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[whumpcreations]

Just thinking about a mute Caretaker trying to communicate through sign language.

And a Whumpee who's so much more scared because they have no way of understanding what Caretaker wants to tell them. How can they be good, when they just don't understand?

Plus they can't suppress their flinch every time Caretaker raises their hands.

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Guilt

TW: Guilt, past conditioning, begging (kind of?)

“I-I-m sorry…” Whumpee whispered as they sank to their knees in front of Caretaker, bowing all the way to the ground. “I sh-should have been m-more careful…”

Caretaker was disturbed to say the least. Whumpee was usually scared, but this seemed different, more genuine than just a fear of being hurt. “H-hey,” Caretaker knelt next to Whumpee, laying a gentle hand on their back, causing Whumpee to flinch. “It’s alright, yeah? It was an accident.”

“N-no. I know h-how important art i-is… P-please punish me…”

“No? It wasn’t an accident?”

Whumpee stiffened, their breathing growing rapid. “It was. I d-didn’t mean to. I’m s-sorry. Please, I-I didn’t mean to, I-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m not mad at you.” Caretaker tried to pull Whumpee up from their bow, but Whumpee wouldn’t move. Caretaker looked at the frame lying on the ground amidst broken glass. “Come on, Whumpee, get up, it’s okay.”

“I-it’s not o-okay. I b-broke it.” Whumpee’s voice turned slightly monotone as they began to recite. “Art is special. It deserves respect. Those without respect for art do not deserve respect. Art is-”

“Stop.” Caretaker stood up, realization dawning. “Did… did Whumper have a lot of art?”

There was a moment of silence. “… M-master is a p-painter.”

[whumpcreations]

Defiant whumpee:

Villain tilts his chin up.

"Look at me."

Whumpee looks at villain with steel in his eyes.

Villain lightly pats his cheek.

He winces, expecting a slap.

"Clearly I haven't punished you enough."

Cue punishment

[whumpcreations]

May I present: weapons in whump

The tip of a sword held under whumpees chin making them look up; or the sword resting on their shoulder touching their neck while they kneel

A knife pressed against whumpees neck, creating a small red line and the blood slowly dripping down the neck

A dagger suddenly appearing between whumpee's shoulder blades, leaving them no other option than to go stumble forward wherever whumper wants them to go

A gun pressed against whumpee's temple. Whumpee knows they are millimetres away from death, a slight switch of whumper's finger, and they would be gone. Bonus points if whumpee is wearing a blindfold.

[whumpcreations]

May I add:

Hero unrolling the whip / taking out their knife, "you don't have a choice"

"i won't change for you," villain says.

hero scoffs, "you don't have a choice"

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Whumpees who Deserve It

Not all whumpees are innocent, and not all whumpers are necessarily in the wrong.

-Villainous whumpee being tortured by their victims, abused in all the same ways they harmed their innocent victims.

-A hitman who has to feel as the names of their victims is carved into their flesh.

-A villain falling victim to the hands of an angry mob, beaten and dragged through the town they ravaged.

-A convict slowly losing their mind in solitary confinement because they are too violent to be kept around others.

-A tyrant being publicly flogged and thrown into jail.

-A murderer struggling against their handcuffs in the back of a wagon as the gallows looms closer.

-A villain haunted by what they have done, drowning in the guilt.

-A villain left with nowhere to go because they are no longer welcome anywhere, and their fears as winter approaches.

[whumpcreations]

Ozriel

1,548 words | The black prince [WT] (sequel to Their Majesty)

Content | Guilt, aftermath of trauma, mute whumpee, power imbalance, mention of: pregnancy

Notes | 👀 Behind the scenes of the royal family 👀

Taglist | @echo-goes-aaa @whump-blog @scoundrelwithboba @whumpcreations

»Fin.« Ozriel’s courteous mask collapsed as soon as they were alone; they let their tears spill, and enclosed him in the warmest, tightest hug for Orafin to melt into. He was home. He was really home. Ozriel was here, and he was healed, and he would go home. He returned the hug as tight as he could.

»I’m so sorry,« Ozriel sobbed into his ear. »We thought you were dead, or we never would have stopped looking for you. I’m so sorry—«

Orafin shook his head as hard as he could, so close to them—close enough for them to feel it more than see it. It had been his own decision not to reveal his identity to be ransomed to cutthroat conditions he knew his family would be willing to give.

