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#blindfolded whumpee
jordanstrophe · 8 months
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Whumpee’s tied down in a hospital gown gagged and blindfolded. 
The gag is so they don’t bite.
The blindfold is so no one has to look into their eyes when they run unethical experiments.
Besides, they’re here for the science, not torture. They had the stomach for blood but not for the crying.
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whumblr · 1 year
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A concept:
Whumpee forced to their knees in the back of a van, tied up and blindfolded. They're so scared and they whimper, needing to not be alone here, needing to know what happened to--
"C-caretaker?" they whisper.
All they get in reply is a growled "Quiet" followed by a kick in warning and they dare not try again, pretty sure Caretaker is scared into silence as well. That is, if they took him with them. Did they?!
But then they feel something lean against their shoulder and their fear dissipates. They breathe out a sigh of relief, leaning in against the touch, the silent comfort. The I'm here. With you.
Not seeing how Whumper is trying his utmost to keep from laughing as he is the one who is resting his knee against Whumpee's shoulder.
They're in for a surprise when they get there. Alone.
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The King Will Bow: Fallen Crown
I asked in a poll what I should write and Whumper Turned Whumpee won so IM DOING IT! Had an idea I was thinking about using and this was just the push I needed, enjoy :)
Summary: Julian is well known and respected for his work in training servants, bodyguards, pets— whatever the client has asked. Cecil is a new up and coming trainer looking to make a splash, and decides his most recent project will be Julian.
Tags for this one are: Whumper Turned Whumpee, Kidnapping, Defiant Whumpee, Talk of Conditioning/‘Training’, Drugged, Bound And Gagged Whumpee, Creepy/Intimate Whumper, Dehumanization, Talk of past and implied future Pet Whump, Blindfolds, Blood, Nosebleed (But Not Broken), A Little Violence, POV Whumpee, and Human Trafficking. Tell me if I missed anything!
Note for the worldbuilding, while the characters act like the whole profession of ‘Kidnapping and Training People For Their Own Gain’ isn’t something to blink twice at, this is because they’re rich assholes. This is a rich asshole thing, not a normalized thing.
Julian was very good at what he did.
There were many people in the world who wanted servants, pets, bodyguards— the specifics varied. They needed people who were trained to never disobey them. And Julian? He could provide that.
He didn’t do the dirty work of choosing who was sent to him, or even capturing them. Someone else always took care of that and sent them his way. Someone who wouldn’t be missed, someone who could disappear and barely raise an alarm— someone who could be taken away and molded into someone else. And Julian trained them into their new lives.
Of course, it was forceful, because none of them were too happy about it, but that didn’t matter. They didn’t matter, they were a tool and it was Julian’s job to make them see that, however he saw fit. Once they were ready— obedient and pliable— Julian sent them on their way, or sold them off to the highest bidder. It was out of his hands then, maybe he’d see them around if he was around whoever they were shipped off to, but he never acknowledged them. They weren’t his problem anymore. They didn’t matter.
Julian was a trainer and a very good one at that, respected in his field. Sometimes other trainers coming up and asking him for advice on the process and what he did. There were people who requested a job be done by him specifically, even paying extra for it. He got to go to events with people who controlled whole chunks of the city and sit and chat with them like old friends. Julian was powerful.
He just… Was feeling a bit off at that moment.
Julian blinks a few times fast, trying not to sway at one of the most important events of the year. He manages to make it to his table and take a seat, feeling woozy all of a sudden. He sets his drink down in order to rub his face, wondering if maybe he’s had one too many. He wasn’t counting really— he was to excited. He had been talking to the Maxwell Ravens a few moments ago. To get the respect from that guy meant getting it from everybody. If he could get into his inner circle— be a trainer endorsed by him— it would change everything. His career would skyrocket.
He really didn’t want to go home early but Julian wasn’t seeing many options. The last thing he needed was to pass out at an event like this— people would laugh at him for years to come and that’s the exact opposite of what he needed.
Julian groans into his hands as his vision sways harder. The lesser of two evils it is.
Doing his best to walk straight, Julian makes his way across the room and over to Maxwell himself, flashing an apologetic smile. Those who were talking to him a moment before flash looks at Julian before shuffling away when Maxwell murmured something that Julian didn’t hear. It was getting hard to think but he forced the words out anyways. “Hey, I would love to talk with you more about business and pleasure and everything in between but I got some loose ends I need to take care of in the morning so I gotta jet! Get a good night’s sleep y’know?”
Maxwell regards him calmly. It’s hard to get a read on the guy— his ‘I think I like you’ face and ‘I think you’re a bug beneath my shoe’ faces are disturbingly similar. But he smiles politely all the same and nods. “Another time then.”
“For sure.” Julian agrees. “You got my number right? Anytime you want my services, I’m there. I would be such an honor that I’d do it for free!”
“I’m aware.” Maxwell says. There’s a flicker in his eyes— darker, Julian thinks?— but it’s smoothed over so quickly that he’s not certain. “You’ve sent several emails with the same message. And told all my associates how much your work could benefit me.”
Julian winces. Maybe he went a little hard on the sell there but— Maxwell could really change things, he had to shoot his shot. He laughs, albeit awkwardly, and holds his hands up. “I’ll chill out on that— sorry, you’re just— it’s an honor to even be in the same room as you!”
Maxwell’s expression doesn’t change. Julian supposes he probably hears that a lot. He’s basically a modern king— the way people talk about him sometimes sounds like he’s being worshipped, and for good reason. Maxwell controls the fate of the entire city in the palm of his hand.
Nonetheless, Maxwell continues, looking down at his drink and taking a long sip before running a finger around the rim of the glass. “I’m sure it’ll happen again sooner or later, and I’m sure one of these days, I’ll find a way for you to… Benefit me.”
Julian’s heart skips in excitement but he holds back his enthusiasm. He’s struggling to maintain the conversation at all— he better go. Julian dips his head and murmurs one last goodbye and thank you before heading for the exit. He feels eyes on him when he leaves but doesn’t dare turn back.
