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hi! you're one of the bigger whump blogs ik, and i was wondering how you keep a sideblog seperate from a main blog? because i have been part of the whump community for a while and finally decided to make a sideblog, but every time i post, it says, under my sideblog avatar, 'by [my main blog]' and i really don't want it to? is this just a tumblr thing? the internet's not being helpful, and obviously you aren't a google search but i thought you would have some experience? sorry if this is a bother, please feel free to ignore it entirely!

Oh yeah, I thought that was only when you submitted things...

Luckily, my blogs are main blogs because I don't want to figure this stuff out ^^ I want to reblog and post without having to worry if it's going on the right blog. I have this one and one for game stuff. I had a backup email account that I linked to my own so notifs for asks and stuff just get send to my main inbox. I highly recommend it.

But let's see, you have a side blog now, so... Maybe it's because of this?

There is a setting that (as far as i know) is only accessible through the desktop version of tumblr (that you can access via pc or using the desktop feature in chrome mobile) called “Show author portraits”. This feature is ONLY aviable on SIDEBLOGS, and when this feature is on/enabled in a sideblog, each post you make with said sideblog will feature your main blog's profile picture that will take you to your main blog.

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Imagine my surprise (delight) when the despicable horrible man in the book I'm reading also carries a cane.

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funniest tumblr experience is waking up to 20+ notifications all from ONE person who has obviously just found my account and they then proceed to like and reblog my last dozen or so posts which is then followed by a mysterious anonymous ask. brother who are you trying to fool

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Blinding Darkness- Pt. 3

Previous / Next part

Masterlist

…

Applause echoed throughout the massive tent, accompanied by the occasional shout or whistle. Fay, positioned in the center, with others circling them theatrically, took a moment to bask in the lights. The intensity blocked their view of most spectators—a form of escapism they appreciated immensely at the moment—so they decided to count their blessings while still in reach. They cherished their short-lived ability to raise their hands triumphantly at their sides, despite a distant lingering sharpness in their newer cuts. They rejoiced as a tulip fell at their feet and their back didn’t protest excessively when they went to pick it up. They happily acknowledged its ambrosial scent, taking their time to inhale. When they briefly shut their eyes, gratitude arose from being able to choose the timing. Those were privileges they would soon lose.

The show had gone well, yet Elkhan was sure to still have plenty of failure logs on his list. He voiced all the ones committed by the other members of the circus during their after show meeting. Lara's inappropriate form, Charles’ sneeze, the twins’ moment of asynchronicity… None of them seemed pleased but diligently acknowledged his complaints. Murmurs began only after Elkhan’s exit, the others soon stirring to their own trailers to meet curfew.

Fay was not granted the privilege of a curfew or learning their mistakes. That might only prevent Elkhan from hurting them excessively. He wouldn't let that happen.

The ringleader’s mind attempted to recount their faults as soon as they got off the rink. Their body began leading them towards the circus owner’s trailer with dreadful familiarity, leaving a significant portion of their headspace to deal with their overflow of concerns. With each dazed step, another memory popped and flashed in their mind. That time they confronted him on being too harsh with the young Charles? Certainly on the list. Their quick outburst—outbursts, actually— in the rink, too. What about that one suggestion on show start times that he didn’t take well? Would that be included? Shit, the time they accidentally spat blood onto his new shoes… They’d forgotten about that, but that was definitely not the case with Elkhan. He remembered everything.

The sight of his door brought Fay back to reality, and they willed their anxious thoughts into oblivion. A quick moment of hesitation preceded their soft knock. Elkhan’s voice steered them inside, and they shut the door behind them.

The man didn’t even look up from his spot at the desk. “Lock it.”

A chill ran down their spine. The lock clicked as Fay hesitantly turned the key, not eager to add to their promised misery. Regardless of the fact that his trailer, able to extend into a full sized area, was the most spacious of all, Fay felt an impossible wave of claustrophobia wash over them. They turned. The room was neatly arranged, as usual, no item out of place, no stains of blood on the polished floor from their last encounter. Something stood out, though—Fay eventually recognized it was the lighting, which now uncommonly beamed from the small fireplace on their left. Shaking off the agitation in their gut, their gaze moved to watch Elkhan finish up signing some sheets, completely undisturbed. He took his time, perhaps intentionally letting Fay’s distress pulse inside their chest. When he eventually stood, they stiffened.

Elkhan sighed dramatically, acting oblivious to their distress. “So much paperwork,” he complained, a hand coming up to run through his hair, the other bringing a glass of whiskey up to his lips. “You should count yourself lucky that’s not something you have to deal with.”

