doorlampwrites

[doorlampwrites]

Mercy

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This is it, then.

This is where he will live the rest of what he can only hope to be a short earthly life. As decoration. Part of a marvellous museum of the most stereotypical draconic he could imagine. He will be locked behind glass walls, spread out like the web of a spider; all for the lady of the house to look upon him with apathy. All just so she can show off her newest taxidermy addition to her ever growing collection of heaps of treasure to her like-minded acquaintances. A horrid fate, but one of great fortune in his mind. Images of similarly brutal deaths have been haunting him since even before he found himself down here, and he can’t help a morbid wave of relief wash over his skin at the certainty of imminent death. At least he will die with all the dignity left in a Fallen.

Once they reach a mansion of incredible proportions, presumably belonging to his future captor and executioner, he can barely bring himself to fear for his life. His skin is numb, his eyes are grey and hopeless, his wounds barely itch despite their raw reds and disgusting gatherings of pus and who knows what else around his infected flesh. There is probably something hellish eating away at him already. Surrounded by similarly unfortunate objects and creatures, all his instincts can pressure him to do is tremble. He supposes he must have gotten quite ill by now. The difference between his dangerously high fever and his natural state as of late can only barely be distinguished between.

He feels the carriage slow, sending him reeling with vertigo. He wishes his vision would stop swimming. A terrifying feeling of wrongness takes over his mind, and he doesn’t understand what it is. Another mortal issue for certain, coming from the depths of his belly, squeezing his throat, causing him to salivate profusely. He confuses the need to retch with the need to eat, but it isn’t like it matters, his limbs wholly unable to do anything about it with the way they are tied.

As the doors open to his crumpled, miserable form, all the demons climbing in hear in warning is a groan, and then their nostrils are met with the smell of rot.

“Now that’s a rare sight. A sick angel, lying in its own filth,” — one of them snorts, — “I have friends who would pay to see one exactly like you, vermin.” — It kicks him in the side, and though it wasn’t meant to bruise, the already existing purple-blacks burn upon contact. His wince encourages the demons, as it always does, and he cries out weakly as a hoof is pressed slowly into him, squeezing all air out of him.

“It is a treat, but you should really stop,” — another chirps, older, more cautious, — “I’m not sure how much it’ll survive, and if you kill it, Miss Thu'lin will hang you out to dry by your guts for it.”

One of them drags him upright, and he almost lurches again. His weight upon the arms of the demon is light, no heavier than the vermin he was called a moment ago. He forgets to feel disgust at the very contact of his skin with the demonkind, unaware that he is growing used to it already.

He is dragged out of the cart and towards a large metal gate, the entrance of the large metal fence surrounding the land this Miss Thu'lin must own. Colours blend together and twist in his vision, but he sees a massive building far inside. Only the top can be seen past the thorny bushes and all manners of statues sitting along a stone path leading up to the main entrance of the manor. Molten lava is used as lighting, causing him great distress, his searing flesh becoming yet hotter; the rest of his water supply evaporating through his skin. He glances up at the sky filled with black clouds swirling with the red, and in the last moment before his consciousness escapes him once more, he calls to his God, the God that sent him down here, for forgiveness.

Keep reading

[doorlampwrites]

The Prelude

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Lightning crackles blue across the dark sky, rapidly frolicking between black clouds. The rain beats the ground, determined to flood the world and drown everything under holy water. Burnt charcoal trees struggle to stay upright in the wind bending them to be parallel against the ground and tearing them in half as the singed bark on them breaks apart. People, animals, even plants cry out in terror.

A brutal storm has formed on this scorched Earth. There hasn't been one like this in decades, apparent as every living thing — mortal or not — scrambles to seek shelter under anything that bears the weather. The ground shakes constantly with thunder; one would think an earthquake is taking place at once.