Julian allows his efforts to drop as he makes his way to the garage. He can feel a headache coming on from his effort, and it only gets worse from there. By some miracle, he makes it to his car without tripping over his own feet, finding they’re heavier than before, but just before he opens up the driver’s door, he realizes there’s no way he can drive without crashing. He’s barely even standing— he feels worse than before— and nauseous. Like his limbs are weighing down on him.
“Had too much to drink?” A voice asks from behind. Julian jumps, spinning around. He’s able to identify the person pretty quickly— Cecil Winters, a trainer like him. He got into the business just two years ago— Julian was surprised to hear that someone who hadn’t been around that long got into an event like this that quickly. It took five for Julian had to get invited— how’d he get picked so quickly?
Cecil looks him up and down, almost amused. Julian rolls his eyes, turning back to his car. “‘m fine.” He spits out. His words slur a bit but it doesn’t matter— Cecil might be a rising star but if it’s Julian’s word or his, Julian is pretty confident people will believe him. This damn newbie isn’t gonna ruin his reputation, no matter how fast he’s moving.
Julian refocuses his attention on his car, trying to think of a way he could get home. He could call a professional driver— or would that tip people off? Damn it, why wasn’t he paying attention to how much he was drinking?
Out of his rear view mirror, Julian sees Cecil stroll up to him, though not quite face-to-face. There’s something about the way he’s moving that’s so— off putting. Julian doesn’t understand it.
“Or maybe,” Cecil grins a little wider and Julian ignores how it creeps him out, “It wasn’t about the quantity of what you drank, just what was in it.”
Julian stops at that. It’s… Wrong somehow. Sends alarms in his head. Why is this little punk freaking him out so much? Is he high? “‘he fuck are ‘ou talkin’ about?” He slurs, sending Cecil a side glance. The world goes fuzzy at its edges.
Cecil laughs at him this time, openly. A bitter and furious feeling hits Julian— how fucking dare he? Does he know who he is?
“You’ve lasted longer than I gave you credit for, I’ll give you that. But there’s no way you’re driving home like that.”
He rolls his eyes at that, anger burning at the edges— who the hell does he think this guy is? “I told ‘ou—”
He doesn’t get another word out. In the blink of an eye, Cecil rushes him, grabbing him and wrestling him into the ground. Julian immediately shouts and fights back, but his limbs don’t quite hit as hard as he would like. Cecil wastes no time slamming him into the ground, knocking the wind out of him, and pinning him on his stomach. Julian attempts to thrash and kick him off but suddenly there’s a hand gripping his hair, pulling his head back, then smashing his face into the floor as hard as he can.
Julian gasps in pain, blood oozing from his nose. He’s taken hits before but not like this— not this brutal. The stars in his eyes take a while to fade and Julian wants to struggle but the hand in his hair lets go and he can’t keep his head up. His faces hit the ground again, lighter this time but with his new injury it feels just as bad, and Julian chokes on his pain.
He barely registers that his arms are being messed with until something tightens around them, forcing them to be folded behind his back. The fog in his head makes it hard to think but Julian tries to brute force his way out of whatever has his arms in a hold. It doesn’t budge— he’s weak and it strikes fear in him when he realizes it. His arms are restrained by something tough, and his years of experience of using very similar restraints tells him it’s leather. He can move and jerk all he wants but it only serves to tire him out. Julian is trapped.
Rage finds him easily. “You fucking—” Julian seethes but is abruptly cut off. Thick cloth is shoved into his mouth and tied around his head. He struggles as hard as he can, trying to buck Cecil off of him and not freeze and panic like his thumping heart wants him to but he doesn’t have the energy. He’s so drained, and it doesn’t help when something is strapped to his head that blocks out his eyes, plunging him into darkness. It only makes him feel more tired, eyes drooping.
Julian bites curses out, muffled through the gag but it’s all he has. He’s panicking now— terror and anger mixing until he doesn’t know what is what anymore. Cecil ignores him, humming as he seems to swap his position, now pinning his legs down and beginning to strap them together too. No amount of kicking does anything— his attempts are pitiful at best and before he knows it, there’s two straps on his upper and lower legs, giving him very little room to work with.
“There we go.” Cecil says at last, satisfaction and pride in his voice. Julian finds it hard to focus, sleep pulling him in, but the terror and fury just barely keeps it at bay. “I know you can’t see it right now but you’re a work of art. In fact, I think you look better like this.”
There’s a brief pause before there’s a hand grabbing his chin, forcing his head to move one way, then the other. Julian shouts angrily, muffled but hoping it gets his point across. Cecil doesn’t say a word to acknowledge it, still humming to himself.
“Yeah, lots better.” He can hear the grin in Cecil’s voice. He runs a thumb over the gag and Julian tries to snap at him but it doesn’t really work. “Someone needs to be muzzled.” Cecil laughs to himself, and Julian’s anger boils over even more. “I’ll get one just for you. But we have to get going— after all, you do have a busy morning ahead of you.”
Cecil lugs Julian over his shoulder like he’s a fucking bag of flour. Julian shouts curses into his gag, swearing vengeance and threats that are never heard, and the wind is knocked out of him again when Cecil throws him onto a cold, metal floor. Julian figures out pretty quickly that it’s a van when it starts up.
He tries screaming and fighting but he’s rapidly running out of energy. Everything is getting so heavy and Julian can’t stand it. It’s clear to him now— something he drank wasn’t right, meaning— meaning Cecil planned this. He wanted to do this all along and was just biding his time.
Julian doesn’t know what the hell is going on but he’s betting on hostage negotiations or— something of that nature. He has the money, that status— kidnapping him has a lot of uses. But it doesn’t matter— Julian is gonna get out of this and ruin Cecil. He doesn’t care how but he’s gonna make sure his career ends here and now.
The drugs wear him down bit by bit by the second. Julian feels his eyes grow tired and tries desperately to stay awake and not miss a thing, but it’s a losing battle. He’s too tired to move anyways— better to sleep the drugs off and deal with in the morning.
