whump-on-a-string - Tumblr blog

[whump-on-a-string]

“you’re safe now.”

“you can rest now.”

“you’ve fought so hard.”

“you don’t have to fight anymore.”

“just sleep, okay?”

“i won’t let anything hurt you.”

“it’s over. it’s all over.”

“you don’t have to worry about anything right now.”

“shh, shh, i’ve got you. you’re safe here.”

“i know it was scary.”

“i know it hurts.”

“you’re all done hurting. there’s no more pain.”

“just focus on resting, okay?”

“you need to save your strength.”

“your job right now is to heal.”

“i’m getting you out of here.”

“i’m taking you home. we’re going home.”

“you’re safe in my arms. the hard part is over.”

[whump-on-a-string]

being aromantic and into whump is like. shoutout to whump for being a great opportunity to engage with stories about intimacy and vulnerability and powerful emotion and physical interactions with other people and intense relationships that are not presumptively based in romance. what would i do without you.

[whump-on-a-string]

One of my absolute favorite tropes is “We have taken the one you love most!” “Oh, have you? Good fukken luck lmao” *distant screams of kidnappers as loved one escapes* or the flipside: “We’ve kidnapped you!” “You are in so much trouble. You are in so much fucking trouble. You are in the most trouble ever, oh my god.” *DOOR EXPLODES INWARDS AS LOVED ONE ARRIVES* and the alternate: *vehicle pulls up, door opens, person is shoved out, door slams, vehicle screeches away* “Did you get kidnapped??” “For a minute yeah”

[whump-on-a-string]

My Tav gets the most sleep of all of the party members because every single time we've been in combat and an enemy casts Sleep or something he's the first if not the only one to take a dirt nap.

The silly spin animation characters do before they fall over asleep is hilarious and makes me laugh every time. It's just so silly.

[whump-on-a-string]

I saw a post wondering why people write whump and it got me to thinking why I originally was fascinated by any whumpy content as a child.

I think for me, it was an escapist way to validate my emotional pain. Growing up, I felt awful and anxious and terrified all the time, but because I wasn't being beaten or physically neglected or abused in a way that was obviously visible to others, it didn't feel real. It didn't feel like I was "allowed" to have those awful twisted-up feelings. And when I tried to talk about them to anyone, I was always dismissed -- there's nothing to be scared of, there's nothing to cry about, what's wrong with you?

Watching characters go through awful things and imagining myself going through those awful things was cathartic. If I were caught in a snowstorm and dying of hypothermia, or rushed into emergency surgery from a burst appendix, or abducted by aliens, or kidnapped and tortured -- then these awful feelings inside me would make sense. I'd be "allowed" to feel sad and scared.

There's also the intoxicating allure of helplessness. When you're parentified as a child, it feels like everything falls on your shoulders. You're ten years old and responsible for keeping your parents happy and their marriage together on top of perfect grades and perfect behavior. Wouldn't it be nice if you were put in a situation where you didn't have to do anything? Wouldn't it be nice in an awful way to be laid up in a hospital bed with some horrible disease or tied to a chair awaiting rescue or hypnotized into a trance?

Like the only way I could imagine resting my anxious brain was being kidnapped or mind controlled!

And then if the whump includes comfort, that's even better, because not only was it totally valid for you to feel awful, other people are actually trying to make you feel better! They bring you blankets and hot drinks and medicine instead of telling you you're being dramatic and to suck it up.

So for me, that's a lot of why whump can be so comforting.

[whump-on-a-string]

when the happy-go-lucky comic relief character is suddenly so very quiet. too hurt or exhausted or both to even try getting up to their usual antics anymore.

[whump-on-a-string]

Fitz's Charm

More Rare Bookseller fanart for @oliversrarebooks because I love them and wanted to draw Fitz with a smug ass expression. Go read their fun whump series.

[whump-on-a-string]

draining you of a little more blood than your body can handle so i can take care of you all day while youre all loopy and weak for me

[whump-on-a-string]

The Rare Bookseller Part 48: Fitz's Charms

Prev > Masterlist

June 1905

TW: mind control, blood drinking

Fitz once again had a plan.

