#captivity tw Tumblr posts

  • cherrykamado
    28.01.2022 - 1 hour ago
    #🍒— cherry's mail #rideorbed<3 #🍒— thursday thirstday #akaza<3#tw captivity
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  • the-three-whumpeteers
    27.01.2022 - 2 hours ago

    AngelBreaker part 3

    Hi this took longer than a month bc life just happened

    but anyhow, AB will focus on some North backstory next so that should be fun, then a bit of a time skip after that but it's not a big jump

    for the contents here:

    Violence, Self harm (in the form of Basil ripping out his feathers and injuring himself in the process, also the thought process behind it), Burning, not too much blood but it's there, Chocking, but it's mild, and Basil is still p sick, the implications of amputation are always there really

    Basil was hit by yet another coughing fit, he had been shivering on the floor of his cage and felt both hot and cold at the same time- he hated it, angels weren’t supposed to get sick yet there he was, on the verge of tears as he coughed loudly. He could faintly hear someone calling his name, but he couldn’t focus when his head hurt so much. Basil’s wings were desperately trying to warm his body, but nothing worked anymore. There were only small moments of peace, where he could somewhat focus on his surroundings.

    “Basil please- damn it, why won’t that bastard give you anything” Basil heard, although the sound was muffled he could still recognize Iris’ voice.

    He wanted to answer, but every time he opened his mouth he’d start coughing until his throat hurt. Basil just wanted to reassure the only person that talked to him here that he was okay. The shock of everything that had happened recently was finally settling in, and he wanted so badly for this whole thing to be a nightmare.

    Basil was completely lost, surrounded by darkness and only feeling the freezing air. He grabbed his wing, and in an attempt to pull it closer to him, he felt What was left of the bundle of feathers North had clipped off. He didn’t know why, but he was hit by a wave of anger, anguish, and frustration. North had called his wings worthless, but apparently still wanted them- Basil would never let North have them.

    Basil used what little strength he had left to tear the clump of cut feathers off, and immediately went to tear more. He wanted this little control he had left, even if it only hurt him. The tearing was louder than he expected, with many feathers snapping off rather than tearing cleanly. He could hear shuffling by what was probably Iris’ cell, but he wasn’t focused on that.

    “Basil- Basil what are you doing?” She asked, getting louder when he didn’t respond “Your wings, Basil that’s the one thing you don’t touch! Please stop before you make it worse!”

    He didn’t listen, he didn’t care anymore, North hated his wings so why would he care? Basil just kept ripping off feathers, one after another, not caring about how much it started to hurt, and how he could feel blood on his fingers, had he started to tear off skin? He couldn’t tell, and at that point, he didn’t care. Basil just kept tearing until his torn feathers pooled around his body, with all of that maybe now he would be warmer.

    Basil couldn’t hear the panic around him, not only coming from Iris’ cage but from the countless in the basement. Countless fallen had done the same thing Basil had, and the surrounding angels didn’t want to even witness North’s anger. Iris had given up on making Basil stop, knowing that it was probably too late, she didn’t hear tearing anymore, but it had gone on for too long.

    There was a moment of silence where Basil could only hear his labored breathing, maybe the others in the basement were too shocked to make a noise, maybe they just didn’t care, Regardless, everything was eerily quiet.

    As Basil’s panic subsided, he realized just how much he had done. He reached to touch his wing, freezing when he only touched the blood covering his bleeding wing- the patches were definitely much more visible, he hadn’t ripped off all feathers, but he could barely feel any. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t feel much shame, he just wanted to defy North’s wishes, and he didn’t even like Basil’s wings, so why would it matter?

    “...Basil?” he heard Iris say quietly.

    “Gods- Basil I’m so sorry, you’re too young to be going through this-”

    “-I want to go home” He finally said, trying to ignore the emerging ache on his wings and back- it really just added to his misery.

    “...I know, we all want to go home”

    Maybe Iris wanted to say more, and maybe she did, but at that point, Basil just wanted to sleep and forget about everything that was happening, even if it was only for a few hours. Maybe he would have yet another nightmare, after all his mind really loved reminding him of the stupid mistake that made him fall.

    Regardless, Basil could do nothing but lay in the cold cell, surrounded by his own sorrow and trapped with the torment his mind was so adamant on causing.

    Maybe he fell asleep, or maybe he just lost track of time, but It felt like Basil had been laying there for an eternity when the distinct sound of footsteps echoed in the basement, at first Basil didn’t care, but soon he realized that he had just done would infuriate North, and he was still afraid of what that man could do.

    He struggled to lift himself up, trying his best to guess where the back of his cell was- maybe if North didn’t see him, he could get away with what he’d done.

    He didn’t think about the pile of feathers he had left behind.

    North seemed to be muttering something, but Basil was too far away and North was too quiet for him to understand anything. North’s footsteps were getting closer to his cell, and Basil could feel himself starting to panic again.

    Basil shut his eyes, hoping that North wasn’t there for him and this was all just an overreaction, and at first he thought this was the case, as the footsteps stopped and the basement went silent once again.

    A few seconds passed by, and Basil finally opened his eyes-

    Only to see the light illuminating the broken pile of feathers, and North staring at them. Basil couldn’t tell what he was thinking, given that North’s face wasn’t giving anything away, he was just looking, wide-eyed and completely still.

    Well, he was still until the look of pure anger washed over him. As soon as North slammed the cell door open, Basil tried to back up even more.

    He could faintly see Iris’ look of horror across from him.

    “What have you done”

    North’s voice was almost inaudible, Basil almost thought that he had just imagined it when North’s hand grabbed his hair and violently pulled him up. Basil wanted to apologize, maybe then North would just leave him alone, he would rather lay bleeding on the cold floor than be reminded of how stupid he was to trust a stranger- even if the stranger was an angel.

    Maybe the Seraphs had been right all along.

    Suddenly, a searing pain wrapped itself around his neck, and Basil realized that North had grabbed him by the throat, and- no, that couldn’t be it, that wasn’t supposed to work on an angel. But it hurt, and a blinding light forced him to close his eyes while he tried to struggle out of north’s tight grasp of his neck. He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs and whenever he tried to breathe burning agony would spread through his body. Basil could feel tears forming in his eyes and he cried in a pathetic attempt to persuade North. This only seemed to enrage the angel in front of him.

    “You were lucky enough to keep your wings, do you not understand that I’m saving you?” North whispered although it seemed like he was holding back his anger. “I could leave you to rot, leave you to be torn apart by demons desperate enough to take their fury out on someone as helpless as you, but I’m helping you- and you do this”

    Basil desperately tried to pry away North’s hand, but he had been sick for so long and North was both older and healthier, he really stood no chance, his nails only left marks that North had learned to ignore a long time ago. The struggle just seemed to make North angrier, as The burning became more intense and North’s grasp tightened.

    Just as he started to feel his consciousness slipping, North let go, Basil’s body immediately crumbling to the floor as he struggled to catch his breath. He could still feel North’s eyes on him, and Basil wished that this was nothing more than a painfully long nightmare, but he knew that at this point it was wishful thinking.

    “And to think he insists on keeping you alive” North sneered “You’re worth nothing”

    And finally, North left him alone, slamming his cell door close and leaving him once again in complete darkness. Basil gently touched his neck, immediately stopping after a pang of pain shot through his body. His brain was trying to think of how the light was able to hurt him when it only hurts those in the underworld- it wasn’t supposed to hurt an angel. He wouldn’t comfort himself anymore, and his wings wouldn’t keep him warm anytime soon.

    Usually, Basil could at least hear faint shuffling in the basement, but this time, it was completely silent.

    ---

    The wingless knew better than to be in North’s sight when he was angry, most of them already had a physical reminder to not get in his way. Thankfully, North didn’t seem to be looking for a punching bag and instead headed straight to his study- that didn’t stop him from shoving away any poor wingless that dared be in his way.

    It seemed that North had a very specific Wingless in mind since there was only one person in his study beside himself.

    The wingless didn’t dare to look at him, he kept cleaning even if North was getting close to him.

    “Is everything alright North?” he asked, already aware of North’s state, but he knew better than to beg or run away at this point. He didn’t even react when North slammed the door shut, trapping the wingless with his captor.