Fay remained externally quiet. Lucky generally wasn’t a term they would’ve used to describe themself. They certainly wouldn’t have minded switching places with him, they thought at first, yet that qualm lodged itself into their brain, quickly posing another question: could they set their empathy aside to inflict pain as freely as he did? Could they stifle their remorse, a quality Elkhan did not seem to possess? Some well-deserved punches were in order. But more? How far would they go?

The clink of Elkhan’s now empty glass settling on the desk brought their thoughts back to the present and their eyes back to their usual task of analyzing their boss in a futile attempt to determine his future moves. Elkhan seemed more fatigued than usual. His expression reflected it, as well, with his normally visible grey irises now shadowed by narrowing eyes. Perhaps he would hold back? They prayed his hands ached from scribbling with his fancy pen enough to lessen the inevitable hits that were to follow.

“If you need a break, I can just leave,” they tried.

Elkhan barked a laugh, the familiar hint of amusement returning to his eyes. It closely resembled something; him as a child, with the same glint that appeared only when he hurt animals in spite of young Fay’s protests. Their own pain hadn’t been an interest of his then, only their fear. Fay wasn’t quite sure if the affiliated feeling settling inside them resembled relief or dread. Either way, the latter soon conquered.

He stood just off-center of the room, his newer metal cane in hand, and he waved it towards a spot on the floor. Fay swallowed. This again? After quickly debating the consequences of remaining unmoving, they reached the conclusion that his wishes would be fulfilled eventually—with or without their own will being involved. Their future self would thank them for sparing any unnecessary pain. Their feet slowly took them to where he was pointing. With another falsely encouraging look from Elkhan, they kneeled.

“Eager to get this over with, hm?” The man remained before them, forcing them to crane their neck slightly in order to see him properly.

“I’m not exactly looking forward to your beating routine, no.”

Elkhan’s lips pursed into a knowing smile. “Me neither. It’s gotten a bit repetitive.”

Fay blinked in surprise. They’d expected either a condescending retort or a hit, certainly not that sort of concord. The naive burst of relief that their heart allowed didn’t take long to be overridden by their head. Elkhan wouldn’t leave them alone, that was certain, but the position they had been guided into was one he’d only used for the common beating. And if the common beating wasn’t in order, something else—something worse—was to take its place.

“I figured we should try something new.”

To Fay’s horror, he headed to the fireplace to submerge the cane into flames.

“You can’t be fucking serious.” Their words remained stuck in their throat for a few painful moments. Any indignation vanished, replaced by fearful realization. They shifted, suddenly restless on their knees as the man approached with an additional slight reddish hue coloring the end of the staff. “Elkhan-” they blabbered, pressing their palms into the floor and instantly pushing themselves back, “Wait. Wait, don’t-”

A strangled cry cut off their train of senseless thought. The crook of the cane, still unbearably hot, had been hooked around their throat until they sat back up on their knees. They half-expected for it to decapitate them, but it was gone in a second, leaving only a linger of searing pain. They reached up to feel at their neck, hoping their fear-frozen palms would aid, but Elkhan brought the tip of the cane dangerously close again. They froze.

He circled around them, crouching in their line of sight. He tilted their head up by their chin and inspected the wound with a soft “tsk”. Fay bit back a whimper before he rose again, sticking the cane back into the fireplace. “Sit up straight. Next time that might burn through more layers of skin.”

“No—” their protest merged into a sharp shriek as another wave of pain erupted, this time along their abdomen. Elkhan left it there for a while longer, watching Fay desperately try to put any distance between them and the cane. A hit across their back followed to get them straight once more. Fay’s breaths visibly shook. Their palms lay flat against the hard floor, nails screeching against it in an attempt to hold onto something—anything. They didn’t even have a chance to speak in between the next three burns. Elkhan then paused, inspecting them, and Fay hoped he’d grown bored.

A quick look at his glimmering eyes instantly disproved that theory.

“You were right, Fay,” he smiled down at them. “This is much better. Change isn’t so horrible after all.” Accordingly, the next welts were caused slowly. He let time pass between each of them, drinking in Fay’s pained sounds and briefly leaving their side to scald his handy weapon. Each time they slouched, another hit would bring them back to their previous position. Excessive force was never used, but they found themselves wishing they could withdraw that prayer. Elkhan left their abdomen to work on their back, then their back to work on their arms. Their previous cuts were sealed with ease as soon as they started bleeding. The cane lingered around their face momentarily, but he decided against it.

