whumpcreations

[whumpcreations]

I just felt so inspired by this, so here we are:

Whumpee was dying, Caretaker knew. They knew enough about the human body to realise that Whumpee had no chance of surviving. Their blood covered the floor around them, and the wound on Whumpee's upper leg was still bleeding heavily, despite Caretaker doing everything to stop it. Caretaker was just prolonging Whumpees' suffering.

"I love you," Caretaker whispered.

Whumpee was half zoned out already, but their eyes focused back on Caretaker as they spoke.

"Love you too." They slurred the words together. "Are we going home now?"

Caretaker took a deep breath, tears running down their face. "Yeah. We're going home, Whumpee. Soon. Jut get some sleep before we do."

Whumpee nodded. Their lips turned into a small smile before mumbling: "I'm so tired."

"I know. Rest. I'll watch over you." Caretaker took one bloody hand away from Whumpee's wound to stroke their hair.

When Whumpee closed their eyes, Caretaker knew they wouldn't open them again. So they took a deep breath, tried to swallow around the lump in their throat and lifted their other hand, stopping the pressure on Whumpee's wound entirely.

And Caretaker lay down beside Whumpee as the pool of blood grew around them.

“We’re going home?”

“We’re… yeah, we’re going home. Soon. Just get some sleep.”

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Dulling.

Whumpees that get small after captivity. They used to be loud and proud and Caretaker would watch them prance around all peacock like with a weird confidence that encapsulated them. They were flamboyant, bright coloured hair and spontaneous looking clothing. Coloured graphic liner and jewellery galore. They spent hours perfecting every outfit down to the last bracelet or scarf.

When Whumpee comes back they are full. They curl in on themselves and the over grown roots are never dyed back— in fact they went natural for the first time since high school. The outfits they had so much fun choosing became generic. They blend right back in with the crowed refusing to be different in case it’s what leads Whumper right back to them.

They’d learnt how to make themselves small, quiet, unnoticeable in a busy room and not easily remembered to the common public. They curl small and whisper. They don’t giggle and hum to the radio or compliment strangers on their uniqueness.

Caretaker can’t even recognise their own friend.

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Manhandling--especially done in silence.

Content: manhandling, humiliation, beating

Slammed into the top of a desk with their arm twisted behind them

Whumpee wincing and freezing under whumper's weight as they realize they're trapped; if they move any more their wrist is going to break

whumpee crushing their lips in their teeth to hold back cries of pain that they'd be punished for

Guards shoving in a manacled, stumbling whumpee before the king, kicking him to his knees and forcing him to bow so low his forehead hits the flagstones

Fist in the hair to yank whumpees head up

Or fingernails bruising into the cheeks for the same goal

Whumpee frustrated to rage that they aren't being allowed to just walk straight, instead they have to throw them into walls and slam them down into seats

Looking up with a livid glare at main whumper when they get there

Whumpee starting to speak, "wait, just--" gets yanked so hard the words catch before he staggers forward

"I can walk." Whumpee growls next time they come for him. Snarky guard--"well, you're to be dragged."

When the whumpers step away from whumpee, now tied up and gagged on the floor, panting through his nose

Humiliating punishments like whipping while whumpee is tied up like this, whumpee floundering awkwardly away with a muffled shriek at every strike

Holding whumpee's arms so whumper can punch them over and over in the stomach

A lineup of prisoners, but whumpee is the only one that gets thrown and kicked into position

[whumpcreations]

The Heart and the Hunger, Part 15

Whumptober 2024 Alt Prompt: Communication Barrier

Strap in, folks. The communication is staggeringly terrible here.

CW: conditioned female nonverbal whumpee, it as a pronoun, implied past torture, pet whump, implied past NSFWhump, whumpee tries to seduce caretaker.

Masterlist

--

The vampire didn’t bother watching as its owner gathered up items to prepare to remove it from the bathtub. It stayed still, enjoying the feeling of being clean. It had been… it didn’t even know how long, since it had been this properly clean. 

“Okay, ready to get out?” he asked.

It nodded, knowing the right answer to give regardless of its actual feelings on the matter.

His hands were gentle as he lifted it out and wrapped it in a towel, then set it down on a stool. He took a second towel and began to dry its hair. 

“Now that you’re cleaned up, I want to look at your wounds again,” he said. He gave it an expectant look. It took the vampire a moment to realize he wanted a response. 

At its nod, he continued. “Okay, good. And just like before, let me know if you want me to stop, alright?”

It repeated the action he had shown it, tapping a knuckle against the stool it was perched on. 

“Just like that,” he said with a smile. “Good job.”

The praise settled something deep inside the vampire. As strange as this situation was, it was doing well. Its new owner was pleased. 

That settled feeling carried it through the discomfort of having the towel peeled away from its form. It carried the vampire through having salves and bandages applied to its various wounds, especially its wrists, ankles, and back. 

It gave the vampire the push it needed to thank its new owner properly for his kindness and generosity.

As he finished cleaning and bandaging its throat where the collar (silver, burning, always burning) had left its mark, the vampire turned its head so his hand cupped its cheek, and nuzzled into his touch. 

He was silent for a long moment, thumb slowly rubbing across its cheekbone. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion it couldn’t place. “You did so well with that. Great job, kid.”

It pressed further into his touch. Its owner was pleased with it; it should make the most of this.

It was a good pet. It knew its place, its role. If it wanted this owner to keep it, it needed to make him happy.

There were only so many reasons to keep a vampire pet, after all. 

Slowly, avoiding any moves that could be mistaken for aggression, it turned to press a kiss to his palm. His eyes were wide with surprise when it glanced to see his response. 

It took that as a sign to continue. 

Kisses were a gamble, and not one it wanted to push too far. They put its fangs far too close to vulnerable human skin. Some enjoyed the thrill of that danger, while others didn’t want any such risk. It didn’t know yet how this owner might respond, so it didn’t continue.

(It remembered. Remembered kissing lines up from vulnerable wrists to even more vulnerable necks, seeing its prey shiver with delight and anticipation as its breath caressed their pulse points— No. No. The past didn't matter. Only the present.)

It turned so its cheek was once more in his big palm and raised one hand—slowly, always slowly—to touch his. With its other hand, it began tracing a line from its knee up its inner thigh, spreading its legs as it went. It arched its back and let out a soft moan. 

It didn’t have much to offer, but it knew how to play this part. It knew how to offer itself up for its owner’s pleasure.

“Stop.” 

The word was sharp, unmistakable as anything other than a command.��

It obeyed immediately. 

When it dared to look at its owner’s face, it knew it had made a horrible mistake.

He was furious.

---

Taglist:

@kim-poce @cupcakes-and-pain @nonbinary-disaster @onlybadendings @neverthelass 

@its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog @ghostfacepepper @someonesnamesblog @rainbowsandwhumperflies @extemporary-whump 

@thecyrulik @myhusbandsasemni @heart4brains @kixngiggles @whumpsday 

@whumppsychology @elrysdoesstuff @towerlesskey @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries 

@thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @haro-whumps @pigeonwhumps @cc1010foxy @bloodinkandashes

[whumpcreations]

backroom confrontation

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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"

[whumpcreations]

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]