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andithewhumper · 2 years ago

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New Home (1)

First installment of what I hope is a long series, but who knows. These are characters I have been messing around with for a while so it's nice to finally get something concrete down. This series is partially inspired by @whumpsday 's Kane and Jim series. It is amazing, go read it. My vampire lore is different, I'll eventually post it, but for now have fun with this.

Masterpost

Content: Vampire thralls, kneeling, past referenced abuse, human trafficking, vampire whumper, vampire carewhumper, human whumpee, nonbinary whumpee

Humans were the least of Kairos’ worries. They were there and that was that. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them, they just existed opposite to her. A dolphin isn’t overly concerned with the life of a shark. So when her father called her into his office for an unstated reason she did not expect this.

There was a rather deplorable looking human trembling on the floor in front of Duke Eldon Orfeo. He stood in front of his desk giving the human not even a glance as he waited for his daughter. Kairos gave her father a weird look as she stepped into the room. It was unlike him to engage with even the humans in his own household except for swiftly disciplining them and sending them on their way. Yet this human, Kairos didn’t recognize, confusing her even more.

“Father? You called for me?” The Duke nodded at his daughter and then glanced down at the trembling figure on the floor.

“Yes, I need you to deal with this.” His voice was cold and smooth, commanding ultimate authority. Kairos looked down at the shaking form. She could hear small whimpers coming from the human as they wrapped their arms around themself.

“And this would be-?”

“The human was a thrall of one of Edward’s intolerable friends who has recently been sentenced by the Council of Lords. It was gifted to Edward, but I see no reason to reward him for associating with such people and so I am giving the human to you.”

Kairos had to admit she was stunned. She very rarely had personal thralls, they were more of a hassle than they were worth. The last time she could recall taking one was when she first moved to France and refused to spend another several decades alone with no one who would speak to her.

“I appreciate the offer, Father, but wouldn’t Michél appreciate the gift more? He is far more inclined towards personal thralls.”

“Michél agrees that you should be the one who gets the human. He has several already. Besides, this one fits your preferences, does it not?” Kairos looked down at the thrall, who seemed increasingly distressed by the path of the conversation. They were indeed the kind of human she would normally go for, frail and feminine. Their hair fell just below their chin in a mess of brown curls not unlike her youngest brother James. Yet, she was inclined towards women in bars who would readily come home with her under the promise of wine and good company. Few complained that her good company came with the price of their blood. They left with more pleasure than any man could give them and a wound that would heal in a week. She had no need to ever see them again.

“My preference is normally for less permanent meals, Father. Not for second hand ‘gifts’. Besides, there are plenty of thralls in your household that I drink from. I have no need for another meal.”

“Then use the human as a test subject for your experiments. Do whatever you please with it, but I am assigning it to you.” Her father’s tone was becoming terse and she knew that if she pushed him any longer this would become a significantly more painful exchange for her. She would have to figure out what to do with the human later. For now, she figured it would be wise to get out of her father’s sight.

“Yes, Father. I’m sure I can find some use for the human. Thank you for deeming me worthy for this gift. I doubt Edward would be mature about this anyway.”

Her father nodded and she felt a small amount of relief that she defused the situation before it became too extreme. She looked down at the human who glanced up at her only to quickly shoot their eyes back to the ground.

“Come,” she ordered the human, “I have work to do.

---

Quinn tried to still their shaking. They didn’t understand what was wrong with them. They knew how to behave in the presence of vampires and yet everything their Master taught them escaped from their mind. They had been brought to this house with the expectation of being immediately handed to the vampire their Master had gifted them to and yet they still hadn’t seen him yet. The vampire they knelt in front of was no less terrifying than Master’s friend. They had met Master’s friend before. He was cruel, even crueler than Master was.

This vampire was tall with dark hair that was short and neat. From the few words they heard him say, they could tell he had a French accent. They wondered if he was going to be their new Master instead of Master’s friend. They knew it was forbidden to want anything, but they hoped he was.

When the woman walked in Quinn couldn’t hold back their confusion. They risked a glance up at the vampire. She looked dangerous, with long red hair and intense eyes. Quinn wondered who she was. They had seen more vampires in this night alone than in the rest of their life. With every one Quinn could feel their dread getting deeper and deeper into them.

There was a time, when Master first took them, that Quinn thought about running away. Those forbidden thoughts had been gone from their mind soon after, but they came back with a terrifying realization. They were going to be given to a vampire in a house surrounded by other vampires. Even if they got away from whoever was meant to be their new Master, they would still have to get past all the other vampires in the house. Quinn blinked hard as they realized what they had been thinking about. How dare they think those thoughts, here of all places. This was supposed to be a new start, and yet they were already messing it up by misbehaving.

When Quinn heard the French vampire say that they would be given to the woman they thought they misheard at first. Did this mean they wouldn’t be going to Master’s friend? Quinn felt a rush of relief run through them. Quinn was ecstatic, anything was better than belonging to Master’s friend, as disobedient as they were for thinking about it. He was horrible, even when Master told him to go easy on Quinn. They started to calm their breathing right up to the point when the woman spoke.

“I have no need for another meal.”

Quinn was crushed. The two vampires above them were debating their fate as if it was nothing. The small part of Quinn that was angry about that was squashed down by the part of them that knew this was their purpose. Master had taught them that they existed in this world purely to serve vampires. They knew better than to doubt that, but what these two were doing now was cruel; dangling a better option in front of Quinn like a worm on a hook.

“Use the human as a test subject for your experiments.” Quinn whimpered at the words and then bit their lip to silence themself. The vampires did not want to hear their pain. They were supposed to take this torment silently so as to not inconvenience their Master. Quinn cursed themself. Of course the woman didn’t want them as her thrall, they couldn’t even stay quiet when they weren’t in pain. How could she expect them to stay quiet when they were being disciplined or even when she wanted to feed? Quinn trembled at the thought of making any noise when their new Master fed. They would certainly be punished severely if that ever happened.

