I feel like I've probably done this before, but that was years ago, lol.
Hi! I'm Snowy! As it says in my about, I'm here for captivity and torture primarily. I have an original fantasy universe populated with OCs (my current focus) and also innumerable fandoms.
Tropes I Like:
Captivity, torture, especially whipping and drowning, chains and collars, tied up whumpees, gagged whumpees, forced nudity, fantasy/magic whump, mind control whump, exposed to the elements, rescue & recovery, failed rescues, whumpees and caretakers who switch roles, self-sacrificial whumpees, forced to watch, used as bait, and especially the ever classic, "Please, I'll do anything!"
Squicks:
Eye gore, finger trauma, anything to do with teeth really. Whumper/whumpee and whumper/caretaker. Major character death I may be down for, but it has to be done in a specific way and I have to be in the right mood for it. Usually I avoid it.
There won't be any explicit sex on this blog. There will be nudity, full and partial, consensual and nonconsensual. It seems like a lot of people consider that inherently sexual, but listen man, I'm just here for the vulnerability. You've lost the very literal layer that keeps you separate from the rest of the world. Was it by choice? In front of someone you trust? Did someone force it on you? Something that should be private exposed for an enemy, perhaps many enemies, to see? In the context of violent whump you also lose a layer of protection. You can't hide what's been done to you. How do people react when they see? Who uses it against you and who helps you hide it again? The potential in terms of dehumanization and environmental whump is phenomenal. It's cool for sex too I guess
Masterlist:
The Cerrin of Pyrea Universe
Original fantasy universe featuring a cast of OCs. Cerrin is the rightful ruler of Pyrea. Lady Hera of Fendale, a powerful sorcerer, is the actual ruler of Pyrea. Leila of the Silverwood is Hera's bodyguard and apprentice, and secretly Cerrin's friend. But as long as Cerrin lives and maintains a claim to the throne, Hera cannot fully rule.
Whumper saunters in front of a captured, finally beaten Whumpee. The restraints leave Whumpee purposefully helpless, body exposed and immobile while they shake with a feeling caught between fury and terror.
“Isn’t this interesting?” The sharp look in Whumper’s eyes betrays the lightness of their voice. “Finally. I have you right where I want you. And you can’t do a single thing about it.”
Sorry for YET ANOTHER ASK, but @sunrise-lemon-bar's ask inspired me: What would Cerrin and Leila's ideal birthdays look like? Do they want a big celebration? A lazy day to sleep in bed? Do they like getting gifts? Do they like surprise parties?
~ @memento-morri-writes
Don't ever apologize for sending me asks about my OCs.
Also I'm sorry this took so long to answer. It's been an... interesting week :P
Hmm I think Cerrin likes a big party. It wasn't something he could ever really do growing up, since he essentially spent his whole life in hiding. He had to be very careful about who knew who he was and the general area where he lived. Only a handful of people ever knew the location of his mother's house until the events of Rose of Pyrea.
But if he could, I think he would have loved to have a lot of people, a lot of food, etc. He wouldn't organize a big party for himself after he becomes king, because Pyrea is struggling at that point, but maybe after a few years when things had stabilized he could use the excuse to have a party. :)
Leila I think would be the opposite. She got so used to spending time by herself that it would feel weird to have a big party. And TBH she also doesn't have that many friends. She would want a small, quiet birthday with only a few people there.
As for surprise parties, it's a little hard for me to say because I don't like them personally, but I think Cerrin would enjoy them. Maybe the first big party he had after he became king was a surprise party -- maybe he thought they should keep on waiting, give the country another year to recover, but his mother and some of his friends put something together. That could be pretty fun to write sometime. Not exactly whump, but they need some nice things in their lives too…
Leila isn't a huge fan of surprises. Most of the surprises in her life have been bad ones, unfortunately.
I saw you requesting whipping/stress positions from other people so I'm throwing it back at you -- for the whump tropes ask game a whipping and/or stress position for anyone you like. (Maybe Eldin as we haven't seen him in a while, but no pressure if you're not feeling the muse with him.)
~ @lumpawhump
Content: whipping, forced to watch, forced to count, sadistic whumper, forced to hold a stress position
This isn’t exactly a traditional stress position but this is where the inspiration led. I hope you enjoy! @lumpawhump
“Hands on the wall.” The king’s voice was icy.
Beside him, Jorin ran the coils of the whip through his free hand with a menacing smile.
Eldin swallowed, eyes cutting to where Dale knelt, chained between the pillars in the position Eldin himself normally was placed. He couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes as he removed his tunic and placed his hands flat against the cold marble of the wall.
