#whump character

[rookthebird]

take a vain character. a character who's constantly smirking at himself in mirrors, obsessed with the tailoring of his waistcoats, proud of his accessories and the way his hair shines.

and then throw him in the dirt. he's given just enough water to keep from dying of dehydration, and the longing to wash his face becomes secondary to survival. he doesn't care if his wounds scar, as long as he can find something to stop the bleeding. he's freezing to death and forced to wear every ragged, torn piece of clothing he can scrounge up- or maybe even having clothing becomes a luxury.

when help finds him, he's no longer vain at all. he wears whatever he's given, cleans himself only when reminded to, doesn't even have the energy to brush his own hair.

and then one day a weak voice comes from where he's resting:

"Can I have... a mirror?"

Everyone looking after him breathes a sigh of relief.

[staring-at-my-keyboard]

Will forever be in love with the scenario “[A] feels comfortable enough with [B] to take off an accessory/item of clothing that hides severe scars” followed by “[B] is horrified and [A] actually registers the seriousness of what happened to them”.. the REALIZATION. The EMOTIONS. The VULNERABILITY.

[songbird-in-hell]

Im trapped… this place is big, and filled with demons. Their leader, Mynoa, already has a favorite angel, so as far as she’s concerned, I’m up for grabs by any of her followers.

Nowhere here is safe. I have free reign of the compound… leaving would be a death sentence, a lone angel in the middle of hell with no halo... The only people who are supposed to have keys to my rooms are me, Mynoa, and her trusted advisors. Somehow, there’s other copies.

Any demon can come in and do what they’d like with me at any time.

[ooc- this blog is run by me, Clove. Serenadiel is a whumpee character for roleplays.]

Former warrior, Serenadiel is now being held captive by a powerful demon named Mynoa. He’s at the mercy of her followers, who tend to like hurting pretty angels.

His only defense anymore is his voice. Even without his angelic command power he’s an excellent mimic.

Minors can follow but I ask that you please not roleplay with me! I do not consent to minors sending me roleplay asks

My trope ratings are here if you’d like a detailed list, but overall-

Favourites- intimate whumpers, teasing, cold whump, non con touch and kissing, being overpowered, drug whump, gore, multiple whumpers, put on display, ropes

Ask first: head trauma, whipping

Please don’t: broken noses, fingore, forced eye contact, extreme degradation, self depreciation, self effacing dialogue

Will get you blocked: detrans, racism, homophobia, transphobia, abelism, sanism, acephobia

If you want to rp anything involving themes opf noncon or other nsfwhump, I have a post linking to my nsft blog here.

[blackrosesandwhump]

My OC Asa

I found a new AI art generator for portraits and created my vampire lab rat boy Asa.

Dang, look at him though 💕

[steelandblood]

Character Intros

So as I started writing some longer things and will hopefully start posting them soon periodically, I think it’s a good time to introduce the recurring characters that I will be using.  These characters are based on PC’s (and a few NPC’s) from one of my DND campaigns, so most stories will have my PC as the main character and the whumpee (cause I obviously know and care about her the most and I’m uncomfortable torturing other ppls PC’s unless I’m DMing) and will take place in parallel universes, in the same vague fantasy DND forgotten realms settings. Also all names changed cause it’s not exactly the same characters but rather my interpretation of them, and more importantly to reduce the chance of anyone finding out. (though if you’re reading this you have no right to judge me cause you are here as well)

Character profiles under the cut. All portraits made in this picrew.

Mirwen (female 25)

Main whumpee. Half-elf oath of vengeance paladin. She grew up with her very abusive human father, and joined the military to get away from home. After several years she left to become an adventurer, which would allow her to engage in legally questionable vigilante activities. She is trying to keep an appearance of being strong and stoic but she’s very impulsive and uses anger to hide her fear. Would rather die then ask for help. She is the designated responsible adult of the party, and is extremally protective of the other party members and would happily sacrifice herself for them. 

Rauna (18 female)

One of 2 main caretakers. Half-elf life domain cleric of Salune. She never knew her parents and was raised by nuns. She had a quite happy, but very sheltered childhood, and ran away from the monastery to become an adventurer to to see the world and use her powers to help people. She’s smart but very awkward, so often ends up accidently saying the wrong thing, but she is doing her best. Baby of the teem who can do no wrong and must be protected at all costs. Also she’s the main healer and the one with revivify so if she dies everyone dies.

Calina (23 female)

Party member Aasimar arcane-trickster rogue. She is from a well off family and grew up with loving and protective parents. She wanted to learn how to fight and learn magic so her parents reluctantly allowed her to go away and become an adventurer. She is the party’s resident ray of  sunshine and probably the most emotionally stable one. She is very nice and friendly, and can talk her way out of most situations, and she usually sees the best in people, though sometimes she can be too trusting.

Thancur (20 male)

Party member Earth genasi battle-smith artificer. He was raised by his dwarvish adoptive father and grew up to be a blacksmith just like him. When his father disappeared under mysterious circumstances he became an adventurer in the hopes of finding or avenging his father. He is definitely the smart one of the team and he tries to act like a serious adult but can sometimes be childish or petty due to his naivete and youth. He is rather stoic and quite introverted, so though he likes his party, he can sometimes feel somewhat uncomfortable with how loud and emotional his teammates can get.

Alysa (28 female)

One of 2 main caretakers. Mirwen’s crush/S.O Aasimar life domain cleric of Eldath. She grew up with a single mother who was a midwife and she followed in her mother’s footsteps and became a healer. She never really left her hometown, quite content with living a safe and “boring” life and leaving the adventuring for others. She is calm and patient, but can be strict when needed. She is smart and good at reading people, but not the best with dealing with other’s emotions.