They heard the woman agree to taking them and Quinn wondered if they should feel relieved. Of course they didn’t want to belong to Master’s friend, but this woman did not want them. What if they gave them to him when they got bored or irritated with Quinn’s bad behavior. They tried so hard, but Quinn always misbehaved. Master told them all the time that if they ever wanted to be free of punishment they had to be more obedient, but Quinn was dumb and they messed up all the time.

They tried another glance up at the vampire, but this time they were caught. Quinn quickly looked back down at the ground. They held back a whimper. Their new Master would surely punish them for this disrespect. Master-no their old Master now-would have slapped Quinn across the face if they ever dared to look at him without being told. But their new Master ignored the disrespect and simply gave them the order to follow. Quinn, confused but not willing to mess up twice in a row by ignoring the vampire’s commands, stood and quickly followed after their new Master.

---

Kairos led the shaking human to her room. She needed to get some work done before she could even speak to the thrall and despite their trembling they seemed well-behaved enough to sit quietly while she worked. She walked through the hallways and noticed the human glancing around at the artwork. She was glad the human was not totally petrified that they had lost all ability to think. That would be irritating for her to deal with. She opened the door to her room and gestured for the thrall to go in. The human walked past her slowly, obviously still quite nervous. Kairos shut the door and caught a glimpse of the human finching at the sound of the lock.

“Sit and be quiet,” she said gesturing to a chaise next to the bed, “I have work I need to get done before I discuss some things with you.”

The human nodded quickly, but didn’t say anything. Kairos, usually unbothered by thralls giving her no response-it was typical of any of her father’s thralls to ignore her completely-felt the need to correct this.

“When I give you an order I expect a response, understand?”

The thrall shook where they stood and Kairos noticed the human looked about ready to fall over, but they forced the words out of their mouth.

“Y-yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master.”

Kairos gave them an affirmative nod and turned to her desk in order to continue her work.

After about an hour of writing she turned around to see the thrall, staring at the floor in front of them. They sat with perfect posture on the chaise, with their back straight and their hands in their lap. So the thrall at least knew how to follow a simple order. That was good to know. Kairos had interacted with many thralls that seemed to think they could ignore or disregard her orders simply because they answered to her father first. She had almost forgotten what it was like to actually be obeyed without question. She had to admit, it felt nice.

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If you wanna be on the tag list just lmk :)

#whump #whumpee #whumper #vampires #vampire whumper #carewhumper #past whump #kairos #quinn #nonbinary whumpee #Kairos MacCaélan #caretaker new master #whumpee thinks caretaker is new master

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whump-me · 2 years ago

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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.

#whump #whump writing #whump story #whump novel #fantasy whump #royal whump #nonbinary whumpee #my writing #my writing: Conquest #my writing: masterpost

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angel-of-whump · 5 months ago

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youtube

Another one! I've got a new Whumpee on my hands. :3

CW: Car accident, hand injury, cryptid, trample injuries, broken bones, gunshot wound, major character death, transphobia

#Youtube #Cabin Tales #Whump #Nonbinary Whumpee

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dumpforfunwhump · 7 months ago

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Panicked Haze

Aster stumbled through the corridors, leaning on a wall. They weren’t sure why they were leaning on the wall. They weren’t very sure of anything—everything seemed to be covered in a layer of confusion-fog that made it all difficult to comprehend. The fog was thick and slows were—no, no, that didn’t…That didn’t make sense. Thoughts were slow. Just out of reach, along with the memories, for a while at least.

After a little more dazed wandering, the fog began to clear and their muscles ached and had someone been sick? They could smell vomit. Maybe they were imagining it. Bare feet cold on the floor. Cold, cold, cold. He tried to focus on the sensation; everything else was too much.

How did he get here? His body ached. He was tired. It was strange to be tired. He hadn’t been tired in … well, he wasn’t sure how long, but he knew he didn’t have that buzzing urge to move-move-move anymore. Or maybe he did? He didn’t trust his own senses. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

His wrists were sore. Ankles, too. He absently scratched and picked at the raw skin that encircled his wrists.

Aster stared into space as vague memories began to stir in the back of his mind, before rearing their ugly heads and freezing them in place.

Fear, pain, paralysis. Hiding and hiding and stepping into an office—and maybe that was better than being alone—but a pinprick—leather straps tight against his limbs—trying to move but he couldn’t — he couldn’t , not even a finger and he didn’t want this and what was happening? and wanting to scream but he couldn’t and lying there and the click of a lock and no one could hear him scream because he couldn’t make a sound and footsteps and it happened again and again—it hurt, it hurt, it hurt—waking up and struggling and let me out —

They slid to the floor back against the wall as they struggled to breathe.

#whump #nonbinary whumpee #whump snippet #this is my starter in an rp I was doing :]#whumpblr

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thecareandkeepingofwhumpees · 1 year ago

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My entry for @febuwhump day 4: obedience.

Content warnings: nudity, blood, demons, vague religious references, and knives. Let me know if you need anything added!

When Seshdhar felt themself being summoned by a human, they didn’t bother putting on clothes. Draping oneself in fabric wasn’t something demons did, given that they didn’t care about modesty, and cold wasn’t exactly a problem down there. On the rare occasion that a human managed to find an actual summoning ritual, and work up the nerve to complete it, the nudity served as a bit of a power play. For some reason, seeing someone stand in front of them, wearing no clothes yet fully confident, made humans squirm. It was amusing to watch them desperately keep their eyes on their face.

But something had gone wrong.

They hadn’t been summoned in a long time, so maybe humans had just changed since then? But no, demons in general traveled fairly often between the human realm, and a change this significant would’ve garnered at least a little gossip. So why wasn’t this human scared? Why had they not cowered, or even seemed intimidated in the slightest?

