My favorite whump tropes tend towards the psychological: hypnosis and brainwashing, captivity, medical and lab whump, drugging and sedatives, and altered states. I also love whump involving sickness, injuries and hospitals, as well as hurt/comfort.
I enjoy writing whump that's on the gentle side and mixed with comfort, often with ASMR-ish qualities.
I especially like to write about the supernatural and am fond of vampires, faefolk, and cyberpunk dystopia.
I consider my blog SFW 18+. While my content is intended for adults, there will not be any explicit smut and only occasional gore.
the rare bookseller and the vampire auction
The story of Oliver, a seller of rare books who is kidnapped and sold at a high-end auction for vampires to purchase thralls.
18+. Contains vampires, mind control, hypnotic inductions, captivity / gilded cage, blood drinking, abuse, violence, torture, Stockholm syndrome, slavery / human auction, psychological whump.
Rare Bookseller Masterlist
Rare Bookseller Masterlist Part 2
Rare Bookseller Side Stories and AUs Masterlist
other works
Featuring hypnotic inductions, drugging, hurt/comfort and much more.
Other Works Masterlist
My ask box is open as well, if you'd like to ask the characters anything or talk about whump tropes.
*putting my hand in the cavernous space between what you are and what you pretend to be, and wiggling it around* woah haha is there meant to be that much emptiness here? lol are you like okay bestie? omg this kind of tickles my hand does this tickle your nothing? #yournothing <3
"I'm back," Priscilla said quietly as she opened the secret door to the attic of the auto repair shop. There was no answer.
03 must've fallen into disrepair again.
At least that was what Priscilla had thought, before she pushed further in and realised the attic had been cleared out. Completely. No trace of 03.
"Oh no," she breathed.
She immediately jumped off the ladder, not even caring to put the door back in place. She rushed out to the back of the shop, to the dumpster, frantically opening the lid to reveal several bags of trash. She tore through them all, looking for her love. She found no trace of her.
Of course. What were the chances of Priscilla making it back in time to find her?
She jumped back into her car and headed to the junkyard.
Priscilla was immortal — as in, she reincarnated into different bodies in different times. It always took some time, but she eventually regained her memories every time. This time, her body was a woman's called Rita. Rita was one of three children, absent father, seamstress mother. She had to drop out of school to support her family.
It didn't matter. Rita wasn't real. Not really. It was Priscilla inhabiting her body. And as soon as she regained consciousness, she sneaked off, crossed borders, came back to the same repair shop where she'd left her girlfriend last time when her body got old and frail.
Her girlfriend was similarly immortal. 03 — her full name being 7583703 — could keep going so long as she was kept in somewhat working conditions. Parts changed, swapped out, old stuff being replaced by new technology.
But she wasn't in the auto repair shop. And if she was in the junkyard, possibly unresponsive, it would take Priscilla a very, very long time to find her.
But she would find her. There was no world in which she wouldn't.
She got to the junkyard and got out of her stolen car — Rita never got her driver's licence, but it didn't matter, Priscilla knew how to drive — and started yelling for 03. There were no others around.
"Fuck, please, please, answer me..." she muttered. 03 was the love of her life. They had found each other through time and space, every time, no matter what body Priscilla came back in, no matter what 03 looked like, they always found each other.
"Here," came a weak, distorted voice. It didn't even sound like 03 anymore.
Priscilla ran over to a pile of junk and started throwing stuff away, slowly revealing a rusted, dysfunctional 03. "Oh dear..." she said, gently tracing 03's jawline. "I'll help. It's okay."
"I know," 03 said. "Like always."
"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner."
"Did you like your family too much?"
Priscilla scoffed, but... Rita's family was sweet. With her having run off, she didn't know what would become of them.
Still, 03 was more important.
"I like you most," she said. "Come on..." She gently lifted 03's metallic body out of the pile of trash and brought her to the car.
"You have freckles now," 03 pointed out. After so many bodies, so many lives, Priscilla wondered how 03 still found ways to note her favourite features.
"Yeah. And you have a rusted voicebox. What happened in the attic?"
"The new owner found me. I pretended to be unresponsive. I knew you'd find me anyway."
Priscilla smiled, though it was a little pained. What if she didn't find her? What if she lost 03 forever?
