Whump Writing - Tumblr Posts
Whumpril 2023
Pleasure in Pain #8
Day 5: Dragged
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I swear I start these on the day but don’t get to finish them until days after.
Contents: TW silver burning/ restraints, TW stabbed, TW fear, TW electrocuted, Failed Escape Attempt, Vampire Whumpee, Dragged Out From Under A Table, Multiple Whumpers, Whumper Turned Whumpee.
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Cordova waits long enough for him to be sure that Rojan won't be able to hear anything. He immediately uses his free foot to kick off the restraint on his other foot. At first the silver burns his heel and he has to take a break. Once his skin heals from the burns he hits the restraint one more time and it go flying across the room. He waits in silence to make sure nobody heard him. The coast is clear. He picks his lower body up and folds in half. His feet are now near his retrained wrists. It's an awkward angle, and in no way comfortable, but he manages to get a few good hits on his right restraint before it falls off the table. He takes a break and catches his breath. This time he uses his free hand to hit his left restraint once, it's practically split in two from the sheer force. Any sign of the silver burning his skin has been erased by his healing. The adrenaline is clearly keeping him motivated to keep going and to stay on his feet.
He freezes when he hears a sound come from the corner of the room. He turns his head slowly in the direction of the sound. He's pleasantly surprised by the sight of a mouse squeaking in the corner. He's clearly on edge. He gets off the table and quietly walks to the door... it's silver. Fuck. He was able to handle the small silver restraints, but even looking at this tall, purely silver door makes him feel dizzy. Cordova tries to hold the handle of the door, but immediately jumps back from the pain now lingering in his palm. How is he going to get out of here?
He looks around the room for anything that can help him. There's thick towels stained with red. He grabs them and practices holding the restraints with them. He doesn't feel anything. This could work. He walks back over to the door, taking a deep breath, Cordova reaches for the handle with the towel in hand. No pain. A smile appears on his face, he pulls the door, but immediately stops when he hears it scratch the floor. He waits for any indication that someone is coming.
Nothing. This time he pulls the door in increments of two feet until it's wide enough for him to get past without touching it. Cordova quickly steps out of the room not wanting to waste another second in there. Theres a hallway leading straight to a flight of stairs. As he walks down the barren corridor he sees the old tattered metal wall flaking, the concrete floor holding a hint of smeared red that lead into other doors found on either side.
Cordova is light on his feet until he makes it to the flight of stairs. This time, to his delight, the door at the top of the staircase is wooden. He carefully makes his way up and lays his ear against the door. He can hear something bubbling, but no voices or footsteps. Is it possible that they are both gone? He grabs the knob and turns it until the door cracks open. He peeks through. He sees a kitchen and a dining table. There's a pot on the stove actively boiling something. They're still home. He doesn't see them or hear them, where are they? Pushing the door open quietly, he steps into the kitchen. On the right there appears to be a living room and a hallway that leads to the rest of the house. No sign of them. Cordova takes a look at the curtains. There isn't anything shining through. He tugs at them to see if sunlight floods in, nothing. He peeks outside and sees the sun setting.
He jumps slightly at the sound of the pot boiling over on the stove. Then the sound of a door clicking open makes his heart jump out of his chest. He quickly gets under the dining table out of panic and didn't make a sound. Why am I hiding, I'm a vampire? He thought to himself for only a moment before seeing footsteps walk past the table and towards the kitchen, effectively reminding him why he's terrified. The pair of white heels stood by the boiling pot, Cordova had assumed Lilith was the owner.
"Rojan! Dinner is ready!" Lilith yelled, it was the first time Cordova had heard her voice so loud.
Rojan soon came down the hall in his brown combat boots, his footsteps were heavy, indicated by the creaking floor boards.
"I'm starving Lilith, everything smells so good right now." Rojan said in an eager tone.
"Well maybe you should make dinner once in a while so that you won't have to wait on me." Lilith said annoyed.
"I swear I'll cook tomorrow, I'll grill some burgers for us, okay love?"
"Fine. I suppose thats acceptable." Lilith couldn't help but smile a little.
Cordova... he was sitting as quiet as a mouse under the table unsure of what his next move should be. This wasn't the best outcome of the situation, but he had yet to be caught. He suddenly saw Lilith came over to the table and Cordova tucked his legs against his chest. She placed the pot on the table and both her and Rojan pulled their respective chairs out from under the table. Cordova quickly pushed himself as far as he could against the end chair blocking his way. The legs of Rojan and Lilith accompanying him under the table.
"You know love, I do believe I smell something divine, don't you?"
"I do believe I smell something exquisite as well."
Cordova held his breath, his heart rate increasing, his palms beginning to sweat. Why were they talking like that? Nobody moved a muscle.
"Cordova~." Rojan said in a singly voice.
Cordova's heart dropped into his stomach. His breath was shallow and his body was shaking.
"Would you be so kind as to come out so that we won't have to force you to." Rojan's voice was calm and almost lighthearted.
Cordova had hoped that they were just bluffing and were just being paranoid. They were just trying to pry a reaction out of him, but how could they know he was there? He didn't move, he held onto to the hope that they weren't being serious and that they didn't actually know he was there.
Rojan slammed his hands on the table while pushing himself off of his chair. The table shook and Cordova put his hand over his mouth as if it would help him. Rojan crouched down and looked under the table, his deadpan face accompanied by his silver eyes didn't let on a hint of mercy for the cowering vampire. Cordova hiccuped into his hand, and that triggered Rojan to give a cheshire smile.
"Cordova~."
Rojan quickly grabbed the vampires ankle and dragged him out from under the table. Cordova yelped and tried to scramble back under the table. Rojan had a firm grip. He grabbed a knife from the table and stabbed it into Cordova's leg. Silver. The vampire groaned as the utensil seared into his skin. He was pulled out again, this time he didn't move. Rojan pulled the knife out, then stepped above the vampire, crouching down closer to his shaking body.
"Poor Cordova, so close... yet so far."
Cordova pushed Rojan into the door that led to the basement. Cordova quickly got up and ran into the hallway, he could see a door at the end of it. He sprinted and quickly grabbed the door knob. Electricity flowed through his hand, up his arm, and spread like wild fire all throughout his body. His hand released the knob and he stumbled back. His body twitched from the lingering electricity. It was difficult for him to focus, but his arm reached for the door.
"COME HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT!" Rojan seethed with anger and kicked Corodva's body into the door in front of him. "That's TWICE you've thrown me into a wall you fucking blood sucker."
Cordova was sightly winded from the impact of the door. He turned around and faced Rojan, pressing his back against the door.
"You're in for a world of hurt kid."
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Date: April 5, 2023
Taglist: @whumpril @turn-the-tables-on-them
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Whumpril 2023
Coincidence
Day 6: “Don’t push me away.”
Contents: TW blood, bruises, and burns, Caretaker, Whumpee, Signs Of Abuse, Stormy Weather, Reluctance To Accept Help, Fear, Begging, Whimpering.
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The clouds rolled in, dark and heavy. It took no time for the rain to start pouring on unsuspecting people who had been deceived by the clear skies mere minutes ago. The rain fell like pins and needles at rapid speeds. The wind was unmerciful to anyone without a windbreaker or even those with umbrellas.
“Fuck.”
Dolion ducked into the nearest alley way. The wind couldn’t reach him in between the brick buildings, except for the occasional channel that swept pass him. He got his phone out from his right pocket and called for a ride.
Soft crying could be heard just barely, practically carried by the wind. Dolion looked to his left, further down the alley way. He had only just noticed a crouched figure behind a dumpster. Should I help them? He took a few step towards the figure. His footsteps were louder than he would have liked them to be, no thanks to the expanding puddles that have almost engulfed the concrete. The closer he got, the more noticeable the crying became.
Not wanting to scare them, Dolion let out a light, “hey.”
The crying turned into whimpering, they’re legs pulled closer into themselves. Dolion came into view of the figure and was taken aback by the sight. The sniffling man was littered with bruises and fresh cuts that had dry blood washing away with the rain. They were sitting in a puddle dyed a faint red. It took him too long to notice the burn on their cheek, as if an iron was pressed to their face. They only had a t-shirt and shorts on, they shivered from both the rain and the fear.
“p-p-ple-se d-don’t h-h-hurt m… me.”
The man looked up with pleading eyes through his wet, matted hair. They were red and puffy. Dolion crouched in front of him. The man very noticeably flinched.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I-I want to help you. What happened to you?”
The man tucked his head into his legs, not wanting to answer. Dolion took his jacket off and threw it on top of the mans head and shoulders. The man quickly shoved Dolion to the ground. He tried to press himself impossibly further into the wall and curled back up into his ball, practically ignoring the jacket as if he hadn’t noticed it was on him.
Dolion, surprised by the reaction, simply got up to his crouched position again. He reached for the jacket so that he can readjust it. He anticipated the man’s movements this time. Dolion grabbed his arms before he could use them causing him to whimper.
“Don’t push me away.”
The man tried to tug his arms away from Dolion but he was clearly too weak to resist.
“I gave you my jacket, I want to help you. Please don’t be scared.”
The man stopped his struggling and took a moment to finally notice the jacket that had been covering his head. Dolion released his arms, but the man kept them in the air. Dolion reached for the jacket and adjusted its position so the rain wouldn’t hit the man’s face.
“Is that better?”
The man nodded, taking back his arms and tucking them away. “Th-thank y-you sir.” He still seemed tense, but clearly confused by the act of kindness.
Before Dolion spoke up, he heard a honk to his right. He looked over and saw his ride. He was happy to get out of the rain, but he didn’t want to leave this man here.
“How about we get you out of this storm?”
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Date: April 6, 2023
Taglist: @whumpril
Pleasure in Pain #9
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I’m still alive, just procrastinating on everything in my life.
Contents: On the run, Failed escape attempt, Begging, Fear of the sun, Threatened.
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“You’re in for a world of hurt kid!” Rojan was seething with rage.
Cordova took a step forward, Rojan was on guard, that was until the vampire pushed all of his weight back onto the door. Cordova plummeted to the ground as the door cracked beneath him. He groaned from the impact but quickly recovered and got back on his feet before Rojan had the chance to grab him. As the vampire began to run Rojan snarled at the act of defiance... but he didn’t move, he didn’t chase after the vampire. Cordova was rightfully confused when he glanced back to see Rojan standing in the doorway, but he didn’t stop running, he didn’t stop for a long time.
It was early in the night, and Cordova covered a lot of ground. He hated to admit it, but he was lost in the woods. How far am I from home? He might’ve not been in any mortal danger, but it still wasn’t a good situation to be stuck in with his weakened state. He always remembered his parents telling him that if he followed the direction of Orion’s belt then he would always be led back home. His eyes scanned the starry night and identified the constellation with ease.
/Time/
He felt as though he had been running for miles on end, no notable progress with the endless trees. Where the hell did these humans take me? How far away is home? If his father could hear his thoughts right now, he would be called immature, weak... is this what being homesick feels like?
/Time/
Cordova ran for the entire night, still nowhere near home or even civilization. The sky’s color gradient shifting from a dark blue to a soft orange and pink hue. While he was running, he made sure to stay aware of possible shelter options, he new that a mile back from where he came there was a cave that he could rest in for the day. He ran back to that suspiciously carved out cave in the hill side. He couldn’t exactly be picky about his options. He sat down on the damp, cold ground of the stone cave. He finally takes a breath for himself and leans back against the rigid wall. What a day... couple of days I guess. Shivers travel through his body at the mere thought of what he had to endure. His father always told him to never trust a human, they are only blood bags. They catch you and the first thing they want to do to you is torture and rip you to shreds. Yet, he couldn’t help but hear his mothers voice echoing in his head to not hold hatred towards all humans... that wasn’t fair considering she was human herself. Cordova shook his head and tried to distract himself. He looked around the cave and noticed how moist the walls and the ceiling was, like it was dripping a continuous fluid that wasn’t exactly water. He couldn’t bother to care about his new environment when a wave of exhaustion hit him and he couldn’t help but let his eyes rest and his body go limp.
/Time/
Cordova woke with a start as his ears picked up the faint sound of a vehicle barging through the forest. He quickly jumped onto his feet, his adrenaline started to skyrocket at the thought of humans finding him trapped in this cave during the day. Unfortunately for him, the cave was shallow and didn’t provide hiding spots so he resorted to pressing his back against the wall. The heavy, clunky, getting closer rapidly. It stopped just outside of the cave. All too familiar thick combat boots crushed the dying leaves that lead to the cave. Cordova’s heart skipped when he saw that man’s face… Rojan.
Rojan clapped his hands as he entered the cave and stepped towards Cordova. The vampire stepped off the cave wall and took a couple steps back deeper into the cave.
“Well well, good job Cordova, you made it all the way here in one night.”
Rojan kept walking towards the nervous vampire. Corodva synched his steps with the man in front of him until his back flushed with the cave wall. Rojan took a large step forward and blocked anyway for the vampire to escape.
“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”
Corodva could feel his hands shake as he clenched them. Was it from anger, fear, anticipation? He stared at Rojans pure silver eyes. “H-how did you find m-me?”
Rojan laughed softly finding the question amusing. “Oh Cordova, I knew you were young but seriously? Did you never consider the possibility of me putting a tracker in you?”
Cordova’s eyes widened slightly at the implication that he had something foreign in his body. Obviously no scars were present to indicate that such a thing and been done, and it was hard for him to even grasp the thought. He carefully looked down at his body, examining himself as if it would explain anything.
“Tch Tch Tch, poor Corodva. Do you remember the last thing I said to you?”
The shaken vampire looked up with an anxious expression as he recalled the last encounter he had with the human. He tried to push himself impossibly further against the cave wall. Rojan leaned forward slightly, not providing Corodva with any personal space. He whispered in a sadistic manner.
“You’re in for a world of hurt kid.”
The vampire very noticeably sunk further down, as if trying to make himself smaller. His breathing hitched as his heart worked overtime from the lack of oxygen being supplied. As much as he wanted to run, to kick Rojan back and sprint into the trees… the radiating heat held no comfort for him. He considered possibly hurting Rojan, if he got all his strength and managed to pin him to the ground he could kill him… but he had never killed a person before, he wasn’t sure if he would even be willing to.
Rojan carefully grabbed the vampires arm and began to pull him as he made his way to the front of the cave. Corodva didn’t fight at first, paralyzed by his thoughts as if he was in a trance. That was until he was snapped back to his distressing situation when the sun inched closer, second by second. Cordova dug his heel into the ground and pulled back on Rojans iron grip. His heart pounding and a cold sweat evaporating in the heat. Rojan turned to the vampire with a look of disappointment that was shown with a menacing glare.
“I swear to god if you don’t come with me right now Cordova, I’ll carve you open and expose your organs to the sun. Do you want that?” His voice was stern and course.
The vampires eyes widened at the grotesque description. His fear was still overpowering his body and all he could think about was the pain he would experience right now, and not the pain in the foreseeable future. He shook his head frantically while still holding his ground. “R-Rojan… I-I r-really don’t want t-to go in the s-sun.”
Rojan glared intensely as the shivering vampire. “Do you think I give a shit if I walk you through this sun? I’ll drag you by the car and let the sun burn you to a crisp all the way back if I want to.”
Corodva pulled harder against the humans grip. For a human, his grip was unnaturally strong, maybe Cordova was just too out of focus to really break free, but either way he knew Rojan wouldn’t let go. The vampire had a pleading expression plastered on his face. “P-please Rojan, I-I p-promise to go back… I-I won’t resist, just please… I don’t want to get burned.”
