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whumpy-daydreams · 5 months

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9. Rules

Masterlist

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CW: training, caning

Olive tried not to fidget as she stood in those cursed shoes in the grand entrance hall. Ms Carter watched her from the side, unforgiving and stern. Sebastian strolled in, cane in hand, jacket discarded.

“Well then, rules. Rules define us, provide structure and routine. You know rules one, two, and three already. Repeat them.”

“Address you as sir, do as you say…” she struggled to remember the other one. Whack! Olive hissed.

“Rule two. Do not speak without permission.” When she said nothing he smiled. “Clever. Repeat rule two.”

“Do not speak without permission.” Another thwack. “Do not speak without permission, sir.” This was going to get old quickly.

“Better. Repeat these rules after I say them. Rule four: you are to greet me and any guests with a curtsy.”

“Greet you and any guests with a curtsy, sir.”

“Show me.” Olive did her best, dipping a few inches. When Mr Camberton stepped closer she stiffened, but he didn’t hit her. “Keep your back straight, right leg goes behind, head bowed, maintain eye contact.” She tried again and flinched as he put his hand on shoulder, forcing her lower.

When he was finally satisfied with her curtsy he stepped back.

“Rule five: you will not break, damage, or tamper with any item belonging to me, or any person in this house. That includes your clothes and anything else I give to you.”

“Ow!” The cane stung as it hit her arm again. “I didn’t do anything!” Another hit in the same place had her yelping.

“The first was for not repeating the rule. The second was for talking back. Which leads me to rule six: you will not argue, question, or talk back to me.”

“Do not argue, question, or talk back, sir.”

“And rule five?”

“Don’t break anything.” This time the cane hit her bare forearm. She glared at him, and quickly earned herself another.

“I don’t appreciate impudence. Rule five again.”

“Don’t break or damage anything, including any items given to me.” She quickly added, “sir.” He nodded in approval.

“Rule seven: you are to ensure any area of the house you use is clean and tidy.”

“Keep any areas of the house I use clean and tidy, sir.”

“Rule eight: you are to maintain a presentable appearance at all times. This includes good posture and a pleasant countenance.”

“Be presentable at all times with good posture and pleasant countenance, sir.”

“What is rule four?”

Olive sorted through the rules, trying to remember- thwack. Tears began forming.

“Curtsy when… greet people with a curtsy. Sir.”

“Rule nine: when dismissed you are to curtsy and return immediately to either your task or your room.”

“When dismissed, curtsy and return to my task or my room, sir.”

“Rule ten: if you break any of these rules, either on purpose or by accident, you are to inform Ms Carter and kneel in the entrance hall until I determine a suitable punishment.”

Olive struggled to get the words out, her voice too quiet. “If I break any rules, I am to inform Ms Carter and kneel in the entrance hall… until you decide a punishment, sir.”

“I’ll have Ms Carter give you a copy of the rules. I expect you to memorise them. Dismissed.”

Olive turned quickly, eager to get away from Mr Camberton and his wretched cane. But she only got a few steps before he called after her.

“Wait.” She looked back at him. “What was rule nine?” Shit.

“Curtsy when dismissed and return to my room. Sir.”

“And rule ten?”

“If I break a rule, tell Ms Carter and kneel in the entrance hall until you decide on a punishment, sir.”

“Since I was present for that particular rule break, there isn’t any need to tell Ms Carter. But I do expect you to kneel.”

Nausea clamped down on her empty stomach as Olive turned back to the centre of the room, taking her time as she knelt on the cold marble. Mr Camberton looked her over.

“Hold out your left hand.” She did, not daring to look at him. The cane whistled as it came down on her open palm and she cried out, cradling it to her chest. “Did I say to move it?” The words were mocking, cruel things that betrayed his enjoyment. Slowly Olive held it back out.

The next blow was just as hard, and she shook slightly with the effort of keeping it aloft, a sob escaping her lips. For a while there was nothing. Just the anticipation of pain.

“You’re dismissed.”

She practically scrambled to her feet, curtsying low before walking away, breathing fast and heavy, Ms Carter’s heavy footsteps close behind.

#mortiawrites #whump #olive whump #whumpee #whumper #pet whump #pet training

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epiclamer · 2 days

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The scientist shivered against the cold breeze of the air-conditioned laboratory, their white coat was barely enough to keep the hairs on their arms from standing on end.

Just a few more hours and then they could sleep. That’s all they had to keep telling themselves.

Keys jingling in the doorway spooked them out of their stupor, shooting to their feet and away from their work. At the entrance stood Villain, backlit by the bright hallway lights streaming behind them and into the lab.

Scientist could feel the sweat beading on their forehead when a moment ago they were fighting the frigid air. Villain’s presence always seemed to have that effect on them.

“You can leave now, you know? You don’t have to stay here.”

