Still not very good.

Did they even need to sound cheery for a video like this? No, most people would be upset at accusations like that. Still, they needed to come across pleasant. Pleasant, but not particularly cheery. Concise. Holding back anger, maybe? They could act angry further along into the video.

They cleared their throat again.

"Hi, guys! Today's video is less..." Less what? "...happy, uh..." This was horrible. Start again. "Hi, guys! Today's video is a less happy one, as I'm sure you've guessed from the title. But it isn't less happy because it's some huge callout about my partner— It's less happy because the allegations that have been going around lately are... very heavy, and they're... they're honestly really upsetting for both of us."

They make my partner angry and they get very scary when they're angry.

They shifted in their seat, then took a deep breath. "I mean... Allegations like that are serious. But speculation on the topic is just... really hurtful. We've been together for years, and apart from some minor arguments, we've never had... We've never had..."

Clear throat, try again.

"We've been together for years, and we're very happy in this relationship. So seeing all those comments and theories is super hurtful. Even to me, and I'm not even the one being accused of... The a-word the site won't even let me utter. My partner is affected really deeply by your words—"

No, that would be giving too much power to these stupid people. It would make it worse.

"I would like to encourage you to please remember that you guys don't really know how our relationship is. Latching onto every little word, every little reaction... I've seen these weird compilations of me 'flinching whenever they move too suddenly', and it's... weird, I'm gonna be honest."

Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep breath.

Breathe.

By the time Whumpee was done recording, they could barely remember what they'd said. They detached the camera from their tripod and brought it to their computer, hoping the finished product would be something Whumper would approve of.

~

this is one of my last drabbles here, please feel free to follow me on my new blog @sowhumpshaped

[forwhump]

a/n; I have a whole truman show style day in the life thing I did w point that I was trying to find but there’s a lot of creepy weirdness to sort through first to find it & I found this one instead & I feel it’s particularly ugh so <3 couldn’t let it go to waste

enjoy some rambling point introspection :’)

tw/cw: rape, noncon, misgendering, transphobia, dehumanization, kidnapping, captivity, psychological torture, sexual exploitation, degradation, misogyny

creepy whumper, rapist pov, the ramblings of a madman, mentions of a living weapon

“I think I’m in love with you,” Point tells the naked, crying girl shackled in his bunk.

Her wrists are bleeding from how hard she had tried to fight to get them free. She isn’t fighting anymore; he’s tired her out. He likes her tired. She looks up at him with wide, wet eyes and her bare skin is so warm. Quietly, she hiccups, “there’s something really fuckin’ wrong with you.”

She’s got such a stupid accent. A real backwoods aw, shucks kind of accent. She tries to thin it out as much as possible but she hates him so much she can’t control it around him, sometimes, and he knows she hates that, too. He loves it. He loves the accent, too, even if it is stupid as all get out, even if his men make fun of him for it relentlessly. They’re all full of shit — they’d each jumped at the chance to ride the cowgirl, and they each jump, still.

She’s fuckin’ unreal in that lethal, Playboy bunny, girl next door kind of way. A real fantasy kind of way. Blonde bombshell, right? What man in their right mind doesn’t want to fuck a pretty blonde? First time Point had laid eyes on her, sitting on the floor of that trap house, he knew he was gonna keep her. She was special. She had a mouth like Princess Peach and Point could fit both hands around her waist. He was never gonna let her go. Couldn’t.

Then she spoke, and Point had been taken aback by the stupid accent, thick and unexpected, the backwater twang of banjos, denim overalls, and tooth gaps.

The milkmaid braids had been his idea, a branch of two separate, very good ideas. The first was to put her in her place; her accent was stupid, and it was embarrassing, and the hat and the boots just didn’t feel humiliating enough. The second was that she had already gotten under Point’s skin; she spoke, from the floor of that trap house, and he’d just as quickly started harbouring a fantasy of holding the farmer’s daughter by her sweet braids, tied off with ribbon, and fucking her face. Vineyard, the creative bastard, had supplied the milkmaid dress — his niece was twelve, and it had been a Halloween costume. Wren’s a tall girl, long legged, and the dress never fit her, not properly, but it never needed to. They made her wear it for a long time, anyway.

Point has an inkling that might’ve been where his thing for the accent had blossomed, but it’s hard to say. “Oh, darlin’,” he croons, and he’s mocking her. He does it a lot, and doesn’t always do it on purpose but most of the time he does — it makes her flush, and he likes her flushed.

