#witch whumpee

[oliversrarebooks]

the defiant princess

TW: hypnotic induction, mind control, restraints, belittling language

Ah, hello, your Majesty. It's so kind of you to grant me an audience. I hear you put up quite a fuss while my henchmen tried to make you comfortable in those ropes, but really, it was the only way I could get you to hear me out.

Don't worry, I understand. I know how busy you are. So many important decisions to make, wars to avoid, criminals to pardon, and peasants to help. It must be so, so... tiring to be so noble, wouldn't you say?

A witch? Yes, your majesty, I am a witch. An enchantress, to be precise, a very powerful one, and I'm only here to help advise you.

Oh, my, what language! That's the spitfire princess I've heard about! So brave and defiant. So admirable.  That's exactly what I wish to speak to you about, your Majesty.

You see, I'm ever so worried about you. All of that defiance must take a toll on you. A bratty, headstrong princess like you needs a firm guiding hand. Someone to help them rest and sleep. Someone to help them be more docile and obedient, just like a good princess should be.

It's so cute to see you struggle against those bonds. I assure you they're quite tight. And I can also assure you that there's no fighting what's about to happen to you. Soon, you're going to be far too drowsy and entranced to resist anything I say.

You don't want that? Well, what would you think if I showed you the gift I brought you? It's a lovely crystal pendant, a rare piece fit for a princess of your temperament. You could practically say it was made just for you. See how perfectly its facets catch the light as I spin it? So lovely, isn't it? So hard to tear your eyes away.

Here, let me help you, let me move it closer to your eyes, so that you may see it better. Oh, were you trying to look away just now? I think you'll find that's quite impossible. No, don't struggle. There's nothing to fear, nothing to worry about. Just a beautiful, captivating crystal. Just keep looking, keep watching the way it sparkles in the light, as I slowly swing it back and forth. Back and forth, in front of your eyes. So beautiful. So perfect. That's it, your majesty. 

I love the way the crystal looks reflected in your glassy, dazed eyes. I love the way your struggles against your bonds have become weak and lifeless. I love how I see you trying to tear your eyes away, but they keep flickering back to the crystal. 

Trying to hypnotize you? Your majesty, I'm not trying to hypnotize you. I am hypnotizing you.

You've probably realized this by now, but this is no ordinary crystal. It's a crystal that has the power to put people to sleep, even the most bratty, defiant princess. It has the power to make you docile and weak the more you watch it. No, don't try to look away. Keep looking, and let the crystal steal your will away. 

Doesn't it make you feel so very quiet and docile, the way your eyes keep following the crystal back-and-forth? Doesn't it make you feel weak and compliant, when you just can't seem to look away? 

Yes, very good, your majesty. Let the crystal drain your willpower, let it replace your strength with a slow, delicious drowsiness. Keep watching. Watching the crystal will make you feel sleepy, and you're already too docile and weak to do anything about it. Oh, no, don't argue. I think even you realize that you're falling under my spell. The crystal's light is making you so sleepy, so drowsy. And it's so hard to be defiant when you're so sleepy, isn't it?

With every slow swing of the crystal, you can feel its sleepy, hypnotic power tugging at your eyelids, making them so heavy, gently coaxing them to close. The crystal's light is soothing you to sleep, dear princess, easing you under my hypnotic spell. The more drowsy and dazed you become, the easier it is for my words to slip past your defenses. Your mind is getting so, so tired, so tired of struggling.

Oh, you say you aren't sleepy? Awww, poor sleepy princess. You don't sound like a brave, defiant woman any more. You sound like a sleepy little girl protesting being put to bed. Look at that cute little yawn. I think you are sleepy. I think you are very, very sleepy.  I think it's so adorable to see your heavy eyelids blink so slowly as you try to keep yourself awake.

It's okay, sweet princess, just keep watching the nice sleepy crystal. It's your gift, after all, a pretty little gift that will help put you to sleep, a perfect gift for a drowsy and docile princess who needs someone else to do all the hard thinking for her. 

What's that you said? I can't understand your groggy little mumbles, especially when you keep yawning like that. You're not going to fall under my spell? Your majesty, you have already fallen under my spell. There's no use in trying to resist. You're already half-asleep and so dazed and obedient. 

Yes, obedient. Look at how your eyes are still following the crystal, just as I told you to, even though you're so very drowsy now that you would love for your eyes to shut. It's hard to keep them open, isn't it? You'd much rather close your eyes and sink deeper under my power, but you can't stop watching the crystal, the crystal made especially to put bratty little princesses to sleep. It's almost like you want to be put into a deep, entranced, hypnotic sleep.

No, you say? Your futile struggles really are so cute. It's so funny to think of how you normally are, bellowing orders left and right, and here you are with me, so hypnotized and sleepy, mumbling out your tired little protests. This is so much better, isn't it? It feels so nice to be so, so hypnotized and sleepy. It feels so nice to feel yourself slipping under my spell, knowing that when I've completely hypnotized you, you won't have to worry about anything any more. 

Shh, shhh, princess, hush, it's okay. It's okay. It's okay to let yourself be hypnotized. You're so tired, aren't you? As endearing as it is to watch those pretty eyes glued to my crystal, I think you need to rest them now. Just for a minute. Your eyelids are so, so heavy now, as though they have little lead weights attached to them. Just let them shut. You'll feel so much better. Yes, that's a good princess. That's a good girl. That's a good little girl, a sleepy, docile, and dazed little girl.

Just relax now. Just keep your eyes closed. Are you still trying to fight sleep? Aww, you're such a cute little brat. You know very well you're too drowsy to resist. You're going to feel yourself beginning to slip off into dreamland. The beautiful hypnotic crystal and my soothing voice are going to send you to a lovely, sleepy place where you'll feel so docile and relaxed that you won't ever want to leave.

The part of your mind that wants to resist me is sleepy, too. It's falling asleep, little princess, I'm putting your resistance to sleep. You can picture it in your mind, the strong, defiant princess you normally are, sitting on her throne and commanding her servants. You can see her yawn, her eyelids droop and flutter. You can see me cradling her in my arms, carrying her off to bed. She's falling asleep, dear girl, that strong-willed part of you. There's nothing left to resist me with. You're too sleepy, too hypnotized.

Yes, just go to sleep, fall deep asleep, and let the hypnotic spell seal around your tired little mind. Your free will, your personality, your desires, all will fade away as my hypnosis locks you into deep, sweet sleep. It feels so, so good that you won't ever want to resist it. You're meant for obedience and sleep, princess. Your usual personality was just an act, wasn't it, an act to conceal your true nature as a docile, helpless girl. 

Here, let me fasten that crystal right around your pretty neck. It looks so perfect on you. It's going to keep you weak and docile and hypnotized. As long as you have this on, you'll be able to walk and talk and do your daily tasks, but your mind will secretly be completely asleep. You'll be able to hear my words no matter where you are, and my words will become your thoughts. As long as you have this on, you will obey me and only me, do you understand? Only my words will control you, no one else's.

Yes, princess, you want to remain asleep, you want to remain hypnotized. It feels good, doesn't it? Yes, so good. That drowsy little smile of yours says it all. You won't ever take the crystal off, will you? Of course you won't. You need the crystal to help you stay asleep. You need the crystal hypnotizing your docile little princess mind. You need it more than anything.

And you won't let anyone else take it off either. No, that would be awful. You don't want that at all. Even if some idiotic hero tells you the crystal is dangerous, you need to keep wearing it no matter what. If someone tries to take the crystal from you, you'll resist them with all your might, won't you? Yes, that's right. 

