#somewhat defiant whumpee

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Midnight

Notes: Sorry for the lack of updates. High school, my beloathed. Anyway, this is from my phone's notes, some of y'all alr read it from the gc, but here it is for those who haven't!

TW: Non-con drugging, blood mention, yandere whumper, implied touch-starvation

Everything. They could hear everything, from the careful, light patter of their bare feet on the cold ceramic, the air flowing in from the little crack in the wall, and their own erratic breathing.

They can barely see, but they've been in this damned mansion long enough to know every seemingly inconsequential detail of it by heart. They make their way almost mechanically around the place, but in a speed that would normally frustrate them, a necessary precaution.

They can't help but take one too many fleeting glances behind them, flinching at any little noise or movement of the shadows. Their heart felt like it was in their knees, beating at a speed they never knew it was capable of.

Their grip tightens on the pair of sneakers clutched in their left hand, never mind that it was 'a gift' from Whumper. Survival outweighed pride here. They have to do this, it's their only chance. The sweet, seemingly treacherous promise of freedom is the only thing that helps calm their nerves, stops them from falling in an unconscious heap on the floor after being paralysed with fear.

They finally make it to the door, feeling the rush of adrenaline course through their veins as they unlock it, the sweet taste of the midnight air on their tongue, its coolness feeling great on their burning face, the all-encompassing euphoria of freedom pulsing through them like a chemical injected swiftly into their veins. . .

Oh so beautiful, oh so short-lived. They feel a steady grip around their form, neither harsh nor painful, but firm and impossible to break out of.

Whumper lets out an amused chuckle which sends shivers down Whumpee's spine. They feel the heat radiating of their captor's sleep-warm form, not that it brings them any comfort.

"Tsk tsk, is this what we agreed upon, Whumpee? I thought you knew better than to make such a mistake. And after all I've done for you," they breathe out, mock-wistfulness lining their tone.

Whumpee's heart rate accelerates, and their whole body stiffens up in mere moments. "Oh, relax, will you?" Whumper kneads out the tension in their muscles with one hand, the other still keeping its death grip on them. They despise how their shoulders sag, how soothing the touch feels, how their body betrays them.

"Y-you h-hurt me," they stammer, furiously blinking away the tears forming on the tips of their lashes.

"I only do that when you misbehave, Whumpee," they half-growl through gritted teeth, now digging their nails into the skin, drawing blood, and it was their luck that Whumper liked to keep theirs long, and they let out a wince. At that, Whumper smirks, resuming the careful rubbing of Whumpee's back again. "How else will you learn? Rules don't stick without consequences."

Whumpee let out a strangled cry they fail to completely muffle. "Shhhh," Whumper soothes.

They produce a syringe from their pocket, filled with a strange, blue liquid. Whumpee's emerald eyes widen like saucers, and they feel their breathing hitch, and a soft whine escapes their lips.

Whumper only lets out a soft laugh, shaking their head. They inject the azure contents of the syringe straight into the now-sobbing Whumpee's bloodstream. The needle hurts like hell, and they're engulfed by a consuming dizziness as the world around them dissolved into pitch black darkness.

They wake up in their room to a hand running through their hair and a warm smile. "Care-Caretaker?" they half-yawn, voice still hoarse from sleep.

The shrill cackle, the ever-so-subtle tightening of the grip on their hair and the "No, sweetheart," provide more than enough in terms of an answer to their question."

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-whump @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @dodo-docs @vernilliom @sirrsnakesssss @starssabove

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[ccieatchildren]

Spark

Phone Notes 1

As they were about to open the door— about to make it to freedom— fingers clamped down on their wrist. A scream bubbled up in their throat, but his words cut them off.

“I rolled over and went to cuddle my wife, but they weren’t there.” A cheek nuzzled against them, “want to tell me where they went?”

Cold sweat gathered at their brow while Whumpee scrambled for a response. They gaped like a fish locked in his arms, Whumper’s fury palpable in the tense atmosphere, but no excuse came to mind. They was so close.

“Hmm? No answer.” He tightened his grip even more, leaving finger shaped bruises on their skin. “You know what I think,” Whumper’s voice dropped an octave, becoming deep and gravely with anger, “I think my pretty, little wife took my generosity for granted, sneaking out of our bed, the one I was nice enough to leave them unbound in, and took advantage of their husband’s exhaustion, not caring at all about the hard work he does to keep them here well fed, safe, and pampered. That little bitch of a wife tried to escape their loving husband for what?” Whumper was seething, each word bit out, trying, but failing, to keep his composure. “Some woman who doesn’t even realize you’re gone. A job you were forced into despite your affinity for research. A repetitive life that takes your all, but never gives anything in return. A lonely existence without someone to rely on or care for.”

He let out a long sigh. “I simply don’t understand why you would want to escape Whumpee. I have given you everything you need here. All you need is to stay with me. Why do you want to —“

Whumpee whipped around to look at him in disbelief, a scoff leaving their lips at the absurd question. “We both know why I don’t want to be here.” They wiggled out of his loosened arms, swiftly turning their back on him and walking to their— his— room. Whumpee knew when to abandon their current mission to retry again another day.

Stunned by their swift dismissal, Whumper stared after them in shock before hurrying along to their room. He hadn’t expected them to respond with such harsh indignation, and simply give up— no, just regrouping— after he caught them. Whumper had thought they would fight some more to make it out, they were right at the end after all, or at least cower under the weight of his frustration and fury. But they did neither. Their fire wasn’t as bright as before, but it hadn’t been completely put out yet. There was still a small spark eager to grow inside them, despite the months they had spent under him.

Whumper felt a crooked smile spread across his lips as he locked the bedroom door behind him. There was still a lot of fun left to have with Whumpee.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

straightjackets are so criminally underrated when it comes to whump community and I will always stand by it.

villain or defiant whumpee forced to wear a straightjacket to make sure they can’t hurt anybody, whether it be caretaker or whumper (depends on the situation), and they are so feral they scream and thrash in the garment like a maniac trying to break free.

villain or defiant whumpee forced to wear a straightjacket, but since they’re not muzzled, they threatened everybody. but what no one knows is that whumpee’s trying to still look somewhat intimidating is actually an attempt to hide the fear in their eyes.

a highly dangerous whumpee who, instead of screaming or thrashing or threatening anybody, just sits there in the corner of their cell, restrained by a straightjacket. they seem disturbingly calm and quiet, but even with the straightjacket on, no one really dares to enter their cell.

injured whumpee who just completely gives up they remain unresponsive in their straightjacket, utterly at the mercy of caretaker (or whumper, depends on the situation).

a wounded, poor whumpee who is so out of it that they don’t know they are rescued and are safe with caretaker now. their struggle leaves caretaker no choice but to put them in a straightjacket so that they can’t hurt themself.

or, hear me out, hero caretaker freeing villain whumpee from their straightjacket. hero knows this is risky and is probably a very bad idea, but they still choose to free villain whumpee anyway, because they can see how uncomfortable villain is in the garment, and because villain doesn’t currently pose as a threat to them. could this be a grave mistake on hero’s end? yes. but could this also lead to one of the most delicious slow burn enemies to lovers fics ever written? absolutely yes.

[chicken-noodle-whump]

Whump prompt #002

Sleep deprivation. Whumper is something of a 'scientist' and wants to see the effect on a human body.

24 hours. Whumpee's sleepy and somewhat more irritable, but puts up weak defense when Whumper hurts them. They're forced to write a paragraph about themselves, and Whumpee's handwriting is a messy scrawl littered with cross-outs.

36 hours. Whumpee is lying weak on the wall of their cell, trembling a little, bruise-like circles under the eyes. Everytime Whumper says something Whumpee takes a moment to respond, as though they don't understand it at first. They've been defiant, but are now quiet and obedient. They want to sleep so, so badly, but Whumper won't let them. Whumpee falls unconscious for ten minutes, and nothing will wake them. They're severely punished after.

48 hours. Whumpee has been silent but all of a sudden screams, thrashing and clawing at something that isn't there. They start panicking, crushing themselves in the corner of the cell, shivering and ice-cold hands over red-rimmed eyes. When Whumpee is finished with that hallucination, they have to write the same paragraph, but Whumpee can't seem to write a thing. They can't even remember who they are. The periods of unconsciousness happen thrice more, and are seemingly inevitable.

72 hours. Whumpee is much more rejuvenated the next day, holding animated conversations with the person they can't see. Their shaking is uncontrollable and they take no notice of the Whumper, not even when hit. There's periods where Whumpee is stone silent and staring at a point in the distance, but quickly picks up the conversation, laughing in a cracking voice.

96 hours. Whumpee is slightly more aware and begging, pleading for rest, but is denied...

[whumpy-wyrms]

The Last Lab Rat #14: Time Flies

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content: lab whump, captivity, sleep deprivation, escape, derealization, gore, gruesome murder, death, needles, mind control, defiant winged test subject whumpee, creepy scientist carewhumper

YAY!! YIPPEEEE!!!!!!! 😈😈😈😈

— 

Tonight was the night, Dew decided. Tonight was the night he’d finally escape.

Earlier that day, he and Sasha silently communicated that they were ready. All Dew had to do now was wait until the snake slithered through the vents and into his room once Anton had gone to sleep. And then… Escape. Their plan was flawless: Crawl through the tight, dark and claustrophobic air ducts, as quiet and quickly as possible, all the way up to the surface.

All he had to do was exit the vents into Anton’s cabin, a place he was only somewhat familiar with, and steal that mind-controlling device from the scientist, then make his way outside as quiet as he’d ever have to be. All he had to do was not be seen, or heard, or caught, or hurt. All Dew had to do was escape, and then he would be free.

Dew had the relatively legible map of the air ducts memorized by now, but Sasha knew it best, so they would lead the way. Dew wasn’t going to bring anything with him. As much as he loved his music, and his sketchbook, and his ghost light, and his… chicken, it was all too much of a liability. All Dew would have with him were his glasses, clothes on his back, and his wings that made the whole escape possible.

He didn’t care if Anton found his plans in that notepad; he’d be long gone by then. He didn’t care that, technically, he’d have no evidence of ever being friends with Sasha, except the memories to hold on tightly to. Dew wished he could bring his sketchbook, wished that it wouldn’t be doomed to be buried deep underneath the ground in the lab forever. Dew’s art was a part of him, does that mean a part of him would always be stuck down there too?

…Dew supposed that whether or not he brought his sketchbook with him, it was true. A part of Dew would always be stuck in that lab. But the rest of him deserved to be free. He wouldn’t let himself be stuck in the past and let the scientist continue to ruin his life.

So that night, after Dew had fallen asleep on the couch and was carried back to his room by Anton after a surprisingly fun birthday party, Dew woke up. He lay awake waiting for Sasha to show up. And as it turned out, they slithered through the vents a lot faster than Dew thought.

“Ssspp!” Sasha hissed, getting Dew’s attention from the vents. “This is it, Dew! Are you ready?!”

“Yeah,” Dew whispered, more determined than he’d ever been. “I’m ready.”

“Sweet! Anton’s sound asleep, so this should be easy!”

“Sasha,” Dew whispered, voice shaking. “You really sure this will work?”

“Of course it will!” Sasha unlatched the vents with their tail, and peaked their head through. “Now hurry up, the sky is waiting for you!”

“O-okay! Let’s do this!” Dew took one last drink of water from the sink, and looked around the room he’d spent the last few months trapped in. He glanced out the window to the dark and empty lab and shuddered. He wouldn’t miss this place. Dew flew upwards, through the vent and into the air ducts.

The journey to the surface was simple and familiar; it was what Dew and Sasha had been practicing for the past few weeks now. They knew all the twists and turns and dead ends and drops and exits. They knew the way out, so they made no detours. They kept going.

Dew ignored that feeling of dread deep in the pit of his stomach, like something bad was going to happen, because it didn’t matter. He couldn’t go back now, and he wasn’t going to.

Dew couldn’t wait to see his friends, especially after his birthday yesterday. They were all probably so worried for him, wondering where he was. But he’d surprise them tonight!

They made it to the exit after about an hour of crawling through the cold metal tunnels. Dew never knew how claustrophobic he could be, especially with the hope that he’d soon stretch his wings and fly through the sky.

Sasha opened the latch with their tail and slithered through, letting Dew into the living room of Anton’s cabin. They were both silent, as if they rehearsed this situation countless times in their minds, and knew that any sort of talking would only reveal themselves. But that was okay, because Dew knew exactly what he had to do next.

And he was more terrified than he had ever been in his life.

Dew tiptoed to Anton’s room, taking anxious glances at Sasha on his shoulders every few seconds. He passed a few large windows, but held back from hopping out just yet. He didn’t want this to end exactly how it did last time. Sasha told him Anton was not a light sleeper, and that if they both kept quiet, this would be easy. Just in and out, quick and easy, no need to get worked up about it.

Dew twisted the doorknob, and pushed the door open with a creak. He winced, but peaked his head into the scientist’s bedroom. It was too dark to notice anything; the blinds of the window were closed, letting in very little moonlight.

Sasha slithered down Dew’s body and onto the floor, quietly moving across the light green rug and climbing onto Anton’s nightstand. They gestured with their tail to what drawer the scientist kept the mind-control contraption in.

Dew nodded and started tiptoeing closer, as quietly as he could. Dew could tell the carpet was soft, softer than anything he’d touched recently. The thought made him want to snuggle up under the covers, safe and warm with no fear of being caught. But instead, he was walking across his captor’s room— while the man slept just a few feet away from him— planning to take back what was his.

Dew arrived at Sasha, who had opened the drawer that held the device. Dew swallowed thickly, glancing at the scientist sleeping next to them. Anton was facing away, curled up in a ball under the covers. The blankets shifted up and down as he breathed, blissfully unaware of what was happening next to him.

Dew reached his hand into the drawer and pulled out the device. With a click of a button, the chip in Dew’s brain would be activated, allowing Anton to control his every action with a small murmur of a command.

He held it in his hands, close to his chest as if any wrong move would activate it and wake up the scientist, leaving Dew frozen in place, caught red handed, in Anton’s own room.

Sasha saw the fearful look in Dew’s eyes and slithered up his arm and onto his shoulders, beckoning him to get the hell out of there. Dew turned around and began to tiptoe across the floor, too afraid to look back.

There was a shift, a sound of something moving behind him, and Dew all but had a heart attack. Stomach dropping, assuming he was done for, Dew peaked over his shoulder.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Anton had only rolled over in his sleep. Still, it was enough to make him book it out of there. He shut Anton’s door and raced to the front door, flinging it open and stepping outside.

“We-we did it,” Dew cried happily. “We did it!”

“Not yet, destroy the thing now!” Sasha hissed.

“Right.” Dew held the device tightly in his hand, raised his arm, and smashed it into the ground. Pieces of metal and wire exploded beneath him in every direction. It was completely destroyed. Just like that, Anton couldn’t mind-control him anymore.

Dew smiled, and looked up at the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, and Dew didn’t remember the last time he saw so many stars. He giggled, looked back down and kicked pieces of the device across the grass. He took a deep breath of the cool, fresh autumn air and stomped on the pieces, jumping up and down, laughing happily. He missed the sound of the fallen leaves crunching beneath his feet, and kicked them in the air like confetti. It was the middle of the night; the moon was full and bright, allowing Dew to see everything in the darkness. Dew loved full moons. It was beautiful.

Once he was calmed down, he turned to Sasha, who was coiled around the porch railing. “I can’t believe I really did it,” He said, smiling and sniffling.

“Please, Dew, fly away! Be free!” Sasha exclaimed happily.

“I… I will.” Dew took a glance at the sky, and looked back at Sasha. “I-I’m gonna miss you so much. Th-thank you. Thank you Sasha.”

Sasha giggled. “You’re welco—”

The front door suddenly slammed open. Anton stepped out, hair disheveled. He raised a tranquilizer gun.

Dew jumped, his wings taking full control. Sasha sprang towards the scientist, coiling their body around Anton’s face and briefly blinding him. Dew’s wings flapped rapidly through the air, mimicking his terrified, racing heart. Sasha grabbed Anton’s gun with their tail, flinging it away into the grass. Anton took a few steps forward. Dew was flying. Sasha coiled around Anton’s head, muffling his calls before he could yell out.

“Fly Dew!” Sasha cheered, ignoring Anton’s attempts to pry them off his face. “Fly!”

Dew blinked his tears away, and darted off into the sky.

. . .

Dew never looked back, scared that if he did, he’d wake up, and all of this would turn out to be a dream.