Rojan unexpectedly pulled against Cordova, making him loose his footing and stumble forward. Rojan was now in full view of the sun, his skin reflecting the brightness. Cordova’s hand was mere inches away from the suns grasp, he couldn’t take it anymore. “PLEASE!” The terrified vampire shut his eyes bracing himself for the scorching pain… but it didn’t come. After a couple seconds he opened his eyes cautiously and saw that Rojans hand was no longer holding his arm hostage. He quickly pulled his arm back to his chest protectively.
Rojan sighed and kept his gaze sharp and calm. “Will you really come back that easily?”
Cordova quickly nodded his head a couple times praying that the human would believe him. He could hear Rojan sigh again as he turned around and walked back to his car. He got in and casually drove half way into the cave forcing Corodva to back up immensely. The vampire saw a hand gesture him to go into the vehicle. He carefully walked to the passenger seat and sat in the leather chair. The first thing on Cordova’s mind was that the windows weren’t tinted enough. The sun visor was too small. He pushed the seat back before pushing himself down into a small ball under the glove compartment, hoping it would be enough coverage. Rojan noticed the vampires attempts at avoiding the sun and as upset as he was with him he couldn’t help but chuckle from how amusing it looked. He put the car in reverse and pulled out of the cave, facing towards the direction back home. Hell.
It was a long, silent drive back.
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Date: August 15, 2023
Taglist: @turn-the-tables-on-them
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Pleasure In Pain 🩸
A young and somewhat ignorant vampire is captured, tortured, and experimented on by sadistic humans who find joy in hurting and killing vampires. Cordova must find a way to escape Rojan and Lilith and get back home. That is, if home is any better. He might just find himself wanting a better life when an unexpected person comes along and shows him just how comfortable it can be.
[Currently rewriting and adjusting]
Contents: Defiant Whumpee, Vampire Whump, Sadistic/ Creepy Whumpers, Vague Revenge
⛔️Trigger warning: Gore, Torture, Violence, Captivity, Vivisection, Emotional/ Physical Torment⛔️
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Main arc
#1: Day 1 🔪
#2: Scrapbooking 📖
#3: The Duo
#4: Panic Attack ☀️
#5: Get Some Rest
#6: Hold Still 🩸
#7: Needle 💉
#8: Escape Attempt 🏃
#9: Hope is Fleeting
AU's
Forge Master
Art
Cordova
Rojan Silfur
Taglist:
@turn-the-tables-on-them
I need opinions!
I may or may not be drafting a new series just because I got a lot of inspiration hit me at once. So the general idea is that Whumper is someone who travels the world constantly on a ship. He’s a very powerful and rich person because he does shady stuff. Dun dun dun.
My dilema here is that I don’t know what I want him to be. Should he be like a pirate from the 1700’s with that classic wooden ship style. A modern day pirate that’s sophisticated and more business-like in his approach, probably even has a yacht or a cruise ship. Maybe not even a pirate at all and just some rich guy that does business deals around the world and tends to cheat people while being in the safety of his boat.
Date: August 22, 2024
[p.s.: I thought I put it for a day, not a week. Whoops.]
I’m very quickly realizing that I struggle with making a hateable character. Or even just a character you’re kind of annoyed with in general, because then I get annoyed with them and I want to make them say something nicer or have a more kind minded perspective of everything. It’s such a bad habit, like NO, make the character who they are, they’ll grow later if they ever get the chance to.
Malik is supposed to be this arrogant, kind of cocky Captain, don’t get me wrong he’s not incapable of being kind or respectful, but I still want that attitude to be even subtly given off. Like you just feel that, “you’re still beneath me but I guess you’re not so bad so I’ll play nice”, kind of attitude. I just haven’t written enough I think, so I’m rewriting lines and inside thoughts differently every time I think it’s “too much” when it should be okay that it’s too much.
I don’t know if there’s tips on how to do that or if I just have to keep writing until it sounds right. “Practice makes perfect”, but I don’t want to practice, lol.
- 🪻
What The Tide Brought In
[Next] — {Masterlist}
Contents: TW Restraints, TW Choking/ Strangling, TW Venomous Injury, TW Threats, Siren Whump, Pirate Whump, Sadistic Whumper, Defiant/ Stoic Whumpee
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“Captain, we’re going to need to make a port stop sooner than we expected. Our food supply is a little low.”
Looking off towards the distance of the endless sea, Malik was leaning against the wooden railing along the side of the vast ship. A deep internal sigh escaping him from the calmness of the morning. The waves were docile today, clear skies, and perfect winds. Glancing over his shoulder to acknowledge his first mate, Jovey. His signature side smirk that was as charming as ever.
“Means the lads are all eating well. Maybe too well, but we’ll tackle that later.” The deep rumble in his chest resonates through his chuckle, coming out a bit course from the early morning air. “Set a course for Port Royal, should be the nearest one to us.”
Rising from his hunched position, his arms reach to the amber sky and soft huff escapes him. It had been a long month on the waters of the Atlantic, but shifting to the warmer tides of the Caribbean always reminded him where home was. It wouldn’t be more than a day now when he’d be able to collapse in a bed that doesn’t sway with the waves, in a warm tavern with a bottle of rum all to himself, and a bowl of stew from anything that wasn’t pescado. Possibly partaking in a little stealing, sabotaging, or cheating just to pass the time. Not having to be a captain for at least a week was a break he couldn’t wait for. The crew he inherited only knew how to follow orders when his voice was harsh as the winds, otherwise they’d slack off or get too comfortable. Not that he minded putting them in their place, it boosted his ego and there was a satisfaction in seeing the yielding in their eyes as they adjusted their tone and fixed their posture. Intimidation and strength. The qualities he believed was required of a captain, especially one as successful as he was.
Unfortunately for him, because of his imposing presence on both the waters and the shores, it was now a rare occurrence for his ship to be attempted to be commandeered or attacked by other occupants of the sea. Even on land, most steered clear of him or were careful with their words. It made his exhibitions boring to say the least, no challenges, no competition. There hasn't even been ruthless storms as of late, the type to make experienced sailors soil themselves, the ones that threaten to sink you with your ship until you come out victorious. Even now as he turns to grip the wheel in his hands and his eyes scan the deck a flight below him where his men work, he doesn’t feel that thrill of adventure that used to drive him. He didn’t know if he would anytime soon with his reputation being as strong as it is.
His luck was akin to that of being at the mercy of a coin toss at times, whether today was a virtuous luck sent by the gods or a vicious one, he couldn’t care when his wishes were granted. Of course they were, he always got everything he wanted eventually.
“Captain! We caught something!”
His heads whips over towards port side, his men hoisting up large net that swung and twisted violently. Setting Jovey to steady the wheel, he quickly glides down the railing of the stairs before hopping to his feet on the deck. Trotting over to the commotion as his crew surround the catch. They part away to forge a path for him as he approaches and what he see’s makes his whole world light up in flurry of excitement. A siren.
“Captain... is that the creature from the legends?”
Malik can’t help but let out a hearty laugh, not just at the question, but also out of astonishment at his luck. His eyes glued to the young male siren thrashing about in the thick rope, hissing and growling like a wild animal.
“That’s right lads! Look what the tide brought us, a siren from the tales of the sea.”
He gets down on one knee beside the tangled fishy creature. The strong scent of seawater mixed with an all too familiar rotten fish odor. Reaching down to grab the main rope line and tugging on it, the net tightens around the specimen and constricts its movements. A protesting growl leaving the siren as it glares through the rope straight at him. He can’t help grin a little maddeningly. Realizing just how amazing this turn of events was. Seeing this sirens unwavering aggression and defiance even from only being on board a few minutes sparked a fire in Malik.
“You’re far from home, aren’t you bilge rat? These aren't your waters.”
The siren, seemingly frantic and panicked from its predicament squirms in the net. Its tail thudding against the boards of the deck. Maliks chuckles overpowering the sirens protesting sounds. The crew that surrounded them watching in a mix of curiosity and caution. Taking the time to admire such rare creature in their waters. Its contrasting palette of blue hues and white accents. His finned tail pointed at the ends, three appendages along each side of his fish body with cerata extended out from each. His upper body resembling that of a normal young man, but scattered with a light blue vitiligo-esque pattern along his skin. Medium length dark blue hair damp and cascading over his shoulders. His fingers pointed like claws and his fangs baring. And those, oh so, captivating golden eyes.
“Alright lads, quit gawking. Why don’t we make our guest more... comfortable?”
Malik stands up as his crew get to work, knowing the protocol underlining his words. A few of the men dragging the siren towards the largest mast in the middle of the top deck. When they start to extract him from the net, he proves to be nothing if not aggressive and hostile. Using his sharpened nails to dig into the crews arms and legs, making them bleed. Biting hands and forearms when they try to lift him up. It took 5 sizable men just to get him up off the floor, but nobody was ready when one of the men got hit with one of the large appendages flapping around erratically through his struggle. The man stumbling back and falling down onto the wooden boards with a hard thud as he grips his chest. The crew managing to tie the siren up against the mast and restrain him. Everyone turns to look to their crew mate on the floor, struggling to breath. Malik rushes to his side and crouches down, inspecting the man and tugging his shirt down to see a hue of red amongst the inflammation quickly building on his chest.
“Hey… hey, lad, keep your eyes on me, alright? You better fucking stay awake, you hear me?”
Malik slapping the mans cheek a few times to keep his attention when he notices his eyes lolling around with no intention. He looked sick, almost nauseous. His hands clawing at his own chest as if there was a pain that he fruitlessly attempted to dig out of himself. Malik having to grab the mans hands to keep him from hurting himself.
“Get this boy below deck! Don’t let him fall asleep and keep a bucket near in case he vomits.” When his crew just stare at the both of them with nervous and distant expressions after what they witnessed, Malik let go of the mans hands and stood up with a threatening posture. “NOW!” That woke the crew from their paralysis as they quickly made their way to the injured man and helped carry him below deck to be treated and supervised.
Malik turning towards the mast where the siren was left restrained and desperately fighting at the thick rope. His hands clenching at his sides, a fury in his eyes that would make most crumble at his feet. He walks over to the creature with steady strides until he’s standing before him. The siren glaring right back up at him, a smirk twitching onto his face, expressing his satisfaction.
“Whoops, sorry cap. Didn’t realize how weak your me—”
The siren chokes on his words as Maliks hand wraps completely around his throat. An iron grip, unyielding as he leans down closer to the sirens face. A cold fury brewing behind his gaze while the creature flails and gasps for air. His tail beating against the mast frantically.
“If you dare to speak another word with that vile tongue fo yours, I will personally slice it out and force it down your throat. If that’s not enough to shut you up, I’ll cut off that tail of yours and feed you to the sharks. Got it, caviar?”
His voice was almost hushed, but didn’t lack the venom behind every word. Naturally making the siren tense as his glare falters from the combined threat and lack of oxygen. Maliks hand tightening around his neck hard enough to cause him to see stars and he reluctantly relented with a subtle nod. Enough for the hand to quickly retract and allow him to cough violently and heave for air. Maliks foreboding stance towering the fish creature while he watched with a sense of triumph that blossomed into pride as his grin plastered onto his face one more. For the first time in a long time, Malik found a thrill, something that made his heart race, something that made him tick. This siren, who had just backed down not even a few seconds ago, now scowling at him with a passion that was contagious.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for something like you to come along, little sea dragon.”
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Date: September 16, 2024
Masterlist
An arrogant Pirate Captain with the world at his feet wishes for something different to happen in his life. Hoping for a challenge to arise to entertain him. He ends up crossing paths with a Siren Prince. At first it’s all fun and games being able to manhandle and torment such a rare creature, but things take a turn. Having to learn the hard way that he’s not invincible, and can very much bleed.
Contents: Whumper turned Whumpee, Revenge, Sadistic/ Creepy Whumper, Defiant Whumpee, Pet Whumpee if You Squint.
⛔️TW: Torture, Violence, Captivity, Degredation, Restrained/Gagged, Fear, Suggestive Non-Con, Venom/ Poison, Threats⛔️
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Caspian's Suffering Arc
#1: What The Tide Brought In 🌊
#2: Two Sides of The Same Coin
#3: (soon)
AU’s
N/A
Art & About
Malik De Lir
Caspian Glaucus
We’re going to ATTEMPT to post once a week. Go easy on me.
What The Tide Brought In
[Next]
Contents: TW Restraints, TW Choking/ Strangling, TW Venomous Injury, TW Threats, Siren Whump, Pirate Whump, Sadistic Whumper, Defiant/ Stoic Whumpee
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“Captain, we’re going to need to make a port stop sooner than we expected. Our food supply is a little low.”
Looking off towards the distance of the endless sea, Malik was leaning against the wooden railing along the side of the vast ship. A deep internal sigh escaping him from the calmness of the morning. The waves were docile today, clear skies, and perfect winds. Glancing over his shoulder to acknowledge his first mate, Jovey. His signature side smirk that was as charming as ever.
“Means the lads are all eating well. Maybe too well, but we’ll tackle that later.” The deep rumble in his chest resonates through his chuckle, coming out a bit course from the early morning air. “Set a course for Port Royal, should be the nearest one to us.”
Rising from his hunched position, his arms reach to the amber sky and soft huff escapes him. It had been a long month on the waters of the Atlantic, but shifting to the warmer tides of the Caribbean always reminded him where home was. It wouldn’t be more than a day now when he’d be able to collapse in a bed that doesn’t sway with the waves, in a warm tavern with a bottle of rum all to himself, and a bowl of stew from anything that wasn’t pescado. Possibly partaking in a little stealing, sabotaging, or cheating just to pass the time. Not having to be a captain for at least a week was a break he couldn’t wait for. The crew he inherited only knew how to follow orders when his voice was harsh as the winds, otherwise they’d slack off or get too comfortable. Not that he minded putting them in their place, it boosted his ego and there was a satisfaction in seeing the yielding in their eyes as they adjusted their tone and fixed their posture. Intimidation and strength. The qualities he believed was required of a captain, especially one as successful as he was.
Unfortunately for him, because of his imposing presence on both the waters and the shores, it was now a rare occurrence for his ship to be attempted to be commandeered or attacked by other occupants of the sea. Even on land, most steered clear of him or were careful with their words. It made his exhibitions boring to say the least, no challenges, no competition. There hasn't even been ruthless storms as of late, the type to make experienced sailors soil themselves, the ones that threaten to sink you with your ship until you come out victorious. Even now as he turns to grip the wheel in his hands and his eyes scan the deck a flight below him where his men work, he doesn’t feel that thrill of adventure that used to drive him. He didn’t know if he would anytime soon with his reputation being as strong as it is.
His luck was akin to that of being at the mercy of a coin toss at times, whether today was a virtuous luck sent by the gods or a vicious one, he couldn’t care when his wishes were granted. Of course they were, he always got everything he wanted eventually.
“Captain! We caught something!”
His heads whips over towards port side, his men hoisting up large net that swung and twisted violently. Setting Jovey to steady the wheel, he quickly glides down the railing of the stairs before hopping to his feet on the deck. Trotting over to the commotion as his crew surround the catch. They part away to forge a path for him as he approaches and what he see’s makes his whole world light up in flurry of excitement. A siren.
“Captain... is that the creature from the legends?”