Their entire upper body felt as if it was on fire when he finally stopped. As soon as his cane—which he carefully held until he was sure it wouldn’t damage his floor—was placed against the wall, Fay let themself fall to their side.

Elkhan suddenly winced. “Ah…” He kneeled on the floor next to them, reaching out a hand to push their own off their abdomen. “I should’ve had you change before. The costume’s ruined now.”

Fay only managed a grunt of protest.

With a sigh, Elkhan stood to his full height, eyeing the sight below him with a twisted look of pleasure flashing across his features. “Well, no matter now, I’ll buy you a new one. We’re going into town in a few days either way.”

“We…?” Fay hadn’t been outside of the circus in nearly a year. A soft frown settled along their contorted features. They wrapped an arm around their torso, quickly regretting it and wincing as they pushed themselves to their side.

Elkhan grinned. “I figured you would like to pay your father a visit.”

Their eyes grew wide. They hadn't seen their pa in so, so long. The sight of him in that clinical hospital bed, surrounded by flowers, came to recall. Did he know that they hadn't been allowed to visit him? Or did he think that they'd abandoned him? They toiled and suffered, all to ensure his well-being, but he couldn't have known that. Couldn't have known the lengths the benevolent Elkhan went to for Fay to be granted his surgery funds. They couldn't have him know that— the guilt would consume him.

As if able to read their mind, Elkhan's amusement seemed to grow. He watched them, in pain and confounded, for a little longer, before speaking.

“Get some rest until then. Recover.” He ruffled their hair, then stepped out of Fay’s line of sight, and they soon heard the door click shut. It wasn't locked, and Fay's suspicion as to why was confirmed when the doctor entered. They processed the lack of a threat quickly and pulled their attention from them.

The fireplace partially came into view as they shifted, allowing better access for the medic to tend to their wounds. They watched the flames, dancing angrily within their confines, all memories of pain searing through their head. With the incoming visit, they had an opportunity. If they somehow managed to get their father protected, they could work on making all their torment come to an end. Perhaps it was time to let Elkhan burn.

…

Taglist: @macknus

General taglist: @sarahsbookshop , @suitsandwhump

^^Tell me if you want to be added or removed! :)

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On the appeal of canes

Welcome to my presentation. A caning is usually associated with a thin flexibel rod. But I don't want that. Okyeahsometimes. What I want is a sturdy wooden stick. Because sometimes you need to whack a motherf-- Ahem. Let's start the presentation.

- Canes are about style! They give classy, stoic, cold even, observing, patient!

- But mostly, canes are all about anticipation. The ominous taps of wood that precede footsteps. The 'oh shit it's him'. Getting closer. A hand casually resting on the handle. Seeing the tip of the cane leave the ground, slowly raised; a prelude to pain.

- Start with a backhanded swing to whack them off balance. Followed up with some precision hits to the face or ribs. Or just completely let loose when they are on the ground, only stopping when they are screaming and begging for mercy--

- Precision damage with just the tip. A sharp jab to already broken ribs, to a vulnerable stomach, to zone in on bruises.

- Great to just lean the end onto their ribcage, or better: on their hand. And then slowly leaning forward, leaning more weight onto it.

- Embellishments. Imagine blood spatters on polished dark wood, on silver patterns. Wood reinforced with metal. A sturdy metal handle, shaped into something personal or just a round, orb handle.

- So yeah, if a beating with a stick is not giving the right results, turn it over, hold it by the end and slam that silver handle into them.

- Even more fancy: hidden weapons in the handle! A sword, knife, poison!

- But it doesn't have to be all fancy. Exhibit A: the simple walking stick with a curved handle. Perfect for yanking your victim closer. Hitch it around their neck while you whisper sweet threats in their face.

- Warnings: a quick jab to the wall, just next to their throat (fencing style). Holding it over their throat (bonus if in a cross with the sword they just pulled out) or swinging it up, holding it out horizontally to block their path. Not to mention the chin tilts omg *faints*

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What is this, the return of Hetalia?

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Unreasonable

Bookish - Prev chapter: Keeping fit - pt 1 here

-

The cold concrete of the basement floor was almost soothing, calming the flaring hot bruise that started to swell up against her cheekbone.

Dani lay flat on the floor, the remnants of the quick but merciless beating still throbbing through her entire body. She shifted her jaw. Heard and felt an ominous, harsh clunk as it shifted back to where it should be with a painful snap. “Ow…” she murmured, slowly, a little overexaggerated perhaps, opening her mouth and shifting her jaw, but barely loud enough for Roman to pick up. The expletive she hissed out was a little louder as she shifted against the unyielding hard floor and pain flared through her again.