The handle of the whip was shoved against his arms, forcing his hands to stretch above his head.
He grimaced as the still-healing wounds from the last beating stretched.
“Start with ten,” commanded the king. The focus of his commands turned to Eldin. “You will count each lash aloud. If your hands slip the count will start over. Whatever the final total is, this man will receive the same.”
Eldin gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment, even as his heart plummeted. His fingertips found the barely present edge of a stone and he pressed them there.
The whip cracked and he flinched, but there was no pain. Jorin gave an ugly laugh.
CRACK!
This time, a line of agony opened across his back, sending tendrils of pain racing through the lattice of partly-healed wounds.
“One!” His voice came out strangled.
CRACK!
“Two!” He could feel his other wounds tearing open, blood flowing freely already.
CRACK! CRACK!
Two more blows in close succession.
“Three-four!” Spots danced in his vision and his knuckles tightened against the stone.
CRACK!
The next blow struck the backs of his legs and the force sent him to his knees with a scream.
Head swimming with pain, he forced his legs back under him.
Right leg. Then left.
Hands on the wall for support.
Back to standing, arms outstretched above his head.
He barely had time to find purchase with his fingertips again before the next blow came.
CRACK! “One!”
Must keep standing.
CRACK! “Two!”
He locked his knees, squeezing his eyes shut.
He had to stay standing.
CRACK! “Three!”
CRACK!
The whip struck across his arms and he felt as though his fingers would break with the strain of staying put.
“Four!”
CRACK!
“Five!” It was barely a word, more a scream than language.
CRACK!
Again, the bastard struck his legs. He felt his knee give but he forced himself to remain upright, arms in place.
“Six!” The word was a defiant hiss.
CRACK!
He felt blood tracing paths down his legs, the tickling sensation at odds with the agony of his back. “Seven!”
CRACK! “Eigh-” He cut off; the stroke had not fallen. Jorin laughed again.
CRACK!
He barely was prepared for that one. Even with his eyes shut, all was white pain.
“Eight!”
CRACK! “Nine!”
One more.
Just one more.
CRACK!
“TEN!” The word burst from his lips in a roar of agony and triumph.
CRACK! The whip snapped again, making him flinch, but it only struck the floor. Before he could move, even to collapse, the guard grabbed his hair and dragged him away from the wall.
He cried out in pain, stumbling as he was dragged back to the center of the room. Then he was flung to the ground, to kneel facing his chained friend.
How would your whumpees act if they had to sacrifice themselves? Inspired by this post from @hibiscusmalvaceae.
Here are (three of) mine:
Iolite:
He hears it's needed, and he nods. “Easy choice,” he says, light, careless. “I'm immortal, remember? I'll just come back.”
But he won't. He learns, then, that he won't. This is it, for good.
For a moment, he stops. Stares, head slightly tilted. Then, slowly, a smile stretches across his face, so wide it looks painful.
“Easy choice.”
Severin | Doll:
As long as it's just him, he says, before he lowers his head. Acquiescence is a habit. He'll go if that's what people want, though he knows he will he missed. His death will be peaceful, because how else could it be? Peace is intrinsic to him.
Lumen:
“I know.” There is no hesitance in the words. It was always going to be so. They know, they know, they know.
“Don't worry- I'll do it. Yes, it's alright. Go on.”
They are calm, encouraging others to understand too. Lumen is a sacrifice. That is their chosen purpose, is it not? And it is good, to have a purpose. It makes everything a little bit easier.
Pre-FHK -- "If it is what my people need, so be it. I only pray they make it swift." He will mourn in private and face it with his head up. At least it means he will see his parents again.
After everything so far -- He slumps, weary. He can't face it again, he can't. But he will. Because someone has to, and he may be a coward for this but he cannot watch someone die for him again. And he is already so broken, after all. An end would at least be the rest he craves.
Cerrin sees this as his duty. He may not completely be able to hide his fear, but he keeps his head high and faces what is to come without wavering. If the only way he can serve his people is through his death, then he will die.
Leila is maybe a little too eager. The guilt she carries for the things she did in Hera's service is overwhelming at times, and she doesn't feel like there's anything she can do to make up for it. Her death would not erase the debt, but if it would do some good, she won't hesitate. (Other people are mostly not aware that she thinks this way.)
Tagging anyone who wants to yap about their whumpees!
Dunno if you've answered this before, but How old is Cerrin and Leila throughout the different arcs of the story?
Sorry this took me so long to answer. I have to answer asks in the order I recieve them or I'll lose track of them, though. :P
Anyway, glances at confusing and contradictory notes uhhhhhhhhhhhhh let me try to make sense of this.