Firiende (~300? female)

The party’s employer/boss. Thuncur’s new mentor High Elf necromancer wizard. She is very intelligent and dedicates her time to the pursuit of knowledge, especially of  dark and forbidden magic, not for some evil plans but out of genuine curiosity. She does not like risking herself though, so despite being way more powerful than them, she employs adventurers for the dirtier and more dangerous parts of her research. She is very calm and collected, and  it’s near impossible to get a rise out of her. She is nice enough but doesn’t really get emotionally attached to anyone, especially from shorter lived species.  

Adan (22 male)

Party’s “sidekick” and Calina’s boyfriend Human mercenary He is Calina’s childhood friend, they grew up together and they both always planned to go adventuring and see the world. When Calina went off adventuring he joined a well respected mercenary group. He met the party when they were off  on a quest and dicided to join them so he could travel with Calina as they always dreamed of doing. He is not a full member of the party but more of a��“sidekick” as, though he is a good fighter, he is still “just some guy” and not nearly as powerful as them. He is levelheaded and easygoing and does not involve himself with the others’ drama. He is always trying to learn new things and improve himself so he can be as powerful as Calina and prove himself to her.  

Duke Amerik Ravengard (40′s male)

Whumper Human noble Honestly I don’t ever give whumpers much character, but what’s story relevant is that he is a power hungry noble that wants to build himself an undead army (dead soldiers are lower maintenance and cheaper than living ones) and will do whatever he can to get his hands on Firiende’s research that he believes will allow him to achieve that.  

[pax-my-heart]

Intro Post - Pax

Well, uh, this was unexpected.

Through my conversations with @whump-queen, I've made something of a whump OC to roleplay!

Everyone, meet Pax! (they/them) They're a horned demon of sorts with an extreme fear of their horns being touched. They were tossed around between owners and is horribly traumatized from the whole ordeal. As a result, they have attachment issues as well.

They aren't defiant or enthusiastic. Just numbly compliant with most orders.

They're missing a piece of their horn. One of their owners sawed the tip off as punishment. They also have purple flames, but they lost full control of their magic when their horns were damaged.

I'm open to anon roleplay, but please be 18+ and keep it SFW. As far as DMs, I like to know people a bit before I roleplay in DMs, so sorry if I say no!

I'll add more as I think of it.

Main is @quietly-by-myself

[angeru-hatake]

Blood and Kim Namgil (still Island edition)

I need MORE whump Namgil!

Most of his characters always have one or two whump scenes. Don't blame me. He looks good covered in blood.

Gosh, sexy bloody Kim Namgil 🖤

[raven-fucks-around-and-writes]

okay yall, this is my first oc so be patient

Aramis Devereux (okay this kingdom name might change, but here we go)

- 21, and goes by he/they

•prince of the kingsom asphoria

•At the age of 15, there was an assassination attempt on his life, but his brother, Magnus "Archer" Devereux (who was 13 at the time) saw this coming, and in shielded Aramis from of the bullet. This resulted in his untimely and tragic death, which shocked everyone

•Afterwards, Aramis never seemed the same.. His attitude changed completely. He was once passionate and lively, but afterwards he was stoic and careless, it was like a switch in him flipped..

•Soon, the court grew tired of his snobby attitude, expecially his knights and servants, and even after a while, his parents. Deep down, he cares, but on the outside you could def be mislead

He's about 5"7, having shoulder length blonde hair and blue eyes

As for sexuality-wise, he leans more towards men but he's unlabeled

•His birthday is November 14th, and Magnus's birthday was June 9th

[whumptimemain]

Zombie Apocalypse Lesbians

It's a clunky name, but it's what I've been affectionately calling these five oc's, and it's stuck now haha. I thought I'd do a little character introduction before I start posting writing for them.

JOAN

In the structure of a five man band, Joan would be the leader. She's an ex Walmart manager, which has been surprisingly helpful in the apocalypse.

Joan is a Black woman, and quite feminine. When the group has downtime, she likes to take it to pamper herself, whether that's painting her nails or trying on clothes that Julie's been working on. She is a leader because she made to be. In her opinion, anyone else would have been a better pick.

VALERIE

Valerie can and will oppose every single plan they make, not to be a pain, but to make sure their choice is the soundest one. She's smart, brash, and has a knack for ending up in danger, despite her careful planning. In the moment, she's the kind to improvise.

She's Persian and visually impaired. She's been blind in one eye since birth, and started wearing an eyepatch during the apocalypse because she thought it would look cooler. Exercise is her go-to for blowing off steam.

JULIE

Smarter than anyone knows to give her credit for, Julie always aspired to be a fashion designer. She grew up very privileged, but lost her entire family early into the apocalypse. Julie picks up skills quickly (she credits that to the fancy boarding school she went to), but she doesn't always know how to apply them.

Julie is a whyte Trans woman, and is very very crafty. She's great at fixing things, making things, maintaining things, and was a very great addition to the team. Nobody expected much from the beautiful blonde young woman, but living without her would be so much more difficult.

CLOVER

Clover grew up always wanting a farm. The city wasn't doing it for her. She moved out at sixteen to work on her ex-girlfriend's parent's farm, both the livestock and the crops. It wasn't huge, but it was enough to scratch the itch, at least until she got dumped. She got a job at the local Walmart and moved in with Joan, who was looking for a roommate.

Clover is Mexican, and freckled on her face, shoulders, and upper back. She's got a lot of practical skills, both in muscle work and book smarts. She still enjoys reading in her spare time.

CLAIRE

Claire has a very special place in my heart. She's an optimist, perfectionist, and was a medical student when the apocalypse started. She's the emotional center of the group, and was very close with Valerie before everything went down. She considers them even closer now. Claire can and will try to help people, but only at her own risk. She will never put the group in danger on purpose.

She's whyte, and has very square features, and can come off quite intimidating. She's my shmooper dooper and I love her. She can and will be a whumpee hehehe.

[rookthebird]

whump character dynamic i love

"i can't let anyone ever find out about what happened to me. they'll be disgusted."

x

"you are so strong for surviving everything that happened.

i'm so proud of you."