Why the heaven was their lack of clothing making them feel vulnerable? That wasn’t how it was supposed to work!

All the man — he was what humans would consider a man, they were pretty sure — had done once he summoned them was to remind them that, as he summoned them, they were now bound to his will, required to obey his every demand. Then he proceeded to command them to kneel and keep their hands folded behind their back. They could feel their face heat up, but thankfully the parts of their face that weren’t covered in keratin scales were already a deep red color, so it wouldn’t be visible.

Then, the man knelt down to their level, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I have so many questions to ask you. Let’s begin.”

“Let’s,” they agreed, with biting sardonicism.

The man laced his fingers together and squeezed them, as if he’d wanted to harass a demon for so long that he could hardly contain his excitement now that the time had come. “Alright. Firstly, can demons be hurt by human tools?”

Seshdhar did not like the sound of that. “No.” Probably.

The man tilted his head. “Hmm. I now realize that I can’t be sure that you’re answering truthfully. I suppose I will have to… see for myself. Making sure your sources are reliable is very important for a scholar like me, you understand.” He pulled out a knife from his satchel and pressed it into Seshdhar’s bare chest.

Nothing happened, and the demon almost let themself hope.

But the man merely leaned back and pulled a second knife out, because of course he carried multiple weapons on him at all times. “Now, that first knife was made of silver, but this one, though it looks very similar, is actually iron.” With an odd amount of precision, he once more brought a blade to the demon’s chest.

This time, however, it sliced through their skin.

Seshdhar hissed, not in any kind of figurative way, but very literal, with their fangs bared and everything. This did not dissuade the man in any way from continuing to carve lines into their chest. If anything, the only discontent on his face was sourced in the fact that their blood failed to stand out against their naturally crimson skin.

It hurt, it hurt so badly, burning and stinging and not stopping, but Seshdhar didn’t want to give the man the pleasure of hearing them express it. So they dug their fangs into their tongue — because what the heaven, it’s not like they weren’t already bleeding — in order to prevent any pained sounds from escaping. This was mostly successful.

After an indiscernible amount of time, the man pulled back, wiped the blade clean, and slid it back away. “Now, on to my second inquiry…”

#caretaker talks #whump #human whumper #demon whumpee #nonbinary whumpee #demon whump #whump writing #seshdhar #febuwhumpday4 #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump

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cyborg0109 · 2 years ago

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Muzzle

Day 11 of @promptsforyourwhumpfic 2 weeks of whump

[ID: An elf sitting on the floor with their thighs at their chest. Their arms are on their thighs and they have a muzzle on. End ID]

#tw restraints #whump #nonhuman whumpee #tw partial nudity #nonbinary whumpee #sketch #whump art #wait #did I actually draw a pose that I like?#if I look at this tomorrow it’s gonna look horrid #isn’t it #my art #art #tw muzzle #is that a real tag #idk #whumblr

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cupcakes-and-pain · 7 months ago

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This is so good!!! I'd love to be tagged when you do the rewrite. Ayzan and Kris own my heart now

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.

#i'd especially love to see Ayzan's POV of this #whump #slave whump #rescue whump #whumpee #caretaker #slave whumpee #nonbinary whumpee #female caretaker

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whump-me · 2 years ago

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Conquest, Chapter 4: A Valuable Resource

Chapter 4 of Conquest, a novel-length fantasy whump story about a timid royal clerk captured by the disgraced prince who needs their help to rule their newly conquered country. This series is best read in order. Masterpost here.

Contains: fantasy setting, nonbinary whumpee, male whumper, fearful whumpee, royal whumper, whumper POV, knife to throat, cultural differences, philosophy of gender

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Kezul

The prisoner was no longer drenched in blood and shit and vomit, but that didn’t make him that much more pleasant to look at. He was built like a sapling, and draped in layers and layers of clothing drenched in dyes so bright it made Kezul’s eyes hurt to look at him. His hair was pulled back in a single long braid. The style didn’t do him any favors—it exposed every soft curve of his weak face in unforgiving detail.

The creature kept his eyes firmly fixed on his own shoes—soft and thin things that wouldn’t have lasted five minutes on a battlefield. Kezul heard his breath catch with every inhale as he quivered like a blade of grass in a thunderstorm.

And here Kezul had thought Gyoras’s fawning had been intolerable.

But at least this one meant it. He wasn’t showing obsequious deference while snickering about Kezul’s soiled reputation behind his hands when Kezul was out of earshot. One glance at the prisoner was enough to tell Kezul that every quiver of fear, every catch of his breath, was born of genuine terror.

It was refreshing. At least one person in this palace had a healthy respect for him.

Kezul hadn’t expected respect to make him feel so disgusted.

But then, the creatures of Danelor were disgusting, all of them. Weak things, soft, like worms after a rain. And his father had sent him here because he thought Kezul belonged with them.

Maybe Gyoras had been right, and this prisoner’s best use was as an outlet for his anger. Staring at him now, he found it hard to believe this creature could be useful for much else, except maybe as a gaudy decoration. “Tell me,” he demanded, “why shouldn’t I kill you now and put you out of your misery?”

The prisoner flinched at the sound of his voice. His eyes—wet and glittering, a clear amber color that reminded Kezul of the steps outside the palace—darted up to meet his. The incongruity of it sent a jolt through Kezul. The prisoner looked too afraid to speak, and yet he could do what Gyoras had found so difficult, and look Kezul in the eyes. No doubt it came down to what he had been taught—the people of Danelor probably didn’t know how to show their rulers proper respect. Still, Kezul couldn’t help but see it as an almost shocking act of boldness.

“You saved me for a reason,” the prisoner said. “I don’t think you would have your warriors go to the trouble of bathing me just so you can kill me personally.”