The second he stops fighting it, Julian passes out.
That’s the first part! Julian is about to find out really quickly that it’s not a hostage negotiation in the slightest, and get a taste of his own medicine along the way.
Hope y’all enjoyed!! Been wanting to do some Whumper Turned Whumpee stuff and just got the perfect excuse to :)
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Febuwhump Prompt Day 12: “Can you hear me?” CW: Blindfolded
“Can you hear me?”
There was no response from whumpee.  Not even a flinch.
Whumper clapped their hands loudly next to the blindfolded whumpee.  They had just placed some noise canceling headphones on them to add some spice to their next “chat” with them.
“Excellent.”
@febuwhump
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melt-in-the-sun · 3 months
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gag alts under the cut
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whumperofworlds · 1 year
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Mock execution, except it went wrong.
The Whumper's lackeys shot at Whumpee, but all the bullets/arrows/whatever missed.
All but one. One lackey misaimed and accidentally hit the bound Whumpee. Whumpee, blindfolded screams, pain shooting up from the wound. It was excruciating--they would wish that death took them now to stop the pain.
BONUS: Caretaker was there, blindfolded as well, hearing Whumpee's screams, and think of the worse.
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Whump Prompt #1169
Anon asked: 
Anything for an oracle whumpee who has uncontrollable visions of the future when stressed? Poor caretaker tries to rub their back to help ground them but idk what else.
Sure:
The first thing that came to mind is them smoking some ‘herbal remedies’ to give them more of an ‘what happens, happens’ mentality. Of course it doesn’t always work. 
Alot of the time they throw up/pass out/sob uncontrollably. 
Maybe they isolate themselves from others. 
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” The oracle sobs. 
“It’s not your fault. It’s never your fault.” The caretaker says. 
“But I could've warned them!”
“What happens, happens. What shall be, will be. You cannot change what is to come.”
The oracle often grinds their palms into their eyes to ‘stop seeing’ - maybe they cause themselves harm doing this. 
If the visions aren’t ‘mental’ and purely based on sight, maybe the caretaker offers a blindfold/hood to stop them from seeing. 
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galaxywhump · 1 year
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if wren started begging for something during a torture session (a small break bc he feels like he's gonna be sick, or some water) would daniel grant that to him? or would it be situationally dependent?
I know you were probably expecting a straightforward answer, but your ask made a WIP happen, so here it is.
[SV-240 masterlist]
contents: forced relationship whump, slavery whump, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, illness, non-graphic emeto, torture, knives, stress position, blindfold, creepy comfort.
~~~
Wren woke up feeling terrible.
It’s nothing out of the ordinary for him, but that morning he felt terrible in a different way. He felt ill; weak and slightly dizzy, shivering despite it not being cold in the house. He didn’t tell Daniel, even though he wanted nothing more than to be given medication, hot tea, and some peace and quiet. No, telling Daniel would also mean him being overly caring and doting, which was the last thing Wren wanted to deal with.
So he didn’t say anything, and then he learned that Daniel was in the mood for some handiwork with his favorite knife.
Shit.
He still didn’t say a word when Daniel closed handcuffs on his wrists and attached them to a chain connected to a hook in the ceiling, forcing him to keep his arms outstretched and stand on his tiptoes. He didn’t say a word when Daniel put a blindfold on his eyes and earplugs in his ears. He just shuddered and gritted his teeth when the knife pierced his arm and was dragged downwards.
Just get through this, he thinks to himself while Daniel makes small, precise cuts around his shoulder blades in a pattern that only makes sense to him and his artistic vision. It’s not the first time.
But it’s the first time when he feels this awful during torture, and the position he’s in doesn’t help. His body is under so much strain, stretched out uncomfortably, he can barely stay upright, his arms hurt, his head hurts, everything hurts, and Daniel’s only adding more pain. He still feels dizzy despite the darkness - or maybe because of it - his face is covered in cold sweat, he starts feeling slightly nauseous. The blindfold is soaked with tears of frustration, he can hear his heartbeat way too clearly, it’s the only sound he hears, he feels horrible, he wants out, he wants this to end, he can’t handle this after all, but that means…
“Stop,” he mumbles weakly, shaking his head and whining when the pain from the cuts seems to intensify now that he’s not fully preoccupied with his illness. Talking with the earplugs in is an unpleasant, almost surreal experience, and he can only hope he’s actually saying something, that his voice isn't too weak. "Please stop."
But this is Daniel, so Wren can imagine him laughing at his begging, making a stupid comment promising that this will be over soon, sweetheart, but this isn't about that. He whimpers when the knife cuts into his back again.
"I'm serious, stop, I-I think I'm gonna be sick, I just need a break."
The knife disappears, and Wren swallows desperately, struggling to take a deep breath.
He flinches when he feels Daniel grip his arm - thankfully an undamaged part of it - and a moment later his wrists are released. Daniel catches him before he can collapse, unable to stay upright after the punishing position.
The earplugs are removed, and the blindfold follows. Wren winces and blinks, and when his eyes get used to something other than darkness, he sees Daniel's face, with worry written all over it.
"Are you still feeling sick?" he asks, and Wren nods.
Daniel wraps Wren's arm around himself to support him and leads him to the bathroom, where the nausea gets overwhelming. Daniel holds his hair back for him, not saying a word for now.
Wren closes his eyes, exhausted, and fuck does everything hurt, but mostly his arms and back now that he's moving again. He's trembling, getting up feels like an impossible task, and he's still crying, from pain and from his awful state, and he's not even mad at himself for it.
"Better now?"
"I think so," he mutters. Daniel lets go of his hair.
"I'll get you some water."
Wren nods, keeping his eyes closed, not daring to move an inch for fear of his body igniting with pain again and the room spinning.
Anxiety creeps up on him; nothing like this has ever happened before, and he doesn’t know what to expect from Daniel.
He comes back and hands Wren a glass of water, then sits down next to him, looking at him with a puzzled expression.
"What happened?" he asks.