    “Don’t play stupid now Cypress” North snapped “ you’ve made me waste enough resources on that ungrateful-”

    “Child, and ungrateful child right? Even you know he’s just a kid” Cypress said, calmer than he should be, although his grip on the cloth he has holding tightened “Everyone has noticed how young he is North! He looks like he just graduated, you have to feel something about the fact that they banished someone too young to have a real reason to fall!” He finally turned to face his old friend, glaring at the man in front of him.

    Cypress immediately regretted his tone when North got closer to him. North raising his hand was enough to make Cypress docile again, as the wingless immediately tried to protect his neck, fearing the painful glow that he had become far too familiar with. Thankfully, the pain never came, and North lowered his hand and sighed.

    “Fine, he’ll be your problem from now on, maybe then you’ll see why I just want to get rid of him”

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  • freedxm-fighters
    26.01.2022 - 1 day ago

    { Okay so, I just wanted to give a quick heads up to those that actually interact with my OC, Hazen, a warning that while he is very sweet and compassionate... he is probably the OC with the darkest elements intergraded into his character. Hence meaning he has the most triggering content within his backstory. With that stated, let me give a quick run down of what I mean.

    Hazen has been subjected to many terrible things in his life, be it being experimented on, being abandoned, being hunted by the villains of the story, being manipulated by someone he thought loved him, or being outcasted by the entirety of society. He has suffered greatly. One of the main triggers affiliated with his character is abuse, not just physical, but emotional and mental as well. Despite being a child, Hazen was (and still is) subjected to constant abuse because of his eldest sister and her band of friends, often being beaten within an inch of his life or somewhat close to it, all because his sister resents him for being born (she’s jealous that their father kept him while her and her sisters were forced to stay with their mother who is later revealed to not actually care for her children). Due to this, Hazen is often seen bruised and/or bloodied, meaning that most of his icons are of exactly that — massive amounts of blood or injuries. In fact, a majority of the time when an interaction is started with Hazen for the first time, he almost always starts with some kind of injury due to the fact he’s always being attacked by someone (that or he injures himself by mistake trying to do something). So child abuse is a major part of his character.

    Additionally, just because Hazen behaves happily whenever he’s around others doesn’t mean that he is and it also doesn’t mean that he’s innocent/not dangerous. Hazen can and will KILL people if he needs to despite being a pacifist, though it is highly unlikely due to the fact he doesn’t like to hurt others in the ways he’s been hurt. During his time in captivity (where he’s kidnapped by a military/science facility), because of all the torture he suffered from the endless experiments preformed on him, Hazen became so scared and desperate to the point he lost all sense of morals he had before proceeding to slaughter anyone that got in his way when trying to escape. Yet despite the fact he had been tortured, Hazen still felt overwhelmingly guilty for killing so many people and even grew to hate himself for losing control. There’s a whole lot more to his character in the original story I’m writing, but I took a vast majority of it out when roleplaying here because I deemed it far too dark for people on Tumblr to handle, especially given how everyone is the purity police now. So with all that said, in order to interact with Hazen or read content about him, you have to be willing to open yourself up to those topics. If not, get out of here, you shouldn’t be here anyway.

    If you want an example of how much blood I mean when talking about his icons, there’s a few listed under the cut here. There’s a whole bunch more, but most of them aren’t finished being colored yet. }

    #tw; human experimentation mention #tw; manipulation mention #tw; abuse mention #tw; physical abuse mention #tw; emotional abuse mention #tw; mental abuse mention #tw; blood mention #tw; blood #tw; bruises mention #tw; injuries mention #tw; child abuse mention #tw; murder mention #tw; captivity mention #tw; kidnapped mention #tw; torture mention #{ This was supposed to be a quick heads up but... it got kinda long. } #{ But I wanted people to understand that if they wanna interact with Hazen or read content about him... they have to be at least- } #{ somewhat okay with those topics appearing. } #{ Otherwise you're just doing it to yourself and I am not responsible. } #{ Hazen is my baby and he's my favorite OC from Project Blackout. } #{ But since project Blackout is a very dark story... there are very dark topics. } #{ So he suffers a lot. It's also because he's the protagonist of the story so... it's to be expected. } #.☪ ~ [ ' ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ! ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏɴᴇ; ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀʟʟ! ' ] - ✡ ᴘsᴀ ✡ #.☪ ~ [ ' ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴅs ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ᴅᴏᴏʀs. ' ] - ✡ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ✡
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  • shywhumpauthor
    25.01.2022 - 2 days ago

    A Dozen Eggs Part 4

    cw: Legalized slavery, wound cleaning, past whipping, partial nudity (waist up), noncon touching (nonsexual), fear of punishment

    Maximus guided them into one of the house’s many bathrooms, the heels of his boots clicking against the marble tile. Oakley had no choice but to stumble forwards, pain flaring across their back with each step they took. Their forehead scrunched up as Maximus pulled a soft white towel off the shelf just by the large porcelain bathtub.

    Oakley gasped when he wrapped it around their shoulders, the nice fabric instantly soaking through with their crimson blood. They barely felt the stinging pain as the fibers of cotton rubbed against the open wounds crossing their back, frozen still in place with shock.

    “Sir-” They whispered, their heart nearly stopping in their chest as their hands went cold and clammy. Oh God, Misses Clara was going to kill them when she found out they ruined one of her nice towels—she’d beat them bloody! More so than they already were. She’d order them a hundred lashes, if not more! “Please, you- I can’t-”

    “Hush.” Maximus shushed them, guiding them to sit down on the cold floor. Oakley fell to their knees when prompted, then cringed as they remembered those were injured too. They quickly switched to sitting, grabbing their tunic from where Maximus had set it on the sink’s counter, and using it to mop up the small splatter of blood their knees had left. “This is my mess, I’m responsible for cleaning up. Stay here.” Master Elias’s son ordered, before slipping from the room. 

    Oakley let out a small groan, pulling a trembling hand through their dirty hair, tugging the knotted strands. They knew Maximus meant well, but this was only going to get the both of them in trouble with Misses Clara. If she walked in on them, she’d flip, Oakley just knew it. She wouldn’t give them time to explain that it had been her son who had wrapped the towel around their bloody back, no. She’d jump to conclusions, give them a hard slap and maybe a kick, before going to get Master Elias for a proper beating. They knew that if that happened, it would be one hell of a whipping. They’d already bothered him once that day with a stupid mistake, twice was pushing it too far.

    Maximus returned a few minutes later, carrying a bottle of vinegar, a rag, a little jar, and a roll of bandages, all balanced precariously in his thin, long arms. Oakley bit their lip, knowing exactly what was to come. If he didn’t drop everything—he looked moments away from doing so. They itched to offer to take something off his hands, but they knew he’d refuse. He was very independent, they’d give him that. He never wanted to accept help or assistance, which Oakley knew each time they went to clean his room, make his bed, bring him meals, the list went on. They appreciated it, sure, it lessened their workload and everything, but Misses Clara didn’t see it that way. She only saw them being lazy, having her tired, hard-working son do chores that they had been assigned. In the end, it would have just been easier for everyone if he resigned and let them do their job.

    “Sir, please, I must get back to my work,” Oakley tried again. They knew Maximus wouldn’t reprimand them for speaking out of turn, so they decided to risk it. They knew he meant well, trying to help them and all, but really they needed to go. They had to finish the dishes, the laundry, and the dusting. After that, they still had to make dinner, and bring Master Elias his afternoon tea. They needed to feed the cat, as well, and wash the windows, and water the plants, and- “I’ll be punished, please-”

    “I’ll make sure my parents know this is my doing,” Maximus waved off their concerns, as he dropped to a crouch behind Oakley, and pulled the towel back. Oakley winced as the fabric clung to the wounds, sticky with their blood. They twisted their head, their eyes widening as they saw what had become of the nice towel. Misses Clara really would kill them, despite Maximus’s promises to step in. Blood had soaked through nearly the entire towel, turning the white scarlet. Maybe if they just put it in the bathroom with the red towels on the third floor, Misses Clara would never know. She rarely went up there anyways. It was stupid, Oakley thought with a shake of their head. The thought was disgusting, and it would never work. “I won’t have you walking around with open wounds like these.”