It wasn't much of one. But the past few days in the auction house, he'd had little to do but sleep, eat, play solitaire, read the books and magazines Alexander brought him, and think about how he could escape his seemingly inevitable fate.

It certainly didn't help that Alexander would fix him with a look of intense longing every time he returned to the room, catching Fitz in his gaze and invoking the intense, unnatural urge for fangs in his neck. The horror of the night of the auction hadn't washed that compulsion from his mind at all, and his dreams as he drifted off to sleep were full of  Alexander pulling him close, whispering his mesmeric song in Fitz's ear, humming softly as he bit into Fitz's tender flesh...

And yet, despite Alexander's very obvious desire, and the fact that he now owned Fitz (give or take his terrifying sire, who Fitz wished to put far from his mind), he never so much as laid a hand on him, explaining that he'd rather feed at home.

Fitz didn't accept this. They had complete privacy in the auction house room and  Alexander had originally intended to buy Fitz for exactly this purpose. He'd barely been able to hold himself back in the showroom, and he was obviously struggling to hold himself back now. No, there was something else at play. After giving it a great deal of thought, Fitz concluded that the most likely explanation was that Alexander did not want to grow too attached to him. Despite his grand promises, it was clearly difficult for Alexander to defy his sire in any way. If Alexander's plans to kill the Maestro failed, it would be much easier for Alexander if he didn't care, if he could simply hand over Fitz without a second thought.

Well, that wouldn't do.

Endearing himself to Alexander would be the key to his safety and eventually his escape, Fitz reckoned, particularly if Fitz could avoid getting entangled in inconvenient affection himself. It would possibly afford him more freedom and privilege, and the more Alexander valued him, the more he'd be spurred on to save Fitz from his cruel sire.

And there was one obvious way to start that process: enticing Alexander to feed.

The fact that this plan happened to dovetail with his own enthralled desires was just a happy accident, nothing more.

Fitz had been scheming the entire carriage ride to Alexander's manor, trying to look as enticing as possible in the shapeless frock the auction house had provided for him. Alexander spent most of the ride very interested in the bland scenery of the country road, looking anywhere but at Fitz, his aura betraying where his interests truly lay and sending Fitz's head spinning.

"Well, here we are. Please make yourself at home." said Alexander, removing his coat and shoes at the doorway as Fitz looked around. The manor looked considerably smaller than his childhood home, certainly older, and infused with the musty smell of old books.

A dusty intellectual, then, just as Fitz had suspected. He could work with that. Lord knows he'd charmed his way into the homes of many such an intellectual just by feigning interest in rare plants or mystery stories or whatever bee they had in their bonnet.

"I should show you around," saidAlexander. "This will be your home, now, and I want you to be comfortable. You're free to go where you please in the manor, and use what you will, as long as you don't harm the books or the instruments, or enter my private chambers uninvited. Is that clear?"

"Clear as crystal, sir," said Fitz, deliberately stepping much too close to Alexander, enjoying how he squirmed. It gave Fitz the welcome illusion that he had the upper hand, despite being locked into the manor of the vampire who owned him.

Alexander first took Fitz into an old-fashioned kitchen that was spotlessly clean. "I'll provide you with whatever food you request, but I'll expect you to cook it yourself. Can you cook?"

No, no he could not. Fitz's family had had a chef, and since running away, Fitz had only rented out rooms without access to a kitchen. He'd subsisted mainly on sandwiches, the cheapest diner food he could find, and, when he'd worked as a waiter, as much food from back of house as he could snatch. But Alexander didn't need to know that. How hard could basic cooking be? "I'll try not to burn the place down, sir."

"Burn the place down? You wouldn't --"

"That was a joke, sir."

"...Oh, yes." Alexander took a deep breath, apparently having taken that entirely seriously. 

"Are there any other thralls living here, sir?" Fitz already suspected the answer, given Alexander's air of desperation and how clean the kitchen was.

"No, it's only you."

"Very good, sir." That would certainly work to his advantage.

As Alexander left the kitchen and Fitz followed at his heels, he couldn't help but think of the food that awaited him. He believed that Alexander would keep him fed -- after all, he was apparently depending on Fitz alone for blood, and even the auction house had kept its prisoners fed well. His mouth was watering thinking of the steak and chicken he could be eating.