I won’t keep you here. Is what they truly meant, but phrasing it like the scientist had a say in the matter made them feel a little bit better.

Both of their gazes fell to the chain that had recently come off the scientist’s ankle. When the villain had first kidnapped them two months ago, they weren’t even allowed to leave their chair. Now, however, the villain was practically inviting them to leave.

“T-That, um, new poison you wanted? It’s almost done, I just need a few more hours tonight—”

“I won’t kill you.” The villain raised an eyebrow, gaze piercing through the researcher in front of them, picking them apart piece by piece, layer by layer. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Scientist swallowed, it was loud enough that their gulp could be heard bouncing off the thin walls of their workshop. “I-I thought you wanted this poison done by tomorrow for your big fight with Hero.”

The criminal took a step towards the other, dragging a finger down the edge of their work table as they did. “That poison was just a thought—a rough draft. It’s not even supposed to exist, it shouldn’t even be possible.”

They were standing almost nose-to-nose now, the scientist could feel the villain’s minty breath ghosting the bow of their bottom lip, which they bit down on to try and stop it from shuddering. Something about the villain’s eyes stole the breath from their lungs, something about their tactile fingers always seemed to catch their wandering attention.

Something about the villain was in itself completely mesmerizing.

“Go home, Scientist. You have people waiting for you, you have a family, friends, even the police still scour the city for a clue to your whereabouts.”

Wrong, the villain was terribly wrong. They had no one to go back to, no home, no spouse, no kids, no friends, no coworkers. And the police had ended their search three weeks ago, they had seen the delcaration on the news headline.

Scientist didn’t exist anymore. They didn’t exist anywhere outside of this very lab.

Villain cupped the researcher’s hands in their own, taking them gently and holding them firmly. “Go home.”

If their stomach wasn’t exploding with butterflies, Scientist probably would’ve bolted for the exit the second the chain had come off. Instead, they were frozen to the spot, lost in the eyes of the city’s top criminal, and silently begging to never have to leave their side. As their colleague or as their partner in crime, Scientist simply craved the attention, the praise, that came effortlessly from the villain’s mouth at the sight of the scientist’s work.

They had worked many jobs throughout their various degrees, yet nobody flattered the scientist like Villain did.

Truthfully, it was intoxicating. Scientist never wanted it to stop—even if it meant working for the ‘bad guys’.

“Just let m-me finish this for you— please.”

“I don’t want a peace offering, I’m already setting you free. No strings attached.” The criminal shrugged, letting go of the researcher’s hands and pushing their own into their pockets.

Scientist was crudely greeted by the cold air on their skin once more, but they did their best not to show their disappointment. “I-It’s not that—”

“Then what is it? Because I can’t have you stay here any longer without a proper excuse.”

The scientist always hated when people got stern with them, still they managed to mask their wince of fear and carry on, the words sticking to their throat. They had reasoning, but it was still up to the villain to decide if they would accept it or not.

One deep breath and two seconds of solid eye contact and the researcher felt like they were going to pass out from the stress. Their whole body was drenched in sweat, maybe the villain could kill them to save them from this embarrassment. On the other hand, maybe the villain would say yes.

“Villain.” Another deep breath. “I want to work with you.”

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letthewhumpbegin · 1 month

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911, s3e3

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whump-on-a-string · 4 months

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The Rare Bookseller

Fan art for @oliversrarebooks whump series.

#oliver #my art #fan art #oliversrarebooks #whump art #I got inspired by 1920s movie posters okay #it helps that victorian era graphic design is still pretty relevant to 1920s graphic design tbh bc I have a shit ton of 1880s fonts #hypnosis #vampires #GO READ THAT SHIT IT'S SO GOOD

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oliversrarebooks · 17 days

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The Rare Bookseller Part 47: The Maestro's Diversion

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September 1925

TW: mind control, body control, captivity, kidnapping

Despite Alexander's attempt at soothing him, Oliver felt himself growing more and more anxious as the ballet continued. As much as he tried to focus on the dance, but now that he knew about the strange man's identity, he couldn't help but sneak glances over at him and fret.

Objectively, he didn't look that dangerous - a very slight older man with a sharp gaze -- but there was a certain something dreadful about him that Oliver could sense from across the theater. Or perhaps it was just his imagination, borne of the fact that Alexander was still very much on edge.

The ballet itself did not calm his nerves either. The dancing was growing more and more feverish and abstract, the costumes wilder, with bright red beads and ribbons that seemed to signify wounds. The climax was what appeared to be a human sacrifice, where the prima ballerina danced upon an altar, red ribbons tied around her hands and feet and neck, finally collapsing among raucous, atonal music.

Oliver's anxiety was reaching a fever pitch as the ballet came to a close. He clapped politely as the dancers took their bows, glancing over at the strange man.

He was clapping, but he wasn't looking at the stage any more. No, his eyes were trained directly on Oliver. They locked gazes, and Oliver felt a chill run down his spine.