But it really was real this time, wasn’t it? Dew was flying. Dew was finally, finally free.

He cried for what felt like forever, fueled by adrenaline as his wings did all the work on spreading as much distance from him and the lab as possible. It was the fastest he’d ever flown before, and the highest. After an hour, he flew higher, away from the trees and into the clouds. The further he flew, the more clouds there were and the darker it got. Was it going to rain? Dew was giddy at the thought. Flying in the rain. How much fun would that be?

Dew soared through the forest, doing loop-de-loops in the sky. He loved the feeling of wind in his hair and space all around him. There was a flock of nighthawks, and Dew flew with them. He giggled as the birds squawked at him, as if he was one of their own.

Anyone walking through the forest would have heard loud laughter from above them, cries of happiness through the trees. Dew was celebrating his freedom with his fellow winged friends, and he couldn’t be happier.

Dew never got tired, and he never stopped. He wanted to look at the sky, at the bright full moon, but there were clouds. So he flew above the clouds, higher than he ever had, until he couldn’t see the ground. Dew looked around himself and was surrounded by complete nothingness; a vast abyss; a void. He was completely alone up there. It was only him, the beautiful moon, and the infinite stars above him to keep him company. It was the most at peace he’d ever felt with the universe. Up here, he was truly free.

Dew fell down into the clouds again, getting misted by the water droplets inside, and fell towards the trees. Catching himself at the split second, Dew did it again. And again. He was ecstatic! He was flying! This was the best day of his life!

As he soared through the sky and took in the amazing sights of everything he’s always wanted to see, always wanted to experience, Dew realized he was getting thirsty. He was still in the woods, so there was surely to be a river down there he could drink from.

Dew dropped down to the ground and landed gracefully into the dead autumn leaves. The second his legs touched the ground, he stumbled, grabbing a tree to balance him.

Oh. He was tired. As the adrenaline of escaping started to wear off, the events of the night started to catch up to him. Dew was tired, hungry, and his entire body was sore after flying that much. His wings were burning, begging to rest. His entire body was begging to rest after barely getting a few hours of sleep the past few days.

Dew walked through the forest, listening to the sounds of the wilderness. He missed the summer, having gotten it cut short. But fall was his favorite season. And hey, at least he’d be home for Halloween! Maybe he’d even get a costume in time.

He heard rushing water, and knelt down next to the creek. Dew cupped his hands and lapped up as much cool water as he could, then stood up.

Even though he had never been anywhere near this place before, he turned to a direction and started walking. And after a little while of gaining his energy back, he flew.

. . .

After what felt like forever, Dew had spotted civilization. He realized very quickly that there was a problem.

He couldn’t let himself be seen. Not by anyone. Not yet.

He’d been missing for months and would suddenly return with giant wings. No matter what sort of attention he’d get, none of it would be in his favor. He wasn’t stupid; he knew that scientists all over the world would kill for a chance to study his wings. There’d be no point in escaping just to be sucked back into another hell. Dew kept close to the clouds, hoping that if anybody looked up, they’d think he was just another bird.

Dew couldn’t believe how amazing flying felt, he almost didn’t want to stop. In the back of his mind, he’d thought about eventually having to convince his friends to move out to the countryside with him, so that way he could fly all the time without being seen. He was giddy at the thought that maybe, he’d eventually find a way to bring his friends into the sky with him.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He didn’t even know where he was, after all. But he followed the birds, and continued on his journey.

And then, high up in the night sky with the autumn air flowing through his wings, Dew spotted it: his house. His home. Where his friends would be waiting for him! Dew cried in joy as he soared downward, racing to the ground like a meteor, like a shooting star. Once he landed on trembling legs, he stumbled up to the front door.

Dew couldn’t believe it! He was out! He was back! He was home!

It had to be around 3 in the morning by now, so nobody was around to see him and his wings. Dew looked at the house; the place he’d been dreaming of coming back to for so long, and it didn’t feel real. Dew tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

Of course it was; his friends knew how to keep themselves safe, unlike him. If only he knew of the dangers of the night, maybe he never would have been kidnapped by the scientist. But it was no use contemplating the past. Dew instinctively checked his pockets; empty, of course. So he fished out the spare key from under the doormat, and unlocked the door. Dew didn’t bother knocking, or ringing the doorbell, or even announcing his return when he opened the door and peeked inside. He lived here too, after all.

Dew was still standing in the doorway. He took a deep breath, and then a careful step inside as if the floor would drop out and he’d fall into the vents back at the lab, as if he was still crawling through them like he’d been doing every night and all this was just his mind playing tricks on him.

But that didn’t happen, so he took another step. And then another. And then he whipped around and slammed the door shut, wincing at the loud noise it made, but quickly locking it closed. There! The scientist couldn’t get him in here! He was safe!

Dew laughed quietly, wiping the tears from his eyes. He was really home. He was home!

Dew wanted nothing more than to collapse in his warm bed and snuggle with his friends and pets in the comfort and safety of his home, because god, he was so fucking tired.

Dew took a few more steps though the house until he smelt something strange. Cake? He sniffed into the air. That was odd, but he ignored it. He walked down the hallway, not bothering to kick off his shoes he no longer had, so he didn’t notice his old pair lying next to his friends’. Dew entered the kitchen, and stopped in his tracks.

All around the room was a mess of colorful streamers and confetti. There were balloons littered around the floor and some floated to the ceiling. A half eaten birthday cake sat on the counter. Dew tripped on a piece of stray wrapping paper as he walked up to it. Written on the cake in light blue icing were the words, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY…” and he was sure there was supposed to be a name on the other side, but it had been eaten.

Right away, Dew realized there was something wrong. He expected to find his friends waiting for him, excited to finally see him after so long. He expected a reunion filled with tears of joy and happiness. But he instead got birthday party decorations, and his friends were nowhere in sight.

Dew walked further inside his house until he entered the living room. The TV was still on, playing episodes of his favorite show— the same one he had watched last night— but the volume was turned down so it could hardly be heard. Hanging on the walls was a sign that also said happy birthday, with balloons in the shape of a two and a three floating next to it. 

Dew frowned, racking his brain on what all this could mean. Sure, his birthday was yesterday, but Dew had been gone— missing— for months. Surely his friends weren’t just celebrating his birthday without him. That wouldn’t make any sense. And why do all this when they could be looking for him? Why waste time with cake and… a pile of opened birthday presents… when he wasn’t there with them?

Dew’s mind raced. What the fuck was happening? Who was this all for? Why was his birthday celebrated without him? Who had opened his presents? Eaten his cake? Who did they sing to? Who made his wish?

His head pounded. He had been awake for… a very long time. Dew hadn’t gotten a full night's rest in who knows how long. Was he hallucinating? Had his sleep deprivation finally caught up to him?

Dew looked down, and his eyes widened. Sleeping on the couch, snuggled up close in a warm blanket and Sir Bonkles sleeping between them, were Dew’s best friends Hayden and Layla.

It was the first time Dew saw his friends in months, and all he wanted to do was hug them. But now, Hayden and Layla looked so peaceful sleeping there, he didn’t want to wake them up. So he didn’t. Dew was so tired now, maybe he should just ignore all of this. Maybe he should just go to sleep and pretend everything was back to normal. Besides, he didn’t feel like explaining how he got his giant wings right now. He’d rather sleep in his own bed, and rest now that he was home and safe.

Dew numbly walked to his bedroom and shut the door. Everything felt like a haze. He slid down the wall and curled up on his soft carpet. He couldn’t bring himself to cry, he just wanted to sleep.

Dew pulled himself from the floor and walked to his bunk bed. He climbed his ladder, and was just about to collapse into his soft bed when he froze— almost falling backwards onto the floor and needing to flap his wings to keep himself from losing balance.

“W-what?” He breathed. The blankets in front of him were clumped up as if there was a body underneath. As if he was sleeping there already. Dew raised his arm and poked at the lump, then shook it, then squeezed his hand and ripped the blanket from the sleeping form.

For a split second, Dew thought his friends had replaced him. Let a new friend move into their home and take his place, take his role and name and identity and birthday. But they would never do that. They loved Dew.

…But apparently not enough to tell apart the real one from the fake.

His sleep deprived brain must be making him hallucinate; that was the only explanation. Dew blinked a few times, wiped his eyes, and even pinched himself. He was still there. He wasn’t hallucinating, and this wasn’t a dream.

“Hey,” Dew said quietly, voice cracking. The body stirred, but didn’t wake up. “Hey!” He said, loud enough to wake himself up but quiet enough for his friends in the living room not to hear.

There was a sleepy murmur. The blankets shifted again as whoever was there rolled over and opened his eyes sleepily, just waking up from a peaceful slumber. And then he noticed Dew, and his entire body went rigid.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, both frozen in time taking in each other's identical features. The person in front of Dew had his same brown eyes, his same wavy brown hair, his same dark freckles, and the same look of pure terror and confusion on his face.

But there was something different. Dew looked at the man and saw himself, sure, but before. The person he saw was full of innocence and obliviousness. He did not know the horrors that Dew had faced during the last two and a half months. He did not know the pain and agony and fear Dew had to endure. He did not know the escape attempts and homesickness and how much he could possibly miss his friends. He did not know what Dew had fucking gone through.

“W-what? What the fuck? Who are you?” The fake Dew asked, sitting up and wincing as he hit his head on the ceiling. Dew was frozen, staring back in disbelief. His stare must’ve been intense, because it caused the person on his bed to back up into the corner, afraid. He was scared of Dew.

That’s right. Dew probably looked much different, didn’t he? Eyes tired and sunken from his lack of sleep, and face filled with months worth of constant fear and pain. The giant white wings protruding from his back, along with a strange blue sweater. His pants and socks were now muddy and torn from hours spent trekking through the forest.

Looking at the “Dew” on the bed was like looking into a mirror of the past. A past so far gone that Dew could hardly recognise himself. It was as if nothing had changed. As if nothing bad had ever happened to him. As if the past two and a half months were completely erased.

Dew caught himself staring— almost similar to how Anton always stared at him— because there was no fucking way any of this could be real.

“Who are you?” Dew asked brokenly.

“What? I– I’m Dew!” The man exclaimed, looking even more confused. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing in my house? Why do you look like– like… What’s going on?”

Dew ignored his questions and hopped off the ladder onto the carpet, wanting to get some space to think. He looked around the room numbly, ignoring the other Dew who had started crawling closer to the edge of the bunk bed, watching his every move.

Laying on the floor was his old hoodie, the one he recognised instantly because of the patches that were sewn into the fabric. It was the hoodie he was wearing when he was taken to the lab, the hoodie that Anton had to “throw away” for an unknown reason and replace it with hospital gowns and blue sweaters.

Dew turned his gaze elsewhere in his bedroom. There were new polaroid photos hanging up on the walls, likely taken by Layla. Dew walked closer to inspect them, noticing that he, Layla and Hayden were all in them. But Dew never remembered getting those photos taken. And he knew for sure they had never gone to whatever amusement park they were at in those photos.

He looked so happy, they all looked so happy. There were no photos of just Layla and Hayden, it was all three. Even in some love boat ride, it was the three of them. Dew’s stomach turned.

Dew ignored the sound of movement from behind him, the sound of somebody slowly and carefully crawling out of the top bunk and down the ladder. He ignored the fearful and curious eyes staring directly at him, staring at his wings. He ignored the other man standing there silently, unmoving and afraid.

Sitting on the nightstand was Dew’s old headphones and MP3 player. He could tell because they still had old, faded minecraft stickers on them, unlike the ones Anton had given him. The only thing that was different— new— were the glasses sitting on the nightstand. Anton never had taken Dew’s glasses away.

There was a card on the nightstand as well; a birthday card. Dew reached for it, and looked inside.

“Hey!” The clone said, marching closer to him and snatching the card from Dew’s hands. “That’s– that’s mine…” His voice trailed off once Dew snapped his head in his direction, silenting him with his gaze.

“What does it say?” Dew demanded.

“It– It doesn’t matter! What even– can you just tell me what’s going on? Why are you here? Who are you?”

“I’m you!” Dew exclaimed. “Can’t you tell?! Can’t you fucking recognise me?! Or did Anton take away every sense of self when he made you?!”

“I– I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You’re– You’re a clone of me! Y-you have to be! Probably made by the scientist after he took me! This is my house! This is my room! These are my things! This is my fucking life! You can’t just– you can’t– just pretend to be me! Pretend to feel how I feel, and act how I act! You can’t!”

Dew exploded in pent up tears and rage. He felt like this must be a dream, because the other Dew looked so scared, and Dew only ever looked like that when Anton was around. But he wasn’t here, because Dew was home.

“Am I dead?” The impostor asked. “Are you an angel?”

“No,” Dew spat. “We’re– we’re not dead. Everything’s fine.”

Nothing about this situation was fine. Not only was Dew sleep deprived, tired, anxious, confused and afraid, but he was also standing face to face with some sort of clone that had taken his place.

It was silent for another moment, and then, “Are those wings real?” The clone asked.

Dew’s eyes shot up, glaring at him. “It doesn’t matter,” He gritted between his teeth. This person– this thing had no idea what Dew had been through; the pain getting those wings had caused him. And this man was staring in awe at something he would never begin to understand, as if Dew was just some animal to gawk at.

"Are you real?"

Dew wasn't the only one wondering that, then. “I’m not sure,” He said blankly. Because it was true. For all he knew, this could all be a dream— hell, it felt like that more than reality. Dew would be more surprised if this was real.

“Are you me? Like, like from the future or something? Really, what’s going on?” 

The questions didn't cease, and when the clone reached out to touch Dew's wings, he finally snapped.

“NO!” Dew exclaimed, slapping the man’s hand away. “Don’t you fucking dare touch my wings! You don’t know anything! You don’t know what I had to go through to get here, to– to get here and find you in my place!

“You’re not me! You’re nothing like me! You’re just– just a lie! Just a fake! You’re– you’re not su-supposed to be here! You’re not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to- to be free and with m-my friends an-and—” Dew’s words trailed off into sobs.

“...Are you okay?” The clone asked softly. Dew looked up, not realizing he was sobbing uncontrollably until his wings wrapped around his body in a tight hug. He was asking him if he was okay. After everything, after stealing his life, his clone was asking him if he was okay.

Dew’s sobs came to a stop in disbelief. He looked up, and saw the clone standing there with a thoughtful expression, someone who was trying to be nice. Pity.

“Do you want a hug?” The other Dew asked, so so gently that Dew forgot about everything and decided that, yes, he did want a hug, a hug from anyone else that wasn’t the scientist. It had been so long since the last one.

Dew nodded, wiping his tears as best he could and opened his wings. The clone stepped closer tentatively, and wrapped his arms around the other. He squeezed him tight, and Dew hugged him back, his wings wrapping around them both in a comforting embrace. Dew sobbed into his own shoulder, hugged his own body, and felt his own heart beating in a chest that wasn’t his.

But this wasn’t real comfort. If this was real, Dew couldn’t go on like this anyway. The world wasn’t big enough for two Dews; his friends wouldn’t be able to adjust to being friends with two of the same person, much less while having to adjust to… everything that had happened to him. Like having wings, for starters.

And Dew couldn’t forget what this impostor did. He stole his friends, he stole his life. He was the reason nobody was looking for him, and probably never had been. He was the reason Dew was trapped in that hell for so long, filled with a false hope that eventually, somebody would find and rescue him! But because of this clone, nobody even knew Dew was gone in the first place.

Dew’s eyes opened and drifted to his nightstand. He reached towards the drawer, and opened it quietly. There sat a small pocket knife, one he had always kept for self defense, in case anyone ever broke into his room during the night.

He never thought he’d be using it against himself, as the person who had broken in. But he also never thought he’d be experimented on by a mad scientist for two and a half months straight, and yet here he was.

Dew didn’t hesitate. He stabbed the knife into his clone’s back, making him gasp out in pain and push his arms against Dew’s body. Dew tightened his grip around him, turning the hug that had just been something comforting into something that would lead to his demise.

“St-STOP!” The clone shrieked, and Dew twisted the knife deeper into his back. The clone hissed in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and flailing under his grip.

Dew pushed his clone to the ground and pounced on top of him, planting a hand over his mouth to muffle the screams. The clone let out more strangled grunts as Dew pulled the knife out from underneath him, causing blood to spray all over them both. He stabbed him again. Tears and blood painted both of their faces until they couldn't tell who was who or what was what anymore.