Footsteps sounded behind her, getting closer, and she froze at that soft promise of more pain. She flinched away when the heel of Roman’s shoe clicked hard against the concrete right in front of her face as he stepped over her. That heel turned. The nose of his shoe lightly prodded her shoulder. Trailed to her jaw and rested under her chin. Tilted lightly up.

He was greeted with an almost dead stare, pain stealing the usual defiance that shone through her glares. But he still recognised the little flicker of rage, even when her eyes winced with every micro movement that made the pain flare up again. An enamoured smile formed at his lips. And his shoe retreated.

“To be fair,” he started as he turned away from her, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the concrete box of the basement in the pause he left. “I don’t think it’s an unreasonable request…”

“It is,” Dani barely brought out. Especially since he didn’t really care one way or the other if she called him sir or not. It was just an excuse to beat her silly.

“If you’d prefer, though, I could have you call me doctor instead? I’m used to that anyway.”

Paging doctor asshole. Yeah, absolutely not. That would somehow feel even worse. She shook her head, forehead resting against the floor now.

A sudden step forward. A hand clawed in her hair and pulled her up to look at him. “You know what’s unreasonable?” he whispered in her face. “If I were to take that whip on the wall there and flay you absolutely senseless. That would be unreasonable.”

He suddenly let go and turned away from her. And while footsteps receding would normally be a nice sound, this time every step sent fresh waves of dread through her. She glanced up, following his movements.

Roman walked over to his wall of fame, his collection of weapons, knives, canes and batons of various sizes. She often dreamed of zipping down the stairs ahead of him, taking the first item she could get her hands on and smash a homerun in his face. But she also knew he only needed a single press of the button to shatter that dream into electric sparks.

She held her breath as Roman stood in front of the section containing various canes and leather whips. Her eyes moved along with his finger that slowly, indecisively, lingered over the selection of whips. They were sorted by size and she whimpered when his finger moved all the way to the right, towards the thicker, longer bullwhips and the scourge with multiple tails. It was almost like he heard; a smile formed at his lips, and his finger moved back towards the somewhat safer section.

He took two. A lighter one and one with thick leather. Walked back with his eyes fixed on hers. Slowly. Stalking. Determined.

Goosebumps raced across her skin as all hairs stood on end. She scooted back a little, made a futile attempt to push herself up. But her body wasn’t ready for that yet. And Roman knew it. He let her struggle and merely sank down to one knee in front of her.

“Have you ever felt it?” he asked in an excitedly hushed tone. “The bite of the whip? That agonising simultaneous sensation of a brutal strike and getting your skin split right open at the same time? Hm?”

“No…”

“No, what?” he prompted, giving her a final chance of backing out of this.

Her breath stilled in her throat. Fear blocking it, for only a second. Then rage took over again. “No, you absolute rotten asshole, I have not felt that before, of course I fucking haven’t!”

Again that goddamn patient little smile. “Then let me explain it to you.” Oh, how he loved to explain shit. Roman teased the lighter whip over her cheekbone. “This one would barely do more damage than a cane. However, over time the damage builds up and the pain only gets worse and worse. So it wouldn’t completely mangle you, but it would still… well, make you reconsider certain choices.”

She doubted that.

 “Now this one…” He gave an impressed little whistle. “This one.” He poked the loop of thicker leather against her cheek. While the lighter one easily bent with each teasing nudge, this one barely budged and merely pressed uncomfortably against her bruises. The leather was rigid, coarse. Unyielding. “This one carves you right open.”

“Unreasonable,” she whispered.

“Unreasonable,” he repeated with a nod. “Something to keep in the back of your mind. If you choose this one though… I do recommend it. You need to know what happens when you make unreasonable choices as well… Such as trying to escape. But for now we’d start with a sample. Maybe only three… or five,” he added, tilting his head, wavering.

“Choose?”

“Twenty of this or three of this.” He held up either whip when he suggested the numbers.

Dani hissed in a breath through her teeth. Every little movement already rocked her bruised body; she could barely prop herself up on her elbows. And here he wanted to inflict even more?

“Choose. Or I will choose for you.”

She exhaled her hiss with a shiver. Even three hits of that— that thing would put her out of commission for weeks. It would take ages for the lashes to heal. And every little movement would sting and pull at the open wounds. Even just laying down, getting ready to sleep, sitting up and reading, would hurt.

No.

“The light one.”