    “Sir-” Oakley pleaded, sucking in a breath as he uncorked the bottle of vinegar, and poured some onto the little cloth. Oakley had always been in charge of taking care of their own wounds. Never before had they used vinegar to clean their cuts, no. Master Elias spent good money on all of the groceries, they wouldn’t dare use any for their own insignificant needs. They always used plain soap and a rag, which apparently worked just fine for them because they had never gotten an infection. Then again, they had been extremely careful in preventing one, because they knew Misses Clara wouldn’t care if they got sick. They could be dead on their feet, and she would still make them work.

    “Stop calling me sir.” The man snapped, before his tone became gentle once more. “My name is Maximus.” His long fingers fumbled with the cork of the vinegar bottle as he closed it, and Oakley couldn’t help but doubt how well he knew what he was doing. He was clumsy and awkward, surely not too experienced in the medical field. They really didn’t want him taking care of their wounds, but they knew that they’d just offend him if they said so, so they kept their mouth shut. 

    “I’m sorry, Maximus,” Oakley quickly apologized, gritting their teeth as he pressed the rag against the first of the wounds, a stinging pain shooting across their back, seeming to set each nerve alight. By God, they knew alcohol stung like Hell, but vinegar? They had not expected the fiery pain that blasted up their spine. Their fingers flexed as their toes curled, almost involuntarily as they held back a cry, though a low groan managed to slip between their lips.

    “I wish there was an easier way,” Maximus muttered, as he continued to clean the lash marks. Oakley tried to keep as quiet as they could, but every so often a little hiss or whimper would slip out, and Maximus would wince in sympathy. “I used to want to be a physician, you know? Not a banker… I would borrow books from the library, read about the medicines and herbs, natural solutions and such…” He rambled. Oakley tried to listen, really they did, but between the pain and their worry that Misses Clara would barge into the bathroom at any moment, they weren’t really paying much attention. 

    “-I’ve done enough talking,” Maximus sighed as he set down the bloody rag, and picked up the little jar, twisting off the cap to reveal a yellowish, strongly smelling cream. Oakley craned their neck to see over their own shoulder, nearly gagging. It looked disgusting, to say the very least. Little chunks of something green floated around in the balm. Oakley couldn’t help but think back to the leftover soup they had found in the back of the pantry. It had to have been months old, and by God had it reeked. The thought did nothing to ease their twisting stomach.

    “This will prevent infection,” Maximus wrinkled his nose as he scooped some more up with two fingers, his face twisting in disgust. Oakley almost told him to put it away. They caught themself before they actually opened their mouth, though. They had never used any special salves before, what was the point? If they cleaned the wound and were extra careful, there was no need. “Don’t ask what’s in it. What about you, though? What did you dream of doing?” He asked.

    “I-“ Oakley sucked in a breath as he began to dab the ointment against the wounds. “I think only of serving my master and his family,” They said carefully, biting their lip to suppress a whimper. They had… never been asked a question like that before. They surely hadn’t ever expected to be. What did they dream of doing? Oakley couldn’t remember a time where they dreamed of anything other than a nice pair of shoes, maybe a good night’s sleep. Dreams were for free people. It was wrong of them to wish for something so small, to hope for anything more than what their Master already so kindly provided.

    “Surely that’s not the truth,” Maximus shook his head, as he spread the salve over the long gashes that covered Oakley’s back. His thick eyebrows furrowed, as if he couldn’t believe what they had said “Surely you had dreams…”

    “Si- Maximus,” Oakley paused, their forehead scrunching up as they tried to think of how to phrase this. “I’m not allowed to have dreams or desires… It’s against the law,” They shut their mouth, biting down on their tongue so hard they tasted blood as his touch became a bit more rough. They shouldn’t have said that last part. They shouldn’t have said anything. 

    “But- that’s- everyone has dreams!” He exclaimed loudly, and Oakley cringed. Oh no…

    “Please, sir, keep your voice down,” They whispered, not even realizing their slip up. “You’ll get us in trouble,”

    Me. Oakley wanted to say. You’ll get me in trouble. Because the most the Thornton’s eldest son ever got was a reprimanding, a stern talking to, or maybe a slap on the wrist. His mother, Misses Clara, despite what she said, never so much as laid a hand on her son. With Master Elias, the most he ever did was whack his sons around the ankles with his cane. If he found him and Oakley there, with the ruined towels, oh he’d beat them so badly they wouldn’t be able to stand up for a week. He’d done it before, they didn’t doubt he’d do it again. 

    “My job is to serve.” Oakley whispered, raising their arms as Maximus picked up the roll of bandages, and began to wrap their back. They knew they should shut up, they were overstepping, oversharing. They were talking way too much. “Not to dream. Not to want or need or wish to become anything other than what I am.” 

    “I- I’m sorry… I didn’t- I wasn’t thinking.” Maximus mumbled, as he fixed the end of the bandage into place, and Oakley lowered their arms, grabbing their worn tunic off the floor, before pulling it over their head. They didn’t mind the fresh bloodstains, it didn’t matter to them anymore. All sorts of grime covered the ratty fabric, but it was better than walking around shirtless. 

    “Thank you for all that you’ve done,” Oakley dipped their head as they rose to their feet. Maximus looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of if. They were glad for that. They wanted to leave, they had already lost a lot of precious time getting their back taken care of. They still had to go get Lucius that snack he wanted, before he went to complain to his mother.

    “Take it easy for the rest of the day, doctor’s orders,” Maximus offered a small smile, but Oakley just swallowed, their forlorn expression unwavering. They couldn't bring themself to return it.

    —Kinda Comfort but Mainly Angsty Line Break—

    Le tag list: @myst-in-the-mirror @pumpkin-spice-whump @i-can-even-burn-salad @whatwasmyprevioususername

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  • redwingedwhump
    25.01.2022 - 3 days ago
    #Guard Dog: Riley #conditioning tw #box boy whump #pet whump#captivity tw#oc asks
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  • i-can-even-burn-salad
    23.01.2022 - 4 days ago

    Fire

    Warnings: Captivity, manhandling, burns + eye whump (more angst than gore), broken bones, dehydration, noncon touching (non-sexual), female whumper, multiple whumpers, brief suicidal ideation kinda

    Masterlist

    Soo, uh, this is skipping a couple of days. @brutal-nemesis​​ prompt for January was just too tempting, because that scene was right here on my todo list. Like on the top of my list. (งツ)ว

    There’s nothing essential in between, just, you know, some more suffering salad. One or two of these days will be posted in the next weeks.

    When the morning came, Caldyn didn’t feel like he was dying anymore. He wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

    The bit of water hadn’t been enough to truly save him, to allow him to heal. It had just been enough to keep him alive a bit longer, and that probably wasn’t a good thing, either. He raised his right hand, flexing his fingers, noticing that he could feel them again. He could also feel the broken fingers of his left hand again, so he tried not to move them, because that, too, wasn’t a good thing.

    Thinking about it, there really weren’t many good things left.

    He licked his lips, and they were still as dry and brittle as before, the spot where Craig’s whip had split them painfully hardened. At least his eyes weren’t as dry anymore, didn’t burn as he stared up to the cage, to the red leaves that had become his whole world. The rain had stopped. Caldyn tried to imagine the sun, somewhere above the thicket, warm and bright and comforting. Oh how he wished to see it again, to feel it again, to escape this horrible twilight for just one moment.

    But there was no escape, and deep inside he already knew he would die here.

    The whisper was still in his mind, like a voice too quiet to be understood. Meaning, faint and raw, temptation and salvation. It was barely audible when he kept himself awake, tracing the branches of his cage with his eyes, to the left, to the right, crisscrossing and circling. It grew louder when his lids became too heavy to keep them open anymore, when his consciousness drifted away, promising him things in the short moment before his mind slipped away. When he awoke, the memory still lingered, making him tremble in helpless fear. Was this the Scourge? Trying to lure him, not with the threat of more pain, but with the promise of healing? It wouldn’t work. Caldyn forced his eyes open, to look for anything to hold on to, to drown out the whisper in his mind. He wouldn’t become one of them.