Dew dug the knife into his chest and stared into those identical, wide and scared brown eyes until the light behind them went out, and he was once again the only Dew left in the world.

Dew didn't realize he had killed the man until he found his room eerily silent. The body lay still on the floor, limbs sprawled out in what one can only imagine as a desperate but futile struggle to get away. Dew sat in shock on hands and knees over his own body, tears dripping onto his own face until his sleepless brain started to register what had just happened.

Dew stood up, rapidly trying to get away from the corpse when he forgot he was still holding the knife to his chest, pulling it out of the body as he stood. Blood sloshed out and around the corpse in a pool or red.

Dew dropped the knife to the ground in disgust and horror, terrified about what he had just done. The knife clattered to the floor, laying neatly in the bloodied carpet glistening in the moonlight that shone through the windows.

Dew collapsed to the floor in despair, curling into a ball and staring at his own corpse for what felt like forever. Time and space blended together in a haze and Dew clutched his pounding head in his hands, wishing for his suffering to finally end.

He killed him. He killed him. He never wanted to kill anyone! This wasn’t supposed to happen! He wasn’t a murderer!

Dew was so lost in his own mind that he hadn’t heard the footsteps making their way through the house and to his room.

“Well…” Dread panged in Dew’s chest when he heard a familiar voice coming from the doorway. “I see you’ve met the clone.”

Dew’s blood ran cold. There was nothing else he could do.

“Dewey, Dewey, Dewey…” A dark chuckle. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” Dew tearfully looked up to see Anton, standing in his doorway.

“No,” Dew choked out, hyperventilating. “No, no no no no!” He backed up with frantic pleads, all in a hushed tone as to not wake his friends in the other room. “No, g-go away. Plea-please go away.”

Anton didn’t stop walking, and Dew was quickly backed into the wall. He pressed his back against it, ignoring his wings’ protests, just wishing he could disappear and never come back. His hysterical sobs didn’t cease, and Anton was now standing only inches away.

“L-l-leave me alone,” Dew cried between sobs. “Ge-get out, go aw-away. Please please just go away.” Dew saw Anton’s hand move from the corner of his eye, and he slid down the wall in defeat, expecting a needle to be drawn.

Instead, Anton knelt down and put his hands over Dew’s mouth, hushing his cries. Dew looked up in surprise, his wide eyes filled with fear and desperation, silently pleading up at the scientist.

“Shh,” Anton cooed. “Wouldn’t want to wake up your little friends.”

Dew blinked heavily, more tears falling down his cheeks and all over Anton’s hand, but he didn’t pull away.

“Nice room you got here.” Anton spoke quietly, almost gently, but there was a venom in his voice. He clicked his tongue. “Too bad everything’s covered in blood. Do you realize the mess you’ve made?”

Dew sobbed harder into Anton’s hand. He squeezed it tighter. “Be quiet, Dew.” Anton warned. “If your friends wake up, they won’t get out of this. Behave. You can do that, right?”

Dew squeezed his eyes shut, more tears falling, and nodded his head.

Dew felt more terrified than he had ever been in his life, which made his next moves strange. He slowly brought his hands up and put them on Anton’s wrist, slowly pulling the man’s hand down from over his mouth. Anton let him.

“P-please,” Dew whimpered. He spoke as quiet as he possibly could, leaving his voice as nothing but a small squeak. He was completely covered in blood, both his own, and the other’s. “Please, An-Anton. Please don’t hurt m-my friends, I’ll– I’ll do anything.”

Anton sighed. “What am I going to do with you? I won’t. Let's go back to the lab, I'll clean up your mess later.”

“...Back to the lab?” Dew whimpered.

“Yeah? Where else would we go?”

“I-I can’t go back there. Please.”

“You can. You will.”

Dew didn’t have the energy to argue with the scientist, and he didn’t know if he ever could again.

Anton patted his head. “Good,” He said, and smiled. Dew looked to the ground in utter defeat.

The scientist stood up and stretched. “Your sense of direction is astounding, I'm surprised you found your way back.”

Dew stood up on wobbly legs after him, sticking close to the wall. “...How- How'd you get here so fast?”

Anton shrugged, “Doesn’t matter.” He looked down at the dead body in curiosity and amazement. “Man, you really did a number on that guy, huh. Oh well. I can always make another one.” Anton chuckled.

“You cloned me.” Dew’s voice broke, face full of betrayal.

“I did tell you nobody would be looking for you, didn’t I? I know you have a lot of questions, and I don’t blame you. But I’ll answer them when we get back to the lab, alright?”

“...What are you gonna do to me?” Dew whimpered.

“What do you mean?”

“I– I escaped.”

“Ohh.” Anton sighed and ruffled his hair. “I knew about the vents, Dew. I know how hard you two worked on your little scheme, and I didn’t wanna ruin the excitement.”

“Y-you…” Dew felt sick to his stomach. “You knew?”

“Of course. I decided to play your little game. I wanted to see what would happen if I let you have some control.” Anton chuckled. “I didn’t think it’d be murder. I can’t say I’m not impressed. But you had to leave right after I threw you a whole birthday party? That hurts.”

Dew didn’t know if this could get any worse. His life was over, in more ways than one. Anton knew he was lying the whole time. There was absolutely nothing he could hide from him. There was no point in fighting anymore, Anton would always win. This was the worst day of his life.

“Like I said, I’ll answer your questions later. Let’s go.”

Dew tried to walk out his bedroom door, but just thinking about walking past his sleeping friends made him feel sick. He leaned against the doorframe, trying to gain his balance again. Anton noticed his struggles and walked up to him.

“You must be exhausted, huh? C’mere.” Dew didn’t resist as Anton picked him up into a bridal carry. The scientist walked out of Dew’s bloody bedroom and passed his friends on the couch. Dew sobbed louder when he caught sight of tranquilizer darts sticking out of their necks.

Oh. That’s why they didn’t wake up from all that screaming. Oh. Anton had been there the whole time.

“C’mon man,” Anton sighed. “I thought I told you to be quiet? Your friends are fine. I’ll get everything cleaned up before they wake up, promise.”

“Okay,” Dew squeaked. He hoped, with every ounce of hope he had left, that Anton was telling the truth.

Anton looked down at his test subject and tilted his head. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” Anton asked, though he already knew the answer. Dew nodded numbly. “...I can help you sleep. If you let me.”

Dew looked up. “Just– Just make it stop. Make everything stop.”

Anton nodded thoughtfully, pleased that his test subject was finally on the same page. “Sleep, Dewey,” Anton whispered into his ear, and continued walking.

And just like every other time Anton decided to control his mind, Dew started to succumb to sweet unconsciousness. His eyelids were growing heavy, and it was hard to keep his head up as he was carried out the front door. Dew’s frantic thoughts began to disperse, and his breathing grew slow and even; relaxed. His head lolled to the side, resting on Anton’s shoulder as he felt rain pouring down on them both. He looked to the sky, the stars, the moon, knowing he’d never see them again.

Dew could hardly keep his eyes open when Anton arrived at a car, which was parked on the street in front of his house. He couldn’t move his body when Anton laid him down on the backseat, and covered him with a blanket. The only noise he could hear was the rain pouring down as they drove into the night. And then, Dew finally fell asleep.

. . .

Sawyer had spent all night thinking about what Dew had told him earlier, at the surprise birthday party he and his friends had thrown for him. Sawyer missed him too, more than anything. Sure, Dew was happy now, with Hayden and Layla. He had confessed his year long crush on them only a few weeks ago at that amusement park they went to, and they took it as well as they possibly could. Dew was happy now, and he didn’t need Sawyer.

…But that didn’t mean Sawyer couldn’t still try. They were all polyamorous, surely they’d have room for one more, right?

Sawyer would tell Dew how much he means to him, like Dew had told him earlier. It would probably be awkward– because Sawyer was probably the most socially awkward person ever. But he couldn’t stand to hide his feelings any longer, even if it did ruin a lifelong friendship with his favorite person in the world. But knowing Dew, he’d never let that happen anyway! There was really nothing for Sawyer to worry about.

Sawyer ran through the streets back to Dew’s house, choosing to wait no more. If he wanted things to change, he would make them change himself.

Sawyer arrived at the front door, but hesitated when he heard talking coming from the other side. Sawyer wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but the voices sounded… off. He recognised Dew’s in an instant, of course, having spent his entire life listening to him talk about anything and everything. He knew Dew like the back of his hand, which made what he was hearing horrifying.

His friend sounded utterly terrified. He was crying– no, sobbing. Sawyer hadn’t heard Dew cry like that since his parents passed away years ago. Something terrible was happening and Sawyer was ready to break down the door just to comfort his best friend. But then he heard another voice, this one unfamiliar.

Sawyer put his ears to the door, trying to listen in. But the words were hushed and muffled. His heart sped up. What did this mean? What was going on in there? A very intense gut feeling stopped Sawyer from opening the door to find out. He backed away from the door when he heard the footsteps and voices getting closer. And when the doorknob started to twist open, Sawyer leaped into the bushes.

He cursed at himself. How anti-social could he be? To hide in the bushes at his friend’s house to avoid confronting him– while he was obviously going through something terrible, no less? Fuck, Sawyer wasn’t ready for any of this. It was best to just go back home.

He started crawling out of the bushes, heading towards the back of the house when he stopped in his tracks. He noticed the voices had stopped talking, but they were outside. Shit– did he get spotted? Sawyer cringed. How embarrassing…

Sawyer peaked over his shoulder and saw somebody facing away from him, walking towards the street. He crawled forward to get a closer look, stomach dropping in horror at what he saw.

It was Dew– it had to be! But he was drenched in blood and had two giant wings sticking out of his back. He was crying. But he looked so tired, resting his head against the shoulder of the person carrying him– someone Sawyer didn’t recognise.

Something was very, very wrong. Sawyer decided against confronting them, or going inside and making himself known to whoever else could be in there. He had to get out of there, or he felt like his blood would be added to the mix. Sawyer ran through the rain, back towards his home.

Sawyer and Dew had been best friends since childhood. Sawyer still remembered the day they met on the playground during recess. He couldn’t imagine a life without Dew. But now Dew was in trouble, and he was the only person who could save him. Sawyer knew something had been off with his friend the past few months, but he didn’t know what. Now, his suspicions were confirmed, and he was terrified.

The only thing Sawyer knew for sure, was that no matter what it took, he’d get his best friend back.

— 

fun fact: this was one of the first Dew and Anton scenarios i ever came up with, way way back before they even had names! hahahaha! anyway i think this is like the best thing i’ve ever written i hope u all liked it hehehe :)

taglist: @whumpinthepot @shywhumpauthor @whump-me-all-night-long @whump321 @fuckcapitalismasshole @sorry-i-spaced @theelvishcowgirl @catnykit @tettlod @delicateprincepaper @rejectedbytheempty @mijajaj @anothertawogsideblog @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox @parasitebunny @bottlecapreader @thecareandkeepingofwhumpees @inkwell-and-dagger @vidawhump

let me know if you want to be removed or added to the taglist!

[pigeonwhumps]

Introduction and masterlist

Writing commissions

Hi! I'm Ruth, they/them pronouns, 25, and I enjoy most types of whump! I do art, graphic design and writing.

I try my best to tag, but if I miss a content warning you'd like added, please just shoot me an ask! I won't tag lady whump as a content warning, but anything else I will if you ask.

Favourite tropes:

RECOVERY WHUMP!!!

Found family

Gagging

Muzzles

Pet whump

Whumper pressing down on whumpee's back to keep them from getting up

Branding

Whipping

Caretaker turned whumpee/whumpee turned caretaker

Hero/villain whump

Tall whumpee/small caretaker (or vice versa)

Tall whumpee/small whumper

G/t whump

Whumpee thinks caretaker is their new whumper

Incompetent/clueless caretaker (they're trying their best but they have no idea they're doing)

Non-human whumpee

Immortal whumpee

Human weapon

Picky:

Major character death

Mouth whump

Pregnancy whump

Squicks:

Graphic tooth whump

Everything taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Other taglists part 1 / part 2

Masterlist

↓ under cut ↓

BBU:

Bug and Company

Bug's 18 when they're handed over to BetterPets by their foster parents, going through various owners and sets of training before being freed for good. This is their life, and that of those they've touched.

Contains: BBU, pet whump, lady whump (Maria), abandonment

Finding Safety

After being kidnapped, dumped at WRU, and shipped to the USA, Cass isn't having a good time. And then Tyrone takes him to be his ring-fighting Guard Dog, alongside Aaliyah, a Romantic he already owns. Now he's definitely not having a good time, and nor is Aaliyah. After losing everything, they need to build their lives again, but with Aaliyah not remembering her past and Cass unable to reach his, it's a challenge, even with assistance.

Contains: disabled whumpees (Cass becomes an ambulatory wheelchair user and has problems with his eyesight, and Aaliyah is non-verbal), lady whump, BBU, pet whump

Pets of the Silver Screen

In the silent film era and the early days of the WRU, young pet number 95, real name Eloise, is bought by film producer Hayes Fletcher to star in his productions. A few years later, he hires Agatha from Foster Montgomery to be her stunt double (read: to scar in scenes where it's necessary, because Eloise is too valuable), and the two young woman strike up a somewhat unwilling friendship.

Over a decade of working on- and off-screen later, it's the roaring twenties, pet liberation is starting to grow, and they're more than ready to leave. Enter Ira Waterhouse – a woman who's had just about enough of the pet industry and is willing to take in two runaways.

But WRU is expanding, and running a newly-acquired safehouse in London's docklands isn't a piece of cake. Especially when the two former pets Ira's running it with are a) famous, b) wanted for burning down a film studio, and c) even more traumatised than she originally assumed...

Contains: BBU, pet whump, lady whump, multiple whumpees, historical whump

Sanctuary

Anita and her grandmother Indira are thrown into the world of pet ownership when Theo, a profoundly deaf unwanted box boy, is mistakenly delivered to the animal shelter Anita works at.

Meanwhile, 785, Theo's bonded, is now struggling to survive Eleanor alone.

As long as she's useful, anyway.

When 785 is refurbished and sold, meeting a defiant illegal pet named Cass along the way, she ends up living alongside a Pet who seems to know her far too well. Meanwhile, Theo discovers that the person he cares about most in the world barely remembers his existence, and Anita is in way over her head.

Contains BBU, pet whump, whumpee thinks caretaker is their new whumper, recovery whump, amnesia, lady whump, disabled whumpees (Theo's deaf and Lea has a stutter)

Sam and Lucan 'verse:

Kara and Edith

When Kara, a declawed werewolf and escaped slave, is given a gift card for Swift Auction House, she buys Edith, a 700-year-old vampire who has been owned by one family for about 600 of those years. Taking her home with the determination that she won't have to recover alone like Kara did, they now have to learn to live freely together, which is no easy task for either of them, although at least they have each other, and Amanda to help.

But nothing lasts forever.

Contains: pet whump, whumpee thinks caretaker is their new master, found family, recovery whump, non-human whumpees, werewolf whumpees (Kara, Nuru), vampire whumpee (Edith), disabled character (Kara), whumpee turned caretaker, mutual caretaking, fantasy racism, lady whump

Sam and Lucan

Sam rescues Lucan, a pet-class faerie slave belonging to Caroline Jones, famous actress and prominent supporter of the continued slavery of non-humans. They're not sure what they're doing, only that it needs to be done, and Lucan's trust in both them and Amanda is hard-earned, his eventual friendship even more so.

But nothing lasts forever.

Contains: pet whump, whumpee thinks caretaker is their new master, found family, recovery whump, non-human whumpee, fae whumpee (Lucan), disabled characters (Lucan, Sam), slavery, BBU-adjacent I guess, fantasy racism, PTSD

Torturing Fangs

The Mask livestreams the vampire Fangs' torture, with input from commenters.

Interactive via asks (asks = livestream comments)

Contains: non-human whumpee (vampire), lady whump, dehumanisation, 'it' as a pronoun for dehumanisation, torture

Other whump series:

A Death in the Family

When his estranged father dies, Tristam, against his better judgement, attends the will reading, and ends up leaving with long-term bloodbag Sunday Afolayan and Eldrida, his father's former employee (and a terribly mistreated one at that, it turns out).

Even with Aileen and Evelyn's expert advice and friendship, it's tricky to bring Sunday back from the depths of his enthrallment, and Eldrida's struggling too. Six years under the cruel fist of Barnabas Sharpe was hard to survive.

It's a difficult recovery for both of them. But surely, things can't get worse now.

