ironwhumper359

[ironwhumper359]

I know there's a well loved niche for royal whump, but lately I've been thinking a lot about royal *guard* whump.

Hurt for being loyal to the old king, punished for doing the thing they were trained to do. Grief-struck at the loss of their fellow guards in combat. Guilt at failing at their most important task: protecting the heart of kingdom.

[ironwhumper359]

Oh, to love a living weapon. A being whose entire identity centers around violence, who finds far too much comfort in being an attack dog, a source of hurt, because embracing violence means they have SOME form of agency. Oh, to love someone who has been broken down for years upon years, until they're more scar than skin. And maybe they don't want to heal. Maybe they don't know how. Maybe they adore their abuser too much to even consider breaking away from them. They have always known that they're something dangerous, and they have finally found someone who is happy to make use of their violence. They're more than willing to be broken down, in exchange for finding a place to belong.

Oh, to love a living weapon. To love a monster, an attack dog. They're kneeling at your feet, and their grin is hesitant, their fingers shaking, because they only ever want to be loved. If you don't provide that affection, they might just fall apart.

You wash the blood off their hands. Whatever messed up dynamic goes on between them and their handler isn't any of your business. You're the one who takes care of them afterwards.

Oh, to love a living weapon. Oh, to kiss their cuts and bruises.

You embrace them for what they are - not despite of it.

[ironwhumper359]

♡ Febuwhump Day 17: Hostage Situation ♡

@febuwhump

Content: Kidnapping, blood, bondage, neglectful team, ransom, whumper turned caretaker

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"You might as well just let me go. They're not coming."

Whumper continues shuffling cards, not looking at Whumpee. "You keep saying that. How can you be so sure?"

"Your asking price is too high."

"Please. Don't try to tell me that your little team is broke. I know that's not true."

"They're not broke. But they won't pay all that just for me. They won't even pay half of that. You're wasting your time. And your chains." Whumpee looks down at their own body, at the way they're bound by miles of chains to the point where they can't move an inch. "Seriously, is all this really necessary?"

"I don't know what you're capable of, and I would rather not find out."

"Hm. Fair enough. Would you believe me if I promised that I'm harmless?"

"No."

"Worth a shot."

They go quiet for a while, the only sounds being Whumper's cards shuffling against the table and the steady drip of blood hitting the floor from Whumpee's injuries. An hour passes before Whumper speaks again.

"You really think they won't pay up?"

"Not for me. Maybe if you'd taken Leader..."

Whumper scoffs. "If I was powerful enough to capture Leader I wouldn't need to be taking hostages for cash in the first place."

"Yeah."

Whumpee's voice is getting softer and more slurred by the second. Whumper had noticed the change happening, but that last word was just pitiful. Whumper stands, going over to check on their hostage. They'd gone pale and the puddle of blood under their chair had grown significantly.

"You're not doing too hot, are you?" Whumper asks, squatting in front of Whumpee.

Whumpee shakes their head.

"At this rate you'll bleed out before anyone comes to save you."

"They're not coming," Whumpee says again, their voice still weak.

Whumper realizes with a start that Whumpee is tearing up. Not in the way that they did when Whumper had roughed them up for the camera. That had just been a pain response. This is genuine emotional distress.

"You're upset."

"Of course 'm upset, asshole," Whumpee slurs, the tears falling. "The fuck do you think I am?"

"Good to see you've still got your fire. But there's no reason to be upset. You're going to be fine."

"Fuck off."

"I mean it. Let's go over your options, hm? One: Your team comes for you and pays your ransom and you get to go home. Two: Your team comes for you, kills me, and you get to go home. Three: Your team doesn't come for you, and you get to stay here with me. You're going to survive no matter what."

"You told them you'd kill me if they don't come before tommorow."

"Yes, well, I was hoping to inspire a sense of urgency. Doesn't seem to have worked. I could kill you, I guess, but I'm starting to get the impression that you may be more useful then that. If your friends abandon you here, that may put you in a position where you're willing to give me some information about them. Saves me having to torture someone for it. Besides, one of my employees just kicked it so I'm in the market for new blood."

"You want me to... work for you?"

"Again, I could kill you instead if you're not going to be useful to me. I'm still deciding."

"I'd be a waste of resources. I'm not good for anything." Whumpee starts to shiver, the chains making soft clinking sounds.

"You believe that? Is that why you think they're not coming for you?"

Whumpee nods.

Something inside Whumper cracks just a little as they stare at Whumpee - pale and trembling with silent tears leaving tracks in the blood and dirt on their face.

"Alright. Let's get you stitched up. You're not bleeding out on my watch. I really don't have the energy to dispose of a body tonight."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[ironwhumper359]

Tenets of Growth: Part 8

Groundwork

First: The Path of Cultivation Prev: Rejoice in Her Pruning || Next: title

CW: conditioning, kneeling, restrained, stress position, drugging, conditioned whumper (whumper is also a whumpee, who believes they are doing the right thing), religious themes, religion used to justify torture, fantasy world.

Word count: 3,500~

Author's Notes: Cedar and Aster together at last...what horrors will be wrought? (many. there will be many horrors. but that's why we're all here, is it not?)

— — —

Cedar was pulled out of his restless sleep by the sound of the cell door opening with an ominous creak. For a moment he lay still, unsure if it would be better to acknowledge the presence of whatever new torment had come for him or to pretend to still be asleep, but before he’d decided what to do, a familiar voice cut through his thoughts. 

“Good morning, Initiate Cedar.” 

Slowly, he opened his eyes to find the girl from the day before standing in the center of the cell. She was dressed in the same robe and belt as before, her sand-colored hair in the same long braid down her back, and her brown eyes were fixed on him. 

“You must be very confused,” the girl continued, her voice as smooth and even as it had been when she’d buried him alive. “Perhaps even afraid. But you have nothing to fear now. The Goddess Perivyta has accepted you into her service, and from this day forward, you will walk her Path of Light.” 

The girl smiled at that, as though it was the best news she’d heard in a long time. 

“You may address me as Lady Aster,” she said. “I will be attending to your Cultivation.” 

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and the girl, Lady Aster, turned. 

“Enter,” she said, and the door swung open. 

A boy who looked a few years younger than Cedar himself entered the room. He was pushing some kind of shelf on wheels, and he kept his head lowered as he approached the girl. 

“Your delivery, my lady,” he said. 

He wheeled the shelf up next to her, then took a step back and sank to his knees, bowing his head low and clasping his hands behind his back. Lady Aster didn’t even look at him, instead turning to inspect the contents of the shelves. Cedar tried to push himself into a sitting position to get a better look himself, but the chains binding his wrists and ankles made it difficult. 

The boy kneeling on the floor glanced up at the sound of the chains rattling. His eyes went wide, almost fearful, as though he’d seen a ghost, but he quickly looked down again, bowing his head even lower than before. 

Cedar frowned. Was the boy like him? A prisoner sent here to serve? But there were no chains on his wrists and no collar around his neck, not even the marks of having worn them recently. And yet he’d looked at Cedar as though he was seeing a dark reflection of himself.

“This is sufficient, Initiate,” Lady Aster said, turning to the boy and nodding. “You are dismissed.” 

The boy smoothly rolled to his feet with his hands still behind his back and he nodded back, never once letting his gaze lift from the floor. 

“Thank you, my lady,” he said, then he turned and left, pulling the door shut behind him. 

Cedar took a deep breath, and forced himself to speak before he lost his nerve.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded. “What kind of punishment is this? What do you want from me?” 

The girl’s expression did not change once during his outburst, and she merely shook her head.

“This is no punishment, Initiate Cedar,” she said. “This is redemption. Were you being punished, you would simply be locked away in prison for the rest of your life, with no opportunity to make your peace with Perivyta. She surely would cast you aside from her Table of Plenty, leaving you to be burned with the Chaff.” 

She smiled again, and there was something unsettling about how peaceful she looked, standing there above him, rambling on about the Goddess and redemption while he was bound in chains. 

“You’ve been given the chance for a new life, to walk a new path. There could be no greater gift.” 

“But what does that mean?” Cedar pleaded. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“Know this, Initiate,” Lady Aster said, a cold edge suddenly in her voice. “Your behavior is being tolerated because you have not yet begun your training. Once we begin, there will be standards for how you conduct yourself, one of which is not speaking unless prompted to do so. Do you understand?” 

Cedar thought of the boy, kneeling in silence and staring at him with a horrified expression and he swallowed, nodding carefully. 