[songbird-in-hell]

I used to be a warrior. Well, more like an assassin, but that’s not the kind of word the high heavens would use. I questioned their methods- most demons used to be humans, and we’re supposed to protect humans.

I got demoted. Too many ‘mistakes,’ letting low rank demons escape, getting in the way of my allies attacks.

It wasn’t long before I got captured. I was kept as a pet, changed owners a couple times, but finally got free after three years in captivity. The blink of an eye in the life of an immortal being. But I wasn’t alone anymore… my beloved, my dearest… they escaped with me.

I don’t know where I am right now… the last thing I remember was the flat of an axe swinging at me, and a tall demon with dark red skin.

I’m in a crate, or a trunk, typing this message to automatically send to whoever messages me next. If you get this, please make sure Juno is safe.

——

@itsmeblackcat <-hope you’re okay with me tagging you

[whumpingcrow]

Fixed - Gio in retraining

Cw: bbu whump and everything adjacent to that, institutionallized slavery, dehumanization, behavior modification, migraine whump, memory loss, discussion of torture methods, whipping, shock collar whump, gagging mention, blood/bruises, noncon mention (vague), whumpee with a very messed up headspace, suicidal ideation (pretty vague), conditioned whumpee, humiliation whump, food mention, noncon mention (fade to black) (let me know if I missed anything!)

There is a tiny square window in the upper left corner of the concrete cell, a pale yellow light squeezes through and washes out the gray of the wall in the spot it touches. The boy has been staring at it for so long that a sharp aching is blossoming behind his eyes. He knows it doesn’t lead to the outside world, the light coming in never ceases or dims or changes color, but still he tries to imagine that it’s sunlight. As long as he doesn’t think about how he’s just pretending, it almost makes him feel a little better. 

The bruises on his knees have long gone numb, it’s probably been a few hours since one of the trainers came in and gave him his position and told him not to move until he got back. He didn’t argue and he didn’t complain (he can’t remember if he used to do either of those things when he first got to this place, he tries now to imagine the taste of defiance on his tongue and it is painfully missing, so maybe he never had it in the first place.), and hours later, when the pain has escalated and morphed into something so intense he can’t even understand it anymore, he still doesn’t even move. There isn’t a shift of his weight to try and ease the pain, no pitiful attempts to discreetly stretch out his taut muscles. He knows by now that whatever pain he’s feeling right now is nothing compared to what will be done to him if he disobeys. He acknowledged right from the beginning of this…was this a punishment? He can’t even remember that much, by now, but at the very start of it he realized there was mercy in it. Kneeling on the hard floor and bruising to the bone was the nicest thing he’d been made to do in so long, so of course he was going to do it well. He could only imagine what they might do to him if he messed up something as lenient as this. So for hours, or days, or weeks, he lost his sense of time forever ago, he stays still, he pretends it isn’t hurting so bad, he pretends the synthetic sunlight isn’t giving him a migraine, he doesn’t think, he is good, he is so tired, he can hardly work up the energy to inhale, he doesn’t know how he’s still upright, but he is good, and he is quiet. Through his delirious pain, he finds himself thinking that his last owner would be proud.

The door is loud when it’s unlocked. He’s always been thankful for that, for the small warning it provides. It’s a metallic, technical noise, with lots of clicking and shifting of overly complicated mechanics, and it takes a few seconds before the door can fully slide open. It’s almost funny that the people training him think he needs that intense of a security system to keep him in here; he’s been doing ridiculously obedient things like kneeling for hours on end for what feels like a lifetime now, and they think, without this lock, that he might just get up and walk out.

But maybe he wouldn’t walk, maybe he’d try sprinting. Until his legs give out, or until someone catches up to him and tackles him and then they would have to drag him kicking and screaming back to this room-

He knows how blank and stupid his gaze is when he looks up at the two figures in the doorway, everyone around here is always reminding him of that whenever they get the chance. It must be even worse this time around, he’s been staring at the fake sun for so long the people in the doorway are blotchy with black and purple shadows floating around his vision, and he can guess how idiotic he looks trying to blink his vision clear and search for a way around them so he can see their faces. 

“I can’t fuckin’ believe it.” The voice bounces off the bare concrete walls, everything has seemed so much louder in this room since they took the cot out. “Eight fuckin’ hours. God damn unbelievable.”

“I told you.” This voice he recognizes, it’s the same one that told him to kneel and stay put, once or twice before it’s told him to put his hands against the wall and keep them there while he was dealt gruesome lashes to his exposed back (never enough to bleed, they only make him bleed if it won’t leave a scar). He knows the voice comes with a pair of reddish brown eyes and slightly darker slicked back hair. He doesn’t know his name, or any of the trainers' names. That’s the only thing they have in common: they’re nameless to each other. 

Their shoes scuff against the floor as they enter the room, just enough to close the door behind them. The lock whirs back again, and now he is trapped in here with them. He realizes all at once how sporadic and pained his breathing sounds, he tries his best to steady it so they don’t make it into another punishment. 

There’s a soft, baffled chuckle from one of them, he isn’t quite sure who. Then, the first voice speaks again, a little softer than the first time. “No, no, I believed you about the no noise thing but-”

“Not a peep.” The trainer interrupts proudly.

“Right. But I mean, no tears at all? He didn’t cry the whole time?”

His heart sinks at the remark, he wasn’t supposed to cry, was he? He’d always been punished harshly for it, no one here had ever wanted him to cry. He searches through his memory for the exact words the trainer used after he was in position. 

“Stay here. Don’t move, don’t make a fucking sound.” 

It had been echoing around in his head since he first heard it, but he wondered if it distorted with time and pain and maybe originally the point was for him to cry. He has to focus all of his energy into keeping the panic out of his face, in the process he feels his hands twitch at his sides, just the tiniest bit, not enough for either of them to notice. 

“I know. This new system is a dream, I’m telling you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a recall respond this well.”