Kezul wouldn’t have been more astounded if one of the palace rats had scurried up to him, knelt at his feet, and offered to serve.

The prisoner’s accent was atrocious, of course. The words sounded smooth and liquid in his mouth, like his soft lips couldn’t keep hold of the sounds properly. On top of that, half his verb endings belonged to some archaic scholarly dialect Kezul hadn’t seen since the lessons he had slept through as a child. But the fact that he was speaking the language at all stunned Kezul into silence.

“I did not intervene to save your life,” Kezul answered once he had recovered his composure. “Your life is worthless. What I did was preserve a potential resource. If it turns out the information in your head isn’t useful to me, you’ll go right back to my Wolves. Or else I’ll kill you myself.”

The prisoner cringed at the sound of his voice, and didn’t stop cringing until Kezul fell silent. In the name of the exalted Unmaker, how had these creatures ever survived long enough to put up any sort of resistance at all? If they were all like this one, they should have keeled over dead at the first sound of a war horn.

“How do you know my language?” Kezul demanded.

“It was part of my studies,” the prisoner answered in the same atrocious accent. “I can read, write, and speak fifteen different languages. I can understand another five passably well.”

“Hopefully you speak the others better than you speak mine,” Kezul said. “Training for what?” He leaned forward on his throne, fixing his eyes on the quivering prisoner.

“Diplomacy, mostly. As a royal clerk, I sat in on diplomatic meetings, and recorded what was said to the best of my ability. I had to understand foreigners’ speech well enough to avoid any dangerous mistranslations in my notes, and then translate the notes later into the languages of everyone who had attended. I also drafted trade and defense agreements, and the meaning of those—as you can imagine—had to be precisely identical between one translation or the next. No clerk wants to be responsible for starting a war with a careless stroke of a pen.”

He said all this without a trace of arrogance, as if he expected Kezul to take it in stride that a trembling beanstalk of a clerk might have the power to launch an army with the mistranslation of a word. Was this the world his father had meant to thrust him into? A world where the stroke of an overtired clerk’s pen could mean the difference between war and peace, between victory and defeat?

And he had thought the test had seemed impossible before.

Forget getting on his horse and riding as hard as he could out of here. He was half-tempted to set the whole damned country ablaze and be done with it. It would be easy to rule over a sea of charred grass.

He pictured his father’s triumphant grin in his mind. He clenched the throne’s carved wooden armrests until the contours of the smooth wood bit deep enough to bruise.

He would not run. He would not fail.

“You say you drafted these agreements,” he said slowly. “Do you mean someone dictated the words to you, and you determined the proper translations?”

The prisoner shook his head—a small, jerking motion. “We clerks would work out the details ourselves. It’s part of why our training takes so long—we need to understand enough of politics to handle that work on our own. The queen and her advisors have more important things to do than fuss over every word.”

Kezul’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. “Then the royal clerks had the power to set policy.” No wonder Danelor had fallen so quickly, if this one and those like him had been the ones in charge all along.

The prisoner shook his head again. “The queen or one of her advisors would tell us what the document needed to contain—although we would already know that, if we had paid attention in the meetings. Then we would go over it with one of the queen’s advisors once the job was done—or, if it was important enough, with the queen herself. But—if you will forgive me my arrogance—the queen and her advisors couldn’t manage those details as well as a trained clerk could. Knowing the precise tricks of phrasing to make sure the documents say exactly what they’re meant to say is part of what we’re trained for.”

This prisoner had a strange idea of arrogance. Not that Kezul was sure he believed what the prisoner said—surely the difference between one pen stroke and another couldn’t be more powerful than the word of their queen. Either their queen had been exceedingly weak, or Danelor was a land of superstitious fools who believed in the powers of magical incantations—so long as the words were written in a clerk’s hand and sealed with the royal seal.

But the creature in front of him, much as he hated to admit it, didn’t look like a fool. Kezul didn’t know what to make of him, truth be told. Based on Kezul’s first look at him, he hadn’t expected the prisoner to be able to stammer out a single terrified word. And yet he had spouted that lengthy explanation, and in a language not his own, all while quivering like a leaf in a storm. He had even pulled out the most obscure archaic phrases to drop casually into his speech. To the best of my ability? If you will forgive? And the stuffy and old-fashioned word documents, when the shorter and simpler term was used by everyone but the most pompous old academics. Kezul might have thought the creature was trying to show off, if he hadn’t looked so much like he wanted to melt into the floor.

Kezul didn’t know what to think of him. Only a few moments in his presence, and he already seemed to Kezul to be a child’s trick puzzle—a muddle of pieces that would never fit together properly. But if what he said could be believed—and at this point, Kezul had no other option but to believe him—he was an even better find than Kezul had hoped. This prisoner could well be the proverbial jewel plucked from the pigsty—a bit of good fortune dropped into his lap from the heavens themselves.

“Give me your name,” Kezul ordered.

The prisoner answered with a string of slurred syllables that made Kezul feel like he had spun in a circle while shaking his head rapidly back and forth.

“Say that again,” Kezul said irritably. “Slower, this time.”

“Miranelis.” This time, Kezul could make out all the sounds, but he still scowled. He couldn’t imagine saying all that whenever he needed to catch his prisoner’s attention.

“You’ll need to shorten it,” he said. “I’ll call you Mir.”

The prisoner, unexpectedly, flinched at that. “My people don’t shorten our names.”

A child’s trick puzzle, indeed. He had run rather than fought to defend his home and his queen. He was hadn’t offered the Wolves in the courtyard so much as a token fight. But this was the thing he found the courage to object to?

“You do now,” he said. “Your name is too long to use. You don’t want that to be the reason I can’t find a use for you, do you?”

The prisoner still looked unhappy about the situation, but he didn’t offer any more objections.