He likes her a lot of ways, really. Tired, flushed. He likes her when she’s crying and when she’s trying to fight him off. He likes her when she’s begging and when she’s sobbing so hard she can’t choke out words. He likes her when she’s barely conscious, all soft and wet and pliant. He likes her when she’s pretending to like him because she knows he’ll kill her dog if she doesn’t. He hasn’t had her in a way, yet, in fact, that he hasn’t liked her; he actually likes the girl in all ways. He doesn’t even like his wife in all ways. It’s why he thinks he might love her — it’s why he knows he does. How typical, right? The handsome jock and the hot blonde. Who could’ve predicted it?

She’s already flushed with crying but she flushes a little darker with humiliation and Point grins.

She definitely isn’t perfect — she gets a bit shrill, and her thing for the dog upsets Point so completely he can’t think about it too hard or he loses chunks of time. But her hair is pretty, and her mouth is pretty, and her cunt is always warm, and she really is beautiful, in that really rare, really impossible kind of way.

Point would keep her all to himself if he could, right here in his bunk. He’d stop applying for leave and she’d stop having to go back to that disgusting doghouse. He’d gotten close, once, but it didn’t last. And that’s not to say he’d stop letting his men use her, either — it’s everybody else. It’s that fuckin’ dog.

He stops grinning and spits in her face.

He doesn’t mean to, not really, but he looks down at her and he sees the way she looks at that thing. Point is being generous every time he calls it a dog, but chunk of meat is just too wordy. Is what it is, though, isn’t it? An ugly chunk of meat a couple of the military’s poindexters had reanimated. She doesn’t look at Point the same way she looks at that thing, and how is that fair? She does it on purpose, just to upset him. He knows she does.

She recoils and he grabs her by the jaw. Holds her still. “Open.” She struggles, trying to lean away, and he presses the back of her head harder into his mattress. “Open,” he demands, and she does on a sob and he spits again, into her mouth. She chokes and he hears himself tell her, “you’re disgusting.” She sobs again and he spits, “stop fucking the dog.”

“I’m not —“

“And stop fuckin’ lying to me,” he snaps.

That’s her worst thing. Worse than the whining, and the fact that she opens her legs for that thing — she’s a liar. She’s always lying.

But fuck, does it almost tie with the fact that she opens her legs for that thing. He hates to think about it but it’s hard not to equate it. Does she get just as wet for him? Does she make the same noises? It would probably make him hate her if he wasn’t in love with her.

“Why can’t you just be a good girl?” He asks, and he doesn’t mean to ask so sincerely. “Why do you have to be a whore?”

She looks up at him from beneath his hand with a hatred that radiates off her like heat. He’s willing to bet she never looks at the dog like that.

He’s also willing to bet the dog doesn’t know. It’s dumb, and he can’t see the girl telling it the truth. It had been wildly protective of her from pretty early into its placement, after however long it had taken the girl to manipulate it into wrapping itself around her little finger. Something about it makes her feel safer, more secure, even if it’s just a cute little lie she tells herself to sleep better sometimes. Even with the added guard dog, she’s still here with Point. She’s still been here with Point for hours.

He doesn’t care for the dog — he thinks it’s a hideous waste of meat and a disgusting fuckin’ science experiment — but he could probably feel bad for it if he let himself. The dog is just so dumb and it has no idea that its little girlfriend is a well fucked whore and if that if Point plays his cards just right he can get her to beg for his cock.

“You could be perfect,” he tells her.

She’s still crying — she’s usually crying — and she’s always doe eyed but when she cries it makes her eyes look a lot bigger and makes her look really scared and really pathetic. Point’s always thought she looks prettiest when she’s scared.

“I fuckin’ hate you,” she tells him, and she enunciates very carefully.

“Shucks,” he mocks, and grins when she flushes, predictably. Fuck, she’s pretty. If nothing else, she’s pretty. It’s almost enough to forget the stupid hillbilly accent and the fact that she fucks dogs.

He puts his hand on her thigh. She tries to flinch away but he holds her there, pressing bruises into her pale thigh in the shape of his fingertips. Vineyard bites her, fucks her up pretty bad sometimes, likes to mark her that way, but Point’s never cared much for biting. Point’s always liked to bruise.

He pushes her thighs apart and the way she trembles in his hands makes him smile. “Stop,” she begs, and the poor girl must be so tired but she makes a valiant attempt to fight him off, anyway. “Please. Please, no more.”