“What will happen is that you will be trained as an Initiate in Perivyta’s Order. You will learn the Goddess’s teachings, and dedicate the rest of your life to her service.” 

She turned away from him, bending slightly to retrieve something from the top shelf of the cart, and Cedar stared at her. The meaning of her words echoed loud and clear in his mind, and his heart sank.

The rest of your life.

They were never going to let him go. 

“When…” he hesitated, taking a deep breath. “When does that start?” 

Lady Aster turned and stepped towards him, a tincture in her hand. 

“It starts now,” she said. “Open your mouth.” 

Cedar wondered briefly what she would do if he refused, but his arms and legs were already shackled, and he was chained to the wall by his neck. Slowly, he opened his mouth, and she squeezed a few drops from the tincture down his throat. 

“What is that for?” he asked, but Lady Aster ignored his question, simply turning away and returning the tincture to its place on the shelf. 

“Your Replanting was a success,” she said, turning back to him. “And you are now a Seed. A seed is the first stage of life for a plant, as an infant is the first stage of life for a man. Thus, as a Seed, you are in the first stage of your walk upon Perivyta’s Path.”

Cedar stared at her, trying to wrap his mind around what she was saying. He understood the literal words, but he had a sudden headache that made it difficult to focus on their meaning.

“A seed cannot grow without proper nourishment,” Lady Aster continued. “And an infant cannot survive without constant care. As a Seed, you are reminded that we are dependent on Perivyta for everything. For food, for water, for your body, for the very air in your lungs.”

Cedar’s head was spinning. He felt nauseous and his heart was racing, and with a start he realized that whatever had been in that tincture was the cause. 

“What did you–” he started, but his words were slurred and his mind was too jumbled to finish the thought. 

The last thing he saw was Lady Aster bending towards him, then the world dissolved into blackness. 

— — — 

Aster bent down, watching Cedar’s face carefully. When his eyes rolled back in his head, she quickly reached forward and unlocked the iron collar from around his neck. She gripped him under his arms and pulled him forward, grunting a little with the effort. The effects of the hydrangea extract wouldn’t last for long, and she wanted to have him in the proper position before he regained control of himself. 

She dragged him into the center of the room and laid him on the floor, then took a chain from the bottom shelf of her supply cart. She locked one end to the cuffs around his ankles and the other to the loop on the floor, securing him in place. Next, she took up a leather collar from the cart and fastened it around his neck, arranging it so that the buckle was on the back of his neck and the loop for a chain was in the front. Cedar began to stir just as she finished chaining the new collar to the floor, and she stepped back, straightening her spine to (hopefully) appear more authoritative. 

“Hnng…wha–?” The youth’s attempt at speech was cut off by a retch, and Aster schooled her face into blankness. She waited for the dry heaving to stop, then she spoke.

“On your knees, Initiate Cedar,” she commanded, just managing to stop herself from adding a ‘please.’ 

Cultivators did not make requests. They gave orders. 

“Please– my stomach hurts,” Cedar groaned, pressing his forehead onto the cold stone floor. 

“I said, on your knees,” Aster said. “The feeling will pass.” 

Cedar looked up at her, his eyes watery and red-rimmed, but she kept her face impassive. After a moment, he grunted and did his best to push himself upright. He struggled to move with his hands behind his back, but Aster made no move to help him. 

He had to see how difficult things were on his own before he could appreciate her guiding hand, and thus, the hand of the Goddess. 

Eventually, he managed to make it onto his knees, but when he tried to lift his head to look at her, the chain on his collar went taut. Aster had to admit, she was impressed. 

The Pruner who had helped put the supplies together for her had specified what each restraint was to be used for, and stressed that she should not interchange them. The chains on his ankle cuffs were long, long enough that if she undid his collar, he could walk a small circle around the center of the room. But the chain on the collar itself was the perfect length to force the head to remain properly bowed, no matter how defiant the wearer may be.

“Today, we will lay the groundwork for your walk on the Path of Perivyta,” Aster said, “as a gardener prepares the soil for planting. You are a Seed now, ready to be planted so that you may grow to be rich and fruitful in her name.” 

She paused, considering her next words. Repetition was the key to imparting the Goddess’s teachings, especially in these early days, but she’d always found rephrasing a statement in different ways to be a more effective way to internalize the meaning. 

“As Seeds, we are reminded of our utter dependence upon Perivyta for every gift of life,” she eventually said. “Without her blessings, we do not eat. We do not drink. We do not move. We do not even draw breath.”

She thought of her recent Pruning, how the loss of her senses had brought clarity to her own dependence on the Goddess. A part of her yearned for Cedar to feel that same loss, to know with every fiber of his being as she had that without Perivyta’s presence, he was truly nothing. 

But no, the boy did not even know how to meditate yet. She could not expect him to have the same enlightening experience she’d had when he was still a novice.

“Your training will begin with meditation,” she said. “Meditation allows us to focus on a particular aspect of Perivyta. Over time, you will meditate on every aspect of the Goddess, on each of the Tenets of Growth, on the purpose of each Path before you, and on the very will of Perivyta herself.”

Cedar shifted, perhaps attempting to relieve the pressure on his knees, and Aster took a breath, forcing her voice to harden. 

“Movement indicates a break in focus and disrupts meditation. Do not do so without my permission again. Nod if you understand.” 

Cedar knit his brow in a frown, but he did nod, a single jerk of his head, and Aster’s heart welled up with sympathy for him. It was hard, in those early days, to hold yourself still. It was even more difficult while kneeling with no mat under you to cushion your joints, but mats and pillows were privileges, privileges that her Initiate would have to earn just as she once had. 

“Meditation is a spiritual experience,” Aster explained once she was certain Cedar wouldn’t fidget again. “Yet it also allows the mind to internalize new information. Your first subject of meditation will be the Vow of a Seed. This is the first of six vows that an Initiate takes while walking the Path of Perivyta.”

Aster inhaled through her nose, resisting her own urge to fidget as she prepared to speak the vow aloud. It felt wrong, somehow, to say the words without the accompanying motion, but it was not her meditation, it was Cedar’s. Lady Lantana had strongly discouraged Aster from demonstrating the proper posture of meditation for Cedar herself, instead instructing her to make use of a Sprout or Bud’s assistance when necessary. Aster had to remain above her charge at all times, just as Perivyta herself was above all humanity. 

“Repeat after me,” Aster instructed. “I am a Seed.”

A beat of silence, then Cedar obeyed. 

“I am a Seed.” 

“As a Seed, I am helpless.”

Cedar squeezed his eyes shut, and Aster held her breath.

“As a Seed, I…am helpless,” he said, his voice a dull monotone. 

Aster could tell that he didn’t like what he was saying, but also that he knew it was true. It was the entire purpose of restraining him; it was impossible to deny his reliance on the Order when he could not even move unaided.   

“I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life,” Aster continued, and Cedar listlessly repeated her words.

“I owe my every breath to Her, and so I give Her thanks,” Aster said, completing the vow. Cedar echoed her, and she nodded. 

“Exactly. Now, again. I am a Seed; as a Seed I am helpless.” 

Cedar took a breath, shaking ever so slightly on the exhale, then he spoke. 

— — — 

Again and again, Lady Aster recited the vow, and again and again, Cedar repeated her words. He clenched his fists behind his back, forcing himself to swallow his pride. He didn’t have to believe the words, he reasoned with himself. Just repeat them convincingly in order to keep this crazy girl satisfied. 

“Now, recite for me the entire vow,” Lady Aster said suddenly, and Cedar swallowed.

“I am a Seed. As a Seed, I am helpless,” he began. “I am…um…” 

He realized with a jolt of nerves that he hadn’t really been paying close attention to every word they’d been saying. 

“I am…uh, dependent on Perivyta for my gift of breath,” he said, knowing even as he spoke that he’d mixed some words around. “I owe my life to Her, and so I give Her thanks.” 

Lady Aster shook her head, and Cedar winced.

“True meditation requires focus, Initiate. You must internalize the meaning of the words, which you cannot do until you have them perfect. I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life. Say it.” 

“I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life,” Cedar repeated. 

“Once more,” Lady Aster commanded, and again he recited the words.

She made him say each line of the vow on its own, over and over until she was satisfied he’d learned it. 

“Now, try it again. Recite the entire vow.” 

Cedar took a deep breath. 

