Whumpee is just a plaything for Whumpers. Maybe Whumpee is a creature, and Whumper likes to hunt them. Or maybe the Whumpers are the creatures, who like to play with a human.
Either way, Whumpee is perfect for this. They're kept weak, so all they can do is flail around and struggle a bit. Whumper can watch them run, catch them, poke them a bit so they struggle, until Whumpee passes out (or temporarily dies in case of immortal Whumpee).
Then Whumpee is taken back, patched back up (not all the way, of course) and thrown back to Whumper.
After all, they're just a toy. And if they break? We'll get a new one.
Please, make it stop…it hurts…it hurts so much, and I can’t move…
The werewolf, curled up in the corner of his prison, can barely raise his head as whumper enters and shuts the door behind him. That grin. The way whumper looks down at him, gloating, so pleased that he has a werewolf in his possession. Whumpee wants to shred him. But the dagger wound in his left side burns with agony. And it’s not healing. Which can only mean—
I’ve been poisoned. The dagger…must’ve been laced with wolfsbane…
Whumper crouches down next to whumpee, clicking his tongue. “Dear me, you look pathetic. And I assume you’ve discovered my little secret by now, given that that nasty cut isn’t healing.”
“Wolf—wolfsbane,” whumpee stutters, fighting for breath between waves of fiery pain. “You tricked me.”
“No, no,” whumper scolds, standing up. “I didn’t trick you. I merely did what I had to do.” His boot lands on whumpee’s side and grinds down.
Through the haze of torture, whumpee hears himself scream. Then another scream, and another. They burst from his parched throat in quick succession as whumper presses his heel into the poisoned gash.
Please, just kill me already…I can’t take any more…
Whumper removes his foot and steps back, and whumpee gasps for air, his chest heaving. Darkness crowds into his already blurry vision. And in the midst of it, whumper, standing over the werewolf’s wretched body, the grin gone from his face.
“Don’t you understand, whumpee? This is only what you deserve. An agonizing death, after what you did to me.”
"Well, prized guests! It seems the overwhelming majority wants to see my dear celestial, Areli!"
Amarathine steps out of the venue for a minute. The clack clack clack of the wood of his boots on the floor resounds as the the crowd observes in expectant silence.
As he returns, the light shines on his face in a manner that makes visible two long scars. One horizontal, beneath his eyes and across his nose, and one transversal, through his left eye and the right corner of his lip.
Behind him, threads a celestial— but not quite. It's wings, though still angel-like, of white feathers and holy light, have a demonoid stucture, and are sharp at the edges. It wears a white leather collar, stitched with red thread, and half-loops made of silver at the edges, that dig into its neck.
Its long hair is pitch black, dark like an abyss, like something to get lost on. It's incredibly long, reaching the angel's knees, tied simply on the middle with an equally dark red bow.
"I ask you now, my dear patrons," Amaranthine places his hand on the back of Areli's neck, in a gesture that is almost possessive, "Have you ever seen a celestial in an in-bettween state?"
"My dear angel," His voice, in those three words, drops low, almost to a whisper, an affectionate, intimate tone, "I found it while threading through the tundra I hail from, in a terrible state. I don't usually deal with celestials or demonoids, but what kind of person would I be to leave such a dear lonely and hurt?"
The angel slowly inches closer to Amaranthine, seeking the warmth of its master, but when it begins to wrap its wings around him, Amaranthine makes a distasteful little sound, and Areli drops to its knees by his side.
"Angels, I've found, are insurmountably defiant; they're loyal to their creator, and they just won't break— in my youth, I used to dream of an army of celestials at my mercy, a beautiful collection of holy beings, but I gave up on it as soon as I attemped to train one."
Areli's head hangs low, and it's hands clutch at the fabric of its trousers, as its wings begin to close around itself. However, Amaranthine pinches the edge of the wing closest to him, and they spring open right away, revealing themselves in all their deformed glory— they are long, and covered in not quite white feathers, but have the triangular shape characteristic to demons.