He'd just need to learn how to use a stove first. A minor detail.

"I hope you'll enjoy this. It's my music room," said Alexander, leading Fitz into an ornate room with a grand piano at its center. It was covered in a mess of sheet music and the bench was worn, indicating that it wasn't just a piano for show as many rich families had, but very well-used. An impressive collection of other instruments sat on the floor or hung from racks on the walls - a beautiful guitar that Fitz immediately coveted, several fine-looking violins, a brightly-painted harpsichord, a polished oboe.

"Yes, I do enjoy it, sir," said Fitz, lighting up. This was ideal -- music would be a way to pass the time and endear himself to his new master all at the same time. He gestured toward that gorgeous piano. "Do you mind, sir?" 

"Not at all. You did mention you play, didn't you?"

"I do, sir," said Fitz with a cheeky grin. "Just listen." He sat down at the bench, making a dramatic show of stretching his arms and cracking his knuckles, pleased to see Alexander giving him full attention. With a deft hand, he launched into a familiar ragtime tune, keeping time by tapping his foot on the floor. He was out of practice, having not played a music gig in several months, but despite a wrong note here and there he could still produce a pleasant enough tune. He looked up to see Alexander absolutely enraptured, a better response than expected considering his rusty piano skills.

"That was wonderful," he said. "What song was that? I've never heard it."

"You've never heard the Maple Leaf Rag, sir?" 

"I tend to be rather sheltered when it comes to newer music."

"Is that so, sir?" With a smile and a flourish, Fitz stood up and gestured to the piano bench. "In that case, I would like to hear some of your older music, if you don't mind playing, sir."

Alexander looked surprised and pleased at Fitz's request. "If you don't mind listening, I don't mind playing. It's far from perfect, though, I should warn you."

As Fitz leaned gently against the piano, Alexander took a small breath before starting in on the most complicated and arresting piano music Fitz had heard in his life. Nimble hands flew across the keys in patterns that were nearly impossible to follow with the naked eye, and despite Alexander claiming his performance was far from perfect, Fitz couldn't have identified one wrong note or missed beat if he tried. It was the sort of song and performance that demanded full attention, driving all other considerations out of the listener's head.

Despite the intense skill required to play the piece, Alexander's expression was not one of concentration. Instead, he seemed far away, as though his mind had departed his body.

"I'm a bit rusty. Apologies," said Alexander in all seriousness as he finished, as though he hadn't just given a virtuoso performance as casually as Fitz could plunk out a children's tune.

"That was... astounding, sir," said Fitz, caught off guard enough by the music that he didn't have a calculated answer. "I've never heard anything like it. What was the song?"

"It's a piano concerto written by a vampire composer, so not one you would have likely heard of. His works take advantage of the greater nimbleness afforded our kind." Alexander seemed oddly melancholy about having had the chance to show off a truly impressive skill. "Anyway, why don't we move on?"

He stood up abruptly from the piano bench, leaving Fitz to follow again, wondering what his next move should be. He'd thought the piano would be a winner, but it had only seemed to increase the distance between him and Alexander. 

"Allow me to show you my pride and joy, the library," said Alexander.

Fitz inwardly scoffed. How could a library possibly be more interesting than the music room? He'd seen plenty of personal libraries in his time, and had never been all that impressed by a rich person's ability to gather a bunch of dusty books they never actually read. Still, he'd have to pretend to be impressed.

It turned out that there was no need to pretend. This wasn't some small parlor with a few bookshelves. No, this so-called library actually took up what looked to be an entire wing of the manor. It was two stories high with bookshelves stretching straight to the ceiling, punctuated by rickety wooden ladders. And like the piano, it was very clearly in use, with books scattered all around the chairs and tables and lying in big stacks on a large wooden desk. 

"Well, what do you think?" said Alexander, clearly looking for approval in a way he hadn't with his piano playing.

"It's an astonishing amount of books, sir," said Fitz. "Have you actually read every one of these?"

"Most of them, yes, but there are some I haven't read cover to cover. Some of them are astoundingly dull histories that mostly have a place in cross-referencing other works."