During Rose of Pyrea Cerrin is 24, and he turns 25 during the events of the story. Leila is 3 years older than him, maybe a little less, like 2 and a half, so she's 27. Romin died and Hera took over 10 years before the start of the story, when Cerrin was 14 and Leila was 17, and Leila became Hera's bodyguard a little under two years later, when she was 19.
I think I suggested at some point that Thorns of the Rose takes place a couple years after Rose of Pyrea but then I also suggested that Pyrea was still suffering from a poor harvest brought on by the unnatural weather caused by Cerrin's torture during Rose of Pyrea, and the actual given reason for the Council of Nations meeting in that story is the fact that Hera's death put Pyrea back on the map for trade and commerce, so it would be sooner rather than later. Maybe it takes place the year after the beginning of Rose of Pyrea? I have not developed a calendar yet so these years don't have numbers or anything. So I would say Cerrin would probably be 26 and Leila would be 29.
(Pyrea's coastline includes a prominent cape that juts out into the sea and its two port cities saw a lot of trade before Hera's rule, since it was safer and cheaper to make port in one of them and then send goods across land than to navigate around the cape most of the time. As a general rule the Pyrean crown came out of this arrangement very well due to charging tariffs on goods passing through. Safe passage and good ports were, one might say, Pyrea's main export, historically speaking. When Hera came to power most of the trade stopped, as it became dangerous to travel through Pyrea at that time, and difficult to get out, and Pyreans were no longer allowed to cross the borders leaving the country. When Cerrin took back the throne he reestablished trade relations with most countries, but Pyrea didn't do as well as before because he refused to engage in regular trade with Geriltum, which shares a major border with Pyrea.)
The Under the Rose storyline takes place a few years later, long enough for Tristan to work up a complex about Cerrin's refusal to trade with him, which is what kicks the whole story off. I'm stabbing in the dark here and this is subject to change, but I'm thinking maybe Cerrin and Leila are 29 and 32 at this point? I know I stated in Under the Rose that Leila is in her late 20s but that was before I had given any of this any thought at all. And then the untitled storyline I came up with after that, which might actually end up stealing the name Under the Rose because Themes or whatever takes place a few years after, but both of these two storylines are kinda underdeveloped so I don't have anything more specific than that unfortunately.
(I am posting this on mobile so please forgive any formatting weirdness.)
I went with target practice and a bet, but for extra prompt-ception we can imagine that he also has a cold and then burns himself immediately after the end.
Anyway thank you for the prompt! Gethri deserves some attention, by which I mean he absolutely does not deserve any of the things that happen to him in this story.
Content: Male whumpee, male whumpers, male caretaker (sorta), multiple whumpers, slavery, william tell-ing (is that a term?), threats, torture, public torture
Warnings: Slavery, brief discussion of suicidal ideation
~*~*~*~
"You there! Old man!"
Gethri felt his heart sink at the sound of the voice nearby. The guards' attention was never a good thing. He was usually good at keeping his head down and not giving them a reason to pay him any mind, but not this time, it seemed.
"Hey! Look at me when I'm talking to you!"
Gethri turned and met the guard's eyes. There was nothing for it but to try and ride out whatever they had in mind.
There were three of them, and Gethri recognized them as regular guards who kept an eye on the prisoners in the forges; Denri, Endrant, and Helrit. If he had to guess, he would say they had picked him, of all the dozens of prisoners at work in the forges, due to his proximity to the door. They were stumbling and unsure on their feet, faces red, and his heart sank further as he realized they were drunk. If there was one thing that was worse than a guard's attention, it was a drunk guard's attention.
"Good," Helrit slurred more than said as Gethri looked at him. He walked forward, slowly, like a wolf closing in on its prey. Coren, who worked at a forge next to Gethri, sent him a pitying glance, but kept his head down. There wasn't anything he could do. "Come here," Helrit said.
"Sir," Gethri said, "I have ingots in this forge that I need to watch."
Helrit strode forward and seized Gethri by the arm. "This won't take long," he said, and his breath indeed reeked of liquor. He dragged Gethri away from his work station and made for an open space in the middle of the forges, where a thick wooden post was set in the floor for punishments. He saw other prisoners look up as they approached the post, but only for a moment. No one wanted to be caught staring when they ought to be working, even though there were no other guards nearby.
Gethri followed in silence. The guards had made up their minds, and what would happen would happen. Only a few of Lord Gadric's men could be swayed to mercy by a display of begging, and these three were not among them. His appeal to his work might have saved him if they were not drunk, but they were. The only thing he could do was ride out the storm.