A stupidly heroic decision he had, despite himself, been bitterly regretting for months now, unable to revoke it for want of a tongue to speak with, but certainly not Ozriel’s fault.

He realized he was also crying into their shoulder. It felt good. It felt so good, and they stayed like this for a while, simply holding on to each other and crying out the worst of it.

»I’ll never let go of you again.«

Orafin dug his fingers into their back in response, and they chuckled wetly.

But they did, eventually, let go of one another, though Ozriel kept their arm wrapped around his shoulders, making it easy to lean against them.

»Are you…« They shook their head. »No, of course you’re not okay, are you?«

Orafin picked up his slate. I’m better now. What about you? You look like shit.

Ozriel smirked. »Language, your Highness.« It was a long-standing game between them; it wasn’t Ozriel’s job, at least not expressly, to teach him manners, and indeed Orafin had long since learned to be proper.

When he was with his siblings, though… that was a different matter.

Having attended to their play, Ozriel eyed him, their smile fading, and Orafin knew they had seen through his attempt at diversion.

Was he okay? No, probably not, Ozriel was right.

But he was going to be. He was going to be. And either way, he hadn’t the words to clothe his feelings, or the way they slipped and swirled and mixed.

He couldn’t speak them even if he had them. The thought hit him with force, although this had happened multiple times since his tongue had been cut. His magic was gone with it, but that didn’t bother him so much; he had never been very good at it and he was almost relieved to be freed from the need to live up to his siblings. His words though?

He felt tears welling up in his eyes and did his best to blink them back, but not good enough to stop Ozriel from noticing.

They squeezed his shoulders, helpless, he knew. They were Crown of the kingdom, and yet they couldn’t do anything to help him.

He whimpered, one of the few sounds left to him.

Ozriel gently shoved the slate at him, but words failed him.

»Okay. It’s okay, it’s… it’s going to be. We’ll figure it out.«

Orafin nodded, trying to pull himself together. He held up the slate, half-hiding behind it, to repeat his question.

They squeezed him again, then looked aside. »It’s… it’s been a rough few months. Not as rough as yours, of course,« they added quickly. »But… we thought you were dead…« Their voice cracked. »And then Mother… and I… I didn’t want it to happen like this.«

Of course not. Orafin didn’t even bother to write the words down, he just squeezed Ozriel’s shoulder in his turn.

Ozriel looked at him and attempted a weak smile. »It’s a lot. But I’ve been trained for this, it’ll be fine.« They didn’t sound like they quite believed it.

Orafin smiled, and nodded. Of course Ozriel’s rule would be fine. It would, in fact, be excellent.

His reaction drew another chuckle from them. »Yeah.«

Orafin wiped the slate clean to ask after his other siblings.

»They’re okay. Orina was with me at Akreh, she wanted to come see you at once, of course, but someone has to keep command, so I abused my authority.« They gave a wry smile. »I’ll send her to accompany you when you travel back. The others… they will be so happy to hear you’re alive. I’ve sent word out.«

And your family? My most favourite nibling? At least he hadn’t missed Zovri’s second birthday.

Ozriel’s expression softened. »Kaara’s at home with her. They’re safe,« they added, as if to themself. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, they added, »Actually—don’t spread it around, we haven’t announced it yet—,« they glanced at Elgar at the words, giving him a gentle smile as if to include him, although he clearly couldn’t follow their Ochurian conversation, »Zovri might soon have competition.«

Orafin’s eyes widened, and the squeal escaping his throat felt so appropriate he had no need for words. He lunged into another hug, shoving down the worry that this pregnancy wouldn't treat Ozriel any kinder than the last.

They laughed, holding him tight. »Can’t be all bad news, now can it?«

It was a relief indeed, finally having something so bright in the middle of all the pain and the ugly feelings lurking under the surface and Elgar’s terror.

Speaking of which…

They reached for the slate again. Tell Elgar you will protect him. On second thought, he wiped out the »you«. We.

* Elgar was still reeling from the black magic he’d just experienced. That, and the hairpin turn the Crown’s behaviour had made once they were alone.