    But it hurt so much, and he didn’t want to die here, alone and in pain, but he would. And he shouldn’t cry, to not waste any more water, but he wanted to. Or perhaps he should, because there was no way to get out of this, and every day he held on just meant one more day to suffer, one more chance for the Scourge to take him. But he was too exhausted to cry, too exhausted to think, focusing his every thought on blocking out the Scourge, until his consciousness left him the next time.

    When Caldyn awoke again, it was to the sound of steps, to the rustle as the branches of his cage moved. He didn’t have the strength left to lift his head, to find out who was coming for him; Gawyn or Craig or someone else, it didn’t matter, all they ever brought was more pain.

    A shadow fell over him, a figure brown and purple and red, and suddenly, it mattered after all. Because as much as he feared every one of the Ceodh, it was Firethorn he feared most. Her aura that seemed to tear his soul apart when she spoke, her calculating cruelty, trying to find something in him, to draw something out of him with everything she did to him.

    Caldyn resisted the urge to crawl away from her, knowing that there was no escape, that he would only hurt himself in an attempt to move. The dim light left Firethorn’s face in the shadows, but what he could see of it seemed furious, and she looked at him as if he was an insect she intended to squish.

    “You just won’t give up, will you? Do you really believe there is a way out of this for you?”

    A small gesture of her hand made two of the Ceodh step forward, grab Caldyn by his arms and pull him up. His broken legs dangled uselessly on the floor, his chest heaving in short, hacked breaths as he fought not to move, not to try and stand up and keep his balance, not to pass out from the pain. His knees were just above the ground, and as they dipped down for a second, putting a part of his weight on his broken knee, the agony it caused made his vision fade and him choke on a scream.

    “This was fun for a while, but I’m growing tired of this.” The coldness behind Firethorn’s words made Caldyn blink, desperately trying to see her, to see what she would be doing, black spots still dancing in front of his eyes. “I would have liked to have you whole. Your skills would have been such a gain for the Scourge, but at this point, I’ll take what I can get.”

    She had never touched him before, and as she now rested her hand on his cheek, terror filled him to the core. She was wearing no gloves, nothing to protect her from his magic, but he was unable to even try and take advantage of it. There was no concentration left in his mind, no clear thought, only terror and disgust. Her hand smelled of lilac, heavy and sweet. It mixed with the scent of decay that surrounded him, made him feel sick.

    “And I will get you. You think you’re so strong. Let’s see how long you can resist the Scourge when its whispers are all that’s left for you.”

    She withdrew her hand to beckon another Ceodh closer. Caldyn couldn’t see them, stepping behind him, grabbing the withered, broken branches on his head with gloved hands. They bent his head back, exposing his neck, forcing him to look up at Firethorn.

    Was that it? Would she kill him now? It almost surprised him how much this thought still terrified him. He tried to free himself, but it was hopeless. Hanging between the two Ceodh, he didn’t have the strength to try and escape their grip, to free his arms. He couldn’t even move his head, couldn’t look away, and didn’t dare to close his eyes.

    Then light flickered as another lost one approached Firethorn, handing her a torch. It illuminated her, drawing dancing shadows onto her features, giving her eyes an eerie orange glow. She took it, weighing it thoughtfully and way, way too close to Caldyn’s face.

    Whatever Craig and the others had done to him, Caldyn had never lost his pride. But when he felt the fire so close to him that the few remaining, lifeless blossoms in his hair shriveled and the smell of burnt leaves mingled with the ever-present rot, something inside him broke.

    “Please... no, please... please don’t. Don’t do that.”

    He hadn’t meant to beg, but the words left his mouth without him being able to stop them. Tears were welling up in his eyes as he tried to recoil from the flames. Fire. He hated fire. He couldn’t heal what had been burned by it, it was the one thing he was truly powerless against.

    The Ceodh tightened their grip in his hair, straining his neck as they pulled his head further back. Caldyn could only stare into the flames, shaking uncontrollably.

    “Please, I’d do —”

    He wanted to say he’d do anything, but it wasn’t true. Even now, half mad with terror, he couldn’t become one of them. He couldn’t give his body and soul to the cruel Scourge, only to inflict the very same pain on others. To allow the Ceodh to use his magic to hurt, to kill, when he had only ever wanted to use it to heal. As much as seeing Gawyn had hurt, it had also strengthened his resolve. If he gave in, there would be nothing left of him.

    Caldyn clenched his teeth, trying to keep it together, but unable to stop the terrified sobs from escaping his lips. He didn’t care about the tears running down his cheeks, about the water they wasted. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. They could take everything from him, his hope and his sight and even his life, but the one thing they wanted, they wouldn’t get.

    Firethorn had hesitated, perhaps giving him this one last chance to change his mind. When he didn’t, she lowered the torch towards him.

    “No, please! No, no, no...” His pleas turned into sobs as he closed his eyes against the incoming heat. “Please don’t. Take it away, please, take—”

    The torch hadn’t yet touched his face when the heat ignited Caldyn’s tears. He screamed as the flames licked up his face, searing his bark, charring his lid, squeezed shut in horror. Firethorn paused with a dark chuckle, holding the torch steady, not pulling it back, not lowering it.

    The flames didn’t last long, but there was no reprieve. Before they had fully died down, she moved the torch closer, and Caldyn felt the heat increase. He wanted to beg, to scream, but there was no air, and he couldn’t breathe. There was only heat, filling his lungs, searing his skin.

    Then his whole world exploded into agony. His body convulsed, trying to break free, but he was trapped, his legs twisting uselessly under him. There was a snap in his broken knee, but he didn’t feel any pain, he couldn’t feel anything but the fire, melting his bark, burning through his lid, destroying his left eye.

    He heard a scream, and then he realized it was him screaming. There was nothing else he could do. All he could do was scream, scream and burn, and it didn’t stop, even as the torch was taken away again. There was no past anymore and no future, just each endless moment, filled with agony and dreadful nothingness where light should be.

    After a while, Caldyn managed to hold on to some breaths long enough for him to speak, the same word, over and over and over, the meaning behind each one mirroring the despair that was tearing him apart.

    “Please.” Help me. “Please.” Take it away. “Please.” It hurts, it hurts, it hurts so much. “Please.” Just let me go. “Please.” Don’t hurt me anymore. “Please.” Make it stop. “Please.” Let me die.

    Caldyn’s voice became quieter with each word, barely audible as his last plea ended in a sob, just to be ignored like all the ones before. His lips still moved, but there was no strength left in him to speak, to beg for mercy she wouldn’t show him.

    “It seems I finally found a way to break you.”

    The smell of lilac and burnt wood made Caldyn heave as Firethorn laid her hand on his cheek again. She caressed the burnt bark around his ruined eye, then the other side, still unharmed. Involuntarily he opened his right eye. Already half blind from the heat and smoldering sap, Firethorn’s face was nothing more than a blur. New tears spilled as the desperate thought broke through the pain that this, this horrible thicket, her cruel face, would be the last thing he’d ever see.

    She didn’t ask him again, and perhaps that was his luck, because this way, he had no time to give in. To give them what they wanted, to spare him the pain he knew would come as she pulled her hand back and moved the torch towards him.

    This time, she held it lower, purposefully setting his tears on fire. Caldyn screamed again as the flames burned his face, licking up to his brow, trying to crawl under his right lid. He screamed louder as the flames died down, because he knew she’d lower the torch now, and she did. It burned through his scorched lid, searing his eye, replacing flashes of light with horrible darkness that seemed to suffocate him, wrapping around his chest. There was no air, only heat and smoke and ash, and he couldn’t breathe, but he had to, because he had to scream, or the pain would tear him apart.

    When he finally managed to, there wasn’t much of his voice left. His screams were hoarse, his throat already raw, but he couldn’t stop, even as she moved the torch away. The fire stayed, it was still burning him, searing into his head. There was only fire and pain; fire and pain and the smell of burnt bark; fire and pain and the taste of ash and molten sap. And there was Firethorn’s voice, but he couldn’t understand what she said, and it didn’t matter.

    Held by the iron grip of the lost ones, Caldyn screamed until he inhaled ash, choking him and turning his screams into choppy sobs. He forgot how to breathe, how to think, how to exist, trapped in unbearable pain that he had no choice but to bear somehow.