"I think I'm sick." Wren stares down at the water, every breath causing his fresh wounds to shift and hurt even more. "I feel like shit, and… you just saw for yourself, I guess." He sighs. “So just get the session over with before it gets worse.”
Daniel firmly shakes his head, frowning.
“No. You need to rest. I’ll take care of your wounds and then you can lie down.” He pets Wren’s hair. “We can continue some other time.”
Wren huffs, shaking his head in disbelief.
“You do realize how fucked up that sounds, right?”
Daniel just chuckles in response. He does know. It changes nothing.
The knife will return in a few days, and yet Wren can’t help but be relieved as Daniel cleans and dresses his wounds, then gives him a shirt and carries him to the living room.
“I can carry you to the bedroom, if you’d like. Unless you prefer the couch.”
“Couch,” Wren mutters. The bed is more comfortable and the bedroom would offer more peace and quiet, provided Daniel leaves him alone, but he wants to stay out of there as much as he can, and the couch is too small for Daniel to lie down next to him.
As much as he hates the couch, he can’t deny that it’s comfortable, and in his exhaustion he practically melts into it. Daniel even brings him a blanket, which Wren curls up under, pulling it up to his neck.
“I’ll bring you some pills,” Daniel says, pressing his palm to Wren’s forehead; he clicks his tongue when he confirms that it’s unnaturally warm, and brushes Wren’s hair away from his face, making him wince. “Do you need anything else, sweetheart?”
“Rest,” Wren sighs, struggling to keep his eyes open. Now that he’s stopped ignoring it, his illness has decided to hit him with everything it’s got.
“Okay. I’ll fetch the pills and you can sleep after you’ve taken them, alright? Try to stay awake.”
“Mhm.”
Daniel leaves, and Wren wraps the blanket tighter around himself, blinking slowly, trying to fight his exhaustion off for a bit longer. Daniel is just as doting as he’d feared he would be, but… aside from his usual sweethearting it feels good to be taken care of, and to be listened to. The wounds still sting, a reminder of the torture he’d gone through and will go through again soon, but he can’t bring himself to care. He waits for his captor and torturer to come back with the medicine, and he has to remind himself not to thank him for this bare minimum of kindness, more than most of what he’s gotten throughout his life.
He wishes it wasn’t like this, moments of kindness and loving care juxtaposed with pain and tears and coercion; he knows how much Daniel enjoys doing this, being the sole source of both suffering and comfort.
He’s aware of so many mechanisms of his captivity, yet he’s powerless to fight them, forced to accept them, and all he can hope for is that all these processes won’t shape him into something else, whatever Daniel, whose smile is unnervingly genuine and fond when he enters the living room, wants him to be.
“Sleep well, sweetheart," Daniel says softly once Wren's washed the pills down with water. "I hope you’ll feel better when you wake up.”
“So you can torture me more?” Wren mutters, closing his eyes. 
Daniel’s lighthearted laughter keeps ringing in his ears long after he's fallen asleep.
~~~
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dresden-syndrome · 6 months
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25/II-1964. Class 4 detention unit, State Security department No. 419, Berlin region, German Democratic Union Republic, EESU
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"I told you to answer the f**king question!"
The officers' screams kept ringing in Axel's head, echoing through the dirty dimly-lit basement room. He was dragged to the interrogation room about five hours ago - not a long time - yet it felt like an eternity. Every movement, every breath penetrated his body with sharp jolts of pain. His arms, twitched behind the back by a rusty chain, were getting unbearably exhausted - Axel felt himself almost wishing not even for a release, but for another torture, just to get his aching muscles a long-awaited relief.
Back then, listening to the plans of a mission he was assigned on, Axel never thought he would end up like this - let alone be exposed so fast. "How foolish", he wondered of himself, "expecting anything nice from this shithole of a country". Given a chance to wind the time back, he would've refused the task without a second thought. Now, it's far too late.
"Still silent, huh? You're getting yourself into a really bad position, boy."
A punch in the face.
In a shot of blinding pain Axel felt a warm stream of blood running down his mouth, giving an unpleasant metallic taste.
"Say it! Now! You're not getting any mercy from us, you disgusting bourgeoise West German spy!"
Another punch. Even harder.
"I'm... Not a..."
As Axel tried to raise his voice through the agony, the blood filling his mouth dripped on the floor. The pain was turning into anger.
"You're a liar!" the officer yelled right in the prisoner's face, "Don't try to fool us around!"
"I'm not... from the West..." Axel gathered his remaining bits of strength to finish the sentence, spitting the blood into, as he hoped, officer's jacket.
Next thing he felt was an excruciating sharp punch in the stomach - so hard it caused him to cough up.
"We'll kick out all these disgusting lies out of you."
Day 9 of Whumptober
Prompt: "You're a liar"
Art taglist: @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump
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fallenwhumpee · 9 months
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Pawn
• Masterlist •
Warnings: Sensory overload, sleep deprivation, blindfold, interrogation, torture, broken nose, nosebleed, drugging, touch starvation, mentioned suicide bombing.
In the eerie stillness, their mind grasped for any trace of familiar sights, but all they found was an abyss. Their own breaths were the only thing they could hear, their gasps distant as if underwater.
They groaned, but the sound came out as a croak. They knew their captors were enjoying this show from somewhere, probably discussing what to do to them with sadistic smiles. As if on cue, a loud bang made them flinch, disoriented with the ringing in their ear.
They tensed as the sound grew clearer and closer. Footsteps circled around them, and they cursed the blindfold, not for the first time since they were first captured.
They cried out as their hair was yanked, their back sore from sitting in the same position without being allowed to lean on something.
"Were you alone?" the interrogator demanded.
"Yes," they answered, their voice unreadable but tired and hoarse.
"We both know you're lying. Tell me what your objective was."
"I was alone, a-and it was a suicide bombing. I was to receive the bomb f-from an abandoned warehouse. No contact, no info. I'm merely... merely a pawn," they recited from memory, trying to sound clear but failing towards the end.
"What was your target, you vermin?"
"The... presidential palace, of course," they replied, struggling to keep their thoughts together, with sleep once more trying to claim them.