“I am a Seed,” he said slowly. “As a Seed, I am helpless. I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life. I owe my very breath to Her, and so I give Her thanks.”

“Correct,” Lady Aster said, and Cedar breathed a sigh of relief. “Now, you can begin your meditation,” she continued, and Cedar frowned. 

“What? But I–”

“What did I say about speaking?” she asked, and he clamped his mouth shut. “You have learned the shape of the vow. Now, you must learn its meaning.” 

Lady Aster circled him as she spoke, stopping somewhere behind him where he couldn’t see. He wanted to look over his shoulder, to see what she was doing, but he remembered what she had said about moving and forced himself to stay still. 

He had to hold onto the image of the kneeling boy. As horrified as he’d looked, as submissive as he’d been…he hadn’t been bound. 

“To truly understand the vow, you must feel the truth of it deep within yourself. Only then will your spirit align with your words.” 

Just because Cedar was helpless now didn’t mean he always would be. Eventually–

Without warning, Lady Aster grabbed him from behind, her fingers digging into his shoulder. His whole body flinched in response, but her grip only tightened. 

“Struggling will only cause you harm,” she said evenly, and then she pulled the collar around his neck tight against his windpipe. 

Cedar gasped, his arms jerking against their bonds as every thought in his mind was replaced with the instinct to pull the leather away from his throat, but the chains held true, and the more he struggled, the less air he was able to bring into his lungs. 

“Still yourself, Initiate Cedar,” Lady Aster said, her voice infuriatingly calm. 

She circled back around to stand in front of him, looking down at him as he fought for air. 

“Breathe slowly. Feel the strain as your body cries out for air, desperate for life. This is the nature of your soul, of all souls, without the presence of Perivyta to guide us. Do you understand?” 

“Y-yes,” Cedar gasped. He tried to look up and meet her eyes, but the chain on the front of his collar still held fast. “Please…”

“Now, begin your meditation,” Lady Aster ordered, ignoring his plea. “I will keep count of your recitations. If at any point you falter on the words, we will start over from the beginning.” 

Cedar hung his head.

“I– I am a Seed,” he choked out. “As a Seed, I am–” 

He tried to inhale, the short sentence already enough to wind him, but what little air he managed to take in was nowhere near enough. 

“I am helpless. I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life. I owe–” 

He shut his eyes and forced the words out.

“I owe my very breath to Her…and so I give Her thanks.” 

Lady Aster nodded in approval. 

“One,” she said simply. “Again.” 

“I am a Seed. As a Seed, I am helpless. I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life. I owe my very breath to Her, and so I give Her thanks.”

“Two.” 

“I am a Seed. As a Seed, I am helpless. I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life. I owe my very breath to Her, and so I give Her thanks.”

Slowly, the world went fuzzy around the edges, as over and over again, Cedar spoke the words. His mind was spinning, threatening to send him into unconsciousness, but every time he felt himself slip, he dug his nails into his palms. If he slipped away, he might falter, and if he faltered…

He didn’t know what number they were counting to, but he couldn’t start over again. 

He wasn’t sure he’d survive if they did. He wasn’t even sure he’d survive if they didn’t. 

How long, he wondered, could you go on living without air?

“Thirty five. Once more, Initiate,” Lady Aster said, and Cedar braced himself.

“I am a Seed. As a Seed, I am helpless.” He forced his eyes open and looked up at Lady Aster, begging silently with his eyes. “I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life. I owe my very breath to Her, and so I give Her thanks.”

Wordlessly, Lady Aster knelt down in front of him, her eyes locking with his. 

“And so I too give thanks,” she said, then she reached around his neck and loosened the buckle on his collar. 

Air flooded his lungs so quickly that Cedar choked on his first full breath. Lady Aster watched in silence as he coughed and gasped, tears of relief springing to his eyes. He was still lightheaded, but the blackness at the edge of his vision was beginning to retreat, and he could feel some strength returning to his aching limbs. 

“This is the power of Perivyta,” Lady Aster said. “This is the life she gives. Do you feel it coursing through you?” 

Cedar nodded wordlessly, tears of relief welling in his eyes. He’d survived. Not that he thought the girl meant to kill him; in fact, he was almost certain now that he was meant to stay alive. He could sense something in her demeanor, a perverse kind of earnestness that told him that she really, truly believed herself when she said that this was for his own good, that this was a gift. 

“Without her we are nothing; merely husks of what we are meant to be. If we do not let her in, we do not truly live.”

Lady Aster got to her feet, then she stepped behind him again and Cedar’s relief evaporated in an instant.

“No, wait…” he begged, but her hands on his shoulders silenced him. 

“It is through repetition that we reach true understanding,” she said. 

“No, please don’t, please–” 

The collar went tight around his throat, his air and his pleas cut off in one uncaring motion. 

“Begin again,” Lady Aster commanded, and Cedar took a strangled breath. 

“I am a Seed.” 

A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he shut his eyes against the world. 

“As a Seed, I am helpless.”

— — —

Prev: Rejoice in Her Pruning || Next: title

Tenets of Growth Masterlist

Author's Notes: Finally, all the vows and rituals and tenets that I wrote out for Cedar and Aster will start to get some air time! Tagging @whumplr-reader per her request, if you'd like to be tagged as well, let me know!

[ironwhumper359]

Tenets of Growth: Part 8

Groundwork

First: The Path of Cultivation Prev: Rejoice in Her Pruning || Next: title

CW: conditioning, kneeling, restrained, stress position, drugging, conditioned whumper (whumper is also a whumpee, who believes they are doing the right thing), religious themes, religion used to justify torture, fantasy world.

Word count: 3,500~

Author's Notes: Cedar and Aster together at last...what horrors will be wrought? (many. there will be many horrors. but that's why we're all here, is it not?)

— — —

Cedar was pulled out of his restless sleep by the sound of the cell door opening with an ominous creak. For a moment he lay still, unsure if it would be better to acknowledge the presence of whatever new torment had come for him or to pretend to still be asleep, but before he’d decided what to do, a familiar voice cut through his thoughts. 

“Good morning, Initiate Cedar.” 

Slowly, he opened his eyes to find the girl from the day before standing in the center of the cell. She was dressed in the same robe and belt as before, her sand-colored hair in the same long braid down her back, and her brown eyes were fixed on him. 

“You must be very confused,” the girl continued, her voice as smooth and even as it had been when she’d buried him alive. “Perhaps even afraid. But you have nothing to fear now. The Goddess Perivyta has accepted you into her service, and from this day forward, you will walk her Path of Light.” 

The girl smiled at that, as though it was the best news she’d heard in a long time. 

“You may address me as Lady Aster,” she said. “I will be attending to your Cultivation.” 

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and the girl, Lady Aster, turned. 

“Enter,” she said, and the door swung open. 

A boy who looked a few years younger than Cedar himself entered the room. He was pushing some kind of shelf on wheels, and he kept his head lowered as he approached the girl. 

“Your delivery, my lady,” he said. 

He wheeled the shelf up next to her, then took a step back and sank to his knees, bowing his head low and clasping his hands behind his back. Lady Aster didn’t even look at him, instead turning to inspect the contents of the shelves. Cedar tried to push himself into a sitting position to get a better look himself, but the chains binding his wrists and ankles made it difficult. 

The boy kneeling on the floor glanced up at the sound of the chains rattling. His eyes went wide, almost fearful, as though he’d seen a ghost, but he quickly looked down again, bowing his head even lower than before. 

Cedar frowned. Was the boy like him? A prisoner sent here to serve? But there were no chains on his wrists and no collar around his neck, not even the marks of having worn them recently. And yet he’d looked at Cedar as though he was seeing a dark reflection of himself.

“This is sufficient, Initiate,” Lady Aster said, turning to the boy and nodding. “You are dismissed.” 

The boy smoothly rolled to his feet with his hands still behind his back and he nodded back, never once letting his gaze lift from the floor. 

“Thank you, my lady,” he said, then he turned and left, pulling the door shut behind him. 

Cedar took a deep breath, and forced himself to speak before he lost his nerve.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded. “What kind of punishment is this? What do you want from me?” 

The girl’s expression did not change once during his outburst, and she merely shook her head.

“This is no punishment, Initiate Cedar,” she said. “This is redemption. Were you being punished, you would simply be locked away in prison for the rest of your life, with no opportunity to make your peace with Perivyta. She surely would cast you aside from her Table of Plenty, leaving you to be burned with the Chaff.” 