"We will wait until most of the audience has cleared out," said his master. "Then we'll go attend to my master in his box. We may be in luck. He may be in an unusually pleasant mood."

Oliver had no idea how that icy gaze could count to Alexander as "unusually pleasant." "Must we meet him?"

Alexander didn't answer.

"Couldn't we just... leave?"

"No."

Oliver had never imagined he could feel so much dread simply watching men in tuxedos and women in fancy evening dress chatter and mingle as they made their way to the exits. His hands hurt, and he realized that he was gripping the arms of the chair so hard that they were making imprints. Alexander said nothing, stoically staring down at the empty stage.

Alexander was being so terse, so stiff, so unlike his normal self. But Oliver, of course, had no choice but to follow, no matter how badly he wanted to dig in his heels and not go. He feared that any struggle right now would not be met with Alexander's gentle spell correcting him, but with something far worse.

They made their way around the theater in silence, entering the box and entering the presence of Alexander's sire.

He looked upon Alexander with harsh judgement in his eyes, which Alexander took stoically, and then he looked upon Oliver with...

It was something like approval, perhaps even the ghost of a smile, and it was somehow even worse than his look of disdain.

"Good evening, sire," said his master with a practiced bow. "Was the ballet to your liking?"

"It was passable," the Maestro said, his voice like a musical instrument from another place and time. "While far from perfection, the bold direction was at least more interesting than what usually passes for art in this city. Unusually, I find myself craving the new more and more these days." He was staring at Oliver, not Alexander, as he said this.

"It seems as though you've spent the last few seasons confined to your chambers, sire," said Alexander, with measured words. "That may account for your desire for novelty."

"...A fair observation, child," he said. "Let's speak more of the new and novel, then. This must be your recently acquired thrall, young Oliver, is it not? I've heard that there was quite a stir at the auction house."

"He has very fine blood, sire, as you no doubt can tell. He is naturally docile and obedient, and has great potential."

The Maestro nodded slowly as he looked Oliver up and down. "Come, Oliver. Kneel."

Oliver's breath caught as he felt the tug on his body, puppet strings entangling his arms and legs, as he stepped forward. He remembered his master's words, and had been bracing himself for this, willing himself to relax and stay calm. Oliver would be unharmed, Alexander thought, as long as he behaved. So he didn't resist as his body fell to its knees before the Maestro, his posture straight, his hands clasped in his lap, his head tilted slightly downward, demure.

Alexander's sire took him by the chin and brought his face upwards, his fingers delicate and cold. He examined Oliver as though he were a specimen under glass, searching every inch of him for something that Oliver didn't understand. Oliver could feel the control wrapped around him, as though his very heart was forced to beat in time with the Maestro's whims.

"You've made an appropriate choice for once, Alexander," said the Maestro after what seemed like an eternity. "This is a fine acquisition, and you were quite right to not let him fall into the hands of the likes of Jameson. Well done, child."

Alexander looked every bit as surprised as Oliver felt. "Thank you, sire."

"In fact, I find myself inspired for a new acquisition of my own. As you've correctly observed, existence has become ever so dreary, and I need a new diversion." He leaned back in his seat. "Which is why you're going to pluck the prima ballerina from her perch."

Oliver nearly choked on his breath as Alexander's eyes went even wider. "The ballerina from this show, sire?" he said in a strained tone. "I don't mean to question you, but are you absolutely sure? She's well known and her absence will certainly be noticed."

"Of course. Don't take me for a fool by stating the obvious." His glare was boring a hole into Alexander. "It doesn't matter how well known she is. Once she's in my grasp, she will not be found."

"Yes, sire. My apologies."

"You must fetch her for me. Your power is much gentler than mine, befitting a lovely flower. Bring her here, so that she may dance for me and only me."

Oliver couldn't help his gaze flitting over to his master, who seemed to be struggling to keep his composure. Was he actually going to do it? Simply kidnap the ballerina, on his sire's orders?

"As you wish, sire," he said, meekly. "Oliver, come along."

"No, that won't be necessary," said the Maestro, laying his hand on top of Oliver's head before he could stand up. "I will be content to watch over your thrall while you take care of business."

The hand on his head felt oppressive, and Oliver fought down the urge to beg his master not to leave him here, alone with his sire -- to not steal away a dancer with a bright future and plunge her into a nightmare. But he could already tell from the look on his master's face that he was going to follow his sire's wishes.

"Thank you for watching over him, sire. I will return with your new thrall."

With that, his master left the box, and Oliver was left alone with his master's sire, whose full focus had turned back to him. The Maestro ran his hand through Oliver's hair, and then tilted his head up to look at him once more.

"Hm, yes, a precious find indeed," he said, more to himself than to Oliver. "You will answer my questions truthfully, child. Do you fear me?"