And this one is very, very important, my sleepy little princess, so I'm going to need you to listen carefully. You can't tell anyone else about the crystal, or about what happened here. You'll keep the crystal hidden under your dress so that they won't question you. You can't let anyone know you're asleep and hypnotized. They won't understand. They'll try to wake you, try to steal your crystal, and you can't have that happen. If you ever try to tell someone about the crystal, your mind will feel so hazy and foggy that you can't get the words out. But you won't even try, will you? Of course not, you're too docile and obedient. You'll only show people the crystal if I want you to.

What's that you're trying to say? Who will rule the kingdom? Why, you will rule the kingdom, of course you will, there's nothing to worry about at all. You're a docile, helpless princess -- of course you can rule the kingdom while fast asleep and completely hypnotized. It will be so easy, so much easier than it's ever been, because my voice will advise you on everything you need to do. Yes, it's so much better to rule the kingdom while hypnotized. No more difficult decisions or boring state dinners or ministers clamoring for attention. You can sleep through it all. Isn't it wonderful, to be under a hypnotic spell?

Yes, it is, isn't it? It's just so right to be a sleepy, hypnotized princess, trapped in the spell of a witch, just like in the fairy tales you love. But unlike the foolish little girls in those stories, you know better than to want to be rescued. You understand that princesses like you are meant to be in a deep hypnotic trance. That's why it feels so very good.

You love your witch, your darling enchantress who whispers in your ear and makes you oh so drowsy and captivated. You love being obedient and entranced. You love it all.

And wouldn't it be just so lovely if more people were under my spell? Wouldn't it be ideal if everyone in the castle were under the influence of my lovely, sleepy, hypnotic crystal? Don't you want them all to be as contented and obedient as you are?

Yes, that's an excellent idea, your majesty. Let's hypnotize the entire court, one by one. You're so brave and intelligent, so good at ruling the kingdom, the best princess the land has ever known.

Here, let me take care of those ropes. You've been bound up so long, but you're not going to foolishly try to fight me any more, are you? No, of course you aren't. You're as sweet and docile as a kitten, a drowsy little kitten waking up from her nap. You can open your eyes now, princess, and remain completely asleep. There you go. Aww, that adoring look on your face is so delectable!

You will kneel before me, won't you? Sleepy, hypnotized princesses must kneel before their new mistress. Yes, that's a good dear. Oh, you look so cute, looking up at me and blinking slowly, still so dazed. You've had quite the nap, haven't you, princess? You must feel so refreshed, now that you're finally getting the sleep you need.

Now, your majesty, do you see that sweet young woman in the corner? Yes, your chief handmaiden. You've been best friends with her for your whole lives, isn't that right? She tried so hard to protect you, so brave and loyal. She's been trying to wriggle out of the ropes and shout through her gag this entire time, poor thing. Does that upset you, dear princess? Don't you think she needs to relax? Don't you think she needs to get some sleep?

Why don't you go to her, soothe her, and focus her pretty little eyes right on that hypnotic crystal? Why don't you hypnotize your friend into lovely, submissive sleep? Then you'll both be under my control, isn't that perfect? Yes, that's right. Good princess. You're following my suggestions so well. Let me guide you, let me help you put all of your subjects to sleep, one by one.

Yes, that's a good little princess.

Masterlist

If you like this story, you may like "listen to my Voice, hero" for more gentle, slow hypnotic induction on a resisting subject.

[whumpwillow]

Demon's Haven 11

woo!! okay this is the chapter I've been waiting for, I'm so excited to post it 💚💚💚

—  

masterlist

warnings: blood, past torture, description of wounds

—

Dressed and dry, Haven led the demon over to her bed where they could both sit. She’d fetched a collection of bandages and gauze and whatever else she could find from the bathroom, leaving the door open so the demon could still keep her in his sights and wouldn’t launch into a panic. He seemed to find comfort in her presence, or what she thought was more likely, he just didn’t want to be alone. He probably would have taken comfort in anyone’s presence regardless of who it was. She didn’t know why the thought of that filled her with such disappointment.

She spread out her collection on the multicolored blankets, then sat down beside the demon and inspected his wounds once more. They’d begun to bleed again, especially the fresh lashes. Blood seeped from them in a steady current, creating ribbons that trailed down his back. Still, it was much better than it had been when he’d been filthy with grime and dried blood so that Haven couldn’t tell how bad the damage really was. Clean, the wounds weren’t any less grotesque, but more manageable.

Haven pressed a cloth to the demon’s back to try and stem the bleeding. She waited a few minutes like that, feeling the demon’s heat under her fingers even through the cloth. She removed her hand yet the cloth stayed firmly in place, and began unwrapping a roll of gauze. Peeling away the cloth from the demon’s skin elicited a sharp intake of breath that caused him to scrunch his face in pain.

“Sorry,” Haven said.

“S’alright,” the demon replied, voice slurred from exhaustion.

She wanted to finish this quickly so he could rest—was tempted to lie down right now as well—but she didn’t want to do anything haphazardly. He’d been through enough. She could at least take proper care of him because if she was going to invite a demon into her home, she was going to commit to it and treat him as she would any guest.

Except she’d never had a guest who’d been tortured in Hell before. Semantics.

Haven began wrapping the bandages around the demon’s midsection, working her way through covering those ghastly stripes. She found herself sighing, looking at them. Silver, the demon had said. Silver made them permanent.

“Are you okay?”

The demon’s voice was quiet, slow, careful. Nothing like the high and desperate pitch of the past few days where he’d begged her not to hurt him, words spilling out of his mouth in stuttered gasps like he couldn’t get them out quick enough. Haven felt herself exhaling a dry and humorless laugh.

“You’re asking me if I’m okay?”

 “You’re sighing.”

Haven shook her head. If she hadn’t summoned the man herself, she would have had a hard time believing he was truly a demon. Here he was, exhausted and in what she could only imagine must be terrible pain, weakened to the point where he couldn’t even walk without her assistance. After being tortured. In Hell.

And he was asking her if she was okay.

A smile crept onto her face, unbidden. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Ah.”

It was silent for a beat. Haven continued her work, covering up too many lashes to count on his back, then wrapping his bruised shoulders and tying the whole thing off. She’d already used up an entire roll of gauze.

She began to work on the smaller wounds on the demon’s arms, deciding she’d skip his fingers for now and wait until she had something better suited than wide strips of cloth. She’d been pondering what to do about his bruised wrists when he spoke again.

“Are you upset?”

He didn’t look at her as he asked the question. Instead, he elected for staring straight ahead, gaze softened to the point where Haven had to wonder if he was really seeing her room at all.

“Of course I am.”

His head snapped to the side. Gaze sharpening, focusing. He was back in the room now, in the present, fearful, ever fearful.

“I—”

“Not at you,” Haven said, interrupting him before his thoughts could spiral. Before he could start begging for mercy and leniency for having done nothing at all. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The demon blinked at her a few times, processing. He tilted his head to the side a bit in a way that Haven felt was far too cute an action to belong to a creature borne from Hell, then opened his mouth as if he were going to speak. He didn’t though, and closed it. Opened it again. Finally turned his head away from her and resumed staring intently at her bedroom door. Haven finished wrapping one arm and moved onto the next, having decided to use extra padding around his wrists given how deep the bruises went. They’d be there for a long time.

“Why are you sad?” the demon asked after a while.

Haven passed her thumb over a deep purple bruise on his bicep and he flinched, to which she apologized and tried to wrap as delicately as she could. A large gash intercepted it. She couldn’t leave the wound unattended, though it was hard to maneuver the bandage around his arm without holding onto the bruised skin that surrounded the gash.  

“Because you were hurt,” she replied.

The demon turned his head just slightly to the side so that Haven could see only a slanted angle of his face, still shadowed by his wet black locks.

“You don’t know me.”

“Does that matter?”

A gasp. He turned fully to face her, his body twisting in such a way that the gauze fell out of Haven’s grasp and unwound. Before she could even feel annoyed at him for it, she saw the look on his face. His eyes were wide and wet, tears already beginning to pool in their depths. He swallowed once, twice. Blinked.