As happy as he was for his companion to find the comfort of a loving family member, even now, it was clear Elgar didn’t matter enough to uphold appearances in front him.

And his blood still seemed to prickle in a way blood decidedly should not. Every fibre of his body had screamed danger at him at the enchantment, and the feeling was waning only slowly.

He barely cared that the royals spoke in Ochurian. He was too preoccupied with his fears to pay much attention to what was said, anyway.

»Elgar, is it?«

Elgar barely stopped himself from flinching when the crown addressed him, as unexpectedly as the first time. In Teeradian, too, again. Their dark eyes were fixed on him, and the prince was looking at him too.

Shit. Maybe he should have been paying attention.

»Yes, your Majesty.« He had whispered his name into the dark, months ago, in an attempt to appear friendlier to a poor wretch who, as they had both just been told, was worth less to their master than he, less deserving of mercy, cut out for more suffering. Free, even, for him to spit at further, as if he would ever want that.

Never had he ever imagined that act would land it in the mouth of the Crown of Ochuria.

»Do not be afraid,« they continued, their voice soft. »I meant what I said—we will all be eternally grateful to you for bringing my brother back. We will protect you.«

They looked him in the eyes with the same earnestness as before, outside. He couldn’t trust a royal—commoners were just tools to them, only fools thought otherwise; let alone slaves, tools to all free people.

»You can stay with us—with his Highness for as long as you like, and we will provide for you, anything you need. Or if you wish, I can have you escorted to the Teeradian border with a full purse and rations enough to travel to whichever town you want. I cannot protect you there, but I will do anything in my power to help. You saved my brother,« they repeated quietly, almost pleadingly. »I can never repay that favour, but I can make it so you’ll never suffer the way you have again.«

Immediately, Elgar wondered how much the prince had just told the crown about the ways he had suffered.

It didn’t matter, of course. They were royal and he was a thief and a slave, there wasn’t any dignity he could lose in their eyes. He knew that, he did.

»Thank you, your Majesty,« he managed. He pondered their offers, as if it was his place to accept any of them, wondering whether they had given any indication of what they really wanted him to do.

The prince softly squeezed his hand, and without thinking, Elgar squeezed back.

He didn’t have much to return to, if he was honest. Not safely, at any rate.

»I… I’ll stay with you, your Highness… if that’s okay.«

The prince beamed at him, and something inside him came loose. He had never seen this man smile in all the months they’d known each other, and now he was smiling at him like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like they were still companions who didn’t want to miss the other’s comfort.

He swallowed, feeling the rising tears in his throat. »You’ll protect me?« he whispered, and the prince nodded fiercely. Then he opened his arms in the most unambiguous way, and Elgar leant into the hug, believing, for the first time, that it might be true.

[whumpcreations]

I would like to request a drabble with a whumper who has mind-reading and/or telepathic communication abilities but not actual mind control.

content: mind reading/telepathic stuff, captivity, intimate whumper

Oh, what’s this?

Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut even tighter and tried to empty their mind. Anything they thought of right now, Whumper could sense. And see. And use against them.

“Get the fuck out of my head,” they ground out. The invasive presence only got stronger.

Why? We’re just getting to know each other. Why don’t we play a little game?

“I don’t care for your stupid games!”

I say a word, you think of something associated with it. Let’s see… Love.

Horrifyingly, treacherously, a picture of Caretaker immediately floated to the forefront of their consciousness. Their bright smile, their soft hair, the way they had softly snored just two days ago next to them in bed.

Sweet, Whumper’s voice crooned.

“Get out!” Whumpee snapped. “Get the fuck out of my head!”

Next word! Fear.

Oh, it was humiliating, the way Whumper’s image immediately popped up, along with some memories of spiders and heights and little holes in the wall.

Aw, you’re afraid of me.

“I’m thinking about you because you’re in my head.”

“We both know that’s untrue,” Whumper mercifully said out loud, instead of beaming it straight into their brain. “You’re terrified of this little ability I have.”

Whumpee blinked their eyes open and looked up, defiantly holding their stare. “You can poke around in my head all you want, fucker. Whatever information you’re looking for isn’t with me.”

Whumper smiled and playfully booped their nose. “You have all the information I need, rest assured. All the information on how to break that pesky will of yours.”