Malik can’t help but let out a hearty laugh, not just at the question, but also out of astonishment at his luck. His eyes glued to the young male siren thrashing about in the thick rope, hissing and growling like a wild animal.
“That’s right lads! Look what the tide brought us, a siren from the tales of the sea.”
He gets down on one knee beside the tangled fishy creature. The strong scent of seawater mixed with an all too familiar rotten fish odor. Reaching down to grab the main rope line and tugging on it, the net tightens around the specimen and constricts its movements. A protesting growl leaving the siren as it glares through the rope straight at him. He can’t help grin a little maddeningly. Realizing just how amazing this turn of events was. Seeing this sirens unwavering aggression and defiance even from only being on board a few minutes sparked a fire in Malik.
“You’re far from home, aren’t you bilge rat? These aren't your waters.”
The siren, seemingly frantic and panicked from its predicament squirms in the net. Its tail thudding against the boards of the deck. Maliks chuckles overpowering the sirens protesting sounds. The crew that surrounded them watching in a mix of curiosity and caution. Taking the time to admire such rare creature in their waters. Its contrasting palette of blue hues and white accents. His finned tail pointed at the ends, three appendages along each side of his fish body with cerata extended out from each. His upper body resembling that of a normal young man, but scattered with a light blue vitiligo-esque pattern along his skin. Medium length dark blue hair damp and cascading over his shoulders. His fingers pointed like claws and his fangs baring. And those, oh so, captivating golden eyes.
“Alright lads, quit gawking. Why don’t we make our guest more... comfortable?”
Malik stands up as his crew get to work, knowing the protocol underlining his words. A few of the men dragging the siren towards the largest mast in the middle of the top deck. When they start to extract him from the net, he proves to be nothing if not aggressive and hostile. Using his sharpened nails to dig into the crews arms and legs, making them bleed. Biting hands and forearms when they try to lift him up. It took 5 sizable men just to get him up off the floor, but nobody was ready when one of the men got hit with one of the large appendages flapping around erratically through his struggle. The man stumbling back and falling down onto the wooden boards with a hard thud as he grips his chest. The crew managing to tie the siren up against the mast and restrain him. Everyone turns to look to their crew mate on the floor, struggling to breath. Malik rushes to his side and crouches down, inspecting the man and tugging his shirt down to see a hue of red amongst the inflammation quickly building on his chest.
“Hey… hey, lad, keep your eyes on me, alright? You better fucking stay awake, you hear me?”
Malik slapping the mans cheek a few times to keep his attention when he notices his eyes lolling around with no intention. He looked sick, almost nauseous. His hands clawing at his own chest as if there was a pain that he fruitlessly attempted to dig out of himself. Malik having to grab the mans hands to keep him from hurting himself.
“Get this boy below deck! Don’t let him fall asleep and keep a bucket near in case he vomits.” When his crew just stare at the both of them with nervous and distant expressions after what they witnessed, Malik let go of the mans hands and stood up with a threatening posture. “NOW!” That woke the crew from their paralysis as they quickly made their way to the injured man and helped carry him below deck to be treated and supervised.
Malik turning towards the mast where the siren was left restrained and desperately fighting at the thick rope. His hands clenching at his sides, a fury in his eyes that would make most crumble at his feet. He walks over to the creature with steady strides until he’s standing before him. The siren glaring right back up at him, a smirk twitching onto his face, expressing his satisfaction.
“Whoops, sorry cap. Didn’t realize how weak your me—”
The siren chokes on his words as Maliks hand wraps completely around his throat. An iron grip, unyielding as he leans down closer to the sirens face. A cold fury brewing behind his gaze while the creature flails and gasps for air. His tail beating against the mast frantically.
“If you dare to speak another word with that vile tongue fo yours, I will personally slice it out and force it down your throat. If that’s not enough to shut you up, I’ll cut off that tail of yours and feed you to the sharks. Got it, caviar?”
His voice was almost hushed, but didn’t lack the venom behind every word. Naturally making the siren tense as his glare falters from the combined threat and lack of oxygen. Maliks hand tightening around his neck hard enough to cause him to see stars and he reluctantly relented with a subtle nod. Enough for the hand to quickly retract and allow him to cough violently and heave for air. Maliks foreboding stance towering the fish creature while he watched with a sense of triumph that blossomed into pride as his grin plastered onto his face one more. For the first time in a long time, Malik found a thrill, something that made his heart race, something that made him tick. This siren, who had just backed down not even a few seconds ago, now scowling at him with a passion that was contagious.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for something like you to come along, little sea dragon.”
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Date: September 16, 2024
Two Sides of The Same Coin
[Previous / Next] — {Masterlist}
Content: TW Restraints, TW SA Threat, TW Knifepoint, TW Threats of Violence, TW Fear, Siren Whump, Sadistic Whumper, Defiant Whumpee.
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Malik made sure to keep the crew below deck for the night. Not wanting to give the siren any attempts at enchanting his men with his singly voice. He knew his crew could be slightly weak minded compared to his own will, so it wouldn’t take more than a few hypnotic whispers from a siren to get them on their knees like dogs at your heel. That being said, he didn’t trust himself either, not having ever dealt with a siren before. He thought it strange for one to be so far off from the Mediterranean Sea where they are said to dwell.
Despite his caution, his intrigue was stronger. The thrill of having a threat on board and at his mercy. A creature of legend no less, his pride was beaming even under his cool facade while he cataloged in his journal about the days events. The warm light of a lantern softly illuminating the desk he was sitting at while the ship swayed in a lullaby motion. Absently signing his signature on the page before closing the large journal. His thumb ghosting over the golden lettering of the leather cover where it read:
Captains Log of the Sirens Solstice.
He always found that name ironic until today. Given that sirens rarely, if ever, came all the way to the Caribbean unless it was for a reason. On top of that, it was certainly out of place for a siren to be alone when traveling so far. A trinity of knocks at his door broke his thoughts. Sighing and standing up from his chair before he walks over to open the door, his boots softly thumping on the wooden planks with each step.
When he opens the door, he sees Jovey standing on the other side. Holding a bottle of rum with two chalices in his other hand. He raises them up in his hands as if presenting them.
“Could I bother you with a drink, Captain?” He asked with a softer voice, with it being late in the night and not wanting to stir the crew from their sleep.
Malik smirked slightly at the offer and chuckled lightly under his breath. “I tell you to stay below deck, but you defy my order to offer me a drink? Some first mate you are.” Despite his chiding words, his tone held no bitterness. Even standing aside and allowing Jovey to step into his cabin.
“I didn’t think that order was directed towards me. Must’ve been some miscommunication.” His cheeky tone being accompanied by a playful smile as he took a seat across from the desk.
Malik rolled his eyes to Joveys’ back while closing the door. Then he made his way back to his seat behind the wooden desk that separated them. Jovey already pouring two glasses of rum for them before offering one of them. Malik taking it gingerly and softly clinking his glass to Joveys’. “So… how is the lad. Cormack, right? He’s not dying or anything, is he?” He asked casually while taking a sip of his drink.
“No, he’s alright. The swellings already going down thankfully. It doesn’t seem like whatever that siren stung him with is lethal. Just knocks you down a peg.”
Malik nods slightly with an unconcerned hum. Tapping his fingers along the side of the chalice while he holds it on the table. It’s not that he didn’t care about his crews’ well-being, their condition just never weighed on his mind. He would internally scold them for being weak enough to get injured or comprised so easily, but he usually put up the persona of a caring captain that was only stern when he needed to be. That didn’t stop him from wanting to strangle his crew himself whenever they made amateur mistakes or found themselves incapacitated. His eyes drifting off towards a window to the side of them that showed the moonlight cascading over the waves. “Why do you think that creature was sent to us?”
Jovey follows his gaze towards the window for a moment before looking back towards him again, noting his almost distant tone as if he was filing through a million thoughts. “I’m not so sure about him being ‘sent’ to us for a reason, Captain, but I’m sure he’s just lost. Probably swam too far away from home.” Taking a sip as he takes a break to organize his own mind. He knew Malik could be ruthless, he’s seen it before even if the newer men in the crew weren’t there to witness it. When the siren came on board, although being at the stern side and taking over the wheel, he could see what was occurring on deck. Noting the way his Captains eyes glinted with a new found fervor, that smile that he knew all too well meant there was a danger brewing. “Why do you believe it was for a reason?”
“Because the tides strike with purpose…” Malik said matter-of-factly. Averting his eyes from the window and turning his attention back to Jovey. Noticing how he seemed to be almost analyzing him, trying to figure out his intentions. “… the sea does not act randomly as one might believe. Everything happens for a reason out on these waters, whether it be to our benefit or disadvantage.” Malik can’t help but smile faintly with a soft scoff as he glances down at his drink. “I’m starting to sound like that old quack Azure.”
Joveys’ smile mirrored Maliks’, his head shaking back and forth in an amused manner. “You sound more like him everyday. In a good way… it’s why he chose you.” Studying his expression, Malik had a gaze of longing, almost nostalgic. A soft smile that was rarely seen, if ever, only when they were alone. “You know, I remember when I first got pulled onto this ship. We were around the same age… not that we still aren’t obviously, but for some reason I always felt like you were older than me. You always knew what you were doing, and you were one of the few people in the crew who gave me a chance.”
Malik redirected his gaze to Jovey once again, a bit taken aback by the sudden throwback and vulnerability, but he tried not to soften his features out of habit of being stoic. “Trust me, I never knew what I was doing. I only ever acted like I knew everything because that’s the only way to get people to respect you.” He swished his rum in his cup absently before taking another sip. “You’re a good man, Jovey. For once, I might even admit to feeling a bit jealous of you. The crew loves you, and we’re all lucky to have you. But if you tell them I said that, then I’ll skin you and toss you off the plank myself.” He couldn’t help but give that teasing threat with a smug smile.
That drew out a soft snort from Jovey as he smiled a bit wider from the playful threat he knew had no real malice behind it. Not when it came to him. He leaned back in his chair as he took his own glass from the table to hold it on his lap. “Who’s to say I’ll give you the chance, Captain? I might just throw myself overboard before you can catch me.” He counters back jokingly.
“If you do that, lad, I’ll jump into the raging tides to fish you out just so I can have the pleasure of pushing you off myself.”
“Maybe I’ll tie a cannon ball to my foot so I sink faster and you won’t be able to pull me up.”
“Maybe I’ll just shoot a harpoon into your leg and force the crew to hoist you out of the water.”
“You’d go through all that trouble just to feed me to the sharks yourself?”
“For you, Jovey, you better believe I would.”
They both stare at each other in silence for a few seconds that seemed to stretch on before they both began to laugh and heartily chuckle. Joveys indistinguishable snorts between breaths always made his laugh contagious to Malik. For a moment, he couldn’t help but just watch Jovey, seeing his smile and how bright he looked even in the dim lit quarters. He had to mentally scold himself for staring and allowing himself to find a sense of attachment towards him. He lightly cleared his throat before chugging down the rest of his rum and setting his cup to the side. “Alright, that’s enough banter for one night. Leave me be you scoundrel.” He said lightheartedly.
Jovey rolled his eyes slightly with a small smile and stood up from his chair. Grabbing the rum bottle from the table and collecting the other chalice. “Whatever you say, De Lir, sir.” A hint of sass escaping him, knowing he could get away with it. He turns and heads for the door, cracking it open slightly before turning back to look at Malik. “If I may, Captain. What are you planning to do with the siren?”
A soft tch leaves Malik as he smiles from Joveys sass. When he turns back to inquire about the siren, his smile fades. His cold and aloof demeanor resurfacing. “Good night, Jovey.”
———
The tides were still calm the next morning. Uneventful, at least, it normally would be. Malik stood before the siren, the crew crowding around in a crescent formation behind him. It was still tied up tightly to the mast. Although it was apparently obvious that it struggled for most of the night based on the claw marks that were carved into the wood of the pillar. Even some of the rope looked shredded and loosened but it wasn’t enough to free itself. It looked like he was asleep. Limp in the restraints and head looked down with his chin touching his chest. They knew better, but that wasn’t what caught all of their attention though.
His tail was gone, or rather, replaced by a pair of legs. His fishy ears reduced to normal human ones. The gills along his ribs replaced by smooth skin. The dark blue claws at the tips of his fingers were now short and trimmed. It was an enigma to both the crew and Malik. The siren they brought aboard was now a seemingly normal young man. They knew it was him, but appearance-wise, it threw them for a loop.
Malik stepped up to the siren and gripped a chunk of the back of his hair before yanking his head back. Seeing the siren wince and let out a hiss of discomfort from his grip. He grinned as he stared down at the siren. Analyzing its features, seeing the marks of light blue along his skin. It’s golden eyes, now being up close, noting the two spots of gold in each of them. “What happened to you, little dragon? Lost your tail?”
The siren glares up at him with a fiery rage. He was frustrated having to be at the mercy of a pirate. He’d bite his hand off and claw that smug smile off his face if he could just loosen the rope enough to get one of his hands free. “I’m dried out you fucking assh—.”
Malik dug his fingers into the sirens scalp and tugged on his hair harder. Ripping a few hairs out in the process, extracting a groan from him that cuts off his words. He leans down closer to the siren to loom over him. “Your tongue is still as vile as yesterday. Someone wasn’t taught manners growing up…” Malik shoots a quick and hard jab to the sirens gut, the wind being knocked out of him as he tries to double over but the ropes keep him up. “… then again, neither was I.” Malik yanks on his hair and pulls his head back to slam against the mast before releasing his grip. Letting the siren deal with the aching sting in the back of his head. He takes a step back to take in the sirens human form. Observing him with a fascination that was anything but innocent or kind. “What is your name, siren?”
A hiss escapes the man as he tugs at the ropes out of frustration. His eyes scanning the crowd of pirates behind their captain. All of them pathetic and weak in his eyes. How dare any of them even get the privilege of seeing me? They were filthy, pungent, cowards that had no right to be in my presence, let alone hold me captive like this. “Fuck you, fuck all of you!”
Malik simply smiles, not his usual cocky smirk, an eerily sweet smile that was too calm. "We can have that arranged, after all, it's not everyday the lads get to let off a little steam on this ship..." He turns to face his crew. Gesturing with his hand towards the siren, as if offering him. "... isn't that right, boys?"
The crew look amongst each other, wondering if their captain was being serious, if they really did have full liberty to do as they pleased with such a rare catch. The siren staring blankly, feeling a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at the realization of what the captain just suggested. That was until Malik put his hand up and chuckled breathily.
"Of course, there's one small problem that I'd like to address before you get started."
Reaching for his hidden dagger tucked between the band of his pants, he unsheathes it and turns back to the siren with a quick step, being directly in front of him once again with the curved dagger swiftly finding itself pressed against the creatures neck. The curve of the blade cupping his throat just beneath his adam's apple. The siren freezing from the sudden threatening position but never faltering with his burning glare into Malik's eyes. The pirate staring back with a cold and foreboding gaze.
"That little voice of yours. I can't let you tempt any of my men with it. As disappointed as I'll be to not hear that foul mouth of yours anymore, its time to cut that pretty little voice box out."
Malik drags the dagger along the sirens neck and tilts it up so the tip of the bade was lightly pressed against the bump in the middle of his throat. "If I carefully cut a line right here...", dragging the dagger down along the sirens throat, making him swallow thickly, "... we'll find your larynx. It encompasses your vocal cord. If we just...", a quick flick of the wrist causes the dagger to slice a light cut just off the side of the apple, making the sirens breath hitch and he growls under his breath, "... you won't be able to sing ever again. Helpless... weak... feeble little sea dragon."