He allows himself to exhale the most miniscule breath of relief. He had responded well. So well, in fact, that the trainer had brought someone else along with him to gloat. The boy would have smiled, if he didn’t know for a fact that it would get him beat. So he instead continues to blink at the two blurry, blotched out people standing across the room. 

“Imagine how much we could save if we implicated this training with the new intakes-”

“You know that’s not an option,” the other voice cuts off the trainer, “it’s too…you know this is for recalls only. If we used it right out of the gate it could get us shut down.”

The trainer scoffs wryly, the boy feels instantly afraid at how unhinged of a sound it is. Surely, he will take the heat for this going bad, he will be there for the trainer to let his anger out on when the other person leaves, he will allow himself to be berated to make the trainer feel better, and he no longer feels any conflict about it. It is his purpose, he understands now, to hurt for others. Whether it be as a stress reliever or a punching bag or a sex toy, as long as he is in pain at the hands of others, he is doing what he was made for. He should feel honored. 

He feels scared. 

“I don’t think you’re getting it,” the trainer starts, his shoes are making their way across the concrete toward the boy, they stop a few feet away from him, “you were here when he was sent back. You witnessed right along with me the state he was in. And now…”

The boy can make out some of his trainer's features now, the splotches burnt into his retina are slowly fading away, and he is even more scared when he finds anger in the face of the man above him. He doesn’t react, though, he looks back down at the floor, making sure to breathe through his nose and keep his spine straight. 

“Stand up. Come here.”

The command comes as a surprise to both the boy and the man standing near the door still, but only one of them reacts outwardly. The man is shaking his head, laughing to himself in disbelief. The boy screams inside of his head, and then he tries to stand up.

Everything from the middle of his spine to the tips of his toes lights up with pain the second he moves, he only gets one foot solidly under him before collapsing right to his knees again. His face burns with embarrassment, his hands shake in fear, but he doesn’t let out even a whine. When he looks up to see what his trainer is making of the pathetic attempt, he finds dissatisfaction, and his heart breaks. He used to question this, at the beginning, why did it make him so sad to displease these people that were torturing him? Now, though, he swallows the heartbreak fully, lets it overtake him, because pleasing others is what he was made for, and if he can’t do that then he doesn’t deserve to even live. So he tries standing again. It proves even more pointless than the first time, his already bruised knees hitting the solid ground hurts so bad he goes numb everywhere else. His breathing picks up, he’s now a mess of hitched and quick breaths through his flared nostrils. Still, he makes no sound. 

The trainer is getting fed up with him, the boy can tell by the way he shifts his weight and crosses his arms over his chest. It’s the same thing he did before he put the shock collar on the boy and showed him what it was like to really not be able to hold back his screams, and before he threw him face first into the wall and held him there to make him watch as the others took away his cot. He dreads what will happen when the other man leaves, he dreads even more that the man might not leave and he will have to receive punishment from two of them. More than any of that, he’s just embarrassed. His trainer had been so proud of the progress he’d made, proud enough to show it off, and now the boy was ruining all of it just because he couldn’t make himself stand up. 

So he tries again.

And again he fails. 

He wants to cry, more than anything, and he has for the last eight hours, but he just can’t. Not when he knows that crying will only earn him the shiny, much too sharp gag that he’s been in more times than he can count. For a second he wonders if having that cut into his cheeks and tongue for a few hours would be better or worse than this humiliating test, but realizes that he doesn’t get to pick and choose his punishments, why does he think he deserves that luxury? 

He tries again.

This time, he gets a little further, and there’s a moment where he’s standing on shaking, useless legs, and he’s proud of himself. He attempts a step toward his trainer, and then he’s right back where he started, on his knees, biting back tears, swallowing back pleas, wondering how to get out of this and then wondering how he could dare to think such a thing. 

The next time his knees hit the ground, he isn’t able to stop the soft, barely audible gasp he lets out, and then he’s shaking even more at the idea of them using it against him. He sets his jaw, he tries to level his ever-quickening breathing, he tries to stand up again. This should be easy, he can’t process why he isn’t able to make the three or four steps it would take to be in front of his trainer, and he feels so stupid, so ashamed. He throws a nervous glance at the man standing at the door, who is watching on with an indecipherable frown. Is he disappointed in the boy for not being able to complete this simple task? Is he going to order more cruel “exercises” to make him better? 

He forces himself to get his feet under him, he stands slowly, he doesn’t permit himself to wince when he wants to. His whole body jolts involuntarily at the pain taking a step causes, and right when he thinks he might be able to do it, his legs are giving way beneath him and he’s sinking to the cold, hard floor with a thud. This time it hurts so much he gets nauseous, and he presses his palms into the cool floor to try and ground himself. 

“Alright, I think you’ve proven your point-” the man at the door begins, the boy looks up at him with the smallest amount of gratitude written into his face. He’s panting now, and he’s pale and jittery all over, and still he’s managed to keep the tears from his eyes and any sounds of discomfort from his throat. 

“No, I haven’t. You’re missing my point entirely, actually.” The trainer looks down his nose at the mess in front of him, the boy could curl up and die right there at how unhappy he looks. “I’ve given him an order, and he’s going to do it. You’ll see.”

The boy swallows, he looks at the little square of light on the wall again. He hopes that soon, they might tell him that he’s finally trained well enough to leave and he can see real sunlight again. He stands. He sways. He falls. He stands. He staggers forwards. He falls. He stands. He holds his breath. He thinks he might pass out. He falls. He reminds himself that crying will get him into trouble. He takes a shuttering breath. He stands. He wants to feel the sun on his skin. He takes a step. He wants to breath in air that isn’t dense with his own tortured cries. He falls. He reminds himself that making noise is what got him sent back in the first place. He stays silent. He stands. He wants to sleep on something soft. He takes a step. He’s so tired of waking up covered in bruises and trying to figure out if they’re from the trainers or where his bones meet the concrete he sleeps on. He takes a step. He has to get out of here. He takes a step. He has to get out of here, it doesn’t matter where they send him as long as it isn’t here. He takes a step. He wonders what he did in his old life to deserve this. He takes a step. He knows that if it made him end up here, it must have been something horrible. He takes a step. He is glad he doesn’t remember.