    He didn’t notice when the lost ones let go of him, letting him drop onto the ground. He didn’t notice when they left. At some point, it could have been hours later or mere minutes, he realized he was alone again, lying on the floor, shaking and crying, his limbs in a twisted pile.

    For the briefest moment he tried to concentrate, but he couldn’t. There was no energy left, and no room for any conscious thoughts. Unspoken pleas rang in his mind, begging the pain to stop, to stop, to stop, but it didn’t, it just didn’t. He would have given anything to make it stop, but even the Scourge’s whispers were quiet now; or he just couldn’t hear them anymore over his own screams, still echoing in his mind.

    He tried to find something to hold on to, to stop his world from falling apart. His left hand was buried under his weight, but his right hand found a branch of his cage. He grabbed it, squeezed it, welcoming the thorns digging into his palm, tearing it open as he started to shake again. He was desperate to feel anything else, but it didn’t work. The pain didn’t even register in his mind, drowned out by the agony in his eyes. Or what was left of them. There was no breath for the hysterical laugh, dying on his lips, as he wondered if they’d just be gone.

    He wanted to reach for them, and he didn’t want to reach for them, and he had to know, and he couldn’t bear to know, and in the end, it didn’t matter anyway, because there was nothing he could do. There was nothing left. No energy. No concentration. No light. No hope.

    He couldn’t escape, he couldn’t heal himself, he couldn’t even kill himself. All he could do was wait for his body to give up, to finally wither and fall apart.

    Tagging: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @dont-touch-my-soup @frenchfries893 @whump-cravings @siren-of-agony

    #Thorns and Jasmine #whump#fantasy whump #non human whumpee #captivity tw#multiple whumpers#burns tw#eye whump #broken bones tw #dehydration tw#female whumper#Salad Caldyn #Well now you know where the other half of her name comes from :) #I wasn't sure between posting this and a slightly later one #But this one works at this point in time and the other doesn't really so here we are #brief suicidal ideation #Oh also thinking back to those pointing out that my blog url sounded like a threat #Yes Yes it does you got that right
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  • shywhumpauthor
    22.01.2022 - 5 days ago
    #bee would totally be one to wear spiked bracelets and listen to punk rock music #at least before they were kidnapped #then they can’t stand the loud noises or anything touching their wrists #even bracelets feel to familiar to chains #whump#whumpblr#whump community#whump writing#whumpee#whumper #its me coal #coal wrote something #captured whumpee#captivity whump#tw kidnapping#kidnapping#kind whumper#kidnapped whumpee#abused whumpee#conditioned whumpee#injured whumpee #whumpee and whumper #whumper caretaker#creepy whumper#intimate whumper #tag for bumble bee #whump series#cruel whumper#slave whump
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  • serickswrites
    22.01.2022 - 5 days ago

    Definitely

    Warnings: captivity, pet whump

    “This is definitely what you think it is,” the cold voice told Whumpee as they knelt on the carpet.

    Whumpee started to cry. They didn’t understand. They didn’t know what was happening. 

    “My pet, this is a good thing. Of course you’ll have to learn. But you have me as your master. Not some idiot at that auction. Me!” The cold voice of the master went on. 

    Pet? Whumpee’s tears flowed more rapidly. This was the end for them. No one would ever know. No would would ever see. This was the end of their life. 

    The master ran their fingers through Whumpee’s hair. “So soft. So lovely. So mine.”

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  • shywhumpauthor
    22.01.2022 - 5 days ago

    Hot Cocoa Part 8

    Cw: creepy/intimate/affectionate Whumper, torture, burning, knives, conditioning, restraints, blindfolding, gagging,

    Maple’s breath hitched as Bram pulled a cigarette lighter out of the tool box.

    “I think this’ll work just perfectly,” Bram flicked the lighter on, the flames dancing in the reflection of his glasses for a moment before he let it go out. He placed the lighter back in his pocket, before pulling out a pair of shackles, with a good two feet of slack in between the cuffs. Bamboo fell from Maple’s lap to the ground, and Bram kicked it aside. Maple’s heart twisted as the plush sailed across the room, landing in a heap on the ground. They could see it… they didn’t take it.

    In the back of their mind, Maple wondered what his search history must have looked like, and where on Earth he had managed to get all kinds of torture devices and restraints. Maybe he was on some sort of government watchlist, who would send police out to investigate him soon.

    Maple had to suppress a smile at the thought. They could only hope and dream.

    Bram crouched down next to them, and peeled the duct tape off their wrists, quickly replacing the shackles around their forearms. If Maple’s hands were any tinier, they would have been able to slip them right out of the cuffs, but sadly, they were just small enough to stay firmly in place.

    Maple sucked in a breath as they were yanked to their feet by their wrists, as Bram hooked the chain of the shackles around a hook in the ceiling, leaving Maple’s chest, torso, and legs completely unprotected.

    They whimpered as Bram yanked up the hem of their sweater, pulling it up over their head so that their bruised and scarred chest was exposed. He ran a finger down their side, over each bump of their ribs, and Maple shivered.

    “Tell me what your first rule is,” Bram ordered, as he pulled the lighter out of his pocket, flicking open the flame.

    “Rule one,” Maple’s voice shook, their eyes transfixed on the small fire, as Bram brought it dangerously close to their skin. They pressed back as far as they could, pushing up to their tip toes as if that would make a difference. “Do-do not speak out of turn.”

    “Good.” Bram pressed the lighter up against their skin, just below their ribs, and Maple screamed. He only held it there for a second, before pulling the hot metal away, the burned area beginning to drip blood. “Two?”

    “Do- do not ask for anything,” Maple gasped, squeezing their eyes shut as Bram pressed the burning metal back against their ribs, an inch below the first mark.

    “Three?”

    “I be-belong to you,” Maple sobbed out, twisting in their bonds as pain laced up their side, swallowing their senses until it was the only thought on their mind.

    “Four?” Another burn had Maple writing in their chains, only held up by the shackles around their wrists.

    “Say thank… thank you after each session.” Tears ran freely down Maple’s scarred cheeks, dripping down their chin.

    “And five?” Bram flicked open the lighter, hovering the small flame over Maple’s skin, watching as it slowly turned red and blistered.

    “Never- never question you.” Their head fell against their chest. It wasn’t the worst beating, no. They had had far worse done to them. But burns, they stung for days, and blisters were always a pain in the ass to put up with.

    “Very good.” Bram praised, as they pressed the lighter against their skin just above their hip, a neat line of burns trailing down their side. “I have to get a picture of this, Brianna has been asking for one.” Bram dropped the lighter to the ground, and stepped back, pulling his phone from his pocket. Maple didn’t know who Brianna was, or why she wanted a picture of them. Perhaps she was going to help them? Maple didn’t dare hope. They looked up as the camera clicked, and Bram began tapping away at his phone, beginning to talk again. “She has this boy, Sol, oh my he’s absolutely gorgeous,” Bram stepped closer, turning his phone so they could see a picture of a bruised, bloody young man with bright blond hair, matted with blood.

    “We met online, and we have a date Tuesday afternoon, actually,” Bram sounded excited as he picked up the lighter, and replaced it in the toolbox. “We realized we have similar… hobbies, and instantly clicked.” He began to dig around the toolbox, pushing aside knives and zip ties, before pulling out a few long strips of cloth. “She’s been wanting to meet you for a while, we’ve been talking for over a month.” Bram approached Maple, and tapped their jaw. Hesitantly, Maple opened their mouth, allowing him to wedge the dirty cloth between their teeth, and knot it around the back of their head.

    “She says she’s really good with a knife, but never gets to use one because she doesn’t want to scar the boy too badly, which is understandable,” Bram positioned another cloth over their eyes, the fabric entangling with their mane of messy what had the potential to be curly hair.

    Maple whimpered around the gag, as they heard footsteps pad across the floor, before Bram was rummaging through the toolbox once more.

    “Oh hush, sweetheart, I’m doing you a favor,” They chucked. “I know how you get squeamish at large amounts of blood.”

    So thoughtful of him, Maple thought sarcastically. Before they were kidnapped, the sight of the crimson liquid always made them squirm, the first time Bram had ever beaten them they had passed out the second their nose besan to bleed. Recently, however, they had become quite immune to the effects blood used to have on them. It never gave them the same feeling as it did.