Out in the middle of noman's land, in the epicentre of the tempest, a clearing surrounded by trees of a forest waves its grey blades of grass under an opening in the clouds; — no, an opening in the sky itself. The space rips open like molten glass, casting a golden light onto the land, which instantly evaporates the rain befallen on it. A loud tremble rings in the air, coming from the tear as the storm reaches its peak, and out the opening comes one spear of lightning hitting the earth with such power the grass disintegrates to ashes and flows away with the wind.

Under the light — a huddled figure. He claws at the dirt in pain, his screaming drowned out by the fury of the heavens. He shakes on his knees and hides his head behind his arms as he cries into the now burnt patch of grass in sorrow and terror, overwhelmed by his surroundings to such an extreme that he cannot bear to think a single thought loud enough to overcome the raging squall. His pain is immense, and not merely physical.

An angel. He was cast out of his Heaven, and now, with blackened wings glowing at the edges of its feathers with fiery embers, he suffers the consequences of the sin he had committed that had landed him here. Namely, he has to bear the agony of Falling. The burning of his most precious wings that will never heal, that he will never fly with again. The suddenness of hunger and cold and fatigue; the loss of his life as an immortal being, and the process of becoming accustomed to what will be his new life from now on: the life of a mortal. Barely anything more than a simple human. Defenceless. Weak. Vulnerable. Prey.

In this world, thunder elicits horror inside the souls of Angel and Demon alike; only bringing destruction and fury to everyone who dares brave it. It is a byproduct of the divine fury of the most powerful beings the Heavens house, their anger traversing worlds to manifest itself in horrendous storms that tear apart the earth itself, uncaring of who or what lives on it. Intimidating as they are, disasters like this do not happen often, and when they do, rarely does a Fallen find themself on the ground with their powers ripped away, their wings burnt to a crisp, scars of lightning leaving markings that will never disappear, forever reminding them of their terrible fate and their mortality. This fate is irreversible without the eternally holy and gracious Archangels themselves changing their mind, — something that a lowly little angel like Auden could never achieve.

One choice remains to be made.

Will he accept his fate, this punishment that his Heaven deemed fit for him with dignity, clamouring for survival for as long as he can on this cursed, awful, hellish Earth?

Or will he give up the last of his grace, bending to the most unbecoming, damned creatures and becoming one of them, a demon himself, to avoid an untimely, horrific death?

<3

Masterlist | Ko-fi

Taglist: @whumpsday @whump-me-all-night-long

[doorlampwrites]

i think id like to try being drenched in blood at least once. who's blood it is doesnt really matter i just want the life experience yknow.

[doorlampwrites]

Someone who's been manhandled too roughly for too long – finally makes it to safety with their friends. They lay unconscious, Caretaker's hand sits firm and warm on their shoulder.

Their head rolls sideways as they wake – eyes dart straight to the hand on their shoulder, they jolt and panic...

"Lemme go! Don't fuckin' touch me!"

Until they hear Caretaker's voice,

"Hey, it's me... you're safe. I got you."

Their eyes drift up to Caretaker, their ragged breathing starts to calm down.

[doorlampwrites]

Hot glue whump

What about a whumper who forces whumpee to lay still and quiet as they draw patterns along their bare skin with hot glue. The glue gun is always turned to the max heat setting, of course.

Whumper just enjoys scratching and peeling the glue away from the newly burned and sensitive skin and seeing the marks it leaves behind.

It’s very satisfying.

And they get to temporarily brand anything they want in as intricate of a design as they feel like.

Sometimes, if it’s hot enough and left on long enough, it even peels away a layer or so of skin with it.

[doorlampwrites]

Defiant whumpees joking around with whumper

Content: degradation, beating, whipping

Whumper doesn't slap them for their sarcastic comments, instead they laugh

Randomly punishes defiant whumpee for their sass, but not consistently enough to make it stick. They don't actually want whumpee to stop, it's entertaining.

"I think you're enjoying torturing me too much." "No such thing as too much fun."

Whumper coming back down to the basement where whumpee is tied up. "What's it gonna be this time, whumper?" "Oh, maybe the brass knuckles today." *Whumpee goes silent.*

Whumpee trying even harder to push whumper's buttons and getting a laugh and ten lashes for it.