“There’s no fucking way…” the man at the door mutters. The boy is uneasy at how much he’s cussing, too often he’s been on the receiving end of most of that foul language, and the actions that come along with them are never pleasant. 

In between his soft gasps of pain held at bay, the boy whispers out a tiny “I’m sorry, sir,” and he leaves it at that. Because he can’t will himself to look up at his trainer, he misses the smile he’s wearing, and it startles him when he laughs. 

“You hear that?” He announces. “The dumb fuck is apologizing to me.” Then he turns back to the boy, takes his face in his hand. His touch is somewhere between caring and demeaning. The boy leans into it like he’s been searching for warmth his entire life. When he speaks again, it’s quietly, just to the boy. “You did good. That was exactly what I needed from you. Well done.”

All of the pain from the last few hours seems to melt away at that. The boy cracks a tired grin, he pushes further into the hand against his cheek. When he first got here, he was humiliated at any form of praise, it only made him push back against the training more. Now, it feels like it’s what he lives for. He would do anything for it, because being touched gently and being told that he was giving up his humanity, his freedom, so perfectly was far better than the pointless struggle and agony of trying to keep it. 

When the trainer steps away from him, he barely stops himself from falling right to the floor again, and he stays swaying in his spot as the other two continue their conversation. He’s hardly listening now, too focused on staying upright, but he hears his trainer saying something about how much money they could save if they used this so-called “new system” right at the beginning. Distantly, the boy feels a heavy guilt, like it’s all his fault that others may be treated the same way he has. He thinks about all the times he’d lay there praying for death to show him mercy while he hugged his own bloody and bruised body, and he thinks about the shock collar, and he thinks about the migraines, and he thinks about the little square of fake sunlight that never moves, and when he imagines anyone else going through that, it makes him sick to his stomach. He may have deserved it, but no one else does, and if the trainers start using those methods on others, it would be all his fault. He only feels that distantly, though, because he can hear his trainer saying something about a reward, now, and it’s been so long since he was given anything but punishment that he can’t focus on thinking about anything other than the trainer making his way back to him. The other man is gone, the boy wonders how he didn’t notice the loud sound of the door opening and closing when he left. 

“How do you think you did?” The trainer checks. His voice has a slight condescending tone, but when does it not?

“I…I am sorry it took me so long, sir.” 

The trainer hums in agreement. He’s touching the boy again, his hands trailing over the nape of his neck and grabbing onto his shoulders. “You didn’t make any noise.”

“I am to be seen and not heard. Sir.” He recites it well, despite his shaking voice and his wavering breathing. He can’t ever keep himself composed when historically cruel hands are suddenly nice with him. 

“Good. That’s good. You didn’t cry either.”

“No, sir, I have no reason to cry.” He wants to cry every second of every single day. From the time he opens his eyes to the time he closes them he is holding back tears. Sometimes he wakes up and catches himself crying at something in his sleep. He thinks he would die if anyone ever caught him. 

“Those bruises on your knees look painful. It must’ve hurt a lot, to do all of that just now.” There’s no pity in his voice, it is very clearly a test, and it’s one that the boy knows how to pass.

“My pain means nothing, sir.” The pain is making him lose his mind. He would do anything to make it stop, if only he knew how.

The trainer steps closer. The boy tries not to tense up in his grip, he tries not to flinch away from him when he leans in so they’re breathing in each other's air. 

“I’m very proud of you.” He mumbles. 

“Oh,” the boy breathes, his cheeks grow scarlett and he looks away from the trainer completely, “th…thank you, sir.”

“Are you hungry?”

He pauses, is this still a test? And then he looks back up at the trainer. “If you…if you wanted to feed me I would be so, so grateful, sir, but I would never ask-”

“Wow,” the trainer laughs, “this is incredible. I almost can’t believe…when you first came here, you probably don’t remember, you bit me so hard I bled. I still have a scar.” He pulls a hand away from the boy to pull down the collar of his shirt and sure enough, there’s a faded outline of teeth where his shoulder meets his neck. As soon as he’s sure the boy saw it, he lets go of his shirt and returns his hand to the boy’s slim shoulder.

All of the blood drains from the boy's face, he shakes his head to himself, like he’s scolding himself for it. He doesn’t remember, like the trainer said, and he also can’t imagine himself doing something like that. He is horrified that he was once in a place where he would hurt a trainer, not to mention disgusted in himself, and it shows in every inch of his trembling, wiry frame. “I am so sorry, sir-”

“No, you don’t understand, pet,” the trainer is leaning even closer, his mouth is against the shell of the boy's ear when he speaks again, “I fixed you. I tore you to pieces and then I rebuilt you from scratch and I made you perfect.” 

There’s a brief moment where the boy is speechless. He’s still trying to reel himself in from the spiraling self-hatred and guilt that he hurt someone so bad, especially a trainer, and he’s trying to figure out what was happening to him that would make him lash out and bite someone in the first place, and he’s trying to understand why the trainers phrasing of “fixing” him makes him feel so sad. But then, after he really thinks about it, he’s happy. The trainer fixed him, he is perfect, he said, which means he doesn’t need any more training, right? It means he should be able to leave now, and maybe be somewhere with real sunshine and night and day. 

“Thank you, sir.” He rushes out. “Thank you for fixing me.”

The trainer smiles against his skin, and then his hands migrate to the boy’s hair, he’s neither gentle nor aggressive when he grabs fistfulls of it, but rather something in the middle. “I’m going to get you a nice, hot, proper meal. I’ll even bring you to the dining hall, that’s your reward. You were so good for me today.”

“Oh, thank you-”

“I just need you to do one last thing for me, ok?”

The boy nods instantly. “Of course, anything, sir.”