The correct answer, Oliver thought, was to tell the Maestro that he did not fear him, that he was always happy to serve a vampire. But Alexander had warned him so strictly about being honest... "Yes, sir."

"Good. You're correct to do so," he said, apparently satisfied. "What do you fear from me?"

That question was far more complex, a half million nightmare scenarios crowding Oliver's mind at once. "Many things, sir," he said. "Primarily that I'm aware that you have the power to harm me at any time, in any way you wish. I hope you will be merciful, sir."

"Merciful, hm." He seemed as though he were considering an idea he'd never heard of before, and Oliver worried he'd overstepped. "Well, you have been honest so far, so I will be honest with you, child. If you continue to be as truthful and obedient as you are now, I will have no reason to do you harm tonight."

"Thank you, sir," said Oliver, not feeling all that reassured. He felt the control over his body loosen, but before he could move, he realized what the meaning of this was when combined with his previous words -- this was a test, an obvious one at that. He steadfastly remained in the position the Maestro had placed him, trying to keep his posture straight.

"Perhaps I'm in a rare good mood from the fine night air and a half-decent ballet, but I find myself enjoying you, child. Do not take this as an invitation to be bold," he said in his musical voice. "Tell me, do you like being enthralled by my Alexander?"

Although his feelings on this were somewhat complicated, the first response that came to mind was both safe and sufficiently honest. "Yes, sir, I like it very much."

"Does he treat you well?" the Maestro intoned.

"Yes, sir," said Oliver with uncertainty, increasingly worried about this line of questioning. "I want for nothing, and the feedings are gentle and pleasant."

"I see. And does he afford you a great deal of freedom?"

So that's where this was leading. He was trying to get Oliver to admit to his master's soft treatment of him, no doubt so his master could be scolded or punished. His instinct was to protect Alexander -- to tell the Maestro that Alexander was very strict and kept him on a tight leash.

But Alexander had been adamant that Oliver must be honest, and he felt sick at the idea of disobeying a direct order from his master. "He offers me some freedoms, but not others, sir."

"Elaborate. What freedoms do you have?"

"I am not allowed to leave his manor, sir, but I am allowed to inhabit any part of it, except for my master's private chambers. When I am not feeding or waiting on my master, I am given free time to do what I wish." His heart thumped. He knew that was the wrong answer. He fought to keep himself in position, and felt the claws of control tightening around him again.

The Maestro's gaze drilled into his soul. "That is disappointing, but wholly unsurprising," he said after a long, tense minute. "Interestingly, that's the first time I've felt any sort of resistance against my control. You're otherwise obeying perfectly. Why choose that moment to struggle?"

"I want to be honest, as you ordered, sir, but I also don't want to say anything that could bring down punishment upon my master."

"Loyalty, then. An instinct to protect your master. Despite his continued shortcomings, he seems to have done a passable job when it came to enthralling you, especially compared to previous thralls," he said. "That's also my sweet Lily's work. I could sense it in you from the moment you opened your mouth. Obedient, loyal, but with too many thoughts in your head, as is her preference. Unfortunate, really." He gave Oliver a long look. "I suppose it can't be helped. For once my wayward children have brought me something worthwhile. You can always be perfected in time."

Oliver's heart filled with dread. "...Thank you, sir," he said, not knowing what else to say to that.

Before the awkward interaction could continue, Oliver heard a gorgeous, ethereal voice coming from outside of the box. He breathed it in deep, and it filled his mind with a sensation like morning fog, dampening the racing thoughts that the Maestro had criticized. The melody was beckoning him, wrapping around his limbs, enticing him to stand and follow.

Alexander. His master had returned. Follow me, follow me, he sang, a vampiric pied piper.

The pull of his song was strong enough that his master's previous command to obey the Maestro and not resist was completely overridden. He would have sleepwalked to Alexander's side in a heartbeat if it weren't for the Maestro's control preventing him, weighing down his body even as his heart yearned, and Oliver felt that he might be torn in two if this continued.

The struggle was ended when Alexander entered the box and bowed to his sire. Behind him was a young woman, thin but athletic, wearing a simple house dress that contrasted sharply with her dramatic stage makeup and the elaborate hairdo that was halfway to falling down.

It was, of course, the prima ballerina, who had apparently been ensorcelled in her dressing room, just after changing out of her elaborate costume. Her eyes were so far away, so dreamy, as she walked gracefully, a soft smile on her lips.

Oliver's heart sank. He knew from experience how hard it was to escape Alexander's power -- and even worse, she was being given over to the Maestro's thrall. She might never see the stage again, never dance for an audience, never see her family or friends, never laugh and talk with her fellow dancers after a rehearsal. She was to be locked away like a doll in a music box, rotating slowly on command, and she most likely didn't even realize her fate yet.

