"How's life?" Whumper casually asks, letting the heavy celldoor fall closed behind him.
Whumpee just sits there, glaring at him. They scoff, but that's all they do. They barely have the energy to get up, let alone lunge at him and attack him.
And Whumper knows it.
He's holding something behind his back, and Whumpee is surprised to see that it is not a weapon or new torture tool as they expected.
It's an apple. Whumper tosses it up and down, watches fondly how Whumpee's eyes go up and down with it. He catches it a final time before he leans against the wall of the cell. And he pulls out a knife.
"Just came to check in on you," he says and starts peeling the fruit. "Been a while since you ate something. Have to make sure you're not dead yet, and all." The long peels drop to the cell floor. "Or, you know, see if you're finally up to answering some questions. I'll trade ya." He slices off a piece of apple and holds it out on the knife before he eats it.
Whumpee's eyes focus on the apple, the skin that falls down as the knife slides through it again. Then they glare up, at Whumper crunching on his snack who looks at them with very little expectations. They shake their head.
Whumper sighs. Gives a nod. He eats the rest of the apple while making smalltalk. Then tosses the apple core to the floor, letting it fall amidst the rest of the apple skin.
He leaves without a word.
Whumpee waits until those footsteps have retreated all the way back to the door.
Then they scoot forward and pick up the remains, sand-covered peels and a core with barely anything to it, to nibble on.
“It’s definitely not out of the question,” Whumper purred, stroking his knife. “But I don’t think we’ll even need to go that far. It’s just… you have a naturally loud voice. It carries. And I’m not even speaking about volume. What you say carries. It inspires. It carries a message. It carries far, to all the other cells we have here. And right now, I want you to broadcast the message of defeat.”
He crouched down in front of him, pricked the knife straight up into the underside of the man’s chin. But Leader didn’t look up, even when drops of blood flowed down his throat, the stream slowly splitting over his Adam’s apple.
“Look at me,” Whumper growled. “Before I pin your tongue to the roof of your mouth.”
Leader closed his eyes for a second, in patience, resignation, Whumper wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, by the way something moved under his eyelids, was that Leader rolled his eyes at him. But before he could say anything about it, those eyes snapped open and instantly found his. Whumper looked him straight in the eye. There was nothing there; no fear of what was about to come, nothing that remotely resembled anything close to defeat. He didn’t even wince when Whumper slowly turned the tip of the knife.
“I think you’ve got the wrong man for that,” Leader merely said, leaving it up to Whumper whether he meant he couldn’t—or wouldn’t.
Whumper took a long, sharp inhale through his nose and didn’t immediately exhale. Then he pried his knife free.
“Very well,” he said in a lethal tone. He stood, let the knife drop from his hand, resisting the urge to flick it away and reveal his frustration. “There was never much choice in this matter. But have it your way.”
Without another word, he busied himself with Leader’s bonds, clipping something to his handcuffs before freeing them from the bolt to the floor. He walked across the cell, hoisted a chain, and pulled Leader to his feet.
Leader went along, knowing he couldn’t break free from the iron pulling him up, not wasting his energy. When he was stretched out, hands tied above his head, Whumper stopped.
And he picked up the whip.
The first lash forced out a sharp hiss of pain. It slashed through Leader’s white undershirt and red immediately soaked through.
A steady rhythm of lashes, leather against skin, snapped through the air. It alerted the troops to what was happening, without a doubt. But Leader kept his pain bottled safe within.
The barrage kept going. Skin split open violently, the leather carving deeper with each hit. Blood stuck his shirt to his skin, sweat soaked the shirt until it turned to a see-through flimsy barrier across his back. Leader took every hit almost patiently. But he knew very well he couldn’t keep from screaming for long.
Grunts turned to small cries when the pain became too much. He was on the brink of losing control over his voice. And finally that voice boomed free. But not in the way Whumper wanted.
“Men!” Leader roared, letting the pent up pain explode in the single word. His voice didn’t even crack. It echoed against the walls of the cell. Carried the length of the dreary corridor. And could clearly be heard by both foe and friend. “What is defeat?!”
Whumper, his arm drawn back for another hit, stopped in his tracks in surprise.
Almost immediately, a raucous roar came in reply from outside.
“Temporary!” The men shouted back as one. A loud cacophony of shouts and cheers rose up. They rattled against the bars of their cells with whatever they could find, shook the doors in their hinges.