“Good boy.” The trainer pulls off of him, looks him up and down with a smile. “Get back on your knees.”

[blackrosesandwhump]

So, I'm watching the show Sanctuary, and, well, Will Zimmerman is perfect for whumping 😈🖤

I sense there might be some fanfiction in the future 😁

[riflewounds]

= Norman Corey, the introduction =

So I might as well introduce my war criminal whumpee, Norman. He's been living in my head rent free since November 2014 and he's gone through a lot of changes through the years. Yeah he's my main whumpee, occasional caretaker, and rarely a whumper.

First, the basics. He's probably 30-something (allegedly 33). I say probably because he doesn't count his birthdays for trauma reasons. But yeah, his birthday 11th of March. Or 11th of May. He doesn't know and neither do I. The name Norman Corey is his actual name, though he did have an alias, initials VP. And he's worked really, really hard to bury that. Some still know what his alias was, but aside from a handful of shady government people, no one knows. I'm going to describe his appearance in detail later, because that's several paragraphs of information.

This post will go for a long, loooong time, so more under the cut.

Oh, and before we go any further, please keep in mind this post will contain the following: substance abuse (especially alcoholism), talk of suicide, mentions of self-harm, talk of a possible eating disorder, military talk, talk of brain damage.

Obligatory tag for @burtlederp, I finally have some Norman stuff.

Alright, welcome back. We will now resume the scheduled character introduction.

Appearance, yes. He's skinny, unhealthily skinny, weighing in at some 130 lbs. A smidge over 6 feet tall, but not by a lot, half an inch at most. His skin is pale and if you look close enough, you can see his veins. Speaking of veins, he has some broken capillaries around his nose, giving the area a permanent red tinge. Eye color could be called olive, but they're generally a shade of green. His hair is more often than not greasy and matted because this dumbass doesn't have the energy to drag his sorry ass to a shower. The hair reaches his shoulders and is of ashen brown color. He also has rather noticeable eye bags. Because he can't sleep half the time and he spends the other half drinking himself to oblivion. But I'll get to that later, alcoholism is like half of the character.

Continuing on with appearance. As you can see, he has quite a few prominent scars on his face. The most noticeable ones are the pair of gashes over the bridge of his nose, one gash on his left cheek, starting at the jaw and pointing roughly towards his eye. Then there's the scar across his right lip, and above his right brow. The brow scar is important, that's where the chunk of armor plating is. It's a long story, the Echo Incident. There's also a smaller scar on the left side of his chin. Another very important scar is the band around his neck. Yeah he tried to hang himself with a wire, but his luck is a bitch and the thing he attached the wire to broke off and down to the ground he went. As if the world didn't want him to die, I wonder why that is.

So anyway. His body is peppered with various bullet wounds, some nicely healed, others nasty and knotted and generally sensitive to touch. Out of these body scars, the two biggest ones lie on his right thigh. These are a bullet wound from the same shrapnel to face incident, but this one was caused by an actual bullet, not shrapnel. For the nerds, this particular bullet was a tracer round, 7.62x39mm, lodged itself between the femur and femoral artery, plus it's pressing against the big nerve next to the artery and if he sits wrong his leg goes numb. And right next to this scar is a very long, very nasty gash from the one time he tried to fish the bullet out with a knife as he lay in a bathtub. He passed out from blood loss, but once again, he woke up three days later, very sore and very tired. That seems to be a pattern, whenever he dies, he wakes up later, alive but hurting and having to deal with a less severe version of the injury that got him in the first place.

Personality. Well. He *appears* uninterested and apathetic, he's withdrawn, quiet, lazy, uncaring and generally bleak, but befriend him and he'll show his true colors. He may be all of the above, but that's mostly a way to drive others away so he doesn't hurt them through his actions. Anyway he cares a lot about people he considers to be friends, and is quite loyal to them. Though he's a bit of a death seeker, and he lacks almost any regard for his own life. Near-death situations somehow bring him peace. That, and he doesn't feel right unless he's in a fistfight or a firefight. He's quick to anger if you ask about his military career, and doing so will result in a fight (he's the one who escalates).

Oh yeah, I mentioned substance abuse in the content warnings. Well, dear reader, he is one hell of a mess. He used to have a pretty bad opiate addiction and his general tolerance for drugs is through the roof. It's Ozzy Osbourne level. Which is why the hospital he frequents has a 'patient is moving' tally in the OR. And it's all because of him. He's allegedly friends with the anesthesiologist, but who knows. I didn't get to that point yet. These days he drinks. A lot. He's a barely functional alcoholic. How dysfunctional, you ask? He's somehow worse than Harry Du Bois from Disco Elysium. He started drinking when he was still in the military. The actual reasons are hazy, but something something war crimes and horrible leadership. He let it get worse and worse, trying to get himself articled, but the shrapnel to face incident happened first. Well anyway, he had to be sober for six months while he was recovering in Germany. Back then, he didn't cross the threshold of alcoholism, but he fit the criteria for alcohol abuse. But once he got out of the hospital and back to U.S., he got really, really into opiates. He started with pills, but later on moved to needles and shit. He still has old track marks in the crook of his left elbow, and a strip of scar tissue around his upper left arm because of how tight he applied the tourniquet every time. It was one of those scratchy rubber assholes from car first aid kits. Well anyway, at some point he started having issues sourcing the drugs, so he replaced one addiction with another and now instead of a habitual opiate user, we have a thoroughly dysfunctional dumpster fire of an alcoholic. Not only does he drink whiskey as if it was water, he tosses ketamine, haloperidol, and a bunch of other stuff into the mix. But he's usually smart enough to do that only when he's sober. Usually.