"No one told you that you can't do that? We do not let people wander around the building, let alone an armed rebel."
They closed their eyes, despite knowing it wouldn't make any difference behind the blindfold. The next question was just a noise in the background, and their head fell, their senses finally giving them a moment to rest. Their hair was pulled harder, a cry escaping from their mouth as a punch met their face. Their eyes watered, pain jolting them awake. A warm liquid slid down over their mouth, the smell of iron stinging.
"How many times have I said that you're not allowed to sleep until I'm satisfied with your answers?"
"Or you s-satisfied your thirst... for violence," they shot back, but regretted it instantly. They tensed and shrunk as much as they could, their 'not caring about their life' persona cracking with this mistake. They really should've kept their mouth closed, but they didn't know how long they could comply enough not to anger the interrogator while withholding information about the rebel group. Maybe it was due to exhaustion or hunger or thirst or pain or the ringing in their ears or uncertainty...
"Mhmm, scared now? Maybe you'll chant 'glory to the government' if I work on you a bit."
Their stomach dropped with the thought, a shiver shaking them as a hand gripped their shoulder, heavy and authoritative.
"Since you began to understand the situation, tell me, do you know who this rebel leader is?"
They bit their lip, tasting blood. Of course, they knew them. They were the leader. But they didn't talk, and it was an answer good enough to let their hair go.
"You do. Good. What's your connection to them?"
"I told you. J-just a pawn ready to die for t-the greater cause."
"Such claims are not tolerated here. You have ten seconds to fix your mistake."
"The government, along with all its officers like you, can go—"
-•-
For a long time, there was only darkness. Slowly, the ringing in their ear made itself known, their whole body aching. Breathing was too hard, and they were unsure if it was from the broken nose or possibly broken ribs. They groaned, unable to make any other noise. They heard a shuffle from the back, but maybe they were imagining things. They couldn't trust themselves at this point.
They groaned once again, trying to determine their position on the ground as it seemed to shift beneath them. They were better than this—better than tossing around like an animal, better than getting caught, better than giving an opening. They were leading a rebellion with little to no support against a government with endless resources. They weren't supposed to be helpless, weak, and a burden on their limited resources.
Tears welled up as they suppressed the sobs racking their body, absorbed by the blindfold as they streamed down their cheeks. Instead of crying, they laughed. Their pathetic state in enemy territory felt like nothing but a cruel joke after too many years of being a ghost for both the rebellion and the government.
With a hitching breath, they forced themselves to sit up quickly, their body protesting and the ground tilting left and right beneath them. They swallowed the dizziness, leaning on their arms to steady themselves. They didn't feel any better than the last time; restlessness still clouded their thoughts.
The sound of a door jolted them, but they couldn't tell which direction it came from. They opened their mouth to call out, but a hand covered their lips, silencing them. Half of their face was covered harshly, and they winced as a sharp pain radiated from their nose, feeling the blood flow once more. They were pulled back by their hair again, struggles becoming futile as their strength left them.
They were roughly thrown onto a cold metal floor, their weakened body protesting against the harsh treatment. They tried to distract themselves from the gnawing emptiness by focusing on their surroundings. The sound of the engine drowned out their thoughts, and the rhythmic vibrations seemed to mock their weakened state.
In the cramped darkness of the truck, or at least that's what they guessed based on the size, Leader's hunger grew unbearable. They couldn't remember the last time they had eaten a proper meal. Days? Weeks? Time blurred together in the abyss of their captivity. They might have passed out at some point, waking up to find themselves seated. The lights were too bright this time, and the walls were painted in a claustrophobic shade of grey.
"So, we've got ourselves another rebel, huh?" a gruff voice sneered.
Leader straightened, their body aching.
"I've seen people like you," another voice chimed in, dripping with disdain. "You think you're making a difference, don't you? Sacrificed as pawns left and right, following orders from your high and mighty perch."
They clenched their fists, their knuckles turning white. The words struck a nerve, stirring up the guilt that had already weighed heavily on their shoulders. They knew that every decision they made as a leader came with consequences, but the thought of those sacrifices being in vain was something they always feared deep in their soul. They knew it wasn't the case. They had made a difference in countless small towns, becoming a threat to the corrupt order, but they would always feel guilty for the lives lost.
A sharp sting at their neck sent a sudden freezing void through their body.
"You rebels are all the same," the gruff voice continued, mocking. It was right behind their ear, but the bright lights were hurting their eyes. "Thinking you can change the world with your little acts of defiance. But let me tell you, we always win in the end. We break you down, reshape you, and all your lofty ideals crumble into dust."
Their vision blurred with pain as they were struck on the temples, plunging them into the familiar black void as the blindfold was pulled over their face. They flinched at the sound of a door, still able to hear everything more than they should. The coldness seeped deep into their bones, intensifying their weakness and making every movement an agonizing effort. They longed for warmth, for a comforting touch to alleviate the shivering. Time became a distant reminder, and soon, endless screams from the battlefield echoed with their commands, while unconsciousness offered the only escape.
-•-
Right Hand, leading the raid on the facility, surveyed the area with a sharp and calculating gaze. They had received information about the location of the rebels being held captive and had meticulously planned their operation to free as many as possible. As they approached the centre of the place, their makeshift army moved with the seriousness that training had instilled in them. The weight of their responsibility felt heavy, but they knew they had to push forward. Leader would be proud.
Their radio crackled, the names of the rescued rebels being counted. As the transmission ended, an unfamiliar voice came through the static.
"Uhm, there's someone... they're barely awake, but they don't look like anyone on the missing list. They just have the rebellion tattoo on their left wrist—although it's pretty ruined. Does anyone know them?"
Right Hand's heart raced, a mix of relief and concern washing over them. They quickly recognized Leader's weakened form, hidden in plain sight. It was a dangerous situation, their leader's identity at risk of exposure. They scanned the surroundings, ensuring no one else was nearby before motioning for the rebel to follow.