The feathers don't entirely cover the bottom, and beneath them, the membrane typical to demons. It's incredibly ragged, as if a strong wisp of wind would be enough to tear it apart. When Amaranthine sets his right hand on its left wing, Areli can't quite keep back a little whimper of pain.
"And demonoids, well, to put it simply, do whatever they want. I've never even attemped to deal with one, but from hunters and collectors that did, I've gathered that they must be broken nearly to unresponsiveness to make anything out of. I'd rather not walk such a fine line bettween compliance and ruin."
Areli remains still, allowing Amaranthine to touch his achy wings, caress the feathers, let his hand dive beneath them to the sensitive membrane and bone.
"But fallen angels— fallen angels, they've been rejected and abandoned by their creator. They are desperate for purpose, for guidance. The threshold to find a fallen angel is typically around two hours, never more than a day, and they usually fall into empty places— such as the tundra I found this dear in."
Areli shivers as Amaranthine tells its story. It tries to move its wing, gently, slightly, tries to signal to him that the light touch hurts, but that earns it a stab of his nails beneath its feathers. Okay, then— Areli would be patient.
"I was clueless as to what to do, as I had never come across a fallen. I found, after taking it back to my home here, that it stayed in this in-bettween state, taking me as its new master. Fallen tend to go on to become demonoids, but, and keep in mind that I could be wrong as this experience is novelty, if they find a new master in the overworld they will remain there, as something in-bettween, something singular."
"But alas! I digress." Amaranthine spreads his arms, spins once, and bows. "Without further ado, let the show begin!"
How about lycanthropy whump? Like the the Werewhumpee is scared of hurting those who they care about, Caretaker sticking close to Werewhumpee and providing comfort as they transform and/or express fears regarding their curse, and Werewhumpee being under threat of getting found out and/or ends up getting captured with Caretaker working to break them out? Could work as romantic or platonic either way, but I love these sorts of whump ideas!
Ooh that's interesting! Y'all know I love fantasy whump, and while I don't think much about ~creatures~ werewolves do give so many good whump options, you're right. And on top of what you've said there's the initial becoming of a werewolf too, depending on your world they could have been born that way or they were turned into one later in life - either way there's whump/angst potential.
Maybe they were turned but their injuries were so severe they almost died, and while they ended up living they had to live with the price of being a werewolf themselves? Their friends/family are relieved they're alive, but they can't help noticing a difference to the way people talk to them and see them now, as if they're contagious. And when the full moon hits there's no one brave enough to help them (or maybe one person - the one they least expect.)
Or maybe no one knows but them - everyone else just thinks they were lucky to get away with their life, but they alone know the horrible truth that confronts them each month...
“Just a short little prompt fill” I said to myself. “Something to work on in my downtime between longer fics.” Oops I made a whole au and I’m attached to it now, lol.
14: “Good news! I brought you a friend.”
CW: Pet whump, creature whump, fantasy au, restraints, referenced conditioning, child whumper
---
“More tea, Daisy?” Matilda asked, holding up her porcelain teapot. Daisy eyed her for a moment, and Matilda giggled. “You can answer, silly!”
“Yes please, Lady Matilda,” Daisy said immediately.
“Here you go!” Matilda said, tipping the pot forward to mime pouring. “One lump of sugar or two?”
“Two please, my lady,” Daisy said, and Matilda nodded primly, picking up a small set of tongs.
She mimed dropping two lumps of sugar into Daisy’s cup, then one into her own. She put the cup to her lips and pretended to drink, grinning when Daisy did the same.
“I have to say, Daisy, your wings are looking particularly ex-quis-ite today!” Matilda chirped, slowly sounding out the larger word she’d often heard her mother use at grown-up garden parties. “I love how the light catches them just so!”
An expression Matilda couldn’t quite read flashed through her fairy’s eyes for a moment, but before she could figure it out Daisy’s smile was back, wider and brighter than before.
“Thank you, Lady Matilda.”