    Maple cried out into the gag as they felt the tip of a knife dig into their shoulder, swiftly slicing a thin, shallow cut halfway down to their elbow.

    “And the gag is because these houses are quite close together, if you scream too loud the neighbors will get upset.” Bram traced their collar bone with the blade, putting just enough pressure behind the knife to split the skin.

    Maple sobbed into the cloth as he ran the knife down their back, cutting a smooth line across the jagged whip scars.

    They knew better than to try and beg or plead. That never got them anywhere, and it only made Bram hurt them more.

    Maple screamed at the tip of the blade plunged into their thigh, and tore a terrible gash straight down their leg, cutting through the oversized sweatpants Hugh had given them.

    The stupid pants, they had been hoping they’d stay intact a little longer. It was all they had to wear, sure, they were lucky Bram let them wear clothes at all, but they had been from Hugh. They were Hugh’s.

    It felt as if the knife had stuck them right through their heart.

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  • shywhumpauthor
    21.01.2022 - 6 days ago
    #is this 100% projection based on my own nausea? #yes. yes it is. #I’m dying over here lol #whump#whumpblr#whump community#whump writing#whumpee#whumper #its me coal #coal wrote something #captured whumpee#captivity whump #tag for bumble bee #tw noncon touching #noncon touching#creepy whumper#intimate whumper#tw torture#torture#kidnapped whumpee#abused whumpee#conditioned whumpee#sick whumpee#kind whumper#multiple whumpers #oh god I feel awful
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  • rat-father
    21.01.2022 - 6 days ago

    Felt like writing some short fluff

    Tagging; @octopus-reactivated @writerat @onlybadendings

    -- tw;; pet whump, multiple whumpees, dehumanisation, implied previous torture, briefly implied dub con, comfort --

    Melon hesitantly pressed a wet cloth against Mint's sore back, cringing as it let out a pained whine. They paused for a moment, wondering if they were doing it right. The other gave less of a reaction once they gently dragged the cloth down the length of the whip marks, occasionally wincing now and then. They wiped away tiny bits of blood poking through the wounds, hoping to soothe some of the pain.

    "Do you feel a bit better now?" Melon asked, keeping their voice low.

    Mint nodded slowly, eyelids falling closed. They wrapped their arms around it, careful not to press hard on its back. It leaned its head on their shoulder, snuggling into the warmth of their soft sweater. They held the other close for a while, subconsciously playing with its outgrown tangled hair. Rays of sunlight began to shine through the closed curtains, the day barely starting after a night of torture. They were glad their Master didn't take them to the bedroom to unwind after, mercifully allowing them to tend to Mint's wounds.

    "They have something for you.. It, it might make you feel better," Melon said, gently pushing Mint a couple inches away from them.

    It gave them a wary look, raising an eyebrow as they got up to rush over to their dog bed. They dragged the bed away from the corner to reveal their hidden pile of artwork, pulling out a white piece of paper, folded to resemble a flower. They pushed it back into place and skipped back over to them, pushing the flower into Mint's hands.

    "They made it for you, earlier. But they couldn't give it when Master Finley was around."

    Mint stared at the small gift, big enough to fit in the palms of its hand.

    "H-how did you- make it?"

    Melon grinned, shrugging without giving an answer. It couldn't help but smile as well, holding the flower close to its heart, silently promising to keep it safe.

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  • serickswrites
    21.01.2022 - 6 days ago

    See II

    Part 1

    Warnings: torture, captivity, blood, restraints, knives, defiant whumpee

    Whumpee leaned on their left hip, their right leg no longer able to bear weight without shaking uncontrollably. They were careful not to put too much pull on their wrists either, lest they rip their arm out of its socket as they stand chained from the ceiling. Their wrists were raw and blood from the shackles. 

    “You are so fucked.” They repeated to Whumper, their bloody smile unnerving Whumper all the more. 

    “We’ll see about that,” Whumper growled. They turned to Accomplice. “Go. Take care of it.”

    Accomplice nodded and raced out of the room, Whumper’s eyes on their retreating back.”Caretaker and my team are here, Whumper. I would run if I were you,” Whumpee’s voice was clear and steady. 

    Whumper did not like that Whumpee was not afraid. Had never been afraid. That they just took every blow, every punch and kick with a smirk, a smile, or a chuckle. Whumper was growing more and more incensed by Whumpee by the minute. 

    “Do not tell me what to do,” Whumper hissed, rounding on Whumpee. 

    “Fine. Your funeral.”

    Before Whumper could reply, a loud bang followed by a series of pops came from inside. Whumper could hear the shouts and cries of their minions. They couldn’t make out Accomplice’s voice above the din, but they were sure Accomplice was there. 

    “Told you,” Whumpee smiled. They spat another gob of blood at Whumper’s feet. “You were never going to keep me. You were always going to lose.”

    Whumper gritted their teeth. “Well, if that’s the case,” they picked up a particularly vicious looking knife from the table of tools near Whumpee, “then Caretaker can’t keep you either.” And they plunged the blade into Whumpee’s stomach and pulled.

    Tags: @smuwfy-side-blog @some-messed-up-writing-for-you 

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  • i-can-even-burn-salad
    21.01.2022 - 6 days ago

    Betrayal

    Warnings: Captivity, noncon touch (nonsexual), betrayal, dehydration, restraints, stress position, begging

    Previous | Masterlist

    There was a soft touch in Caldyn’s dream. Brushing his cheek, gentle and so familiar. It made his core ache and he moved his head, trying to nestle against it.

    The movement made pain sear through his neck and shoulders and he froze. Instantly, he started to remember why it hurt, where he was. The terror came crawling back, replacing the happiness he had felt a moment ago. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.

    The touch returned, and it shouldn’t. Not when he was already half awake, aware of the pain that plagued every part of his body. Aware of what he would see when he opened his eyes; not his home, soft greens gleaming golden in warm sunlight, but the tainted red of the corrupted thicket. In a way, those dreams were even worse than the nightmares. They gave him hope and then ripped it away again, leaving him more despaired than before.

    He knew that it was pointless to try and cling to sleep. He would wake up, and if he was lucky, he was still alone, no one here to hurt him again. If he was “lucky”, he was still alone, still tied to the cage, his already raw wrists bound together, outside. Pulling his arms and his back against the thorny branches, his joints overstretched, the ties so tight he couldn’t move at all.

    The touch returned a third time. He definitely wasn’t sleeping anymore.  Knowing that someone was here with him, that one of them was so close to him, made him tremble, and he forced his eyes to open.

    All he could see were leaves, pale greens over similarly pale brown bark. Slightly colorless, like a plant that hasn’t seen the sun for too long. Familiar, too familiar. Caldyn’s breath caught and he tried to raise his head. He couldn’t. He was too weak, his chin resting on his chest, his neck stiff.

    The hand returned, cupping his chin, lifting it up until his gaze met pale green eyes. They, too, were painfully familiar and Caldyn had to blink against the tears in his own. Something was wrong about those eyes, yet Caldyn couldn’t help but feel relief.

    “Gawyn,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

    His partner didn’t seem hurt. He wasn’t captured, wasn’t injured, wasn’t tortured. He was safe.

    A part of Caldyn knew what it meant, had known it from the moment the ceodh had attacked him and Gawyn had watched idly, not helping him. He refused to accept it, refused to acknowledge the empty feeling in his core as the realization set in. Instead, he concentrated on his touch, could for a moment imagine that it was really Gawyn, holding him.

    “Please... help me.”

    The hand holding his chin let go, but when his head threatened to drop again, it came back. It grabbed him, rougher this time, and bent his head back, pressing it against the cage. Caldyn’s hair got tangled in the branches and caught on the thorns. Some of it broke off, having become dry and brittle as his body tried to conserve as much water as possible. Leaning against the branches, he managed to keep his head up. He wasn’t sure if he was stuck, didn’t dare to try and move.

    “Please,” he whispered instead, while the hole in his chest grew bigger.

    His tears wouldn’t help his thirst, either, but he couldn’t fight them. Gawyn’s eyes were so cold.

    “I can’t help you,” he said, and his voice, too, was cold.