All of which leads me to his health, and how terrible it is. As you may already know, he got shot quite a few times. And the shard of armor plating in his face. That thing used to be a lot bigger, what he's left with now is a little over half of the entire shrapnel. It's lodged deep within his right frontal lobe, which gives him a number of issues, including, but not limited to: difficulty interpreting emotions and social cues, memory issues, impulse control issues, etc. He's doing what he can with it. The shrapnel is long enough to bump against his ocular nerve, but that happens extremely rarely. When it does happen, his right eye will act up, he'll see a bright flash and feel sharp, stabbing pain over half his face. Anyway that shrapnel is his weak point - hit his face at just the right angle, and you'll drop him in seconds. The effects are similar to a concussion, but a little different. He'll be disoriented and confused, but that goes away in about an hour. Also another important point - his lungs are fucked from asbestos and burn pits. And his liver, poor thing. That thing hurts like a motherfucker, if he's on too long of a bender, it *will* act up, it *will* hurt and he'll be left curled up into a ball, screaming in agony. Then it's ambulance time. Usually he goes sober for a while when this happens, but his sobriety rarely lasts longer than two weeks because one, delirium tremens is a bitch to deal with (starts 24 hours or less since last drink, and can last up to three days), two, he's anxious and antsy as fuck, jumpy, snapping at people, and three, he's hallucinating when he's sober. He has two recurring hallucinations: Jack and Jameson. More on them later. Other important health stuff, he's living on liquor, gummy vitamins, stale frozen pizza that takes him three days to eat. So yeah, he's malnourished and underweight. It... doesn't help that he forgets to eat, since he doesn't really feel hunger anymore. His fridge is always full of beer, and freezer is stuffed full of frozen pizza (margherita, sorry if I butchered the spelling), so even if he wanted to eat something different, he couldn't, since he has nothing else in the house. Maybe a box of cereal five years after its expiration date in a cupboard, or the two boxes of MREs in the basement, but he only eats those when he's travelling.

Norman is a pretty capable fighter, both at range and up close. His fighting style is very technical, relying on various maneuvers over brute strength. Despite his weak and frail appearance, he can hit surprisingly hard. At range, he's deadly up to 300m, and a fairly good shot at long ranges, provided he has the right rifle for the job. He's best used as a sniper or a marksman.

Uhhh what else. I don't know what else to tell you, there's just so much about this disaster of an alcoholic that I could talk about. Anyway if you desperately want to know more, please check out my Character Dump, page 5. Everything there is to know about that character is there.

Ohhh yeah, Jack and Jameson. I almost forgot about those two.

Jack and Jameson are Norman's two recurring hallucinations. They're personifications of parts of his personality. Jack, the asshole, is all of Norman's self-hatred, anger, and substance abuse comcentrated into a single antropomorphic form. Jack tends to show up only when Norman believes he's alone in a room and no one can hear/see him. It provokes him, points out every single mistake he's ever made (and not in a constructive way), drives him to do things he normally wouldn't do. And Jameson is the opposite, it's the concentrated form of whatever is left of Norman's self-preservation instinct. It's always in the shadows, and it acts sort of like his sixth sense. Neither of these two hallucinations are omniscient - they work with the information Norman already has.

Okay that's all. I genuinely don't know what else to talk about.

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

Mina M. Alinsky - Character Sheet

Name: Mina Marie Alinsky

Nickname(s): Minabean, Minarina, Minmin.

Age: 479 Years old.

Birthday: December 13th, 1543 (Date of Turning)

Profession: Registration and shipment confirmation officer (Or R.C.O.) at gallery 'Avantgarde'.

Closest friends: Andreia Leonhardt, Desmond Leonhardt.

Love interest(s): Lukas J. Verino, Andreia/Desmond Leonhardt.

Past: Mina was turned at a young age and yet, still supported by her family. After several years of running and hiding, her and her family were found and intended to be executed. Before they were, another vampire intervened that was in rule of the area and instead of killing them, he ordered that Mina’s parents be turned in order to care for and be able to follow their turned daughter. 

Once Mina’s parents had agreed to be turned, they were released again and the three of them fled across the world to Romania. They lived there for 200 years in solitude, until a vampire by the name of Drojcian Winterove, started war in the land to claim it and brought terror to everything in the peaceful country. 

Before the war turned chaotic, Mina, her mother and father served in established military hospitals for kindred and humans. Whomever fought for the 60+ years that the Winterove storm overtook the area was treated by whomever had enough medical knowledge to try to save lives. 

When the war finally hit it’s pique and even vampires were being taken as prisoners of war, the hospitals and medical provisions were no exemption. Despite proper warning, their building was flooded and several vampires and humans were taken under siege. Mina had lingered too long, helping stragglers escape and in the raid, she was captured and separated from her family and home-life. 

Upon decided execution, the captives were taken to Drojolnir and when Mina was last in the line of corpses; his son Decian stopped her execution and told his father he wanted to keep her as a pet and a trophy; ‘not having seen vampires look like her’ before. 

Decian was given reign and control over Mina and she was kept in his servitude and torture for 100 years. Once she hit her breaking point, she went into a severely starvation and rage induced frenzy and killed Decian, as well as his entire family. His wife, two daughters and infant son. Three children of the rarest happenstance of vampirism and five purebloods. 

When she escaped, she went back to her birthplace to find an established city where they’d left off of rural farmland. She slowly began a new life from the ground up and all the while, faced the haunting reality she’d left behind. With no one knowing her past, origins or history; she was able to start over and even the meager start of poverty was nothing in comparison to her years in Decian’s care. 

After another century, Mina was able to establish herself and in the meantime, find care for the ghosts of her past. As society evolved and became more inclusive of vampires and their illnesses and ailments, she found care and eventually was fostered into a program to match donors and vampires. 

This was when Mina met Andreia and for the first time in decades, she was able to establish a routine and piece herself back together in the meantime. 

~Personality~

Hobbies: Photography, cooking, occasional knitting/sewing. Reading, editing the website for the gallery. (For real, she actually enjoys it, it’s past her job description.) Drawing from time to time but she isn’t much of an artist. 