“You’re welcome!” Matilda said cheerfully, swinging her legs a bit as she pretended to take another sip of tea. “Oooh, ooh, guess what!”
“What is it, Lady Matilda?” Daisy barely had time to ask before Matilda launched into her story. Mother often said she talked too much for polite conversation, but that was part of what was fun about playing with Daisy, Matilda didn’t need to be polite!
“Father will be coming home today!” she said, clapping her hands. “And that means I’ll get a present! He always brings me a present when he comes home from trips, and I hope it’s something really nice, he’s been gone for so long this time…what do you think he’ll bring me? Maybe a new dress, or a box of sweets...do you think he’ll bring something for you, too Daisy? Oh I’d like that, maybe a new satin cushion for your cage, or a set of gold combs for me to put in your hair, wouldn’t that just look so beautiful with your leash and collar?”
“Matilda!” her mother called sharply, interrupting Matilda’s musing about her presents. “Time to put your toys away now, your father will be home soon.”
“Aww, but Mother-”
“I won’t tell you twice, Matilda,” her mother warned, and Matilda sighed.
“Fiiiine.”
She got to her feet and quickly scooped up the dolls and teddy bears she had set around the table to make up the rest of the tea party’s guests. She dropped them into her toy chest, then walked back to where Daisy was sitting, unhooking her leash from the brass loop on the side of the table.
“Come on, Daisy,” Matilda said, tugging on the leash, and Daisy quickly scrambled to her feet. When Matilda had first gotten her last year, Daisy had stood a few inches taller than her, but Matilda had grown a bit since her eighth birthday, and now she was about the same height as her pet.
Matilda led Daisy to her cage, which took up the entire corner of the playhouse. Her father had ordered it to be custom made just for Daisy, and it reminded Matilda of a bigger version of the parrot cage she’d once seen at a party at her cousin’s estate. Daisy slipped inside, waiting patiently by the door as Matilda made sure the lock was secure before reaching through the bars to unclip the leash from the shiny golden collar she wore around her neck. She hung the leash on a hook on the cage door, then grinned, waving at her pet.
“Bye Daisy!” she said. “I’ll come visit you again after supper, alright?”
She skipped out into the garden, where her mother was waiting to close the playhouse door behind her.
“Did you remember to lock the cage, dear?” Mother asked, and Matilda rolled her eyes.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Good. Now, come with me. Your father will be home any minute, and he has a surprise for you.”
A grin stretched across Matilda’s face. She couldn’t wait to find out what it was!
---
Matilda was not an unkind little girl. She was sweet, polite, and as far as Lorrella could tell, never hurt anybody on purpose.
This, of course, did little to soothe the chafed skin beneath Lorrella’s collar or the ache for freedom in her heart.
Matilda did not seem to realize that her beloved fairy was a prisoner in the opulent playhouse her father had built her on the grounds of their family manor. She never registered Lorrella’s discomfort, though that was mostly because Lorrella took great pains to hide it from her. Matilda was bound to become upset if her pet wasn’t acting happy, after all.
And rule number one was Don’t upset Matilda.
So Lorrella couldn’t really blame the girl for not realizing when she was uncomfortable, but Matilda still didn’t seem to think twice about leading her around on a leash like a dog or locking her in a six by six foot cage whenever they weren’t “playing together.” She certainly hadn’t been interested in learning Lorrella’s real name, content instead to dub her “Daisy” because it sounded pretty.
Daisy was a dress up doll, a hair model, an audience for impromptu storytimes and a companion for tea parties and garden outings. Whatever Matilda wanted for as long as she wanted, that’s what Daisy had to be. Lorrella was allowed to exist only in these quiet moments when Matilda left her here alone; when nothing was wanted of her and she could whisper her name into the empty room so that she would not forget it.
The most frightening thing was that while Lorrella longed for such a reprieve when she was with Matilda, whenever she was alone, she’d begun to find herself wishing for the girl’s company. Lorrella was nobody, did nothing, belonged nowhere when Matilda was gone. Daisy, at least, had something to do, had something to be, even if that something was little more than an object to be shaped and molded by someone else.