The Maestro rose from his seat and wordlessly examined her as he had done to Oliver. Alexander was still humming something under his breath, something intended to keep the ballerina calm, and Oliver let the spell soften his thoughts as well, all too eager to dissociate from this scene.

He watched as, with the slightest change in expression and quirk of an eyebrow, the ballerina struck one pose, then another. She was nearly up on her toes despite wearing slippers and not proper shoes, twirling so slowly, and although her face maintained a placid expression, there was fear in her eyes, now.

"Acceptable," the Maestro murmured, as she turned and assumed a different pose. "This will do for a diversion this winter, I think. Well done once more, Alexander."

"Thank you, sire."

"It's been a long time since I've come calling, hasn't it? I do believe I have the evening after next free. I trust I'll be offered quality refreshments?" He gazed at Oliver meaningfully, as the meaning of his words penetrated through the fog.

This strange, distressing vampire wanted to drink from him. Surely his master wouldn't allow that. Surely he was only for Alexander.

"...Very well, sir," said Alexander through gritted teeth. "You're welcome at my manor at any time, of course."

"Excellent. You're dismissed, then. Take your sweet Oliver home, and I'll take my new prize." He picked the ballerina up as effortlessly as he might a kitten, and she lay unmoving in his grasp.

"Good night, sire."

"Good night, child."

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Well, this went well.

Next week, Fitz has a plan.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme @strawbearydreams @ghost-whump

#whump #whump writing #vampire whump #mind control #body control #vampire whumper #ballet whump #rare bookseller #alexander #oliver #maestro

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prettyboysinpain · 1 year

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Buck (and Eddie) get struck by lightning ⚡️⚡️

9-1-1 6x10 “In a Flash”

#this vid is making tumblr very laggyyy #911 fox #6x10 #911 spoilers #evan buckley #oliver stark #eddie diaz #ryan guzman #electrocution #unconscious #worry #whump #mine #whump video

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flame-343 · 28 days

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PROMPT

Batman AKA Bruce Wayne had some where houses compromised because the LoA are back at it again and being a pain, He can't leave everything in the cave because there is so much of it, back up batterangs, grappling hooks, old cars, gadgets, the occasional Bat-mech or two. He needs to find a secure place to house all of his stuff while he deals with the LoA. He can't trust his children to take care of everything even in smaller sizes. So when Bruce is at a loss, he consults his dad (Alfred Pennyworth) for advice. Alfred says something that makes Bruce shiver to his core. " Why not give the original justice league members the extra things Master Bruce? You trust them with your life on the battlefield, why not with a few boxes of extra tech?". The thought of Hal Jordan with his extra batmobile is enough to make him reel in mental pain. However, this is Bruce's only hope, so he's called an emergency meeting for the original members of the justice league. May whatever higher being up there make sure this goes well

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cultural-church-or · 8 days

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https://alexis-316.ludgu.top/s/KUdoPkn

#programmer #troyler #daniel howell #whump #jeffrey dean morgan #turning red #skincare tips #philadelphia eagles #Bernie sanders #vintage car #gece #Oliver stark

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aceofwhump · 1 year

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Buck whump

9-1-1 6x11 "In Another Life"

#whumpedit #whump #911 spoilers #911 fox #911 #911edit #evan buckley #oliver stark #9x11 6x11 #my gifs #mod post #unconscious #coma #hospital #intubation

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random-fandom-whump · 1 year

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9-1-1 S06E10 (X)

"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Captain Nash, 118. We've got a firefighter down..."

#911 on fox #evan buckley #oliver stark #struck by lightening #knocked out #unconscious #dangling #unresponsive #firefighter whump #worried friends #bobby nash #eddie diaz #hen wilson #chimney han #911 6x10 #ep: in a flash #flashing gifs #911 spoilers

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daniwib · 1 year

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Sneak peek of a sketch for a fic I am working on. What do you think the other half will be?

#911 #evan buckley #buddie #whump #9-1-1 #9-1-1 fanfiction #911 fox #Oliver Stark #Buck fanart

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whumpy-daydreams · 8 months

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Auction pt 2

Masterlist

Previous Next

CW: sold at auction, manhandled

“And for our last item - a truly unique specimen.” The auctioneer paused to let anticipation increase among the audience. “A contortionist!”

And with that Olive was yanked on stage. Bright lights hit her and she squeezed her eyes shut, blinking as they adjusted. While she couldn’t see the audience well, there were around 100 men and women elegantly dressed, and there were a few whistles as she was pulled to the centre.

“She isn’t trained, but I’m a week or two with any of you would sort that out nicely. Perfect for anyone wanting an exotic decoration for your home - or to expand your activities elsewhere.” There were a few chuckles and Olive felt sick at the implication. She tugged a little at the hand still gripping her arm and it tightened.