Fitz leaned in close once more. "Astoundingly dull histories, sir? You certainly do know how to charm a man."

 Alexander didn't move away. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you've attempting to charm me."

"And is it working, sir?" Fitz stepped closer, pleased when  Alexander found himself nearly pressed against one of his bookshelves.

"Perhaps."  Alexander seemed to be trying to compose himself. "Although I confess I don't see what the purpose is. At the auction house, you were trying to convince me to buy you. You did succeed, even if the ultimate outcome wasn't what either of us hoped. What are you trying to accomplish here?"

"Isn't it enough to want to please you, sir? Must you assume I have an ulterior motive?"

 Alexander seemed amused. "Oh, I know you have an ulterior motive. I'm only asking what it is."

"I was just thinking that you bought me for a reason, sir." Fitz had him practically backed up against the bookshelf by now. "And that reason so happens to coincide with the spell that our mutual acquaintance placed on me. So it's less of an ulterior motive, and more that our interests conveniently align."

 Alexander's eyes darted to Fitz's neck, his composure rapidly waning, and Fitz felt a thrill of power. For the first time since that fateful night when Miss Lily had volunteered to be his assistant, he felt like he had control over the situation, that he could skillfully manipulate things to go his way.

"Lily did condition you very well," said  Alexander, his voice wavering. "But I did intend for you to get settled in first before I sated my appetite."

"I'm pretty well settled, sir. I think I'm going to be able to make myself very comfortable here. But I don't want you holding back on what you really want to do. That never works out for anyone."

"Is that so?"

"You wanted me to offer my blood to you, didn't you, sir? That's what you told me when we first met. Well, here I am. Offering." Fitz shamelessly pulled aside the collar of his frock, exposing his neck, enjoying the way  Alexander's desire was settling around his mind, the way he had the vampire eating out of the palm of his hand. 

It happened so fast.

Fitz was being pushed onto the couch, cold hands gripping his shoulders, a mesmerizing song ringing in his ears. Unlike  Alexander's measured song at the auction house, this was desperate, needy, wrapping around Fitz's mind and pulling it beneath the waves before he could even comprehend what was happening. His plans and manipulation no longer mattered, dashed to pieces in the whirlpool of  Alexander's irresistible voice.

The only thing that mattered now was listening.

"You will obey, won't you?" whispered Alexander in his ear.

"Yes, Master." The instinctive reply tumbled from his lips, and he wasn't remotely prepared for how right it felt. How good he felt falling back into the magic.

No, the vampire was never eating out of the palm of his hand. That was an illusion, smoke and mirrors he set up to trick himself. Alexander was absolutely in control, and there was nothing he could do about it. But unlike the absolute control Alexander's sire had used on his body, this was like rest and calm and bliss all at once, quieting his busy mind, soothing it in a way he was rarely soothed, forcing a sweet surrender.

"You'll feel no pain. Only pleasure when I drink from you."

"Only pleasure, Master." That's it, that's all there was. Only pleasure from being buried in a tidal wave of his master's desire.

And then the fangs were in his neck, finally fulfilling the promise that was made to him the moment he'd been enthralled, and the remainder of his mind crumbled in an instant. His master drank hungrily from the twin wounds, lapping at the precious drops of blood, as Fitz slumped onto his shoulder, sinking into a euphoric daze. Fitz could somehow feel every drop of his master's intense desire for him, and it felt like Narcissus looking into his pool, like a starving man served a lavish banquet, like he would never be satiated.

He was wanted, oh, he was wanted and wanted and wanted --

The feeding was over too soon, too soon for Fitz to fully savor the dizziness in his head and the heaviness in his limbs from his master's feast, the proof of his quality. The proof that Fitz was worth something to someone.

"Such a good thrall," Alexander murmured as he cradled Fitz's head against his chest. "You're perfect, Fitz. You're absolutely perfect. And I'm not going to let anyone else touch you, not my sire, not anyone. You're mine."

"Yours, sir," said Fitz, and he had promised that very thing to so many people, but he'd never actually meant it until now.

Prev > Masterlist

Next time, Alexander gets drunk.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

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@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

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@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump

[whump-on-a-string]

I want the sunshine characters crying

Do it!

