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kabie-whump · 2 months

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♡ Febuwhump Day 23: Presumed Dead ♡

@febuwhump

Y'all thought you'd escaped Solstice content? Please.

Content: referenced wing amuptation, blood mention, cult references, memory loss mention, angel whumpee, touch starved whumpee

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The temple ahead is a beacon of light: Solstice’s only focal point as they stumble up the steep hill towards it. Their bare feet went numb from the cold and the pain hours ago and their legs shake with every step, but they push themselves just a little further. Just a little longer.

They’ve walked for so long. So long that the sun has started to rise behind the temple, lighting it from behind and making the stained glass glow in blinding rainbows. Solstice hears a laugh bubble up from their raw throat. They can’t remember the last time they saw this many colors in one place. It’s been nothing but red and black and gold for so long.

It feels like they’re dreaming.

Solstice collapses against the temple doors; smooth mahogany carved with images of two interlocking rings. They’re too heavy to be pushed open by Solstice's weight alone.

“Help.” Their voice is nothing but a whisper, barely audible to their own ears. They need to get the attention of whoever’s inside, to find help before the cultists track their bloody footprints here and drag them back into the dark.

Solstice opens their mouth to try again, but nothing comes and they are struck with a wave of dizziness that has them crumbling to the ground, gasping for air. Their vision goes dark around the edges, fading in and out dangerously as their body finally gives up on them.

The rest comes in dazed flashes.

Worried faces hovering over them.

A strange sense of nostalgia as someone carries them inside and they stare up at the carved ceilings - like being held by a parent and carried to bed after a long evening ceremony.

The sound of a woman singing in a language they haven’t heard aside from in their own screams in ten years. The songs bring warmth and relief to their battered body, lulling them into a deep sleep.

---

“-a miracle they’re still alive. Barronar’s work, surely. I do not know how else they could have found their way back here.”

Solstice’s world fades back in slowly at the sound of soft voices

“And you’re sure that it’s them?” A woman’s voice, the same one that had been singing last night. “We were all so certain that they had been taken back to the realm of the divine. We mourned them. We prayed for them. Barronar gave no indication that they were still amongst mortals.”

Careful hands turn Solstice onto their side, pulling blankets away to expose their skin to the cool air. Solstice shivers, sensation slowly returning to their own body. The familiar pain that has been their constant companion is still there, but it’s dulled now, like it’s very far away.

“I was not certain at first,” the first voice - a man - says. “But these scars…” fingers trace down their back, just to the side of their spine. Solstice knows the spot well. There were wings there once. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

The touch is so gentle Solstice almost can’t feel it. They’d forgotten that touch doesn’t always have to hurt.

“Gods. To think I didn’t recognize the child I birthed.”

“It has been ten long years since we last saw them, and they… They do not look the same. But this is still our divine child, even if they have changed. We just need to worry about bringing Solstice back to the light.”

Solstice jolts at the sound of their own name and the fingers leave their back.

“Solstice?”

They finally manage to drag their eyes open, squinting at the light that pours in from an open window.

Sunlight.

Gods, how long has it been since sunlight last touched their skin? It tastes honeysuckle sweet.

“Welcome back, child,” the man says.

The woman appears over his shoulder, laughing tearfully. “I would know those eyes anywhere. It really is you. We thought you were dead.”

Solstice stares at the pair. Something stirs in their chest, but the feeling is so alien. Are they supposed to know these people? Have they been here before?

“Do you…” The woman’s smile fades a little. “Do you remember us?”

Solstice doesn’t know what to say. There’s something so familiar about their surroundings but also so wrong. It’s the feeling of revisiting a strange dream and finding it all exactly the same - impossible and comforting and confusing all at the same time.

The man reaches out, brushing Solstice’s hair out of their face. “It’s okay if you don’t remember. It’s been a long time, but the gods have brought you home to us. To your mortal parents. You are safe here, and we will never let you be taken from us again.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Solstice taglist

@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @hauntedroseart @sapphicccici @altvaggie @alivenova @lolrpop

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the-whumpening · 2 months

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Tigerverse | Masterpost

Context Post

All fics involving Ash, his party, and Ozmund. These fics often feature intense whump, so please read content warnings carefully.

Ash's party originated from a Dungeons and Dragons game I'm a part of, and I have permission from those involved to write about their characters. The Caged Tiger was written specifically to explain what happened to Ash while I was playing a different character for a while. The canon here is a little complicated, so I'll try to keep it as simple as possible:

The Caged Tiger: 100% canon, both here on the blog and in the DnD game. The bonus chapter is not game canon, but canon to the blog.

The Pet Tiger: 100% NOT canon. An AU of The Caged Tiger.

The Freed Tiger: Mostly not canon to the DnD game. Call it "blog canon" for now. In future chapters, I intend to reunite it with the game canon (or as close as possible without dumping extra unnecessary exposition).

Extras: All of the extra fics so far are from the original game canon except for Part 6. That part is also not blog canon, so it's labeled "not canon." Anything new will be labeled accordingly.

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Extras | Other fics from before Ash's capture or in a different canon | Parts marked with * contain sexual content.

DnD Canon Extras:

Dating Uma: Part 1 | Part 2* | Part 6* (not canon) Relationship with Evius: Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5*

Blog Canon Extras:

TBD

Read on Ao3

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a-painful-ordeal · 10 months

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Hi all!!

Call my Skyhawk (my main blog is Skyhawkwolf). I'm another they/them with an interest in whump!

And I finally got around to making a blog/introduction!!