Disassembling 03 for cleaning was as natural as breathing by now. Priscilla made sure to scrub every part of her thoroughly, making sure the rust was gone, parts were well-oiled, and she shoplifted any part that needed to be replaced.
Soon, 03 was back to functional again.
"I like the new arm," 03 noted, making small rotations with it. "When the last one was crushed, I... It hurt."
Priscilla sat down on the curb. Cars were whooshing by. Nobody paid them any attention.
03 sat down next to her.
"What was it like?" 03 asked. "Your life this time."
"Nothing notable. I'm just glad to be back with you."
"Come on. There must've been something noteworthy. A crush, maybe."
Ah. So that was what was on 03's mind. Priscilla smiled. "You know you're my one and only."
"Well, as Priscilla, yes. But you weren't Priscilla for a long time again. How old is this body?"
"23."
"There was nothing in those 23 years?"
"Well... I suppose... I don't know. I liked my mother. And my siblings. It's always... You know it's always a little..." She trailed off, frowning. "I don't like leaving people. But whenever I get my memories back, there's no way I can stay. When I know you're waiting for me."
"You don't have to come back to me just because of that," 03 said. "If you ever find someone more—"
"Stop. I won't. I love you."
03 smiled to herself. "I love you too."
"What have you done in the last 23 years?"
"Mostly hid out in the attic. Sometimes, when I didn't hear anyone in the shop, I'd go downstairs and guzzle a bunch of oil. You know I like the taste of it. Poor man running the shop had called the police multiple times, but of course, no sign of a break-in."
Priscilla smiled. "It must be boring. Waiting for me all the time."
"Not all the time. You come back, and we spend decades together. Usually. When there's no freak accident."
"Come on, I got hit by a car once."
"Because cars were invented in the last century. Who knows how many more times there will be? And you remember that wild beast attacking you?"
"That was ages ago."
"Still. I never like to... to see you go like that. I prefer being by your bedside, when you're old, and comfortable. I like being able to say goodbye, even if it's more of a see you later."
Priscilla tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "You know... I've been through so many bodies. Ruined so many lives."
There was a beat of silence. Priscilla didn't continue. 03 didn't cut in.
"Do you ever... wonder if it's just habit at this point?"
03 looked away. She looked like she'd just heard the words she had been afraid to hear in her millenia of lifetime. "Not for me," she said quietly.
"Yeah..." Priscilla looked up, staring at the sun about to go down. "Sorry. That was a weird thing to say. Do you always like me equally?"
"Yes."
"Even in the male bodies?" she asked playfully, wiggling her eyebrows. 03 pushed her a little.
"It doesn't matter to me. You're my Priscilla."
"And you're my 03. Sorry for bringing up so many weird topics today. I guess... I guess you're right. I did like this body's family a lot. You know, I wonder... I wonder what became of them after I left."
"Maybe we should go back. Together."
"They're countries away."
"We have time."
Priscilla let out a little laugh. "That we do. That we do."
"I'm serious. Let's go back. I could meet your family—"
"My family has been dead for 3000 years. They're not my family. I don't need them."
"You're worried what they'd think of me."
Priscilla looked down at her lap. "I just don't want them to hurt you," she mumbled. "I'm not ashamed of you, I just... What if they want to take you apart? Turn you in to the government? Anything like that. I don't trust them."
"I'm sorry for being a nuisance."
"What?" Priscilla's head snapped to her. "You're not— What are you saying?"
"You can never bring me around anywhere. You're forced to live out your eternity watching out for me. It's already been 3000 years. That's how many human lives?"
"It doesn't matter. I love you. That's what lovers do: watch out for each other."
"I just hold you back."
"Are you trying to break up with me?"
It was 03's turn to look down at her lap. "No... Not really... I don't want to... I just... I feel bad..."
Priscilla reached out and grabbed 03 by the face, turning her head so she was facing her. "Do not. I choose to come back for you every time because you're my everything. What is eternity, if I can't spend it with someone I love?"
03 was tearing up. This new technology was really something else. Priscilla just wished her tear tank wouldn't be emptied out for the first time since her arrival because of her.
"One day, you'll get bored of me," 03 said. "And then— And I won't know. I'll just know that decades passed and you didn't come back. And I think of that, in the decades when you're not here. And it makes me so— so—"
"Hey. 03. Listen to me. I will always come back."
"You don't know that. What if one time you don't regain your memories?"