“Wise,” Roman said, unsurprised. “Reasonable.” He stood and lightly hooked her whip of choice under her chin, pulling her up as he straightened. “Then come.” He crossed the room, neatly putting the other whip back on the wall, picking up handcuffs along the way while Dani struggled to get her knees under her. He passed her, deliberately, like he was letting her know how much time she had to get up; the sound of his footsteps like an ominous little tick-tock representing his patience. He stopped near a support beam. With a hook lodged into the concrete. “I’ll help you stay upright.”

Pain shot through her, as a warning perhaps, but Dani bit it away; crunched her jaw together as she haltingly pushed herself up. She was not going to crawl or stumble over to him, damnit. Ignoring the pain, she straightened up, pulled her shoulders back, and walked over as casually as possible. She resisted the urge to cradle her ribs. That one kick had landed hard… that was going to be just dandy when she was dangling by her arms…

“Knees—” Roman pointed down when she made it over. “And hands.” He turned towards her, holding out the handcuffs.

Again, she did as she was told. Because things could always get worse. Metal tightened around her wrists, pulled her arms up as he secured her. She pulled lightly at the hook but it didn’t give.

She inhaled a jittery, halting little gasp through her nose as she felt a hand slip under her shirt. The warmth of his flat palm over her back was almost comforting. But muscles tensed under his touch and she was pretty sure he could feel the tiny hairs standing up straight.

He bundled up the fabric of her shirt, pulled it up and through her collar in a make-shift knot, exposing her back.

“This though…” His fingers brushed over the clasp of her bra, the tiny rigid hooks. “I doubt you’d thank me if I accidentally hit you right over this.” He fidgeted with the hooks. Unclasped them. Let the fabric spring away. “Also…” He pulled her hair back and swept it over her shoulders, then softly caressed the width of her back, pausing in-between her tensing shoulder blades before he retreated. “I’d like a full canvas.”

Her bra dangled against the front of her shirt, barely affording her a scrap of modesty. He was mostly interested in her bare back anyway… Wanting to see how the red stripes formed because of his hand. So decency was the least of her worries. And his.

She heard him slowly step backwards. And braced herself when the footsteps stopped.

“Twenty,” he called out behind her.

Twenty… She grit her teeth. Vowed not to scream. Not to let a single sound escape her lips.

The first hit crashed diagonally over her back. A gasp did slip free; a sucked in breath of surprise as the sudden sting burst over her skin. The afterglow tingled across her back, burning, making it feel like the thin stripe was wider than it actually was.

Again. Crossing right over the first line. It hurt. It stung so bad. But it didn’t break skin. And it didn’t break her.

Though she couldn’t stop her vocal cords from activating – another hit – she could force the grunts to stay contained in her throat.

By ten it felt like her whole back was on fire. The points where the fiery lines intersected throbbed. His words echoed in her mind, it only gets worse and worse. It did. Every hit crossed over the existing lines of pain, flared them right back up, aggravating the sensitive, reddening skin. Like with every lash that hit, all previous ones simultaneously lit back up.

The sharp, splitting pain of the welts forming on her back combined with the throbbing pain that lay deeper than skin. Pain that had just started to fade, that pressed against bone. Pain from within, internal swelling pressing against her skin. Mixed with the swelling on the outer layers of her body, pressing down, welling up, and continuing on without mercy.

Come on! Just gotta hold on. Only ten more. Nine. She could do this. Eight more and then she could collapse. Her bruised torso screamed for relief, wanting nothing more than to crumple in a heap. The strength left her. Her mind stayed as strong as determined as ever. Her body just couldn’t follow. And only the handcuffs prevented her from slumping down. The numbers blurred. Everything blurred, her reactions numbed, and she either didn't hear her voice or it fell silent. Somewhere along the line, the pain didn’t stop but it didn’t get worse either.

She winced when she felt hands on her shoulder, lightly nudging her back up. She hadn’t heard him approach.

“Very nice,” Roman murmured, admiring his work crossing her back. Fingers fluttered over her skin, touching sensitive spots here and there that made her wince and sob. And when he pressed his palm to her back again, it now felt cold against the heat radiating from the wounds. “Nothing to disinfect either, lucky for you. Oh, wait—”

Dani mewled when he brushed a finger over the length of one of the welts.

“Guess this one landed a little too hard.” He held his finger up in front of her face, a tiny bit of blood smeared over his fingertip. “Well… should be fine. And you took it so well. We might as well have tried the other one. Another time, perhaps…”

He didn’t uncuff her yet. Instead he pulled at the hooks of her bra and neatly closed them again.

Dani hissed as the elastic tightened around her midriff and it put pressure against the welts.

