can´t stop the need and want I have for a whumper looking down at their whumpee but not in a nonchalant way. In a way their face is missing emotions as they carry an interrogation, there´s no snark, but the sterile atmosphere of things done directly for the outcome. Whumpee might be heaving from the methods used to bring them into interrogation, slurring words from a mouth now missing a few teeth and licking blood leaking in from a busted lip but whumper cares nothing about that.

They are here to do their job and they will be gone the second is done.

It´s their bluntness that makes whumpee calm down. They just have to answer questions and they won´t be hurt any further if they answer. It seems there´s no wrong answer, they only need to give them just enough context to see them scribble away something on their notebook.

It´s only a moment of contemplative silence before whumper stands up and thanks whumpee for their cooperation. Pocketing their notebook as they move to the door. 

Whumper doesn´t have to order their henchmen to clean up. They know their boss doesn´t waste words in obvious matters so once the door closes, the sound of a gunshot, of an aborted cry, drowns in the silence of a corridor full of attentive henchmen. Terrified to even breathe the wrong way in their prescence. 

To whumper, this fear is irrational. They have nothing to fear as long as they keep being useful. 

Whumpee who used to be a storyteller, and an amazing one at that. Whumper is a extremely powerful or influential person and wanted the stories all to themselves. So they kidnapped whumpee. Whumpee still gets to tell stories, except what was meant for the world to enjoy is now only for one, and they get tortured terribly if the story isn’t meeting Whumper’s standards.

Stories begin to become boring, dull, repetitive. Their captor is simply bored of them, so like a child poking a dead bug to coax it into moving, they deprive them of water and food, of sunlight, of precious little interactions they had with the servants. Until they’re chained in a closet inside their captor’s room.

They have tried to tell the story of a siren who was kept in a tiny enclosure with little water that ends up killing her. They have tried telling the story of a bird with clipped wings yearning for the sky from inside his cage. Of a seed that grows to become a wonderful rose, until the farmer forgets about watering it because its beauty created an obsession that made him only capable of staring at it until it died. They have tried to tell the story of a storyteller who has no more stories to tell because stories are born from the little things in life, and inside a closet, chained as they were, the storyteller’s narratives became as lonely, as hopelessly boring as the existence of a forgotten coat eaten by moths.

Yet, their captor was like a child. They enjoyed hearing, but they did not understand. They wanted them to provide without understanding why they were unable to.

The storyteller was trapped with an audience who loved the sound of their voice, but didn’t realize it was they themselves who stole it from them.

I would love to see more prisoner clothing concepts. The sheer control by either stripping their clothes down to jeans/undershirts, or changing their clothes all together. Some whumpers have a whole closet of simple tunics for their prisoners, and another closet of all the nice clothes they’ve robbed.

Heh, this gave me the idea of a whumper who keeps a closet with the clothes from the people they kidnap. They usually play nice with their victims, they love that part of a fun, intimate relationship where you lend each other clothes. And they always have the perfect fit for the new victim.

All their victims always are amazed by the size of their closet. Many joking they could start a thrift shop.

All the new victims leave their clothes on the floor. The whumper always diligently makes sure to clean them and hang them next to the last one’s. That’s when it’s time for the smaller closet to be their only options. It’s fine tho, collars and shackles fit almost all necks and wrists anyways.

Mareland 3

I loved @whump-galaxy ‘s prompt (here) and I ended up writing this piece for Mare Land. Salarien is a real cutie.

TW://slavery, human trafficking, abuse, implied and explicit, locked up, burns

Rogue quickly discovered they had to hide Salarien.

When they first got to be their master’s apprentice they were thrilled. They weren’t from a magical upbringing but their parents were happy about their child’s powers. They wanted to use take advantage of them as much as they could by showing their magic and getting money out of the passerby’s pity. But when Rogue turned out to be not very understanding of how to control it, they grew scared. So when the offer came, they sold them off to a rich magician without them knowing. Told them he was taking them as their apprentice.