Helrit dragged him to the post and shoved him against it, the splintered wood pressing into his back between his shoulderblades. "Stay there," the guard said, and then after a moment he leaned forward and took the short length of chain that hung from it at shoulder height, securing it to the iron collar around Gethri's neck. "Stay there," he said again, as if Gethri could move if he wanted to.
The other two guards trailed after them. "You're a fool, Helrit," Denri said. "What'll you tell Overseer Inro when he finds out you killed one of his workers because you got something to prove?"
Helrit scoffed. "I'll tell 'im he was slacking off and couldn't handle the consequences," he said, though, "consequences," came out slurred and confused and Gethri more guessed at what he meant from context. "Anyway, I'm not gonna kill him. I'll show you both, and it'll be a weight of gold from each of you."
"I'm not giving you no weight of gold," Endrant said. "I never agreed to your idiotic bet."
"Weight of gold," Helrit scoffed. "Or... or your place on the next supply ship going to Dorlet."
Endrant shrugged. "All right then," he said. "I don't care about Dorlet one way or the other. Plenty of whores right here. But it doesn't matter, because you can't do it."
"I'll show you," Helrit said, and when he turned back to Gethri he was holding a knife. Gethri felt his breath catch in his throat as the guard took one, two, three stumbling steps backwards and then took the knife by the blade, testing its weight and closing one eye as he took aim.
Gethri threw both arms up to cover his face. It blocked his view of Helrit, and he cringed instinctively, waiting for the knife to strike him, but it didn't come. Instead, he heard metal clattering to the stone floor, and then a grunt of frustration from Helrit. "Idiot," the guard said. "You're going to make me miss. You don't want me to miss."
"I'll give you a weight of gold if you can hit with him squirming around like that," Endrant said.
Helrit made a scoffing noise and stooped to pick up his fallen knife, then strode forward and seized Gethri's arms, forcing them behind him, wrapped around the post. He retrieved a short length of cord from his belt and secured Gethri's wrists. "Stay still," he said. "If I miss and hit you, it's your fault."
He staggered back to his friends and then poised to throw his blade again. Gethri watched, wondering how good Helrit's aim was. He had never seen the man throw anything before, that he could think of. He wasn't even entirely sure what his target was. Something non-lethal, evidently, which did not put his mind to rest as much as it might have. Then again, given the state the guard was in, it probably did not much matter what he was actually aiming for.
Helrit hefted the blade a couple of times and then flung it. Gethri squeezed his eye shut, fists clenched behind him, and waited for the pain. But it didn't come. He felt the post behind him vibrate as the blade struck it, and then he heard the two onlookers scoff. "That was a lucky shot," Denri said. "You can't do it again."
"I can and I will," Helrit said. Gethri slowly opened his eye and looked up, tilting his head back. He could just make out the pommel of the blade still quivering just above him, close enough that he was sure it had probably sliced through the hair at the top of his head. Just a little lower and he would be dead now.
There were some among the prisoners on the island who would not have been as frightened by that as Gethri was. Death was the only way off the Grim Isle, but the prisoners were not allowed to choose it for themselves. It was not uncommon for those who had succumbed to despair to try and goad a guard into killing them and ending it. But despite his long years imprisoned there -- Gethri wasn't entirely certain how long it had been, but longer than most of the other captives -- he was not ready. He did not want to die.
Helrit stalked up to him and pulled the knife out of the post, then turned away. Gethri swallowed as he returned to his throwing position and then turned, swaying as he did so. Had it been a lucky shot? Or was Helrit really that good, as he claimed? But if it was skill, Gethri didn't trust it to remain reliable, given the amount of alcohol the guard had consumed, and if it was luck then surely it wouldn't hold for another throw.
Gethri looked around a little desperately. The other prisoners were keeping their heads down, pretending not to notice the proceedings, and there were no other guards in sight. Where was the overseer? Guards were not supposed to come into the forges if they had been drinking, to prevent accidents, and Overseer Inro enforced that rule religiously. He would put a stop to this, if only to punish the guards for breaking his rule by ruining their game.
But the overseer was nowhere to be seen. Gethri yanked at the cord that tied his wrists together, and picked at the knot. He had a poor angle, but it had been tied in haste, and he could feel it coming loose. He was still attached to the post by his collar, but if he could get his hands free he could at least protect his neck and face. Helrit whipped around, not taking the time to aim this time, and flung the knife. Gethri managed to work the knot undone and threw his hands up again. He felt the blade cut into him just above his right wrist and he instinctively batted it away from him. It clattered to the floor a few feet away, but Gethri was too busy clutching his arm to his chest to take any more notice of it. He was bleeding heavily, red leaking out from under his left hand, staining his clothes and skin.