“And are you a man or a woman?” he asked. He had assumed man at first, but the longer he looked the prisoner over, the less sure of that he was. Mir’s slim build offered no clues, nor did the soft roundness of his face.

“Neither,” Mir answered.

And here Kezul had thought his eyebrows couldn’t go any higher. “You can’t mean to tell me you have nothing between your legs.”

“You didn’t ask me what I had between my legs. You asked if I was—” And here he dropped into his own language for the space of a few liquid words. “Or did I misunderstand?”

“I don’t speak your language,” Kezul snapped. “Say it in mine, or not at all.”

“You asked if I was a man or a woman,” Mir answered. “The mother or father of a child, actual or potential. Is that correct?”

He had dropped into those maddening archaic turns of phrase again. Kezul wished his father had sent along a scholar just to make sense of this creature’s speech. “I don’t see how that changes my point.”

“I renounced the possibility of either when I entered the service of the queen,” said Mir patiently. “I renounced all familial roles—past, present, and future. Son or daughter, brother or sister, aunt or uncle… you get the idea. Everyone sworn to higher service takes the oath—clerks, priests, soldiers, the queen’s personal servants…”

Kezul frowned. “You mean to tell me all the soldiers in Danelor are eunuchs?”

“Eunuchs? Doesn’t that mean you cut…” Mir turned faintly green. “No! It’s about our place in our family and our country, about being recognized as one sworn to service rather than to our blood relatives or the scholarly pursuits. It’s not about… that.” The prisoner looked down at his crotch nervously.

Perhaps this was another thing Kezul would have understood if he’d had the training Szorrol had denied him. He doubted it, though. “Neither, then,” he said, with more than a little irritation. He squinted at Mir and wondered if he could get used to the idea of seeing clerk in place of man or woman.

He cleared his throat and moved on. “How long have you been in your position?”

“Ten years in training,” Mir answered. “Another five in service.”

“They must have started you young, then.” Either that, or Kezul had unwittingly stumbled upon the location of the fabled Caves of Immortality.

“At seven years old,” Mir confirmed.

“And are you good at what you do?”

“Not as good as the one who taught me.”

They flushed a little as they said it. Their lips tightened at the corners in a look of quivering stubbornness. Was this another facet of the creature’s strange humility—that they could admit to having power greater than their own queen, but not to being good at it?

If so, Kezul didn’t have time for their scruples. He leaned forward. “How would you rate your competence at your vocation,” he said, “if your life depended on your answer?” In a quick motion, he grabbed Mir by the back of the neck. With his other hand, he drew his dagger from his chest sheath and rested the blade against the prisoner’s trembling throat.

Mir quivered hard enough that Kezul was afraid they would shake themselves right onto the edge of the blade and slit their own throat. And yet they still didn’t collapse in a mindless puddle of tears on the floor. Ridiculous—they should either embrace their own cowardice, as they so clearly wanted to, or show a little spirit and fight back.

Of course, if they chose this moment to fight back, they would get their throat slit. And then Kezul would be without his only information source.

Kezul was about to repeat his question when Mir swallowed hard and answered. The motion of the throat was enough to vibrate their skin against the freshly sharpened blade. A single drop of blood welled up.

“My teacher said I was the best they had ever trained,” said Mir, as if every word was painful. Or maybe that was just from the blade at their throat.

“Good.” Kezul released them, and was mildly surprised when they kept their footing. He slid his knife back into its sheath. “We’ll see if your teacher’s assessment of you is accurate. You said you were sworn to higher service. You will continue that service. As of now, you serve me.”

Mir blinked at him like a startled cow. “What?”

“I was taught how to conquer,” Kezul said. “I was not taught how to rule. You will show me how.”

Another slow, bewildered blink. “But I don’t… I was only a clerk.”

“And your clerks had more power than your queen, or so you said,” Kezul said impatiently. “Or was that a lie?” His hand drifted closer to his knife. “Do you know what the penalty is for lying to one’s superiors in Kyollen Naskor?”

A full-body quiver ran through Mir. “That’s not what I meant!” They took a breath. Swallowed. “That’s not what I meant,” they said in a slower and more even voice, even though every word was thick with suppressed strain. “We clerks have a very specific area of expertise. That’s all. We know more than the queen does in certain matters, but the queen doesn’t know how to till the fields either, and you would hardly say a farmer has more power than her because of it.”

“Certain matters,” Kezul echoed. “Would it kill you to talk like a living, breathing person instead of some long-forgotten ancient scroll?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Kezul waved a hand. “Your specific area of expertise happens to be exactly what I need. I need to know this country’s politics. Its trade… situation.” His fingers waggled helplessly in the air. “Its relationships with its neighbors. Its… oh, I don’t know—that’s what I need you to tell me.”

“You want me to tell you how to rule my country,” said Mir.

“At last, you’re getting it. Good—if you didn’t have a brain in your head, this endeavor would be doomed before it started. I’ll have you brought to me every day. You’ll teach me what I need to know about your country, and in return, you will be kept alive and well-fed.” He thought back to what Gyoras had said about the farms, and amended, “You’ll eat as well as the rest of my army, at any rate.”

“You want me to be a part of your army.” A crease appeared between Mir’s eyebrows, quickly smoothed away.

“You know that’s not what I meant. Your command of my language can’t be that bad, if you’re throwing around phrases like if you will forgive. Are you trying to mock me by intentionally misunderstanding my words?”

“You want me to serve you,” said Mir. “That’s what you said, isn’t it? Maybe I won’t be holding a weapon, but it amounts to the same thing. I’ll be helping you win this war.”

“The war is already won. And I wouldn’t need your help for that, anyway. I know how to win a war.”

Mir shook their head. “No,” they whispered, almost too low to hear. Another terrified quiver rolled through them.

“What do you mean, no?”