Before Rogue went with their new master, they hugged their parents and promised to be back soon. Waving goodbye as they excitedly walked by his side.

They tried stuff out of pure curiousity. Everything was new and exciting and their master would watch attentively as they practiced. Despite the ocassional mistake, they were good at magic. Maybe it was because they were too good that they pushed them to the limit.

So when the ceremony of contracts came, Rogue was to summon a special class demon to form a contract with.

Rogue stood in the middle of the room, inside the circle with a vase filled with their blood and chalk. Their master’s other apprentices stood by, already finished with their contracts, watching what kind of demon the master’s favorite would be able to summon.

The boy, barely fifteen at the time, whispered the spell with a hand extended before them and suddenly, the flames in the room turned black.

Rogue recognized immediately they had not summoned just any demon. Not even one of the ten their master had chosen for them. They had called the god of creation Imarillis themself.

“Oh?” A cold voice whispered “It’s been millennia since a mortal could call my name. Who was able to summon me?”

The scent of acrid ammonia filled their nose as a smoke snaked around them. The smoke curled and stopped by their face, before humming unhappily.

“How were you not given a name, child?”

The young magician let out a calculated exhale. “I have chosen one for myself, my lord”

“That, I know” The demon told them, a smile in their voice that made Rogue feel a certain warmth. Attentively, Rogue watched the smoke uncurl and form a body in front of him. Elongated, without any orifices but the mouth, the eyes covered by a web of fingers. The demon had six arms, each holding a tool of their own except the two crossed over their chest. 

“You’re discontent with what you were given, Rogue. Unhappy with what you lack. A creative mind always wanders the limits of reality. You gave yourself a name because what was your reality wasn´t to your satisfaction. Despite being deprived of one of the most basic elements of existance, you persevered”

Not knowing what would be an appropiate response, the boy bowed at the creature, before their chin was lifted to look at the smile in the demon’s face.

“…fu, fu. The world is cruel enough to take from us what we love and need, but we don’t let down a challenge to prove we are stronger than that, don’t we, boy? We shape reality in order to make it suit us better” The demon was blind, but it didn’t matter to the demon of creation when their hands were enough. The demon cupped the boy’s face in their hands, and passed elongated fingers over eyelids, then over their lips and nose. “Those deprived of the most basic are easily drawn into the charms of creation. Pure and theirs. Envy shows in each creation to alter reality” The demon gripped tighter on Rogue´s chin, forcing them to look up to their face, the fingers covering their eyes retreating to let them see the five set of minuscule eyes. 

“No matter what reality you live in, it won´t stop your greed for a world shaped around your desires”

“Will you eat my greed and grant me your favor then, Imarillis?” 

The demon of creation laughed. A soft rumble that chilled Rogue to the bone.

“Are you sure you’re ready to receive my gift?” They whispered, their hands now sliding down their arms, another hand, the one closely folded over its chest moved closer, revealing a knife.

“Yes” the boy extended their arms.

“Very well” was the last thing Imarillis said before it began to carve the contract in Rogue’s skin.

Rogue massaged their hurting arms absent mindedly before Salarien rested his clay hand over it.

“Hurt?” The golem asked, clumsily rubbing its arm against the bandages. Rogue’s lips stretched in a smile.

“I´m ok. It´s just a scratch” they told the small golem before it turned its head back to the bandages.

“There…there” the small creature said, warming Rogue´s heart.

The apprentice rubbed a finger over the golem´s head. “Thanks” they said as the small golem perked up and for a flashing second, Rogue thought it was smiling.

“Rogue! Class´s about to start! Come down here!” Their master called making them jump out of the chair and hurriedly put together their things before they lost their patience again. Before they went through the door they saw Salarien trying to follow them.

Rogue crashed into their own desk trying to save Salarien from jumping down the table. “DON´T DO THAT!” They yelled at the small clay figure that trembled with their screams. Salarien felt a tug in their heart, but put them in the ground “Sorry, just, stay below the bed, ok? It´s safer there” they said before closing the door behind them.