Contains: vampire whumper, non-human whumpee (vampire), lady whump, conditioned whumpee, disabled characters (Tristam has ADHD, Eldrida has anophthalmia, and Sunday has joint problems, a badly-healed arm, and an absence epilepsy-like condition), recovery whump, multiple whumpees

Botanist Whumpee

When the rich and powerful Sebastian Beaumont offers Alyssa a place to stay, she doesn’t expect to become his captive for three years. And when Silver rescues her at a party… well, the only thing she’s absolutely sure is better is that they don’t have a basement. They don’t have much of anything, actually. And she doesn’t know whether she can trust them or not, but she stays anyway. With no-one left to care about her, and Beaumont using all his money and connections to search for the pair of them, where else is she supposed to go?

Contains: recovery whump, captivity, lady whump, somewhat defiant whumpee, found family, intimate whumper

Cian and Row

In a world where superpowers are real, heroes and villains exist, and there's a large black market in powered people, Rowan's been enslaved for as long as they can remember. They're befriended when they're three by Cian Sinclair, a local empathic five year old, and at the age of eleven is rescued and adopted by the Sinclairs. Years later they become a supervillain, disappear for five years and reappear to reunite with their family, and attract another enemy, one far more powerful than their previous captors and obsessed with their healing powers.

Contains: slavery, PTSD, minor whump, past minor whump, immortal whumpee, discrimination, villain whump

Immortal Cannon Fodder

Phoenix, an immortal hero, joins a team that hurts them and uses them as cannon fodder. But their teammates are only doing what's necessary to help them all survive. Phoenix's regular sacrifices are necessary. And it's not like they've got anywhere else to go anyway.

It takes the arrival of Kai, a wolf-shifter and telekinetic, to help them see what's going on. But a friendship and a promised eventual transfer can't fix everything.

Contains: hero whump, abuse, past abuse, immortal whumpee

MD-264N

When MD-264N, the government's best weapon, runs to avoid being decommissioned and collapses on the doorstep of a small ragtag team of rebels, it's a surprise to everyone. But despite resistance, the weapon, now known as Morgan, starts to find their place, and the rebels soon find that they'll do anything to keep them free.

Contains: living weapon, found family, dehumanisation/self dehumanisation, team dynamics, reluctant caretaker (not the main caretaker), recovery whump, caretaker whump, disabled caretaker (forearm amputee)

Out of the Frying Pan

Five years ago Elis, former bodyguard and weapon of Lord Wulfric, was rescued from a fiery death by Col and Sæwin. He now lives in relative peace with them in Sorestan, a peace that's abruptly disrupted after an unwelcome visitor brings his past colliding with the present.

Contains: medieval whump, fantasy elements, living weapon

Out of the Water

Túathal, a merman, is captured and kept prisoner by pirates for his valuable scales. While Robyn, the youngest of the crew and not very popular, takes care of him, the others only bother with his scales (and anything that makes their extraction easier). Especially James. And once the rest of the pirates discover that Robyn and Túathal have become fond of each other, things only get worse.

Contains: merwhump, pirate whump, mutual caretaking, language barrier, outcast whumpee, defiant whumpee

Survival Skills

Whumpee is captured by a Whumper who wants to teach them survival skills. Painfully.

Contains: survival skills whump, sadistic whumper

The Greatest Show on Earth

Damon and Pythias are an unwilling two-person sideshow act in The Greatest Show on Earth, Pythias forced to kill Damon multiple times a day for the entertainment of paying circus patrons. Damon has been in captivity since birth, Pythias not quite so long (although certainly long enough), and they're both ready to get out.

But the outside world is even trickier to navigate than they imagined.

Contains: non-human whumpees, multiple whumpees, immortal whumpee, lady whump, circus whump, public whump, captivity, recovery whump, temporary character death (both implied and shown at times), guilty whumpee, whumpee as caretaker

Other writing:

Non-series whump masterlist

Miscellaneous writing, art and graphics

Fanfic masterlist

BBC Merlin and Good Omens fanfic

Other stuff:

Whumpmas in July 2022 masterlist

BBU Community Days 2024 masterlist

BBU Community Days 2023 masterlist

Prompts

Ask games

Bad Things Happen Bingo

[whump3000]

Hi hi, I was the one with a scenario. It is kinda long and it's a somewhat detailed but I like it. And I hope you do too. <3

So (somewhat defiant) Whumpee ends up in a secret lab run by Whumper. They are one of dozens of people trapped there and there are several doctors and nurses to help with the experiments (some volunteering, some being forced into it one way or another.)

Caretaker is Whumpee's doctor in the lab who is sympathetic and tries to comfort them when things are particularly tough. Caretaker doesn't seem to want to be there, they mention that Whumper has blackmail but doesn't really elaborate. Throughout the time that Caretaker and Whumpee spend with each other, Caretaker starts to develop romantic feelings for them, and bit by bit Whumpee starts to reciprocate. (Though they are generally hesitant in relationships.)

Whumper seems to notice, and pushes the two together so he can further manipulate both of them. If Caretaker has a partner that is an experiment then they might be willing to do things that they otherwise wouldn't, just to save their partner some suffering. If Whumpee has a partner that is a doctor then they might be a bit more cooperative to ensure that their partner doesn't suddenly become an experiment as well.

The twist though? Caretaker is actually Whumper. They are the ones in charge of everything. They took the role of Caretaker in order to get more information and to get Whumpee more reliant on someone they trust. Thing is... Whumper/Caretaker didn't expect to actually catch feelings...

Hello anon! I love this so much!!

I love the idea of a Whumper undercover trying to get more information. And maybe being able to see this other side of Whumpee through the lens of a caretaker is what made them realize they had feelings for Whumpee in the first place.

Maybe Whumpee starts making escape plans, and they try to convince Caretaker to run away with them and get out of here. And Caretaker/Whumper has to figure out if their feelings for Whumpee will win, or if they’ll keep them here forever. Or maybe their feelings make them want to keep Whumpee here for even longer...

I’m obsessed. So much potential! Also just, the sense of betrayal Whumpee gets when they inevitably discover Whumper’s secret. Maybe it’s an oversight on Whumper’s part, or maybe it’s something they dramatically reveal. Who knows. Maybe they even use it as a part of a experiment…

[whumpdrivethru]

Hello! Can I get a group of whumpers kidnapping a whumpee to get to Caretaker, who they wanted revenge against? Thanks so much!

-- @whumperofworlds

Heyyyy! Coming right up. Thank you for choosing the whumpdrivethru. Hope you enjoy 💙

Vengeance for Your Woes

TW: Blood, bruises, kidnappingggg, restraints, light torture, drugging, unconsciousness, choking, an instance of dehumanising language, defiant whumpee, male whumpee, sadistic whumper (First Whumper), non-con touch (non-sexual), captivity, bone fractures, violence, smoking and holyyyy crap, this is the longest tw list I've ever written

Words: 1.2 k

"That is it!" First Whumper screamed, slamming their boot into the door, kicking it open.

Second Whumper groaned, massaging their left temple where a migraine was threatening to form in anticipation of one of First Whumper's frankly child-like temper tantrums. And the second the leader learned that Third Whumper hadn't had any luck finding Caretaker, wherever the hell she was, it was just going to get better from here.

"I didn't find the bloody idiot," First Whumper huffed, practically hurling themselves onto an armchair, throwing one leg over the other.

"Ah, I really couldn't tell," Second replied dryly, letting the ghost of a smile grace their lips.

Braver people than Second would have crumbled under First's dark glare, their whole face contorting into the very definition of fury. "This is really not the goddamn time for you to get smart with me, Second." 

Second Whumper merely rolled their eyes as their commander barked at some servant of theirs to fetch them a lighter and their slowly dwindling pack of ridiculously expensive cigarettes.

"Can you not do that in here? My asthma's still acting up," Third remarked timidly, as they wiped at their hair, still somewhat wet from the shower. They were the newest member and a little younger than both their teammates, thus not as numb to First's rage as Second was.

Choosing to disregard their comment, First Whumper turned to them, slowly exhaling as smoke came out of their mouth in phantom shapes. "Got any closer to finding Caretaker?" they asked, voice dangerously calm. 

Third shook their head, refusing to meet First's steely, stormy grey gaze. The latter sharply sucked in a breath, slowly letting it out again. "I'd be pissed at you, but that would be stupid, considering I couldn't find her either," they spat, flicking the ash off their cigarette.

"This is a sign of growth. First realising they can't do something too. Calls for celebration," Second mentally quipped, deciding the best course of action was to keep that to themselves, absolutely revelling in the look of utter shock on Third's face.

The three Whumpers all had a bone to pick with Caretaker, an infuriating bastard who'd crossed them a whole lot more than once. Stealing from them, ruining meticulous plans and even going as far as killing some of their best men, all acts servicing her misguided and highly annoying sense of heroism.

Second's smugness wasn't completely lost on First, probably taking note of their languid gaze, "Well, got anything useful to add, Second? Or are you just going to turn your nose up at us?" Their eyes held a glint of danger as they blew a ringlet in Second's direction.

The person in question merely smirked at them, turning the full weight of their gaze on them. "Actually I do. The reason we've been failing every time is because we've been doing the exact same thing every time. As an insane man does. I say we lure Caretaker over to us," they replied evenly.

Third leaned forward, resting their elbows on the table, eyes sparkling with curiosity while First raised a skeptical brow at them, flicking the ash off of their cigarette. "Well, Caretaker doesn't care about anything in the world, aside from this person called Whumpee. A friend, family member, lover, I'm not sure, but what matters is, Caretaker would do literally anything for Whumpee. I found out about his existence just today. So, if we get him here, maybe rough him up a little, she will come crawling right to us," they finished, the ghost of a smile playing on their lips.

"There's just one thing wrong," Third remarked, raising one eyebrow, "If we can't find Caretaker, how the hell will we find Whumpee?" 

Second's smile sharpened. "We're lucky that he decided to go camping all by his lonesome in the woods, not too far from here."

First nodded in approval, discarding their practically dead cigarette. They were going to show Caretaker just how much it cost to be their enemy.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

It had been easy, far too easy to sneak up on Whumpee, to stick a chloroform-soaked cloth onto his mouth and nose and watch in delight as his struggles died down and, his pointless screams became muffled as his whole world spun and faded to black. 

He was light and slender, and while he was somewhat fit and muscled, he wasn't a fighter, not as dangerous as either the Whumpers or Caretaker. So breaking him shouldn't have been a problem. The simple concept of the irrational sensation of all-consuming fear that accompanied regaining consciousness in an unknown place should've scared him into submission. 

"Wake up, sunshine. It's playtime," Second taunted, roughly patting his cheek. 

Whumpee's bright blue eyes burst open, and like they expected, he resembled a deer in headlights, frantically looking all around him, as his chest rose and fell rapidly with panic. "Wh-who are you?" he rasped out.

"Friends of Caretaker," Third replied evenly, their jaw clenched and their face stone-hard, surprisingly menacing when they wanted to be.

"Wh-what did you do to her?" Whumpee accused, growing a little bolder.  "I swear if you lay a hand on he-" 

"Aw you poor, little lamb," First cooed, caressing his jaw, their fist tightening on his face when he tried to pull away in disgust, "Caretaker's not here, but we're hoping you'll be our lucky charm and lure her here." 

Whumpee's face contorted into a scowl, while First's lit up with a grin. This was going to be fun. 

They seemed to have gotten a little carried away with 'roughing him up', carving deep, ugly lacerations into Whumpee's skin with a pen knife, also leaving fist shaped bruises in disgusting shades of purple of brown, snapping several of his ribs underneath their boots.

"I think I should throw my punching bag out. You are a whole lot better," First remarked, rolling their shoulders and grinning savagely at him. 

"Screw you," Whumpee spat, only to be rewarded with a knife stuck in his shoulder and an animalistic snarl of pleasure. Even though this was characteristic of almost every one of their hellish torture sessions, First Whumper never got tired or bored, actually claiming to find Whumpee's torment "rejuvenating."

Second and Third may have been almost slightly more merciful than First, using the pain only to get as much information about Caretaker as possible, or actually, Third asked the questions and Second acted out the threats, wrapping their fingers around Whumpee's throat and slowly tightening their grip with every furious "No," that Whumpee barked out until he literally blacked out.

They'd planned to continue this for a week before sending proof of their handiwork to Caretaker, except they hadn't even gotten the chance, their target bursting into Whumpee's makeshift holding cell in the middle of another impromptu torture session, the pained, broken look in the captive's eyes being replaced with another defiant smirk. 

"Hello bastards," Caretaker seethed, letting a savage grin dance across her face as her hand went to the gun in the holster on her hip. "I've put up with so much of your crap, but touching him? I'll make you pray you were never born."

The fury in her eyes could set fire to entire countries, lay waste to cities and rip people apart like ragdolls. She was going to show them hell for even daring to think of harming him, let alone rendering him tied up, bruised and bleeding. 

You have been served by Natalia < 3 < 3

[bunny300]

Imagine Whumper blinding Whumpee but not actually blinding him!

Okay! Let me set the scene:

Whumper just got Whumpee or is in the process of training him and you know what? Whumper decides that he doesn't deserve his sight and yet he doesn't want to gouge out their eyes... His eyes are just too pretty.

So what does Whumper do? He blindfolds Whumpee. Perhaps the blindfold is tied super tight. Noticeably there. Maybe even tied into his hair.

Perhaps Whumpee is still in the defiant stage. We can go through that beginner fear of just having his eyesight taken away, being in a strange and hostile environment with someone he thinks is out to hurt him. Imagine his reaction as he feels cold steel pressed against his face. (whether Whumper uses this as just a scare tactic or actually wants to cut them is up to you).

Perhaps he says stuff along the lines of, "you don't deserve your eyes, do you?" And maybe Whumpee has a mean/sarcastic/defiant response. Something Whumper doesn't really like and so he yanks Whumpee's head back by his hair and maybe presses the knife right under the blindfold, "you don't like the blindfold? I could gouge out your eyes and keep them in a jar if you'd like." Imagine Whumper pressing the blade underneath the blind fold or maybe even cutting skin. Imagine Whumpee's fear. Him realizing he can't do anything at all and by the end of it he's telling, no, begging Whumper to let them keep the blindfold on. How Whumper was right, he doesn't deserve his eyes but, one day, if Whumper allows it, he'd love to see his face. "Oh Whumpee," Whumper would coo, "I just knew you'd see it the way I do."

Also imagine Whumpee's first time without the blindfold and Whumper told him he MUST keep his eyes CLOSED. That he is still blind until he says so. And yet, what does Whumpee do? HE. OPEN. HIS. EYES.

Whumper tsks before leaving the room and coming back with another blind fold... But this one is practically a wearable ice pack. Imagine how cold it would be. Imagine how painful that is. And maybe Whumper puts them in a cold, dark room or throws them outside (in a somewhat controlled environment, but Whumpee doesn't know that).

Does Whumpee open his eyes next time the blindfold is removed? If he does, what is the next punishment? Being put in an extremely bright room? What about the white room, where everything is white and has the brightest lights all the time and even when he closes his eyes everything is still impossibly bright.

And just imagine when Whumpee is conditioned and Whumper grants him a moment to see. To look at everything he's missed. And oh, how grateful he is and how generous Whumper is.

I mean imagine it. How dependent is Whumpee on Whumper? But also imagine with me another scenario where Whumper abandons Whumpee (but not really) in a place (seemingly) dangerous. Whumpee is lost and blind and afraid. Perhaps cold and definitely scared. But he's not wearing a blind fold. His hands aren't bound and nothing is PHYSICALLY stopping him from opening his eyes and yet he doesn't. He doesn't because it's been drilled into him that unless Whumper gives him permission to see, he is blind.

And oh how happy Whumper is that Whumpee is following his rules even when he's not there (to Whumpee's knowledge anyways) and he knows that with this final moment, he truly OWNS Whumpee. Absolutely truly and completely. Whumpee is his.

GAH IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY

[withdrawingramen]

signs of rain

cw; lady whump, whump of 18 y/o, implied long-term captivity, implied sensory deprivation, dehumanisation, blindfolds, authoritative whumper, defiant whumpee, non-human whumpee. | @whumpril d30 alt prompt "you brought this on yourself." | note; i haven't had time to do whumpril at all this year, but here's some crumbs of sihyeon pain from me :3

“Don’t put it on. Please.”

“No can do. We're taking off in 10. Orders are orders.”