That was his downfall, that one. He’d been clearly trying not to cry, but the single blink had released the built up tears so that they spilled down his cheeks. He looked at Haven with some unrecognizable expression, something so tragic that she had to take him into her arms.

Haven drew him close and wrapped her arms around him. She threaded one hand through his still-damp hair and laid his head to rest on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmured, repeating the phrase just for the sound of her voice and hoping that it would be enough to soothe him.

The demon didn’t try to hold back anymore and sobbed openly. Broken cries tore from his throat, all pitchy sounds and half-drawn breaths. Haven rubbed her thumb back and forth through his hair, trying to ground him in the moment. His body shook something fierce, tremors rioting through him.

They stayed like that for an indiscernible amount of time, as if the very concept were water flowing through their fingers. The two of them, in their tired state, fell back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. Haven kept an arm around the demon and a hand in his hair, and he rested his head on her shoulder. The rolls of bandages lay around them.

“I need to finish wrapping your wounds.”

“Mmnh.”

The demon’s eyes had closed. Haven again felt a pang of jealousy at how beautifully his lashes overlaid on his cheeks.

Neither of them moved.

“I don’t want you to bleed out.”

“Can’t.”

Haven sighed at his response. The demon nuzzled further into the crook of her neck. She canted her head so that it touched his.

A thought occurred to her.

“You never told me your name.”

A flinch. The demon’s body tensed against hers enough for her to realize just how much she had gotten him to relax previously. Seemed a shame that all that progress would go to waste.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Haven added. “I just thought it would be nice to have something to call you. I’m Haven by the way.”

“Haven…” the demon whispered, so soft that she wouldn’t have heard it if they hadn’t been pressed together. He said her name with such reverence that it almost made her shiver. He said it like a blessing. Like a prayer.

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

The demon sighed and untangled himself from her. He sat up, though it was a poor imitation of the pose. He practically bent double, his back curved with his head hanging low, arms limp with hands clasped loosely in his lap. Haven watched him while propped up on her elbows, waiting for him. He seemed to be gathering his nerve, or perhaps, coming up with a clever lie.

No, that was ridiculous. Why would he ever need to lie about who he was? Not unless he was—

“Envy.”

The demon said his name the way a man would when confessing to a sin on the gallows. Haven drew her head back in shock.

Envy. One of the seven deadly sins.

A demon prince of Hell.

—

next

(taglist in reblogs)

[darkplaceblankface]

If I had a nickel for every whump fic I read that had anti-male matriarchy themes and witch motifs, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice (in one day).

I’m not familiar with the other one. 👀 but now I NEED to read it 🤣

We love a witch 🧙‍♀️ motif in the ILF-verse! And snakes, and dolls…might have went a little heavy with the motifs 😗

[syncopein3d]

Left Alone Part 9: Silencers 1

Tropes/content warnings: M for mature themes overall. vampire whumpee/caretaker, male whumpee/caretaker, non-binary whumpee/caretaker, general morbidity; this is a bit of a breather chapter before we get to the bitey shooty part in 2 and 3, so not a lot of relevant triggers. There will be a lot of play with, and discussion of, the concept of consent in this series, as it applies to many topics. There will be angst. Vampire biting can be painful, platonic, or NSFW and I'm not sure what direction that will take, but Tolly will definitely continue to fantasize about subtextually or literally sex-murdering Arden, as vampires often do.

If you would like to be added to, or removed from, the tag list of this series, please let me know!

Part 8: Faint

The kitchen had a back door facing out into the overgrown herb garden, an expanse of knee-high lawn, and the woods. He considered running the property barefoot, but he knew it was surrounded by forest. Only living wood was very dangerous to him. There was always the chance of stepping on a snag or a cut blackberry vine old enough to be woody, which would go through his foot like a hot knife through butter. Any real injury would use up too much of his pig’s blood to heal. He would wait for shoes.

He breathed in the night for as long as he dared, looking up at the stars – nothing important had changed in twenty years. It was one of the only things an immortal could depend on. The stars changed so slowly that they were always there. He could hear spring peepers in the distance from the creek beyond the lawns. A dizzying bouquet of scents burst over him, plant and human and animal and inanimate.

It was almost fearful, this sensation of his world expanding again. He hated the little room, had hated watching himself slowly shrivel and starve, but things inside it were very simple.

His time was limited. There was work to do. Tolly locked up again and went to collect the trash from downstairs and put it just inside the back door, so he could take it to the bin when his shoes arrived. He put the volume on Poe carefully back in its place on the library shelf.

With these preliminary matters accomplished, Tolly went to sit, ankles crossed, on the big stairway so that he could teach himself to use the phone. Moonlight glittered in the stained-glass skylight above the vestibule. It depicted the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone, very traditional for someone of Nicholas’ religion.

A current smartphone was a fascinating thing, so unlike the phones he remembered. The internet was mind-bogglingly fast, too. It amazed him. He couldn’t get the wifi password from the phone itself. He’d have to ask Arden later.

Tolly's ebay account still existed, and his bank had a web site now. He was able to register after some finagling with taking pictures of his face and talking on the phone to what turned out to be a machine with recorded human voice segments. At the end of a couple of hours he had linked his account with a few payment services, ordered new cards, and signed up for Amazon. The phone Arden had ordered him was a prepaid – he could see Arden’s Amazon, too – so he let that be for now. It was functionally disposable that way, and he could charge it with minutes and not invest in a plan he might not need. There was no point in spending so much on something that might so easily break, and the parasitic integration of Google accounts did have the advantage of convenience. Every phone could, from now on, be the same phone, as long as it was the same operating system to recover data from the cloud.

His stockbroker had a web site now. He signed up for that, too. His stocks had performed extremely well in his absence, as it turned out. He sent a message to the accounting service he had used for two generations of American identities, claiming he had been ill and undergoing treatment and asking if they would do business via email now. They were supposed to have kept up with his capital gains taxes, but it would be as well to assess the situation and pay any fines or back taxes he might owe.

His current identity was forty years old now. He should start establishing a younger one to “inherit” soon, so that when he got to seventy or eighty it would be ready. Obtaining a social security number fraudulently was probably harder now. Maybe this “dark web” thing would be of use. He should probably figure out what a “VPN” was first.

But that was a less urgent matter. He needed shoes. Hair and nail care kits went into the cart immediately, of course. But he had to mull over the issue of wardrobe. He couldn’t go back to tailored business clothing when Arden’s apparent preference was  casual, and besides, if he looked too  wealthy it would create friction. He wouldn’t be entirely convincing in young people’s clothes, either. At some point he would have human blood again, be strong again – the roots of his canines ached – but even glamour could only do so much.

Very well. Pacific Northwest casual. If they needed to do something more formal, he would need to clothe Arden anyway, so he could shop for himself if it came up then. He’d no idea what their incarnation of gender portended for dress clothing, and for now, it didn’t matter. He ordered straight-leg jeans and corduroys, tee shirts, flannels, a couple of tank tops, and a wool-lined leather overcoat. These were what he would consider inexpensive but durable brands. He would have spent more on footwear, but Arden’s shoes were of the $30-on-sale variety, so he settled for Florsheim’s sneakers and the cheapest available leather wallet for the payment cards he expected to receive by mail shortly. If things weren’t dramatic in appearance, and the brand name wasn’t obtrusive, most people wouldn’t know by sight how much they had cost.

Toiletries. Shaving wasn’t exactly necessary, because Basilia had made him shave himself before she initiated him, but it was important to keep up appearances. No wristwatch, people used phones for that now so it was an accessory of fashion he didn’t immediately need. He ordered a canvas duffel bag, too.