“There we go,” Roman cooed, and pulled her shirt back down, making sure she was decent again. “Theere we go…” And he caught her in his arms as he uncuffed her.

-

Tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpy-daydreams @whumpyourdamnpears @auroragehenna @alsolucakairomi @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumppmuhw @withdrawingramen @theforeverdyingperson @treasureguardingdragon @theorangestofjuices @artfulbok @ehobep @theplutolvr

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Whump dialogue #51

"Hey, sorry I couldn't make it yesterday. I had an accident."

Caretaker stared at the deep bruises on Whumpee's face. "An accident," he repeated, incredulous.

"Well, I didn't seek out the man with the knife and a killer uppercut on purpose, so yes, an accident."

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Whumper held a cupcake in front of Whumpee, a single candle flickering atop it. It was perversely cheerful, a splash of color and whimsy amidst the darkness.

“Make a wish,” Whumper grinned.

Whumpee’s throat tightened. They didn’t move.

Whumper leaned closer. “C’mon. Wish for freedom. Wish I was dead. Make it good.”

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Unreasonable

Bookish - Prev chapter: Keeping fit - pt 1 here

-

The cold concrete of the basement floor was almost soothing, calming the flaring hot bruise that started to swell up against her cheekbone.

Dani lay flat on the floor, the remnants of the quick but merciless beating still throbbing through her entire body. She shifted her jaw. Heard and felt an ominous, harsh clunk as it shifted back to where it should be with a painful snap. “Ow…” she murmured, slowly, a little overexaggerated perhaps, opening her mouth and shifting her jaw, but barely loud enough for Roman to pick up. The expletive she hissed out was a little louder as she shifted against the unyielding hard floor and pain flared through her again.

Footsteps sounded behind her, getting closer, and she froze at that soft promise of more pain. She flinched away when the heel of Roman’s shoe clicked hard against the concrete right in front of her face as he stepped over her. That heel turned. The nose of his shoe lightly prodded her shoulder. Trailed to her jaw and rested under her chin. Tilted lightly up.

He was greeted with an almost dead stare, pain stealing the usual defiance that shone through her glares. But he still recognised the little flicker of rage, even when her eyes winced with every micro movement that made the pain flare up again. An enamoured smile formed at his lips. And his shoe retreated.

“To be fair,” he started as he turned away from her, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the concrete box of the basement in the pause he left. “I don’t think it’s an unreasonable request…”

“It is,” Dani barely brought out. Especially since he didn’t really care one way or the other if she called him sir or not. It was just an excuse to beat her silly.

“If you’d prefer, though, I could have you call me doctor instead? I’m used to that anyway.”

Paging doctor asshole. Yeah, absolutely not. That would somehow feel even worse. She shook her head, forehead resting against the floor now.

A sudden step forward. A hand clawed in her hair and pulled her up to look at him. “You know what’s unreasonable?” he whispered in her face. “If I were to take that whip on the wall there and flay you absolutely senseless. That would be unreasonable.”

He suddenly let go and turned away from her. And while footsteps receding would normally be a nice sound, this time every step sent fresh waves of dread through her. She glanced up, following his movements.

Roman walked over to his wall of fame, his collection of weapons, knives, canes and batons of various sizes. She often dreamed of zipping down the stairs ahead of him, taking the first item she could get her hands on and smash a homerun in his face. But she also knew he only needed a single press of the button to shatter that dream into electric sparks.

She held her breath as Roman stood in front of the section containing various canes and leather whips. Her eyes moved along with his finger that slowly, indecisively, lingered over the selection of whips. They were sorted by size and she whimpered when his finger moved all the way to the right, towards the thicker, longer bullwhips and the scourge with multiple tails. It was almost like he heard; a smile formed at his lips, and his finger moved back towards the somewhat safer section.

He took two. A lighter one and one with thick leather. Walked back with his eyes fixed on hers. Slowly. Stalking. Determined.

Goosebumps raced across her skin as all hairs stood on end. She scooted back a little, made a futile attempt to push herself up. But her body wasn’t ready for that yet. And Roman knew it. He let her struggle and merely sank down to one knee in front of her.

“Have you ever felt it?” he asked in an excitedly hushed tone. “The bite of the whip? That agonising simultaneous sensation of a brutal strike and getting your skin split right open at the same time? Hm?”

“No…”

“No, what?” he prompted, giving her a final chance of backing out of this.

Her breath stilled in her throat. Fear blocking it, for only a second. Then rage took over again. “No, you absolute rotten asshole, I have not felt that before, of course I fucking haven’t!”