Daisy belonged to Matilda, but Daisy had a purpose. Lorrella belonged to no one, but her life had ceased to have meaning altogether.
The door to the playhouse suddenly burst open and Lorrella jumped in surprise as Matilda darted into the room.
“Daisy!” she cried, running up to the cage and grinning from ear to ear. “Good news! Father brought you a friend!”
Lorrella blinked and tilted her head, a silent question. Matilda reached through the bars and patted her on the head, then grabbed her collar and pulled. Lorrella suppressed a wince at the sudden jerk of movement and leaned forward so that Matilda could clip the leash on.
“Come on, come on, you have to see it!” Matilda said. As soon as she had Lorrella out of the cage, she dashed out of the room, and Lorrella had no choice but to follow as quickly as she could.
Matilda hurried through the grounds and Lorrella stumbled after her, biting back a yelp every time Matilda ran too fast or turned too suddenly for her to keep up. Her neck was already growing sore, and she’d tumbled over enough times that her knees would be bound to have an angry smattering of fresh bruises by morning. She desperately wanted to call out for Matilda to slow down, but she held her tongue.
Rule number two was Never speak unless spoken to.
Matilda finally skidded to a halt outside the family stables, and Lorrella let herself fall to her knees beside her, gasping for air.
“Father!” Matilda called, knocking on the stable door. “I brought Daisy to come see it too! Can we come in?”
Lorrella stared at Matilda incredulously. All this fuss just to meet a new pony?
Matilda’s father appeared at the door, and Lorrella shrank back, casting her eyes downward.
“Yes, my dear,” he said. “But you must remember to move slowly, alright? It is still quite wild, and not used to people yet.”
Matilda nodded solemnly, and her father opened the door wide, allowing her to pull Lorrella inside. They passed through most of the stable and Matilda occasionally paused to wave at a favorite horse, but they didn’t stop moving until they reached the end of the row of stalls. The stall at the back was open, and as they approached, Lorrella could hear the stable hands muttering to each other.
“Shit! Hold the damn thing still, will you? I can’t buckle these straps tight enough when it’s squirming so much!”
“I will thank you,” Matilda’s father said coldly,” to not swear in front of my daughter.”
The two snapped to attention instantly, twin looks of apology on their faces.
“Yes, Lord Tracey, sorry Lord Tracey,” said the one who’d cursed, ducking his head.
“Can I show Daisy now?” Matilda asked, and her fathers face softened as he looked down at her.
“Of course, my dear. The creature is secure?” he added to the stablehands, and they nodded quickly.
“Yes, my lord. Took a fair bit of wrangling, but it shouldn’t be a problem now.”
They stepped aside, revealing the animal in the stall, and Lorrella was unable to stop herself from gasping. She froze, glancing up at Lord Tracey, but he only had eyes for Matilda, who was staring at the creature with a wide grin
It was not, as Lorrella had first assumed, simply a new pony; it was a centaur. Their upper body was wrapped up tightly in a harness that forced its arms behind its back, and their face was partially covered by a bitted bridle, the lead of which was tied to a hook on the wall.
Lorrella had never seen a centaur before, and she was no expert on horses either, but even she could see that the creature was only a child. Judging by the face alone, one not much older than Matilda herself, or at least whatever the centaur equivalent was to eight years old. The poor thing was clearly terrified, too; they were trembling slightly and pawing at the ground with one of their front hooves.
“Daisy, this is Coco!” Matilda said happily. “Coco, this is Daisy! The two of you are gonna be the best of friends, I know it! What do you think, Daisy, isn’t she just the greatest present you ever saw?”
The centaur flinched when Matilda spoke, and Lorrella glanced back at Lord Tracey, who was watching the whole exchange with what on the surface looked like a bored expression. She swallowed, and shot the centaur what she hoped was an apologetic look before answering.
“Yes, Lady Matilda,” she said quietly. “She’s perfect for you.”