[whumpcreations]

two critically injured, probably dying soldiers tucked away behind cover while a battle rages on close by.

they're on opposite sides, but that hardly matters when they're both slowly bleeding out, too consumed by pain and weakness to go reaching for their weapons.

so instead they talk. about themselves, their loved ones, what they hoped to do after the war, their life's dreams, even things as simple as their favorite foods or colors. in their dying hours, they build a strong connection to a person they've only just met, and both wonder to themselves if they could have been good friends, had things been different.

maybe they die there. two soldiers wearing opposing uniforms, bodies slumped against each other and hands tightly linked, seeking the comfort of human touch in their final moments.

or maybe one soldier's comrades come to save them, and they struggle with what little strength they have left, begging and pleading for them to bring the other soldier too, that they won't go without them.

[whumpcreations]

Conquest Masterpost

Watch your kingdom die. Betray what’s left to save your life.

Danelor was a peaceful country, a land of poets and musicians. Insignificant. Defenseless.

The merciless invaders swept in from the north and claimed it for their empire. They burned the farms and tortured the survivors for their entertainment. Their cruel soldiers slaughtered every last soul in the royal palace… except Miranelis, a cowardly clerk hiding in a pantry, too afraid to fight.

To Kezul, the disgraced son of the northern emperor, Danelor is a test. If he can keep control of the devastated land, he will not be stripped of his birthright. But he was only taught to conquer, not to rule.

Miranelis, now his captive, may not have the stomach for battle, but they understand the intricacies of rule. But they have no reason to help the conquerors who destroyed everything they loved.

So Kezul will have to give them one.

---

Conquest is no-magic fantasy whump with a royal whumper, a fearful but quietly defiant nonbinary whumpee, degradation, cultural differences, fantasy politics, and an intense and complicated relationship between whumper and whumpee (no romance).

It will also involve major character death, so steer clear if that’s not for you.

This story will be novel-length, with a planned 32 chapters. Updates twice a week. Ask to be added to or removed from tag list.

Chapters

Chapter 1: The Coward Chapter 2: The Exile Chapter 3: The Courtyard Chapter 4: A Valuable Resource Chapter 5: Bloodstains Chapter 6: Entertainment Chapter 7: A Taste of Courage Chapter 8: Blood Games Chapter 9: Test of Character Chapter 10: A Creature of Contradictions Chapter 11: An Unsolvable Puzzle Chapter 12: Another Way Chapter 13: Serving the Enemy Chapter 14: Negotiations Chapter 15: A New Form of Madness Chapter 16: The Unmaker Chapter 17: Trust and Loyalty Chapter 18: Conquer This One Chapter 19: For Your Own Good Chapter 20: Playing the Unmaker's Game Chapter 21: A Sick Craving Chapter 22: All That Remains Chapter 23: Choosing Defeat Chapter 24: What Cowardice Looks Like Chapter 25: A Walk in the Moonlight Chapter 26: The Pit Chapter 27: Everything You Ever Wanted Chapter 28: Perfectly Defeated Chapter 29: Place of Honor Chapter 30: Defeated Chapter 31: Victory Chapter 32: The Only Job Left

Here from a reblog? Here's the most recent version.

[whumpcreations]

okay inspired by another prompt but-

A prince that acts all high and mighty and well to do and overly confident. Someone - maybe a noble, or maybe a commoner, could be anyone that doesn't live in the palace with him - decides they hate his attitude and wants to take him down a notch or ten, so they kidnap him with full intent to torture him.

They get him somewhere alone, toss him around a bit. The prince's behavior has changed like the flip of a switch. His confidence and regal bearing is gone, replaced with cowering and feeble, half-formed pleas and teary eyes. The kidnapper thinks it's just an act to get them to let him go, and they get even angrier about it, so of course they take their anger out on him.

At some point they do strip him down...only to find the evidence of past abuse. Not anything simple either, nothing that could be caused by accidents. His clothes covered whip marks and scars, old and new. And an intricate pattern of brands spanning his shoulders, which looked to be a piece still be in progress.

The prince's change in behavior makes a bit more sense, but does the kidnapper actually care? Or maybe they feel vindicated, believing they're not the only one who thinks the prince needs a behavior adjustment.