    There was a darkness in the meaning behind his words that made Caldyn shudder.

    “Please.” A sob escaped him, shaking his body. The thorns dug into his arms, widening the wounds they had caused hours ago, and Caldyn gasped. “Gawyn, please. I can’t-” By the tree, he couldn’t take it anymore, the pain in his shoulders and arms, the thorns piercing him. He needed to move. “Please, just my hands.”

    “I’m not allowed to help you.” Gawyn’s voice was even colder now, not a hint of sympathy in the meaning behind his words.

    Caldyn looked at him, at those eyes he used to drown in, now making him shiver. At the pattern in his lover’s bark, at his leaves, each one so familiar to him, he would have recognized him with closed eyes. He knew every glowing streak in Gawyn’s body, the way he moved, the sound of his laughter, the rhythm of his breaths.

    And yet, in this moment, he didn’t know him anymore. That thing sitting across from him might look like Gawyn, and sound like him, and move like him, but it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. Gawyn would help him.

    “Then why are you here? Will you torture me, too?”

    Caldyn had wanted to spit out the words, to put his anger behind them, but all that ended up in the meaning behind them was his fear. The terror of what Gawyn had become, of what would become of him, if he gave in.

    “I’d prefer not to. I asked her not to make me. I don’t know if she will.” There was a pause, the meaning behind his words clear. If Firethorn would ask him to hurt Caldyn, he would do it, without hesitation.

    “I’m here to talk some sense into you. I still like you, you know? We could still be together, if you weren’t so damn stubborn. I never believed you’d join us voluntarily, I expected that you’d need a bit of persuasion, but this...” Gawyn raised his hand, trailed his finger across Caldyn’s chest. “This is ridiculous. There is no need to suffer this much.”

    Caldyn winced, whimpering as Gawyn’s fingers brushed his open wounds. It hurt, but what was worse was that it was Gawyn’s touch causing the pain. A touch that had only brought him pleasure before, now making him twist in agony.

    “Please, stop.” Caldyn’s voice broke. He cried, trying and failing to keep his body from shaking. It made his arms twitch, the urge to move, to pull away too strong to suppress.

    He couldn’t stand Gawyn’s touch, not only because it hurt, but because Gawyn had betrayed him, had allowed the ceodh to take him. Gawyn must have known what they would do to him. Caldyn wanted to feel anger, but only dread and despair filled his words’ meaning as he begged: “Don’t... touch me. Please, Gawyn, don’t.”

    “Why? You always loved it when I did this.”

    Gawyn raised his second hand, laid it on Caldyn’s chest, too, on a spot that wasn’t hurt. At first, he didn’t move. His touch was gentle and his smile so familiar, but his eyes were cold and calculating. Way too cold, and then he started to drag his fingers across Caldyn’s bark. Caldyn couldn’t see them, didn’t dare to try and move his head, but he could feel how they approached the cuts, how the pressure increased. His breaths became short and panicked.

    “Please... stop.”

    “Remember that day at the lake? The cool, clear water, the sweet taste of berries? You didn’t want me to stop then.”

    The thought of water made Caldyn’s throat ache, the memory of sweetness his stomach cramp. He stared at Gawyn, in a way shocked that this thing had his lover’s memories. The amused glimmer in Gawyn’s eyes told him that he knew what he was doing, had chosen those words on purpose.

    You said you wouldn’t torture me.

    The words died on Caldyn’s lips, remaining unspoken as he fought not to scream. Gawyn traced his cuts, pressed down on the bruises next to them and brushed over the damaged tissue where the bark had been ripped away. He sighed.

    “It’s a shame. So much damage. You used to be so handsome.”

    His fingers prodded the wound, making Caldyn wince and press his head against the cage, eyes closed. Gawyn wasn’t wearing any armor. He had come alone, the only one of them who had come alone since Caldyn’s failed attack on Craig. And yet, despite his betrayal, despite knowing that it wasn’t Gawyn anymore, Caldyn knew he couldn’t try to use his magic on him. Not even to save himself.

    Another one of his hair branches cracked and splintered.

    “The Scourge might still be able to heal you, but if you wait much longer... you should know the limits of life magic better than anyone. Who knows if your leaves will ever grow back? If they’ll be enough to hide how broken you are, how ugly you’ve become. Do you think anyone will ever look at you and see anything but the scars that will remain?”

    Finally, Gawyn let go, pulling his hands back.

    “You wouldn’t have to worry about anyone wanting to ever touch you again, then.”

    Caldyn knew those words were meant to hurt him, that Gawyn knew exactly what he had to say. He shouldn’t listen, but their meaning burned into his soul. He had always loved the closeness. Holding hands, snuggling up at night. Caressing a cheek, brushing through hair, stealing a little touch in passing. Even if he would survive, even if he would somehow make it out of here, he would be alone. Gawyn was lost. There would be no one waiting for him, holding him, telling him it was over.

    He would be alone.

    He would always be alone.

    “You should think about her offer. She will break you. Eventually. She always does. The only question is, will your body or your mind give in first?” Gawyn asked and got up.

    Caldyn didn’t open his eyes, he just listened to Gawyn’s footsteps. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see him leave. Didn’t want to risk calling him back, begging him to stay, to not leave him alone.

    The branches of the cage returned to their spot with a quiet rustle and his partner walked away. Leaving him how he had found him; still so thirsty, still in pain, still bound to the cage, just so much more hopeless than before.

    Caldyn wept quietly, gasping for air between desperate sobs. Gawyn’s words hurt, hurt more than the wounds on his chest, or the thorns digging into his torn back. More than his shoulders and arms, cramping as he jerked his head forward, trying to free his hair. Another one of his branches broke, releasing him, and his head dropped to his chest again, tears squeezing past his closed lids.

    Gawyn was lost.

    He was all alone now.

    His body was still shaking in soundless sobs, long after his tears had dried up.

    Tagging: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @dont-touch-my-soup​ @frenchfries893​ @whump-cravings​ @siren-of-agony​

    #Thorns and Jasmine #captivity tw#dehydration tw#restraints tw#begging tw #stress position tw #whump#fantasy whump #non human whumpee #salad-post#Salad Caldyn #Hey Cal you wanted to find Gawyn didn't you
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  • villainsvictim
    21.01.2022 - 6 days ago
    #whump quotes#villain #or creepy whumper #multiple whumpers #tw implied death #implied captivity
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  • serickswrites
    21.01.2022 - 6 days ago

    Where II

    Part 1

    Warnings: implied/referenced torture, blood, wounds, restraints, captivity

    “Everywhere,” Whumpee sobbed. 

    Caretaker’s stomach clenched. They were at a loss of what to do. They couldn’t see what Whumper had been doing completely, but they could hear Whumpee’s response. “Ok. Ok,” Caretaker muttered more to themselves than to Whumpee. They just needed to figure out what to do. 

    “C-C-Caretaker?” Whumpee gasped. Their breath still came in gasps. 

    “Don’t worry, I’ll get us out of here. I’ll get you to help.” Caretaker tried to make it sound as reassuring as possible even though they had no idea how they were going to do that.

    “W-Whumper?” Whumpee’s voice was even quieter. 

    “Passed out for now. Actually, hold on.” Caretaker realized in their haste to get to Whumpee, they hadn’t secured Whumper. They quickly rushed back over to Whumper, gave another kick for good measure, and handcuffed Whumper’s ankles to the post. No way they were slipping out of that. 

    Whumpee had let out a quiet whimper the moment Caretaker had gone out of their line of vision. “I’m here! I’m here!” Caretaker called reassuringly as they worked.

    Caretaker returned to Whumpee’s side. Now that Whumper was taken care of, they needed to move Whumpee. “Whumpee, I know this is going to hurt. But I have to carry you. Unless you think you can stand and walk with my help?”

    Whumpee coughed. They shook their head. “H-hurts,” they coughed again, “too m-much.” They coughed once more. 

    “That’s ok, sweetheart, I can carry you.” Caretaker surveyed Whumpee again. Their skin was unbroken, hardly any bruises, and yet Whumpee had complained of such pain. What did Whumper do was the question of the hour. 