Mir swallowed again. “You destroyed my country. You killed my queen, and the prince—a child—and everyone else I’ve cared about for the past fifteen years. Havedrial…” Mir let out a shuddering breath. “I won’t help you finish the job.”

It took Kezul a moment to remember how to speak. “You’re refusing me?” This pathetic creature? Gyoras, a trained Wolf, had barely been able to bring himself to stand in Kezul’s presence, and then only because he had been ordered to. And yet this tiny, trembling prisoner was saying no?

“And what if I send you back out to the courtyard with my Wolves?” Kezul asked in a low voice. This time, he almost managed to imitate his father’s rumble.

Mir quivered so hard Kezul thought they would lose their balance. But they kept their feet as they said, in a small but steady voice, “Then send me back.”

Kezul stared into the creature’s wide and glistening eyes, and found he couldn’t look away. This was the strangest breed of coward he had ever encountered. They would have made a fascinating curiosity, if Kezul’s birthright hadn’t been on the line.

Kezul drew his knife again. This time, he brought it forward slowly and deliberately, holding Mir’s gaze the whole time. He kept his spare hand ready to grab hold of Mir’s arm if Mir tried to run. But Mir stayed put. Whether they were making a brave stand, or were simply too panicked to remember how to use their feet, Kezul couldn’t tell.

“And if I slit your throat here and now?” he demanded.

This time, Mir’s voice was even quieter. The words were still surprisingly easy to make out, considering their accent. “Then do it.”

Kezul rested the edge of the knife against Mir’s throat. Mir didn’t fight. They didn’t run. One or the other would have made sense, but neither? What was this creature?

One sharp jerk of the knife, and he wouldn’t need to worry about it anymore. He already suspected this prisoner would be more trouble than they were worth. In the time it would take to persuade them to take back their refusal—or even begin to figure out how to persuade an alien creature such as this—he could find another resource to give him what he needed.

There had to be some other resource.

But if he was wrong, what then?

And besides, if Kezul killed Mir now, the only satisfaction he would get from it would be an end to this headache-inducing conversation and an extra bloodstain on the floor. That wasn’t enough. Kezul had saved them from the fate they deserved, and all they were asking in return was a simple exchange of information. Kezul could have understood that kind of refusal coming from a warrior. But a coward who had hid in a closet rather than die in defense of their queen? The only reason for them to choose death now was pure spite.

Such spite deserved to be returned in kind.

He tucked his knife away. “Then I suppose I’ll be forced to find another use for you. I imagine you won’t find it as pleasant as my first offer. Remember, you had your chance.”

Kezul didn’t know what precisely he was threatening yet, but from the way Mir’s eyes went even wider, he suspected Mir had a few ideas already. Good. Let their imagination to torment them until Kezul came up with something suitable. He was sure he could find something. And after a taste of what it meant to be his prisoner, maybe Mir would change their mind about what their spite was worth.

---

Tagged: @suspicious-whumping-egg @halloiambored @whump-in-the-closet @whump-cravings @gala1981 @sunshiline-writes @annablogsposts @whither-wander-whump @seaweed-is-cool

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#whump #whump writing #whump story #whump novel #my writing #my writing: Conquest #fantasy whump #royal whump #nonbinary whumpee

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theres-whump-in-that-nebula · 6 months ago

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I just realized that I’ve never written any whumpy stuff with a character who uses it/its pronouns so here you go! Have a fun little extremely concerning queer whump thing.

…

Emanating from the locked bathroom door was the most agonized coughing Alex had ever heard. Leaf had been in the bathroom for almost an hour, unresponsive to Alex asking if it needed help, “I’m gonna unlock this door; hold on!”

But where did Alex keep the key? It dawned on them that they had never needed to get into the bathroom like this before. Frantically, they rummaged through both linen closets and all the drawers in the house until they finally found it. It was shoved all the way in the back of the junk drawer behind a pair of scissors.

“Hold on!” Alex rushed back to the bathroom door and unlocked it; what they saw would forever be burned into their mind:

Leaf was seated on the floor like a rag doll, propped up only because its cheek was resting on the toilet seat. Most strikingly however, were Leaf’s back and chest, which lacked the modesty of the clothing strewn on the floor around it, and were entirely swollen black and blue.

“Jesus Christ,” they knelt down on the floor beside Leaf, laying a tentative hand on one small uninjured portion of its shoulder. One alarming fact about the whole situation — as if it weren’t alarming enough — was that despite the amount of time Alex heard Leaf coughing and hacking, there was only a small amount of bile in the toilet bowl. Alex never head the toilet flush, either.

Tears began welling in Alex’s eyes. They held Leaf’s hand, “Leaf, honey, you don’t have to talk. But if you were hit in the head, squeeze my hand twice.” Leaf squeezed twice.

#whump #it/its pronouns #romantic whump #couples whump #angst #bruised #beaten(?) mayhaps(?)#nonbinary whumpee #What if I wrote a story where no one has a gender lol #vomit mention #concussion #whump drabble

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cyborg0109 · 2 years ago

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Day 10 of @promptsforyourwhumpfic 2 weeks of whump

[ID: An elf lying curled up on the floor with their tail and wings behind them, facing the viewer, in a pool of blood. There is a phone next to them, ringing. End ID]

#nonhuman whumpee #whump #tw partial nudity #nonbinary whumpee #whump art #my art #art #don’t worry they’re not dead #whumblr

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cutwhipburn · 10 months ago

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Mistake (Chapter Two)

WARNINGS: Mental Fuckery, Dehumanization, WRU/Box-Boy Universe Themes, Mental Torture, Human Experimentation, Alluding to Food Withholding, Fake News and the Spread of False Information, Illiteracy/Illiterate Whumpee, Alluding to Abuse of Underage Characters, Vomit/Throwing Up, Mentions of Previous Torture

Shannon came out of her office and made a beeline for the front door, Mistake and Norman following her as silent as two ghosts. Mistake knew they weren't supposed to be curious. These weren't its’ guests, they were their mother's.