Point clicks his tongue as he settles between her legs. “You know you don’t get to decide when we’re done here, cowgirl,” he says. He holds her down against his sheets, standard issue — black, as opposed to the asset grey. Better thread count, too. The girl should be grateful, he thinks, that he prefers to fuck her here, on the best sheets in their chunk of the district, instead of the shitty sheets in the unit, instead of the concrete of any of the floors.

Point would love, in his wildest fantasies, to get her furlough and fuck her at home. His wife was in charge of the furnishing and all that, because why does he give a shit? But she knocked it out of the park with their sheets. The mattress, too. The whole bed is great, and Point would love to get the girl out of here and fuck her on it for days consecutive. He would love to ruin those sheets. But it would be sticky, ‘cause he’d have to get his wife and all four of the kids out of the house and to stay away from the house at the same time. The neighbourhood is affluent, but that annoying, gossipy sort of affluent that his wife finds so friendly but that makes Point sick and enraged. If he sent his wife and children on vacation, then showed up at the house, with or without a blonde considerably hotter and younger than his wife, they’d gossip. His wife would find out, at the very least, that he took leave and didn’t mention it to her, and that’s a can of worms he doesn’t think he wants to open. That’s the debate, at least.

But it’s an ongoing debate. Every time he’s eligible for leave again, he considers it. Sometimes, in his bunk with this girl, when her skin is especially warm and her cunt is especially wet, he thinks it would be worth it.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he tells her again.

She sobs.

[whumpninja]

Part two of the two-shot! This is supposed to be the ending, but I did consider writing the first bit from Tomás’ POV, so I might still be convinced to do that!

@distracted-obsessions tada

Featuring: historical whump, whumper turned whumpee (kind of), pillory, public display, blood, heat whump, mentions of execution by hanging, flashback to a stabbing, weird complicated dynamics

——————————————————————————

Traitor, Part 2

The villagers didn’t end up staying in the square very long. A few more stones and vicious words were hurled. The stones missed. The words didn’t.

But soon enough the townspeople grew bored of tormenting him, and one by one they wandered back to their feast and their hero. Mateo was left alone, his back and neck aching, the cuts on his chest stinging. The blood had stopped by now, and the drops of it that had fallen on the boards were already dried into little dark spots. But the wounds still hurt, and hurt even more when he thought about what they symbolized, what they were.

The sun was going down now, and Mateo lifted his head- as best he could- to look at the orange glow as it slipped behind the mountains far away. “I’m not a traitor,” he told the sun, and then louder, “I am not a traitor!”

If the sun heard him, it was the only thing that did. The villagers were still at their festival, Mateo could tell by the music and laughter that drifted up from the plaza. He kept watching the sun until the last rays disappeared, leaving darkness in their place.

The gentle breeze was still warm, but the air had cooled now that the sun had gone down. Mateo shifted his feet, trying to get as comfortable as possible for what was definitely going to be a very long night.

The townspeople eventually finished their celebration. Several of them walked past, and Mateo dropped his head and pretended to be asleep. It didn’t stop him from hearing the biting words they tossed at him, but it seemed to deter any more stones. And it didn’t last long, anyway- the people were worn out from dancing and feasting and doing all the things they hadn’t done for years. They wanted their homes and their beds, and so it was only an hour or so before Mateo was alone in the square.

It’s going to be next to impossible to sleep in this position. Every little movement made his back and shoulders cry out in protest, and bigger movements set the half-scabbed-over cuts on his chest aflame. Mateo let his head hang, since that seemed to be the closest thing he could get to comfort.

He jerked it up again when he heard footsteps, and then a voice.

“Mateo?”

Fidelia materialized from the darkness, wearing a man's long black coat over her red festival dress. Mateo could guess what man it belonged to.

“What are you doing back here?” Mateo asked, trying to make the words sharp.

“I brought you water.”

Mateo covered his surprise with a bitter tone.“And you waited until it was dark to do it. Am I that shameful?”

Fidelia huffed. “Well, if you don’t want it-“

“No!” Immediately he regretted the desperation in his voice. But it was too late to take it back. “No, I want it. Please.”

She hesitated just long enough to make him worry that she had decided not to help him, and then she stepped closer, holding a cup to his lips. It was water, cool and clear. Mateo drank every last drop, and Fidelia let him.

“Where’s your outlaw?” Mateo asked when at last she pulled the empty cup away. His chin was dripping, and she took her handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped it for him.