[whumpcreations]

[whumpcreations]

If you are every going to continue this, please tag me. It is amazing.

The Kind Commander

AI-less Whumptober Day 2: Exhaustion

Masterlist

TW: military whump, power dynamics, multiple whumpees, lex is a fucking dumbass that's what

---

Lex Winch groaned as he slowly rose to consciousness. Confused as to what had awoken him, he sat up wearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a frown. 

As soon as he sat up, though, his memories came flooding back to him. 

The recon mission. The ambush. The death of his squad. The capture of the remaining two. 

Of his half-dozen member squad, only Lex and his friend, Isaac Lidgett, had been able to stay alive. And even then, Lex couldn’t decide whether their dead squadmates were the luckier ones. The Skoaxians were infamous for their brutality and poor treatment of their prisoners. Especially those under the command of Captain Ulysses Hawk.

Sighing, Lex stared up blankly at the muddy green of the tent fabric above him, wondering, not for the first time, just how exactly he had ended up in this situation. 

One day,  he was only a few months away from getting his masters in Ancient and Classical Literature, and then the next thing he knew, Skoaxia had attacked and Nascines had been forced to retaliate, never mind the thousands of innocent Nascinites who had been drafted and sent off to die.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Lex forced himself to take an inventory of his surroundings, the phantom voice of his old commander, Vyctore Bray, barking orders at him. Of course, Bray had been blown to smithereens right in front of him a few weeks back. Still, he had taught Lex valuable survival skills.

Keep an eye on your surroundings at all times. Make sure you see what’s around you, not just from your perspective, but from your enemy’s too.

Don’t play the hero. Heroes die. Painfully. Be a survivor. That’s the best way you’ll be able to help anyone.

Don’t be stupid, Winch. You hear me, boy? You’ve got a mouth on you and that might just end up getting a bullet put into your skull one day.

Looking around, Lex saw only the dark green of the thick tarp-like fabric, the two wooden poles holding it up, and battered dirt beneath it. A thick steel chain connected both of Lex’s ankles to the base of one of the poles, giving him just enough leeway for a couple teetering steps but nothing more. The other pole had an identical chain leading into a crumpled pile of dirty and torn up fabric.

Swallowing, Lex whispered, voice hoarse and raspy, “Lidgett, is that you?” 

The pile of fabric twitched, moving slowly into a slumped, sitting position. Through the grime, Lex was able to make out the startlingly pale green of Isaac’s eyes and the coppery curls that bounced down his forehead; although, now, his eyes were darkened and swollen, heavy bags hanging underneath them, and his hair was stained darker with blood—both his and others’—and the curls were tangled and limp.

“Winch?” Isaac answered, before dissolving into a violent coughing fit. Lex frowned as he saw what looked to be dark spots appearing on Isaac’s sleeve, before he wiped his mouth and it disappeared. “What happened?”

Lex sighed, pulling his knees close to his chest and leaning back against the thick wooden pole. “We were ambushed, remember? Everyone- everyone else is dead.”

“Shit,” Isaac sighed, letting his head thump against his own pole. “I was hoping that was just another shitty nightmare.”

The two slipped into a precarious silence, neither knowing what to say to the other. The obvious hung in the air around them, heavy.

They only need one of us. Two is more liability. 

Lex was just starting to try to figure out how to broach the topic when footsteps sounded from outside the tent. One of the tent flaps swished open, momentarily blinding Lex with the sunlight, before it fell closed again.

There was now a man standing in front of them. Lex knew immediately, without having to hear a single word, who he was. Those gray eyes, so dark they appeared black, and that black hair, buzzed low and neat, were the elements of horror stories around Nascinite fires. More than anything, though, it was the scar, long and unnaturally straight, cutting down against the outer corner of his left eye, running the length of his face that gave the man away.

Captain Ulysses Hawk.

Judging by Isaac’s sharp inhale, he also recognized the man standing in front of them.

Captain Hawk smiled, humorless, showing teeth just as straight and neat as his hair. “I’m assuming you boys recognize me then.” Lex didn’t even bother getting annoyed at his use of ‘boys’; despite the fact that he couldn’t be more than ten or so years older than them, the experience that Hawk had made them seem like utter infants compared to him.