"Good job. Now leave them to me," Right Hand said, their voice barely a whisper. "I believe you can go help with the transfer."
The rebel nodded and hurried off to assist the others. Meanwhile, Right Hand rushed to Leader's side, their heart aching at the sight of their battered and weakened leader. It was a stark reminder of the sacrifices made for the rebellion's cause.
Leader's eyes flickered with a glimmer of recognition, their voice barely audible. "Right Hand..."
Right Hand's grip tightened gently around Leader's arm, their emotions overwhelming yet suppressed. They wanted to reassure their leader, to convey the unwavering support and determination that fueled their own actions. But they had to remain cautious, protecting Leader's identity above all else.
"I'm here, Leader," Right Hand whispered. "You're safe now. We've come to bring you back."
Leader mumbled weakly, their words a jumble of fragmented thoughts. Right Hand leaned in closer, their ear attuned to catch the faintest whisper.
"It's cold," Leader murmured again, their voice trembling.
Right Hand wrapped their arms around Leader, mindful of their injuries, and drew them close, feeling the chill emanating from their frail body. They wished they could shield Leader from the harsh realities they had endured.
"It's okay," Right Hand whispered, their voice soothing. "I'll keep you warm. We'll get you out of here. Just lean on me."
Right Hand carefully wrapped their arms around Leader's shoulders, cradling the limp body with utmost care. It was a testament to the bond they shared, the unspoken trust that connected them.
As they made their way towards the waiting transport, Right Hand spoke in a hushed yet comforting tone. They carefully carried Leader towards the waiting transport, their steps steady and determined. They spoke softly, their voice a constant presence in Leader's ear.
"You're doing great, Leader. We're almost there. Just a little bit longer."
Leader's eyelids grew heavy, exhaustion taking its toll. They mumbled weakly, their voice strained. "Tired... so tired..."
Right Hand tightened their hold, offering reassurance. "I know you're exhausted, but you're safe now. You can rest soon."
As they reached the waiting transport, Right Hand gently settled Leader into the vehicle, ensuring their comfort. They climbed in beside them, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. The engine roared to life, and the vehicle began its journey to safety.
Time refused to pass, and Leader's breathing became shallow and erratic. Right Hand leaned closer. "We're almost there."
Leader's fingers weakly grasped Right Hand's, and they gave a faint squeeze.
As the vehicle sped away, the rhythmic hum of the engine lulling them into a void of stillness, Leader's eyelids grew heavier. Their grip on Right Hand's hand loosened, their body finally surrendering to exhaustion.
Right Hand watched over Leader, gently brushing a hand over Leader's forehead, smoothing away the lines of worry.
"Rest now, Leader," Right Hand whispered softly. "We're nearly home."
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melt-in-the-sun · 1 year
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samuel showing off his toy :> + blinfold alt
commissions open!
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actress4him · 10 months
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June of Doom 2023
I have somehow managed to create an entirely new series with entirely new ocs out of thin air just for this event. My plan is to make all these prompts into one continuous story (some of them will be combined, some out of order), so wish me luck and we’ll see how it goes!
Let me know if you want to be tagged in the future pieces of this series!
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Day 1 - “You don’t want to do that.” | Collapse | Locked Door | Fear
Day 2 - “Get in.” | Sobbing | Survivor’s Guilt | Salve
Contains: lady whump with male whumper, kidnapping, restraints, blindfold, knife, long-term captivity, fantasy prejudice, death mention
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The first thing Lainey notices when the car trunk opens, letting in the slightest bit of sunlight beneath her blindfold, is that the air smells fresh. There’s no trace of car exhaust or street vendors or anything that she’s used to smelling in the city. It smells like…dirt and leaves. Like the forest when she goes hiking on occasion. And it’s quiet, too, other than a few birds singing. 
If the bumpy roads and route that apparently took them the entire night weren’t enough indication that she’s been taken out into the middle of nowhere, this seals it.
The harsh hands that had first grabbed her by the dumpsters behind her work latch onto her arms again, yanking her up and out of the trunk with frightening strength. She cries out in surprise, struggling to find her footing on cramped legs before he’s prodding her into a walk. The sharp tip of a knife she’d only caught a glimpse of last night pricks at her spine. 
“Look, um…I don’t know what you want from me, but…my family doesn’t have much money or anything. My dad’s in construction and my mom does alterations. And my boyfriend isn’t rich, either, he just works at the coffee shop next door to my store. So if you’re looking for ransom money…”
“Get in there!” His hand slams into her shoulder from behind, and she stumbles forward, toes stubbing against a wooden threshold and nearly sending her sprawling on her face. They’re inside some kind of building now, she can tell even though the rough fabric across her eyes prevents her from seeing anything but darkness. The smell of fresh air fades away, replaced by must and old wood, and the stillness grows to an almost suffocating level. 
“You know, it’s kinda hard to walk through a strange place blindly and with my hands behind my back! If you want this to go more smoothly then maybe you should just take off all this crap and -”
“Shut up, before I add a gag to ‘all that crap’.”
She presses her lips together. Talking too much when she’s anxious has always been a struggle, though this time it’s more like terror than anxiety. Her parents had always warned her about bad guys and talking to strangers and all of that stuff, like all parents do, and that’s extended into her young adulthood as concerns about those prejudiced against magic-users grow. But she never thought she’d get kidnapped. 
“They’re gonna be looking for me, you know,” she blurts, unable to hold it in. The man is steering her with one hand on her shoulder, presumably avoiding furniture and making their way through the building. “My family. They’ll find you. They’ll make you pay for this. The police will find you and throw you in jail for the rest of your li-”
The knife leaves her back only for the hilt to smash into the back of her head. She stumbles again with a gasp, her head spinning and aching. 
“I said to shut up.”
Biting her lip, she does her best to comply. 
They halt their march, and there’s a series of clicking, scraping, and squawking sounds from directly in front of her. Locks, her throbbing head supplies. Quite a few of them. Her heart goes from pounding in her ribs to climbing up her throat. 
“Down the stairs.” 