"Idiot!" Helrit said again. "I told you not to move! I should take your other eye for that!"
Gethri said nothing. There was no use in pointing out that his right wrist had been over his face, and that if the knife had not struck his arm then it would have hit him, probably not far from his missing eye, where it certainly would have killed him. Instead, he simply stood there, holding his arm and breathing heavily, trying to block out the pain.
Helrit strode to where his knife had fallen and picked it up, and then he whirled about, brandishing the weapon at Gethri. "You've damaged my dagger!" he said, striding up and waving it in the prisoner's face. Gethri could not see what was wrong with it, as Helrit was not holding it very still and it was very close to his eye, but he supposed it could have been chipped by hitting the stone floor. "You idiot! This was my best one!"
Gethri had no warning before Helrit raised his hand and snapped his fingers, and the collar locked around his throat suddenly sent pain shooting through every extremity of his body.
Decades of experience had allowed Gethri to build up a small tolerance for the collar's particular brand of punishment, but it was still excruciatingly painful, and he released his injured arm and instead grabbed at the collar with both hands even as his legs gave out and he was left hanging by his neck. The forge echoed with his voice, though the cry itself was weak, choked from the pressure on his throat.
At last, the pain stopped, and Gethri turned as best he could and leaned a shoulder against the post for support as he pushed himself back to his feet. A hand seized his shoulder and started to force him to turn away from the post, when suddenly Gethri heard Overseer Inro's voice. He could have sobbed with relief.
"Why is there an unattended forge here?" the voice demanded, and then the overseer himself came in view behind Denri and Endrant. "What is going on here?"
The three guards whipped around to face him. "Nothing!" Endrant said. "We were just --"
"I'll be the judge of that," the overseer said. He stalked forward and his eye fell on Gethri. "What's he being punished for?"
Both the other guards looked at Helrit. "I -- he was slacking off," Helrit said. "Not watching his work, so --"
"So you didn't find someone else to watch it while you were dealing with it?" Inro snapped. "It's like you want this place to burn to the -- are you drunk?"
Gethri thanked any god that was listening at that.
"No," Helrit said, but it was too late. The overseer had smelled the alcohol on his breath, and he whipped around and stared hard at the other two guards, who looked at their feet and tried very hard to stand up straight, with mixed results.
"You're all drunk," he said. "What is the number one rule of my forges?"
The three guards stared at the ground like sheepish children. "Not to come into them if we've been drinking," Denri said.
"Gods," Overseer Inro said. "Lord Gadric can't give me competent guards, no, he gives me imbeciles. Get out of here. We'll be having words about this tomorrow."
The three guards shuffled off and Gethri tried his best to not look too relieved, even as Overseer Inro turned to him. "Well?" the man demanded. "Were you slacking off?"
"No, sir," Gethri said, keeping his eyes low.
"Hmph," the overseer snorted. He reached over and removed the chain that attached Gethri's collar to the post. "Get yourself back to your workstation and keep your eyes on that forge," he snapped. "Don't bleed on the iron."
Gethri bobbed his head in a quick bow and then hurried back to his forge, left hand clamped over his injured wrist. He would need to bandage it -- he could perhaps steal one of the forge rags for that. He returned to his workstation and eyed the iron bars he had left in the forge. They were overheated, gleaming a shade of yellow too close to white for comfort, but perhaps just a little bit. Perhaps they could be salvaged. The last thing he needed was to get in real trouble for losing material. He wrapped a rag around his wrist and tied it loosely.
"Are you all right?" Coren asked, pausing at his own work to look at Gethri.
"As well as can be expected," Gethri said, setting about removing his iron bars from the forge.
Coren glanced over his shoulder at a piece of iron in his own forge, and then leaned on the partition wall between them. "What did they want with you?"
"Just someone to shove around," Gethri said. He pulled the last bar out of the forge and quenched it, wincing at the steam that blasted out of the barrel. "They were drunk."
At that, Coren smiled. "Inro caught 'em, did he?"
Gethri allowed himself a rare smile of his own. "That he did," he said.
The moment of amusement was short-lived, however, Coren spotted the overseer in question stalking between the workstations and quickly turned back to his work. "Watch your back, Gethri," he said as he took up a pair of tongs and turned the iron bar he was heating. "That Helrit can be a vindictive one."
"I'll keep an eye on him," Gethri said, "when it's not looking at other things." Then Inro turned down their row of forges, and the two of them made a show of focusing on their work in silence until he passed.
~*~*~*~
Oh shit I keep my taglist on my computer which I don't have with me.
I guess I will start tagging people on oneshots and side stuff next time. :P