"If you fucking do that I swear you'll regret it."
"I don't think I will. In fact, I think I'll enjoy this more than I should."
Even his crew behind him, watching the scene unfold, felt chills go through them having never seen this side of their captain before. Malik grabs the sirens chin in one hand with an iron grip and tilts his head back against the mast. The creature struggling and trying to squirm in the ropes. The pirate carefully grazing the blade along the center of the mans throat. Agonizingly pressing the tip of the dagger against the curve bulging out under the skin slowly. The sirens breath quickening as he gradually becomes panicked, realizing how serious the captain was. He can't help the words that quickly leave his mouth when a trickle of warm blood escapes him.
"I DON'T HAVE A SONG!"
Malik stops progressing, but not drawing back either. He tugs on his chin to pull his head back down to look him in the eye. Gazing with a malicious curiosity but a hint of doubt. "Every siren does, why should I believe you don't?"
"I don't you fuckin' psycho. I wasn't born with it, don't you think I would've tried to use it by now if I had it?"
"I'm not buying that for a second, caviar."
Malik pushes his chin back up and continues where he left off. Digging into the siren's neck more. Drawing out blood as he carves a small line along the apple. Making the creature hiss and groan, his hands clenching into fists as he tries to press impossibly further against the mast to get away.
"I'm being serious! Stop!"
Ignoring his protests, Malik cuts deeper. His hearing tuning out as he focuses on cutting to his goal. His heart was beating steadily, he couldn't help the enjoyment he was getting out of seeing the creature struggle fruitlessly. A sadistic smirk plastered on his face. The siren trying not to let fear take over, but it was getting progressively difficult the more blood that cascaded down his skin. The stinging of the blade slicing through layers of skin. Never in his life had he ever experienced pain, let alone having his own blood leave the safety of his body. He was royalty, he should be the one inflicting pain, he should be the one making this pirate cower beneath him.
"Malik."
A soft voice broke both their thought concentrations. Malik stilling in his actions before he turned to glance over his shoulder with a piercing glare that quickly softened. Seeing Jovey standing behind him, his expression one of concern and trepidation. The siren staring at him with a hint of relief and caution. Jovey steps closer, his eyes darting between his captain and the creature. Swallowing his unease.
"I don't think he's lying."
Malik takes a breather, thinking about his first mates words before reluctantly extracting the dagger from the sirens throat. A string of blood staining the tip of the blade as he lets go of the creatures chin and stands up fully. He turns around to face Jovey, a calmer aura exuding from him. He averts his gaze towards the crew still observing the scene. Some looking uncomfortable and uneasy, others indifferent or even seemingly intrigued. "We arrive at Port Royal tomorrow morning. Toss the bilgerat into one of the cells below deck. If he truly doesn't have the gift, then nobody will have a reason to let him out by then."
Malik looks back towards Jovey, holstering his dagger to his side.
"We'll see if your judgement is as sound as it always is, savvy?"
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Date: September 22, 2024
Taglist: @paperprinxe , @melpomenelamusa
2023 Year of Whump
For everyone who can’t commit to or is intimidated by a daily writing/art challenge, I present a different take on the whump writing/art prompt challenge, reframed for those who create slowly, inconsistently, and on crip time.
In this yearlong writing/art prompt challenge, you choose monthly or weekly. You can go back and forth between monthly or weekly each month. If you choose monthly, you can pick prompts from any week during that month. You’ll end up with anywhere from 12-52 completed contributions at the end of it. The weeks begin on Sunday.
Tag contributions with “2023 Year of Whump” and then “2023 Year of Whump January” (or another month) for any prompt done during that month, so people can see all contributions.
For each week’s available prompts, there are physical/sensory, emotional/psychological, environmental/situation, comfort/caregiving, and dialogue prompts (in that order). You are welcome to mix and match, use only one or a combination of any or all, and to interpret each liberally. You can interpret them creatively, and there are probably infinite possible ways to do so for each prompt. I suggest (but can’t really require) tagging descriptively to help people find content they’re interested in and/or filter out content in their squicks or triggers.
Choose your own adventure
January 1: caged / deceived / unemployed / whispered reassurances / “Who would ever believe you?”
January 8: restrained with belt buckles / abandoned / icy tundra / holding hands / “Save your tears”
January 15: experimental injection / threatening loved ones / warehouse / warm bubble bath / “I promise this won’t hurt”
January 22: grabbed in the dark / public humiliation / hospital emergency department / soft weighted blanket / “You must have imagined that, dear”
January 29: chained to a table / betrayal / end of a relationship / handwritten notes of encouragement / “I’m begging you; I’ll do anything”
February 5: impaled / death wish / jungle / home cooked meal / “Don’t leave me”
February 12: involuntary implant / feeling like a burden / museum / cat cuddles / “I don’t know who I am anymore”
February 19: lightheaded and faint / appeasing out of desperation / abandoned lighthouse / gentle wound care / “I’m your only choice now”
February 26: gunshot wound / trembling with fear / library with soaring shelves / leaving the lights on / “You’re home now”
March 5: emergency surgery / denial / palatial mansion / getting a private bedroom / “Don’t you know; I’ll always know where you are”
March 12: amputation / mockery / apocalyptic nuclear wasteland / firefighter carry / “Just keep looking at me”
March 19: severe fever / rejection / cocktail party / swaddled in blankets / “Do you have any idea what I’ve done for you?”
March 26: starvation / losing the last bit of hope / maximum security prison / getting pain medication for the first time / “Missed me yet?”
April 2: infected wound / resignation / forced to watch / tight hugs / “I promise I’ll be good”
April 9: tied to a pole in the sun / weakening resolve / bustling city square / standing up to threats and mockery / “There’s nothing to apologize for”
April 16: poisoned meals / death of loved one / cursed mountain / hot bowl of soup / “You’ll never get out alive”
April 23: branded / constant insults / forced labor camp / forced to participate / taking bullets in their place / “I’m doing this because I love you. One day you’ll understand.”
April 30: painful wound care / sarcastic defiance / psychiatric hospital / walking them home / “I don’t need help; I’m fine”
May 7: whipping / trying to hold back tears / airplane / offering a kind smile / “I wish it had been me instead”
May 14: tracking chip / hypervigilance / county jail / warm bread / “You don’t know who I really am”
May 21: drained of blood / violated / ancient ruins / soft slippers / “Not my face, please; I’m begging you”
May 28: shackled to a radiator / heartbroken / deconsecrated temple / back rub / “Be careful what you ask for”
June 4: gagged / ineffectual rage / soaring skyscraper in a glittering city / new, clean clothes / “I didn’t mean it; I’m sorry”
June 11: broken jaw / quiet despair / yawning canyon / going to appointments with them / “Oh you WILL be sorry now”
June 18: burned / rules with moving goalposts / arid steppes / whispered reassurance in public / “I don’t remember where that one came from”
June 25: drowning / losing grounding in reality / trash pit / offering a hand / “You’re hurting me; please”
July 2: kidnapped / ostracized / civil war / safe house / “I would say I’m sorry but then I’d be lying”
July 9: defenestration / stalking / shantytown / paying the ransom / “Don’t fool yourself; you LET this happen to you”
July 16: crushed hand / online harassment / courthouse building / cuddling / “You wanted this, didn’t you”
July 23: detonating bomb / existential dread / lakeside villa / getting a ride / “I know exactly what you need”
July 30: earthquake / homesick / horse barn / compliments / “Get up and walk.”
August 6: nausea / panic / dusty attic / human shield / “I don’t think I can stand up anymore”
August 13: collapsing building / exhaustion / mountain village / helping with food / “RUN.”
August 20: tied to another captive / desperation / public housing projects / new shoes / “You don’t have to pretend anymore”
August 27: strangled / overwhelmed and frozen in place / secret lab in basement / respecting boundaries / “You didn’t have to do this”
September 3: poison gas / screaming uncontrollably / left for dead / combing hair / “Everything I’ve done, I did it for you”
September 10: thrown against wall / painful involuntary spasms / mom’s house / rubbing shoulder / “Your life means nothing”
September 17: smashed kneecaps / dividing loyalties / seat of government / vigilante revenge / “I haven’t taken everything from you. Not yet.”
September 24: stomped on / lies / failed escape / watching TV together / “I promise I’m telling the truth; you have the wrong person!”
October 1: heavy shackles / separated from child / rapid-flowing river / getting a guard dog / “No matter what, you’ll always have me”
October 8: suspended by wrists / exiled / fortress / helping make good an escape / “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you”
October 15: coughing up blood / detested by peers / train tracks / holding them up to walk / “Looks like you forgot something”
October 22: forced drugging / gaslit into doubting reality / university / financial support / “Sorry, I can’t hear you over the screaming”
October 29: collapsing to the floor / waking up from nightmares / big box retail store / baking cupcakes / “You’ll stop crying if you know what’s good for you”
November 5: handcuffs so tight they’re bleeding / discrimination / small town diner / proper medical care / “No one should have to go through this alone”
November 12: brutal beatdown / helpless / history repeating itself / having choices / “You look so pretty like that”
November 19: suffocation / bystanders refusing to help / schoolhouse / protection in public / “Just one more time, I promise”
November 26: stabbed / flashbacks / castle / reminders of home / “I can’t remember the last time I did this”
December 3: tooth knocked out / panic attack / boat / photographs from before / “Stay still, or it’s going to hurt”
December 10: forced to eat something vile / forgotten by loved ones / homeless shelter / help with paperwork / “Do it if you know what’s good for you”
December 17: electric shock / shivering / boot camp / verbal reassurance / “It’s for your own good”
December 24: stress position / filth / recording studio / wiping away tears / “It’s not as bad as it looks”
December 31: left out in the cold / disgrace / conference / foot washing / “I didn’t mean it; you have to believe me”
reblogging for fic i’ll use later - don’t judge me
Whumpee forced to cope with the unpleasant side effect of their treatments:
- Cough syrup that sticks to the back of their throat
- Pillows propping them up making their neck sore
- Tissues without infused lotion that rub their nose raw
- Fumes from a menthol rub burning and making their eyes water
- Warm showers that leave them nauseous and overheated
- Hydration that has them crawling out of bed over and over to the bathroom
SCREAMING CRYING HYSTERICAL
BTHB - Going Into Shock
Malik does a little arts and crafts project and makes a self discovery along the way (:
Finally I've had the time to finish this stupid fic. The irony that it took me twice as long to finish a WIP that's almost half the amount I usually write is not lost on me...
As always, if there’s a tag I missed or anything you’d like me to specifically mark, please let me know so I can add it for future fics!
Taglist : @whumpsday @painsandconfusion @suspicious-whumping-egg @t0rture-me
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CW: Graphic depictions of blood, Cutting (Of Another Person), Mentions of Self Harm/Suicide, Creepy/Intimate Whumper
Word Count: 5.2K
--
There was something satisfying to Malik in the way his and Jonas’s names were complementary to each other. Five letters, two syllables, alternating between consonants and vowels in a pattern. When Malik’s name was written in all capital letters, it was made up of sharp angles and long lines. When Jonas’s name was written in lowercase, all the letters curved into soft, round shapes. His name could loop over itself a dozen times when written in cursive whereas Malik’s still remained uniform with straight peaks, much more orderly and neat. The name Jonas was more fun to scribble with the flick of the wrist, but the name Malik was easier to scribe with simple marks.
Therefore, it made sense that it should be Malik’s name he cut into the quivering flesh of Jonas’s forearm. Tempting as it was to sit here with the pretty boy squirming in his lap while he tried to finesse his blade into carving neat curves, there was too much room for error to mess up the calligraphy. Skin was a soft, fickle organ that liked to split into large gashes if the angle of the knife was too bent. One tight curvature could accidentally dig deeper into the fatty layer, creating an unsightly flap of skin dangling off the appendage rather than a perfect loop. Jonas’s name was very lovely, but it wouldn’t do to mar his body with failed attempts at lettering, not when Malik could write his own name perfectly on the first try.
And really, what better way to remind Jonas of who he belonged to than the elegant marking of his captor’s name taking up a majority of his forearm? To remind everyone, honestly, both in public and post mortem if it came to that. Thin, silver scars surrounded by colorful bruises on tan skin, what a pretty visual. A wound that could heal from a series of bloody cuts to dark scabs to discolored skin, but never truly fading the same way split lips and fracture digits could heal themselves. Jonas would carry Malik’s name with him forever whether he made it out of this basement or not, unable to forget him for a second unless he willingly amputated the whole arm to no longer see the reminder.
The idea of Jonas mutilating himself to such an intense degree gave Malik butterflies in his stomach.
He hadn’t even been intending on branding the poor boy with his name when he originally began carving into Jonas’s battered skin. For some reason, Malik had woken up with the innate desire of making the other bleed, so that was exactly what he did. He wanted to see Jonas drenched in blood, be it his own or splashed with someone else’s. He wanted to see thick, dark beads of red running down his neck and steadily dripping from his fingertips. He wanted to see old and new injuries hidden behind a thin layer of gore. He wanted to see gorgeous green eyes running over with tears to cut through the sticky stains on gaunt cheeks. Red and green were perfect complementary colors as well, weren’t they?
Unfortunately, he didn’t have any spare ‘actors’ at the moment to siphon a couple buckets of blood from to paint Jonas himself. Double unfortunately, the amount of red he wanted to bleed from Jonas would most certainly kill him. While that wouldn’t be too horrible of a thing to watch, Malik was still under verbal contract with Tucker to keep the Belmont boy alive until the ransom deadline was up…whenever that was. As much as he would love to hold tight to his writhing form while the life slowly drained from a multitude of bone deep cuts, Jonas needed to remain breathing and (mostly) in one piece. For now. So, Malik had to make do with what he had available to him: a pretty boy, a hunting knife, and two slender arms begging to be littered with superficial slices.
He couldn’t go too deep with his cuts and risk nicking a major artery, yet Malik wanted to make sure the skin had been sufficiently hacked so the wound healed with a lovely pale scar. Many years ago, when Malik was only allowed to photograph the cadavers brought into the backrooms of his father’s funeral home, he asked about a woman that was being prepared on the table with wicked gashes down her arms. There were telltale signs of old, pink cuts going horizontally over her wrists, but the long, inch deep slash from her elbow to her palm on each arm were what was listed as her official cause of death. His father, ever so eager to teach his son the studies of mortuary, explained that by cutting straight down she was able to dig into the main vein in such a way it would be extremely difficult to stop the bleeding, similar to when someone had their throat slit.
That was when Malik learned the intricacies of cutting. The difference between truly wanting to bleed to death and just wanted to bleed as some form of release, be it pleasure or pain. It was down the road, not across the street, he memorized. Cuts going side to side in short, light strokes could still bleed in varying degrees, enough to satisfy his craving to drain a person a couple pints without worrying about stopping their heart. It wasn’t just the blood he had a morbid fascination with, but the reactions people had about having their skin peeled and sliced when they weren’t intending to self harm. The way the muscles and tendons tensed, causing more blood to well out of the cuts. The way they struggled in whatever bindings Malik had them strung up in. The tears, the whimpers, the screams, all for something that could be patched up with some gauze, maybe a stitch or two.