I've been hanging around the whump community lurking for ~3 years now so this is probably about time.

I am planning on producing some writing and potentially some art too!

I guess I should mention what I'm interested in and what I'm not:

Tropes I like:

-Defiant Whumpees

-Emotional Whump

-misunderstandings between caretakers and whumpees

-Hurt and Comfort

-protective Morally dubious Caretakers

- parental caretakers

-Creepy/cruel Whumpers

-Kidnapped Narratives

- Fantasy whump

-ladywhump

Squicks:

-Romantasied kidnapping/whump

-ex whumper caretakers

- fully conditioned whumpees/Stockholm syndrome

Some authors who I love are:

@peachy-panic @hold-him-down @whump-cravings @redwingedwhump @pumpkin-spice-whump

If you haven't read their stuff, I seriously recommend!!

My writing plans are currently consisting of writing up my dnd character's backstory because I have the brainrot at the moment!

(also if anyone in my actual dnd group stumbles onto this - Cause I know you exist on Tumblr. Hi and also. I am so so sorry. This is where the brainrot led)

#whump blog #whump writing #whumpblr #whump tropes #get to know me #dnd whump

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birds-love-birds-too · 1 day

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dnd/magic whump prompt: using Locate Object to guide a surgery/to pick out shards of glass/metal/etc stuck in whumpee’s skin

#dnd #whump #dnd whump #whump prompt

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stoic-whumpee · 2 years

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Prompt #89

A Rogue character who is always used as a scapegoat for their team's petty crimes. The team don't even bother rescuing them, knowing they can always break out on their own. The Rogue doesn't protest because they have nowhere else to go and no one else to be with, but they feel used by the way they are treated. The team doesn't really care much about them, and some even actively avoid them because they think Rogues are untrustworthy.

One day, the Rogue gets arrested again for something the team steals. This time, however, they are put into a highly secured prison, one that they cannot escape. They sit in their cell, chained to the wall and awaiting their execution, knowing no one would come and save them.

#whump #whump prompt #whump prompts #team dynamics #bad team dynamics #abandonment #falsely accused #scapegoat #imprisonment #execution #betrayal #emotional whump #outcast whumpee #rouge whumpee #dnd whump #r prompts

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auroragehenna · 4 months

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Commision writing

CW/TW: Angry whumper, smartass whumpee, stabbing, threats of further torture, torture, implied fantasy racism, charming, DND whump Word count: 1'077

„I just like to wear them since I got them from a quest with a giant and a halfling. But I don‘t really need them. Everything below me though…They’re tiny. Definitely more necessity than fashion accessory. Well then, I have to go, safe travels.“

Fae didn’t notice the hooded figured following her out of the tavern. She walked towards the forest and quickly steered to follow a dirt path through its midst.“

The hodded figure, so long quietly following her, now bolted forward and tackled the young woman, using the element of surprise to drip a near-shining blue liquid from her fingertips into her mouth.

Fae let out a startled yelp as she was tackled to the ground. Her head hit the grass with a thud and the air getting knocked out of her lungs causing her to gasp and gulp down the poison.

„Aww what happened? Imp got your tongue?“

„Just surprised, that‘s all.“, Fae replies, hiding her growing horror as paralyzing numbness spreads through her body.

„That so?“, the hooded woman asks, clearly unimpressed. She roughly took a hold of the other’s arm and let’s it drop. Apparently satisfied she rises and her hood slides off her head. Exposing her black hair and sharp face. Yellow eyes pinning down her victim as she draws her rapier out of it‘s sheath. „So. Care to repeat what you said before?“

Fae tried her best at mimicking a shy smile over the paralytic. „What do you mean?“

Zestia delivered a fast blow over the length of the female's stomach. "Alright then, let's start with something easier. What's your name?"

Fae grunted in pain at the deep cut, it had felt reckless, careless even. "Fae. My name is Fae. What's yours?"

Zestia actually smirked a bit at that. "You have no right to my name. Now apologize for what you said before.", she demanded and pointed the rapier at Fae's face.

"I'm sorry I offended you, I truly meant no harm, please let me live.", Fae acted.

Zestia's face got hard. „Oh, I see. You're one that would talk their way out of everything, right?“ The Yuan'ti's eyes seemed distant as she spoke again. "One day you have to learn that talking won't save you."

Alright, change of plans. „Uff you learned that the hard way?“, Fae taunted.

Zestia‘s eyes lit up with rage and she stepped on Fae‘s throat, delighting in the choked sound it caused. The Yuan‘ti raised her rapier only to stab it down into the other‘s abdomen, right into the previous cut.

A mix between a groan and a poorly-supressed scream escaped Fae. Her eyes boring into her attacker's.

Zestia crouched down and in doing so leaned her body weight onto her rapier, widening the wound. „Anything else you wanna try, before I end your misery?“, she lured, hoping to get another foolishness out of her mouth so she could punish her further.“

The gears in Fae‘s head were turning. Amplified by the pain. What did her attacker mean by ending her misery?! Okay no, that was obvious. Shit, she had to come up with a plan. Why was this woman so fucking entitled? She had to be a noble of some sort. Maybe that will hit. "If I may speak…?“

„You don’t appear to do anything else.“, Zestia retorted pointedly, moving the rapier, deliberately slow.

„I truly regret I called you short, M'lady."