Priscilla swallowed. "If this has been going on for millenia, I don't have reason to doubt it'll go on for more."
"But you don't know that."
"Yeah, well, what if you fall into such disrepair I can't fix you? What if the twenty years I spend away from you is too much? What if one day I can't shoplift parts for you? Don't you think I think about this stuff too?" Priscilla let go, tears of stubborn determination stinging her eyes. "I think about this. I thought about this today, when I couldn't find you."
Silence stretched between them.
"I don't want to be a burden," 03 said again.
"You're not. 03, I... I'd be lost without you. Please, just promise me you'll be around for as long as I am. I know that's selfish. But please."
"I'll be around for as long as I can," she said gently.
Priscilla scooched over, so their shoulders were touching. The sun had gone down. It was getting chilly.
"Wanna break into a motel room?" Priscilla asked.
03 grinned at her. "You know it."
~
oneshots/short series taglist: @whumpsday @jumpywhumpywriter
If you're a new writer and you're asking yourself "is this too personal, is this too much, will people think this is weird" that feeling is the exact location of your actual voice. The stuff that makes you want to close the laptop is the stuff nobody else could write. The safe version is always worse. Always. I have never once read something and thought "this would have been better if it was a little less honest." go further. It's always go further.
Newly turned vampire turning themself in to vampire hunters because that's what they believe was right from their views when they were human
(Bonus if the hunters keep them alive because they're "one of the good ones"...then do they caretake or abuse Whumpee?)
#375
content: nonhuman whumpee, vampire whumpee, lady whump, lady whumpee, restraints, captivity, starvation, burns
Whumpee had been stupid. Her stupid morals, her stupid principles, it had all been so stupid. She had turned herself in to the local vampire hunters' guild upon finding out she had been turned against her will, and the bloodthirsty — ha — monsters — ha — immediately threw her into the basement and chained her up with silver chains that burned into her skin where her clothes weren't covering her.
"Get these off me!" she screamed, had been screaming incessantly for the past… minutes? Hours? It hurt. It felt like her body was pressed against the stove. "I'm not here to hurt anybody! I just wanted help! Please!"
Finally, the leader of the guild entered the basement. They said something, but honestly, Whumpee couldn't hear from the sound of her own screaming. If they wanted anything, they would have to unchain her. It was her hope that the leader wanted something from her enough to do that.
She was still thrashing and screaming when the guild leader stepped up and removed her restraints. Her wrists were entirely charred, but the screaming stopped. It was just quiet sobs now. "I haven't done anything," Whumpee wept. "I came straight to you. I haven't hurt anybody."
"Can't be too cautious," the guild leader said nonchalantly. For the first time since she'd been hurt, Whumpee was overtaken with an urge to hurt a human. "Tell me why I shouldn't stake you right now."
"B-Because I haven't done anything wrong!"
"You're a vampire."
"But that's not— that's not inherently—"
"You need blood to survive. Human blood." The guild leader raised an eyebrow. "Tell me how that doesn't warrant killing on sight."
"I… I…"
"I'm putting the chains back on. And if you don't stop screaming, I'll muzzle you as well."
"Please don't!" she begged. "It hurts! Please, I understand if I need to stay in the basement, I won't leave. But please, leave the chains."
"I'm not leaving a vampire loose."
Whumpee's treacherous stomach growled. She immediately put both hands on it, trying to stifle the sound. "I won't cause trouble."
"You're a starving vampire."
"Well I'm starving because you won't help me!" she snapped, then covered her mouth. "Sorry."
"'Help', as in, 'give you my own blood', I assume."
"No, no, that's not… I know that's asking a lot, I…"
"The chains are going back on. And rest assured, you won't be getting any blood here."
The leader approached. Whumpee's instincts kicked in. She tackled the guild leader to the ground, hissing and trying to get at their throat. The situation was clear: it was her or them. Somebody wasn't leaving this basement.
The leader was the leader for a reason — they somehow wrestled Whumpee under themself, most likely because she was still weak and hadn't eaten anything, and raised their stake to end this. Whumpee reached up and grabbed their hands holding the stake, trying to keep them from killing her.
"Wait!" she cried. "Wait! Wait! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"'Sorry' won't cut it at this point." The leader was putting every ounce of their strength into pushing the stake down, and Whumpee was putting every ounce of her supernatural, albeit starved, strength into stopping them.