“His name is Tomás,” she answered. “And he’s staying at the inn until the wedding.”

“Wedding?”

“I love him.” Fidelia had never been one to mince her words. “We’ll be married in autumn.”

“Congratulations.” It came out flat and cold.

“You understand, don’t you? That this is better? For the village, for me, even for you.”

“I would never have asked you to marry me if I’d known how much you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you,” she said, turning away.

“Your spit is still drying on my cheek, Fidelia.”

“They had to think I hate you. Look at it this way- if I truly hated you, would I have brought you water?”

Mateo couldn’t exactly argue with that. “And what will your beautiful, stupid farm boy do to me if he finds out you let me have a drink?”

“He knows.”

Mateo’s eyes snapped to hers. “What?”

“He was the one who suggested it.” Fidelia crossed her arms, the empty cup dangling from her fingers. “He also suggested I do it when it got dark, so the townspeople wouldn’t protest. They’re good people, but they’ve been oppressed for so long- they want revenge. Tomás has to give it to them.”

“I’m sure he’s enjoying all this,” Mateo said bitterly.

“Tomás is trying to protect you.”

“I’m standing in a pillory with the mark of a traitor carved into my chest. How, exactly, is that protecting me?”

“When the town sentences your parents, Tomás can say that he’s already punished you. You’ll be spared whatever happens to them.”

That was...surprisingly well thought out. “Why would Tomás do that for me?”

“Because I asked him to do it.” Fidelia looked away, out into the night. “Before we came back. I didn’t want- I never loved you, but part of me cared for you. You’re not as bad as your parents are. I didn’t want you to suffer alongside them.”

“I’m not a child, Fidelia. What can a few dusty farmers do to me and my family?” Mateo gestured as best he could to the boards. “More of this?”

Fidelia sighed. “Mateo, in all likelihood the governor is going to be hanged.”

“What?”

“Tomás has the ear of the townsfolk, and they see him as their protector,” Fidelia continued. “But even he couldn’t stop them. I don’t know what’s going to happen to Antonia, but the governor will almost assuredly hang. And I don’t want to see you beside him with a noose around your neck.”

Mateo didn’t answer that, his eyes sliding to the ground as his thoughts raced. I knew my father was unpopular. But I didn’t think they hated him enough to kill him.

“Mateo?” Fidelia had tipped her head in that birdlike way of hers, frowning. “Are you all right?”

Mateo let his breath out slow. “You should probably go before someone sees you with me.”

“I’d just pretend I was insulting you,” Fidelia replied, and the little smile on her lips made Mateo’s heart hurt. “But you’re right. I should go.”

“Fidelia?”

“Hmm?”

“Did Tomás tell you how long- um, this- is going to be?”

“He argued with the village leaders about it for two hours,” Fidelia replied. “They wanted a week.”

Mateo fought to keep back a cry. A week in this thing would be hell itself. “And Tomás?”

“Argued them down to just tomorrow and the next night,” Fidelia answered. “He’s very convincing when he needs to be.”

Mateo's back showed its resentment at the idea of another day in the pillory by giving Mateo a stab of pain somewhere right below his shoulders. He caught the groan just before it escaped his mouth, but Fidelia frowned regardless. "Does it hurt much?"

Mateo bent his head to look at her. "What do you think?"

He meant it to be sharp, but she laughed. "Sorry. I suppose that was obvious."

Mateo sighed. "You should go back, Fidelia. Be with your outlaw."

Fidelia pulled the coat closer around her shoulders, confirming who it belonged to. "I wish you could see him the way I do, Mateo. Tomás is- he's strong, and brave, and gentle, and kind."

"And all the things I'm not?"

"I didn't mean it like that-"

"I know what I am," Mateo replied. He dropped his head. "It's carved over my heart now, thanks to your kind, gentle outlaw."

Fidelia sighed. "If Tomás hadn't returned, I would have married you. And I think we would have been happy." Mateo heard her shift her feet the way she did while she was thinking about what to say next. "But I wouldn't have loved you. Not really. Not the way I love him."

It hurt to hear, of course. But somehow he'd always known. Her laughing on his arm and smiling while they danced...it had never rung true.

"Will you...be all right?"

Mateo picked his head up. She was looking at him, and there was real concern in her eyes.

Mateo squared his shoulders as best he could. "I'll be fine," he said with all the steel he had left. There wasn't much, but it was enough to keep his voice from shaking.