She smiled again, and there was something unsettling about how peaceful she looked, standing there above him, rambling on about the Goddess and redemption while he was bound in chains. 

“You’ve been given the chance for a new life, to walk a new path. There could be no greater gift.” 

“But what does that mean?” Cedar pleaded. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“Know this, Initiate,” Lady Aster said, a cold edge suddenly in her voice. “Your behavior is being tolerated because you have not yet begun your training. Once we begin, there will be standards for how you conduct yourself, one of which is not speaking unless prompted to do so. Do you understand?” 

Cedar thought of the boy, kneeling in silence and staring at him with a horrified expression and he swallowed, nodding carefully. 

“What will happen is that you will be trained as an Initiate in Perivyta’s Order. You will learn the Goddess’s teachings, and dedicate the rest of your life to her service.” 

She turned away from him, bending slightly to retrieve something from the top shelf of the cart, and Cedar stared at her. The meaning of her words echoed loud and clear in his mind, and his heart sank.

The rest of your life.

They were never going to let him go. 

“When…” he hesitated, taking a deep breath. “When does that start?” 

Lady Aster turned and stepped towards him, a tincture in her hand. 

“It starts now,” she said. “Open your mouth.” 

Cedar wondered briefly what she would do if he refused, but his arms and legs were already shackled, and he was chained to the wall by his neck. Slowly, he opened his mouth, and she squeezed a few drops from the tincture down his throat. 

“What is that for?” he asked, but Lady Aster ignored his question, simply turning away and returning the tincture to its place on the shelf. 

“Your Replanting was a success,” she said, turning back to him. “And you are now a Seed. A seed is the first stage of life for a plant, as an infant is the first stage of life for a man. Thus, as a Seed, you are in the first stage of your walk upon Perivyta’s Path.”

Cedar stared at her, trying to wrap his mind around what she was saying. He understood the literal words, but he had a sudden headache that made it difficult to focus on their meaning.

“A seed cannot grow without proper nourishment,” Lady Aster continued. “And an infant cannot survive without constant care. As a Seed, you are reminded that we are dependent on Perivyta for everything. For food, for water, for your body, for the very air in your lungs.”

Cedar’s head was spinning. He felt nauseous and his heart was racing, and with a start he realized that whatever had been in that tincture was the cause. 

“What did you–” he started, but his words were slurred and his mind was too jumbled to finish the thought. 

The last thing he saw was Lady Aster bending towards him, then the world dissolved into blackness. 

— — — 

Aster bent down, watching Cedar’s face carefully. When his eyes rolled back in his head, she quickly reached forward and unlocked the iron collar from around his neck. She gripped him under his arms and pulled him forward, grunting a little with the effort. The effects of the hydrangea extract wouldn’t last for long, and she wanted to have him in the proper position before he regained control of himself. 

She dragged him into the center of the room and laid him on the floor, then took a chain from the bottom shelf of her supply cart. She locked one end to the cuffs around his ankles and the other to the loop on the floor, securing him in place. Next, she took up a leather collar from the cart and fastened it around his neck, arranging it so that the buckle was on the back of his neck and the loop for a chain was in the front. Cedar began to stir just as she finished chaining the new collar to the floor, and she stepped back, straightening her spine to (hopefully) appear more authoritative. 

“Hnng…wha–?” The youth’s attempt at speech was cut off by a retch, and Aster schooled her face into blankness. She waited for the dry heaving to stop, then she spoke.

“On your knees, Initiate Cedar,” she commanded, just managing to stop herself from adding a ‘please.’ 

Cultivators did not make requests. They gave orders. 

“Please– my stomach hurts,” Cedar groaned, pressing his forehead onto the cold stone floor. 

“I said, on your knees,” Aster said. “The feeling will pass.” 

Cedar looked up at her, his eyes watery and red-rimmed, but she kept her face impassive. After a moment, he grunted and did his best to push himself upright. He struggled to move with his hands behind his back, but Aster made no move to help him. 

He had to see how difficult things were on his own before he could appreciate her guiding hand, and thus, the hand of the Goddess. 

Eventually, he managed to make it onto his knees, but when he tried to lift his head to look at her, the chain on his collar went taut. Aster had to admit, she was impressed. 

The Pruner who had helped put the supplies together for her had specified what each restraint was to be used for, and stressed that she should not interchange them. The chains on his ankle cuffs were long, long enough that if she undid his collar, he could walk a small circle around the center of the room. But the chain on the collar itself was the perfect length to force the head to remain properly bowed, no matter how defiant the wearer may be.

“Today, we will lay the groundwork for your walk on the Path of Perivyta,” Aster said, “as a gardener prepares the soil for planting. You are a Seed now, ready to be planted so that you may grow to be rich and fruitful in her name.” 

She paused, considering her next words. Repetition was the key to imparting the Goddess’s teachings, especially in these early days, but she’d always found rephrasing a statement in different ways to be a more effective way to internalize the meaning. 

“As Seeds, we are reminded of our utter dependence upon Perivyta for every gift of life,” she eventually said. “Without her blessings, we do not eat. We do not drink. We do not move. We do not even draw breath.”

She thought of her recent Pruning, how the loss of her senses had brought clarity to her own dependence on the Goddess. A part of her yearned for Cedar to feel that same loss, to know with every fiber of his being as she had that without Perivyta’s presence, he was truly nothing. 

But no, the boy did not even know how to meditate yet. She could not expect him to have the same enlightening experience she’d had when he was still a novice.

“Your training will begin with meditation,” she said. “Meditation allows us to focus on a particular aspect of Perivyta. Over time, you will meditate on every aspect of the Goddess, on each of the Tenets of Growth, on the purpose of each Path before you, and on the very will of Perivyta herself.”

Cedar shifted, perhaps attempting to relieve the pressure on his knees, and Aster took a breath, forcing her voice to harden. 

“Movement indicates a break in focus and disrupts meditation. Do not do so without my permission again. Nod if you understand.” 

Cedar knit his brow in a frown, but he did nod, a single jerk of his head, and Aster’s heart welled up with sympathy for him. It was hard, in those early days, to hold yourself still. It was even more difficult while kneeling with no mat under you to cushion your joints, but mats and pillows were privileges, privileges that her Initiate would have to earn just as she once had. 

“Meditation is a spiritual experience,” Aster explained once she was certain Cedar wouldn’t fidget again. “Yet it also allows the mind to internalize new information. Your first subject of meditation will be the Vow of a Seed. This is the first of six vows that an Initiate takes while walking the Path of Perivyta.”

Aster inhaled through her nose, resisting her own urge to fidget as she prepared to speak the vow aloud. It felt wrong, somehow, to say the words without the accompanying motion, but it was not her meditation, it was Cedar’s. Lady Lantana had strongly discouraged Aster from demonstrating the proper posture of meditation for Cedar herself, instead instructing her to make use of a Sprout or Bud’s assistance when necessary. Aster had to remain above her charge at all times, just as Perivyta herself was above all humanity. 

“Repeat after me,” Aster instructed. “I am a Seed.”

A beat of silence, then Cedar obeyed. 

“I am a Seed.” 

“As a Seed, I am helpless.”

Cedar squeezed his eyes shut, and Aster held her breath.

“As a Seed, I…am helpless,” he said, his voice a dull monotone. 

Aster could tell that he didn’t like what he was saying, but also that he knew it was true. It was the entire purpose of restraining him; it was impossible to deny his reliance on the Order when he could not even move unaided.   

“I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life,” Aster continued, and Cedar listlessly repeated her words.

“I owe my every breath to Her, and so I give Her thanks,” Aster said, completing the vow. Cedar echoed her, and she nodded. 

“Exactly. Now, again. I am a Seed; as a Seed I am helpless.” 

Cedar took a breath, shaking ever so slightly on the exhale, then he spoke. 

— — — 

Again and again, Lady Aster recited the vow, and again and again, Cedar repeated her words. He clenched his fists behind his back, forcing himself to swallow his pride. He didn’t have to believe the words, he reasoned with himself. Just repeat them convincingly in order to keep this crazy girl satisfied. 

“Now, recite for me the entire vow,” Lady Aster said suddenly, and Cedar swallowed.

“I am a Seed. As a Seed, I am helpless,” he began. “I am…um…” 

He realized with a jolt of nerves that he hadn’t really been paying close attention to every word they’d been saying. 