"I can help you!"
That got the guild leader's attention. "Help?"
"I can— I can help you fight other vampires! Bad ones!"
"You just tried to kill me."
"You threatened torture! Of course I tried!"
The guild leader let go of the stake and let Whumpee have it. She threw it across the basement. "So you're offering to be our attack dog."
"Yes," she breathed. "In exchange for some blood. Not a lot. I can get by on a little. But I can help. Truly."
They were still panting from the altercation, and they ran a hand through their hair. "Well… I guess we better use you instead of leaving you to rot down here."
"No more chains?"
They smirked. "No more chains. But I can't promise no leashes."
sliding you a note that says "do you fantasize about putting me under extreme physical, emotional, and/or mental duress? circle yes/no" with a bunch of hearts doodled around it
trying to think of a whole room or building designed to be hypnotic. but i guess that's a pretty general thing, different things are hypnotic to different people and there's different flavors of it.
i think the most typical spiral focused thing would be kinda casino-like. i'm not a big spiral guy, but i think the idea of designing it so that even if you try to leave, you get lost and wind back up in a room with a bunch of spirals (or maybe just one big spiral, i don't know) is fun. i think there's something about the idea that you seemingly have the option to leave, you can get out into the hallway, but it's too confusing to navigate, and you just have to keep coming back and keep looking, and that's just another chance for it to draw you in. i think sound should be an element, too. maybe some kind of droning noise. or a kind of low bass-y hum that you can feel in your body. enough to just make you feel a little weird. and every little thing that makes you feel weird just makes you wonder if it's already affecting you. when you get lost, you wonder if it's really the way the building is designed, or if it's just messing with your head already, if you're already slipping too far into trance to do anything right.
but i also like the idea of a building specifically designed to be like what you visualize in certain inductions. you know, all these hallways and stairways and everything's numbered and the numbers are all going down. something kind of surreal feeling. i kind of imagine it being monochrome, too. i guess just to represent the idea that this is like, kind of abstract, something in your mind. i feel like there'd be like, clocks and mirrors and stuff on the walls.
of course there's also the approach of just making everything really relaxing. low lighting, nice soothing smells, comfortable furniture. maybe some cozy little nooks that can make you feel separated from everything else. hot tubs, maybe. that makes it a little more mundane, though, more like just a spa or something like that. i'm just imagining it being more like. purple. doesn't lend itself to some huge complicated building or anything either, i mean you're not really meant to be doing a lot of walking or anything. but i think the experience of just walking into a room that you know is meant to be hypnotic and just kinda feeling that relaxing atmosphere as soon as you step in would be pretty nice.
there are also other environments that would be more specific to certain hypnotic fantasies. you know, a dracula castle, a mad science lab. those can also have maze-like designs. mad science lab can have all of those machines and bright fluids and tubes and stuff too, which i think can be kinda mesmerizing. dracula castle can have some of the comfy and intimate kinda areas. nice chair by the fire, etc. these are less environments designed to be hypnotic and more backdrops to hypnotic scenarios, but they can be good.
I'm imagining someone who's a trusted friend and ally, powerful, skilled, and yet, in some way, underperforming. Perhaps they're not brave enough. Perhaps they don't see how to best apply their skills. Perhaps they can't unflinchingly hurt someone, even when they really should.
And all of it could be fixed if their own self gave way to my control. Maybe they're reluctant but see the wisdom of it. Maybe it was their own idea. Or maybe they don't want it, say so in no uncertain terms, but there's too much at stake to honor that decision.
And then they're mine, and I put them to good use. And no matter what, now they'll know they're more efficient, more useful, when it's me at the controls. A heavy thing to have to live with.
Perhaps someone realizes they liked being useful more than they like being free, and comes crawling back for more.
Miles Edgeworth entered his condo, fighting down his exhaustion and frustration long enough to set his briefcase down neatly in its spot, hang up his coat on its designated hook, and line up his shoes neatly by the bench. The sun was about to set, red and orange light streaming in through the kitchen window, and he could feel all too acutely that the change was almost upon him, but that was no excuse to be uncivilized.