God, it was killing him not to stab the knife into Jonas’s shoulder and drag the blade all the way down his arm to the tip of his middle finger, scraping against bone and severing as many vessels as possible along the way. To flay the entire limb and watch the blood squirt from his ruined wrist like a grisly fountain, red raining down in a puddle onto the floor to bleed him dry in a matter of minutes. Malik wanted to hold the boy close the entire time and revel at the progression from thrashing to weak squirms to limp to stiff. From hot to cool to frigid. From wet to sticky to dry, crusty red flakes. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t an animal, he could restrain himself just fine from the visceral urge to mutilate Jonas for overwhelming pleasure.
As soon as that deadline was missed, though, Malik was diving straight into his pretty little intestines with his bare hands.
Jonas arched his back against Malik’s chest, unhappy with the close proximity that came from being forcibly situated between his legs on the floor. Or maybe he was unhappy with the fresh collections of cuts now decorating his right forearm. Really, Jonas should be thankful Malik was kind enough to snap off the zipties on his wrists for any extended period of time, even if one arm was trapped between Malik’s bicep and side while the other was firmly grasped in his free hand. The arm was fully extended to reveal his skinny canvas of tan and mottled purple skin, the flesh twitching as the rest of Jonas trembled and broke into a cold sweat. Six slices of varying angles presented themselves in neat little lines, weeping beads of blood that trickled over the curve of his arm to drip onto Malik’s jeans.
Sure, it wasn’t the bloodbath he was craving to submerge Jonas in, but it still made his heart beat with excitement hearing the boy mewl through the duct tape over his mouth. Bony limbs tried to wriggle out of Malik’s hold to avoid any more wounds, thin legs still bound with rope kicking against his boots. The way Jonas’s head lolled back onto his shoulder, inadvertently pressing into the crook of his neck felt wonderfully intimate. Warm tears sliding over his cheekbones to soak into Malik’s sweater was an additional bonus, of course. He was panting hard, unable to fall victim to full hyperventilating as he could only puff air through his nose. While Malik was a fan of all the noises that have ever spilled out of his mouth, but he really didn’t need Jonas hollering at the top of his lungs right in his ear. It was a shame; it meant he also had to silence all of his endearing sobs and pleas with a gag.
Malik had just finished another line across the poor boy’s wrist when he noticed an interesting pattern in the cuts. Because some of them were slanted while others were straight, it almost looked like a blocky ‘M’ had been written in blood. How fitting. If he focused on different cut placements, one almost looked like an ‘A’, though it was missing its middle dash. At that moment, it was as if a lightbulb went off in his twisted mind. What a fun way to keep this game going, making Jonas wriggle and bleed for his amusement. Making Jonas bleed for him. He had always been Malik’s current favorite, he openly admitted as much, it would do good to solidify that statement. Bruises and bloody noses could heal, though maybe not the missing pinky finger, but this would be a claim to last for the rest of Jonas’s life. Whether that meant another miserable sixty years of living or until next Wednesday didn’t matter much to Malik.
He released his iron grip on Jonas’s thin wrist, much to his relief. The bloody limb dropped to his side, red smearing on his nightshirt and against Malik’s thigh. It was impossible to miss how the entire arm was shaking, as if it was a seizure isolated to one area of the body. Intriguing how even after having his finger amputated for a ransom reminder, after taking so many kicks to the ribs and stomach, after being (accidentally) starved and smacked and strangled, Jonas still had quite a low pain tolerance. Was he hemophobic, Malik wondered? Surely not, the Belmont heir had seen plenty of viscera when Malik needed to keep him near whilst doing his…work. Maybe it was different seeing someone else’s blood compared to your own, to know it was oneself bleeding and in pain. Malik hadn’t even cut that deep, he made sure he wouldn’t mistakenly let Jonas bleed out in his lap! Still, the boy was moaning and trembling like he had ripped the artery out and showed it to him.
So dramatic. He hoped he would continue to put on this cute little show when he cut up his other arm.
Duct taped muffled the strangled yelp of pain when Malik swapped his hold on his arms, switching to extend the fresh one while sandwiching the still bleeding one against his body. He could feel the warmth of blood prickling his side, the fabric of his sweater irritating the open wounds enough to make Jonas whimper on contact. Poor thing kept instinctively trying to yank his arm out of the hold, worsening the stinging pain with each unsuccessful tug. When Malik flipped the unmarked arm around into the same position as before, Jonas shook his head in an attempt to convey the pleads trapped behind his gag. He didn’t want to go through this again. He didn’t want to feel the bite of the hunting knife digging into his already tenderized flesh. New tears cascaded down his paling cheeks, unable to do much else. If it weren’t for the duct tape on Jonas’s mouth and the bandana on the lower half of Malik’s face, the older man wouldn’t be able to stop himself from locking their lips together to steal every last pretty sob from his lungs.
“What’s wrong, lover?” Malik crooned, knowing full well that Jonas wouldn’t be able to respond to his rhetorical question. “Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?”
Jonas nodded like he was trying to break his own neck. Curls matted with crusted blood and damp with sweat nuzzled against his covered jawline. They had felt so soft when Jonas first arrived. Malik loved threading his fingers through the chocolate brown locks to yank him up to eye level. He should hose him down some time in the near future to clean off the build up of grime and gore, revealing once again clean, soft skin and fluffy curls. Almost like a fresh canvas. If said canvas had already been slashed with a palette knife and stained with colors of purple and red. Maybe he should bring Jonas upstairs to let him use the employee shower with Malik, or maybe he should just dunk his head under water in a basin. Depends on his mood.
He hummed, the vibration of his voice echoing through his chest and against Jonas’s back. The way he shifted uncomfortably from the sensation, unintentionally nestling further between Malik’s legs, made the other tighten his hold on the fragile wrist. God, it would be so painfully easy to snap the joint backwards. Jonas would probably scream, perhaps even vomit. He was so pretty when he was heaving bile and blood and spit. Damnit, Malik should have set up his camera to record this whole ordeal to watch back later. Oh well, there would be plenty more opportunities to make Jonas squeal for his amusement. Like in the Red Room. Just imagining Jonas strapped to the gurney, helplessly staring up at Malik with those terrified green eyes, trembling lower lip begging to be bitten and bruised skin quivering under Malik’s hands while he sings such pretty pleads.
Can’t get too ahead of himself. Need to focus on the task at hand.
Malik twirled the handle of the hunting knife between his fingers before adjusting his grip, pressing the tip into Jonas’s forearm just a bit past the inner elbow. “You know what they say: suck it up, buttercup.”
Unfortunately for Jonas, there was hardly anything he could suck up with his airways being restricted to his nostrils. The duct tape across his mouth tried to expand and contract with each failed gasp, creating the faux sense of suffocation as Jonas wasn’t able to hold onto a full inhale. His adam’s apple bobbed with each silenced cry, kicking his bound legs with renewed vigor while Malik carved the first of many lines needed to spell his name. The kicks were weak, barely nudging his boots to the side, stifled by weeks of depleted energy and ankles bound like a fish tail. It was cute in a way, to watch Jonas struggle with all his limited might while Malik didn’t break a sweat to keep him securely in his embrace. They just fit so perfectly together, the boy’s lithe frame easily swallowed up by his larger, stronger form. So perfect perfect perfect–
The moan of pain caught in Jonas’s throat when Malik finished carving the last line of the ‘A’ would have made a lesser man blush. Such sweet sounds whimpered by a pretty boy. If his hands weren’t preoccupied with marking his claim, he’d love to squeeze them around the Belmont heir’s abused windpipe, adding to the collection of finger shaped bruises, feeling the pulse flutter against his palm while more whines vibrated into his skin. Maybe later. Right now, Malik was focusing on the delicate work of his bold calligraphy, keeping his lines as straight and even as possible. No sense in making it look like chicken scratch. He wanted it to be clear and legible.
When Malik dug the blade down the forearm to finish the tail of the ‘L’, Jonas howled as much as he was physically capable of. While the cut itself was nowhere near as long or deep as the typical wounds needed to end a life, it must have still hit the same bundle of nerves to cause such an immediate reaction. The slash welled up with dark droplets of blood faster than the other slices that were only now beginning to trickle down the curve of Jonas’s arm. This time, that arm that had already been subjected to a cutting session reached up to paw at Malik’s bicep in a panic. Four remaining digits uselessly dug into his sweater’s sleeve, trying to pull the offending limb away from how it coiled around Jonas’s chest that heaved with uneven breaths. All he was managing to do was give a few frenzied tugs, like a child eager for their parent’s attention, making little difference to Malik.
Still, he made a point to shift his arm to readjust the snare across Jonas, squishing the flailing limb further into his side. The boy yelped, the collection of cuts slowing into a sluggish drip but still stinging something fierce when compressed. To further regain his compliance, Malik squeezed the wrist of the arm he was in the midst of eviscerating. The bones painfully grinded together, popping the joint with a weak crack to send an extra tingle down the inner nerve. Jonas lurched at the new shock of pain, throbbing instead of burning hot, a little break up in the monotony of his torture session. With just a little bit of extra force, Malik could bend the brittle bone and snap it like a twig. Honestly, it never felt like it would take much effort to tear Jonas to shreds, piece by piece, limb from limb. And from there he could carry his remains upstairs in buckets to the embalming room to be hand stitched back together, preserved in scars and chemicals until at last he rotted to bones.
Since when had Malik become so sentimental, wanting to save his dearly departed lover until decomposition claimed them at last? Sure, he’s kept the odd memento mori – or trophy, or whatever people wanted to call it – from a select few of his favorites. Just a pocket urn with a bit of their ashes before he cleaned out the cremator. It helped put the memorial vases on display in the front viewing room for grieving families to peruse their options. What a strange feeling this was. Foreign, out of his usual routine.
Interesting.
“Quit your fussin’. If I mess up, I’m going to have to start over,” Malik warned. To Jonas’s credit, he stopped his pained squirming, but there was little he could do to quell the involuntary trembles that wound his muscles up so tight. That was fine, nothing he couldn’t manage on any other Tuesday afternoon.
Even though the thickness of his sweater, Malik could feel the way Jonas’s skin was becoming clammy with sweat. Granted, he had always run at a much cooler body temperature than Malik, especially now that he had been locked away without sunlight and iron rich (or frequent) meals. It wasn’t just blood leaking from the cuts now, but his internal source of warmth was being sapped with each drop running down his arms. The shaking was getting worse; a combination of overly tense muscles and an unbearable chill seeping into his bones. Jonas was more than welcome to press himself as tightly as he wanted against Malik’s chest to steal a bit of heat. He certainly didn’t mind sharing.
What was most strange was just as Malik finished the simple line meant to be the letter “I”, the muscles vibrating with terror practically went limp. Not completely, but enough for him to notice the way Jonas sagged fully into him. The arm was still taunt, stiff like rigor mortis while the nerves flared to keep the limb aware of the damage it was sustaining. Good enough for him. Jonas’s head drooped down, yet little moans were continuing to squeak in his throat, a sign he was still conscious. Malik rolled his shoulder to be able to force the boy’s head back up. Need to make sure he was still awake and aware to enjoy the show of his mutilation, now tucked up under Malik’s chin. The sight of his bloody arm, one letter away from spelling out his captor’s name permanently, made him gag on a sound that was unable to slip through the duct tape. Considering he had yet to feed Jonas today and was about…sixty percent sure he didn’t remember to do so yesterday either, there was nothing to worry about him choking on stomach contents if he truly needed to retch.
Ah, shit, it was low blood sugar, wasn’t it? The pain and gruesome nature was horribly distressing to endure, of course, but the lack of glucose in his steadily dripping blood wasn’t doing Jonas much favors. Without any sugar or water in his system, coupled with the overwhelming emotional trauma he’d been experiencing daily under Malik’s care, it was making him much more susceptible to falling victim to shock. Pathetic, really, to see the younger man shutdown the same way previous victims had when he had flayed their stomachs to poke around their intestines on camera. Honestly, a couple tiny puddles of blood was his body’s breaking point? How disappointing when this was only the tip of the iceberg Malik had in store for him. They would need to work on building that tolerance up quickly if he were to have any fun with his new lover.
Oh well, he was almost done at this point, Jonas was just going to have to tough it out while he added the last two lines needed to make the letter ‘K’. It was funny, ironic actually, that when Malik strapped him down to hack off his finger for dear ol’ mom and dad’s collection notice he never succumbed to any type of shock. He screamed and begged and sobbed and writhed, even before the digit was actually severed, yet he still didn’t pass out from the pain or a seizing heart. Perhap this reaction was just an accumulation of everything Jonas experienced over the last several days. His poor, weakened organs unable to take the continued stress anymore, needing a break from the constant rush of endorphins to repair the damage taken. Malik will be sure to give him a shot of morphine and something sweet to prevent any future relapses.
The chest under his arm started to slow its short, hyper gasps in favor of deep, though still uneven, sniffles punctuated by quiet groans. If Malik had to guess, those lovely green eyes were probably unfocused and rolling back, no longer damp with tears. That wouldn’t do; he was already being nice enough to contain the raging need to paint Jonas red in favor of a few, simple cuts. It was the least the boy could do to stay conscious enough to keep playing this game.
“C’mon now, none of that,” Malik scolded, giving him a light shake back into wakefulness. “I have plenty of things to perk you right up if you’re going to be difficult.”
He smirked behind his mask to see Jonas fight with the urge to submit to his own body’s needs. The ingrained need to comply with his captor, the fear of being subjected to anything worse than what was happening now, led him to resist the physical desire to relax into a mental reset. Shock could be quite fatal if left untreated for too long…well, the medical kind of shock, with infected blood and all that fun stuff. Psychological shock though? Malik couldn’t be too certain. He supposed now would be as good a time as any to let the results run how they may. Worst comes to worst, there was a defibrillator in the Red Room he could charge up to get Jonas’s failing heart back up to speed. Plenty of former victims had passed out as a result of what they’ve seen compared to what they physically experienced and turned out mostly okay.
The tip of the blade punctured the tan skin for the last time as it sliced a short, diagonal line to complete the final letter in Malik’s name. A fat drop of blood was already chasing after the knife when it removed itself from the carved flesh, making way for a stream of red to trail down Jonas’s wrist and smear along the fingers holding it steady. There was no need to dig his hunting knife into the poor, abused arm any longer, but that didn’t mean Malik couldn’t take delight in ghosting the flat edge of the blade over the inflamed cuts, feeling the swollen bumps rise and fall against his weapon. Thicker puddles of blood were crudely wiped away by the caress, ripping away still damp scabs that were trying to stop the leakage of red dripping down Jonas’s forearm. Even with so much blood welling up and obscuring his recently signed name, Malik was still able to see a faint outline in the pattern of droplets that clung to the skin.
“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Malik asked, only receiving a weak moan in response. He at last pulled the blade away before it could nick anymore of the flayed flesh and dropped it into Jonas’s lap. It was lucky for him it didn’t land on its tip to embed into his thigh. “Here, hold that for me, lover.”
With his hand now free, Malik forced Jonas to bend the arm he had been holding straight out so that the wounded limb was brought closer for the two of them to observe his handiwork. Poor boy, if it wasn’t for his weak stomach and steadily crashing blood pressure, he’d be able to grab the carelessly discarded knife and stab it into Malik’s neck fifteen times. But he couldn’t, and Malik knew as much. Cold fingers remained loosely curled in on themselves, useless to do anything. He wondered if Jonas was even aware enough to appreciate the cruel taunt being left out to him. These kinds of games weren’t nearly as much fun when the one on the receiving end wasn’t lucid enough to respond. Malik would have to settle once again for a watered down version of what he was actually seeking from Jonas. Couldn’t drench him in his own blood, couldn’t make him squeal for hours on end, what a disappointing day this has turned out to be.