“Let’s start the bidding at £50,000. Do I have £50,000?” The price went up quickly, paddles rising and falling like waves until only a few bidders were left. “250,000; 300,000; 320,000; 350,000-”

“500,000” Someone called out, and a few people tutted.

“Very well sir, any raises on £500,000? 550,000? Anyone else for £550,000? Sold!”

A price on her life. Olive felt numb. Her legs were sluggish as she was dragged back off stage and to a new location. But when she saw the line of prisoners waiting for the people who had bought them, she ran.

She didn’t know where she was going, but it turned out it didn’t matter. An arm wrapped around her waist and hoisted her into the air kicking and screaming. It was easy for them to cuff her hands behind her back and secure her to the wall along with the others, and when she tugged against the chains they didn’t budge.

Slowly people were brought in to see what they’d bought up close. Most went quietly, although a few fought. The quiet boy next to her even knelt before the woman who had bought him. And then there was only one other person left.

“You’re the contortionist huh?” She recognised the voice - it was the man who had talked to her earlier, the one who fought. Olive nodded. “Don’t happen to be an escape artist as well?”

“Looking back, that might have been a more useful skill,” she said, chuckling grimly.

“I’m Leon by the way.”

“Olive.”

“I’d shake your hand but…”

Leon turned around as two men in suits entered. One was the auctioneer, a short man with hair tied back in a ponytail, but the other was tall, with a perfectly tailored three piece suit complete with a red tie.

“These are your purchases; do you have restraints or shall I supply you with some - on the house of course,” the auctioneer said.

“That’s generous of you but I have made my own arrangements. The contortionist, do you think she will need restraining?”

“Better safe than sorry, she did make a run for it.”

“Very well. David?” Another man Olive hadn’t noticed stepped forward. “Secure this one and bring him home in the van.”

The man, David, was careful to avoid Leon’s legs as he handcuffed him and dragged him away, meanwhile the suited man stepped closer to Olive and undid the shackles around her wrists. As he took her by the arm she pushed him away but he was quick to grab her again and his fingers gripped her face.

“I will give you a choice: you can behave and sit in the car, or you can try something like that again and go in the car boot instead. What’s it going to be?” It was an easy decision and when he let go of her she didn’t run. “Good girl.”

#mortiawrites #whump #whumpee #whump writing #olive whump #auction

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whump-is-love-whump-is-life · 12 days

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TW: interrogation whump, electrocution, electrical burns, restraints in the form of handcuffs

Take some 3 am Barry (The Flash) whump because I have a problem.

Barry seized up and spasmed for who-knows-what time. His head hit his chest and there were faint voices rotating around him. Something was burning, he noticed. The smell went through his nose and he grimaced minutely.

“-e’s- ill- con-” words couldn’t make it through his dazed state. Where…? Even thinking was difficult, mind foggy and head throbbing.

“-ful- ill- im-” A small groan made it through his lips.

“Don’t -are- we - infor- as- it-” Everything was too loud, when he tried to open his mouth to say something, no sentence came out. Where am I? The fog was clearing in his head. Where am I? A flutter of panic came with it because the burning from earlier was him. A ring of red burns around each of his wrists, hidden under the metal cuffs encasing them; electrical burns. They stung and everything in him wanted to cry out, but his body still hadn’t caught up with his mind and everything was heavier than lead.

“—And if he dies under interrogation?” Dies? Interrogation? Oh crap.

“He’s a speedster.” Someone reached down and lifted him by the chin, someone with piercing blue eyes and an expression that screamed danger. RUN. but at the same time– Oliver? His friend tightened his grip and he fought another grimace. “He can handle it.” Oliver met his eyes, cold, cruel, this wasn’t the Oliver he knew. “Up the current, 500 milliamps.”

#context? what context?#may continue this #may not #who knows #barry allen #the flash #oliver queen #barry whump #the flash ficlet #whump #electrocution #tw electrocution #electrocution tw #interrogation whump #whump writing #my whump #my writing #my posts

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letthewhumpbegin · 1 month

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911, s4e14

#911 #911 fox #911 abc #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #christopher diaz #oliver stark #gavin mchugh #whump #whump gifs #emotional whump #crying #comfort #ltwb911

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where-is-my-whump · 2 months

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👀

#911 abc #911 #whump #spoiler #angela bassett #athena grant #bobby nash #peter krause #hostage situation #cruse #oliver stark #evan buckley #buck #eddie diaz #ryan guzman #welp lets see how it will turn out

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oliversrarebooks · 24 days

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The Rare Bookseller Part 46: Oliver's Ballet

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September 1925

TW: mind control, captivity

Oliver was trying to keep his hands from shaking as he walked up the stairs to the forbidden third floor.