Strengths (mental/emotional): Compassionate, easy to relate to others. Brave and selfless with loved ones. Intuitive and observant, a very fine eye for details and a strong memory. 

Weaknesses (mental/emotional): Easily seeded with doubt and easy to distress with outcome. Weak to noticing how much she affects others, blinded by linear objectives. Low self-esteem and easy to convince she’s the problem, a monster, etc. 

Strengths (physical): Unsusceptible to pain, extremely resistant. Strong and fast but stealthier than either. She’s very poised and light on her feet, especially if she needs to be. 

Weaknesses (physical): Semi-brittle bones, easy to break and a bit too mortified skin, leaving it tough and making average movement a bit stiff and generally painful. 

Dreams:  Living in peace and finding someone to live life with. Adopting a child or getting to raise a human baby would be another long-term dream. A bit more eccentric; to have a really grand, ballroom style wedding. (And of course, getting to free Lukas. But she thinks of that more as unassured reality.)

Fears: Being enslaved again. Finding out Decian is somehow still alive. Going into a frenzy and killing Andreia or Desmond. Relapsing to how she was when she had her mental collapse. Being starved again and being buried alive. 

-

Extrovert/introvert/ambivert

Dreamer/realist/half-half

Prefers heat/cold

Give/receive

Early/late to bed at night

Weird dreams/good dreams/nightmares/no dreams most nights

Leader/follower

Lover/fighter/more lover than fighter/more fighter than lover

Plan ahead/go with the flow

Strong memory/forgetful

Hugger/extremely physically affectionate/less physically affectionate

~Favorites~

Food: Her favorite human food was sweetbread or caramel bread. She still likes soft breads/cinnamon rolls and will pick at them for the flavor, but too much will make her sick.

Drink: Coffee. Anything outside blood for her is going to be coffee related. She also likes dry red wines from time to time.

Season: Winter. When everything is covered in snow and chilly. 

Holiday: She doesn’t really have a favorite but she really enjoys pride parades now that they exist. 

Aesthetic: Spacious, ‘homey’ and decorative. Modern, sleek and clean looking but not too sterile. A bit regal, luxurious. Likes to buy things that are durable and will last longer than if it’s purchased cheaply. 

Kink(s): Being given/taking control, restraining her partners (especially with her touch adversity, this is very satisfying), loud/vocal partners, riding on top or dry humping, her neck being kissed or sucked on. Nails down her back where it’s numb from scarring. 

Trait(s) in a partner: Passionate, adaptable kinds of personality. Unafraid of showing her their bad side or how messy they can be, human, natural. Greedy for pleasure but more submissive in the bedroom, more autonomous in their every day lives. Sweet/cute things mean a lot to her and if her partner is the sentimental type, it’s an automatic yes. 

Relationship Favorite(s): Holding hands while driving or walking. Kissing fingers or noses or foreheads. Small public kisses or hugs, ones that are well timed when she’s getting nervous. Bathing/showering together; floating in a pool together is good too. 

~Appearance~

Eyes: Emerald Green.

Hair: Brown-black.

Skin: Naturally darker skin tone, gets a bit pale in the winter. Clear complexion, freckled generously.

Teeth: Dainty fangs, barely noticeable past the 'human' tooth line. They extend double their length at the pique of blood lust and in total are 5mm in length past natural alignment. [.5 cm]

Fashion preferences: Soft and feminine but easy to move in. Mina doesn't like restrictive clothing, it triggers her anxiety pretty badly to wear anything intensively binding.

Tattoos: On the left side of Mina’s head, on her scalp is a crest tattooed into her skin with a filigree ‘W’ in the center. It’s around 7.6cm long and wide and made of black ‘inksticks’ imported from China. This was done as a way of determining who she belonged to, if she were to escape Decian in the past. 

Scars: Mina has scarring that spans from the back of her neck around her hairline, all the way to the tops of her thighs. Some is smooth and other is rippled and textured. Her thighs are thatched with scarring from torture in the past and there’s striped, pale lines on the backs of her ankles from her tendons being cut. She also has a thin, whiting scar around the entire circumference of her neck save for 2.6cm in the back towards her left shoulder. 

~Other~

Languages (spoken/read): Romanian (s/r), English (s/r), Swedish(r) and Russian(s). 

Alcohol tolerance: Low, irregularly low

Drug tolerance: Intolerant, easy to poison, and intoxicate.

Zodiac: Sun | Saggitarius - Ascendant | Virgo - Moon | Virgo

Chinese Zodiac: Rabbit

Personality type: INFP-A

Vampiric Ability: Past recollection or ‘psychic’ powers based off of residual energy. Objects, items, imprints and even lingering physical presence and trigger an event or memory to be picked up by her senses/power. This is incredibly strong with other vampires and emotionally driven moments in time or asserted presence. Metal is very conductive in this case, as it would be with electricity. (Door knobs, car doors, railings, side-walk plates, train tracks, etc.) Visions can last anywhere from two seconds of real time to five to seven minutes. The longer the vision or glimpse backwards into the past; the more aggressive it is on her body and the more blood it tends to burn in her system. There can be side effects if it happens long term or repetitiously in a single day. This can include: headaches, nausea, nosebleeds, ringing ears, spotty vision and weakness of muscles for the duration of the trigger. Unlike other vampires unique abilities; Mina’s cannot be used at will and isn’t outwardly destructive or manipulative to human psyches. Her ability doesn’t enable any benefits to aid in feeding and it holds little worth or purpose in combat or assault. Due to this ability, it has helped fine tune her observational skills and has helped her gain information in situations she wouldn’t have any, prior. One of the largest assets to her escape. 

[candaru]

no no. you don't get it. the reason I injure my blorbos until they can't walk is because that's the only way they'll ever let someone else carry them. the reason I curse them to be sick and feverish is so that they'll finally open up about their emotions while delirious. the reason I force them to overexert themselves to the point of exhaustion is so that when they pass out they can finally rest.

I'm doing this for their own good.