For once, he had troubles on his mind more pressing than the imminent full moon. He'd gone into this trial assuming he had an open-and-shut case against Will Powers, and he had been painfully wrong. Wright had dismantled his case piece by piece, making up conjecture on the fly that somehow turned out to be the truth, and in the end, even Edgeworth didn't believe in the case he was trying to sell to the judge. Damn him to hell -- everything had become so much more complicated since he'd invaded Edgeworth's courtroom, and not only because he knew Edgeworth's inconvenient secret.
At least Wright didn't seem inclined to share that secret with the rest of the court, although he had looked Edgeworth straight in the eye when he'd said that they couldn't assume that Powers was dangerous and violent just because he was a werewolf.
Of course he would say that. Damn him.
Edgeworth moved to the bedroom, hanging his suit coat, removing his cravat, and unbuttoning his cuffs and shirt methodically, putting everything in its proper place, rubbing absently at the scars on his wrists that no one else could ever see. He always underwent the change in nothing more than a set of underwear that he didn't mind destroying. The discomfort of waking in the nude was far preferable to the possibility of ruining perfectly good clothes. His pants were next, followed by his socks and sock garters. He paused, sitting on the edge of his perfectly made bed, wishing he could simply get a good night's sleep instead of going through the sordid business of chaining himself up.
Then again, he never really got a good night's sleep. He fell back onto the bed, putting off his night's task, even though he knew he couldn't delay for more than a few minutes. The bed was soft and comfortable and inviting, and it only served to make him more reluctant to spend the night in the stark room where he always confined himself. Wright's words in the court were echoing in his head, over and over, dredging up memories that didn't need to be uncovered.
A cheeky nine-year-old Phoenix, all messy hair and gap teeth, clutching his backpack straps and smiling at him as they walked to school. "I don't care if you're a werewolf," he'd said, long ago. "That doesn't mean you're dangerous. I know you wouldn't hurt anyone, right, Miles?"
Edgeworth crushed the memory down again. That boy had been wrong, devastatingly so, and it was better if he never knew how wrong he had been.
With great reluctance, he hauled himself up off the bed and unlocked the room he only used on these occasions. Thankfully, he had enough money for strong chains, excellent soundproofing, and contractors who didn't ask questions.
The room was small and stark, with nothing in it but the chains. A lot of werewolves made themselves comfortable dens with bedding, toys, and treats. Dens like those were for werewolves who could control themselves, von Karma said on many occasions, whenever Edgeworth dared to ask for something different. Besides, things like that were demeaning, and the wolf he became didn't deserve any comforts.
He had delayed too long, lost in regrets, and the change was already starting to affect him. The scent of the iron chains was strong and unpleasant, still smelling of fur and blood no matter how vigorously he cleaned them. His reason was being subsumed by desires he would never fulfill -- desires to run, and hunt, and feel his teeth tear into warm flesh. He snapped the first of the shackles around his left ankle before those thoughts could find purchase, and fought the urge to howl and pull and rip it off. He shackled his right ankle regardless. By the time he got to his wrists, fur was already starting to grow there, course and rough, and his fingers were elongating into claws.
It was a near thing this time. The frustration of the day had made him all too careless. He wasn't even able to apply the last shackle, his half-transformed hands far too clumsy to manage, but three should be more than sufficient to keep him contained.
There was a fire burning low in his chest, threatening to consume him, and he panted and gasped as he fell back against his saferoom wall. Thoughts were dissolving into memories, which further decomposed into sensations and feelings. He remembered being a young pup, when he had been permitted to run in the yard: the crunch of grass under his paws, the silvery light of the full moon, the taste of bits of hamburger eaten from a metal bowl.
Before he'd done the unthinkable. Before he'd lost control. Before his father had been killed.
He groaned, wracked with the pain of his transformation as well as his guilt, and the groan became a mournful howl. The iron shackles chafed at his strong legs, metal digging into old wounds that were never allowed to fully heal. He pulled against the chains that he had willingly subjected himself to just moments before, suddenly desperate to break free. His free hand, now a paw, scrabbled against the shackle, rubbing his wrist raw.
The wolf didn't like the pain, of course. The wolf was incapable of understanding why it so thoroughly deserved that pain. The wolf didn't understand that it would have been safe if it hadn't lost control.
This was the deep truth of what he really was, inevitably harming anything he touched, incapable of bringing anything but pain and punishment. His only recourse had to been to make sure that the punishment was given to the criminals who deserved it, and to hold himself far apart from everyone else.