A lot of packages were going to appear in the next day or so. He’d rushed everything that could be rushed. It couldn’t be helped. He didn’t want Arden spending any more of their monetary cache on him. He debated wiring more money. Best not to overwhelm them. Their exhaustion and collapse indicated what Tolly instinctively thought of as a nervous disposition before he remembered that different phrasing was appropriate in a more modern era.

He wondered what version the DSM was on now. He checked. He also checked if Maulian Basal Retinoid Syndrome was still considered a valid disorder. It still was. He smiled for a second to see a Dr. Lauren Phibes, Junior, listed as the predominant expert on the disease. Lauren had gotten “old” enough to need to pass on his practice, finally. When the present crisis was over, Tolly resolved to get in touch again. Lauren was always good for an interesting evening.

He needed more time investigating the popular culture to update his mental vocabulary to his apparent age instead of twenty years “older” (he politely refrained from looking at the bookmark folder labeled “homework” – some habits apparently survived from Arden’s high school or college years) but the phone said it was already 4 a.m. and he had best deal with the matter of dawn approaching.

Tolly hurriedly logged out of everything and logged Arden back into Amazon and Gmail with his password from an app that only asked for the locking code again. He wrote a brief note in the study – the ghost of Nicholas remained in scent even after so long - and soft-footed it back upstairs to leave both note and phone on the nightstand.

Dear Arden:

I took the liberty of borrowing your phone to transact some business. I have attempted to leave it as I found it, but I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused. I also apologize for all of the package deliveries. If you would do me the favor of bringing them inside, I will deal with them tomorrow night. I ask only because your weather app indicates rain is likely.

Your written orders will be obeyed, if you don’t want to wait up tomorrow evening.

I have also ordered another case of non-dairy protein shakes in the chocolate flavor, as it appears you are out. Please drink at least two.

Bartholomaeus

Then he shut the basement door behind him and smugly walked back downstairs, feet protected from even the dead wood of splinters by his thick if increasingly dirty socks. He read Dumas until his eyes began to grow dim and his limbs unwieldy. Then he crawled back into the sleeping bag. He left the socks laid out on the rug, to keep the inside of the bag clean.

“Tolly. Hey, Tolly. Wake up!”

A voice snapped him back to consciousness. Tolly unzipped the bag far enough to emerge, crawling backward on his hands and feet until he was out far enough to kneel. His hair was in worse case now. He could tell as he ran his talons through it. Arden stood outside the small room, pounding on the wall next to it with one fist. They stopped as they saw him emerge.

“Something weird happened today,” they said.

“What is it?” Tolly asked.

“I got a cash offer of five million dollars to buy the house and everything in it,” Arden said. “From some company. TriVenture LLC. Their lawyer called the lawyer who settled Uncle Nick’s estate.”

“What did you say?” Tolly asked, pulling on his socks before he turned to shake the sleeping bag and tightly roll it up.

“I said I needed to think about it. It’s weird, right? The whole property probably isn’t worth a million dollars, not out here in the County. Five is insane.”

“When Nicholas was killed, was a body found?”

“That might be hard to hear,” Arden said. “It was pretty awful.” It might be hard to say, said their tone.

“It may be important,” Tolly said.

“They found tiny bits of blood and hair where he was impaled on the steering column, because the airbag didn’t deploy when he hit a tree, but the car basically exploded. There was nothing left but metal and burning upholstery when somebody found it. And some animal teeth scattered around. That was weird. They investigated for mechanical faults, but there wasn’t enough left to tell.”

“Was the accident in daylight?” Tolly asked, stopping with the bag under his arm.

“Yeah, it was afternoon when they found it and it was still burning,” Arden said. “Why?”

Black Tolly was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “He died twice.”

“What?”

“He injected himself with my blood for years. One who has consumed undead blood does not remain dead. He died in the accident, and then when he changed, he died again in the fire and in the sun.”

“That’s fucking awful,” Arden said.

“I doubt it was an accident,” Tolly said. “Not when someone wants to buy his house and effects at a price so high. He said he was leading them away from the ring, didn’t he?”

Arden squinted unhappily. “So, who killed him, then?”

“I don’t know,” Tolly said. “He didn’t tell me who his enemies were. He vaguely hinted that he had some within his religion, but I was never sure if he meant it.” Arden was starting to look pale and sound thready again. It was time to introduce another topic. “Did my things arrive?”

“I stacked it all in the other guest room. Do you want to keep sleeping down here instead?” Arden asked uncertainly.

“If you are willing that I rest aboveground, the sleeping bag is adequate to protect me from the sun. I would just as soon never see this room again,” Tolly said.

“I don’t blame you,” Arden said. They looked at the ceiling. “Which is why I wonder how come you’re still here and not already in Seattle at the Fairmont Olympic or somewhere?” Tolly wondered if they had phrased it that way on purpose, so that he was not required to answer. It was hard to say.

“May we discuss this later? I would like to shower and cut my hair, with your permission.”

“Sure.”

“And perhaps you might consider going to bed.”

“If I say ‘fuck off’ will you interpret that as an order?”

“Not any more,” Tolly said cheerfully.

“Fuck riiiiight off, Tolly.”

“Adorable.” He ran his fingers through Arden’s hair on the way past. They saw it coming, but they didn’t try to avoid it. With a feeling of self-congratulation, he listened to their heart skip. They were turning red again, and they almost certainly would forget the question.

Black Tolly emerged from the guest bathroom in an hour with short hair and short, smooth nails. Someone looking closely could see they were growing from his fingers in an odd, embedded way, but that couldn’t be helped yet. He wore his new jeans, pre-faded blue tee shirt, jacket, socks, and the brown leather sneakers. His new wallet was in his pocket and the phone was in his hand. Everything else went into the duffel bag or the washer in the laundry downstairs. He absently poured detergent one-handed as he started logging into accounts with the other.

He took the pile of cardboard and trash from the packages outside to find the bins. He stood by them for a moment, listening to the night. It was cloudy, and it had rained, leaving the smell of petrichor still lingering in the air. There was a feeling of heavy possibility that he now knew probably meant a change in air pressure, so it was likely going to storm. Wet grass brushed his new jeans.

He had shoes now, Tolly thought. And he had not been outside in twenty years.

So Tolly ran.

He circled the grounds, peered through the thickets into the wood, listened to the sounds of small creatures. Once he caught a common poorwill hawking. It was a big-headed little-beaked bird with feathers patterned like gray leaf litter, fluttering from its perch to snap at moths and darting back. In the darkness its eyes reflected moonlight like twin mirrors, common in all creatures with real night vision. It ignored him, though it could see his own eyes reflect in turn. He wasn’t close enough to be dangerous. He watched it for several minutes before he resumed his run.

Sights and scents and sounds flowed over him, around him, but now he was sufficiently master of himself to absorb it without being overwhelmed by it. At least, for a while. It was still long before dawn and his lower pant legs were wet with dew when he slipped back in through the back door, weary in mind and attention though not yet in body. The leather sneakers had kept his feet dry. He was not in particular need of a shower otherwise. Sweating was one of several functions that had perished with the original life of his body.

Arden was standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the ceiling. Tolly followed their gaze and found absolutely nothing except the industrial light fixture with the bare bulbs. They were shaking. “Arden?” Black Tolly said. His flickering glance found the Eye of Rule still on their finger.

“Something terrible is about to happen,” they said. @fleur-a-whump, @bitchaknso, @valravnthefrenchie, @thewhumpcaretaker

Part 10: Silencers 2 (Mature content)

[worldsfromhoney]

Lines of Power

Masterlist | AO3 | Medium

tw: self-harm

Prompt 2: Sweater weather

It was Caretaker’s first sleepover, and they were definitely not squealing like a child who couldn’t control their volume.

In other news, they can’t seem to stop grinning. It was the face-splitting kind of grin, which wasn’t good news for the stitches currently straining against the action. They’d just changed it the other day, too, but, eh, that was fine.