Zestia took a breath, closing her eyes to not close her hands around Fae's throat right here and now. Instead she opens them again, inspecting the girl laying underneath her. The paralytic should wear off soon...Good. Her eyes drift over Fae's pointed ears and the hotness inside of her burned. So instead of closing her hands around her throat she made eye contact, slowly removed the rapier from the girl's body-laying it down next to them both, and ever so gently plucked a loose curl out of Fae's face and to the side of her head. She silently urged the girl to keep her eye contact and continued petting her hair. "Ssh, ssh. It's alright. You can stop thinking."

Fae shortly held her breath as Zestia touched her hair. When she started speaking her eyes went wide. "I-I can't be charmed. My elven ancestory-"

Zestia lay a finger on Fae's lips, effectively silencing her. "Ssh, ssh. Yes, you can. By me, but don't worry, it won't hurt, you can just stop worriying. After all you're always doing that, aren't you? Gears turning, trying to figure everybody out, always calculating your next move. Worrying if people will like you. Its alright. You can rest now. Just listen to my voice." She can see her targets eyes go even wider in terror as she noticed that it really is working. She had never been charmed before of course. Gosh it was so hard to keep herself from grinning. She could basically feel the elve melt under her, apparently she hit a soft spot.

It was getting harder and harder to think and Fae was at a total loss. A feeling she never wanted to feel. Before there had been at least a rush, at least...But this-this was-no no. Bad. How could the voice of somebody that made her hurt so much feel so...warm!?

Zestia smiled. "Looks like it's really hard for you to relax isn't it. Let me help you, it must have been ages since you last felt safe. And so warm." Zestia stretched out two fingers and closed Fae's heavy eyelids. She wasn't even paralyzed anymore, but she didn't notice it.

Fae wanted to panic when the other closed her eyes, but it was impossible by now. And the darkness that now settled over her, took away her last bits of distraction. Oh no.

"It's okay now, you can rest, just listen to me, you did amazing. I never met one as strong and clever as you. I have to admit I'm impressed."

That's right, she was good at this, always had been. And now she was so tired, if she could just rest a little bit...Just a tiny moment...

Zestia grinned as she could feel her power take over completely. "There we go, smartass.", she murmured. She leaned back and quickly went to work. Cleaning her rapier before sheating it again and putting the minimum of bandages on Fae so she wouldn't actually pass out on the way before gently guiding her forward, repeating sweet nothings from time to time.

To be continued!

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt, @imnotamurdereripromise

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whump-enjoyer · 5 months

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The world was saved. Life could return to normal. For everyone else, that is.

Whumpee wasn't quite prepared for life after the grand adventure. Said journey had been over for some weeks now, and whumpee was feeling a zest for life never before felt. The journey and newfound friends gave their life meaning, until it all fell apart as all good things in their life do.

One by one, the teammates they befriended and connected with for the first time in their miserable life were saying farewell, and moving on to bigger ventures.

The Leader was the first to depart, almost immediately after the campaign. Leader had a whimsical, charming way about them despite their brutish, intimidating size and bloodied axe. They had to go home to their folks who missed them. It hurt, but Whumpee understood. Whumpee would cherish their family too, if they had one...

The Bard a week later finished selling the majority of their assets and felt confident enough to take to the road with their music. Cocky, and with a venomous tongue, they were never one to stay in one place for too long before becoming restless. The journey was the only thing tying them down with Whumpees team. Whumpee wasn't nearly important enough to ask them to stay, let alone travel with them. They understood their worth and let Bard go with a sad wave.

Next came the Cleric, who saved Whumpees life too many times, and cared for them while they were healing. Cleric, who cradled their body and guarded them from the onslaught of monsters. The Cleric, who has seen whumpees scars and bruises, brushing them with a gentle finger, and had the most intimate understanding of them...

They set off with their clergymen and funding from their church to assist and heal those wounded in the past conflict. A noble cause, how could Whumpee in good conscience object to that? Whumpee stomped on the question brewing in their heart, and drowned the remaining emotions away in liquor. Who would ever love a Warlock as weak as them? Who had burdened the team so many times with their physical vulnerabilities?

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, and whumpee had degenerated. Tomes scattered on the floor of their cottage, staffs strewn about and an overabundance of liquor bottles. Whumpees frame was frail, hair frayed and unkempt, and eyes sunken. They had tried to keep their shit together, to reach out to new folks but they just couldn't make or maintain that connection. It's not like anyone remembered them anyways, the other three had always gotten the most attention and acclaim.

The mental glass shattered, and whumpee couldnt take it anymore. With a blood alcohol considered dangerous and borderline lethal, they stagger into a giant spider den, too cowardly to do the deed themself.

As expected, with the intoxication, low defense, and no staff, the ravenous spiders slash and bite whumpee relentlessly. Their clothes ripped and blood splattered against the cave walls. Primal instincts kick in, and whumpee thrashes under the beasts, screaming wildly. Venomous poison from the spiders sets in, and whumpees movements slow as their limbs become lead weights, unable to resist the bites. Their vision tunnels, screams turning into moans.

Will anyone find them?

#sitting in my drafts since june 2022 *slops it against the wall like the hannah montana boot pillow* TAKE IT.#whump #whumpee #rpg setting #suicidal whumpee #posting it and not looking back at it.#dnd whump #my writing

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edencriedwhump · 3 months

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Isarok gets caught and tortured for information/used as a bargaining chip for the dnd party to fall into trap. He keeps pretending that his party doesn’t give a shit, meanwhile his ‘bodyguards’ are scrambling trying to find him.