Keep reading

please read the tags for further cw

"It hurts,"

Whumpee was trembling, arms lashed above their head and back in shreds.

Almost reverently, Whumper turns to them, gently cupping their cheek.

"I know," the mutter, warm palm soothing over Whumpee's already flushed skin. "And it will continue to hurt until I get what I want."

"Oh, sweetheart," the newest whumper murmurs, nuzzling gently against the whumpee's neck. Everything in their voice was softness and warmth, their hands rubbing up and down the whumpee's back to soothe their trembling. "When was the last time someone touched you? Held you? When was the last time someone got close without the intention to hurt?"

Question #1

To all of my fellow whump enjoyers I have a question.

When reading, writing, thinking, drawing (etc.) whump, who do you picture yourself as?

Whumper, Whumpee, both?

I'm curious.

Usually a whumper but sometimes a caretaker

YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT?

Whumper cares for whumpee, in a way most Whumper's do, as a pet, object and/or possession, but whumper can't lose whumpee at this point. Perhaps at first it was a game, perhaps at one point he was gonna get rid of whumpee, but that was before the months (however long) he's owned him/kept him captive.

BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I REALLY WANT?

I want whumper to lose whumpee... but not in the ways I've read.

There is a part of whumpee that whumper adores, perhaps it's his selflessness (is he in this position because he saved someone else?) Or maybe it's how fearless or defiant or resilient he is. Or maybe it's just his personality in general or how he can get excited over very little things. Whatever it is that makes whumpee whumpee.

So how does whumper lose whumpee? He loses that precious thing about whumpee that he adored. How does he do that? He breaks him.

But what's so special about that?

I want it to be on accident.

Whumper never planned to break whumpee, just to train/own/possess them. And I don't know what whumper does, maybe it was during a punishment, maybe it was during a reward, maybe whumper was just passing along news about his family and friends from the outside, or maybe just news of the world in general. Whatever it is, just imagine the point where whumpee's heart hurts so bad he feels like he can't breath, there's something stuck in his throat, he couldn't stop the tears as a choked sound escapes his mouth. He clutches at his chest as if that'd stop the pain. His ears are ringing with a thick type of pressure, another choked sound escapes his lips as his whole body begins to tremble.

He can't do this. He can't do this anymore. It was bearable before... he could handle it before... But not now... Not anymore... And as he's sinking in the hurt and pain and as he can barely breathe, a little voice inside him whispers, "turn it off. Welcome the numb. Just turn it off." And he does. You know that moment you can't feel anything at all? Like there's a void where your heart and feelings should be and you know in your head you should care but you don't because at least right now it doesn't hurt? That moment where every. Single. Thing. Is lost, and dying would be too much work, or maybe impossible in the situation, so what else is there than to feel that numb nothing that he so desperately welcomed?

Please imagine whumpee becoming numb and unresponsive. AND THEN IMAGINE WITH ME WHUMPER'S REACTION. AND NO MATTER HOW HE TRIES TO MEND WHAT HE'S DONE, whumpee just doesn't react, or perhaps just reacts on autopilot, doing the bare minimum of the instructions, whumpee follows orders, but it's not whumpee. Not the whumpee whumper knew and monopolized and cherished in his own wicked way.

I WANT THAT MOMENT WHERE WHUMPER THINKS, "I fucked up." "What did I do?" "How could I?"

WHERE WHUMPER PLEADS, "Whumpee, come back to me." "I didn't mean it baby." "I'll treat you better, whumpee, I promise."

I WANT WHUMPER TO THINK WHUMPEE IS GONE. That he may never get his precious little treasure back. And I want whumper to know that IT'S ALL HIS FAULT.

Don't know about the rest of what actually happens. But that...

That's what I want.

Whump Trope I don't see enough of

WHUMPER CUTTING WHUMPEE'S HAIR!!!!! And hair in whump in general.

Where do I even start???