It was the evening of the ballet, and his master had given him his instructions the previous night. He was to wake up before sunset, bathe, don the expertly tailored shirt and pants that had been provided to him, make coffee, and then head to Alexander's room to attend on him. Oliver wasn't entirely sure what that meant, and his nervousness over dispatching his duties warred with his nervousness about being an embarrassment at a fancy performance. He'd slept better the past two days, owning to Katherine's encouragement and his master's feeding, but now he couldn't help being slightly on edge.

Find happiness wherever you can...

He would do his best to follow her advice and enjoy himself tonight. It certainly wasn't every day he got to witness a ballet.

The oil lamp he was holding in his other hand sputtered and flickered as he climbed the stairs and apprehensively knocked on the dark wooden door that guarded his master's private sanctum. The door creaked open, revealing a very tired looking vampire in a fluffy robe. "Come in, Oliver, come in. Ah, you brought coffee. Excellent."

Oliver handed off the mug as he stepped over the threshold into the room, unable to resist sweeping his lamp around to get a better look, as it was currently only lit by a couple of candles.

Alexander's bedroom was furnished much like Oliver's, but larger, and far more cluttered. The window was covered with shutters, and a thick velvet curtain surrounded the enormous bed. The bookshelves were crammed full of books interspersed with rolled scrolls, stacks of papers, and seemingly random trinkets, a far cry from the orderly shelves in the library. The tables and nightstands were covered in stacks of books and hardened candle wax, and there was laundry strewn about the hardwood floor. The bed was unmade and the sheets and blankets were in a tangle, sliding off halfway, with a rubber water bottle lying nearby. The place smelled of bookbindings and floral soap and brine.

His master didn't seem remotely self-conscious about this state of affairs, taking the coffee, picking his way deftly through the mess, and sitting on the side of his bed. "It looks as if the shirt and pants fit without much need for additional tailoring. That's good," he said, looking Oliver up and down through half-closed eyes. "I suppose I ought to get dressed myself, and then you can assist me."

"Yes, sir." He was about to ask what exactly he would be assisting with, but as Alexander shed his robe and reached for his shirt, Oliver's attention was piqued by a strange symbol on his chest. A scar, but an oddly round one, with a faded symbol in the center.

"That doesn't concern you," said Alexander sharply, noticing Oliver's gaze.

"Sorry, sir," said Oliver, making a point to look away as his master finished dressing.

He took another long look at Oliver as he buttoned all but the top button of his shirt. "...It's no matter. Come with me."

Oliver followed Alexander to a door in the back corner of the room, tripping over a pair of shoes obscured by an old coat on the way. The door opened to an absurdly spacious and opulent bathroom, featuring a marble floor, a porcelain bathtub large enough to fit half a baseball team, and expensive plush bath towels littering the floor in heaps. The smell of floral soap was even stronger here, and the remnants of steam clung to Oliver's glasses, the room oppressively warm.

Alexander sat down in front of a counter with a sink and a mirror, and Oliver's eyes went wide at the odd effect of his master having no reflection. He could see himself perfectly, as though Alexander wasn't even there.

"This is what I need your help with, Oliver. Making my hair look presentable, because I'm not able to do so myself."

That certainly explained why he was so disheveled normally -- although, given the state of his very visible room, it wasn't necessarily the full explanation. "What would you like me to do, sir?"

He gestured to a glass containing combs, long scissors, and a few other odd tools. "Whatever you think is fit. It's not as though I'm going to be able to see it to criticize. I only wish to look neat and presentable."

Oliver had really never paid too much attention to his own appearance, but he had always tried to look neat for customers, so he hoped he would be able to do the job. "Very well, sir," he said, apprehensively picking up a comb and running it through his master's hair.

His hair was soft, surprisingly so, and the scent of floral soap grew even stronger, with undertones of woodsmoke and bookbinding glue and something unidentifiable, a scent which he was quickly learning to associate with his master. Alexander closed his eyes, a faint smile on his face, seemingly enjoying the treatment.

He must be so lonely. Oliver felt it so keenly the prior night when his master had cornered him in the kitchen and drank deep of his blood. As his master's thoughts pooled into his own, he was overwhelmed with loneliness, solitude, the desire for a warm and caring touch. Oliver couldn't help but work his hands into his master's hair on the pretense of styling it, enjoying the small, contented noise that escaped from his lips.

His master was handsome, wasn't he? Was there any harm in acknowledging that? It wasn't as if he had feelings for the vampire who had purchased him. He was simply accepting a truth, one that he had known even when Alexander was simply a prized customer.

"What is this ballet about, sir?" said Oliver, mostly to distract himself from this train of thought.

"It's an avant garde ballet, very controversial. It was actually choreographed and costumed by a famous Russian vampire who has worked in theater from well before I was born. This production has been mounted by a human company, though. It's a dance I'd been wishing to see for some time." Alexander's gaze traveled to Oliver's reflection in the mirror. "I have you to thank for encouraging me to leave the house more often, otherwise I might have missed this opportunity, instead electing to spend the evening wallowing in the manor's dust."