#whump #captive whumpee #restrained whump #physical whump #kicked in the ribs #whump art #dnd whump #tortured for information #torture whump

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steelandblood · 9 months

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Heyo, how bout "Will you stop trying to die on us for five seconds?" from prompt list no. whatever it was for whatever character came to mind first? I know you're all like "force me to write" but also like no pressure lmao

I'm sorry it look me literally ages, but here it is! I hope you enjoy it💗

The last man fell dead as Mirwen pulled her sword out of his chest. She allowed herself to stumble backwards, her legs barely holding her weight. Dark spots appeared in her vision as the world began spinning around her. She needed to sit down before her legs give out.

Her knees hit the ground hard. Mirwen tasted blood as she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from screaming from the sharp pain that shot through her right thigh. The arrow was lodged quite deep inside her leg, far too deep to cut out. She barely noticed it when she was shot in the heat of battle, but now her whole leg was on fire from the pain.

She closed her eyes for just a moment to help fight the vertigo.

"...wen, Mirwen, you're with me?" Mirwen opened her eyes and Rauna's face came into focus in front of her, "I'm going to pull out the arrow so I can heal you, okey?"

Mirwen shook her head, which was a mistake as her vision blurred and filled with dark spots at the slight movement.

"We need to know what kind of arrow it is, if it's barbed, you're not supposed to pull it out."

Rauna yelled out to the others to find one of the arrows and after what felt to Mirwen like hours, but was probably less than a minute, Thancur handed her an arrow. Mirwen let out a string of colorful curses in all three languages she knew. Of course, the arrowhead was barbed.

"You'll have to push it through."

"What?" Rauna exclaimed in horror.

"With barbed arrows you can't pull them out, it'll tear the flesh, so you're supposed to push them out instead." Mirwen hoped that the fear that began settling in her heart was not too clear in her voice, Rauna was scared enough for both of them. "You'll have to do it, I don't think I'll be able to do it myself. I'm sorry."

"Yes, sure. Push the arrow through your leg," Rauna chuckled nervously, "I can do that. No problem."

She made Mirwen lie on her side and instructed Thancur and Calina to hold her down. Thancur's hands felt so wrong on her body, too large and too male, that Mirwen wanted to scream. This, and all other thoughts, quickly evaporated as Rauna begen to push the arrow through her leg. Mirwen did scream then. It was excruciatingly slow, and it felt like hours have passed before she passed out from the pain. When she regained consciousness, it was still not over. She did not have the strength to scream anymore, but she bit her lip to stop herself from crying, no need to humiliate herself any further.

After what felt like another eternity the horrible tearing pain stopped as the arrowhead finally pierced her skin.

"Okey, okey, it's fine. The worst part is over." Rauna sounded like she was reassuring mostly herself rather than Mirwen, "what do I do now."

"Just break off the arrowhead and pull it out. Please do it quickly."

With one determined pull the arrow was out. The pain lessened but Mirwen's vision suddenly blacked out. Even though she was lying down she felt like she was falling.

"Fuck! Shit! Will you stop trying to die on us for five seconds?" Rauna sounded panicked.

Mirwen blinked to clear her vision and her eyes finally focused on the alarmingly large pool of blood forming next to her.

"That is too much blood." She noted calmly.

"No shit. It hit an artery" Rauna was putting pressure on the wound, her hands glowing with radiant healing energy, but it was not enough to stop the bleeding. "Do any of you have any healing left?" She asked desperately.

There was no answer. They were all out of magic.

"It's not that bad though, is it? We're only an hour away from the town, I'll be fine." Mirwen knew she should probably not be so calm, considering she was bleeding out, but she was too tired to care.

"No, you won't! You'll bleed out in minutes!" Rauna was very much panicking, "Oh gods, I'll have to cauterize tho wound." she let out a sob, "Thancur, create a fire, Calina, get your dagger as hot as you can and hand it over." Rauna managed to pull herself together.

When she was handed the red-hot dagger though she was too hesitant, Mirwen could see her hands shaking. Before she had the time to regret it, Mirwen snatched the dagger from Rauna's hand and pressed it to the open wound.

She would have screamed, if not for the knowledge that she would vomit if she were to stop holding her breath. The smell of burning flash was always vile, but somehow the fact that it was her own made it ten times worse.

She could feel the sweat dripping down her neck, her vision was going in and out of focus and her entire body was shaking, but she dared not move her hand. The pain made each second feel like eternity.

"That's it. It's enough, you can stop." Rauna pried the dagger out of her hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't..."

"It's fine," Mirwen cut her off, "just let me take a few minutes before we move on." she said and promptly passed out.

#whump #lady whump #female whumpee #dnd whump #fantasy whump #cauterization #arrow wound #magical healing #bleeding out #stoic whumpee #scared caretaker #young caretaker #my ocs #my wriring #sorry it took me so fucking long #life has been hectic #but I'm trying to be productive as write whenever I can

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sleepy-dog-boy · 8 months

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Welcome to the community! I'm pretty new myself, ha

Anyways, what would you say is your favorite NON damage spell in dnd for whump? Mine is probably dream or polymorph, I love dream/nightmare sequences and I think it'd be fun to turn a defiant whumpee into a little beetle and stick them in a jar or display case for extra humiliation if they act up too much.

