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[owwlnations-writing-corner]

Ruined night - a tiny drabble

Just a little something I felt inspired to write in between hours of endless daydreaming about the shitty situation Leonor is in. It comes easier now that I grasp more or less just who she is, but I still have a hard time figuring who is my whumper. Anyhow, enjoy!

CW: knives, blood, possessive and intimate whimper, lady whumpee.

She sinks her teeth deep into his skin until all she can taste is the blood flowing on her tongue and down her throat. He curses under his breath, a hand coming to push Leonor’s head away, to pull her by the hair, but she doesn’t let go. Not when he kicks her in the stomach. Not even when he crashes her head against the wall. She bites harder and harder, not caring about the pain coursing through her jaw or the overwhelming smell of blood. She bites until he can feel an ounce of the pain he’s inflicted on her.

“You better let go Leonor or I swear to god you will regret it.”

But Leonor doesn’t let go. No matter the tears now streaming down her face. No matter the threats.

“Fine, if that’s what you want...”

A thundering pain rushes through her side, knocking the breath out of her lungs, forcing Leonor to gasp and to let go. Her hands instinctively come to cover the wound as she lets herself glide against the wall, sobbing, panting, pathetic.

He slowly kneels in front of her, grabs her cheeks to force her to look at him, and lays the pale and icy blade of his knife against her lips, his eyes full of an anger she had never seen before.

“You know how much I hate to hurt you, but you’re forcing my hand here, sweetheart. We could have had a nice dinner, but you just had to make a fuss and ruin everything.”

The blade gently slides down her throat and along her collarbone, caressing her skin, the sensation reminding her all too much of how his own hands feel against her. He leans forward and kisses her greedily, muffling her whimpers as he lets the blade bite her skin and devour her. She doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t dare fight back, terrified at just what else he could do if she kept on misbehaving, and he coos.

“Glad to see you’re already learning your lesson.”

The blade leaves her burning skin alone as she lets out another sob, his hand now stroking her cheek affectionately.

“Don’t you worry, though. You’re not beyond hope. I’m certain you’ll soon be perfect for me, and finally understand that all I do is because I care about you. Because I love you more than anything else.”

[owwlnations-writing-corner]

Another night

Hello there! I've been wanting to share my writings for a very long time, but never found the courage to do so, until today. That's a scene between two OC's of mine that I particularly love, from a story that's been haunting me for the past month. I'm writing bits of it here and there, and I thought it'd be interesting to get some feedback about it! I'm not used to posting on tumblr though, especially not that type of content, so if my tags or CWs are wrong, please tell me!

(CWs : Intimate whumper, lady whumpee, strangling, mentioned noncon)

He strokes her cheek, his gaze full of an affection that turns her stomach, and leans to kiss her the way he always does; with sick tenderness. Leonor knows all too well what is expected of her, but when his lips brush hers, all obedience is gone. She recoils, head turned to the side, eyes focused on the floor, and she slowly realizes just what she’s done.

She recoiled. She recoiled from him. She recoiled from his hands, his lips, his affection.

Leonor is shoved against the wall, forcing a cry out of her. His hand slithers tightly around her throat, leaving her breathless, gasping for air, and Leonor desperately grabs his wrist and tries to make him let go and drag air down her lungs, but his grip is too strong.

“Don’t you dare.”

He leans until his breath caresses her cheek, his other hand laying gently on her stomach.

“Unless you miss our first months together,” he whispers as if he were reminded of fond memories.

He kisses his way along her jaw and to her lips, crashing them together. Leonor writhes under him, clawing the best she can to his wrist, his arm, anything she can reach, but he holds onto her like a vice. The hand on her stomach moves south, his touch featherlight until he reaches her waist. His fingers dig painfully into the bruises he so lovingly gave her last night, drawing another cry out of her.

His lips never leave hers, always demanding, always dominating. She tries to mouth a desperate plea, to beg him to let her breathe as her grip loosens on his wrist, but he doesn’t care. His hand goes to her thigh and gently strokes it as Leonor weakens, her vision turning blurry while he just keeps on abusing her.

And then, nothing.

His lips are no longer on hers, his hand is no longer around her throat.

Leonor falls to the ground, coughing, gasping for air, sobbing. Pathetic. She knows better than to disobey, to turn him down, and yet there she is, playing the proud and strong lady when she’s nothing more than a toy. His prized possession. The love of his life.

“Now, now, it’s alright,” he says, kneeling next to her.

He pets her hair, his fingers tangling in her locks like he always does after they make love. It’s simple, gentle, comforting, and Leonor can’t help but lean into the touch.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers with a hoarse voice.

“I know, love. We’ll get you to bed, alright?”

Leonor doesn’t move an inch when he passes his arms behind her knees and shoulders to carry her, and he’s quick to praise her, to tell her how she’s perfect and how proud he is of her, but she doesn’t listen.

Is this really how she’ll spend the rest of her life? She’s asked herself that question time and time again, but the answer is always the same. There’s no escape from this place, from this life, from him. There’s nowhere to go, no one to go to. The ring on her finger suddenly feels heavy, eating at her very soul with its bright emerald circled by tiny diamonds.

A gift, he said. A prison, she heard.

Just like your eyes, he said. Just like a mirror, she heard.

Leonor doesn’t fight him when he lays her on the bed ever so gently, nor does she when he makes sure the pillows are settled comfortably behind her back, smiling at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world, or when he helps her drink the hot cup of tea he brought for her throat. Because he’s the only one taking care of her. Because he’s the only one who loves her. Because loneliness is a fate far crueler than death.

He keeps her close, trapped in his arms as he slides under the bedsheets, whispering loving nonsense, and just like every night, Leonor silently cries herself to sleep.

[owwlnations-writing-corner]

Getting back to writing

Well, let me tell you that writing is one hell of a ride.

I've always been fond of it as a way to express a lot of feelings I mostly keep for myself, and it's even more true now.

Turns out, I recently discovered the whole whump thing, and that is absolute genius. Pure gold. Utter delight. The amount of stuff put into the various whump prompts and dialogues I've read? Chef's kiss. Keep up the good work, people, you are amazing.

Though I have to admit I had to go on the urban dictionary to find out just what whumpee and whumper actually meant.

It's liberating, in a way. Turns out it is part of the stuff I always wanted to try in writing but was too scared to actually tackle, and reading it helped me relax and just get going. I'm mostly fumbling around right now, but I think I'd like to share about it some more in the future. I don't know if I'll completely turn into a whump blog, but I sure as hell want to keep writing about angst and hurt, with a dash of comfort thrown into the mix.

My absolute favorite is the whole intimate whumper thing. It's so insidious, so beautiful, so violent I just-- incredible. Please give me more. I can't wait to discover all the specificities of the whump thingy, what the tags mean, and what they imply, because everything just looks great🍒