“What, uh, what do you want?” Lex asked softly, hating the way his voice trembled. “Sir?” he added on belatedly.

Hawk narrowed his eyes, gaze slowly scanning up and down Lex. “Private Elexandyr Winch, I presume.” Not bothering to wait for confirmation, he squatted down in front of Lex, nose wrinkling at the dirt, mud, and dried blood that caked nearly every inch of him. “You, as well as Private Isaac Lidgett-” his eyes darted towards him before refocusing on Lex- “are now prisoners of the Skoaxian army. I, as I’m sure you’re well aware, am Captain Ulysses Hawk.” He smirked. “Welcome to Camp Ironglass.”

Isaac muttered something—either a curse or a prayer—under his breath as Lex’s stomach sank. Ironglass was the most infamous of all the Skoaxian camps, partially due to the cruelty of Captain Hawk.

Swallowing, Lex looked up into Hawk’s eyes, feeling as though, if he looked for too long, he could get lost in that inky abyss. “What do you plan to do with us? Sir.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, Hawk reached forward to capture Lex’s chin in an unbreakable grasp. Instinctively, Lex flinched back, too slow, and he had no choice but to allow Hawk to slowly move his head, studying him intently. Finally, he spoke: “I am going to do whatever I please, Private Winch. And there is nobody in this camp, not you, not the other prisoners, not even the other officers, who can stop me.”

A chill crept down Lex’s spine and his breath seemed to freeze in his lungs as Hawk slowly released his chin and stood up, still maintaining unwavering eye contact. Finally, he smiled again, turning away from them. “I do hope you boys enjoy your stay here.”

Then he was gone.

---

Taglist: @ailesswhumptober @theelvishcowgirl @misspelledwitch @i-eat-worlds @shywhumpauthor @the-dump-of-whump

[whumpcreations]

Abandoned whumpee

CW: Whumper turned caretaker, injured whumpee, defiant, restrained, angst

Whumpee awoke in their enemies infirmary.

An IV was pricking their arm and the lights were dimmed. They twitched as their wrist ached from the handcuff binding them to the bed.

"You're awake? I was getting worried about you." Whumper hummed, sitting by their bedside with a large cup of coffee. Whumpee shakily rose their hand as the handcuff clinked.

"This isn't necessary." Whumpee tiredly mumbled.

"My my, you've been awake for ten seconds and already making demands." Whumper chuckled. "But I'm afraid we're not on that level of trust yet, I can get you something for the bruise."

Whumpee tried to sit up, everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. 

"I'm a w-wounded prisoner. It's not like I know my w-way around here-" Their voice hitched as their arm gave in as they collapsed. Whumper was quick to pull them up and put a pillow behind their back.

"Easy now, you're still healing. -And don't downgrade yourself, you could still pack a punch, I know how you were trained." Whumper scolded, fixing the blanket around them.

"How could you possibly know that." Whumpee squinted. Whumper ignored their question and waved someone over; they were handed something whumpee couldn't see from the bed. Whumper moved towards them whumpee tried to scamper as far as the handcuff could go.

"Hey! Hey, calm down. It's not going to hurt you." Whumper lulled, placing a plate with a full meal on their lap. "Look, it's just a peace offering."

Whumpee's face flushed with a hint of pink as they lowered their shoulders. Hospitality was the least they expected from their enemy's leader. "You're feeding me?" Whumpee tilted their head.

"Of course I'm feeding you. I saved your life, I'm not going to waste it all by starving you. Gracious, eat your dinner." Whumper scoffed. 

"This is dinner? How long did you sedate me?" Whumpee suddenly perked up.

"I didn't sedate you, you were exhausted. That's just how long you slept. Now eat, you'll feel better." They nudged, taking their wrist and putting a plastic fork in whumpee's hand.

"If I didn't know any better," Whumper chuckled, "I would guess your beloved team wasn't feeding you either-"

Whumper felt movement and grabbed whumpee's arm before they attempted to plummet the fork into whumper's neck. They glared at each other as Whumpee was panting and pouring with sweat.

"Sweetheart, that is a plastic fork you're holding." Whumper glared.