- @shshshquietnow

Thank you for the welcome! And that’s a very good question, there’s so many good ones. Feeblemind is a great one (hella underutilized imo), another lesser-known one is Geas (though it can technically deal damage, it’s not really an attack spell. It’s more like an extended version of Command with consequences), and of course Power Word: Pain has some wonderful potential (no real damage, no wound to heal, a perfectly unscathed whumpee in agony until they make their saving throw)

#whump #dnd whump #fantasy whump #asks #magic whump

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befuddled-calico-whump · 7 months

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hey so today in dnd a player discussed breaking a captive's limbs and then casting Otto's Irresistible Dance on them

#honestly? what a move #dnd whump #magic whump #fantasy whump #broken bones

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kabie-whump · 1 month

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CYOA Whump Part 2

You chose: I was in the Queen’s navy. My captain sold me as a peace offering.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

You are Ventis Riinturuth, first son of Lord Idro Riinturuth. Your father is well known for his draconic command over storms and you have inherited this power along with a certain degree of control over the winds thanks to your air elemental mother.

This is you:

Father had always put too much pressure on you. That’s what drew you to the taverns most nights, where you would stay up into the small hours of the morning drinking with sailors, even though your tolerance would never match theirs. You called it letting off steam and bonding with your people. He called it debauchery.

Your membership in the navy was a formality more than anything else and everyone knew it. Your father had forced you to sign up, both so you could build connections within the military to prepare for your eventual leadership in the kingdom and in hopes that you might learn a little discipline.

You and your captain disliked each other from the start. You didn’t care for hard labor and he didn’t care for prissy little noble boys. You spent most of your days shirking your duties and running down the ship’s rum supply.

But then the captain discovered your powers. He noticed your command over the winds and immediately put you to use, asking you to fill the sails on dead days until it became your full time job. You thought you earned the captain’s respect for it until he sold you to pirates.

There was some kind of deal struck. Protection and a certain level of cooperation in exchange for a power that would bring them considerable strength. Navy captains aren’t supposed to make deals with pirates, but that didn’t stop your captain from handing you over.

Everything moved quickly after that. The few friends you’d made in the navy protested audibly, but they were unable to stop you from being dragged away. You were manhandled, yelling and struggling, to the pirates’ ship. Your powers flared up and sent a few flying overboard before one of them hit you hard on the back of your head and you passed out.

Then you woke up here, tied tightly to the mast.

Everything is fuzzy as you blink spots out of your eyes. Your mouth is painfully dry. Your stomach growls. Your skin burns and itches.

The pirate guarding you has a water skin at her hip. You watch longingly as she takes a long swig, wiping excess water from her lips with a refreshed sigh.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

CYOA whump taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @rainydaywhump @whumperofworlds @hauntedroseart @3-2-whump @fleur-a-whump @whumpsday @whumpisfun @whumper-whimsy @ghost-whump

#whump #whump community #whump tropes #whump writing #whumpblr #whump scenario #whump ideas #whumpee #oc #oc whump #cyoa game #cyoa whump #dnd whump #nonhuman whumpee #pirate whump #ventisposting #ventis

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the-whumpening · 17 days

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The Pet Tiger, #5 [nsfwhump AU]

Prev | Masterpost | Next

CW: Dehumanization, treated as a pet, threats of/references to violence and/or noncon, forced nudity, humiliation, pet whump, pet training, food restriction, caged, isolation, emotional abuse, absolute nonsense from Ozmund like holy shit dude, he’s way past gaslight/gatekeep/girlboss rn

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5: Begging

Ash’s nose wakes first, aroused by the alluring scent of food. His body follows soon after, his muscles aching in protest at their cramped positions. The last, as usual, is his mind. Dreams hadn’t come easily to him the night before—mostly fitful flashes, abstract and vague—and he hardly feels rested. But the smell, at once sweet and savory and spiced, prods him to consciousness.

He cracks his eyes open, only enough to sweep the room for danger. Right, his crumpled spine recalls. The cage. As long as he stays in the cage, he would be safe—that’s the promise Ozmund had made. Even so, Ash makes himself as still as possible; if Ozmund thinks he’s asleep, then maybe—

“I know you’re awake, pet,” Ozmund says, shattering Ash’s hope for a few more minutes of peace. How did he know? “You’ll have to pretend better than that, silly thing. But go on; relax for a bit longer. Once I’ve finished my breakfast, we've got work to do.”

The shudders that had been kept at bay all night return to Ash’s limbs. He wobbles onto his hands and knees, turning and twisting to find a comfortable way to sit—perhaps he’s just too large for this tiny cage. From his vantage point so low to the ground, he can’t see Ozmund or the source of the tantalizing smell. His view is blocked by heavy, ornate furniture and the partially-covered frame of his cage. Without his vision, he can only rely on his hearing and smell to keep track of his captor.

Before long, the sharp taps of Ozmund’s shoes draw nearer. Ash had begun to suspect it would happen soon, as the delicious aromas gradually faded along with the clinking of silverware. Even so, he finds himself pressing against the wall of his cage; if only he could be smaller, if only he could disappear, if only—

The padlock drops into Ozmund’s hand, and the door falls open.

“Come,” Ozmund orders, his voice still calm and casual. As if he’s not ordering another man to kneel at his feet. As if he expects Ash to be at his beck and call. As if he knows Ash will comply.

Fuck that, and fuck him.

“No.” Ash isn’t sure where this surge of bravery came from—or how long it will last.

Ozmund tilts his head. “No?” His rage isn’t exploding yet, but Ash can feel the tension in the air. Even so, he stands his ground.

“No,” he growls, low in his throat. “You can’t do this to me, Ozmund. I’m not your pet—I’m not . . .” He steels his resolve; can he even believe it himself? “I’m not an animal.”