“I am…uh, dependent on Perivyta for my gift of breath,” he said, knowing even as he spoke that he’d mixed some words around. “I owe my life to Her, and so I give Her thanks.” 

Lady Aster shook her head, and Cedar winced.

“True meditation requires focus, Initiate. You must internalize the meaning of the words, which you cannot do until you have them perfect. I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life. Say it.” 

“I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life,” Cedar repeated. 

“Once more,” Lady Aster commanded, and again he recited the words.

She made him say each line of the vow on its own, over and over until she was satisfied he’d learned it. 

“Now, try it again. Recite the entire vow.” 

Cedar took a deep breath. 

“I am a Seed,” he said slowly. “As a Seed, I am helpless. I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life. I owe my very breath to Her, and so I give Her thanks.”

“Correct,” Lady Aster said, and Cedar breathed a sigh of relief. “Now, you can begin your meditation,” she continued, and Cedar frowned. 

“What? But I–”

“What did I say about speaking?” she asked, and he clamped his mouth shut. “You have learned the shape of the vow. Now, you must learn its meaning.” 

Lady Aster circled him as she spoke, stopping somewhere behind him where he couldn’t see. He wanted to look over his shoulder, to see what she was doing, but he remembered what she had said about moving and forced himself to stay still. 

He had to hold onto the image of the kneeling boy. As horrified as he’d looked, as submissive as he’d been…he hadn’t been bound. 

“To truly understand the vow, you must feel the truth of it deep within yourself. Only then will your spirit align with your words.” 

Just because Cedar was helpless now didn’t mean he always would be. Eventually–

Without warning, Lady Aster grabbed him from behind, her fingers digging into his shoulder. His whole body flinched in response, but her grip only tightened. 

“Struggling will only cause you harm,” she said evenly, and then she pulled the collar around his neck tight against his windpipe. 

Cedar gasped, his arms jerking against their bonds as every thought in his mind was replaced with the instinct to pull the leather away from his throat, but the chains held true, and the more he struggled, the less air he was able to bring into his lungs. 

“Still yourself, Initiate Cedar,” Lady Aster said, her voice infuriatingly calm. 

She circled back around to stand in front of him, looking down at him as he fought for air. 

“Breathe slowly. Feel the strain as your body cries out for air, desperate for life. This is the nature of your soul, of all souls, without the presence of Perivyta to guide us. Do you understand?” 

“Y-yes,” Cedar gasped. He tried to look up and meet her eyes, but the chain on the front of his collar still held fast. “Please…”

“Now, begin your meditation,” Lady Aster ordered, ignoring his plea. “I will keep count of your recitations. If at any point you falter on the words, we will start over from the beginning.” 

Cedar hung his head.

“I– I am a Seed,” he choked out. “As a Seed, I am–” 

He tried to inhale, the short sentence already enough to wind him, but what little air he managed to take in was nowhere near enough. 

“I am helpless. I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life. I owe–” 

He shut his eyes and forced the words out.

“I owe my very breath to Her…and so I give Her thanks.” 

Lady Aster nodded in approval. 

“One,” she said simply. “Again.” 

“I am a Seed. As a Seed, I am helpless. I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life. I owe my very breath to Her, and so I give Her thanks.”

“Two.” 

“I am a Seed. As a Seed, I am helpless. I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life. I owe my very breath to Her, and so I give Her thanks.”

Slowly, the world went fuzzy around the edges, as over and over again, Cedar spoke the words. His mind was spinning, threatening to send him into unconsciousness, but every time he felt himself slip, he dug his nails into his palms. If he slipped away, he might falter, and if he faltered…

He didn’t know what number they were counting to, but he couldn’t start over again. 

He wasn’t sure he’d survive if they did. He wasn’t even sure he’d survive if they didn’t. 

How long, he wondered, could you go on living without air?

“Thirty five. Once more, Initiate,” Lady Aster said, and Cedar braced himself.

“I am a Seed. As a Seed, I am helpless.” He forced his eyes open and looked up at Lady Aster, begging silently with his eyes. “I am dependent on Perivyta for every gift of life. I owe my very breath to Her, and so I give Her thanks.”

Wordlessly, Lady Aster knelt down in front of him, her eyes locking with his. 

“And so I too give thanks,” she said, then she reached around his neck and loosened the buckle on his collar. 

Air flooded his lungs so quickly that Cedar choked on his first full breath. Lady Aster watched in silence as he coughed and gasped, tears of relief springing to his eyes. He was still lightheaded, but the blackness at the edge of his vision was beginning to retreat, and he could feel some strength returning to his aching limbs. 

“This is the power of Perivyta,” Lady Aster said. “This is the life she gives. Do you feel it coursing through you?” 

Cedar nodded wordlessly, tears of relief welling in his eyes. He’d survived. Not that he thought the girl meant to kill him; in fact, he was almost certain now that he was meant to stay alive. He could sense something in her demeanor, a perverse kind of earnestness that told him that she really, truly believed herself when she said that this was for his own good, that this was a gift. 

“Without her we are nothing; merely husks of what we are meant to be. If we do not let her in, we do not truly live.”

Lady Aster got to her feet, then she stepped behind him again and Cedar’s relief evaporated in an instant.

“No, wait…” he begged, but her hands on his shoulders silenced him. 

“It is through repetition that we reach true understanding,” she said. 

“No, please don’t, please–” 

The collar went tight around his throat, his air and his pleas cut off in one uncaring motion. 

“Begin again,” Lady Aster commanded, and Cedar took a strangled breath. 

“I am a Seed.” 

A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he shut his eyes against the world. 

“As a Seed, I am helpless.”

— — —

Prev: Rejoice in Her Pruning || Next: title

Tenets of Growth Masterlist

Author's Notes: Finally, all the vows and rituals and tenets that I wrote out for Cedar and Aster will start to get some air time! Tagging @whumplr-reader per her request, if you'd like to be tagged as well, let me know!

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #tenets of growth #aster #cedar #religious whump #conditioning #chained #forced to kneel #lady whumper #forced to whump #whumpee turned whumper #restrained

[ironwhumper359]

The second wave (Eva & the Collector) - Masterlist

Synopsis

Whumpee (Eva) is a morally grey protagonist turned victim. She was ruthless one time too many and scared the hell out of her own allies and team (Clara and “the chickens”), and was thus betrayed/sold by them to the antagonist (The Collector). Watch her get out of this lovely situation and make her former friends pay.

Contains betrayal, angst, lab whump, whumpee turned whumper, revenge arch, dehumanisation, very angry main character (oh you won’t blame her).

Chapters (work in progress: to my great chagrin, this story does come in random snippets rather than with a planned plot, sorry about that)

Bunker arch - Eva prisoner

Pilot: nowhere to run

Pilot follow up one - two - three

Truce arch - Eva and Collector collaboration

AMOW n.2

Revenge arch - hunting chickens

“Where are they”

“I thought you were dead”

“No one will believe you”

“This was always going to happen”

“Okay, maybe I didn’t want to do that actually”

Back to the bunker

Clara back with the Collector

“Is that blood”

“We can’t all win”

Art: Eva | Muzzled

Tag list: @whump-in-the-closet

[ironwhumper359]

[ironwhumper359]

You know what I really like? The lingering aftereffects of whump, a permanent change that will never be the way it was even after they're home and safe. Not just the scars and the nightmares, but a change in the fabric of who they are.

A change in Whumpee's diet because their organs have been damaged. A self-soothing habit they bring home with them. A submissive mannerism trained into them that they struggle to train themselves back out of.

They may have gotten away from Whumper. Whumper may be gone, may even be dead. But they are still indelibly marked.

[ironwhumper359]

The Raid

CW: kidnapped whumpee, conditioned/helpless whumpee, pirate whumper, mermaid whumpee, anxiety, language barriers, whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper, a teensy bit of dehumanization, character death

Whumpee shivers in fear as yet another blast sounds from above deck, rattling the entire ship and creating a ripple in the wooden tub that had served as her prison for gods know how long. She sinks as far underwater as she can get, taking deep breaths through her gills in a last-ditch attempt to calm down.

BOOM! Her sanctuary is shaken, and through the water Whumpee can make out muffled shouting. They sound angry. Her breathing grows quicker. THUD! A body falls to the ground right above the room where she is being held. In shock, she pops her head above the water as if she could see what was happening, and within seconds, another BLAST sends her underwater again.