"I know. But it's got three sh-sharp points and that's good enough f-for me." Whumpee grunted, still attempting to stab them. Whumper grabbed their collar and yanked them mere inches away. Whumpee pushed and tried to back-peddle as whumper held their collar.

"That was a cute try." Whumper whispered in their ear. "But you don't have the strength to fight just yet, little lamb. Should have eaten first." They plucked the fork out of Whumpee's hand and released them. Whumpee fell back and winced, holding their wound as it pulsed. They could feel the stitches underneath their shirt, staying intact at least...

"You honestly can't believe you'll keep me here like this! I don't want to be here- I'm not your pet to tease!" Whumpee shouted at them.

"You're not my pet. If you want to be that way, then sure; you're like a lamb running for the cliffs that I have to keep pulling you away from." Whumper straightened their jacket and rubbed their neck.

"You're only keeping me alive so you can torture me later, I've told you from the start I won't ever give up my team-"

"-No." Whumper cut them off.

Whumpee suddenly quieted and closed their lips. "... What do you mean no?" They quietly asked.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, your head is so full of lies it sickens me to know what they've taught you! You want to know why I stayed by your side all day? You woke up throughout the night and cried yourself right back to sleep!"

"I wasn't crying!" Whumpee sobbed, covering their face and fell silent. Whumper shut their mouth and leaned back, realizing they had corned them. "I'm sorry. I uh ... I'll give you some space. I'll come check on you later." Whumper quickly stood. They craned their head back to see whumpee was now curled on their side facing away from them.

Whumpee flinched when they heard a "clink" as the handcuff fell off their wrist. It was a feeling of pure light and relief. It was a surprising gesture, even for the stunt they pulled with the now-revoked plastic fork.

This wasn't the ruthless enemy whumpee was expecting; whumper speaks as if they know more about their own team than whumpee does. If they got trusted enough to freely walk around, they would get to find their own answers deep in the core of their enemies base. 

 Perhaps this was an opportunity.

[Previous] -- [Masterlist]

@parasitebunny @starzabove @frog-hat-fa-ggot @morning-star-whump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @mommymarichatfurever​  @isita-torrrres @tobiaslut

[whumpcreations]

But just…I feel very strongly about a Whumpee being tortured for information they just don’t have. Whumper is certain they know, they are totally convinced Whumpee is lying through their teeth.

Whumpee wants to scream if they hear that goddamn question one more time—but they have no choice, Whumper will keep asking until Whumpee cracks.

But they’ve cracked a long time ago, they just don’t know.

Whumper tells them over and over—“If you’re honest, we can stop. You can lay down, I’ll even get you a drink. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

But Whumpee just wails and begs them to stop, even as Whumper asks again. They just don’t know.

[whumpcreations]

Whump prompt XVIII

Caretaker is trying to buy whumpee to free them.

Only they cannot afford the asking price, so they're left haggling down whumpee's value, picking out every conceivable flaw and arguing with the seller that whumpee really isn't worth that - all fully within earshot of whumpee.

[whumpcreations]

Rescue

1,147 words | Heir apparent

Content | Captivity, kidnapping, exhaustion, broken bones, whumper turned caretaker, past parental abuse, implied: beating, whipping, sleep deprivation

Notes | New series! How exciting! Meet an unfortunate kidnapped princeling and their shitty sorcerer parent!

(To be clear, they're shitty at parenting. They are VERY GOOD at sorcery.)

It had been days of a never-ending nightmare.

Sharru had barely hoped for his parent to come save him in any sort of a hurry to begin with, and with every hour, every blow, what hope he had faded further. It was his own fault, they would think, for being so weak and foolish as to be taken. It would do him good to learn a lesson at the hands of his captors.

His kidnappers had told him they had given their demands, but even they knew. »How long do you think their Majesty is going to leave you to us?« they’d laugh, clearly thrilled to have the son of their beloathed ruler at their mercy. »Best not waste our time together, huh?«

And they certainly didn’t.

He had at first tried to hold himself together, be as dignified as the heir apparent was expected to be, but that mask fell all too soon. He was used to pain, but not like this.

He was so exhausted - he could not even tell whether from sleep deprivation or pain - his head wasn’t working right, at any rate, so that he couldn’t figure out what it was that finally drew them away, he could only whimper in minimal relief. If only they hadn’t left him chained up to the walls by his wrists, his back bleeding from the last whipping.