But still, curiosity got the best of them, peeking out from behind their father as the door opened. If their father was right about the guests on the other side, it was more than excited to see Morgan Duevant again. She was so much kinder than either their mother or Evelyn. And best of all, she was Mistake’s age. That meant even if Mistake was half boxie, it didn’t matter much to Morgan.

Yet.

Norman was correct. Evelyn stood on the other side, arm holding tightly to her daughter. Cyrus loomed behind the two.

“Welcome Evelyn.” Shannon said with a quaint formality. Welcome back Morgan.”

“Hello Miss. Shannon.” Morgan said politely, noticing Mistake’s interested stare. She said nothing, where others would immediately inform Shannon to get Mistake in trouble.

“Hello Shannon. We are just-“ Evelyn took off her coat and thrust it into Norman’s arms. “-delighted to be seeing you again.”

Cyrus helped Morgan out of her coat, and she carefully handed it to Mistake. Mistake had never had a coat, certainly never one so soft like this. It was a white faux fur, perfectly pristine. Mistake carefully hung it up, Norman doing the same with Evelyn's before turning back to greet them.

“Hello Ms. Evelyn. Hello Miss. Morgan.” Norman kept his eyes trained on the ground, Mistake quickly copying the action. They weren't supposed to look guests directly in the eyes unless ordered too. It was rude otherwise.

Mistake echoed their father’s words dutifully, following his lead in everything, just as they were supposed to.

Shannon, Evelyn, and Morgan moved further back into the house, Cyrus stepping in after them. He was followed by Evelyn's three other boxies.

Mistake didn't really know why she wanted-or needed-four, but it seemed Evelyn just got what she wanted. She had two box-boys, her Guard-Dog Cyrus and Romantic Sebastian; and two box-babes, a Custom Guard-Dog/Romantic called Elizabeth and a Platonic named Theodosia that Mistake had heard mentioned more than once was really more a boxie for Evelyn's boxies.

Mistake kind of liked the other boxies, besides Cyrus. They were always nice to it and called it Missy instead of Mistake. And, most importantly, they were nice to their papa. They always felt bad that they couldn’t be nicer to him since its mother could be so mean to him sometimes. Mistake had heard him crying before when he thought they were asleep.

Sebastian and Elizabeth especially were as sweet with Norman as they could be without getting in trouble. Theodosia was sweet on Mistake, fussing over their wounds in private and asking about its’ day. She was the same way with Morgan, almost blatantly obvious that she wished she had children of her own.

But a boxie wanting something? A ridiculous thought.

Boxie’s did not want things, nor need things. That was the way they were supposed to be.

Mistake was desperately trying to learn that for themselves. It was not meant want things, but they wanted so very much. They wanted its mother to love them, and to be allowed to speak with Morgan, and to read and not get hurt anymore and for their papa to be happy.

It was so hard not to want.

They don't know how their papa managed so well, he had dozens more rules and expectations than Mistake.

Elizabeth's hand almost brushes against Norman as the boxies all walk to the dining room.

Theodosia and Sebastian delicately sit on the floor, Elizabeth staring rigidly as she waited for Evelyn to tell her if she was allowed to sit.

Mistake admired Elizabeth the most of the other boxies, mostly because of how brave and tough she always seemed. Elizabeth never seemed scared of anything and nothing ever hurt her.

Mistake wished they could brave the experiments like that.

Evelyn was almost pointedly ignoring her, handing Cyrus a drink cup they'd brought with them, and ordering him to go stand by the door. Mistake had never seen him eat. Only drink whatever was in the cup. Protein shakes, they were pretty sure.

They didn’t think that it had to be very fun to have a protein shake every day, but they weren’t supposed to think. Thinking too much was bad, it led to thoughts and ideas that upset Shannon and got Mistake into all sorts of trouble. And yet, they could never stop the way its mind wandered, fidgeting as Shannon looked up at them.

“Sit down, Mistake, what on earth are you doing?” She questioned. Mistake practically slammed into the floor with how fast they sat, mind searching blankly for an answer and finding none as their face flushed.

Their body ached terribly still.

“Copying her.” Evelyn said in amusement, giving the barest nod of the head towards Elizabeth. “Sit Elizabeth, position two.”

Elizabeth immediately did as told, Mistake taking care to push the demand out of its’ head. The position wasn't for them, just Elizabeth. They'd get in just as much trouble for accidentally following someone else's order and not following their own.

Mistake clasped their hands together, trying to think of nothing as they stared at them. Its eyes weren’t to wander, and they weren’t to copy Elizabeth, and they weren’t to want or think or talk. There were so many rules and they bored Mistake so, and yet, they were still nothing compared to the other boxies’ rules. They couldn’t understand why they couldn’t be as perfect as them.

Shannon and Evelyn both served themselves first, Evelyn serving Morgan next while Shannon made up Mistake’s plate, passing it to them. Evelyn gave what portions she wished on each of her boxies’ plates, but she didn't hand Elizabeth hers after giving Sebastian and Theodosia their plates. Norman never got a plate. He had to sit underneath the table, at Shannon’s feet, where she could them feed him whatever she wished off her plate.

She never gave much.

“Don't you want your food?” Evelyn taunted, Elizabeth forcing her face to stay still and neutral. “Why don't you ask for it?”

Mistake held back a cringe. looking nervously at Elizabeth to see if she'd fail that test. Elizabeth held strong. She wasn't permitted to speak.

Evelyn finally gave her a plate after a few more seconds of silence.

None of the boxies were given silverware.

Mistake stared down at their plate of food. It was full, it nearly always was. Their mother always wanted them fit and ready for experiments at all times, so that meant they had to be fed well, and regularly. If they wasted away, after all, who would be her test dummy?