She hugs her tail as best as she can with it being chained to the side of the tub. Whatever was happening up there, it wouldn’t end well for Whumpee. The Captain doted on her, claiming that she was their crew’s most precious treasure, but she felt a lot more like a punching bag.

She had long since accepted her helplessness. If there was a mutiny, frustration would eventually be taken out on Whumpee. If the crew was being raided or attacked, and the ship sunk, she would not be able to unlock the chain that confines her to this cabin, and would be doomed to starve. Even if she was so well behaved, even when the crew was getting along and living lavishly, a reason would still be found to torment her. To pirates like them, treasure was nothing other than spoils of battle to admire and play with.

She is torn out of her thoughts by the sound of footsteps making their way towards the Captain’s cabin. There are no more blasts, but Whumpee hears unfamiliar voices arguing with Captain Whumper just outside.

“It’s over…” Whumpee has only learned a bit of the common tongue, Alman, since being in captivity, but she hangs onto every word she can, placing her hands on the edge of the tub to get closer to the door, “give…everything you have and we…allow…on a lifeboat…”

Whumper says something too quiet for Whumpee to make out, but it angers whoever is attacking. Blades are suddenly clashing against each other, and water sloshes as Whumpee jumps back. Oh gods, oh gods, Whumpee’s mind is racing and the ship is being raided and Whumper is upset and what if she’s stolen again–Whumper and the crew are going to be so so so mad either way.

She is so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t even realize that the commotion has stopped. After a few moments of silence, she hears shuffling around the room, no speaking, not any she can make out anyways. Drawers opening, keys jangling, and more footsteps up on the main deck. Uncertainty hangs in the air, seeping into her days-old water and making it feel acidic against her scales.

Keys are shoved into the door to her tiny cabin off of the Captain’s. Involuntarily, Whumpee whimpers and shuts her eyes. She typically dreads each time the door clicks unlocked, but this time, she really hopes it’s Captain Whumper. She can’t bear to be stolen again.

The door creaks open, and Whumpee holds her breath.

“Shit…” the unfamiliar voice muses, obviously taking in the sight of a mermaid before them. It was going to happen again, and just like last time, she had no way out. “Whumper…lying…quite the collection.” Whumpee tries to keep up with the Alman grammar, but the voice speaks with a dialect and she can’t understand. Would she have to learn another language now?

She slowly opens her eyes to see a humanoid figure with long, curly dark hair. Their hair, along with their face and clothes, are plastered with blood and soot, and in the distance, Captain Whumper has been impaled, laying face down on the carpet he once punished Whumpee for spilling ale on. Everything goes numb. Whumper is dead.

“…little one?” The figure asks, and Whumpee’s heart drops into her stomach. She wasn’t listening.

“U-uh, sorry,” she struggles to find the words in her haze. So many things are happening at once, and she can’t move or think. She averts her eyes to the water,  “did not…hear, sorry.”

The figure crouches down a bit closer, blocking Whumpee’s view of the dead Captain, and Whumpee’s shoulders tense. “It’s alright. I just asked…name?”

“Name…name is Whumpee…” she paused, unsure of how to address her new captor. Would they even capture her? Whumpee notices the glint of another dagger at the person’s hip. Or…would they just kill her like they did with Whumper?

“Alright, Whumpee…is that name Aquan?” The figure questions, and Whumpee nods sheepishly. “I never…Aquan…talk to our Captain later.” Whumpee’s eyes dart to where Captain Whumper is lying dead behind the figure. “Hey…it’s okay.” They pause, looking down at the bruises that litter her skin, the chain around her sprained tail, her swollen gills and bloodshot eyes, and let out a sigh. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”

Whumpee’s eyes well up with tears. She has been hurt. So much. She nods again, much faster this time.

“…Well listen, once…clear out…get some help…healing…okay?” Another nod from Whumpee. All she can do is nod now, her mind racing with thoughts of Whumper’s death and being punished for the blood on the carpet and this raider asking her questions and her water being dirty and being hurt for so long and it’s all too much. But healing and help…sounds nice. Even if it means being captured once more.

“Caretaker!” someone yells out, and the figure looks behind them.

Another raider enters the small room, glancing surprisedly at the mermaid before conversing too quickly for Whumpee to understand. The conversation ends with a hearty laugh from Caretaker and they turn to the wooden tub once more. “We…business…but I promise after…help get the chain off…to our ship.” Caretaker takes Whumpee’s frail hand in theirs and squeezes gently. “…be right back.”

Caretaker exits and shuts the door to shield Whumpee’s eyes from the dead Captain, but the clicking of the lock isn’t heard. Still feeling overwhelmed, Whumpee sinks under the water once more, curls into her tail, and lets out a sob.

[ironwhumper359]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 19 - Left Behind

(luckily he was found after a few days, before he was too much dehydrated)

[ironwhumper359]

the one thing i did draw digitally while being taken care of in a clinic, was "vessel" their new , more offical, name i guess, since we usually only called them nichizora as far as we could tell they existed to some extend its a messy drwaing, just like any other drawing of vessel, but i love the shakels and how they came out this time around, the softness of it all due to the glows and such :) -liam

[ironwhumper359]

├┬┴┬|•⊖•) ├┬┴┬| art tag: @whumpsday @whumplr-reader @burnticedlatte @yet-another-heathen

[ironwhumper359]

Kinktober 20: Cell by 67percentobsession

[ironwhumper359]

Hallow Island, Masterlist

CW: Enslaved, auctioned, caretaker/whumper in one package (caring/possessive)

Part 1: The Plane

Part 2: The Cell

Part 3: The Inspector

Part 4: The Auction (Coming soon)

[ironwhumper359]

Fire Down Below

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below |

CW: Dehumanizing language, prolonged repeated choking, nonhuman whumpee, angry whumper, restrained, hanged (no death), captivity

-

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Gilly leaned forward, the wooden chair he sat on creaking alarmingly under the shift in weight, rocking slightly forward onto the one leg that was shorter than the other three for no discernable or understandable reason.

It’d been a free chair, though, so… there was that. 

He held up one hand, thumb curled over a bent forefinger, middle, ring, and pinkie fingers straight up in the air. 

The siren stared back at him, only its eyes, nose, and wet curls above the washtub’s water line. He could just barely see the strap of the gag curving around the back of its head, the barest hint of the wood visible through the increasingly dirtied water. It made no movement, no sound. 

Honestly, if he hadn’t known what it was, he might have felt some sense of guilt or a prickling at his conscience. It looked so human. As if he’d found a beautiful youth and abducted him for nefarious purposes, like in the scandalous penny awfuls he sometimes bought during times in port and read on lonely nights on the ship. He might imagine himself the villain of such a tale, if the creature had been a person.

“How many?” He repeated.

The thing did not respond. It only blinked, once. 

Gilly sighed. “Must you make this as difficult as possible, thing?”

No answer. But he could see the curve of its plush top lip over the bit between its teeth, the way it wanted to sneer and snarl at him, and he would not bear that disrespect.

“Fine. Have it your way.” Gilly wrapped the rope around his hand again and again that led up to the ceiling where his rough-hewn pulley-system had been rigged, leading back down to the rough, coarse rope knotted tight around the stupid creature’s throat. 

This it understood, and only this. It did not learn without violence. Not that Gilly had tried too many other options.

As soon as he pulled hard enough to tighten the loop a fraction around its neck, the creature shot further up to give itself slack, but Gilly only followed its movements with his own, pulling with one hand and then another to ensure that once it stood it could not hide itself again.

It was dripping, well-formed body naked as a newborn babe, and Gilly once again mourned that he had had the piss-poor luck to catch a male one and not a female. The monster croaked around its gag, in a cracking voice, “Th-eeee.”

“Good,” Gilly said, voice short and sharp. 

He let the rope go slack again.

The creature dropped right back down as far as he would let it go, until it was only bared to him from the ribcage up. It hid itself, always, whenever it could. As if it felt his eyes, as if it cared a single bit about modesty. Sirens were simply animals mimicking a human shape, everyone knew that. The intelligence he saw in those dark eyes was a false one, a trick. Only madmen thought sirens were thinking beings, madmen who sailed off to the islands the sirens were known to stay on, wanting to communicate or connect with their so-called ‘communities’.

Those madmen never returned, or the ones who did claimed to have found nothing at all, simply bare rock and empty bushes.

“Again,” Gilly said, and held up all the fingers on one hand this time. He kept his other hand tight around the rope, in a subtle, wordless threat.