“Just five minutes, please. I won’t say a word!" Sihyeon's back was against the wall. She warily eyed the guard, the blindfold gripped in his hand. The other stood at the doorway, gazing exasperatedly. 

They'd forced her awake an hour before the standard alarm, spoke something of a facility transfer, and knocked her out cold. Now, they were on some random cargo plane and she'd woken up in some random nook of it, fitting for a commodity of the government.

“We’re only 2 hours away. You won’t even realize when we land. If you’ve quietened down, let me put it on you now, its just a piece of cloth.” He advanced towards her.

“A bit of sun won’t hurt either of us! Just 5 minutes, goddamnit!” She lashed out with her legs, her hands cuff-bound. She was a child throwing a tantrum, and she'd gladly continue if it got her anywhere.

The flailing seemed to be of some success, and the guard cursed under his breath, stepping back.

She wouldn’t let them do this. She wouldn’t let them take the reprieve away. She needed the sun. She hadn’t seen fresh, clear skies for over a year and she wouldn’t let them take it away. 

She froze at the click of the door. She always froze at the clicks. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Sorano enter. He exhaled, turning his attention to the other men in the room. The guard in front of her made some gestures of annoyance, shrugging. Sorano didn’t wait, grabbing the blindfold from the guard’s hand.

She had nowhere to go. She felt concrete dig into her back. Her supervisor kneeled down, shoving her to her side.

“Can’t take you anywhere without you making things difficult for everyone, huh?”

“Don’t touch me.” She growled, slapping his hand away. 

She was testing his limits. She knew it- ever since the guard at the door had radio-ed Sorano once, twice, the way he looked every part of the overworked, exhausted government employee. 

“It’s just cloth, you idiot.” He wasn’t smiling. 

“I don’t want it-“ 

His fist connected with her jaw. She blinked as her head slammed into the wall, a spike of pain running through her head.

“Hope you bit on your tongue.” He murmured before raising the blindfold. 

No. She wanted to see the sky. She wanted to feel something else than the cuffs on her wrists and the hurt of it all. She had to. 

She grabbed onto his hand weakly, the cuffs clinking. She watched him tilt his head slightly. 

“Do you really want to see the sun that bad?” Sorano lazily pulled back his hand. She didn’t answer, dazed. 

Sihyeon thought she was used to him. She thought she wasn't scared of him anymore, thought she'd gotten good at taking a beating, but why she couldn't even get herself to form words right now?

He pushed her to the ground, and she let him. She goddamn let him -let him restrain her hands behind her back, felt him adjust the cuffs, made them somewhat tighter.

"Humor me. If you make me laugh, I'll allow it." His voice mocked her. What was so different about Kurai Sorano, that made her look out for every intonation of his words?

Would logic and reason work with him at all? Sihyeon gulped.

"…You know that fucking room- that prison cell has an excuse for a window and you- you know I haven't been out of there for months-" she managed to stammer out, before she heard him breathe out a laugh.

"Open that window." He ordered. Her heart skipped a beat. She noted the hesitation in the footsteps, but the guard slid open the window anyway. Sihyeon instantly shifted her gaze upwards, straining against the force he held her down with.

"Would you look at that," Sorano chuckled. "The forecast did mention cloudy skies and heavy rain."

Sihyeon's lips parted at the dull, overcast, lightless sky. And for a moment, she wished she hadn't resisted against the blindfold at all.

"I get you. I do, really. It's suffocating in there, I agree." Sorano's hand rested on her hair.

"But you know what, 79?" His fingers curled in on her hair, pulling her head back. He slammed her head straight onto the concrete floor. Limp although she already was, the sharp pain ran down her entire body. She let out a ragged grunt, feeling warmth run down her nose, the familiar taste mingling in her mouth. "A few minutes of good weather won't do anything for you. And you can fool yourself into hoping that the sun on your skin makes you feel any more human," She can't see, now. The white and black spots in her blurred vision didn't disappear along with the drum pounding in her head, even as Sorano put the blindfold on.

"But nothing is going to every change for you. And I don't mind getting that ingrained in that dense-ass brain of yours as many times it takes." Her supervisor's voice was distant now, and through all the numbness in her being she felt his presence move away.

"Every time you see even a sliver of light, you're going to remember you're nothing but a bunch of fucking numbers on a leash." She felt his grin, saw it through the dark.

She heard the clack of footsteps fade away. There was nobody else, no guards, nothing.

Don't worry. She won't dare to do anything now. Sihyeon imagined him say, and he was right.

She laid on the concrete, stiff as a log, blood dripping down her nose steadily.

Now nothing will make you feel like a person and you brought it all upon yourself.

7983 settled into her soulless body as Sihyeon died for the hundredth time.

[whump-or-whatever]

Defiant whumpee, beating, whipping, public torture, made an example, collars, self-sacrifice

Sooo this is the first longer story I’m posting here. I wrote this a while ago just for me (I don’t usually share my stories), but I figured y’all might be interested so voici.

• • •

What had once been a simple small city had become a war-torn landscape in hours as the faction descended from the sky in helicopters and planes. The faction mercenaries stormed downtown, and a base was set up outside of the city, at a university campus. All of the students and professors that could be rounded up were led to the gym complex at gunpoint and directed into the largest gymnasium. Here, they were lined up in rows and columns, evenly spaced, at which point their hands were zip-tied in front of them.

Whumpee found themself on the very edge column of the group on the right of the auditorium, a large gap to their left for the mercenaries to strut the length of. At the front of the gymnasium they faced a makeshift stage. Once the zip ties were all done up and the guards stood at attention in even intervals, the entire room fell dead silent. Every person waited with bated breath.

Eventually, the singular noise of dress shoes on wood floors filled the auditorium. A man in a dark suit appeared in the doorway and sauntered up to the makeshift stage. After him followed two mercenaries, who dragged a limp man with his head lolled against his chest between them. The men placed the unconscious prisoner on the floor beside the dress shoe’d man, and attached a chain between a loop bolted to the floor and a metal collar encircling the prisoner’s neck. When they had finished, the dress shoe’d man nodded once and they joined their colleagues against the wall.

“I am the leader of this faction,” the man intoned at last. “This city is now under our control, and I am your new leader.”

Whumpee snuck a quick glance backward down the aisle and noticed a mercenary with a large camera. Broadcasting it to the rest of the country, they figured.

“You will kneel before me,” the man said coldly as whumpee returned their gaze forward.

At first nobody moved, but then people began to shift onto their knees, one by one. Whumpee remained standing. They watched as almost the entire gymnasium lowered itself before the dictator of the faction. They could not believe how easily everyone gave in.

When only a few were left standing, the mercenaries began their rounds, taking jabs at the backs of knees or wrestling people to the ground. One came up behind whumpee and gave them a hard jab to the side. The air was forced out of whumpee’s lungs and they folded in on their side, but did not go down.

As the mercenary pulled his arm back to strike again, whumpee leaned down further and grabbed his leg, pulling it out from under him and sending him sprawling on his back forcefully. Before they could make any further moves, however, the mercenary had his gun pointed at them. Without his eyes leaving whumpees face, the mercenary pushed himself up with one hand. Once he was standing, he pistol whipped his victim, sending them sprawling to the ground. Whumpee groaned and cupped their cheek, eyes squeezed shut as pain split through their face.

“You will kneel,” said the guard gruffly.

It took a moment, but whumpee was able to breathe through the pain and push themself up into a sitting position. They noticed that nobody remained standing; They had all given up. Setting their resolve, whumpee pushed themself up as if to shift into a kneeling position, but continued until they unfolded themself and stood up fully.

The mercenary pulled his gun back as if to strike whumpee again, but was halted by a somewhat amused sounding “wait” from his boss. Letting his arm drop, the mercenary stepped aside, eyes focused on the floor, as the dictator strolled carefree down the aisle to where whumpee stood.

He looked them in the eye and smiled at the cold resilience he found there. “Will you not kneel before your new leader?” He asked in a voice saturated with mock pity.

Whumpee glared at the man, eyes hard as steel. “I will not,” they said with finality.

The man seemed further amused by this. Tilting his head, he asked, “why not?”

Whumpee scoffed at this and shook their head, “because I will not submit to a fascist dictator who never learned how to share as a child and therefore feels he can invade and seize control of other people and their land.”

The dictator’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Oh, is that so?” He asked rhetorically. “Well, we will see whether you kneel or not once you have been thoroughly educated.”

With that, the man looked at the guard and jerked his head toward the stage before heading off in the direction he had indicated. The guard that had hit whumpee grabbed their arm, and two more came up from behind. Whumpee was led up the aisle to the stage, where the dictator already stood at his podium. The guards wrapped a collar around whumpee’s neck and fastened it to the floor as they had the unconscious man, who whumpee could now see was the mayor of the city.

Once the mercenaries had backed away once more, the dictator directed his voice towards the camera at the back of the room. “People of this country, you have seen what I and my army are capable of. You have seen how easy it is to submit and accept things as they are, and those of you who still think to oppose me will soon see how hard it can be to do so.” He smiled at his final words, and turned to face whumpee, leaning on the podium. “You’re in for a world of hurt little one.”

• • •

Whumpee’s cheek hit the ground forcefully again, the result of the latest in a long line of punches to the face. Their left eye was swollen shut and their lip was split and bleeding. They found themself swimming in their own head.

As the guard breaking his fist on their face raised his arm once more, the dictator signalled for a pause. The guard stepped back, making way for the dictator. Fancy black dress shoes slowly swam into focus for whumpee before they were hauled up by a firm hand in their hair. Their eyes squeezed shut until they were in a kneeling position and the pain lessened.

When they opened their eyes they were met with the face of the dictator. He smiled cooly, searching whumpee’s eyes. “Now,” he said, “are you ready to kneel?”

With that the dictator entirely released whumpee, taking a step back to watch events unfold. Whumpee panted for a moment before they forced themself to move. Slowly, they set their stiff legs beneath them and pushed themself up into a standing position. Their knees wobbled and their head swam, but their eyes burned bright as they stared down the dictator.

“I will not kneel,” they stated defiantly, words only slightly muffled by their swollen lip. A brief flash of anger crossed the dress shoed man’s face before he regained his casual demeanour.

“No worry, you will. All in good time,” the dictator spoke flatly.

• • •

The cracking of a whip echoed through the gymnasium. Whumpee lay on their side on the stage, barely having the energy to arch away from the stinging blows that rained down on their back. Tears streamed down their face, and their screams had long since faded into broken sobs and whimpers. They could feel the hot, sticky pool of blood on the floor beneath them adhering to their skin and clothes. The criss-crossed lashes on their back screamed and throbbed, dominating all of their senses.

With a sly smile, the dictator held up a hand to stop the man with the whip. He sauntered over to whumpee, walking a circle around them and eyeing them appraisingly. Their entire form trembled, and their eyes, while open, were glassy and unseeing. Their breaths came is short, shaky gasps, whimpers leaving their throat occasionally as jolts of pain shot through them.

Careful to avoid getting blood on his pants, the dress shoe’d man knelt down beside whumpee. He smiled as he took in their ravaged back up close, then placed a gentle hand on whumpee’s cheek. They gave no response barring a quick hitching of breath.

“What of your defiance now, little one? Do you still believe that resistance is viable? Or will you now kneel before me?” The dictator cooed.

Whumpee attempted an intake of breath to respond, but it stuck in their throat, sending them into a coughing fit.

“Oooh, it hurts, doesn’t it?” The dictator said in mock-sympathy.

Whumpee swallowed roughly and spoke in a broken voice, barely louder than a whisper between ragged breaths. “I will never… kneel for you… you bastard.”

The dictator sneered, while whumpee’s lips quirked up into a near-hysteric grin. In a moment of anger, the man brought the heel of his shoe down on whumpee’s ribs, sending them into another coughing fit.

“You will all kneel,” the dictator hissed before standing up in a flurry and storming off.

• • •

That’s all folks. (Might write more at some point idk.) Thanks for reading!

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #6: Tape II (Ladybug)

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, defiant whumpee, immortal whumpee, starvation, blood/gore

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Heather wrote the basics down on a scrap sheet of paper, if only to organize her thoughts. Fire. Drowning. Acid. Bullets, again. Everything she could think of, anything that might kill him. Stabbing. Starvation? Dehydration. Poison. Holy water. She wasn’t a religious person anymore, but it couldn’t hurt to check. Asphyxiation. Though that was similar to drowning. Hypothermia. Perhaps removing a different vital organ would do it. Perhaps removing the brain? 

She clicked the pen closed, set it down. It was incredible. She was on the precipice of a discovery. She held the world’s greatest mystery in the palm of her hand. She had trapped lighting in a jar, an angel in a tin can. It was a brilliant stroke of luck, bringing him home. What had first seemed like a terrible mistake was proving to be very useful, indeed.

She had everything she needed in a large black-leather briefcase: her pistol, Jackie’s lighter, a small container of gasoline, a fire extinguisher, a bottle of bleach, a cloth bag she had acquired from a priest—he was surprisingly easy to bribe—and, finally, the largest kitchen knife she owned. It was a start. Heather wanted to test the limits, find out what she was working with here. Nothing too drastic. Not yet, at least. 

The briefcase was heavy, so she dropped it by the basement door before turning the lock. The lights were still out, as she’d left them. It was a petty move, in hindsight, but she hoped it had calmed him down somewhat. He appeared to be asleep in the chair. She switched the lights on.

He jerked to life like a marionette with all its strings gone taut. There was a crash as something tumbled out of his hands. What was he holding? She blinked a few times as he scrambled to pick it up, then pointed it at her like a lance. 

“Let me out,” he hissed, “or die.”

“How dramatic.” She leaned farther into the doorway. “Is that my table? Did you break my table?”

“I’ll do more than just break your table.” He pushed his shoulders back in a pathetic imitation of a fighting stance. “Let me go.”

Yes, that was her table, now broken and toppled over beside him. She did hear a crash earlier. The handcuffs still swung off his wrist and glinted in the light, a strange silver bracelet. Nothing else was broken, thank goodness. If he’d taken to cracking the freezer open, she’d have to spend a pretty penny replacing it.

“No,” Heather said. “I thought we went over this already. Put that thing down. You look ridiculous.”

Jackie didn’t reply. He kept his glare steady, a spotlight focused entirely on her. It was almost flattering, how ready he was to tear her to shreds. It was a compliment, somehow. She had power here. She was a threat.

“That was a good table. Shame.” She clicked her tongue. “I’m not getting you a new one, by the way. Not unless you start behaving. So—”

Without so much as a sound, he charged at her. 

With a violent jerk, she leaned out of the doorway and slammed the door shut. He didn’t stop, no—he ran forward, up the stairs, grabbed the other end and nearly forced it open. She fumbled with the lock and managed to close it before he broke through. 

He kept slamming on the door. A series of short and heavy bangs, coming in quick succession. The frame shuddered with each slam, or Heather’s shock was making her vision blur. Her hands were actually shaking. Her hands never shook. Shaking was for leaves and little girls. She thought, for a lurching moment, that the hinges would snap clean off.

The banging did stop, however, after a minute. She could hear him catching his breath behind the door. “Come on, lady. I wasn’t joking. I’ll kill you. Let me go home.”

She took a deep breath.  “No.”

“You’re an idiot, oh my God.” 

That small sign of exasperation cut all the tension in her body loose. He was still trapped, table leg or no table leg. Who was he kidding? She could do whatever she wanted here. It was a matter of time. She’d convince him to put his weapons down, one way or another. Hell, she’d get him on his knees. For science, of course. Always for science. 

“Look,” Jackie continued on the other side of the door. “You won’t come in here. You can’t. You’re not going to be able to play that little recorder thing and ask me about my maiden name, or whatever it is you want. So.”

“So?” Heather prompted.

“Let me out!” Another bang struck the door. “What other proof do you need?”

“Proof? What are you proving here? I’m not opening that door until you calm down.” She paused, thinking of the best way to twist the words deep under his skin. Searching for the weakness where he’d crack. “You’re helpless, face it.”

“You looked pretty scared,” he growled. “Do you really think this door will last long? Really?”

“Jackie.” She said it softly. “You’re awfully confident for someone locked in my basement. You must be hungry, right? But I don’t think you deserve to eat, not with the way you’ve been acting. I’ll wait until you’re ready to apologize.”

“You’ve been starving me!” Oh. Right. “You haven’t given me anything for a week!”