That’s all the warning she gets before she’s pushed forward again. Her breath catches as her foot is forced to move, feeling tentatively at the darkness in front of her until she finds the first step down. Her second foot joins it, then she feels for the next step.
“You’re too slow.” He grabs onto her arm and begins barreling down the stairs at what seems like a breakneck pace. Her feet somehow mostly keep up even though her brain is screaming about not knowing where the steps are, and anytime she does miss one his hand just yanks her back upright. She’s pretty sure she’ll have a bruise on that arm from how hard he’s holding her. Maybe some on her ankles, too, from banging them around on the steps. 
Her legs are trembling by the time they make it to solid ground again. “Remember,” she huffs, the adrenaline of the trip making her tongue loose again, “that whole thing about it being hard to walk blindfolded?”
To her surprise, he responds by ripping it off her head, tearing out a few strands of hair with it. She winces at the pain and the sudden influx of light, but quickly forces herself to take in her surroundings. 
It’s quite obviously a basement. There are no windows, the only light coming from buzzing fluorescent lights overhead, and the floors and walls are all concrete. One wall is lined with cabinets, the contents of which she’s sure she doesn’t want to know, and the floor is dotted with mysterious stains that she’d also rather remain a mystery.
That’s as far as her observations take her, because it’s at that point that her blue eyes clash with a pair of dark brown and her thoughts screech to a halt. There’s another girl down here. She’s just sitting there, on the floor, curled up against the wall and staring back at her with a blank expression. Her face is streaked with dirt, and there’s blood crusted up in her hairline. Her black hair has been chopped off, short and uneven. She looks small, and frail, and far too thin, and…kind of like she shouldn’t be alive.
Footsteps on the stairs jerk Lainey out of her trance. Spinning away from the woman on the floor, she sees the man - the first good look she’s actually gotten at him, though it’s still just his back - halfway up the staircase. Leaving her down here. Leaving her to turn into a phantom of a person like this other girl. 
“Hey!” She runs after him, awkwardly since her hands are still ziptied behind her back. “You can’t just leave me down here! I’m a human being, okay? I have rights!” She stomps up the stairs, a much easier task now that she can see. “And I told you already, you’re gonna be in so much trouble when the police find you, you’re -” 
He’s walking through the door, about to disappear, and she picks up her pace, heart pounding. “Hey! Stop!” The door slams, the locks all clicking and squeaking back into place. “Get back here! You’re gonna regret taking me, I swear!” She can’t bang on the door with her fists, so she kicks it, instead, slamming the toe of her sneaker into the wood over and over again.
“You don’t want to do that.”
She barely hears the quiet, rasping voice over the ruckus she’s making, but it echoes against the concrete and catches her attention. Pausing her assault on the door, Lainey frowns over her shoulder at the woman down below. “I’m not just gonna sit here and take this! This door isn’t that strong, you know what? I could probably even kick it down if I wanted to…”
“If you keep causing a scene, you’re going to make him mad, and he’ll come back.” The pitch of her voice never changes, and she doesn’t move even her head from her position. 
“Good! If he comes back, that’ll give me a better chance to escape. He didn’t look that big, maybe I could overpower him and get out the door.” Never mind that he’d been strong enough to easily lift her, right now she’s just desperate to get out. Facing the fact that she’s trapped here is too terrifying to even consider.
She can’t stay here. She can’t.
A sliver of emotion finally finds its way into the woman’s next words. “If he comes back, he’ll hurt you. And if he’s mad, it’ll be ten times worse. So if you have any sense, you’ll sit down and shut up and conserve your energy for when he comes back on his own schedule.”
Something about what she says steals any remaining fight from Lainey’s body. She stares at the locked door for a long moment, breaths coming too fast and too shallow. “He’s…he…” She backs down one step, getting the distinct feeling that she doesn’t actually want to be standing here when the door opens. Her gaze is pulled back to the woman on the floor. “What does he…do?” She doesn’t want to know, but she needs to.
“Hurts us.” Her voice has gone back to flat and emotionless. “Well…hurts me. I can only assume that you’ll be the same. Having someone else down here is…new.”
Slowly, she plods back down the stairs, looking over the drab room again until she’s standing directly in front of the other woman. She doesn’t want to sit down. Sitting feels like settling in, and that feels like giving in. 
“Does he…want…?” Her eyes flick up and down the girl’s body almost involuntarily, as if she’ll be able to see the evidence of exactly what’s been done to her. 
Somehow the woman seems to read her mind. “No. Not that. Just anything else he can think of. Should I assume you have magic, too?”
Her stomach flips. She’s not used to being called out like that. “Um…y-yeah?” She said ‘too’, so it’s probably safe.
“Yeah. He’s one of those types. Thinks he’s doing the world a favor by keeping us out of it.”
“Great,” she sighs, shifting back and forth on her feet. A few seconds later, she flops down to the floor. She’s not giving in, she’s just exhausted from not sleeping last night and from all the adrenaline that’s starting to dwindle. 
“How long…have you been here?” Another of those questions she needs to know the answer to but doesn’t want to hear it.
“What year is it?”
“What?” She feels suddenly lightheaded, though her brain is too busy swirling to pinpoint why. “It’s, um…it’s 2023. June first.” Just in case she’d actually meant to ask month or day, instead.
Her previously empty expression shutters, eyes shutting and jaw tightening. It takes a long, anxiety-filled moment for her to respond, and her voice is hoarser than before when she does. “F-...five years. I’ve been here…five years.”
Lainey feels like the floor has dropped out from underneath her. She might say something, she’s not even sure, she’s too busy flailing in midair as she falls, trying to find something solid to stand on. Five years. Five years of being locked in a basement being…tortured. Five years of no one finding her. That’s not going to happen to her, right? It can’t. She has family, she has people who will be looking for her. 
She sucks in a desperate breath. “But…how…? You…didn’t you have…someone to miss you?” She’s heard of the cases where people go missing and are never found, of course. They’re always presumed to be dead, though. Not still surviving in a basement after five years. 