Still, Ozmund’s expression is serene, unbothered. He crouches down to the ground, meeting Ash’s eyeline and smiling placidly. Panic bubbles in Ash’s chest—this is a bad idea. Just behave; maybe it won’t be so bad, he argues with himself. No, I can’t. I have to fight. I have to, I have to, I have to—

Ozmund reaches a hand through the bars of the cage, stroking Ash’s hair as if he’s a frightened animal. Ash’s throat tightens, and words tumble out with false confidence. “Y-you can’t hurt me in here; you said so yourself. I’m not—I’m not scared of you!”

“You’re right, darling,” Ozmund coolly replies, his hand gentle on Ash’s sweaty face. “No one will hurt you in there, least of all me. I won’t force you out, either.”

Ozmund withdraws his hand, instead closing the door and replacing the padlock.

“You’ll stay here, safe in your little cage,” he purrs, “until you beg and plead to be let out.”

Ash isn’t sure how much time has passed while he’s been locked in the too-small cage. His stomach aches with hunger; he can’t remember how long it’s been since he last ate. It’s been so long since his body has known hunger like this—not since his mother died, before Kane came into his life. In those days, his belly was rarely full. He was still so small, so weak, and not clever enough to outsmart his prey.

Thinking about Kane is too hard; he can’t let his mind wander there for long. But, stuck in his own rash decision, he has little else to do but think. No one has let him out to relieve himself, or to eat, or to stretch his cramping muscles—the few servants who have floated in and out of the room have ignored both his presence and his pleas for help. But that’s what I wanted, right? he chastises himself. To be left alone and stay in the “safe” cage . . .

Ozmund hasn’t returned, either. Ash had figured he would want to come back at some point—to mock him, or threaten him, or offer him a chance to beg for forgiveness—but so far, that hasn’t happened. He hasn’t even come back to sleep in his own bed. Ash wonders if that means it hasn’t truly been very long; surely Ozmund wouldn’t change his routine, go out of his way, just to subject Ash to more isolation.

But as the hours drag on, he becomes more and more convinced of his fate. The servants have come and gone multiple times—multiple days, maybe? He’s lost feeling in his limbs, aside from the occasional jab of pain or uncontrollable tremor. Even his vision seems to fade at the edges, pulling him again and again into unsatisfying sleep until he can barely keep his eyes open at all. How long can a human last without water? More appropriately, how long can a half-beast like him last? Would Ozmund leave him here to die of thirst?

As Ash drifts in and out of consciousness, limply clinging to life, the sharp taps of Ozmund’s polished shoes finally return. They echo almost too loudly in Ash’s ears, his senses frayed from so long without stimulation.

The lock and door fall open once more.

“Hello there, pet,” Ozmund gently whispers. Ash’s eyelids flutter, but stubbornly refuse to fully open.

“Oz . . . mun . . .” Ash mumbles, bleary and weak. He can’t even summon the will to be afraid. As before, Ozmund reaches in to place a hand on Ash’s cheek. Ash leans into the touch, the warmth—I can hate myself later, he offers the raging disgust in his chest. It feels . . . nice.

“Master,” Ozmund softly corrects as he thumbs over Ash’s cracked lips. “Are you ready to come out now, darling? Ready to obey?”

I don’t care. I have to live. Just say it.

“Yes . . . m-master.” With nothing in his stomach, Ash can’t even summon the bile those words elicit; his gut just twists painfully instead. At the same time, Ozmund smiles brightly and caresses his face.

“That’s a good boy. Come, now. Let’s clean you up.” Ozmund tugs Ash’s half-limp body out onto the floor, resting Ash’s head in his lap. He dabs Ash’s face with a damp cloth; spores of bright green magic travel down Ash’s body, cleaning the filth he had accumulated while locked in the cage. Ash tries to hold onto consciousness, despite the painful haze in his brain.

“See, darling: this is why you can’t make your own choices,” Ozmund continues. “A silly, stupid thing like you? You’ve just left yourself in your own mess for nearly a week, without a scrap of food or a drop of water. Now that you’re mine, I have to make these choices for you. It’s a hefty responsibility, pet—to train you, to ensure your health, to keep you safe. Even from yourself.”

“Please . . .” Ash croaks in a broken whisper. “Water.”

Ozmund’s gentle fingers on his face turn hard, his nails dragging down Ash’s jaw. “Your begging needs refinement, pet. You will receive water when I give it to you. You will receive food when it suits me. All your needs, all your desires—they come through me.” Despite the calm and even tone in his voice, Ash can feel the malice beneath it all. He shivers pitifully. “But if you’re truly so desperate, I’ll help you. Open.”

Ash allows his jaw to fall open, though every cell in his exhausted brain is screaming not to. It has to be a trick—it just has to.

With a breathy chuckle, Ozmund tenderly lifts Ash’s head off his lap, supporting him like a newborn as he bends to meet Ash’s face. He forces a wet, invasive kiss on Ash’s mouth, using his thumb to hold Ash’s chin in place as they break apart. Ash’s eyes burn; he’s too dehydrated to cry.

Ozmund spits into his still-open mouth.

“There. That’s better, isn’t it?”

#whumpblr #whump writing #whump #writeblr #whump community #dnd whump #tigerverse #the freed tiger #captivity whump #pet whump #rublewriting #nsfwhump #tw cage #tw restraints #tw starvation #creepy whumper #intimate whumper

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a-painful-ordeal · 9 months

Text

4. Endless Lists of Don't do That Again.

CW: implications/references to non-con/sexual assault. References to burning. References to slavery. Botched escape attempt. Beating with a belt. Fear of non-con. Non-consensual stripping.