Fidelia took a few steps away, then turned back. She raised a hand and brushed the dark curls out of Mateo's face. Her fingers rested for just a moment on his cheek.

Then she hurried away, and was gone.

——————————————————————————

The sun chose to spite Mateo. By mid morning it was hotter than the last day had been at noon. Mateo was half glad that Tomás had cut his shirt off and half resentful- he could feel the sunburn settling painfully into his back.

Everything hurt. His spine felt bruised. His legs ached underneath him. His hands had been rubbed raw by the rough wood. If he moved wrong, the scabbed over cuts broke open again and leaked blood over his chest. Sweat dripped into his eyes. The heat enveloped him like a blanket he couldn't throw off.

In the afternoon, the wind picked up. At first Mateo was glad of the slight breeze, cooling him down. But then even the wind decided to be cruel, picking up the dust from the street and hurling it in his face until he had to duck his head, his eyes burning, grit sticking in the smears of red on his chest.

It felt like the longest day of his life. The villagers didn't gather around to throw things this time. They simply walked past him, noses in the air, and said things that cut deeper than they should have. Mateo tried to ignore them, hanging his head and hoping that a lack of reaction would send them away.

When the sun had gone down and all the townsfolk had fallen asleep, Fidelia came back. She had brought him water again, and this time she also brought him some bread. She held it to his mouth while he ate.

Neither of them spoke much. Mateo was too exhausted, and Fidelia seemed preoccupied.

“Have you seen my parents?” he asked during one of the few times he broke the silence. “Are they…how are they?”

“They’re still in the village jail. Under guard. Your father is like stone- I think he’s finally realized what his actions have done. Your mother is still proud. She refuses to speak to the guards. But they’re both as well as they can be under the circumstances.”

Mateo didn’t respond for a few minutes, finishing the last of the food. “Do they know?” he said finally. “About this.”

Fidelia nodded. The rose in her hair bobbed with the motion, and Mateo wondered if her beloved Tomás had tucked it behind her ear. “Your mother is worried about you.”

"Not surprising," Mateo replied. "I didn't think this thing was so bad until it was me in it."

"They're healing," Fidelia said, and when Mateo glanced at her in confusion, she went on. "The townspeople. They're happier, and because they're happier they're not as angry anymore. Tomás said he'll do his best to keep them from executing your parents. But you must understand that your family hurt them. If Tomás can't stop it- you can't blame them, or him. It's only the governor's own fault."

"I love my father," Mateo replied, stung.

"But you have to admit he was harder on the villagers than he needed to be. He was greedy and cruel and-" Fidelia let out a long breath. "I'm sorry. You didn't see it the same way I did, the way Tomás did. He meant for Tomás and his mother to die. He killed Tomás' father. He hurt so many of the villagers, nearly starved them so he could get rich. I don't- I can't forgive him for that. But you were a child who didn't know what his father was doing. I can forgive you." She brushed her hair behind her ear. "But I want to ask you something."

"What?" Mateo asked.

Fidelia reached out and ran her fingers over the cuts on his chest. Mateo flinched. "Can you forgive Tomás?"

Maybe it was cruel of him, but Mateo didn't answer. He heard Fidelia sigh, and then he heard her footsteps as she walked away. He wanted nothing more than to call her back.

You are a Rivera, he scolded himself. You don't need her approval. And you don't need to forgive the farm boy who marked you a traitor. You are a Rivera- you are strong, and proud, and-

But there he had to stop, because his family name didn't seem like something to be proud of anymore.

——————————————————————————

“Rivera? Wake up, Rivera. It’s over.”

It was morning, and Tomás had come, with Fidelia by his side and a gaggle of villagers somewhere behind him. Mateo raised his head as far as he could, doing his best to glare at them all, but there wasn’t enough strength left in him.

Fidelia unlocked the pillory and Tomas lifted the board. Mateo tried to straighten up, gritting his teeth against the searing pain in his sore back. But as soon as he pulled himself away from the rough wood, he collapsed, his trembling legs unable to support him any longer.

Tomás caught him, his strong hands wrapping around Mateo’s upper arms and keeping him on his feet. “I’ve got you,” he murmured too low for anyone else to hear.

“Take your hands off me, outlaw,” Mateo answered, just as softly but with far more ice.

Tomás didn’t let go. “They’ve seen the governor’s son standing in the pillory. Do you want them to see you fall flat on your face, too?”