Whumper lashed him again with all his might in frustration. But the noise drowned out Leader’s following, genuine scream.
“This. Is. Not. Temporary!” Whumper shouted, each word emphasized by another lash.
Mere angry welts weeping blood turned to vicious open wounds as Whumper kept going harder. Leader’s shirt was nothing but shreds by now. Muscles trembled underneath, in pain, in exertion trying to keep himself up. But even despite all that—
He let out a chuckle.
In a rage, Whumper flew forward. He threw his whip down, circled around Leader, and grabbed his chin, roughly yanking his head up.
“What is so funny?” he hissed.
“You didn’t let me finish… earlier,” Leader panted through a wicked grin. “I was going to say… If you think me screaming… will break their spirit…” A small scoff broke through. “You’re mistaken.”
The uproar outside kept surging, expanding, escalating now that Whumper’s men tried to calm it down. Shouts of “Shut up!” were unheard. Even a warning gunshot only led to boisterous cheers.
“All you did…” Leader continued. “Is make them more angry.”
"This is going to be interesting, Leader," Whumper crooned, slowly walking up to the man chained down in the middle of the cell. "I'm so used to hearing your voice boom across the battlefield. Rallying your mates with sharp commands."
The man in chains didn't make an attempt to lift his head; his chin drooped to his chest as if it were glued to his sternum. But his eyes slowly slid up in a death glare.
Whumper was not impressed. He merely smirked at the cold hatred aimed at him. "I have to admit, hearing that tinge of surprise in your voice when we snuck in... God, I could hear it loud and clear, and I wasn't even inside the building yet. 'Enemy troooops!'" he mimicked Leader's voice and let out a laugh. "And a thunderous 'To me! With me! Hold your ground!'", he mocked. "You know, I don't think I've ever heard panic in your voice... And your team heard it too. I think I must thank you for that."
He picked up a knife in one hand, a whip in the other, making a show of considering which one to choose.
"I'm looking forward to hear how that booming voice will sound in pain. And I'm sure that it will instill something in your remaining team members."
-
Continued here.
Is this general whump? yeah sure- taglist: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @treasureguardingdragon @morning-star-whump @jumpywhumpywriter @stars-hide-our-fires @whumplicity @whumpasaurus101 @theloveofwhump @turquoise-peach @ieattoenailsforlunchlikearealone
Whumper who makes Whumpee pretend to be their deceased partner.
Whumper was once madly in love. They were a perfect, genuinely happy couple. When their Partner passed away, possibly unexpectedly, Whumper couldn't bear the grief. They couldn't face a world without their beloved.
And then they saw Whumpee. Whumpee, with so many similarities to their beloved, same hair, same eyes, similar features, similar mannerisms and personality - it's not perfect, but it's close enough. Whumper becomes obsessed, this is their chance to put their life back together, this is their chance to regain what they'd lost.
Whumper modifying whumpee's looks, cutting their hair or growing it out, dressing them in their beloveds old clothes, doing their makeup just as they liked it before. Not before their death, no, they didn't die. They're right here.
"Abuse is when a man seeks to break someone for his own pleasure," Whumper said. "Correction is when a man seeks to build someone up by teaching them where they stand. You're lashing out because you're being held to a standard, and you're too soft to meet it."
His hand on the nape of Whumpee's neck tightened not enough to hurt, but enough to command absolute attention. He leaned down, his face inches from Whumpee's, his eyes boring into theirs with a terrifying intensity.
"Don't you ever use that word again to cover up your own lack of discipline. It's an insult to people who have actually suffered."
"Running?" Whumper's voice wasn't loud, but it carried the sharp, authoritative snap of a command given on a battlefield. "Running is for people who have a destination, Whumpee. You're just retreating."
say it with me. you do not have to be working through something to like whump. you do not need to have trauma to enjoy hurting/seeing characters get hurt. your ocs do not have to be self-inserts or reveal deep and buried parts of your psyche
Thinking about characters getting a nice demeaning slap in the face, in *warning*, telling them in not so unsubtle terms to watch their mouth. Two slaps maybe... or a backhand if they're really pushing it...
"Stop saying 'please' like you're expecting mercy," Whumper grunted, his voice a low, gravelly warning. "Mercy is for when you've done your job. Right now, you're still learning."
gummygunk
kianamaiart
tangentwithtanner
dailybridgerton
stormborns