“Just keep your head down, alright?” Was the last thing Trygve told Evan before showing him to the kitchens. And that was exactly what Evan intended to do. At least until he got the opportunity to run.

Over the next week, he’s given a variety of jobs, though by far the worst one is turning the spit that meat is cooked on. The hours on end of turning the meat on the heavy iron spit makes his back and neck ache; the proximity to the fire leaves him with blisters on his hands but worst of all, the smell makes his hip scream and nausea seep into his throat.

The kitchen itself is huge with at least 20 other people all scrambling to get things done. At first, he expected that at least a few of the kitchen people would be here voluntarily, but the stone-faced guard at the door, and the silence, other than hushed whispers attempting to coordinate jobs, suggested otherwise.

Evan’s job gives him a good view of the kitchen, and the repetitive nature allows him to make notes. When the guards changed. How can careful they are. At what stage they seem to get tired and distracted. Where the spare food ends up.

The guards seemed to change as the preparation for a meal ended. The kitchen itself had only a few small windows for natural light, and very few of them were allowed to leave their place in the kitchen outside of latrine breaks. Most of the staff also tended to sleep in the kitchen rather than elsewhere. This meant that the meals were the best attempt at keeping track of the hours that passed. So, the guards were likely changing every 3 or 4 hours.

The guards' distractibility seemed to alter depending on who was there. Some didn’t leave their posts at all, whilst one, slightly greasy-looking man seemed to take a liking to one of the maids, choosing to spend parts of his shift escorting her out of the room for a while.

Evan can only guess what was happening from the twitchy fear on her face before she was called away, and the blank expressions after she’d been brought back. The other kitchen staff seems to cover her absence seamlessly, and with her return small, discreet hand squeezes are exchanged. Evan meanwhile finds himself imagining several different ways it could be possible to ram a knife through the back of the fucker’s throat. It’s a surprise no one had even tried it yet.

Over the week, Evan uses his proximity to large amounts of food, to slip extra off plates. He stashes it in a small corner near where he sleeps. However, for anything that looks particularly perishable, Evan makes the quick decision to eat immediately. He needs to put on some weight if he’s planning on lasting any time without food. Evan has spent years watching how M works. How she uses her large dress to conceal what she’s taken. Evan is clumsier than her and a large shirt isn’t quite as good, but he seems to make it work.

***

The week passes, during which he hears whispers of a large celebration that is being held. The work on the day is more hectic than normal, and Evan feels his bones and joints hate him. The day goes on and food preparation dies down, and the kitchen seems to slump collectively.

Evan finally has a moment to breathe as the fire dies down and the pan scrubbing subsides. His knuckles had blistered from the heat and then been scrubbed raw in the dishwater. He moves across the room to a small pan of cool water that he uses to soak his bloody, painful hands.

That’s when he notices it. The guard is gone. The man had been here most of the time, but he had been sloshing back a couple of glasses of wine towards the end and now… there was no one else there. They were probably all at the feast… and…. Oh. A small surge of adrenaline bubbles into excitement. He, however, forces himself to stay calm as a half-drafted escape plan begins to be cobbled together. He lets it simmer whilst he covers up the second wind of energy that he’s experiencing by shifting his expression to one of exhaustion.

He moves his way slowly through the kitchen towards where he’d been collapsing most days to sleep, unnoticed by most of the exhausted people. As he passes, he picks up a silver plate, like the sort that they had been using today to serve food on.

He quietly and fluidly takes out some of the food he’d been quietly stashing and lays it neatly on the plate. Now the trick came down to confidence. Confidence that he was where he was meant to be. How confidently and precisely could he navigate his way through the building?

He weaves his way through the kitchen, keeping his head down. He can be certain the people here are too tired to care. And he doubts they’d hand him in. Not really. The guards were who he had to be wary of.

He exits the kitchen, scanning left and right before choosing the right corridor. Where he’d first entered had been heavily guarded. So, he may have better luck going in the opposite direction.

He threads his way through the corridors. Trying to prevent himself from speeding up as adrenaline pounds through him. There’s a momentary pause as the corridor bleeds into huge, grandiose halls. It’s more glamour and money than Evan had ever really seen in one place. Even compared to when he still lived with his grandparents.

The walls are decorated with expensive portraits and are lit by large candelabras Music and chatter echo from where the feast is going on. Right. He stops blinking in awe and wills himself to relax and think. Best to avoid that route then. He changes direction and begins moving through the halls and away from the large dining room.

Evan manages to get a good distance away from the party. He follows to where

the doors should be logically. Away from kitchens and dining rooms. Somewhere near a staircase. Rounding a corner his eyes fall to two large doors.

The entrance.

That’s when he hears footsteps and laughter. His breath hitches. But he forces himself to push through. Keep calm. Keep steady. Keep walking. He wills himself to remember that if he looks like he belongs. It’s no one will notice.

The steps get closer and closer, he steps to one side to let them pass respectfully. Heart thumping away in his chest. Praying they couldn’t read minds.

Two guards, clearly a little too drunk approach and begin to pass him.

Evan exhales as they keep walking and begins to move towards the doors.

The steps stop.

Keep walking.

“Hey… the feast’s this way.” A guard calls over. His voice slurs slightly from the alcohol.

Evan keeps walking. Slow. Steady. He’s doing a job. There is a reason he’s going this way. He has a purpose.

“Hey! Didn’t you hear me?” the guard calls at him.