They brought a sewing kit with them so they could squeal—er, smile all they want.

“Ok, stop.”

Caretaker stopped. It was so abrupt they had the brief suspicion they’d been placed under a compulsion but no. It was just Whumpee who’d stopped and turned to face them.

“Ok,” They said, arms akimbo. “You’ve gotta stop that or I’m banishing your arse to the marshes.”

Caretaker ignored the threat and looked at them innocently. “Stop what?”

Whumpee rolled their eyes and vaguely gestured at Caretaker’s everything, which was rude and they said so. Whumpee ignored them and kept on.

“Stop giggling behind me every few minutes. It’s giving me the creeps.”

“May I remind you I’m a resurrected person turned necromancer? I’m supposed to give the creeps.”

Whumpee glared at them, and Caretaker continued grinning. With a resigned sigh, they kept on and Caretaker happily followed. They also went back to giggling.

They really couldn’t help it. After almost a decade of friendship rooted in revealed falsehoods and a shared interest in the obscure, it was the first time Whumpee invited them to their house. Their house! The actual abode they lived, worked, and, uh, made brews in?

This was embarrassing to admit, but Caretaker didn’t actually know what Whumpee did outside of their workings together. But! Wasn’t it friendship enough when they gathered materials together, looked after each other’s back, and shared notes on the best ways to poison annoying fae pests? Yes, Caretaker had thought so.

But this was another level of friendship, and they were glad to clamber to it, giggling all the while.

Whumpee’s house was a simple cottage, and Caretaker wasn’t surprised. Actually, they expected this.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Whumpee asked, narrowing their eyes when Caretaker almost stepped on a mushroom.

Caretaker made a vague gesture at their everything. The parallelism didn’t escape Whumpee’s notice and Caretaker cackled as they jumped out of the way of a nasty curse which would’ve tied their tongue into a French braid. Maintaining a reasonable distance, they now had a proper look at Whumpee with the cottage in the background.

Whumpee, who always wore sweaters no matter the weather. They, who always had some sort of poisonous plant woven into their hair. They, whose first housewarming gift to Caretaker, were a seedling which only grew in graveyard dirt and preferred bone dust to water.

Caretaker made the vague gesture again.

“Just … you know?” They said, shrugging. “It’s so you that a mansion or a towering complex would’ve made me suspect a convincing doppel.”

“As if a doppel would ever fool a fool. You lot recognise each other,” Whumpee said as they rolled their eyes. With that comeback Caretaker was still fumbling a response for, Whumpee stalked off towards the cottage.

It was a cute little thing. When Caretaker entered, the ceiling was only several inches from brushing the top of their head. Anyone taller would have to stoop the entire time they stayed. Good thing it was easy to do a quick (but painful, damn) spell, adjusting their height until it was the same as Whumpee’s.

It was also a good thing Caretaker spent most of their afterlife stuck in a bolted coffin and six feet under the ground because Whumpee only had a couch to offer them. They looked at Caretaker, brow raised in a dare to complain or say anything untoward which would definitely get them banished to the marshes.

Caretaker just grinned, flopped on the couch, and had their face slapped by a plant.

The door shut, and Caretaker finally snipped off the stitches on their eyes. The sight which met them was a new one. It wasn’t as dark as the other nights they’d spent here. The clouds finally cleared and moonlight slipped into the cottage windows. By all means, Caretaker should still be sleeping now, just as the rest of the cottage was.

Except, of course, for its owner who’d been sneaking out every night since Caretaker came here.

Normally, Caretaker wouldn’t mind. Whumpee had their business just as they had theirs. They weren’t the typical witch and necromancer who gossiped about failed gargoyle animations and braided each other’s hair while doing so. Their friendship had started on Caretaker pretending (they tried, alright?) to be the necromancer who brought them back to life and not just a soul tethered to rotting parts. That said more than enough of how they went from that point on.

But, see, Whumpee had been doing this teenager-esque sneaking out for five nights now and Caretaker had never known boundaries. They were ‘born’ from breaking of one of the major ones, after all.

So with creaking limbs and avoiding the slumbering plants scattered around like landmines and alert systems, they snuck out after Whumpee.

They didn’t get lost. Oh, yes, this was definitely the first time Caretaker was in this part of the land, but they had a neat solution for that.

A tracker. They’d put a tracker sigil on their very dear friend’s favourite (only) pair of boots, and it was laughably easy to follow. If anyone else saw them, it’d be like they were on a whimsical nighttime stroll. Caretaker was this close to whistling.

They came upon a clearing, and the urge to whistle died.

Caretaker never enjoyed using that word. Ironic, considered their chosen profession, but the dislike stood all the same. Dead. Die. Died. Death. They didn’t like it.

They didn’t like what they were seeing.

Whumpee was there at centre of the clearing. Cliché, but a goodie, especially when the moon’s generous enough to give its light. Caretaker doesn’t know if they should thank or curse the celestial thing for it because they could see everything.

Whumpee wasn’t wearing a sweater. For the first time since they’ve known each other, they weren’t wearing a damned sweater and Caretaker finally found out why.

Whumpee had their head bowed. Stretched out in front of them was their bare arm. An arm full of scars. An arm the witch was methodically dealing wounds to, so deep the darkness of it seemed to repel even the moonlight.

Around them, on little flat rocks, stood purple candles (power, it was power—) crackling and dressed with what was definitely Whumpee’s blood. That had been the scent Caretaker had caught—the iron tang of blood which bound bodies to the plane like manacles. The circle wasn’t complete yet. Whumpee was still dressing more candles with that horrid, stinking thing—

Caretaker took a step, and they were there, gripping at Whumpee’s hand which was about to go for another cut, another slice, another and another and another.

Whumpee had cried out. A spell of eternal nightmare had been thrown their way and Caretaker—ate it. They didn’t need a spell to know this encounter would give him enough of that. Whumpee was naked, and they were screaming about it—let me go! Don’t look! Go away!—along with curses from all corners of the land they’ve been.

Caretaker? They sunk to their knees and wrapped their arms around Whumpee.

“Stop it!” Whumpee shrieked, struggling to get free. Caretaker didn’t move an inch. “Stop it, stop it, stop it! I don’t need your pity or lectures or morals! I know what I’m doing! I know and I’ve been doing this forever and I—”

They twist their hand and try for a stab with the athame.

They hit the mark.

Caretaker hadn’t moved to evade the attack. They watch Whumpee’s face go pale and there was a panicked movement to pull the ritual dagger out.

“No,” Caretaker says, voice heavy and deep with emotions they couldn’t handle. Not right now. “It’s okay.”

They don’t know if those two words do anything to the flurry of reasons and explanations ready to explode from Whumpee. What was okay? Leaving the dagger in them as reminder of their failure to their friend?

Caretaker didn’t know and just held their wayward friend closer.

“I … I didn’t — I didn’t mean… I don’t—!” Whumpee said, stuttering and no longer resisting the hold. “I’m not … I’m not a power-hungry nutter, alright? I’m … this is just how I am and it’s always so easier this way and damn those moralistic assholes who say otherwise, right?”

Whumpee kept going on. They kept trying to explain doing blood magic wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t addictive either, like others said and it wasn’t they enjoyed pain. They weren’t crazy and you agree with me, right?

Caretaker let out a shuddering breath and did not deign Whumpee an answer. They let their friend go on and on about being in the right and it didn’t hurt. All the while, they murmured the only healing spell they knew, hoping it would reach deeper than it should.

Oh gods, they hoped.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

This or That Gothic Edition Snippet 18- Snowstorm

This is also a continuation of gothic snippet 8- bedridden

Inspired by my answers for this post by @blackrosesandwhump!