But they always hated its food. Shannon always gave them too much, which Mistake couldn’t wrap their head around, since their father got so little. They always ate it all, of course, but it hurt their stomach to the point where they’d sometimes throw it up. Complaining about it was a sure way to get into trouble, and to get no food for the rest of the week. They had been good this week, and hadn’t complained once or thrown up in front of Shannon. They had to keep this up.

Mistake should be grateful. Their father hardly got anything and never complained. Why should they complain about getting too much?

They wished they could just see him while it ate. It would make them feel better, being able to sit with him, maybe even be allowed to talk over dinner like a normal family. But they never could. The tablecloth was too long. Even if it wasn't…Mistake didn't really think its’ father wanted them to see

Shannon took the first bite of the meal, triggering Mistake to follow along in her action, taking the food in their hands and eating as carefully as they could. If they made too big a mess or spilled, they’d get in so much trouble.

The meal went as it usually did, with Evelyn prattling on about her accomplishments and everything she’d done, only for Shannon to quickly overshadow it with talks of her experiments and inventions. Morgan, of course, was silent eating her food.

Mistake cringed when Shannon spoke of her latest invention, the pain returning to their legs like an awful phantom.

“Well won't that be handy for the little runners.” Evelyn laughed, feigning charm. “They should know better, rushing off could only get the poor things hurt.”

Mistake liked to run. It was probably where their mother had gotten the idea for the invention in first place. Mistake, in their few moments of free time, ran themself silly in the backyard, until they were exhausted. Shannon had not approved.

It was not an appropriate part of Mistake’s training. Why on earth would they ever need to run?

Only to leave, and that was dangerous, like Evelyn said.

“Yes,” Shannon agreed, her smile sharp and casual. “Mistake quite proved the value of my invention. Mistake,” Shannon directed suddenly at her child. Mistake paused eating to indicate they were listening. “Do you want to run?”

Mistake knew the answer to that question, their little legs still trembling in pain.

“No, Mother,” Mistake mumbled, head low and behind her hair. “I don’t.”

Evelyn tattered with laughter. “Goodness you raised a pathetic one. At least it knows its’ place. Morgan's acting out all the time now that school is back in session. When she's a little older, I'm getting her a box-boy and retiring Theodosia.” Theodosia's head snapped up, her hands shaking against her plate. “Hopefully a boy will help with her-” Evelyn gave a vague gesture, abandoning whatever thought she'd had. “Too young still. But in a few years.”

“Of course. Maybe thirteen?” Shannon suggested. “God knows you've had worse age differences.” Shannon gave Evelyn a knowing look and said jokingly. “Got your eye on anyone yet?”

Evelyn’s eyes flickered across the room, grazing past the boxies, spending perhaps a second too long on Mistake than expected.

“Not quite yet,” she said finally. “Really Shannon, a bit silly to be thinking about that, all the trainees currently in the facility will be much older when Morgan is thirteen or fourteen.” The two seemed to be sharing a joke Mistake didn't understand.

They tugged on their curl, trying to force themself to eat the rest of the food on their plate, staring at it miserably. Just looking at it was making it sick. Mistake forced back a gag as they took another bite of food, their stomach aching.

“Permission to speak?” Theodosia asked hesitantly, her voice all but swallowed up. Her hands were still shaking. Evelyn raised an eyebrow but gestured a hand casually.

“Permission granted,” she said, sounding bored.

“May I go to the bathroom please Ms. Evelyn?” Her voice was shaky. It sounded like she was going to burst into tears.

“Granted. Go.” Evelyn rolled her eyes as Theodosia rushed away. “See that Shannon? My boxies’ emotional support boxie needs an emotional support boxie. How's that for a waste of my money? And she wonders why I'm retiring her soon.”

Mistake had never heard of a boxie being retired before. All the cartoons made it seem like boxies had a forever home once they left the facility.

The question of what that meant gnawed on them curiously, and they could never deny their curiosity.

“Permission to speak, mother?” Mistake asked carefully.

“What is it Mistake?” Shannon sighed as she slipped another piece of her food under the table for Norman.

“What happens when a boxie gets retired?” They asked, the words barreling out faster than they can control them. “Why don’t the cartoons mention it? Is it bad?”

“That's nothing you have to worry about.” Shannon shot a glare at Evelyn. “Really, hardly any boxies get retired, Mistake. If they simply aren't a good fit for a family like Theodosia, the facility will do everything they can to find them a better fit, reeducate them, and ship them there. Theodosia will still be with Evelyn for a few more years until Morgan is older. Why, Evelyn, you and I could convince the Burr family to take her, couldn't we?” Shannon stared at Evelyn. “Doesn't that just sound like a good fit? They've never had a boxie before, and Theodosia is very beginner friendly. She could look after Beatrice. Right, Evelyn?”

Evelyn looked thoroughly annoyed, but she forced a smile. “Of course she is. You’re absolutely right, Shannon, Theodosia would be a perfect fit for the Burrs.”

“Lovely,” Shannon said with her casual smile. “Anymore questions, Mistake?”

Mistake frowned, a bit disappointed at not getting the question fully answered but overall satisfied with the response. At least then Theodosia could maybe be happy. She loved taking care of children.

“No more questions,” Mistake shook their head. “Thank you mother.” It returned to picking at their food as Theodosia re-entered the room, eyes red and puffy from crying as she sat down. Mistake looked at her sadly. They wished they could make her feel not sad, and tell her she wasn’t going to be retired after all.

Mistake didn’t know who the Burrs were, but at least they’d probably keep Theodosia. They tried to convey this whole message through their eyes when they looked at her, but it suspected she didn’t catch a single thing. Mistake dropped eye contact as they took their final bite of food, their stomach churning as the dinner progressed.

It didn’t take long for them to throw it all back up.

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