Oliver's breath hitched at his master's subtle smile. "I'm glad of it, sir."

----

Even though his tuxedo fit perfectly -- thanks to the detailed measurements Miss Florence had taken at the auction house -- Oliver still felt uncomfortable among the crowd dressed to the nines at the theater. He was dazzled by the gilded carvings on the walls, leading to a ceiling decorated with an elaborate fresco, and nearly crashed into a woman in a ball gown as he took in the sights.

His master, on the other hand, glided through the crowd effortlessly, paying them no mind. As Oliver followed, he could feel a sense of flowing waves, Alexander's vampiric aura pushing away everyone but Oliver, who felt compelled to follow his footsteps. It was just as well that his master was guiding him, lest he find himself lost.

Soon enough, they had both settled in a luxurious balcony box for two, and Oliver was shocked to see an actual look of excitement on Alexander's sleepy face.

"I simply can't wait to see the costumes -- I've heard they're magnificent. And of course, Yelena Pavlova is said to be a master of the dance. They say her striking and dramatic movements place her a cut above the prima ballerinas who only know how to flit prettily about," said Alexander, with enthusiasm. "I do hope you enjoy it."

"I think I will, sir," said Oliver. At the very least, he was sure he could enjoy it vicariously through his master.

The lights dimmed, the dance began, and Oliver soon found his attention riveted to the stage. It truly was an avant-garde sort of ballet, and the costumes were mind-bending. There were dancers wearing disturbingly realistic animal heads, costumes adorned with colored glass that glittered like jewels, massive peacock feather headdresses, ropes of pearls entangling their bodies, and a few in iron chains and shackles. The intricate pattern of their dance was ritualistic, as though Oliver were watching something forbidden that he couldn't take his eyes from.

Among them all, the prima ballerina Alexander had mentioned performed a stunning routine, clad in an outfit that seemed mostly comprised of ribbons in every color of the rainbow. She was striking pose after pose, being lifted and passed among the dancers, twirling faster than Oliver knew was possible. She was endlessly fascinating to watch.

The dance was so fascinating, in fact, that Oliver had forgotten all about his master's reactions. He glanced over, expecting that Alexander was enjoying himself as much as he was, and was shocked to see a look of stress on his master's face.

"Master, what's wrong?" he whispered.

"Nothing. Just watch the dance," he said, in a voice almost too low to hear, and his eyes flicked across the balcony to a different box.

Oliver couldn't help but look, to see what had his master so concerned. The box across the way had only one occupant, an older gentleman in an impeccably styled black suit. His full focus was on the ballet, his gaze holding a kind of judgmental intensity that made Oliver think he must be a professional critic.

Was this man troubling Alexander? It didn't seem like it could be. Perhaps he was worried about something else, and this man just happened to be in his line of sight as he glanced about nervously.

Could he be...?

Oliver tried to put it out of his head, but now he couldn't help but notice every time Alexander's gaze wandered from the stage. The moment intermission was announced, his master turned to him.

"Do you need to stretch your legs? Use the restroom?" his master asked. Before Oliver could even answer, he continued, "Very well, let's leave the box for a moment." He grasped Oliver's arm and practically dragged him from the box. Oliver found himself gently shoved into a secluded nook, away from the other patrons milling about the theater.

"Oliver, listen very carefully," said Alexander, his voice soft but deathly serious. "My sire is attending this performance."

Even though Oliver had been suspecting this the moment he'd seen the strange man, he still felt a spike of panic stab his heart at the confirmation. "Your sire is here?"

"I should have known he'd have interest in this ballet. But he's been so reclusive lately..." Alexander sighed. "But listen. You must follow my instructions exactly. If you do, it's unlikely you'll be harmed."

"I... I understand, master." Oliver's mouth felt dry.

"You must be quiet and obedient. Follow my lead, do not speak unless spoken to, and then, speak with the utmost respect. But you must be honest, even if you think the truth is dangerous. Never lie. He will know. And finally..."

"Finally what, sir?"

"If he takes control of your body, do not resist it."

"Takes control of my body, sir?" Just as Katherine had warned him.

"Do not resist it even slightly. If he seizes control, relax your body and mind and do not fight it. Believe me -- any struggle will only make your lot worse."

He blinked back frightened tears. "I can try, master."

"Good." Alexander put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "While I don't pretend to understand my sire's mind, I do believe no harm will come to you tonight."

"I hope not, master."

"Would you allow me to put your mind at ease so you can enjoy the rest of the performance?"

Oliver couldn't agree fast enough. "Yes, please, sir."

His master leaned over and hummed in his ear, and Oliver could feel his nerves calming, his fears growing foggy and distant.

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Next week, Oliver finally gets to meet his master's sire.

#whump #whump writing #vampire whump #vampires #vampire whumpee #mind control #rare bookseller #oliver #alexander #maestro

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