There was always tomorrow, though.
Malik pressed his thumb into the middle of the collection of cuts, marveling at how excess blood was pushed out of the wounds to run down the forearm. The hiss of pain Jonas tried to suck in through the duct tape made him smile again. Despite his body failing him, the shock of adrenaline was just enough to make the exerted heart pump faster for a moment, causing the flow of red on both arms to trickle out a few extra drops.
With his thumb still aggravating the wounds, Malik rubbed the digit to clean away some of the mess to better see his claim spelt out in inflamed ridges. “What do you think, hm? Do you like it?”
No reply, unsurprisingly. Not even a little whimper or a single tear to be shed. As badly as Jonas wanted to obey the command of staying fully conscious to endure Malik’s whims, it was a losing battle with the toll it was taking on his body. Malik supposed he could grant him this one, small mercy of being allowed to pass out now that the session was done. Such a good boy, sticking it out until the end, though he wasn’t able to fully enjoy the visual of Malik’s bloody name as his clouded green eyes had lost the ability to focus some letters ago. He deserved some kind of reward for that, perhaps. Or maybe a punishment after Jonas woke back up for not reacting how Malik wanted him to. Decisions, decisions…either option could be quite fun.
“Aw, c’mon now, lover, don’t be that way,” Malik crooned as if Jonas was pouting and not actively going into shock. He still looked awfully cute slumped in Malik’s embrace, partially tucked into his chest and smeared in his own blood. “Too much fun already? What’s the part that got you all tuckered out? Was it the blood, or the pain?”
Even if Jonas had the strength to move his tongue to form coherent words, he wouldn’t have been able to answer the barrage of questions with the duct tape firmly silencing him. It didn’t seem like Malik was genuinely looking for a response anyhow, shifting the Belmont heir’s limp body in his arms so that he was better cradled sideways in his lap, allowing for a full view of his sickeningly pale face. With so much color drained from his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes looked more prominent and sunken. Jonas needed a little pop of color to brighten his features back up. Something to contrast nicely with his dull, half lidded eyes and ashened skin. How convenient that Malik’s fingers were still slick from playing with the slowly congealing wounds on his arms. Like a child finger painting their masterpiece, he swiped one blood soaked digit from each end of the duct tape over Jonas’s lips, arching the path upwards to create a faux red smile.
It looked quite pretty against the silver background of the gag, helping it stand out more pronounced. Malik wished Jonas was aware enough to understand what was happening so he could see those lovely eyes overflow with tears and his thin eyebrows scrunch together in distress. Then again, he could get that expression on any other given day with minimal effort.
“Know what I think? I think you get just as excited being this close to me,” he purred, curling the hand that had been hovering over Jonas’s face against his neck. He could feel the slow pulse against his fingers, still faithfully drumming beneath the collar of bruises. So long as that beat didn’t stop, Malik was satisfied enough. “I’d reckon you even like when I touch you like this, no matter how much it hurts. ‘Cause you’re a touch-starved li’l thing, ain’t you?”
Jonas couldn’t confirm or deny the allegations which by default meant that Malik was correct with his assumptions. It wasn’t too hard to come to such a conclusion anyhow: richie rich kid with distant parents, no experience with familial or romantic love, he’d probably eat any gentle touch up no matter who it came from. Including from a serial killer in the basement of a funeral home. Malik could have the poor, neglected boy wrapped around his bloody finger in no time if he really wanted to. Only a handful of weeks into this captivity and he already knew how to make Jonas squirm and how to make Jonas melt. But it was the fight to survive that still distantly burned inside of him that kept him interesting enough to catch Malik’s attention. Total obedience and attachment sounded like too much of a hassle right now.
Malik reached back up to Jonas’s face to tuck an errant curl behind his ear, not missing the way his eyes finally slipped closed from the gentle touch. “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, lover. I won’t let you go.”
Whumptober 2022
NO. 2 - NOWHERE TO RUN Cornered | Caged | Confrontation
CW - minor whumpee (17)
Part two of the mini series! Read part one here!
A’ninsi was not good with confined spaces.
They owed it to their life of adventuring, of roaming the land freely as they grew. When they were with Stephiana, they never settled down in one place for too long. Stephiana’s answer as to why they never settled down was different every time. “Because staying in one place is boring,” she’d say one day, “The gods gave us legs, and I’ll be damned if I don’t use them,” was another reason, and A’ninsi’s personal favorite, “I’d rather be seen as the mysterious traveler than as the weird neighbor.”
Only now did A’ninsi really understand why Stephiana hated the idea of settling down permanently. It restricted your movements, kept you tied to one place. The walls that protected one from the storm were built not for that purpose but to keep one away from the rain. After all, a bird that gets wet in the rain is more happy than a bird who stays dry in a cage.
A’ninsi would’ve been happier drowning than they were in this cage.
Bringing their hands up to wrap around the cold metal bars, their eyes were briefly drawn to the burns that encircled their wrists. Painful reminders of their capture not long ago. How long had it been? Time was strange when one was stuck in a dark room. They weren’t all that hungry, so it had likely been just a few hours.
Those hours had felt like years, endless eternity stuck languishing inside iron bars. A’ninsi had grown antsy after the first hour or so of trying to escape, an endeavor that ended up being useless in the end. They had panicked for the second hour before getting a hold of themselves and pacing for another half hour after that not out of fear and anxiety but out of boredom.
They were captive, but not afraid. Just annoyed. And bored.
“Hey!” A’ninsi shouted, “at least like, torture me or something! There’s nothing to do here!” They knew no one would hear them, so at this point they were saying whatever popped into their mind. They turned around and slumped down against the concrete wall, leaning their head back. Underneath their bravado and boredom there was fear, anxiety creeping through their veins like a poison.
Maybe it would go away if they ignored it.
Fiona & Moriarty- Lesson One
Fiona had a bad time during those two weeks. Part one of until I run out of writing.
Warnings for minor whump, gun violence, forced to choose, and murder.
The first lesson of many. Don't hesitate.
"Pick one."
She didn't want to. The couple in front of her- bound and gagged, their teary eyes staring up at her- they hadn't done anything bad! They didn't deserve this-
"I'm being generous, giving you a choice. Don't make me regret it."
She couldn't- she couldn't- sentence someone to death? No, no, no- it was wrong, it was terrible. She couldn't. She couldn't choose!
Moriarty huffed, twirling the gun in his fingers. "I'm starting to regret it."
She begged him to just give her more time- couldn't they spare them? Give them another chance? She didn't want to, please don't make her, please-
"PICK," he snarled, bludgeoning her with the butt of the gun.
Sobbing, she pointed.
BANG.
Blood sprayed everywhere, and the remaining person's muffled sounds of horror filled Fiona's ears. But it was over. It was ov-
BANG.
More blood. So much blood. Too much-
"What did you do?! You said-"
He rolled his eyes. "You took too long. Do a better job next time."
Fiona stared down at the two corpses, feeling ill. She only took two steps backwards before she started to vomit.
But the nightmares lasted so much longer.
Fiona & Moriarty- Lesson Two
Part Two. Content includes kidnapping, threats of violence, actual violence, swearing, forced to hurt, dehumanization, mutilation, noncon touch (nonsexual), autocannibalism, branding, and torture. Moriarty is co-owned with @space-is-out-there! Let me know if I missed any tags.
Lesson two. Respect.
"Welcome to my humble lair!" Moriarty announces, as if Fiona is supposed to burst into applause at the sight of dingy dungeon walls. Instead, she nearly breaks a wrist trying to pull the chain she's cuffed to out of the wall. "Where is everyone?! Where did you take me?!"
"A- wouldn't you like to know and B- to my home!"
"A- Yes I would and B- fuck you and your dungeon house," the girl snaps. Moriarty cackles at that, flashing perfectly white teeth as Fiona looks around in a sudden panic. "What did you do with my wand?!"
"I assure you it's unharmed. I'm just saving it for when you earn it."
What-
"I was wrong about Mark," Moriarty says, waving a hand dismissively at the thought of his son. "I thought he might have what it takes, but... I'm still in the market for a protégé."
Fiona's expression is incredulous. "No way I'm doing that! You're even more insane than I thought if you think I'll EVER work for you!" She pulls even harder at the chains, but they don't budge.
Moriarty rolls his eyes. "They use those chains to wrangle dragons, you know."
Fiona stops pulling and glares at him. "So what, then? Are you planning on just keeping me in here forever?!"
He scoffs, like she's an idiot. "No, of course not. If I can't convince you, I'll merely erase your memory and mind control you!" He pauses, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. "...Or I'll kill you and feed you to the rats. Depends on my mood."
Fiona wipes the horrified look off her face before that statement can sink in. "Great. So there's no option where I, say... stab you in the back?"
"Not unless you want to be tracked to the ends of the earth by my men and fed the skin of everyone you care about," Moriarty responds matter-of-factually.
Fiona feels ill. "Thanks for that image."
"You're welcome, love!" Moriarty chirps, and claps his hands together. "Now, if we're going to get along, there are some ground rules you should know about. Follow them, and your apprenticeship will be relatively pain-free. Disobey, and there will be consequences. Number one-"
Abruptly, he is standing less than a foot away from her, and she startles on instinct. He clicks his tongue. "Don't hesitate. Hesitation makes you weak- and you can't run a criminal empire like that, can you?"
She opens her mouth to speak and he holds up a finger to silence her. She's so surprised that she says nothing, her mouth agape- and Moriarty claps. "Rule number two- respect. You may be next in line to run this place, but I am your boss. You follow my orders, when I give them. You may call me Moriarty when we're alone; boss or sir when in public."
She can't help herself. "What are you calling me?"
"Whatever the hell I want," he says.
She wasn't sure what else she expected.
"Rule two-and-a-half- look me in the eyes when I speak to you." Moriarty snaps his fingers, catching her attention from an extremely interesting mold spot on the floor. "Manners are important- we can't have anyone thinking we're uncivilized, can't we? We're not barbarians."
"Yeah, just criminals," Fiona mumbles.
"That's no excuse to be rude," Moriarty retorts, snaps his fingers, and her cuffs vanish. As Fiona rubs her wrists, he taps his watch. "Hmm... that's all I have for now, so... Time for training!"
"I don't want to," Fiona says. Just how far can she push him...?
"Too bad."
That answered that question.
"Now are we going? Or am I dragging you out one chunk at a time?" Moriarty asks, looking at his nails as if her answer didn't really matter. (It didn't.)
"Keep your shirt on, I'm coming," Fiona grumbles, rising from her spot on the concrete floor. "Although I am interested in how exactly you'd train a dismembered protégé."
"With great effort!" comes the cheerful reply.
----
"First, I’m going to teach you a very important part of running this operation," Moriarty tells her as they stroll into a warehouse. She has no idea where they are- planewalking definitely broadens one's options for evil hideouts, she supposes.
Most of the goons that catch sight of them avert their eyes and scurry in the other direction. She wishes she could too, but Moriarty has a grip on her shoulder- she swallows her discomfort and pipes up. "So it's not just fancy suits and maniacal laughter?"
"No, those are just perks," Moriarty responds without skipping a beat. "Respect. Respect is important. There’s someone here who has disrespected me. We’re going to make sure he doesn’t do that anymore."
"What'd he do?" Fiona quips. "Stole your ice cream money? Broke your Action Man?"
"Someone’s been skimming off top of their transactions," Moriarty says, and gestures to a scrawny man being held by two guards. The man flinches when Moriarty makes eye contact with him, and cowers when the mastermind strides forward to speak. "Thought you could fuck me over, did you?!" He leans in to yell in the man's face. "DID YOU?!"
"Seems to me like he already regrets his situation," Fiona says quietly.
Moriarty steps back to stand next to her and draws a knife out of his jacket pocket. "He skimmed off the top of my money so I say... we skim off the top of his head."
Fiona looks at him blankly. Moriarty rolls his eyes and clarifies. "Cut off his ears... and make him eat them."
The man blubbers and starts to cry. Moriarty flips the handle towards Fiona expectantly, who flinches as if it might jump and bite her. She stammers. "Are you sure this is… necessary?" She grasps for something, any excuse to get out of this. "It just- uh- seems like a lot of effort to deal with all of this personally..."
"This is what we call a teachable moment! You see- if you don’t make people respect you, they'll just take it as permission to walk all over you."
"Can't you get respect by, you know… treating people like people?"
"No," Moriarty shakes his head. "That only works in la-la land... and in Philadelphia. AND I DON'T SEE ANY CHEESESTEAKS, NOW DO WHAT I ASKED!"
She reels backwards at his screaming, and unconciously takes a few steps towards the captive instead, who is whimpering and sobbing. Like a switch was flipped, Moriarty grins widely and gives her a thumbs-up. "Go on!"
Her throat is bone-dry. Her voice comes out hoarse. "My hand is shaking."
"Rule number one," Moriarty reminds her. "It hurts more when you hesitate."
It's like her arm is detatched from her body. It moves on its own, drawing the blade closer. It cuts cleanly, and the distant thought occurs to her that the knife must be very sharp. Blood drips off the blade and onto the floor, stark red against the gray.
Blood pools on the ground and stains her fingers. There's an incessant loud noise droning on in the background, and Fiona resists the urge to cover her ears.
Moriarty is clapping. "Is this how proud parents feel? I never got this feeling from my kids." He gestures for the guards to drag the man closer. He hasn't stopped screaming. He stops, briefly, to swallow, when she places the severed ears into his mouth, and then Fiona doesn't see what happens, because she's vomiting onto the floor.
She retches and gags and sobs and by the time she comes back to herself enough to think, the man is gone, and Moriarty is clapping her on the back, talking at her as if she's in any state to pay attention.
"Honestly, it looks like you were dressed by a pedophile with a doll fetish- oh wait! You were."
The world swims before her eyes, and she takes in a deep, shuddering breath. Shoves the images in her mind away. Stands up straight. Don't think about it.
"I think you would look good in a suit," Moriarty muses.
Fiona can't stop a laugh from escaping. It wasn't particularly funny. Her voice comes out sounding like it belongs to someone else. "Matching outfits? Really?"
"Please. Female crime bosses have to work twice as hard to get half the respect. I’m helping you." Moriarty takes her hand and swings it between them like a loving father. "Now let’s go shatter that glass ceiling!"
----
Several hours later, Moriarty sits at his desk. Fiona, for her part, is standing in the corner doing her best to avoid attracting his attention. Doing her best to keep her mind blank. She shifts uncomfortably in her new suit- not because it doesn't fit, but because it's a mirror of Moriarty's outfit.
The mastermind spins around in the chair like an excited toddler, beaming at her. "You did excellently today- I'll give you a reward. Come here."
It's a simple demand, and an enticing prospect. Moriarty waits for her, entirely unreadable, betraying no hints for what the "reward" will be.
Her legs aren't moving.
Moriarty smiles and repeats himself. "Come here."
She doesn't want to. "Can I- can I stay here?"
"Ah, that's very polite, asking for permission," the man nods, approvingly, before continuing, "You may not."
Haltingly, she shuffles over to him, defiantly stopping a bit away. Oddly, he doesn't seem to notice her hesitation- or, more likely, just chooses to ignore it. He draws her into his arms, running a hand through her hair, forcing her to look into his eyes. His voice is quiet. Hushed. "You're so tiny."