[whump-on-a-string]

Frightened, half-sedated whumpee on their knees in their cell, bound, hands and feet, unable to move more than to squirm against their bonds.

Whumpee has been there for hours, cold, alone, half-conscious and frightened.

Finally whumper comes in the cell and kneels down behind them, putting their arms around whumpee from behind nuzzling them and playing with their hair, calling them a poor, pathetic thing.

And whumper is warm, and soft, and whumpee is so cold and hurt they can’t help but lean into whumper’s touch, even knowing who they are.

[whump-on-a-string]

What if I want whump but like. Comfort. Comfort whump. No no not fluff, I need the zing!! I need the fascination of an awful relationship but like. Comforting. Yes they kidnapped them but like... put them in a comfy bed. With the big floofy sheets and weighted blankets. Yes... yes... the head pats... No it's controlling I swear. They kidnapped them this is whump I promise they’re scared (they’re just also so content and warm)

[whump-on-a-string]

i just saw your picture of tell and he’s so cute <3

Aww thank you! :')

I'd like to draw more of him. I just can't decide if he's a bard or a fighter hahaha.

[whump-on-a-string]

A whumpee with horrible eyesight panicking as their glasses slowly get lifted off the bridge of their nose, powerless to stop their world from becoming blurry and unrecognizable :)

[whump-on-a-string]

[whump-on-a-string]

CYOA Whump - Part 11

First | Previous

You chose: Yes! Father didn’t raise a quitter.

cw: metaphorical needles, coughing up blood

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

You're exhausted but you choose to push yourself even harder, squeezing your eyes closed. Controlling the winds is your birthright. You shouldn't have to struggle for it.

You can feel your whole body trembling. The pain has spread from your head through the rest of your body, a sensation like being prodded with thousands of needles. Under the roaring of wind you can hear yourself crying out.

"This has to stop, captain! He can't-"

"Silence, boy."

"But he-"

"I said shut it!"

You can't get enough air. It's like your magic is pulling the very breath from your lungs. You gasp and cough, the metalic taste getting stronger as you spit out blood.

Rough hands grab your face, tilting your head back. "Kid? Open your eyes."

You can't. Your eyelids are too heavy. An open palm slaps you across the cheek and even that doesn't bring you any closer to awareness.

"Alright. You're done. Stop it."

You can't do that either. You've opened the dam that holds your magic at bay too wide and you don't have the energy to close it again. You can feel your life force draining away...

~

When you wake up it's in small waves of realization. First, you're horizontal, not tied sitting up like you have been so far. There's a thin mattress under you and a blanket covering you. Your hands are cuffed together and resting on your stomach.

You pry your eyes open. The room is small and dark except for the soft orange light of a lantern. Sitting at your bedside is Onthyes.

He looks up, smiling when he sees you awake. "Thank the gods. I wasn't sure if you've make it. You've been out for a whole day and night."

You groan, your throat painfully dry.

"Here." Onthyes helps you sit up, and a clinking sound catches your attention. There's a length chain attached to your cuffs that reaches out and connects to a similar cuff around Onthyes's left wrist.

He holds a cup of water to your lips, letting you drink your fill before he gives you some bread and jerky. You're able to feed yourself with your bound hands, but the chain connecting you and Onthyes serves as a constant distraction.

"Why are we chained together?" you ask when you're finished eating.

"Captain doesn't want you unsupervised for even a second now that you aren't tied up. And he said I'd discourage any escape attempts, since my body would be too heavy for you to lug around if you decide to kill me."

You raise an eyebrow at him. "I could cut off your hand."

Onthyes winces. "Please don't do that."

You hum, not making any promises. You're not even sure you're capable of doing something like that, but he doesn't need to know that.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

CYOA whump taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @rainydaywhump @whumperofworlds @hauntedroseart @3-2-whump @fleur-a-whump @whumpsday @whumpisfun @whumper-whimsy @ghost-whump @fabled-whump @violets-whumperflies @whumped-by-glitter @thewhumpening-thesequel @lumpofsand @whumpycries @unicornbeck @gala1981 @a-formless-entity