Over time whumpee stops joking. They get that dead, glassy-eyed look as the last piece of their personality is erased.

Whumper ordering them to sass them so they can punish them for it. But also punishing them for not speaking.

"it's alright." Whumpee mutters. "I know I'm just a piece of shit. you don't have to keep trying to prove it."

[doorlampwrites]

burn whump is so underrated. you can easily hurt a significant part of the body, they take forever to heal, a simple breeze hurts, its hard to move.. what more could you want

[doorlampwrites]

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.

[doorlampwrites]

Caretaker finds Whumpee quietly crying while doing dishes or some other mundane housework; Whumpee rarely cries and doesn't like to be seen when they do, but Caretaker just can't leave them alone like this. So they go behind them and softly wrap their arms around the other one; Whumpee's knees buckle and they both hit the floor, where Whumpee turns chest to chest with Caretaker and the cries turn into pathetic and uncontrollable sobs.

[doorlampwrites]

do you ever think about whether torture could become comforting over time. knowing the rhythm of it, what to expect. getting used to a routine that's been decided for you. settling into pain that's starting to grow familiar, the way a bad smell might. do you think the total surrender of control could become a relief to someone whose mind has turned into a battle field. do you think giving up all pretense of being a human and letting yourself be shaped into nothing more than a thing could feel liberating if you've spent your entire life dragging rocks to the altar of personhood in a desperate attempt to become Real. do you think you could find love in the touch of those who tear you apart if you try hard enough. close your eyes tight enough. do you think once you forget what you used to be the pain becomes a part of you, like childhood memories. normal. sentimental. fundamental. do you think you'd still know wrong from right, and if not do you think it could feel good, could feel like release. do you think giving up one prison for another would be that big of a change. do you think you'd even notice.

[doorlampwrites]

I think one of my favourite mines is I’ll ruin you, and you’ll thank me.

[doorlampwrites]

Mafia boss Carewhumper who has the emotional understanding of a shoe hiring mercenay whumpee for more and more simple jobs.

They can't end up in hospital if they're literally just paid to stand around looking "handsome/cute" wherever carewhumper is. Or organising their library by colour, then by height, then alphabetically, rinse and repeat.

Making comments all the while so they get a reason to talk to them even if it's an argument.

Whumpee is SURE they're making fun of them, bringing them to a boiling point. This asshole with money thinks they can treat anyone however they like.

Cue pent-up feelings and misunderstanding arc cause these grown adults can't talk about feelings they don't understand.

[doorlampwrites]

Little Doll

“God. You really are just so fucking blameless aren’t you?”

Whumpee blinked, stunned. They turned to teammate who leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

“What?”

“You,” Teammate sneered. His eyes filled with hatred. “You just love to be so helpless. The perfect, innocent victim. Do you know how hard Caretaker has been working to make sure that you’re comfortable?”

“I— I do know, and I appreciate—”

“Oh sure,” Teammate cut in, smiling grotesquely. “You appreciate everything. You’re just so bloody thankful aren’t you? Filled with gratitude and yet you’re still leeching off of everyone here. Our time. Our patience. We come home from a mission and have to wake to you screaming in the middle of the night and not complain about it.”

Whumpee shrunk in on themselves, eyes darting around the room but Teammate blocked the only way out. They were trapped. They swallowed before speaking. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t mean to—”

“No. I know you don’t. How could you mean to do anything after what Whumper did to you?” Whumpee flinched but Teammate kept speaking. “You’re just a pathetic little ghost of a person. You’re a poor, helpless traumatised thing that everyone has to fall over themselves to make sure is perfect. It’s disgusting how you make them all fawn over you, like you’re something special. Making sure that you’re not too cold or too hot, or god fucking help you, upset at anything.”

Whumpee’s voice locked itself in their larynx, refusing to defend themselves because Teammate was right. They were pathetic. They didn’t deserve the kindness of Caretaker or their Team. They didn’t deserve to be rescued. They should still be with Whumper. They wouldn’t be a burden to anyone they loved if they had just stayed with Whumper.