There were screams, but they weren’t his screams, for once.

It didn’t last long. Someone entered the cell, and he knew his reprieve had come to an end. He couldn’t even be bothered to look up, he just attempted one more useless »Please…«, unsure if it was audible at all.

But no - he recognized that step.

He was sure who it was when he felt the pulse of heat of his parent’s magic at his wrists. The manacles fell away as if he hadn’t already tried everything to make them. He had never been able to reproduce the magic that flowed so amply through their veins, just one of the many ways in which he was a disappointment.

He collapsed.

He didn’t expect to be caught; he never had been. If anything, he would be punished for being so weak - so stupid as to be kidnapped, so helpless as not to escape, so weak as to now collapse at their feet.

Yet somehow - somehow - a pair of warm arms closed around him and prevented him from hitting the ground. His body screamed out in pain regardless.

Crying wasn’t allowed either, but he couldn’t help it, and what difference would it make now that they’d seen what had become of him?

* It had been over twenty years since Taba had held their son, before he learned how to walk.

They hadn’t expected to do it now, despite everything. They hadn’t - they shouldn’t go soft on him. But then, and they were still reeling with the violence of the realization, it hadn’t done much to protect him, in the end.

And he certainly couldn’t walk now.

There were many things they hadn’t expected. They hadn’t expected the sheer magnitude of the terror that washed through them when they heard their son was gone. They hadn’t expected the irresistible force of rage when they were sent the demands.

It took eight days to find and reach him, accompanied by their bodyguard.

They had exhausted most of their magic in the fight, but there was enough left to set this place on fire-

But no.

They would need it to heal their son.

Their precious little son now lying in their arms.

They had always found him frail, but they- they had never-

They had told themself they were teaching him to protect himself.

They had, they realized, taught him nothing.

They lifted him up into a bridal carry, getting a pained whimper in return; his back was a bloody mess, and that wasn’t half of it. He was crying. They had often forbidden him to cry, and always he would eventually fail.

They hoped he knew he wouldn’t be punished this time.

»Round up all that are still alive,« they ordered the nearest guard on the way out. »And then burn this whole place down.«

* In the state Sharru was in, he had barely managed to comprehend that it was, in fact, his parent carrying him before he was set down.

Of course he hadn’t expected it to last; he was more bewildered it had happened at all, that he hadn’t been made to crawl out after them - a valuable lesson - or at least carried by some random guard. Maybe they wanted to make sure his shredded back, his cracked ribs ached exactly the way they wanted.

Despite all this, he couldn’t help himself. It was ridiculous, and he would likely be punished for such a blatant display of weakness, and he didn’t want it to be them, he wanted it to be someone who actually cared about him - but he nuzzled into their arm, weeping into the fabric of their shirt.

But of course, he was set down soon enough. He tried to pull himself together, to get his wits about him, like he should.

If only he wasn’t so exhausted. His eyes were burning as he tried to focus on his parent, sitting right next to him, doubtlessly disappointed beyond measure, as usual. They were in one of the army tents. With what strength he had, he tried to push himself up, half because he was supposed to, wasn’t he, half to keep his weight off his back. »I’m sorry-«

Their hand caught his shoulder and easily pushed him down. »Stop. Rest.«

He couldn’t hold back a whine, or more tears rising to his eyes. The salty liquid seeped into the cut one of them had drawn across his cheek, burning worse. There was no point in arguing, so he laid back and tried to ignore the pain, all the pain, and give in to the exhaustion and just finally sleep.

He couldn’t. They took his hand and - most of his fingers had been broken under the cruel heel of a boot - he only didn’t wail because he hadn’t the strength any more - it hurt.

Then he felt the familiar sting of heat again. Not enough to burn him or even really hurt, but only just. It took him a moment before he realized - they were healing him.

He had never gotten more magical healing than what was necessary. His parent believed there was a lesson in suffering from the consequences of one’s mistakes.

So this could only mean - oh, no. Please, no. He would be expected to resume his duties as heir at once.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

But he couldn’t argue. He couldn’t even beg - it hadn’t worked on his captors, and his parent would despise it. He could only lie back, bleeding and hurting, and quietly weep.