Whumpee looked out the window at the growing storm that raged outside. Snow fell to the ground in sheets, covering the forest in a thick, white blanket. Wind blew the snowflakes up into swirls, going this way and that, until nothing could be seen outside. Whumpee sighed, it looked like they were stuck inside for another day. They wondered where Caretaker was. Caretaker! Caretaker had gone out to gather supplies hours ago, and they still weren’t back. Whumpee looked out at the storm, there was no way a fire witch could survive in such weather for long. Whumpee clambered out of bed and put on their shoes. Hopefully they would find Caretaker before it was too late.

…

“Caretaker!” Whumpee called, but the wind seemed to swallow up their words.

Whumpee had been searching for quite some time, and they couldn’t so much as find a trail of footprints. Then. Whumpee saw it, a tuft of red fabric sticking out in the snow. Caretaker. Whumpee ran toward the piece of fabric and found Caretaker half-buried in the snow and clutching firewood.

“Hey, hey,” Whumpee said, dropping to their knees, “Caretaker? Can you hear me?”

Caretaker cracked an eye open.

“W-Whumpee?” they asked feebly, “what are you doing? You shouldn’t be out in this weather, you’ll get sick again, and-”

Caretaker was interrupted by a harsh shiver that rippled through their body.

“Come on, I’m getting you home,” Whumpee said, helping Caretaker to their feet, “can you make a flame?”

Caretaker held out their hand. A weak flame ignited, but quickly flickered out.

“Okay, no worries, it’s gonna be fine,” Whumpee said, “let’s get you back home.”

…

Whumpee shivered as they waited for Caretaker to wake up. They had passed out as soon as they got in the doorway, and it was a struggle to get them in their bed. Whumpee had lit a fire, but it did little to stop either of them from shivering. Whumpee’s powers had certainly been overcharged from being out in the cold so long, and now, they were paying the price for it.

“Mm,” Caretaker groaned.

“Hey, you’re awake, how’re you feeling?” Whumpee asked.

“Cold,” Caretaker mumbled, “is this how you feel all the time?”

Whumpee laughed ruefully.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Whumpee said, “you scared me back there, I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“’M not goin’ anywhere, Whumpee,” Caretaker slurred, “you’re still sick after all, and your powers are probably acting up since you went out in the storm.”

Whumpee looked at their fingertips. They were already turning blue. Caretaker shakily reached out with their hands and grabbed Whumpee’s. They let little flames dance across them, which returned Whumpee’s fingers to their normal color.

“Thanks,” Whumpee said, “stay here. I’ll bring you something to warm you up.”

Whumpee turned to leave; they were at the door when Caretaker called their name.

“Thank you,” Caretaker said.

Whumpee nodded.

“Anytime, Caretaker.”

[catty-whump-us]

Ding-ding-ding-ding

The shrill beeping of a timer caused Whumper to finger a small dog ear unto their page in the book they were reading and look up. They stood up, brushing stray fur off their clothes as they made their way to their tidy kitchenette. Whumper's chunky cat followed behind, weaving between their calves as they padded unto the cold, checkered kitchen tile.

Whumper leaned down on the counter, eyeballing a sparkling mason jar, lid screwed on, sitting in a pool of sunshine that filtered in from the nearby cottage window. Inside, a fairy Whumpee has fallen to their knees gasping, but is still managing to beat their teeny-tiny fist against the glass, with renewed vigor now that Whumper was in sight. Whumper smiled contentedly to themselves, idly running their fingertips along the lid and watching Whumpee wear themselves out with futile panic as the last bit of their limited oxygen rapidly depleted. The timer had been set for long enough to make the inside of little Whumpee's ribs to burn and their thoughts to began to melt together, but not long enough to pass out, at least not yet. The cat hopped up unto the counter to join its master, batting playfully at the side of the jar where Whumpee's figure began to slump.

Just before they could potentially pass beyond this world, Whumper sighs and twists off the lid to the jar, reaching in and plucking the Whumpee out by its remaining wing. They dropped Whumpee's limp figure down on a nearby wooden cutting board, shooing away the mischevious cat off the counter with their free hand. Whumper leaned down close enough to confirm that yes, Whumpee's chest was heaving with breath, and they nodded contendedly.

"Now, now, we're not going to have any more misbehaviour out of you, are we, little one? No? Let's put you away before you get eaten then." Whumper chuckles to themselves, whisking Whumpee off to their pleasant little birdcage with their eager fat cat following closely behind, hoping to get a chance at Whumpee without Whumper's notice.

Whumper tut-tutted to themselves, second guessing their choice of a pet; not the cat, mind you. Fairies could be quite pesky, since they are, by nature, chaos incarnate, but they made for an excellect resource for any magic user. That's why Whumper made sure to remind their delicate little Whumpee of its place regularly. At least it wasn't too much trouble; a minute a day in the jar kept the fairy compliant.

[i-likegamesbut-cant-playthem]

turquoise a little whump oc with a mullet

[lumpywhump]

Immortal whumpee in the 1600's being tried as a witch. They push whumpee's head in the river, if they live they're a witch, if they die, then they are normal. Whumpee lives, only to be burned at the stake. The townsfolk watch as the fire burns out and whumpee's flesh melds back together. They have to figure out what to do with whumpee before they wake up.

[skinnamon39]

a whumpee with resurrective immortality who has just died for the first time. they don't know how it happened. they're still reeling from the fact that they're alive - not still alive, but again. their muscles still ache from death, and they can't seem to think straight. but all of that wouldn't be so bad if all of their former friends and loved ones weren't convinced that they're some sort of witch or demon taking their place

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Do you by chance have any good fantasy Whump ideas concerning magic balms and lotions that heal scarring or injuries? Maybe some with really bad side effects? Just been kind of stumped on ideas lately 😅

the balms worked excellent in terms of healing all kinds of injuries, but the downside of it was that its process was excruciatingly painful and it could take hours, depended on how severe the injury was, to fully heal; which often left whumpee groaning and twisting in bed, a whimpering mess. some whumpees had begged caretakers to remove the balms and stop the treatment in the past because of how much pain the balms caused them.

side effects could include memory loss, changes of personality, or some permanent, anatomically changes of their body; a human whumpee could grow a pair of wings if the balms were applied on their back, or their skin might change to the color of the balm that made contact with them, whereas any non-human whumpee could lose their magic if the balms were used to heal and save their life — for instance, a fairy whumpee may lose their ability to fly once they healed from their injuries.

or, maybe, human-whumpee was lost in the woods and was severely injured. they stumbled upon a witch who offered them a magic balm that would heal them. whumpee was too out of it to hear what the cost was (or maybe the witch was just sneaky and didn’t tell them about that). fast forward to after the balm healed them, they soon realized the change in their appearance, in the sense that their hands slowly morphed into paws with sharp claws, and their teeth only grew sharper and sharper until they became dog fangs in their mouth. turned out the witch was looking for her very own pet or a guard dog, and not only did the balm work as a healing potion, it also worked as a curse. and before whumpee knew what was happening to them, they were already on all four beside the witch’s throne as her dog.

feel free to add your ideas!

[oliversrarebooks]

cozy whump and comfort

The holidays are a stressful time and I'm thinking about cozy whump

The kind where the whumpee is trapped in such a comfortable gilded cage that they've long since stopped trying to get out, and may actively resist the rescuer trying to pull them free

The lab whumpee who is given tea and snacks and warm blankets to recover after a long day of experimentation

Whumpee lying in a hospital bed, floaty and out of it from drugs, but they don't feel pain any more, and they're being taken care of

The whumpee who was rescued from the snow being warmed by a fire and spoon fed hot soup

The witch's entranced assistant placing every one of the potion supplies just so on the shelf, satisfied that she's done a good job, before returning to her cupboard to rest

The recovering whumpee who gets to go shopping and pick out their own food and clothes for the first time in years

Alone and adrift on a spaceship, little hope of rescue, but the oxygen should hold out for a few weeks more and the whumpee has plenty of books to read

[whumpwillow]

Demon’s Haven 9

I’m also working on Hazeshift I prommy but I’m just feeling this series again, though I’m a little rusty and tryna get back into these characters, so sorry if the writing or interactions feel a little stilted 

—  

masterlist

warnings: blood, past torture, description of wounds, basically just more comf but they are both sad and awkward about it 

—  

The demon seemed relieved when Haven finally finished washing the wounds on his chest, but it was a short-lived comfort. She moved behind him to start cleaning the blood from the wreckage of his back and knew the worst was yet to come. The demon had been doing well so far, wincing only slightly without uttering a whimper of pain as Haven had dabbed at the cuts and burns on his chest. Looking at his back, such a thing seemed unavoidable now.