She blinks. Why-
Abruptly, he runs his fingers through her hair, down the back of her neck, and every muscle in her body braces for pain- but instead, he guides her to sit on the floor, resting a hand on her shoulder. Before she can fully process what's happening, he's tied a blindfold around her head, plunging her world into blackness, binding her hands in front of her-
She closes her eyes as she feels the telltale pinpricks of tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "Please," she whimpers, but he only shushes her. All she can hear are his shoes tapping against the floor, and touch is the only sense she still has- but it's okay. It's going to be okay. She did what he asked. He said this was a reward. It's okay-
And then she feels something caress her shoulder.
Fiona flinches, her back arching against the sudden touch. Moriarty hushes her. She can feel his breath against the back of her neck. The tears spill over, soaking into the blindfold and running down her face, dripping off her chin. Moriarty stops tracing her arm and gently wipes her cheek with a finger.
She never gets used to it- every time she thinks she's getting used to the pattern, the awful cold feeling of his fingers all over her, he'd drag his nails across her cheek, she'd feel his tongue in her ear, kisses pressed to the back of her neck, and her whole body would spasm with shock, with terror. Moriarty holds her close, stroking her hair, her face, and for just a split second, she's back with her family- she can't bring herself to move away, she can't. Not even when the cold steel of a blade presses against her bare cheek.
"Hold still now…"
Pain. Sharp and white-hot, like fire magic. She bites her tongue to keep from screaming as the blade draws four shallow lines across her skin. She can feel the blood run down her cheek and her breath hitches, a sob tearing itself free from her chest. Moriarty hums, pressing a wet cloth against the burning sensation, and Fiona clutches at his suit coat, heaving shudering breaths. "What did you..."
The man shushes her. The washcloth is removed, and Fiona winces, but the fiery feeling has mostly faded away. In its wake is a peculiar sensation on her cheek- like exposed skin hitting air.
Ever so gently, Moriarty traces along her cheek, in a peculiar pattern that she can't quite place.
|\/|
"Congratulations, my dear protégé."
His voice follows her into unwilling sleep.
AAAA POOR DANI!!! YOU AND I ARE BOTH WAITING FOR ROMAN'S PRISON SENTENCING!!!
Punishment
Continuation from Outside- pt 1 here
TW: vague rape threat
-
Dani stumbled along, letting Roman drag her back inside. She didn’t dare dig in her heels nor even attempt to pull at the vice-like grip around her arm. Even when she was sure he was going to tear it off. She was in enough trouble as it was. And no attempt of stalling or resisting was going to help.
Every now and then, her body did refuse to follow. It stuttered, as if the signal to her muscles caused a lag. Remnants of the electricity setting her system to complete haywire. She tripped over her own feet, sure that without Roman pulling her along she would’ve crashed to the floor already.
Her stomach felt even heavier when he held the door to the basement open for her, face like thunder daring her to disobey. She didn’t. And he let her go down on her own, following with heavy stomps on every step.
Roman paced up and down, irritation clear in his expression and his rigid posture. Though the narrowed eyes and weird steps could also indicate some remnants of pain lingering. Only fuelling his anger, unfortunately.
His eyes flared. “Now I’m not one of those idiots who compare a kick in the jewels to actual childbirth. But by god,” he exhaled hard and looked straight into her eyes, “I’m this close to try it out and get you to report in nine months.”
She paled at that, even though she knew he wouldn’t. And he probably couldn’t either, in his current state. But she swallowed any comments on that. Better not to aggravate him any further when he’s this pissed. Also, she had plans in nine months, actually; sitting in a courtroom watching him get sentenced to hell. Couldn't miss that.
So instead, she kept her tightened fists close to her side and looked down. “I’m really sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
No. She wasn’t. She was pretty chuffed, actually. The feeling just was kinda overshadowed by this huge looming sword dangling right above her. But she still felt a touch of pride through that fear.
“You’re not sorry. And you're never going to be sorry, not even after this. I don’t expect you to. But at the least we can make sure even the mere thought of pulling something like this again will have you break out in cold sweat.”
Or in absolute hysterics... But probably only after she’d escaped this hellhole.
A backhanded fist caught her across the face and in her still wobbly state sent her right to the floor where she remained in a slight daze.
He snagged a fistful of hair, pulling her up, then grabbed her collar and marched her backwards until she felt his knuckles tighten in the fabric. She braced herself. Just in time as he slammed her into a wall. She buckled forward in pain, tensing her abdomen for the expected blow, but he merely kept her up and forced her shoulder blades back against the wall.
He inched closer. Knuckles tight against her collar bones, body pressing forward until she tried to squirm away, back against the wall.
“You wanna try that again?” he all but growled, voice still soft. He made himself awfully vulnerable right now, knee pressing at her leg, taunting her, knowing she wouldn’t dare.
“Don’t tempt me,” she choked out, eyes blazing, but she knew that if she even raised one leg she would buckle forward against him. She needed both feet firmly planted on the ground not to collapse.
“Oh,” he almost purred and pulled her in, still a tight grip on her shirt to make sure she was flushed against him and she felt his breath brush her cheek when he said, “I’ll make sure you’re never tempted again.”
He took a fierce step back, dragged her along, and threw her away from him to the floor.
Dani rolled along with the momentum, but everything happened too fast. Two swift footsteps. A flurry of movement. An explosion of pain against her ribs. It blew her back against something that didn’t give and she slumped against the cold metal.
Slower footsteps, away from her. Returning. She shook her head hard, trying to dispel the haze. Realised that she was slumped against the metal table in the middle of the room, Roman standing over her, preparing something on it.
She heard a snap, looked up and her breath stilled as she saw him holding up a syringe, a familiar blue vial.
A whimper escaped her. She tried to scoot away from him, but Roman barely looked down and stomped down hard on her wrist, keeping her pinned. “No,” he tutted as he felt her pull under his foot, and shifted his weight on it without looking, eyes back on the syringe as he slowly drew in the blue liquid. He flicked a finger against the glass, put it down, and sank down to his knees.
The hand went right for her throat.
“No…” she started. She struggled against him, hands up, trying to push him off, flailing as he tried to catch her wrists. “No, no, no—” He slapped her hard, scooped both wrists up in one hand and pressed them up above her head, pinning them to the ground. He reached up and the blue-filled syringe glinted in the light. “No…” she mewled again as she felt the harsh prick in her neck, but it was already too late.
The pressure on her wrists let up and Roman scrambled back to his feet. He stood over her, looking her straight in the eyes as he rummaged in his pocket. And he pulled out the remote for the electric device around her ankle.
Dani paled. Braced herself. But nothing hit her yet.
“Do it then,” she croaked after a beat, but he merely stared her down, steel glint in his eyes, finger on the button. “Go on! Do it! What are you waiting for?!” And she hated how her voice cracked.
“For the serum to take effect.”
His calm voice punched the breath out of her. Agonising seconds passed, all the while they kept eye contact, both waiting.
And she felt it. It was like the bruise on her cheekbone lit up. Like a light bulb, gradually shining brighter. As if it was growing in size, blood rushing in, the pressing tight sensation pulling at her skin slowly turning to discomfort, to pain.
And only when she winced, Roman smiled. And pressed the button.
Fire shot through her. Hotter, fiercer, more paralysing than before. A garbled scream just about made it to the top of her throat before everything contracted and it died off with a squeaking choke.
She couldn’t breathe! Pain fired through her and she couldn’t let it out in a scream. She’d lost all control over her body, merely lay there on the hard floor, spasming hard, convulsing, all the wrong muscles activating and literally keeping a death grip on her body.
Until it suddenly let go of her and it was like she fell from a great height. Her back hit the floor, punched out the remnants of her scream, and she gasped hard now she could finally breathe again.
“No…” she wheezed, scrambling back from Roman as if it would help. He still had that hard glint in his eyes. “Don’t, not again, I can’t breathe, I ca— You turned up the setting didn’t you?!”
“I did not,” he merely said. Which could be a lie, for all she knew; that serum was supposed to enhance the pain, not the amount of watts taking hold of her muscles.
Another round of pain slammed into her. Burning her from the inside as it clawed for a way out. It felt wrong. Dangerous. As if the crackling electricity stabbed and burned holes into her veins as it seared through, frayed her nerves. It had to stop. Stop! Before it actually would cause damage.
“Do try to bite through it, love,” Roman teased. “If you manage to get out an apology again, maybe I’ll accept it this time.”
“I’m sorry!” Dani choked out as soon as she could. “I am! I—no, don’t, please, it won’t happen again!”
“No,” Roman said, nodding, as he pushed the button again. “It won’t.”
-
Tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpy-daydreams
@whumpyourdamnpears @auroragehenna @alsolucakairomi @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumppmuhw
@untethered-symphony @withdrawingramen @theforeverdyingperson
GET HIS ASS DANI 😤
Taken
For @mayhem-in-mordor who wondered what happened when Roman took Dani :))
-
“Stop! Stop right there!”
The quick racking of the gun cracked across walls of the concrete room and Roman stopped dead in his tracks. His head tipped down, shoulders slumped and he let out an annoyed sigh while he threw his hands up, as if being held at gunpoint was a mere inconvenience. Slowly, drawling, stalling, he turned to face Dani, hands still in the air but dropped them to his side as he looked her over.
“That gun...” he started and began to circle her like the predator he was. “Did you take it from him?” And he nodded at the unconscious man in the blue shirt behind her.
Dani knew better than to look back.
“Yes.” She side-stepped along with him, stepping over the paper folders strewn out over the floor, some still smoldering, an attempt to destroy evidence, research. The smoke teased her nostrils, prickled her eyes. She didn’t even blink and kept the gun trained on him. Right in-between the eyes, no more missing vitals.
He nodded, silent for a few more steps. Then a smirk formed on his lips like he couldn’t contain it any longer. He tipped his head down, leering at her, and dramatically whispered a single word: “Empty.”
Dani didn't hesitate and immediately pulled the trigger to call that bluff. Only to be met by a disappointing click. And no hole in his forehead.
His eyes narrowed in glee. He threw his hands up again, almost in mock surrender but with his palms up and gave a theatrical shrug. Dani bristled and sharply inhaled to keep her calm; their cockiness and annoyance had switched sides at that click, as had her advantage. But she gave a small shrug in reply.
“Fine.” She launched forward, charging at him. She changed her grip on the gun, twirling it by the trigger guard, catching it in a claw and aimed a wide slap right at his face.
He dodged effortlessly, with that goddamn arrogant smirk that she wanted to punch off. Caught the follow-up punch in the palm of his hand and twisted her arm away. She immediately snapped free with a twist, used the momentum to aim another back-handed strike with the gun as she twirled.
“Whoa!”
At least that indicated that she was close. Though she’d prefer an exclamation of pain. Still, she’d shock his arrogant taunting right of him. To her surprise, he didn’t run. Probably knew he was at a disadvantage there. She’d easily catch up. But in close combat, he could shift the advantage to him, or tire her out as he didn’t seem to be interested in going for a killing blow. Yet.
They continued their dance of swerving and dodging, occasionally interrupted by a grunt when one of them hit home. Though her moves were smooth and elegant, she wasn’t above fighting dirty. Whenever the chance presented itself, she jabbed at his eyes or throat, went for the junk, but nothing hit home. Yet. She only broke her calm when she heard a soft scoff and saw his lips curl after he dodged a punch again, and she threw the gun full force at his smug face. Went right over his shoulder.
“This is the third time you’ve messed up my research,” he said.
“Maybe you should stop breaking the law.”
He let out a non-committed hum as he swerved. “Maybe you shouldn’t let your guard down.”
And before she could even question that in her mind, let alone snarl out the words, he side-stepped just behind her, his back to her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him twist towards her, the flurry of his elbow moving up, forearm straight as an arrow as it readied for the—
A sharp jab snapped against the side of her neck. And the control over her body slipped away from her from the neck down. Her entire body tensed up first, then just as fast completely released the grip on every muscle. Her knees buckled first. All she could do was inhale a shocked little gasp, curse at herself and Roman in her mind before everything turned to static. And luckily the world went black before she even hit the floor.
-
Roman watched as if in slow motion as the girl toppled forward. He resisted the body-jerk reaction to catch her, knowing she could still snap up and claw his eyes out if his blow was merely an inch off. Only when she landed face-forward without even moving to soften the landing against the hard concrete, it assured him the fight was over.
He simply stared at her for a few seconds, hesitating, not quite sure what to do. This would probably not render her unconscious for long. And judging by the continued muffled gunfire on the upper floors, she wasn’t alone. He didn’t have much time to decide.
A pang of frustration shot through him as he glanced up, struck by the state of the now ruined room. His ruined research. He glared at the unconscious girl at his feet, a growl in his exhale. He was going to have to lay low for a while. And that rushed him into his decision.
He squatted down next to her. Swiped over her pockets, fished her phone from her brown leather jacket and threw it hard to the floor. Patted her down to make sure she didn’t have anything else on her that could lead them to follow him.
With a grunt, he threw the dead weight over his shoulder and carried her out, down to the underground parking. Shifted her further onto his shoulder as he searched for his car keys. Opened the rear door, stopped, and closed it again. Yeah, no. You wouldn’t keep a feral animal loose in your car. She’d probably try to strangle him with the seatbelt from behind. Or even if he’d had anything to cuff her with, she’d throw her legs over the seat to pin him until they crashed. She’d proven her tenacity over these last three rounds of meetings. And that chop to the neck wouldn’t last the entire journey. Better go for the safe route. So instead, he opened the trunk and dropped her inside without much care.
-
The familiar crunches of grit under his tires and under his shoes a long ride later greeted him home. Good to know that even after quite a while, those sounds still triggered a feeling of home-coming in his brain. Might be something to look into... Later.
Roman slowly walked around the car, keeping his eyes on the trunk, not sure what to expect. There was no banging at the lid or cursing or demands to let her out. Yet he doubted she was still unconscious.
He carefully opened up, hand on the lid to keep her from further busting it open. Oh yes, she was awake. Through the small opening he could see the fury glint in her eyes, staring straight at him. She looked like an angry cat in her basket. If she could, she’d hiss at him, he mused. But he was surprised to see she didn’t spit anything at him, no insults, no saliva. In fact, she cowed back a little and lay all curled up. Somewhat reassured, he fully opened the trunk, leaned forward to drag her out.
A long leg suddenly shot out, and it hit him square in the stomach.
It punched the air – and the snide remark that was on the tip of his tongue – right out of him. He doubled over, hand still on the lid of the trunk pulling it down with him as he almost buckled. It nearly hit the girl right on the head, but in a flurry of movement she managed to snake out, bump him aside, and shot past.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he brought out, and caught her by the neck of her shirt.
She twisted free and he grabbed her arm instead. She replied with a headbutt. Missed and Roman followed up with a backhanded swing.
A yelp as he caught her full in the face and knocked her off her feet. She heavily crashed onto the grit and he immediately closed in, grabbing her shirt.
Dani didn’t hesitate. Like the fierce cat she was she almost literally clawed up around him, grasping him by the arm, threw her legs up and locked them around his head, pulling herself up.
Roman caught her in surprise, one hand still in her shirt, the other arm around her back as he secured her in reflex. Luckily for him, she didn’t have the momentum to pull him down and they stared at each other, caught in an impasse. If he let her fall, she’d drag him right along.
“We let go,” he said calmly, negotiating his release, “at the same time.”
“Duel at sunset,” she growled, and squeezed her legs but nodded.