    Whumpee continued to cough. Their coughing turned to retching. Caretaker quickly rolled Whumpee on their side, despite hisses and whines of protest. They couldn’t let Whumpee choke on their own vomit. 

    Caretaker looked on in horror as Whumpee began to vomit a steady stream of blood. They put their hand to Whumpee’s forehead, as a support and took check their temperature. Whumpee’s skin was cold and clammy. 

    “Whumpee! Whumpee, you need to talk to me. What are you feeling? Where does it hurt?”

    Whumpee continued to cough and sputter, the taste of copper in their mouth. They tried to roll back over, pushing against Caretaker as they did so. They couldn’t breathe in this position. They needed to get their breath back to answer Caretaker. They couldn’t breathe. 

    Caretaker’s horror turned to terror as Whumpee went limp against them. “Whumpee! Sweetheart! Wake UP!” This was not happening right now. They were so close. “WHUMPEE!”

    Tags: @painsthegame @siren-of-agony @pretty-writing-things

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  • whumpy-writings
    20.01.2022 - 1 week ago

    You Should Be Scared

    Takes place directly after The Transaction

    Of Vampires and Men Masterlist

    CW: Vampires, slavery, dehumanization, panic attack, blood, caning, captivity, hopelessness, hurt no comfort

    “Kneel,” Master said once they got into the carriage. Henri obeyed, getting to his knees on the hard wooden floor. His mind was still spinning from the last fifteen minutes. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears from falling. His limbs were starting to shake and his breath was becoming shallow.

    “What the hell is wrong with you?” Master snapped. “I haven’t even hurt you yet.”

    Henri gasped and flinched back from the voice. “I-I’m sorry Master, sometimes I get scared, I’m so sorry, I can’t control it.” Henri said, heart pounding. Not safe not safe not safe his mind said in time with his racing heartbeat.

    Master just snorted. “You should be scared. You belong to me now.”

    And with that Henri started to sob. The panic clawed at his throat and he couldn’t breathe gods he couldn’t breathe. The fear was overwhelming. He was going to die die die.

    Henri didn’t know how long he was trapped by the panic. Long enough for Master to get sick of it, apparently. Henri whimpered as Master roughly grabbed his hair, pulling his head back so he was looking at Master’s face. The slap was hard and Henri gasped at the sting on his cheek.

    “Listen carefully, 023,” Master said, his voice low and dangerous. “Your purpose in life is to serve me. Your body is mine. You. Are. Mine. We are almost home, and my wife will want to see you. You are to treat her with the respect she deserves.”

    “Y-yes Master,” Henri said through the tears clogging his throat.

    Master roughly grabbed his chin, tilting his head from side to side. “I spent a hell of a lot of money on you, 023. You better not disappoint me.”

    “I-I won’t, Master,” Henri said. The carriage rolled to a stop and Henri’s heart skipped a beat.

    “Do you promise to behave, or do I have to bind you?” Master asked almost casually.

    “I’ll behave Master. I promise,” Henri said.

    “So this is what you think is going to save our marriage?” Mistress said, walking around Henri, throwing him distasteful looks. He was kneeling in the drawing room, eyes focused on the floral pattern on the thick carpet.

    “Yes darling,” Master said smoothly, stepping next to Henri and raising his chin with a single finger. Henri’s eyes met Mistress’ and he barely stopped himself from flinching away from the contempt in her eyes.

    “023 is going to help with my anger issues. You said I needed to find some way to let off steam, and he will do quite nicely.”

    Mistress rolled her eyes. “He better.”

    She looked directly at Henri. “How much did he pay for you?”

    Henri licked his lips. Was he supposed to answer that? Master was glaring at him but Mistress was expecting an answer and Master had said to treat her with respect. “30,000,” Henri finally replied.

    The woman gasped and Henri’s stomach dropped. Oh no.

    “Is this true, Radford?” she asked, turning to her husband.

    Master looked at Henri with pure hatred. “Yes.”

    “We don’t have that kind of money! And you wasted it on this fucking blood bag?” Mistress yelled, gesturing at Henri. Henri flinched back, wrapping his arms around himself. Mistress turned around and stormed out of the room.

    “I did this for us, Eleanor!” Master shouted at her back.

    Master spun around and kicked Henri in the stomach, hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs. Henri gasped for air as Master pulled him to his feet and dragged him down a flight of stairs.

    “You should have kept your fuckin’ mouth shut,” Master said, throwing Henri into a stone room. Henri cowered on the floor, his breath still shaky from the kick.

    “I’m sorry Master, I’m sorry,” he said, tears glistening in his eyes.

    Master turned around, grabbing something off a wall. Henri’s face paled when he saw the cane.

    “Get up, hands against the wall,” Master said. Henri did as he was told, tears starting to run down his face.

    The first strike of the cane made him gasp, the pain sharp against his back. The second strike drew a whine from his throat, and by the third strike he started begging.

    “Please have mercy Master!” Henri sobbed as the cane hit his back again. Master ignored him and Henri lost track of how many times the cane struck his back. He didn’t know which strike finally split his skin open, letting the blood ooze down his back. He didn’t know which strike made his knees give out, sent him to the floor, head and hands pressed against the stone wall.

    “Please!” he sobbed again. He couldn’t take this, gods, he couldn’t take this. He wouldn’t survive. Henri let out a sigh of relief when the cane hit the ground instead of his back. Without a word, Master hauled him up by the hair and dragged him out of the room. Henri stumbled as Master pulled him down the hall, his legs weak and trembling. The vampire wrenched open the door to a cell and threw Henri inside. He landed with a thud, the pain shuddering throughout his body. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving him in darkness. Henri curled up on the floor and cried.

    This, this was his life now. Nothing but pain and punishment. Henri’s heart was pounding, his breathing shallow. The panic attack hit him full force and it was a good thing he was already on the ground because he would have fallen to his knees otherwise. Henri put his head in his hands and screamed. He was going to die here.

    Tag list: @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whump-cravings @thecyrulik @neverthelass @michelleswhumpyreblogs @whumpsy-daisy @the-monarch-whumperfly @aswallowimprisoned @secretwhumplair @whumpzone @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @nicolepascaline @susiequaz12 @princessofonwardsworld @puffball-lover554 @itsleighlove @pumpkin-spice-whump @wiwinia @sunflower1000 @whump-blog @that-sapphic-person @melancholy-in-the-morning @pizzasthengym @suspicious-whumping-egg

    #of vampires and men #henri the human #radford the vampire #vampires tw#slavery tw#dehumanization tw #panic attack tw #blood tw#hopelessness tw#captivity tw #hurt no comfort #slavery whump#captivity whump
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  • serickswrites
    19.01.2022 - 1 week ago

    How?

    Warnings: captivity, botched escape attempt, restraints, implied torture, implied future torture.

    Whumpee ran along the corridor as quickly and quietly as possible. Whumper had left the door open and not all of the buckles fastened. Whumpee was able to wiggle their way to freedom. And now they had to escape!

    Their heart thudded in their chest as they went. They were constantly scanning for a way out, but also straining to hear any sound besides their own labored breathing. 

    Whumpee froze as they heard the sound of footsteps and laughter down one end of the corridor. They ducked into the nearest room, the door opening and shutting quietly. They would wait until the sounds of laughter passed and then start their journey to freedom again. 

    “How did you get in here?” A voice came from behind Whumpee. 

    Whumpee’s heart stopped. They hadn’t, in their haste, checked to see if the room was empty. They slowly turned to meet the voice. 

    “Oh this will not do.” The owner sprang up from the chair they had been reading in. They were to Whumpee in two strides, hand immediately going to fist Whumpee’s hair. “I warned Whumper to be careful with you. To check everything at least twice. They were always a shitty student.”

    “Please...please,” Whumpee squeaked as the owner of the voice twisted Whumpee’s hair, pulling harder. 

    “Oh you little thing! Don’t please me. You don’t know who I am, do you?” They smiled wickedly at Whumpee. 

    Whumpee swallowed twice before answering. “N-n-no.”

    “I’m Head Whumper. And I’ll be taking over your treatment from here.”

    #serickswrites#whump#whumpblr#whump writing#whump community#tw captivity #tw botched escape #tw restraints #tw implied torture #tw implied future torture #queue
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