The girl shrugs one shoulder, eyes still shut. “Thought I did. Maybe they tried, and gave up. Maybe they never actually cared to start with.” 
“Maybe they, um…maybe they’re still trying. Me being kidnapped might help give more leads. I mean, my family will definitely be looking for me. My co-workers would have known right away that something happened, I just went out to take the trash and never came back.” She nods firmly. “They’ll find me. Find us. He can’t keep getting away with this for long.”
Opening her eyes slightly, the girl stares at her for a moment before shaking her head and closing them again. 
Lainey isn’t going to let it discourage her, though. She has to keep believing her own words or she’ll spiral. “Hey, what’s your name?”
She swallows. “Isa.” Her eyes open again, though her gaze stays on her knees. “Isabela, technically, but…everyone always called me Isa.”
“Isa,” she repeats, trying to get the Spanish vowels correct. “I’m Lainey. I’d say nice to meet you, but…”
“Yeah.” Isa gives that one-shoulder shrug again. This time, something clinks against the wall behind her, and Lainey becomes suddenly aware that she’s wearing a metal band around her throat.
“Wait, are you…chained to the wall?” She leans forward to see, and Isa flinches before trying to cover the movement by wrapping her arms around her legs. Her arms are dotted with bruises and scars of various kinds that stand out against her brown skin, and her wrists are so small that she’s pretty sure she could wrap her smallest fingers around them. 
“Yeah. He doesn’t do it too often. But he’s been gone for the past…few days, I guess, and he doesn’t like letting me roam while he’s out.”
She says it so matter of factly, like it’s just a part of life that should be expected. “He’s a creep and he can go curl in a hole and die,” Lainey growls, fists clenching behind her back. 
“Sure.” Isa leans her head against the wall. “Just don’t make him mad. He likes to be called ‘sir’, and he doesn’t have a lot of patience for having to repeat himself. We’re both better off if you just do what he says.”
Lainey grits her teeth. “That’s not happening. Look, I know you’ve been here a long time and you’ve had to…do whatever you had to to make it. But there’s two of us now, and only one of him. There’s more of a chance that we can overpower him or outsmart him. We could escape.”
Shaking her head, she stares up at the ceiling. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up like that. It’ll only hurt more when they come crashing down.”
She can’t imagine what Isa has been through. Doesn’t want to think about the fact that she may soon go through some of it, herself. But she can’t understand why she refuses to even consider trying to figure a way out of here, when she now has somebody to help her. 
Unable to sit and do nothing any longer, she levers herself off the floor and begins walking the perimeter of the room, familiarizing herself with every inch of the space. “I’m gonna figure out a way out of here, no matter what you think.”
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suspensefulpen · 3 months
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Whumpuary Day 11: Blindfolded
TW: Past/Mentioned Kidnapping and Noncon Drugging, Restrained, Captivity, Sadistic/Creepy Whumper
@whumpuary
Whumpee woke up to darkness. Where am I? Why can’t I see anything? They tried to lift their hands but they found they couldn’t move them at all. They attempted to move the rest of their body and quickly came to the same realization. From the feel of it, they were tied down to a chair, their wrists bound to the arms. They sighed and hung their head. Well isn’t this great? 
They heard a heavy door shutting somewhere behind them and they lifted their head, turning to the left. 
“You’re awake!” They flinched and leaned forward when they heard a voice directly behind them. “Perfect timing, am I right?” They shivered when the voice was in their right ear, warm breath ghosting over their skin. 
“Who–who are you?!” Whumpee asked in alarm. 
“Who am I?” The voice was suddenly on their left, they flinched again. “How about a guess, huh?” 
“Sorry, I’m all outta guesses right now. Can you just tell me?” 
“Aw, how come? I like games, Whumpee.” It sounded like the voice was smiling as it moved away. 
“How do you know my name?” They frowned. 
“Oh Darling I know everything there is to know about you.” The voice was behind their head now. 
“Wait…you’re the person who drugged me! That’s who you are!” 
“There it is! See, aren’t games fun?” 
“This is not a game! You’ve literally kidnapped me, tied me to a chair and left me in a dark room! What kind of sick games do you play?!” 
“Oh, Whumpee, you really think it’s dark in here? You’re a lot dumber than I realized.” 
They heard a sigh before two hands brushed their face, snatching the blindfold off. A bright light hanging from the ceiling blinded Whumpee for a moment. They closed their eyes tightly and lowered their head. 
“If I wanted you in a dark place, I would’ve thrown you in that old warehouse. Or maybe even my shed.” 
“So what do you want with me?” 
“I just want some company. Been kind of bored for the past few months.” 
“And so you kidnap a person?” Whumpee frowned over their shoulder attempting to see their captor. 
“Of course.” Whumpee turned to their left when they felt a hand on their shoulder. They looked up and found a crooked grin. “You’re going to keep me entertained until I can’t use you anymore.” 
“What am I? A toy?” 
The grin turned into a smirk. “Precisely.”
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oddsconvert · 1 year
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Whumper making whumpee traumatised and scared of their own family...
So if by some miracle they manage to escape and go back home: who's going to comfort them? Help them recover? The people Whumpee once loved and cherished but is now petrified of?
Blindfolding Whumpee, playing their families voices through headphones whilst they're being hurt, so they associate pain with the sound of their loved ones. They're so discombobulated... Are they really in the room? Whumpee can't understand why they're here and why they're hurting them.
Wearing their mothers perfume so even the smell triggers them 💔 When they go back home and they're wrapped in loving arms and inhale the scent - they fall apart. Alarm bells ring in their head and they panic but they can't understand why.
The good ol' manipulation 💅 "They're not looking for you", "no-one even knows that you're gone", "they've moved on with their life. Don't even think about you anymore".
Mess with their memories. If Whumper can get hold of old home videos, tapes from their childhood or pictures of Whumpee and their family together - and force them to watch them as they're being tortured. That memory of the water balloon fight with their siblings? Why does it now make them sob and scream and filled with inconceivable fear?
And that has been my angsty/hurty thoughts for today 🫣🥰
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