It was embarrassing, to be honest. There went her impressive speech. Heather had actually forgotten about feeding him. She had meant to give him a granola bar or something, but she had just been so busy, and Heather had been having a lot of fun acquiring all her tools and thinking of new tests. She couldn’t let that show, of course. Mistakes like that were unprofessional to say the least. 

“Well, do you want to eat or not?” Heather snapped.

“No, thanks. You’ll drug it anyway.” 

“So what if I drug it? Food is food.”

She heard him shift slightly. “I don’t need anything from you.”

Heather pressed the bridge of her nose. She took a moment to wind herself down, breathe that unrelenting irritation out. She left her briefcase by the door as she stepped away. “I’ll be back in an hour. Think it over.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

During that hour, Heather acquired the food. Pomegranates. Two pomegranates, cut into quarters. Rich, scarlet skin, bright red seeds inside, with chunks of rough white surrounding it all. Something that Jackie couldn’t possibly think was drugged. He would have no reason not to eat.

"Hello. Are you still in there?"

 “Go die in a hole.” His voice was loud and clear, though flat. She imagined him sitting sprawled across the stairs, table leg carelessly grasped in his hand.

The door was still closed. It was like sitting in a confessional, doing the whole back-and-forth without ever meeting face to face. Though Heather’s childhood memories of church had never been quite so infuriating.

“Aren’t you hungry?” 

“No.” There was a sour edge to his voice.

“I brought food. Put your weapon down. I only want to talk.”

He let out a drawn-out, exaggerated sigh. “Did I ask?”

Heather had never wanted to strangle someone more. “You’ll faint, eventually. Or you’ll fall asleep. I’ll get you, sooner or later. The only difference is whether or not I’ll stick your head in a blender afterwards.”

There was a softer, smaller exhale. The noise of rustling clothes filled the silence like static. “What kind of food?”

“Pomegranates.”

“That’s it?”

That little shit. “Do you want your arm in the blender next?”

“That's not a very nice thing to say.”

Heather paused for a few seconds. “What if I throw in a granola bar?”

“Fine. Deal. Oh my God.” She heard him stand up. “I’ll put the table leg—“

“Leave it on the stairs,” she cut him off. “Go stand in the farthest corner you can find. Don’t move an inch, or you can forget about dinner.”

“Dinner?” he echoed. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to do as you’re told, hm? Chop, chop. Clock’s ticking.”

She heard a dull, wooden thump. There were footsteps, receding as he walked across the room. He cleared his throat, a pointed ahem, though the sound was muffled by their distance. After that, it was silent.

She opened the door, just enough to see through. Yes, he’d done as she’d asked. The table leg lay abandoned at the bottom of the stairs. Looking up, she witnessed his impatient expression across the room. He leaned against the wall with a sullen slump in his shoulders. There were bags under his eyes, an almost gray tint to his skin. Then again, the lighting wasn’t the best down there. He was probably fine. Heather would give him the pomegranate and move on with everything.

He crossed his arms. “Where's the food?”

“It couldn't hurt to have some manners.”

He said nothing, just waited.

“Here,” she said, trying to tone back the harshness in her tone. She walked up to him and handed him the plate.

He stared at it blankly. “Where’s the granola bar?”

“I’ll give it to you later.” She nudged the plate a little closer. “I promise. Now, eat. You’re going to faint if you don’t.” 

His stare shifted to her. “I said I wasn’t hungry.”

“Eat. That wasn’t a request."

To her relief, he took the plate—and then to her dismay, the food was scattered across the floor a moment later. Spilled across the concrete. There were seeds everywhere, like blisters. Deep red and dark scarlet and white in between. Jackie had thrown it there. His expression wasn’t aggressive, only mildly curious. Bored, perhaps. Tired, definitely. He let the plate topple to the ground. It rolled off, settling into stillness with a quiet shudder.

“I see.” Heather brushed her hair out of the way. “Why did you do that?”

He shrugged.

“You’re going to regret it.”

“I’m sure.”

She thought she could see the hint of a smile playing across his lips. Then again, the lighting wasn’t great. Either way, if there was any sympathy or generosity before, it had shriveled up now. A burning hunger had replaced it, winding in her chest until it was taut as a piano wire about to snap. He was clearly trying to make her angry. What other point was there? He was just digging his own grave.

It didn't matter. She had work to do here. She couldn't waste any more time.

She left the room, then retrieved the briefcase and the tape recorder. She entered the basement again. She turned the recorder on. “Tape two. Experiment one.”

“Really.” It was a dry response, not even sarcastic, more… resigned. Or, again, just bored.

“Really.” She bent down and pushed the briefcase latches open. She picked up the pistol before standing up again. “This is merely to confirm a fact. Hold still.”

The bullet went through his heart, or close to it. He flinched, hitting his head on the wall, but that was about all the damage done. He hadn’t even gone unconscious.

Jackie rubbed his head after a split second’s pause. He turned around and plucked the bullet out of the wall, where it had been embedded inside chipped paint. “Do you want this back?”

“Keep it.” She scowled at the pistol and shoved it back in the briefcase. There was no point in firing another shot, when she had already wasted seven rounds on him. “Subject can survive normally lethal injuries, such as bullet wounds. I'll start the second test now.”

“The second test?” He let out a short, scoffing laugh. “Are you going to ask me about my favorite color?”

“Sure.” She slid the kitchen knife out. “What is it, by the way? Blue? It’s almost always blue.”

“No.” He hesitated, as he regarded the knife with confused hostility. “What's that for?”

“Relax.” She stepped forward. “I’m sure this won’t hurt.”

He stepped farther back. His eyes were fixed on the blade, like a viper in a trance, making no move to run but with a tenseness in his posture. “How do you know?”

She came close enough to touch him with the tip of the blade. He could back up no farther, pressed up against the wall. She leaned in and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I don't. Feel free to correct me.”

In one swift motion, Heather brought the knife down into his throat. She jerked it out, and blood followed in its wake. 

She brought it down again, looking to sever an artery. This time, when she slid it out of his cartilage and bone, there was a brief sputtering noise. He attempted to speak. Blood bubbled at the silent, hissing sound. His attempts at breathing came out as dull gasps. He brought a hand to his throat. It lifted and came away covered in deep red. 

He grasped at the wound again, with another strangled attempt at speech. He sunk down the wall. Blood poured out, down his neck, to the curve of his collarbone, to the edge of his shirt. It would stain. Heather would need to clean that later. 

She knelt down. Her hand took his, gently, and pried his fingers away from the raw flesh. She stabbed it again, deeper, a thorough dragging motion through the cords and twine of muscle and skin. His eyes did not flutter close, or look away in a final gesture of peace. On the contrary, they were wide open. Unblinking, unmoving. Even when his body went still with a final, choking sigh. 

It was distracting. She placed her hand over his face and closed them. The blood continued to sputter out.

A glance at her watch proved that the whole affair had taken two minutes. A glance at Jackie proved that he was not moving. Dead, if you will. The silence was uncanny, almost loud in the absence of the bubbling and faint gasping breaths, but with his eyes closed he looked peaceful. 

Heather half-wished he would stay dead this time. It would be a scientific disappointment, but his expression was beautiful. Devoid of anything close to rage, or fear, or grief. Beautiful, in a grotesque and terribly morbid way. How sweet. All her anger dissolved at that sight. She was aware that calling a corpse pretty was not socially acceptable. Well aware. But she would have loved to keep him that way. Preserve him like that. Lay him to rest.

Heather walked away. She returned with a few clean rags. As she waited for the wound to congeal, she sat on the chair a couple paces away and wiped the blood off the knife. Over and over, running the rag across the edge. Five minutes would do it. Then, if he never opened his eyes, she’d throw him into a ditch on the side of the road. She would clean her hands and be done with this whole affair.

When she was younger, she would trap insects in bottles and old boxes, watch them run and panic and eventually die. There was no reason to it, not even a sadistic one. Only curiosity and a lack of hindsight. Once, she’d kept a couple of ladybugs in a glass jar, filled it with sticks and leaves.

They had changed after a week, warped, gone through a strange metamorphosis. She remembered seeing these yellow fuzzy things, larger than any ladybug was meant to be, crawling among the stems. Was it all in her wild imagination? Was it a simple mistake, taking some other insect to be a lucky beetle, when they were really some sort of larva or wasp? In any case, it had scared her so badly that she’d thrown them out the second-storey window. Underneath the guilt was a pure, innocent relief.

But she was not a child anymore, and she could handle whatever happened next. If he didn't die, then that was fine. She would be fine. It was just a matter of seeing things through. She wouldn't give this up so quickly.

Speak of the devil. He opened his eyes. A gasp burst through the quiet. It evened out into heaving breaths, then slowly into a soft and regular rhythm.

“Did it hurt?” She didn’t take her eyes off the knife, though it was clean of blood by now.

“Yeah.” His voice was painfully hoarse. “Bit late to ask that.”

Heather glanced up. Jackie had put a still-bloody hand on his throat, once again. The wound had darkened to a deep maroon, almost black in some places. He let out a shuddering exhale.

“Are you sorry now?”

Death had not dampened his spirit. “For what? Go to hell.”

She shrugged and placed the knife back into the briefcase. “On to the next test, then?”

“No?”

“That was rhetorical. Oh, right.” The tape recorder was still running. “Subject can survive almost any injury. I doubt a different weapon changes things, other than recovery time. Now, come here.”

“Why?”

“Stay on the floor, then.” She lifted the gasoline up in one hand, a clean rag in the other. She walked over and dropped the rag on his face. “Clean that up. There's blood all over your hands.”

Jackie staggered to his feet. The rag fell to the floor. “What’s in the bottle?”

“You ask a lot of questions. Don’t move.” She poured it over his head until he was drenched in the substance. A heavy yet familiar scent filled the room, something like a mechanic’s shop or a started car.

He smacked the bottle away with a sputter. “Hey!” Gasoline dripped from his sleeves onto the floor. She had emptied the entire gallon on him.

“How cute. This used to be yours, do you remember?” She brought the lighter out of her pocket. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Good quality.”

“It was a dollar.” His eyes widened. “Wait, wait. No. You’re not putting that thing near me. Absolutely not.”

“Yes, we’ll just light a blunt, then?” She flicked the lid open. “I’m all out of blunts, unfortunately. Come on. It’ll be interesting.”

“You already know what’s going to happen. What’s the point?”

With a snap of her thumb, the lighter sparked to life. “We don’t know for sure. That’s what science is all about. Testing beyond doubt.”

His eyes darted across the room, then glanced back at a cardboard box. There was a broom sticking out of the top. He lunged for the handle, then spun back to face Heather. He waved the bristles at her face in what was probably meant to be a threatening gesture. 

Heather looked at him.

Jackie looked at her.

Heather lifted the lighter. It wasn’t much, a sliver of flame barely holding on in the oppressive underground atmosphere.

Jackie shifted on his feet. He raised the broom, only slightly.

Heather tipped the lighter over until it reached a bristle. Within seconds, the smoldering and smoking became a blaze, at first only in small sparks, then into rising tongues of it. The dry and brittle handle caught fire before Jackie had time to let go. With a hiss, he dropped the broom, still clutching his palms where the skin had scorched.

It was too late for him, though. The gasoline on his sleeves and skin burst into flames. The fire consumed him like he was nothing more than a scrap of paper. His entire body lit up the room. Like a candle. Like a very disgusting candle. 

As he screamed, Heather stepped over to the fire extinguisher. She propped it up in her arms, ready to go, but didn’t douse him yet. She wanted to see where this went. 

The screams faded to a harsh coughing, then into the hissing and cracking sounds of burning flesh and cloth and leather. It was glorious. The smell was ingrained into every corner, every inch of concrete and chipping paint. The stench of smoke and cooking meat. He collapsed onto the floor, still writhing like a fish pierced on a hook. The places where his skin was still visible were red and raw, although charred blackness spread around the edges. He appeared to almost melt into the ground. When Jackie finally did go still, the flickering of the fire did not cease. Violent shades of red-orange-yellow, a stoplight at full warning, a toxic frog or a traffic cone. On and on and on.

At last, Heather let the extinguisher spray out the flames, as she coughed through the smoke. There were a few burns on the walls, but nothing noticeable on the concrete. Jackie was dead. Not even he could go through that unscathed. 

Something was off, though. Something was still… moving? Was he going through his death throes? Was this a symptom of rigor mortis, an unconscious spasm of muscles?

Jackie—what was left of him, at least—was no more than a charred shape slumped across the floor. That was not what made Heather’s stomach turn. Not the smell either, terrible though it was. Not the memory of his agonized dying screams. No, that was all fine. That irrevocable sensation of horror and disgust dawned on her because Jackie was still breathing.

Oh. It was painful to watch. His chest—or what used to be his chest—still convulsed as the diaphragm rose and fell. Convulsed was the right word. Those were jerky movements, almost inhuman. Alien, unnatural. Corpses weren’t meant to move. It wasn’t right. She couldn’t even recognize his face, and yet...

And yet. How bizarre. Even something like that couldn’t kill him. 

Heather blinked, her heart still stuttering. She turned to the tape recorder with the surprise splattered all over her face. “Subject is still alive. Not awake. I hope. Oh, that would hurt.” She hissed through her teeth. “I suppose I’ll give him a minute—oh sweet baby Jesus—” 

His arm—or the deformed and charred remains of his arm—moved. Then his leg, then his head, lifting slowly. Distorted hollows in the place of eyes stared, like blank slates of charcoal. For a ridiculous moment, Heather thought he might speak. That would be impossible. The lower half of his jaw had been left behind on the ground.

Heather stared at Jackie, her eyes wide and unblinking, lips parted in a half-hearted attempt to talk, too afraid to move but too curious to look away. A morbid fascination had gripped her thoughts. Any reasonable scientist would walk up to inspect him, to perhaps put him out of his misery, but this all seemed unreal to Heather. She couldn’t even speak, let alone walk.

With a dull thud, he collapsed back onto the ground. Chips and flakes of blackened skin littered the floor. Was he—was he shedding? Like a snake? Like a fucking snake? What was he? Nothing human, she thought. Nothing reasonable. Nothing within biological limits. And yet...

And yet. And yet! He was alive. That was the fact of the matter. The skeptic in her needed to suck it up or roll over and die. As Jackie continued to shed, for the lack of a better term, his flesh appeared to reshape itself. It was not entirely unlike fast-motion footage of a blooming flower. Rose petals being pushed apart, buds bursting open. Skin bubbled and expanded, smoothing over all that red rawness. The sound of shifting bone and muscle ripped through the silence. 

Heather managed to look away and grasp the recorder with a trembling hand. “Subject is, ah, healing? I’ll come back with a change of clothes, I think. Maybe a crucifix.” She cleared her throat. “Yes. I’ll return in an hour. That will be fine.”

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Showcase

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Me? Have a regular upload schedule? It’s less likely than you think.

Lord Denholm employs Elze’ith in demonstrating his expectations. Altair comes to terms with a few things.