Damn. Tomás had a good point. Grudgingly, Mateo allowed the man to help him down the stairs. Fidelia met them at the bottom, and only then did Tomás release him, guiding him down to sit on the last stair.

Fidelia carried a cloth, a basin of water and something that smelled herbal. She passed them to Tomás, and the outlaw knelt in front of Mateo. “Lean back,” he instructed, his voice almost gentle. Mateo did as he was told, and Tomás’ careful hands began cleaning the cut on his chest. Mateo watched him, trying to keep his face from giving away the confusion in his mind.

“I tried not to cut too deep,” Tomás said softly, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry I had to do it.”

“Why do you care?” Mateo asked through clenched teeth- clenched because he was still trying his best to hate Tomás, and also because whatever the outlaw was doing to the wound hurt like hell. But it was only the kind of hurt that usually came from treating an injury; it didn’t feel like Tomás was trying to make it hurt any more than that. And Mateo didn’t understand why not.

“I don’t want us to be enemies just because of who our fathers are,” Tomás said.

Mateo couldn’t stop himself from adding, “Were, in your case.”

Tomás visibly flinched. Fidelia put a hand on his shoulder and gave Mateo a cold look. He forced down the flash of regret that sprung up immediately at the hurt expression on Tomás’ face.

“There’s not much I can do about your parents,” Tomás said after an uncomfortable silence. “But I think the people will be satisfied with this for you.”

“I’m surprised you don’t want to see me on the end of a rope.” Mateo filled the words with all the bitterness he could, but he was nearly spent, and they just came out tired and resigned.

Tomás' face blanched. “I don’t even want to see the governor hang, much less you. You’ve only just come of age; I don’t want to be responsible for ending your life before it’s really begun.”

Mateo clenched his fists, frustrated without really knowing the cause of it. “Why don’t you hate me?” he burst out. He tried to stand up, but his legs buckled.

Tomás caught him around the waist, guiding him back down. “Why do you want me to hate you, Mateo?” he asked softly.

“Because-“ Because it lets me be angry instead of guilty. Because I want to pretend that you did all this out of hate instead of doing it to protect me. Because I want to keep hating you and I can’t when you’re being so kind, why are you being so kind to me, I don’t understand-

But he didn’t say any of that.

"Because you should," he said finally. "My father put a sword through your father’s heart.”

“It wasn’t your sword.”

Mateo still remembered that day. He hadn’t been watching the duel- he and Tomás had been fighting each other instead, kicking at each other and trying their best to strike a good blow. He still remembered Tomás’ young voice- “you leave my father alone!” He’d replied with something snide and cruel, most likely, and Tomás had lunged at him, and then they’d fought. Mateo had won- but only because Tomás’ mother had screamed, and Mateo had taken advantage of the distraction to shove the older boy into the dirt. Both of them had turned around in time to see Tomás‘ father crumple, impaled on Mateo’s father’s sword.

They’d left Tomás and his mother weeping in each other’s arms. A week later his father had installed himself as the new governor. A week after that, the new widow and her son had been forced from their home and banished from the town to eke out a living in the desert, an almost-sure death sentence for a middle-aged woman and a young boy.

And somehow they’d survived it. Tomás had brought his mother back with him; Mateo had seen her at the festival that had ruined everything. She was aged, yes, but she still looked strong and proud. Tomás, too, had only gotten stronger- Mateo had seen that strength in their swordfight, had felt it when the outlaw had all-but-carried him down from the pillory. Tomás had led a hard life, and it had hardened him in turn.

Yet for all that, he was still so…gentle. Mateo had seen him with Fidelia, the way he held her close to his heart and put roses in her hair, the way he looked at her with such devotion in his eyes, the way he practically worshipped her. And he had seen it for himself, too- Tomás hadn’t reveled in his enemy’s humiliation. Mateo was the son of his father’s murderer. Tomás had had every right to be cruel, to be as vicious as Governor Rivera. He could have made Mateo endure the pillory for far longer, could have stopped Fidelia from bringing him water, could have sentenced him to bear tenfold every single punishment his father had once brought down on the townsfolk. Not one of them would have objected- even Fidelia would have trusted her lover’s judgment. Tomás could have made Mateo suffer.