“One… two…”
With her legs up and him protecting her from gravity, he felt like he had the overwhelming advantage here. But as he let go of her on “Three!” her back arched and she slithered gracefully from his arms, again not unlike a cat, letting herself fall to the ground in a dive. She landed on her palms, lightly sprang off against his shoulders, and shot away in an elegant back handspring, spiraling off of him with grace. He had to admit, he was impressed, and his lips tugged into a smirk.
It lost him two seconds of precious reaction time. As her feet touched the ground and she straightened, one foot immediately shot back up. Hit him right in the chin. But the hit came at a cost and with her on one leg wobbling on the pebbles straining for balance, he saw his chance. He sank down to a squat, shot out a leg and aimed at her ankle, kicking her foot right out from under her.
He watched as her eyes went wide and he immediately followed up to keep his advantage as she lost the battle with gravity. Finally. Her back crashed into the sea of grit, punched out a grunt. Another kick in the stomach didn’t deter him. Hands flailed, clawed at his face, her moves betraying a certain panic that let him know he was winning and he only had to wait for the right moment until he could calmly catch a wrist and use the momentum to twist her onto her front.
One firm hand on her neck pressed her face into the sharp pebbles, the other twisted her arm up, slowly tearing the ligaments in her shoulder until she yelped.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” he almost growled out a disappointed sigh.
She took full advantage of the little leeway he offered her to reply; twisted her head until she could – painfully – make eye contact, she smiled sweetly and spat right in his face. “It is.”
-
Tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpy-daydreams
@whumpyourdamnpears @auroragehenna @alsolucakairomi @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumppmuhw
@untethered-symphony @withdrawingramen @theforeverdyingperson @treasureguardingdragon
FUCK YOU KAYO
Salem bbg love u forever
Scalding Water Part 1- Melting Ice
How Salem breaks, part one.
Salem’s Masterlist
TWs: Implies and references torture, abuse, discussion of mass murder/destruction, manipulation, bad mental health, threats, implied/referenced/thretened mutilation, mental break down/panic attack, non-con touch(non sexual)
under cut :D
Salem was at the end of her rope, with Kayo. Every thing he did seemed more degrading than the last, every wild expectation more impossible, every word more agitating.
It wasn’t like she didn’t know what was on the line. The sound of Mina’s screams haunted her every waking moment, and every nightmare too. If she disobeyed, if she fought too hard, the healer got punished with her. The last thing the warrior wanted was for Mina to get hurt.
But Salem had always felt emotions so very strongly. Feelings could overtake logic in mere seconds. It was inevitable that one day she was going to snap. And she’d snap badly.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise when it happened.
Somehow though, it was, as Kayo looked down at the smoldering, shaking form curled up in the epicenter of the wrecked and charred mess that was once the castle’s training room.
It started with a mission- an allied army needed to destroy a city. Salem was the easy solution- if he sent her the place would be ash in mere seconds. Quick, simple, destructive.
Unfortunately for Kayo, despite her position as a weapon, nothing violent was ever simple with Salem. You’d think she was a pacifist with all her idiotic little moral objections to everything nowadays. I can’t even get her to kill someone without it becoming a whole thing!
It was least to say, things went downhill… quickly. From the glare the weapon fire elemental threw at him the moment he entered the training hall, the diplomat knew this one wouldn’t be easy.
Salem only narrowed her eyes as he cleared the room, making sure the two were alone. He usually doesn’t bother to send others out… which definitely reaked her out. What’s does he plan that’s so bad he wants me alone? Not in his office too… he only does that when he’s worried about damages…
“What the hell do you want?” She snapped, not looking up from the sparing dummy that was quickly becoming pulp even under her dull practice blade.
“I have a mission I’d like you to-“
“Nope, not doing it, next question.” She interrupted.
“Salem, seriously? You do understand you don’t get to pick- do you really need to be a petulant brat about this?”
She just glared at him, and continued to viciously attack the sparing dummy, like she was ignoring him. Kayo sighed and continued.
“The Valrean empire-“
Thump
“-Has targeted a strategic location in the northwest region of Elenor-“
Crack
“In which they would like us to destroy. It’s called-“
Ripppp
“Amaya.”
Salem stopped.
“Isn’t that a city?”
“That is correct- it protects the eastern river bank and is nigh impregnable, so it’s been decided that you will go and destroy it.” Kayo explained.
“Will it be evacuated?” Her tone made the diplomat sigh in exasperation.
“Why does it matter?”
“What do you mean, why does it matter?! There could be people, Kayo! Innocent civilians! Children, families… what are you saying?!” The warrior gasped.
“I’m saying it doesn’t matter, and you will be conducting the attack either way.” Something about the diplomat's tone made Salem even more uneasy than usual.
“Will it be populated when I’m supposed to destroy it?” She insisted.
“I told you, it’s unimportant. A weapon doesn’t get to choose how it’s wielded.”
This fucker… There’s no way…? He wouldn’t… even he wouldn’t… she thought desperately.
“So just tell me then?” The warrior wanted to scream in frustration.
“Well I was trying to save you some emotional distress, but clearly you can’t let things be- so no, it’s not been evacuated. Their general is not so stupid as to give away his plans. I hope you’re more content with that information.” Kayo snapped at her, annoyed.
Salem’s stomach dropped. Not evacuating? But then… no… wait no…
“No- Kayo, there’s no fucking way you’re asking me to- no!” She gasped, horrified. Kayo wanted her to incinerate thousands of civilians. It was a mission out of her greatest nightmares. It was the whole reason she’d tried to leave her job in the first place- so she’d never have to do something like that. I can’t do it I’ll never do it, I’d never forgive myself, I can’t hurt more people-
“I told you this wasn’t a choice-“
“But… but no! Kayo you- you can’t! I can’t do that! There’s no- no fucking way I will do that! Those are innocent people! This is too far!”
“Of course you think that- your selfish prioritization of your conscience over the better of the nation is a good part of the reason why we’re here, isn’t it?”
“Wha-What the hell? This isn’t about my conscience, this is about killing innocent people! Decimating a city is more than a personal conviction- it’s just morally wrong!” She cried. Seriously what the fuck? I won’t do that! I swore not to ever do anything like that ever again!
“Oh, and you plan to lecture me about morals, Phoenix Warrior? After abandoning your duties, apprentice, and friends? After all the blood already soaking your hands? You of all people?” Kayo asked incredulously.
“Oh and you will?! After betraying your best friend, torturing her, cutting off her wings, enslaving her? Don’t even speak to me about mortals, you fucking traitor!” The fire elemental said, rage bursting through her chest. She stepped forwards, glaring.
“I did this for your own good, Salem, and you ought to know that by now. It’s a shame you can’t get it through your selfish little scull. Look at how pathetic you are- resorting to insults the moment I start proving you wrong? You’re scared to admit I’m right, aren’t you? Even though you know it’s true?” The diplomat scoffed, stepping into Salem’s personal space, watching her coldly down his nose. She forced herself to hold her ground. “This kind of denial is not fitting of a warrior such as yourself. It makes you weak and cowardly.”
“I’m not a coward.” The fire elemental growled. “I just don’t want to mascare innocent people.”
“Oh really? Because if I remember correctly, you’re rather easy to spook.” Suddenly, Kayo’s hand shot out, wrapping its cold vice around one of the warrior’s wings.
Salem froze. Her eyes widened. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her mind was consumed by raw panic. His on my wing. His hands on my wings. His hands when they took a knife and- that moment flashed between her mind. Every sense was pinpointed on the hand shaped center of feeling on her wings where Kayo’s hand was.
“That took less than a second, didn’t it my dear? I’m fairly sure someone who’s brave and unafraid wouldn’t freeze up like this at the smallest touch. Don’t you agree, warrior?” When Salem didn’t respond, too consumed by terror, the traitor squeezed his hand tighter and leaned in. “Or maybe I’ll just have to cut them off again, and we’ll see how you hold up to that.”
The warrior couldn’t do anything to stop the terrified noise that escaped her throat, nor the way she began to shake uncontrollably.
“Pathetic, aren't you?” Kayo mocked, then gave her a little shove, forcing the fire elemental’s shaky knees to fall out from under her. “And weak, too. You know, you should be grateful I even let you fight. The golems are so much more effective than you are; obedient, powerful, near indestructible. Once my alchemists figure out how to synthesize your tears, you’ll be practically useless.”
Humiliation and shame brought tears to Salem’s eyes, as well as fear- a new fear- of uselessness. If Kayo didn’t want her, who would? Mina will. Your friends will, she forced herself to remember. There’s a world outside this hell, a world where you’re worth more than your value in fighting.
“Oh, my dear, don’t cry.” He cooed, seeing the tears. “I don’t plan to get rid of you any time soon. You know I care about you. I just need you to do this for me. Prove to me you’re not useless by doing this for me.” In truth, the traitor felt a little guilt for implying he’d ever get rid of his warrior. I need you more than you’ll ever know, but I just need you afraid for now. When you come around I’ll make sure you know just how invaluable to me you are, he thought lovingly. All I need is for you to finally break for me.
“You know I won’t. I won’t kill innocent people.” Salem said weakly, her voice shaking. It was getting hard to breathe.
“Salem, this isn’t a choice.” Kayo warned, giving her wing a squeeze. “You’re doing this either way- don’t make me need to punish you over it.”
“But I- Kayo I can’t! I can’t do this. It’s too much.”
“Are you sure about that? It’s not hard to puppet you- something I’m sure I’ll already be doing. But if you keep arguing like this, it will undoubtedly be more painful than necessary.” He tugged hard on her wing for emphasis.
Just like that, everything rushed at Salem all at once-the burst of pain from her wing and the terror of what he’d do and what he’d force her to do. Self hatred and fear and so much more swirled inside in a firestorm. She felt her skin heat up. She felt her eyes water even more. The pent up emotions of months of this, this torture, this fear, this shame, all hit her like a tidal wave. The fire elemental’s breath quickened even more.
“Please… please don’t make me do it. Please.” She begged, at the very edge over her limit. The icy walls between her power and emotions were melting more and more with every second.
“No- you are a weapon, and you’ll do as I command you.”
The walls cracked. Sparks flew off Salem’s wings, forcing Kayo to step back, his hand flying to his chest.
“I won’t do it. I won’t . I can’t.” She sobbed, wings wrapped around herself, heat rolling off her skin. The warrior was starting to hyperventilate.
“Salem…”
“I can’t!” The wood around her started to blacken and warp.
“You don’t have a choice, so calm down.” Kayo said steadily, a little fear in his voice. The runes didn’t work on her emotions though- She’s… she’s losing control? Salem hasn’t lost it like this in what must be years… is this truly so important to her? This was dangerous ground. One wrong word and the fuse would light, and then Salem would become a barely contained firestorm. “You’re doing this whether you like it or not- you will destroy that city and their blood will be on your hands no matter how much you hate it-“
“I can’t I can’t I can’t-“ She repeated, sparks flying, her wings catching fire, the ground catching fire, everything red and hot around her. No please no I can’t no please no I can’t I can’t to do this I can’t do this-
An inferno burst from her chest, the runes sparking as they worked to keep the fire away from Kayo, the command that the warrior couldn’t hurt him the only thing between him and the heat. A sphere around them bursts into flame, some things melting and others eviscerated to ash. The only thing stopping her from destroying the whole room was the faint blue rings of her restraining bracelets, which only held the firestorm back by a thread, keeping the inferno in a self contained sphere.
“Extinguish! Salem extinguish now!” Kayo ordered frantically. The runes sparked and soon the fire was forced back into the fire elemental’s body, her wings still smoking.
“I can't, I can't do it, I can't…” She continued.
“Salem, you’re being irrational. You don’t have a choice in the matter, and the sooner you stop throwing a tantrum like a little toddler is the better off you’ll be when I punish you for this mess.” The traitor insisted. I knew this would happen eventually… I suppose I just thought it wouldn’t ever be now, he thought. But clearly she was at her breaking point.
“I can’t…” her shoulders slumped, still sobbing.
“If you don’t calm down, I’m going to bring Mina into this. Don’t forego her safety because you don’t want to do a simple mission.” Kayo warned.
But Salem barely noticed him talking, too wrapped in her own mind. She was just overwhelemd.
“Salem, look at me.” The diplomat ordered.
The warrior’s eyes shot to him against her will, teary and desperate. The order at least seemed to snap her out of her daze.
“This is your last chance. Calm down and do what I ask, or you will regret it.”
Regret!? I'll regret the blood on my hands even more.
“Kayo… Kayo please, I can’t do this.” She begged. “I swore to never cross that line- even you shouldn’t cross that line. It doesn’t matter if you think I'm made for fighting- I can’t do it. Please, if you ever fucking cared, please please just don’t make me do this.”
“I don’t think, Salem- I know. You’re a weapon, and you always have been. Your hands do nothing but destroy. All you are good for is violence-“
“I’m not!” Salem screamed, sparks flying off her skin once again. “I’m not… I can do more… I’m not just a weapon… I’m not just good for killing. I’m not.” She finished weakly, sobbing even harder. The dam had long since broken- and now there was nothing to stop the flood of tears. She hadn’t cried that much without orders in nearly a year.
Ah, I see it now. The root of the problem, Kayo realized. If I can destroy that belief… well Salem was already at her breaking point. It won’t take much more to make her come around…
“I know this is hard for you, so I’ll give you one last chance, my dear. Tell me all your good for is violence, and I’ll let this little tantrum go. Cooperate with me, and everything will be alright. All you have to do is say it.”
But they both knew it was so much more than that…
And they both knew her answer far before Kayo even finished.
“Fuck you.”
“So be it then.” The traitor sighed. “Don’t leave the training hall until I come and get you. I don’t care what else you do, but you may not leave.” He ordered, and then just… left.
The fire elemental watched the door swing closed behind him in disbelief. There was no punishment. No torture. No killing.
She was alone.
Salem sat surrounded by the charred rubble of what had once been the training hall. With Kayo now gone, the wildfire in her chest calmed and the smoke clouding her brain cleared. She stared at the mess in confusion. I… I lost control?
Pathetic.
A cold fear spread through her as her mind began to process what just happened.
I destroyed the hall, I insulted him, I fought his orders… oh gods I’m in so much trouble… What is he planning? Why did he leave me here? What’s going to happen? I nearly burned him! Didn’t he mention Mina? Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!
She felt the panic overtaking her, and the suspense built as she waited for Kayo to return. Her imagination ran wild. The things he could do to punish her- the things he could do to Mina… Her imagination could only produce quickly worsening scenarios, as time ticked on. Minutes turned to hours, hours turned into the sun setting through the broad windows, turning into moonlit midnight…
But he still didn’t come.
Days started to go by, and Salem was stuck alone in the draining room. She flew loops around the large room. She slept by the large, high set windows. She ate snacks from her the stash in her locker, one Kayo knew she had. She could even bathe. All her needs were met and more. There was some loneliness, but she was used to that.
So Salem waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The anticipation was killing her.
——-
Aaaaand that’s a wrapper on my first part of the mini series Scalding Water, or as I like to dub it “kayo finally whumps Salem so hard that I’ll need to change the tags on her story”. I’ll be honest I don’t loveeee this one, but it’s finished it’s posted it’s done I can move on to the next part now!
Up next: P2
Salem’s Masterlist
Tag list(love you guys, thank you for waiting I hope y'all enjoyed): @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sage-does-whump-sometimes @lumpofsand @alsolucakairomi @toyybox