Contains: Captivity, intimate whump, multiple whumpees, vampire whumper/bloodbag whumpee, defiant whumpee, mind control, forced to kneel, noncon touch, minor suffocation, minor noncon kissing

~~~

The sound of his cell opening pulled Altair out of his pacing. His cell wasn’t that large, but it was big enough to move around in a bit, and he was full of restless energy. The arrival of Lord Denholm or Ivetta was at least a break in the monotony, however unpleasant the encounter was bound to be. He turned around, full of venom and bravado, and said, “What is it this time—”

His voice died in his throat. Elze’ith was a half-step behind Lord Denholm, looking meek and nervous. Emotion rippled through him— dread, at what Elze’ith’s presence undoubtedly meant; anger, at Lord Denholm for refusing to leave Elze’ith alone; frustration, at Elze’ith for seemingly going along with all of this. He tried to push the last feeling away, as he knew that it was unfair, but the thought still lingered. Because Elze’ith had changed in their months apart. What had happened?

“Oh, little ruin.” Lord Denholm’s voice dripped with something akin to pity. He cast a disapproving glance down at the plate of uneaten food shoved in the corner of Altair’s cell. “Still insisting on straining against your proper place. You will fare so much better once you let yourself be directed.” The comment made Altair’s blood boil, but Lord Denholm seemingly neither noticed nor cared. “All in due time, I suppose.”

Altair clenched his jaw. Indignation and helplessness roiled within him. Lord Denholm was treating him like he had the right to discipline and condescend to him, like he owned Altair, and Altair loathed it. Every instinct of Altair’s that strived towards freedom and independence chafed against it. Elze’ith seemed to notice his tension, and stepped closer to place a comforting hand on his arm. Altair forced himself to take a breath at the contact. Focus. “Why are you here, Denholm?”

Lord Denholm clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Still so abrasive,” he muttered. Then, louder, “A simple demonstration of my expectations. I anticipate that it should proceed without difficulty, given your cooperation, little ruin.”

Altair scowled. “I doubt that.” 

A patronizing smile spread across Lord Denholm’s face. “Well, I guess that’s up to you, isn’t it?”

Beside him, Elze’ith tensed ever so slightly. Altair didn’t miss the way that Elze’ith implicitly wasn’t given any choice in how this encounter would go.

Lord Denholm’s gaze slid to Elze’ith. His aura of power seemed to swirl in the air around them. “Kneel.”

Without hesitation, Elze’ith crashed to his knees. Altair sucked in a breath, taking a startled half-step back. The Elze’ith he knew might have acquiesced, but for him to do so immediately, almost without thinking? How had it gotten this bad? And while Altair stared in muted horror at Elze’ith, his partner wouldn’t meet his gaze, Elze’ith’s eyes cast to the ground.

“Elze’ith—”

Before Altair realized he had moved Lord Denholm was right next to them, reaching down to cradle Elze’ith’s face. Elze’ith just let it happen without reacting. “See?” Lord Denholm said idly, as Altair clenched his fist at the sight. When he looked up at Altair, Altair had to fight his instinct to recoil at the covetous look in Lord Denholm’s eyes. “Now it’s your turn. Kneel for me, my little ruin.”

The close proximity to Lord Denholm and his strong presence was admittedly somewhat intimidating, but it wasn’t enough to make Altair yield. When he spoke, his voice was firm; he held Lord Denholm’s gaze, not looking down at his partner. “No.”

“I see.” Lord Denholm drew his hand away from Elze’ith’s face. His face twitched with what might have been regret. “Light, don’t take another breath until my little ruin gets on his knees.”

Elze’ith made a choked sound, and Altair looked down in alarm. Elze’ith’s mouth was half-open, and he had brought a hand up to his throat. His jaw twitched, but no air seemed to pass his lips.

“Elze’ith!”

“I did say that things would go smoothly if you cooperated, little ruin.” Lord Denholm placed a hand on Altair’s shoulder as if to reassure him; Altair immediately shrugged it off in disgust. Lord Denholm merely smiled and turned back down to Elze’ith. “I wonder how long he can last until he falls unconscious. Unless, of course, you decide to obey.”

All Altair could do for a moment was stare at Elze’ith. Elze’ith met his gaze; there was fear there, but also a resignation that terrified Altair more than anything else. If it was just him at risk, maybe things would be different, but he couldn’t just stand there and watch his partner suffocate.

Jaw set, Altair sank to his knees. The shuddering inhale that Elze’ith took as Altair settled into place almost made him sag in relief, but instead he glared up at Lord Denholm in defiance.

“There we go, that’s better. I knew you could do it,” Lord Denholm purred.

Altair’s mouth twisted, but he held his tongue. Though he hated the situation with every fiber of his being, he had already confirmed something important. There was simply no way that Elze’ith would stop breathing on demand. Not without magical interference. He had long suspected that Lord Denholm had placed some sort of compulsion over Elze’ith, and while recent days had given him doubts, everything that had just happened had all but confirmed it. Anything that Lord Denholm said, Elze’ith had to obey.

The thought only added to Altair’s anger towards Lord Denholm. All the horrid ways Lord Denholm could have used that power filled his mind. Nonetheless, he pushed those thoughts aside for the moment. He could think about all of that later. For now, it was just something he had to account for. If he could break that thread of control, Elze’ith would be free. Until then, he had to remember that Elze’ith’s obedience wasn’t of his own will.

No matter how much it seemed otherwise.

Lord Denholm held out his hands, palm down, one extended towards each of them. “It is only appropriate that you show proper deference to your Lord.”

Elze’ith lightly grasped Lord Denholm’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Altair took a moment to close his eyes and take a breath. If he didn’t comply, something else would happen to Elze’ith. Still, he looked up at Lord Denholm with sheer loathing as he mimicked Elze’ith’s actions. The gratified expression Lord Denholm gave him in return had Altair barely holding back from spitting at Lord Denholm’s feet.

“Now.” Lord Denholm withdrew his hands. “Shirts off.”

“Absolutely not,” Altair said immediately.

A raised eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?” 

Altair gave Elze’ith a sideways glance. His partner once again wasn’t looking at him, and was partway through disrobing. With a grimace and a sigh, Altair began removing the thin shirt he was wearing. He couldn’t help but shift uneasily under Lord Denholm’s hungry, appraising gaze.

“Good. You may both stand again.”

Where was this going? After hesitating briefly, Altair got to his feet. Elze’ith did the same, his trepidation palpable.

Lord Denholm paced a languid circled around the pair of them. Feeling exposed, Altair crossed his arms protectively in front of his chest. In his peripheral vision, he watched Elze’ith stand, tense but unmoving.

“Now, close your eyes. Arms down, little ruin, and don’t move.”

This couldn’t lead anywhere good. The last thing he wanted to do was make himself even more vulnerable. But Elze’ith would be the one to suffer the consequences. So he let his arms fall to his sides and closed his eyes, his body rigid with apprehension.

Had Elze’ith ever gone against Lord Denholm’s bidding? What had happened to him as a result? Was that why he wasn’t allowed to speak anymore?

A cold hand brushed Altair’s back, and he couldn’t hold back a flinch. Goosebumps had already broken out across his skin from the cold dungeon air, but the casual, possessive touch made him shiver. The fingers traced the curve of his shoulder blade and trailed down his spine. The touch lingered at the base of Altair’s spine just above his pants, and for a moment Altair thought that Lord Denholm was going to slip his hand underneath the cloth. But instead, Lord Denholm pressed his chest to Altair’s back, and Altair heard his voice right next to his ear.

“I rather like you this way,” Lord Denholm said lowly. His other arm snaked around Altair’s front to caress his chest. Altair’s breath stuttered. Though every instinct within him told him to fight back, he forced himself to stay still, to keep his eyes closed. “ Just the right amount of fear and discipline. Indignant and incensed, perhaps, but still compliant. Simply exquisite.”

Lord Denholm shifted subtly around him, and Altair felt teeth graze the curve of his throat. That caused him to snap his eyes open and lash out in an effort to shake off Lord Denholm. The grip around him tightened like a vice, and Altair struggled for a moment; he was satisfied as he managed to strike Lord Denholm in the forehead with the metal cuff around his wrist.

“Now, little ruin,” Lord Denholm said, his voice a warning in Altair’s ear. “You stop struggling, or my light will be forced to pull back on his finger until it breaks.”

Altair went still. His gaze flicked to Elze’ith. Elze’ith’s eyes were still closed, but his shoulders were hunched in obvious anxiety, and his fists were clenched at his sides.

“I hate you,” Altair whispered, even as he let his arms go slack once again.

Lord Denholm hummed in approval. “Relax, light. And eyes closed, little ruin, until we’re done.”

As the visible tension drained out of Elze’ith, Altair wondered if Elze’ith was obeying out of choice or out of necessity. As he closed his eyes, he realized he might be wondering that a lot going forward.

Once again teeth grazed his neck, and Altair forced himself to remain still. He was putting up with this so Elze’ith wouldn’t be hurt. Then Lord Denholm sunk his teeth in, and Altair bit back a sound of pain; he wasn’t about to give Lord Denholm the satisfaction. The feeling of having his blood and magic extracted was familiar, at least, but that didn’t make it any more tolerable. And with how little he had eaten and drank recently, he found himself growing lightheaded very quickly.

After several long moments Lord Denholm withdrew from Altair’s neck, but he did not pull away fully. Instead he lingered; one hand moved to loosely grip Altair’s chest, and the other cradled Altair’s hip. Altair bit his lip as Lord Denholm slowly caressed him, and directed all of his focus towards not swaying on his feet from the dizziness he was feeling.

Finally, Lord Denholm pulled away, and Altair let out a breath of relief. He traced the sound of Lord Denholm’s footsteps as he walked away, then gritted his teeth at the sound of a slight, sharp inhale from Elze’ith. When he hazarded to crack an eye open, he saw Lord Denholm laying claim to Elze’ith’s mouth. Loathing washed through him once again, fierce as ever. Perhaps he was a coward for closing his eyes again, but he couldn’t bear to watch, nor could he bear to be the reason for any further punishment for Elze’ith should Lord Denholm be displeased with his disobedience.

…Damn. He hadn’t been in Lord Denholm’s clutches that long, and he was already starting to think things like that. What was he going to do?

“You may open your eyes now.” Lord Denholm’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. When he let his eyes open, Lord Denholm was watching him with a hand on Elze’ith’s shoulder, and Elze’ith was looking at him worriedly. The moment Altair caught his gaze, Elze’ith looked back down at the ground. A slight grin crossed Lord Denholm’s face. “See? Now that wasn’t so bad, was it? You had nothing to be so riled up about.”

Altair opened his mouth to retort, but Lord Denholm tightened his grip on Elze’ith’s shoulder ever so slightly, and he decided against it.

“Would you like to heal him, my light?”

For a moment, Elze’ith didn’t respond. Then he gave the tiniest of nods. Lord Denholm gave him a small push forward, and Elze’ith stumbled towards Altair.

This close, Altair could see the blood that smudged Elze’ith’s lips, and he swallowed his rage. “Elze’ith. Look at me,” he whispered. Please, look at me. Elze’ith finally met his gaze again as he raised his hand to the wound in Altair’s neck. “We’re going to get out of this. Okay? Just hang on.” His words sounded hollow, even to him, but a hint of tender emotion entered Elze’ith’s expression, and maybe that was enough. Warm magic flowed through him, and his neck flared with pain as Elze’ith willed the bite marks closed. The lightheadedness lingered, but he took comfort in the fact that the wound itself was healed.

“I think that concludes my business here,” Lord Denholm said graciously. “Come, my light.”

Elze’ith lingered for just a moment to cup Altair’s cheek. Altair gave him a smile that he hoped was encouraging. Then Elze’ith was gone, following Lord Denholm out of the cell and letting the door shut behind him.

Altair took a moment to breathe as the warmth from Elze’ith’s touch faded. Hatred and dismay and shame coiled within him. He had no idea what to do with himself now, other than just dwell on how awful that had been.

He looked down. Elze’ith had left his shirt. Whether that was on purpose or not, Altair wasn’t sure. Still, he leaned over to pick it up, and pressed it to his face so he could breathe in Elze’ith’s scent. It was familiar, comforting. A reminder of why he had come here, and why he still had to fight to get them both out. He hadn’t lost sight of that desire yet.

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Max's Captivity #1: My Pet

Content: Drugging, break in, creepy whumper, stalking, defiant whumpee, captive whumpee, pet whump, kidnapping, suicidal thoughts/ideation.

Masterlist

-

Even as a kid, Max had never particularly… enjoyed his life. He lived with two parents who were rarely home through most of his childhood, and none of his family ever had the time to care for him. He spent most of his time alone, without any friends or even family to accompany him through the years, which inevitably forced him to find company in his favourite video game characters and stuffed animals instead.

Now, even if he was utterly miserable, he was alive with a house of his own and a crappy old car, and books from his childhood that he’d probably never end up reading again. He even had a little kitchen, where he’d heat up his microwave meals each night and make himself the occasional home-made meal, and a bedroom that housed all his favourite stuffed bears.

After going from nearly ending his life a year ago, he considered what he had now to be somewhat of a win. After all, he was alive, with a roof over his head and food to eat.

However, even with all those small victories in mind, nothing could have prepared him for the day he met his master.

It was only a month or so after he’d finally gotten his own place. He had come home from his second job interview of the week to find everything he’d worked so hard for in ruins beneath him. Books, glass, ripped up clothes – there was a little bit of everything tossed carelessly around the living room, making it virtually impossible for him to take even a step inside.

The sight made him want to cry.

“Shit,” he mumbled below his breath, lightly kicking the book laid out in front of him as his eyes scanned over the place. It had taken him so fucking long to finally get his life together – he didn’t think he could do it again.

“How d’ya like my artwork, pet?”

The eighteen-year-old just about jumped out of his skin at the sound of another person’s voice coming from right behind him. He spun around quicker than he could think, letting out a small scream at the sight of a man much taller than him towering over his small, hunched form, arms casually held behind his back.

“I worked rather hard on it, you know. Been here for a few hours at least. You really should be locking your doors…” Max yelped as he was grabbed by the throat and pulled in closer. “You wouldn’t want a creep to get in, now would you?”

“Get the hell off me,” the boy angrily spat. He struggled relentlessly against the stranger’s painfully tight grip on him, eyes slowly widening as his face inched closer to his own. “I don’t even know you! Get out!”

The man grinned a wicked grin. “Oh, I can’t do that. You haven’t noticed, but I’ve been watching you for a few weeks now, planning the right moment to take you for myself.” With his free hand, he began to tenderly stroke Max’s red face, seemingly delighting in the terror written all over him. “You’re perfect… god, you’re perfect. Got so much fight left in you. I like that in my pets, but I must admit, I can’t wait to see what you look like when you’re completely broken and submissive to me.”

Max was far too caught up in what the stranger was saying to notice him pulling a small, sharp syringe out of his pocket. He struggled and yanked fruitlessly against his grip, eyes teary with pure frustration and fear.

“Get the hell off me! Fuck you!”

“Hold still, would you?” the man groaned, doing his best to position the needle by his arm as quick as he could. All Max felt was the harsh prick of the needle sinking into his shoulder, a hiss leaving his lips at the sudden spike in pain. Much to his dismay, he didn’t take the needle out right away. In fact, his fighting only seemed to push it in deeper, and the pain worsened instantly. “That was a lot. I told you to hold still, didn’t I?”

“Wh-what was that? The hell did you do?”

He held up the syringe. “Just a little sedative. It’ll knock you right out so I can safely escort you back to mine. I know pets don’t exactly handle stress well, so… better safe than sorry.”

Max was completely out of it within a minute. During that time, he panicked and cried and shoved as hard as he could in hopes that he could buy himself just a moment to escape. However, he’d been given a lot, and it wasn’t long before he was shakily leaning into the stranger’s arms, head resting on his chest and his arms draped down beside him. Half-lidded eyes darted frantically around the place, every weak noise of protest he made slightly muffled against the man’s shirt.

“Don’t worry,” he heard the man whisper into his ear as he was carefully scooped up into a bridal carry. All he could do was hazily look up at him through glassed-over eyes, listening as he cooed and whispered condescendingly to him all the way to his car. “You’ll be home soon, pet.”

-

The voice that spoke to Max as he drifted unconscious in his own home was the same one that gently woke him up again many hours later. His body felt so heavy and drowsy from the drugs still in his system, and each time he made even a brief attempt to get up, his body ached in protest.

It wasn’t until he felt a hand brushing away the hair stuck to his clammy forehead that he whined and turned his face away, eyes shut tight. “Fucking leave me alone, you piece of shit.”

“Now, now,” the stranger scolded. For a moment, his fingers ran rather gently his fingers through Max’s hair, tenderly massaging his scalp as they trailed down, before he grabbed a fistful of it to keep him firm against whatever surface he was on. “That’s no way to talk to your new master.”