“But you know what, Whumpee?” Teammate asked, pushing off the doorframe and stalking towards them. “I’m fucking upset. I’m tired. I’m tired of working my ass off and having to deal with your mopey face every time we come home. I’m tired of having to give you time, give you space, walk on bloody eggshells around you because you’re too fucking weak to cope by yourself.”

Whumpee flinched when Teammate raised his palms to Whumpee’s shoulders and shoved them back. Hard. Whumpee stumbled, eyes wide and terrified but their body was frozen, refusing to fight back. To talk back. To say anything against Teammate because deep down they knew Teammate was right.

They were weak. They deserved what Whumper did to them. They didn’t deserve to stay here where it was safe. Where they weren’t hurt. Where they were just hurting the people who saved them, who loved them. And they didn’t deserve their love either…

Another shove and Whumpee fell back again. And another and Whumpee almost lost their footing but caught it at the last second. Throwing wide eyes up at Teammate horrified at what they’d done to him… They pushed Teammate to this. It was their fault Teammate was so upset with them. Their fault. Their fault. Their fault.

Why were they so weak? So pathetic. Needing people to protect them, to save them? Why couldn’t they save themselves? They should be saving themselves, not making it other peoples’ problem to help them. One last shove and Whumpee’s back hit the wall. They let out a startled breath as Teammate loomed over them. A hand slammed out to the wall at the side of Whumpee’s head and they flinched as Teammate leaned down so his mouth was close to Whumpee’s ear.

“If I were you,” Teammate said, his voice dipping low, threatening. It reminded Whumpee of Whumper’s comforting rasp whenever they were about to punish Whumpee. “And I was really sorry for being such a fucking waste of space, I’d leave in the middle of the night, and never come back.”

Eventually, Whumpee didn’t remember when, Teammate drew back and placed a hand on the hollow of Whumpee’s cheek and tilted their head to Teammate, but Whumpee’s gaze was faraway.

“Maybe if you were like this forever, everyone here could actually tolerate you.” Teammate said, his voice darkening as he continued, a cruel smirk tugging his lips across his face. “You know what? When you’re like this I see what Whumper saw in you. You’re positively adorable when you’re petrified.”

At some point Teammate left.

At some point Whumpee’s shaking got so bad it was starting to hurt.

At some point Whumpee’s locked legs gave up on them and they collapsed to the floor.

At some point the silent tears poured over their cheeks, but Whumpee didn’t realise any of this. They stared blankly into the distance, and their trembling stopped. They sat there, motionless, loose and doll-like, waiting for the next monster who decided they wanted to play with them.

***

General Tag-list: @sunflower1000 @scoundrelwithboba (lmk if you wanna be added/removed🫶)

[doorlampwrites]

We all love vulnerable Whumpees, but what about a Whumpee who is completely vulnerable—maybe they’re tied up, maybe they’re unarmed, maybe they have no armor, maybe some mixture of these—and Whumper knows this and plays off of it. They point their weapon directly at Whumpee, or they get closer and closer, and Whumpee either can’t fight back or it wouldn’t be wise to fight back, so they just sit there shivering…

[doorlampwrites]

vampire whump. whumpee who's been bitten and left bleeding out. the team rushes to cover the wound but also there's the looming threat of whumpee turning into a vampire themself.

what does the team do in this situation?

do they fight over what to do?

does someone suggest to kill whumpee before they turn?

do they tie whumpee up to ensure that, if they do turn, they can't hurt anyone (bonus points if whumpee has a history of abuse and is triggered by being restrained).

is there one person who refuses to leave whumpee's side. believing that they will be okay and that whumpee could never hurt anybody?

[doorlampwrites]

"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."

[doorlampwrites]

"If anything had happened to you..." whumper says, pulling broken twigs out of whumpee's hair. "i just can't even think about that."

whumpee wipes their nose with the cuff of their sleeve, staring at the chain locked around their waist. "I'm sorry."