Again that goddamn patient little smile. “Then let me explain it to you.” Oh, how he loved to explain shit. Roman teased the lighter whip over her cheekbone. “This one would barely do more damage than a cane. However, over time the damage builds up and the pain only gets worse and worse. So it wouldn’t completely mangle you, but it would still… well, make you reconsider certain choices.”

She doubted that.

 “Now this one…” He gave an impressed little whistle. “This one.” He poked the loop of thicker leather against her cheek. While the lighter one easily bent with each teasing nudge, this one barely budged and merely pressed uncomfortably against her bruises. The leather was rigid, coarse. Unyielding. “This one carves you right open.”

“Unreasonable,” she whispered.

“Unreasonable,” he repeated with a nod. “Something to keep in the back of your mind. If you choose this one though… I do recommend it. You need to know what happens when you make unreasonable choices as well… Such as trying to escape. But for now we’d start with a sample. Maybe only three… or five,” he added, tilting his head, wavering.

“Choose?”

“Twenty of this or three of this.” He held up either whip when he suggested the numbers.

Dani hissed in a breath through her teeth. Every little movement already rocked her bruised body; she could barely prop herself up on her elbows. And here he wanted to inflict even more?

“Choose. Or I will choose for you.”

She exhaled her hiss with a shiver. Even three hits of that— that thing would put her out of commission for weeks. It would take ages for the lashes to heal. And every little movement would sting and pull at the open wounds. Even just laying down, getting ready to sleep, sitting up and reading, would hurt.

No.

“The light one.”

“Wise,” Roman said, unsurprised. “Reasonable.” He stood and lightly hooked her whip of choice under her chin, pulling her up as he straightened. “Then come.” He crossed the room, neatly putting the other whip back on the wall, picking up handcuffs along the way while Dani struggled to get her knees under her. He passed her, deliberately, like he was letting her know how much time she had to get up; the sound of his footsteps like an ominous little tick-tock representing his patience. He stopped near a support beam. With a hook lodged into the concrete. “I’ll help you stay upright.”

Pain shot through her, as a warning perhaps, but Dani bit it away; crunched her jaw together as she haltingly pushed herself up. She was not going to crawl or stumble over to him, damnit. Ignoring the pain, she straightened up, pulled her shoulders back, and walked over as casually as possible. She resisted the urge to cradle her ribs. That one kick had landed hard… that was going to be just dandy when she was dangling by her arms…

“Knees—” Roman pointed down when she made it over. “And hands.” He turned towards her, holding out the handcuffs.

Again, she did as she was told. Because things could always get worse. Metal tightened around her wrists, pulled her arms up as he secured her. She pulled lightly at the hook but it didn’t give.

She inhaled a jittery, halting little gasp through her nose as she felt a hand slip under her shirt. The warmth of his flat palm over her back was almost comforting. But muscles tensed under his touch and she was pretty sure he could feel the tiny hairs standing up straight.

He bundled up the fabric of her shirt, pulled it up and through her collar in a make-shift knot, exposing her back.

“This though…” His fingers brushed over the clasp of her bra, the tiny rigid hooks. “I doubt you’d thank me if I accidentally hit you right over this.” He fidgeted with the hooks. Unclasped them. Let the fabric spring away. “Also…” He pulled her hair back and swept it over her shoulders, then softly caressed the width of her back, pausing in-between her tensing shoulder blades before he retreated. “I’d like a full canvas.”

Her bra dangled against the front of her shirt, barely affording her a scrap of modesty. He was mostly interested in her bare back anyway… Wanting to see how the red stripes formed because of his hand. So decency was the least of her worries. And his.

She heard him slowly step backwards. And braced herself when the footsteps stopped.

“Twenty,” he called out behind her.

Twenty… She grit her teeth. Vowed not to scream. Not to let a single sound escape her lips.

The first hit crashed diagonally over her back. A gasp did slip free; a sucked in breath of surprise as the sudden sting burst over her skin. The afterglow tingled across her back, burning, making it feel like the thin stripe was wider than it actually was.

Again. Crossing right over the first line. It hurt. It stung so bad. But it didn’t break skin. And it didn’t break her.

Though she couldn’t stop her vocal cords from activating – another hit – she could force the grunts to stay contained in her throat.

By ten it felt like her whole back was on fire. The points where the fiery lines intersected throbbed. His words echoed in her mind, it only gets worse and worse. It did. Every hit crossed over the existing lines of pain, flared them right back up, aggravating the sensitive, reddening skin. Like with every lash that hit, all previous ones simultaneously lit back up.