Max’s eyes immediately shot open to glare at him. He did his best to scramble away from him, but the grip on his hair was firm and though he hated to admit it, he had no way of getting up until he was let go.

“’m not your fucking pet,” he hissed. “Don’t even know you.”

The stranger smiled. “You’re right. I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I? I’m Trever, but you can - and will - call me ‘Master’ or ‘Sir’.” He paused for a moment, almost as if expecting some sort of response from the boy beneath him. Instead, he continued to spit profanities and insults at him as he wriggled and squirmed, trying to break free from his incredibly tight grip. “Now… you can fight me all you like, but that won’t change the fact that you’re mine now. I own you, and I hope for your own sake that you will eventually come to terms with that.”

“Never!” Max cried. “Get your hands off me!”

Much to his surprise, Trever eventually complied, the strangling grip on his hair releasing and the menacing grin on his face never fading. Right before Max could even think about getting up, however, his captor had already done so before pressing the heel of his boot into his neck, effectively restraining him further.

“Better?”

The teary-eyed boy could do nothing but glare up at him, teeth bared and his hands desperately trying to push his foot away from the base of his neck. He hated this. He truly hated this.

“Stop,” he finally managed to get out, his voice airy and strained. For a moment, he thought he even saw Trever considering it, the man’s foot easing off his throat and moving right down to the base of his stomach.

“Isn’t this fun?”

“Someone is gonna come for me,” Max growled breathily, doing his best to ignore the growing pressure on his stomach. He threw weak, half-hearted punches and shoves at Trever’s boot, his already bruised hands curled into a fist. Nothing worked. “Someone is gonna… gonna find me. Someone.”

This seemed to genuinely catch the man’s interest. “Really?” he raised an eyebrow. Much to Max’s surprise, his foot finally eased off his body entirely and he slowly crouched down beside his now hunched form. “Who do you think is gonna come for you, hm? Is there some mysterious friend I don’t know about?”

Truth be told, Max had no one. He never really had, and it was a shame that Trever knew. He wasn’t asking out of concern for himself. The bastard was amused.

God, what he’d do to wipe the smug look off his face.

When Max didn’t give a response, Trever smiled and reached out to grab him by the throat again, as he’d done back at his house. “Do you know why I picked you specifically, pet?” he asked curiously, pausing for a moment to scratch the little beard on his chin as Max scowled at him.

“No. Enlighten me.”

“I chose you because you have no one. No one in your life who cares about you, no one who would even notice you were missing. That is what makes you so perfect.” He brushed some of Max’s hair out of his eyes, watching as they immediately lit up with rage at the way he gently touched him. “You are I are gonna have so much fun. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for us.”

“I hope you burn in hell, you piece of shit.”

Max thought he heard Trever chuckle as he stood up once more, but if he did, it was barely loud enough for him to hear. He watched through exhausted eyes as the man scooped him up into his arms once more, still smiling from ear to ear. He looked so genuinely happy, and it pissed Max off to no end.

How can someone so cruel live so happily?

“Don’t worry, pet,” he murmured. “I’ll let you settle in before we begin your training. Would you like a bath? Some food? Water? Anything you want- within reason, of course.”

“I want to go home.”

Trever cracked a smile, propping Max up a little more upright as he shut the door behind him with his foot. “You’re lookin’ at it.”

As much as he hated it, he had to admit that it was a nice place. By his standards anyway. Each room was well lit, and there were many photo frames hung across all the walls, presumably with photos of him and his friends and/or family. There was a seemingly empty fish tank, and a fancy-looking bookshelf with dozens of books filling it, along with even more photo frames.

The dude had friends?

Despite all of that, what caught Max’s eye most was the big dog bed sitting by the couch in the living room. It had two bowls beside it, one filled half-way with dog food while the other had water.

As much as he didn’t want to say a word, he found himself asking anyway. “Do- do you, uhm- own a pet or something?”

“I sure do!” Trever grinned, and as if on cue, he carefully set the boy down on the dog bed with a pet to the head. “It’s you. Now, there’s food and water beside you, and some toys by the couch if you want something to play with. I’m afraid I’ll have to lock you up at night, though, but don’t worry; I got you a crate that’s more than big enough to fit you.”

Max’s eyes were now wide out of pure horror. “You’re not serious. You can’t be. I thought- I thought that was some kind of euphemism for a- a slave or something. You’re not seriously gonna treat me like a dog, are you?”

“Would you prefer it if I treated you like a slave?”

That was enough to send the boy quiet.

“That’s what I thought. Your training will begin tomorrow, so make yourself at home and make sure to eat plenty, yeah? I’ll come check on you in a little while. Oh,” he paused, causing Max to tearily look up at him. The man then reached into the little box of toys and brought out a stuffed bear. It was brown and tan, with a cute black and white dress on and a pretty white flower on its head. It was adorable, and had the circumstances been different, Max would have lunged for it immediately.

“I got you a little housewarming gift.”

-

Taglist: @whumpsday @whuarri @littlespacecastle @pigeonwhumps @inkkswhumpandstuff

[blackberry-bloody]

Masterlist

This is a masterlist for my written content!

And if you like any of these, I have a Discord server that I'm working on putting content in! It's pretty chaotic, but it's fun!

While there is some overlap between series, since they all take place within the same universe, they can be read independently of each other.

Also, Stay down, doesn't really have an order to be read in, It's very up in the air and a bit jumbled. So while some context may be lost, it can essentially be read in any order (as it stands right now. This may change later.)

Meet my ocs-

Meet Mibium

Meet Berkley

Series-

Pick Your Poison:

Masterlist

A Choose your own adventure whump story where the player/reader is the whumpee to a mad scientist.

Contains: Lab whump, creepy whumper, paranoia and gaslighting, horror elements.

Characters: Berkley, Mx. Doe, Rain, Marley

Stay Down:

Dayzel's half- A somewhat jumbled story of Dayzel, a demon, and the multiple bouts of whumping he has endured throughout his life.

Contains: Living weapon whump, villain whumpee/outcast whumpee, whumper x whumpee, spousal abuse, manipulation/gaslighting, defiant whumpee, self-loathing whumpee

Characters: Dayzel, Mibium, Rupert, Nox, various background characters from flashbacks.

Nox Marking him

BTHB Pleading

"Have You come to Laugh at me in my miserable state?"

Unforgivable

Sensory Deprivation

Zapping

Dayzel's rescue pt.1

Dayzel's rescue pt.2

Mibium's half- A "spinoff" in flashbacks about Mibium's time as a whumpee in Hell as an angel.

Contains: Creepy/intimate whumper, pet whump, objectification/dehumanization

Characters: Mibium and Octavian

BTHB Chained to a bed

BTHB Blindfolded

BTHB Non-con Touching

Overstimulated and Carewhumper

Half Lies and Hidden Truths:

Masterlist

Three connected stories, told separately through The Heart, The Mind, and The soul.

(Content and characters in masterlist)

Snake Bite:

Whumper Berkley- A story detailing his experiments on his two main whumpees, with some flashbacks to a previous whumpee.

Contains: Lab whump, horror tropes, multiple whumpees, lots of character death (non of the major characters, and offscreen/implied)

Characters: Berkley, Rain, Marley, Mindy (mentioned but not present)

Quiet and Lament Prompts

Whumpee Berkley- An "epilogue"/"spinoff" where he is captured by a demon when he's forced to visit Hell.

Contains: Creepy/Intimate whumper, whumper x whumpee, Stockholm syndrome, whumper turned whumpee, nsfwhump (any chapter involving this will be posted to @blackberry-sour-and-sweet)

Characters: Berkley, Octavian

(NSFWHUMP) Octavian being Bored

Failed escape

(Untitled) Demon Mishap:

A story idea about a demon having been "accidentally" kidnapped and sold to a high ranking demon who's eager to break him in.

Conatains: Creepy/Intimate whumper, pet whump, institutionalized slavery, defiant whumpee, nsfwhump (any chapters containing this will be posted to @blackberry-sour-and-sweet)

Characters: TBD

(Untitled) Space demons:

A story about two bounty hunters in the far, far future when humans/angel/demons have begun exploring the stars.

Contains: Scif-fi whump, enemies to lovers, "enemy of my enemy is my friend" trope, morally bankrupt/ villain whumpees

Characters: Zeke, Omen, (others tbd later)

Lore/worldbuilding-

Timeline

Claim Marks/Magic brands

One offs, RP, extras, and non-canon-

Random Mindy fact

Nox, Rupert, Berkley whumper answer

Berkley whumper answer

Character questions (cheese, flexible, and pets)

Character questions (touch starved, sleep, breaks, and strength)

Character questions (smooth talker, graceful/clumsy, instruments, self-sacrifice)

Magic "anon"- Human Fates

Octavian, Rupert, Nox whumper answers

Berkley Whumper answers (with Mindy)

Nox, Nom, Octavian character questions

Whumpee Nox 1/2

Whumpee Rupert

Dayzel "red flags"

Dayzel tattoos

Rupert= Malewife potential?

Character questions (mibium)

DnD content-

Forgotten Familiarites- A DnD campaign run by @obsessedwithegos for myself and @emmettnet

Contains: Self sacrifice, religious trauma(?), abysmally low self esteem, whumpee being reckless/lacking self-preservation, character death (mentioned)

Characters: Nom and Alithea (both belong to me), Dirk, Teddy, Dirce (belong to @/emmettnet), Nilam, Selin, Aevid, Kavius, Mantra, various other NPCS, etc. (all belong to @/obsessedwithegos)

BTHB "I just want to have friends"

Help prompt

Laugh

Falling Feathers- A homebrew campaign I'm running for @/emmettnet and @/obessedwithegos.

Contains: Lab whump, non-con body modifications, major character death (temporary), reluctant whumpers, carewhumper, living weapon whump, multiple whumpees, whumper viewing/treating whumpee as "family", whumpee turned whumper, horror tropes

Characters: Denice (belongs to @/emmettnet), Eliza/Esheh (belongs to @/obsessedwithegos), Berkley, Marley, Rain, Dren, Mindy, The Fates, various NPCs, etc. (all belong to me)

[heavenlyeden]

♱Heavenly Feast♱

𓆩Chapter 6 - The devil reborn𓆪

𓆩 Previous 𓆪 ♱ 𓆩 Masterlist 𓆪 ♱ 𓆩 Next 𓆪

CW: Explict non-con, implied child abuse, strangulation with a belt, victim blaming, immortal whumpee and whumper, murderer and somewhat defiant whumpee, creepy cannibal whumper, weird incestuous vibes on this one (whumpee looks like whumper's father and non-con still happens. Make with that what you will.)

The screams of terror and pain that echoed from the laptop brought Benjamin indescribable pleasure. He touched himself as the scene unveiled in front of him, as the knife stabbed through her chest. Oh, if people knew what the perfect, sweet Benjamin fantasized constantly about. How he wished he was the one holding the knife. But no one needed to know as long as he kept it to himself. As long as he didn’t kill anyone, no one would know.

He leaned his head back as he came, and that was when he saw. His father stood behind him with a horrified expression on his face, staring at the screen. Benjamin tried to stay calm as he paused the video and tucked his dick in.

“Dad, I didn’t know you would be back so soon.”

“I should have let her kill you,” he mumbled, “no, I should have killed you myself long ago.”

Benjamin knew at that moment — tears and pleading wouldn’t save him from his fury like the other times.

…𓆩♱𓆪…

Kieran tapped his foot, chewing on his nail. He stared at Benjamin lying before him naked, with no trace of what happened the night before, and his ankle shackled once more. Kieran, however, was stuck in it. Sitting on the chair, waiting for Benjamin to wake up, he couldn’t stop replaying it in his mind. He couldn’t believe he had never noticed how similar they were. Why were they so similar? How? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t convince himself all those things were coincidences.

Benjamin’s whimpers echoed in the silent basement, pulling Kieran out of his thoughts. Tears fell from his eyes as he clenched his fists in his sleep. And butterflies fluttered in Kieran’s stomach even what happened. He slowly woke up, distraught, and sat up. He wiped his tears and looked at himself and around the room.

“You didn’t waste time, huh? Back to square one.” He pouted and smiled.

The angelic voice and cute attitude were laced with malice and mockery. Kieran stared at Benjamin at a loss for words as he stood up and took a step toward him.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growled.

“Why?” Benjamin tilted his head. “Aww, are you hurt? Or are you disgusted?”

Kieran gritted his teeth.

“Oh, it’s both, isn’t it? And you’re also disappointed I’m not as sweet and innocent as you thought, I bet. Aww, poor, poor Kieran. You must be so heartbroken.”

“Benjamin shut the fuck up. God, just shut up.”

Benjamin walked closer with a soft smile on his face. Kieran tensed up the closer he got, his throat closing up. He shouldn’t be the one disturbed, but the parallels to that man were like chains binding him. Benjamin lowered to his eye level and cupped his cheeks.

“You’re awfully honest and easy to read. It’s rather endearing.” His chuckle ached in Kieran’s bones.

Benjamin sat in his lap. He held onto his arms to push him away, but he couldn’t. His smile mocked him; anger and disgust boiled inside of him.

“You should have told me you’re immortal too, you know? I would be willing to play my part a bit longer if I knew.”

Kieran grabbed his chin, digging his nails into his cheeks.

“Is this amusing to you, you bastard?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so mad.” Benjamin tilted his head. “You said it yourself you wanted to hurt me, but suddenly I’m in the wrong for hurting you back?”

“I wouldn’t do anything to you if you hadn’t kissed me! I was doing a good job of controlling myself. You decided to kiss me even after I warned you.”

Benjamin stayed silent for a second, before sighing.

“... God, you’re pathetic.” He laughed, shaking his head.

Pathetic. That demon’s voice mixed with Benjamin’s. Pathetic, eh? The anger inside of him boiled over, and he hit him hard, throwing him on the floor. Before he could spew any more bullshit, he kicked him in the gut.

“Hadn’t I told you to shut the fuck up, eh?” He kicked him again and again. “Pathetic? Have you forgotten you’re the one in chains this time? Are you stupid or just cocky?”

He kicked him until he was reduced to a groaning, shaking mess on the floor. It didn’t take long. Kieran was the pathetic one when he was the one with such a low pain threshold? Hilarious. He crouched and grabbed his hair, watching the tears fall from his eyes. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Taunting him like that, pushing him like that. Those tears were genuine tears of pain. Kieran realized how fake the other ones were, as these made him squirm with desire in a way the others never could.

Even as their faces blended, he wanted it. No, even more. Benjamin glared at him through the pain. He hated that look. Benjamin still thought he had enough control to be angry at him when he should be crying and begging for forgiveness. But he would soon. Was there any reason to hold back anymore? Didn’t he want him to stop being pathetic, to be ‘strong’ like him? If he wanted Kieran to be wicked, so be it. If he sent a demon that looked like him to punish him for being ‘weak’, then he should watch from Hell what his pathetic child does to his mirror image. He dropped him on the floor and towered over him. Benjamin’s eyes widened when Kieran took his belt off.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m finishing what we started yesterday.”

He struggled, trying to push and kick Kieran away as he buckled the belt around his neck. His face contorted delightfully when Kieran tugged it, strangling him.

“Don’t fight, Benji. It will only make everything worse.”

Benjamin tried to pull the belt off in desperation. As satisfying as it was to see him losing his composure, those struggles were a hassle. Kieran rolled his eyes and punched him hard in the stomach. He stopped struggling, hugging his stomach and gasping for air. His pain satisfied Kieran like no other. He sucked his fingers, spread his legs and shoved it in without a warning. Benjamin cried out, kicking and pushing more.

“Oh, come on. I’m trying to make this better for you too, you know? Would you rather I do it raw?”

“S-Stop,” he croaked as he was choked, gripping Kieran’s clothes, “please, stop!”

Kieran laughed. His pleas only made him want to ruin him more. He moved his fingers, delighted to hear him break into sobs. When he deemed it was enough, he pulled them out and lowered his pants. Benjamin shook his head desperately, putting a grin on Kieran’s face.

“How about that, Benji: you apologize to me for what you did and kiss me nicely, and I might go easy on you.”

He sniffled, considering his options. But it was clear by the look in his eyes that he wouldn’t hurt his pride by apologizing.

“Fuck off…” He said in a final act of defiance.

“Your choice.” Kieran shrugged.

He thrust in hard, getting a choked-out scream out of Benjamin. He cried and moaned as Kieran fucked him without care, intending to hurt him as much as he could. His helplessness as he was choked and raped was much, much better than he imagined. He wished he could capture the moment he slowly gave up fighting, crying silently and beautifully. Kieran savoured the sight as he came. He panted, looking into his vacant eyes.

He felt nothing but satisfaction. Not an ounce of guilt. It was what he deserved — what his mirror image deserved. A younger version of him, a weaker version that was delicately beautiful and easy to abuse, a… He had an epiphany.

That man was indeed a demon in human form, as his mother preached. A demon that cursed him and tormented him and several people. She was right. And the demon crawled out from Hell into another human form, into this weak beauty. They acted the same and looked the same because they were the same. The same soul, the same demon.

It all made sense looking at that angle. All the evidence pointed to it. All those coincidences. Kieran laughed, seeing how pitiful and broken he looked.

It wasn’t a punishment. No, no, Kieran looked at it all wrong. It was an opportunity. He crawled out of Hell into such a weak form, and Kieran could give him the punishment he deserved. He would bring Hell to him. Kieran lowered himself to whisper in his ear.

“Know that you brought this on yourself. It’s what you deserve.”

Taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg @thatonefoxyplush @hidden-dreamland @whump-me-baby-one-more-time