The creature swallowed - with difficulty, the noose was still too tight for comfort even as the rope slackened - and managed, “F-eye-fff.”

“Close enough,” Gilly muttered, but he was secretly pleased. The longer it was trapped in the washtub, a mere speck of water compared to the vast oceans it had known before, the more it cooperated, the more it gave in to Gilly’s demands. 

Eventually, it would need to understand him well enough to do his bidding, but until then… until then, they had to move slowly. He couldn’t do anything anyway until the magic had been laid to make the creature more fully his to command.

Outside, there was a creaky, high-pitched voice, the old woman calling in baby-speak to her infernal little dog with its yapping ankle-bites and ridiculous smushed-in face. The siren’s eyes flickered to the window, its head turning with a simple, open curiosity and wonder.

It was a deeply human expression, and Gilly felt a thrill of fury and something he refused to feel as guilt for what he’d done in bringing it here. So he yanked so hard on the rope the siren choked.

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at its aborted, hoarse cry of pain. Its attention certainly left the window and the sounds outside, didn’t it? And the cries of pain it made were nearly as beautiful as its wicked, tempting songs at sea.

His smile widened as he pulled, stalwart and resolute, with one hand and then another. First its navel was bared to the air, then the mimickry of a man between its legs, those long muscled thighs, water running in rivers down shapely calves and finally to its feet. Gilly’s arms shook despite the years of work on ships he’d done to build his strength, but he kept pulling, and the creature kept rising.

Its cries became shorter, whistling and airless, and then turned to nothing more than gasps. The rope was tight just under its jaw, one strong jerk from broken, like a convict hung on the gallows before a crowd. 

But Gilly was the only audience to the show.

The siren’s arms jerked, hands twisting its wrists still bound behind its back. They were already rubbed raw to bleeding and yet still it kept struggling, legs moving uselessly, fighting to breathe when its throat was nearly closed entirely.  

“Don’t worry about her,” Gilly said, in a tone of utmost genial friendliness. “She can’t hear you, and she doesn’t care about you anyway. None of them do, they just don’t care. Even if she did know what I’ve got here, what could she really do, hm? Make me leave my home here, to be sure, but what else? What would happen to you?”

The siren’s face was going dark, blood rushing into its cheeks as Gilly stood and braced his feet shoulder width apart for a better, stronger grip. He didn’t need to do this - he should stop, he would never have treated any dog, cat, or horse with such cruelty - but somehow he couldn’t.

He couldn’t stop watching its eyes go wide and frightened, then hazy as the world began to darken for it. As it stared into the death that he could give it, so easily, just by staying put like this, just by letting it dangle until there was nothing left in it but its pretty, pointless skin.

Gilly felt nearly as breathless himself, although with excitement, not with fear. He had never had power of any creature, not this sort of power. Not the power to simply take a life with no rhyme or reason, only his own desires. 

He let go, abruptly, and the rope slid hot through his hands as the creature crashed back into the washing-tub, dirty water splashing up over the sides from the violence of its landing. 

Its legs crumpled and it disappeared entirely at first, before it pushed itself back up, sucking in gulps of air and coughing, over and over in a vicious cycle. His ribcage swelled and pulled so tight the bones were visible, again and again. Its face was still red, its neck was dark as sin itself with blood running down where the rope had rubbed right through its skin. 

When Gilly moved closer, the creature flinched backwards until it smacked into the other side of the washing-tub, hunched over itself protectively, looking up at him with its dark curls over its eyes. 

It was finally truly terrified of him, after days of this.

Exactly how it should be.

He pointed to the washing-tub, the dirtied water inside it. “The water is dirty,” He said, over-emphasizing each word as if he spoke to an idiot child or a very dumb puppy. “It needs to be cleaned.” 

It swallowed, wincing at the pain even such a simple involuntary motion caused. There was no sign it understood, beyond the way its eyes flickered to one side, where he had forced it to stand in the past in the corner while he emptied the tub out and refilled it clean. 

“Yes,” Gilly said, pointing now into the same corner. “Go there.” When it didn’t immediately move, he snapped, “Now!”

The siren hurriedly half-fell over the side of the tub, landing without dignity with a thump on its side, making Gilly laugh at the sight of it wiggling to get back on its feet with its hands still tied behind its back. It skittered away from him, more bug than humanoid thing, until it was in the shadowy corner where he had pointed it to. 

“Good. Now stay there.”

He took the rope, changing it so it hung from a different hook, pulling it tight enough that the siren was forced to dance on its tiptoes to keep breathing, and tied it off. Now it couldn’t move. Stupid monster couldn’t even think well enough around its fight for air to try anything.

Which was good, because changing the water was a chore he did not enjoy, and his mood was already dark today. He didn’t need it to get any worse. He’d put way too much time and effort into training the creature to accidentally kill it or something if it upset him too much.

“I know you don’t like that,” He said, almost conversationally, as he moved to open the window. “And if you want to make it stop…”

Its voice was barely a hiss as it echoed, “May-... t-ah-p,” unable to pronounce the sss or k sound around the bit gag.

“Right. Well, you’ll have to start learning faster and start listening to me, won’t you? I wouldn’t have to do any of this if you would just understand me and obey the first time, instead of making it a fight.”

It blinked again.

Gilly had to fight the resurgence of his fury at its simple refusal to listen and learn, reminding himself that he had work to do, and he couldn’t have a nap until he had finished cleaning out its water.

There was a slight downhill slope outside, and so he simply took a bucket and began to bail the washing-tub out, tossing each bucket of dirty water outside to let it run down into the widow’s garden below. The bits of fish parts would help the plants to grow, he supposed. Although in this hot climate, it didn’t help the place smell any better. Not that you couldn’t smell the manure from the animals that lived in the barn, anyway…

He lost himself in the work, as always, simply drifted into a place of contentment even as sweat beaded up on his skin and trickled down his neck and his back. Sometimes, he paused just to watch the siren where it stood, making hoarse little guttural noises, moving from one set of toes to the other, tears trickling from the corners of its eyes down over its beautifully wrought cheekbones, its jawline, and to the floor below. 

“I suppose you need a name,” He said, thoughtfully, once he had emptied the tub, scrubbed it out, and then worked to dry it with a towel. In a moment he’d have to head down to the water pump to start the refilling process, but he allowed himself a break to wipe away his sweat and push up his glasses, watching the suffering siren. It watched him back, even though the rope kept its chin tipped up trying to escape the constriction. It whined, like a whipped dog, and Gilly shook his head. 

It was even trying to mimic other animals, now, to get him to be kinder.

“I was thinking… the people here before the colony was founded, they had a dance called areyto. I think that’s what I’ll call you… Areyto, because once you’re strung up like this, you dance.”

He laughed.

“We’ll work on teaching you your name tomorrow, I think.”

He headed out to start working on bringing in fresh water. It took nearly as long as cleaning the damn thing out had taken, and each time he left and came back the siren’s movements were slower, more exhausted, the fight to breathe taking more and more out of it. Blood began to dry where the ropes had rubbed, and so did its tears. 

By the time the water was clean, it had to move on its knees, hunched over, inch by tired inch until it made it to the metal sides of the tub. Gilly kept the rope in hand, ready to punish, but it had no fight left, not now. He watched those powerful leg muscles shake as it pushed itself clumsily to its feet, and then simply allowed itself to fall over the side and into the water.

It did not resurface.

Gilly tied the rope back off in its usual place, cleaned the splashed-out water with the still-damp towel, and walked out whistling cheerfully, closing the door and locking it behind him.

They were definitely making progress.

Once Atabei came from the northern colonies, her magic would make sure he didn’t have to worry about the monster trying to hurt him, and he could finally start laying his plans out for a gilded, influential future.

-

Taglist: @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam

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Note: Although I am not planning any specific @whumptober this year, this piece ended up covering the first three prompts!

[ironwhumper359]

The Irons

cw: torture, burning, threats, adult language, implied Stockholm Syndrome

Secrecy Masterlist

• • •

He'd never heard him scream before.

The sound was something sharp and unsettling; the voice that made corrections and threats, that gave orders or spoke in gentle whispers, turned mangled and rising and pained.

And all Ander could do was watch, biting down on his gag and doing everything he could to keep his expression stony. It would be his turn next, and he knew be had to hold onto his composure as long as he could.

A mission had gone wrong. 

It happened now and then. Their job was just too dangerous for everything to go right all the time. But this was the first time their adversaries had gotten ahold of him and Shepard together.