She cringed at the sight. Sitting down in the chair behind him, Haven took stock of the damage. There was almost too much blood for her to even see where the wounds were. She couldn’t tell where one injury began and one ended, as if they all melded into his flesh so that there wasn’t a speck of unbroken skin. Long, ropy scars dragged from the tops of his shoulders and down his body, ending at the small of his back, crisscrossed over one another.

Haven sighed. This was not going to be pleasant. For either of them. 

The demon’s head turned slightly to the side, as if he meant to catch a glimpse of her, but his hair had fallen into his eyes so it was likely not a clear picture.

“Are you alright?” Haven asked.

She knew he wasn’t, but what else was she supposed to say? How did she comfort someone who had been through something as horrific as this?

The demon nodded lightly, ignoring what Haven could not. Red stripes gouged his back, stretching from his shoulders and moving downwards. Ropes of bloodied wounds overlayed on top of each other, some healed more than not, others fresh and weeping. A grotesque sight that made Haven want to gag, though she swallowed and contained herself.

She wanted to look away. She wanted to run from the room and forget this had ever happened. That this was something that could happen to someone.

But she was done with fearing for nothing—the demon had been hurt already, and there was nothing to undo that fact. Only to cleanse the wounds and bandage them would they disappear from her view.

“This might sting.”

It would do a whole lot more than that. The wounds that littered his skin…Haven didn’t want to believe they could be from a whip, but she didn’t know how else to describe them than as lashes.

The demon nodded again.

Haven touched the wet cloth to the back of the demon’s shoulder and instantly he flinched, drawing out a hiss. Haven drew her hand back.

“Sorry,” the both of them said at the same time.

A beat. Neither of them spoke, neither of them moved. The demon clenched and unclenched a fist.

“Silver,” he said.

Haven waited for him to explain, but as the seconds passed and turned into minutes, she realized he wasn’t going to. She touched the cloth to his shoulder again and ignored the flinch this time, as there was no way to avoid it. She brushed the cloth along a long red gash, trailing in between his shoulder blades and down to the small of his back. Again. And again.

“It’s the silver,” the demon said. “The angel liked the silver-lined whip because it leaves scars.”

Haven paused. Lifted her hand away from his skin. Blinked. She had no idea how to even respond to such a thing.

“That’s horrible.”

The only words she could manage, the only consolation to a man now forever marked by what had happened to him that no healing powers would ever be able to fix. The demon seemed to feel this knowledge as keenly as she did, for he trembled under her fingertips. His skin jumped as tiny tremors ran through him, muscles taut and unyielding.

Haven set her cloth in the bowl of water, already pink with blood. She moved from behind the demon and sat in the chair facing him, and saw that he was crying. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks and his breaths hitched, but he bit his tongue to keep himself from crying out.

“You don’t have to do that,” Haven said.

The demon tilted his face up to look at her, a few more tears escaping from those viridian eyes. He blinked at her. Droplets of water caught in his lashes like morning dew.

“Keep quiet, I mean,” Haven clarified. “Cry all you want. Scream, if you must. I don’t mind.”

The demon blinked a few times, his face pinched in confusion. “You would…like me to scream?”

Haven’s eyes widened. “No, no, that’s not what I meant!”

“I can, if you’d like me to. The angel said it was a pleasing sound, though she was rather more vicious than you.”

Haven exhaled, seconds away from pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “I meant, you don’t have to be quiet! You’ve been hurt, terribly and irrevocably, so you can react to it however you want to, and you needn’t feel ashamed or that you must soften your grief in front of me.”

“Oh.”

The only word that fell from the demon’s lips, plainly and without intonation. He stared at her, watching her again as if she were the only thing he had to keep him from falling into an endless abyss. Haven leaned in and wrapped her arms around him, making sure not to startle him as she enveloped him in a hug. She felt the demon lean into her and nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck, just as he’d done when she’d helped him from the cave she’d summoned him to. Some of the tension in his body dissolved, and while he still shook either with fear or with pain, Haven took it as an improvement that he could find some modicum of comfort with her.

After releasing each other, Haven found her hands red with blood. The demon opened his mouth, no doubt to apologize, but Haven shushed him before he could. She washed her hands with her cleaning cloth before dropping it back in the bowl of water.

“I could draw you a bath, if you’d like? It’d help you get clean faster than this, and it’d probably feel better too.”

The demon drew back from her as if she’d just told him she was going to waterboard him. The thought occurred to her that, given what had already happened to him, that wasn’t too far out of the realm of possibility for him to believe.

Haven held her hands up, palms out, to reassure him she meant no harm. “Just a bath. Nothing to hurt. No holy water. Just cleaning.”

The demon hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “And you won’t…try to drown me?”

Haven really hated that her suspicions were correct.

“Of course not,” she said, offering him a tight smile.

She held out a hand to him, which he took shakily in his own. Haven wrapped his arm around her shoulders so that he could lean on her and they made their way up the stairs. It was a slow procession due to his broken ribs, and that every time he whimpered, Haven wanted to stop, but knew they had to keep going since it would do neither of them any good being stranded halfway up the stairwell.

Haven pushed open the door to her bedroom and wished she’d had the foresight to pick her things up off the floor beforehand. The demon didn’t seem to mind. His eyes had glazed over, hazy with pain and exhaustion. The night had been tough on him with the journey here. Being thrown from the front door by her protection ward she’d foolishly forgotten about and then being made to sit while Haven fruitlessly tried to scrub the blood off him with damp cloths from the kitchen had likely exhausted him beyond what he could reasonably stand.

“I’m sorry,” Haven found herself saying.

She wished she could convey just how sorry she was in those words, but didn’t know how else to say it. I’m sorry you were tortured. I’m sorry you were hurt so terribly. I’m sorry I didn’t help you when I first saw you, that I doubted you, that I don’t know how to help you, that you’ll have to live with these scars for the rest of your life and all the comfort you have is me when you deserve so much more—

The demon shook his head. “The cell I was held in was far dirtier than this, so pay it no mind.”

Haven found her cheeks reddening. She’d meant to apologize for not letting him rest as she’d wanted to get his wounds cleaned first, but huh. It seemed he had noticed the mess of her room after all.

Turning her gaze away from the wreck of her floor, she lead the demon into her bathroom en-suite. Sat him down on a little round stool she had by the door. Fetched some water for the bath and a few towels. Busied herself with getting everything ready, trying not to think about what she was doing and how she was likely breaking so many rules of what a good witch should not do.

Making a contract with a demon? Check. Letting a demon out of the summoning circle? Check. Bringing said demon not only into her home, but into her bedroom? Double check.

Oh well. She’d never particularly considered herself a stickler for the rules.

A quick spell, and the water was heated, good and steaming. Haven plucked a bottle from the windowsill next to the tub and dripped a bit of floral oil into the water, hoping the scent of lavender would soothe the demon enough that he wouldn’t panic at the thought of being left alone for however long it took for him to wash.