And yet he hadn’t. The mark on Mateo’s chest, a day and a half in the pillory, and that was all. Tomás had even helped him down when he was too weak to stand, had cleaned the cuts from the sword, had spoken to him almost kindly. It didn’t make any sense. They were supposed to be enemies. Fidelia and Tomás were supposed to despise him- yet Tomás had been as merciful as he could, and Fidelia had brought him water when she could have let him go thirsty. They weren’t treating him like their enemy.

Why don’t they hate me? he thought. He wasn’t sure whether he meant Fidelia or Tomás or both.

And why don’t I hate them?

That was meant only for himself.

"What happens now?" he asked.

Tomás sighed, handing the basin off to Fidelia. "Now, I take you back to the inn, and you rest. When you're strong again, then...well, I don't really know what happens then. But we'll figure it out." He offered his hand.

Mateo stared at it, and then at Tomás' open, honest face. He scoffed, but there was no heat in it this time. "An outlaw and a traitor, is it?"

Tomás grinned.

Mateo sighed, feeling the cuts on his chest tingle with the motion.

He took Tomás' hand.

[prince-liest]

Your reply to the whumper ask made me realize that in a weird way, in a radioapple dynamic, Lucifer is very much the Husk to Alastor's Angel lol. He's well aware that he's a disaster and sees through Alastor's little games

You ain't seen how I write radioapple yet! ;)

This ask does greatly intrigue me, though, because I'm not sure how other folks are writing radioapple, but I have some specific thoughts in mind that (at least based on fanart + this ask) I think might be at least a tiny bit different from some of the more popular takes.

You're absolutely right that Lucifer has more self-awareness of the disaster that he is, though. He has pretty poor self-esteem when it comes to emotional proficiency, and he feels bad about that! That said, I think he's also really stuck in his own world and would have a hard time getting a proper read on Alastor because he'd be busy projecting (though there are some things I think he would pick up on by virtue of the sheer lack of fucks he gives wrt Alastor's intimidation factor.)

Alastor, in comparison, performs a bunch of strategic ego maintenance specifically to avoid acknowledging that he has emotional weak points, and being confronted with the idea that he has any at all is fucking distressing to him in a way that he sublimates into anger because that's the only negative emotion that isn't weak for him to show. And in contrast, he's actually pretty damn good at getting a bead on Lucifer because he doesn't like the guy and is actively looking for weaknesses to take advantage of.

[oxfordthyme]

Intro / My Story

Hello, I'm Thyme and I only recently realized that whump was a thing!

Putting the TL;DR up top: I'm a (mostly NSFW & non con) writer new to the whump community, & very interested to see what's shaking here! Would ultimately love to find some new, like-minded readers to enjoy my fics and offer their thoughts.

(Also please forgive my lack of aesthetic, Tumblr has changed a lot and I'm still figuring things out)

Here's the longer story: I've written whump from the shadows for going on 20 years; no one had ever seen it until I made an AO3 account earlier this year.

In the shadows there is no community and no audience, so I had no clue other people enjoyed hurting their favorite characters as much as I did and always had weird shame about it.

Shame is a huge part of the way I grew up and has hindered my quality of life at every turn. I'm only just taking steps to shed it, and it's a process. I wish I had started it long ago, but better late than never, I guess.

The first part of my "fuck shame" journey was to try writing smut. I'd always just implied it in my fics—because shame—which is so crazy because again, I wasn't even showing these to anyone!!!

I don't even read much smut either so I did some *ahem* research and added some smutty scenes to what would become my first published fic. (It's a Baldur's Gate story reimagining, if Cazador bit a female elf bard instead of Astarion, and that bard embarks on the BG3 storyline with this new version of Astarion.)

The second part of the journey was to step out of the shadows (sort of) and post the fic. So I did that and expected no interaction. But when I started getting kudos and comments... man, I never realized what a dopamine junkie I am because that positive feedback was like a drug. I have never written so much nor so consistently in my life. I've published over 200,000 words since the end of April. Apparently ADHD is no match for my feral dopamine hunger and pathological people pleasing tendencies!

The third part of the journey was to find a community! I joined a whump discord server and now I'm back on Tumblr for the first time in like, twelve years?? I've been lurking in the whump tag and it's so heartwarming to see so many creative people finding community with each other. We don't have to feel like freaks anymore. 🥹

The Baldur's Gate hyperfixation is on the shelf at the moment, and I'm in the middle of a very dark Stranger Things non-con centered longfic in which an 18-year-old Max Mayfield is the whumpee. Three guesses as to who the whumper is 🙄

Anyway, excited to see what's up around here!