Ander clenched his jaw as the masked man pulled an iron from the fire and pressed its glowing tip into Shepard's lower back, a new burn joining the dozen-or-so already scattered across his master's flesh and dragging out another ragged scream.

The guys who had them were shitty interrogators, but they knew how to cause pain.

The masked man's partner, a middle-aged man with a dark goatee, knelt in front of Ander, yanking the gag out of his mouth.

“Anything you want to tell me, boy?”

Ander's upper lip curled back into a snarl. He said nothing. With their crude methods, he wouldn't be surprised if these two had never actually questioned anyone before. They were probably just enforcers for the mob subsect Black Kite was assigned to collect intel from. Torturers who were used to making an example out of someone, not getting answers.

Goatee grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to look in Shepard's direction as the masked man laid the glowing rod across his back, hitting a row of smaller burns like a sick game of connect-the-dots. This time, Shepard’s scream seemed to taper off at the end, his body sagging in its chains.

Goatee let out an irritated sigh, releasing Ander. “Get him down and wake him up. It's the little one's turn anyway.”

Ander's stomach churned with sour anticipation as the masked man unlocked the cuffs that circled Shepard’s wrists, letting his body hit the ground limply. Under the layers of fear and sick worry for what was to come, Ander thought he should feel at least a little vindicated seeing Shepard be the one in pain for once.

But he didn't. Even with the bad side of their history, there was also the good, there was also his unshakable attachment to the only real connection he'd had in years. Looking at Shepard’s form as he was dragged across the room and re-chained to the wall, he felt no satisfaction. Only unease, only whatever feeling paired with the words, don't hurt him.

Goatee unlocked Ander's chains and hauled him over to the spot Shepard had vacated, fastening dangling cuffs to his wrists and pulling the chains taut until Ander's arms were forced above his head and his feet hardly touched the ground. He was left hanging there until the masked man managed to revive Shepard, tension already forming in his shoulders, fingers already tingling with numbness.

His master stirred, a tangible sharpness coming to his eyes as he opened them.

“Welcome back,” Goatee said, standing in front of him with his arms crossed. “It’s your friend's turn to suffer, unless you'd rather tell me who sent you. What do you say?”

Nothing. Shepard didn't reply, his face cool as stone.

They both knew how this would go. As spies, they couldn't let anything slip. Lost secrets led to unimaginable ruin. No matter how much pain they were dealt, they'd hold out. Lying wouldn't work. Only silence. Begging or compliance wouldn't save them. Only escape.

Ander focused on his breathing as the masked man pulled the iron from the fire, trying to remove himself from the moment like Shepard had taught him.

Focus on the static in his hands, on the pull in his shoulders. On the brilliant orange as it got closer and closer—

Ander screamed as the glowing tip burned a mark into his ribs, any illusion of control torn away by inescapable pain.

He grit his teeth and beat it back, forcing his mind into the pain itself, tracing its path through his body, skin to nerves to brain.

It's just a signal. It's nothing, it's just a signal to the mind.

Ander clenched his fists, leaning against the chains and panting as the feeling faded from blaze to ember.

When he looked up, he found Shepard still and impassive.

He didn't expect anything less.

“Nothing?” Goatee planted a kick into his master's side, getting nothing but a grunt in response. He nodded to the masked man.

“Jab him again.”

And he did.

Again and again, like he was painting Ander's side in reddened burns one dot at a time. The spy screamed until his throat was raw and his head was swimming and his vision blurred with tears he was careful not to shed.

He tried leaning into the mental exercises, into the detachment, but he just wasn't good enough. He wasn't Shepard.

And with the pain came a layer of unreasonability.

An aching desire for Shepard to scream for the masked man to stop, for him to hold Ander close and tend his wounds. But such weakness was only allowed behind closed doors.

He found Shepard’s face through smearing vision. Stone and ice, refusing to crack. Ander wondered if he felt anything underneath it. Was it just a protective mask, or did it seep all the way through, encasing Shepard’s bones in frost?

Ander was vaguely aware of shackles unlocking, of the ground rushing up to meet him, of the impact on stone that he barely felt past the burns.

Goatee dragged him back to the wall, chaining him beside Shepard.

Too far to reach him, Ander thought. Too far to be held. Not that Shepard would ever do such a thing. If any comfort was to be found, it was waiting behind endurance and work and blood.

“I'd love to continue this chat, but my friend and I have earned a break. What do you say we pick this up in the morning?” Goatee crossed his arms with a smile, leaning against the wall, towering over Ander. “I think tomorrow my friend wants to flay someone. Maybe just a piece of your back. Maybe he'll skin your entire arm. Who knows?”

Ander tried to suppress a shudder at the thought. Fuck, that would be too much for him to take. Too much for him to even witness.

“My friend has a hard time making decisions though. I know he won't be able to choose who he's skinning alive, so why don't you two give him a hand? You.” He pointed at Shepard. “Tell me which one of you it's going to be.”

Ander didn't dare look back at his master. He didn't want to see if Shepard’s face was contemplating or unchanged, he didn't want to—

“Him,” Shepard said in a voice devoid of emotion, and Ander had to clench his fists so tightly his nails cut his palms to keep his face neutral, to keep from betraying the way the word went straight to his heart.

Him. Shepard answered so easily. No struggle, no attempt at sacrifice, at protecting him, and Ander knew he shouldn't have expected differently, but when your lover and master and tormenter were all one and the same, lines blurred. Things hurt, even when by now, he should be used to it.

Goatee hmmed in a way that almost sounded impressed. “Him it is. I'll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams.”

Ander tucked his legs into his chest as the pair left, pressing his forehead into his knees as hard as he could, like the pressure could keep his emotions bottled. Fuck. Fuck, Shepard would just give him up like that, watch him be skinned and not even blink, not even—

“Little spy.”

The words were almost too soft to make out, but Ander stilled, then uncurled himself, looking towards Shepard.

“Haven't I taught you better?” Shepard was half-standing, his wrists bent around his manacles in such a way it must've been painful. “Take any opening.” One of the cuffs opened with a click.

Ander let out a shaky breath. “I—I thought—”

“No one's getting skinned.” Shepard's other wrist fell free, and he stood, leaning heavily on the wall and fixing Ander with a sharp look. “Free yourself.”

With what? What little tools he'd smuggled in had been lost when the two of them were stripped and frisked by their captors.

An irritated look fell over Shepard’s face when Ander hesitated, and he moved closer to press a needle into his hand. “If you were taken alone, you'd be losing your flesh in the morning,” he hissed under his breath. “Free yourself.”

Ander forced himself into a crouch, ignoring the burning in his side as the damaged skin there stretched, and contorted his arms to access the keyhole with the needle, the metal of the cuffs cutting into his wrists as he worked. Under Shepard's pain-sharpened gaze, Ander felt slow and clumsy as he picked the lock, but eventually both manacles fell open.

“Let’s move,” Shepard said, and Ander followed him to the door, one hand on the wall for support. His eyes went to the burns that covered his master's back, blistering red, dark bruises layered underneath, scars under those. 

Shepard felt pain. He knew he did, he'd heard him scream. But he was still moving, still standing tall.

His master must've caught him staring, the dim light of the hall catching his face as Shepard picked the heavy lock on the door and swung it open.

“Wounds heal, little spy,” he murmured. “You just need to bury the memories that come with them.” He stepped silently into the hall. “You'll learn.”

Ander hoped so. If he couldn't, the memories would grow to bury him.

• • •

@darkthingshappen @starlit-darkness @whumpsday @whumpyourdamnpears @turn-the-tables-on-them @pigeonwhumps @gala1981 , @pirefyrelight , @there-will-always-be-blood @echo-goes-aaa @oddsconvert

[ironwhumper359]

People of color in the whump community, how do you feel about POC characters?

(I know some people take issue with the term "person of color", I'm using it for convenience here, but this poll applies to anyone who considers themself nonwhite. Feel free to add specifics about your identity in the tags.)

(If you're white, scroll down for the results button and please reblog for sample size.)

I'm curious about how people view nonwhite characters in whump. On one hand, diversity is a good thing. On the other hand, violence against a character of color could trigger people, and a character of color as the whumper could play into racial stereotypes. This also depends on the specific race of the characters-- obviously, POC are not a monolith-- but there aren't enough poll options for that.

I'd really appreciate hearing people's thoughts, especially people of color in the whump community! Please reblog this to spread it around!