Evan stops. His heart is in his throat. There are two choices. Run or pretend. Play along and certainly get caught out… or…. The door is so close. He has a head start… it could be so easy. Pretend or…

He breaks into a sprint. Food scatters to the floor. He finds himself gripping the plate tightly as he does.

It takes a second for the alcohol-addled guards to process what’s happening.

Evan reaches the door and goes to wrench it open, as two large men barrel towards him shouting. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The door opens and as quick as a street cat, he’s out the door. His feet pounding against the cobblestone.

Despite the alcohol, the guards close the distance with ease. Hands lunge to grab at him.

Evan takes the opportunity and frisbees the plate off in a wild direction. His only weapon clangs as it cuts into the brow of one of the guards. “Fuck!” spits the now very, pissed-off guard, rapidly blinking, trying to keep the blood from dripping into his eyes.

Evan digs his toes into the stone path as he bolts for the gate. A huge weight body slams into him. He hits the ground with a crunch as the full body weight of a man is on top of him. All Evan can do is put his hands out to stop smacking his head into the cobblestone.

“Look! He tried to make a run!” The guard on top of Evan proudly declares, gripping the boy’s hair and yanking it to one side. “You thought you could try and get away, did you?” The smell of liquor on his lips is strong.

Evan struggles. Trying to shift the weight off him, the guard moves so his knee is in the small of Evan’s back, and he kneels over the top of him. His hand remains in Evan’s hair, gripping it painfully and forcing the boy’s head to the floor. “I wonder what sort of reward we’ll get for this.” The tone is low, and sickly.

Evan’s mouth goes dry and his mind flashes blank as fear creeps its way through his body. No. Gods no.

A kick to the ribs pulls him out of it making him gasp. “Fucking prick” the guard with the cut brow snarls. He slams two more into the boy’s chest.

“Excuse me!” Evan’s hair is released, as the man pinning him down sits up to look at his colleagues.

“That little shit just cut me. You can save-” he gestures wildly “-Whatever this is, till later! Right now. He’s mine.”

There’s a long, elongated sigh from above. “Fine.” Evan feels his hands being pinned but the pressure from his back is gone for a moment, only to be replaced by the feeling of hands at his waistband.

The fear is back. Colder than ever. He goes to kick but feels a shoe pressing his legs down. He attempts to crane his head around but all he can see is the dark evening sky.

His breeches are dragged down and there is a small jangle of a belt being unbuckled.

Evan goes still, the fear makes him sick and-

There’s an audible crack as the belt contacts the bare skin on his lower back and upper thighs. Red-hot pain shoots into the back of his throat. The leather stings uncomfortably and the shock causes his lungs to rake in more air.

There's another strike and another, layering themselves on top of one another. Burning and stingy, aching and throbbing. The leather cuts through his skin, ripping jagged, bloody lines into the boy’s pale lower back. The impact of the leather tears into him in a pain that leaches its way through his body and into his throat.

Evan feels the desperate urge to cry but as each strike drives air from his lungs, he finds that he can’t.

After what feels like hours, there’s a pause. Some sounds of shuffling. Before two, very weighty strikes come down. The guardsman is clearly putting his whole shoulder into it as he does. A large chunk of metal scours bruises into his flesh, as the belt buckle is brought down on the boy’s body.

Finally, after an eternity. It stops. Evan lies there. Panting, pain ringing out through him, and tears begin to well in the back of his throat. The pain throbs in the gentle breeze, but the humiliation feels worse. The heat of being held down and beaten like a petulant child, and the fear of what else they could do, rises in his cheeks as he swallows back tears.

He is pulled to his feet, hands pinned behind his back to stop him from running.

“Good. That’s a lot better.” Bloody brow seems more relaxed. “Take him to Lord Maynard then? I’m sure he’d want to know about this little escape attempt.”

Evan’s captor sneers “Oh so you get to do what you want with him and not me?”

“Yes. Because getting in trouble with the lord is not my priority tonight. Come on. And let him pull up his fucking trousers. I don’t want anyone to think I’m that drunk. Even if you are.”

Evan quickly pulls his waistband back. The fear is back. Like hell does he want to see this lord… But he has very little choice as he is marched back into the manor and into the loud feast room.

The room is lit by blazing torches, food that Evan had been working with a few hours’ prior litters the table, mostly still intact due to the quantities.

On entering, some of the chatter dies down. A rather large man, at the head of the table, makes his way down “What is the meaning of this?” his voice demands the attention of the room.

The bloody brow takes a step forward whilst the other guard, forces Evan to his knees, by kicking in the back of his legs. “We found this boy trying to run.”

The Lord paces slowly towards Evan, looking him over as he approaches. “This is the new one, is it not Sir Ademar?”

The hulking knight who had bought him looks up and sighs very slowly “Yes, my lord. It is.”

Lord Maynard approaches before finally stopping in front of Evan. He hums slightly, as Evan glares back in defiance.

Sir Ademar looks to his lord “He was stationed in the kitchens, my Lord.”

Maynard looks at Evan a bit longer before smiling. “Have him reassigned to me.” His gaze pierces through Evan’s very being before he looks to the guards “Take him to my chambers. And remember to lock the doors.”

The guards nod as Evan is pulled to his feet.

“Of course, My Lord.” Sir Ademar nods before gesturing to the half-orc, Trygve, to pour his wine. Trygve begins to pour, but for a moment he locks eyes with Evan. A look of frustration, sympathy, and pity. The message is clear. I told you to keep your head down.

-------

AN: And now we can move to needlessly tormenting my boy! :D Shout if you spot a typo or want adding to the tag list!!!!

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