The sharp, splitting pain of the welts forming on her back combined with the throbbing pain that lay deeper than skin. Pain that had just started to fade, that pressed against bone. Pain from within, internal swelling pressing against her skin. Mixed with the swelling on the outer layers of her body, pressing down, welling up, and continuing on without mercy.

Come on! Just gotta hold on. Only ten more. Nine. She could do this. Eight more and then she could collapse. Her bruised torso screamed for relief, wanting nothing more than to crumple in a heap. The strength left her. Her mind stayed as strong as determined as ever. Her body just couldn’t follow. And only the handcuffs prevented her from slumping down. The numbers blurred. Everything blurred, her reactions numbed, and she either didn't hear her voice or it fell silent. Somewhere along the line, the pain didn’t stop but it didn’t get worse either.

She winced when she felt hands on her shoulder, lightly nudging her back up. She hadn’t heard him approach.

“Very nice,” Roman murmured, admiring his work crossing her back. Fingers fluttered over her skin, touching sensitive spots here and there that made her wince and sob. And when he pressed his palm to her back again, it now felt cold against the heat radiating from the wounds. “Nothing to disinfect either, lucky for you. Oh, wait—”

Dani mewled when he brushed a finger over the length of one of the welts.

“Guess this one landed a little too hard.” He held his finger up in front of her face, a tiny bit of blood smeared over his fingertip. “Well… should be fine. And you took it so well. We might as well have tried the other one. Another time, perhaps…”

He didn’t uncuff her yet. Instead he pulled at the hooks of her bra and neatly closed them again.

Dani hissed as the elastic tightened around her midriff and it put pressure against the welts.

“There we go,” Roman cooed, and pulled her shirt back down, making sure she was decent again. “Theere we go…” And he caught her in his arms as he uncuffed her.

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Tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpy-daydreams @whumpyourdamnpears @auroragehenna @alsolucakairomi @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumppmuhw @withdrawingramen @theforeverdyingperson @treasureguardingdragon @theorangestofjuices @artfulbok @ehobep @theplutolvr

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Got a nice long chapter of pain for tomorrow :) And some nice little ideas, in order of how much I need to work them out, so the first three are nice options for later chapters. Somehow, the whumpspiration flowed yesterday, so the next chapter may not be too far away.

It's been a while since I posted a Dani chapter and while there's some ideas in my wip folder, I don't have anything yet to fully build on. I do want to hurt her, or have her snap at Roman, but the mind is slow and ideas are stale...

So :)

If there's anything you want for our darling girl, something you think she'd like :) Or something Roman would like. Or something you would like :) Please let me know :)

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you ever think about just how terrifying it is for a whumpee to be tied up.

the helplessness they feel when they're not even able to cover themself for protection when someone strikes them. not able to run away from a threat. not even to curl up and writhe from pain. often forced into a position so uncomfortable that they start to cry and tremble from the agony of it.

and just the fact that they're forced to be like this until someone else frees them. be it caretaker or whumper. forced to be vulnerable and rely on others for all their needs (and possible rescue).

and they could stay like that for a long long time, freedom completely stripped away and life forcibly put at a stop.

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Big fan of interrogation scenes where, despite the fact that the criminal is the one tied to the table, it's painfully clear they still hold all the power in the room.

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"Do you remember, darling, that time when I was so so proud of you?"

Whumpee glanced up, suspicious. Yes, they remembered some words of praise when they were on the brink of passing out. Whumper practically being proud of them for surviving the most brutal beatdown since they arrived here.

"Yes," they said slowly.

"Since you've been such a disappointment lately..." Whumper turned and showed them the whip he was holding, "I figured I should give you the opportunity to make me proud again."

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Home is where the hurt is - Intruder

Masterpost

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Jay dashed up the stairs to his apartment. Just needed to change quickly and then go to the office immediately. He’d been out of the office running about all day and if he hurried he could still make it for the start of the meeting.

He fumbled with his keys and threw the door open. Inside though, a nasty surprise was waiting for him and his hopes of making it on time, let alone making it in one piece, were dashed. Someone was already in his house and had made himself comfortable waiting for Jay, in Jay’s favourite lounge chair no less.

“Please, not now,” Jay begged the man sitting in the semi-dark. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest to find him in his apartment again, but this was a most unwelcome time. He’d expected him later this evening. “I’m already running late. I really have to go or they’ll find out something is wrong!”

The man didn’t seem impressed, nor willing to help out in any way. He didn’t even move and just kept staring.

“Well then,” he merely said, the now familiar hint of an accent in his voice, “You’d better start thinking of a good excuse.”

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