Haven looked back at him and saw his head lolled to the side, resting on the wall next to where he sat. His shoulders had lost their tension and his hands no longer fidgeted restlessly. No more tremors wracked his body, fraught with pain and terror. Haven stood motionless, not wanting to disturb him when he was clearly so exhausted, but it was as if he sensed the lack of energy where there previously had been an abundance of, and his eyes flickered open.

Blearily, his gaze found hers. He lifted his head from the wall and Haven made her way over to him with a towel.

“Here, for when you’re done,” she said, then placed it to the side of the stool he sat on.

The demon looked at it, then to her, then to the bath. Haven moved to help him up, then drew back when she was sure he wouldn’t fall without her support.

“Well, I’ll be waiting outside if you need me.”

Haven made to leave. She’d barely touched the doorknob when she heard the demon voice a single word, small and fearful.

“Stay.”

Haven whirled around. “I’m not going far.”

The demon squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his hands into fists. “Please,” he said, forcing the word from his lips like it pained him to do so. “Please just…” He opened his eyes and fixed them on hers. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He stood there, body rigid, barely holding himself upright without her help. Bruises painted his skin like he were abstract art and the holy water that had been drawn on him trailed lines across his chest and shoulders and even around his neck. Scars—thick bands around both of his wrists—were inflamed and red. Even more Haven couldn’t see lined his back, a permanent reminder.

Haven nodded. she could do at least that much.

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

—  

next

(taglist in reblogs)

[whumpshaped]

whumptober 13

prompt list masterlist

tw multiple whumpers, hostile crowd, noncon drugging (magical), demon whumpee, dehumanisation, it/its as a means to dehumanise

"I don't feel so good." Whumpee looked down at their beverage, watching their reflection swirl and distort. They didn't think they drank that much, to be honest. "I... I might've underestimated the drinks here."

"Happens to the best of us," Whumper said easily. "You want some help getting to the bathroom?"

"No, no... I'm... I can handle myself." Whumpee slid off the barstool, finding that the floor was somehow further away than they anticipated; if Whumper hadn't caught them, they would've ended up on the ground. "Fuck, sorry... I don't know what's wrong with me tonight..."

They were too embarrassed about their own state to notice Whumper and the bartender exchanging a look. All they could focus on was trying to keep their balance and stay on their feet.

"I think I'm just gonna go home," they mumbled. "Sorry."

Whumper let them go without question, and they attempted to break through the crowd and get to the exit. The entire place felt more suffocating than when they walked in — it felt like everybody was staring at them, or even pointing and whispering behind their back.

What the hell was going on? Was there something in their drink that was making them paranoid?

They... they didn't know, did they?

They breathed a sigh of relief when they finally put their hand on the door leading to the outside. A bit of fresh air would clear everything up.

Except the door seemed to be locked. No– was that even the door they were touching? They could feel all those eyes on their back as they pushed against whatever force was keeping them inside, more and more desperate with each passing second.

"It's true!" someone exclaimed abruptly, and Whumpee spun around to face the crowd again.

"It's a fucking demon," someone else said. "It can't get through the salt."

Whumpee glanced down, finally spotting the generous amount of white substance just in front of the doorstep. Fuck. Fuck! How did they even figure it out? They couldn't come up with a solution in their sluggish mind as the humans advanced on them, they could only press up against the barrier even more. They felt like they were going to throw up.

"I can't believe that witch was right!"

"Nobody else had a reaction to that magic wine, right? It's real?"

"It was only them! They're the only demon in here!"

Whumpee cried out in fear when the people grabbed them, tearing them away from the door and shoving them back towards the centre of the bar. They were pushed onto the knees right in front of Whumper, and they grabbed onto their pant leg like a scared child. "Please help," they slurred. "Please, I'm harmless, I don't want any trouble–"

Whumper kicked them away with a disgusted look on their face. "Get your dirty hands away from me, demon," they spat before looking up at the others again. "Who has the enchanted chains the witch gave us? We have to tie it up before it gets any ideas."

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps

[jakkon-and-rose-topic]

MASTER POST - Chronological Order :]

Here's my new master post!

My main blog is @the-ellia-west

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Characters

Ronan Calderis - A young male elf who wants to reinstate the true king on the throne because he hates the current Tyrant's guts and wants to say fuck you to Mangrove (he wants to find the true king out of spite basically) 17 in human years

Mangrove - A lower god of Stories, legends, chance, and lies who is a huge fan of gambling, pulling pranks, and switching or subverting fate. (Has a huge rivalry with Ronan for some reason) 18 in human years

Phennim (Finn) - A Harpy messenger who doesn't have a lot to do and wants to help anywhere he can. The default leader of the group. 31 in human years

Morena - An elven witch who is kind and formal to everyone, trying to help wherever she can with her magic and potions. She has a major crush on Finn. 30 in human years

Wildrun (Wild, Wil) - A Phantom, A Noble's son, who really dislikes his adoptive abusive family. He just wants to be free and alone. 17 in human years

Phenik - A Chimera Prince who was cast from his home for some fate thing he was never told about, so he became a wandering traveller on search of a purpose in his life. 17 in human years

Jakkon (Jak, Horns) - A Satyr and certified Whumpee who's been through hell and back and isn't done suffering. Needs hugs but won't take them. Very self-destructive. 31 in human years (not the MC but I'm obsessed with him)

Rosenia (Rose, Petals) - A Female Rose-themed Fae and Jak's sister-in-law. She's tired and stressed and wants to help make the world a better place. 29 in Human years.

Eveny (Evie, Ev) - Jak's wife. Female Lilac-themed Fae Who was 2 years younger than Rose. She was very adorable and sweet before she died.

Rune (Runie) - Eveny and Jak's son. He was about 3 or 4 in human years when he died and was a very sweet, innocent little baby.

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PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS

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Scenes (More to be added) - They're in Chronological order here, but a few of them have large time skips due to me not writing the scenes between them

(No longer Canon to the up-coming comic at this point in time)

Love - Jak and Eveny Just after their Wedding

<3 - A Little moment in the past (Father's Day scene)

Grief - Jak after Eveny's death

Gone - Jak and Rose at Eveny's Funeral

Injuryyyy - Jak's Return after TRAUMA

Forget - Jak's intro to Alchoholism After TRAUMA

Empty - Is Life worth living anymore?

History - This one takes place on a mundane evening before the inciting incident

- (Flashbacks stop here)

Arena - Jak and Rose's intro from someone else's POV

Morena - Jak talks to Morena after Rose left to Help Finn with Something

Phenik - Phenik joins the crew

Rivalry - Jak and Wild's Rivalry

Prank - Jak's first Good night of sleep in a while

Eynalis - The party

-[The Loss]

A Night out #1 - Half the Crew go into town

A Night out #2 - >:]]

Defense - Jak kills a guy

Gift - Rose & Jak Wholesome Moment

-[The Scene I'm still putting off]

Letting go - Jak Tells Rose To forget him

Argument - Tension

Withdrawals - *Jazz hands* The Poll winner, here, ya sick degenerates.

Anniversary - Jak and Eveny's Anniversary was also Eveny's Birthday

Immortality - The Story only ends when they're forgotten

(Other Stuff)

A Memory

What Used to Be

Rune's Fate

Eveny's Fate

Jak's Fate (?)

Fae and Nonhuman Details

How everybody met

Jak's Psychology #1

Jak's Psychology #2

Jak being a Dick Compilation

Surprisingly accurate Picrew

Description of Jak from Eveny's eyes

Dialogue Test Sheets

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Go follow @corinneglass @i-hate-happy-endings @fantasy-things-and-such @cybercelestian @pastellbg

@nkikio @darkandstormydolls @aalinaaaaaa @thelazywitchphotographer @ash1223456

[whumperofworlds]

Mermay Whump thought:

A sea witch/wizard/whatever kidnaps Mer-Whumpee and ties them up, before they began to experiment on Whumpee with magic and other tools.