The Whumpers' Soirée

A whump writing event hosted by @painsandconfusion.

[the-whumpers-soiree]

-The Whumpers' Soirée-

This party is quite exclusive. Invite-only. Consider yourself lucky~

[Invite Link | Example Scene Link | Masterlist Link]

...

Whumper's RULES:

The Setting:

The party will take place in a penthouse event center. The space is dim, dappled with blue and gold lights and warmly filled with chatter and music. Drinks are free. Hor d'oeuvres are free. Everything comes with the price of admission. That price is your invite. Nothing more.

The Plot:

But there's always a few strings attached. This is a whumper's party. It is designed for whumpers to attend with the purpose of networking and/or finding a new whumpee to toy with. A myriad of whumpees will be invited. All vulnerable and relatively unattached - beckoned in with the promise of new relationships and free food.

The Code:

As proof of admission, each attendee will be given a glowstick to wear as a bracelet for the duration of the party. Everyone is given blue as default. As a whumper, you must ask for a red glowstick instead. Upon asking, the admissions attendant will hand you red instead from a hidden bin. This system should make whumpees easily identifiable for easier targeting.

The Rules:

Feel free to hurt and/or take any whumpee you would like - that's what they're there for. Simply do your very best not to cause a scene. Best to not ruin the ambiance for anyone else still on the hunt, hm?

Enjoy the party~

WRITING RULES:

Alright, here's the breakdown for bloggers.

Your Objective:

Write a scene in this setting! That's all. It can be a nameless drabble, an oc, or even a self-insert. Wherever your heart leads you. Follow the rules listed above on the fictional side of things, and the rules listed below on the technical side. Of course, if you'd rather do artwork or playlists, or another medium, feel free! Everyone is welcome! There is no deadline for this event, write anytime!

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Invites:

Feel free to reblog and tag anyone you think would enjoy the event with this invite link. More preferable, however, is to send an ask - then it's like getting a real invite in the mail. Drop the invitation photo and/or image transcript into someone's ask box to request they write a scene.

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Tagging:

Be sure to give proper trigger warnings where appropriate and tag them as such. Tag @the-whumpers-soiree in each post you make so I can properly add you to the masterlist and reblog the content. Finally, use the hashtag #the-whumpers-soiree or #the-whumpers'-soirée so others can find your content.

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Asks:

Feel free to send any questions you have to this blog (@the-whumpers-soiree). Whether it's about the whumper rules, the event rules, or any generic question - I'm here to help.

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Have fun, lovelies! I can't wait to see what you create. -Sand

[the-whumpers-soiree]

Is this event still active? If I write something for it will I still be added to the Masterlist (provided that I tag you)?

The event has no deadline or really any requirements, write or make art or anything you’d like at any time. Tag me so I can make sure to add you to the link list and rb it!

Have fun!

[painsandconfusion]

Star of the Show

For @the-whumpers-soiree A collaboration with @whumpingisfun

(tw: kidnapping, drugging, snuff film (implied), manhandling, whumpy art at the end)

Black glass, smooth elevators, and polite conversation. Not exactly the normal ambiance for a club. 

A toon looks at the entrance, visibly nervous, pale skin paper white with long rainbow hair tied up into a vibrant bun. In contrast to his skin, he is wearing a greyscale ensemble, a dark charcoal crop top exposing white skin with draping billowing black sleeves tied to his arms by ribbon, light grey leggings hugging his hips. He looks down at the invitation in his hands. Sammy Jax is cordially invited to… writes in curling facing lettering. This was the place. 

He takes a steadying breath and slips the invite into his hammerspace, sliding it up into his sleeve and simply letting go. His gold eyes scan the entrance, for just a brief moment, as if trying to assure himself that everything will be fine. His shading shifts from light lilac to orange as he takes up all his courage and shoves it to the forefront.

As Sammy enters the main room, he’s greeted by a politely smiling woman behind a table draped in black cloth. “Do you have an invitation?”

“O-Oh! Um, yeah, just one second—“ Sammy squeaks, digging out from his long black sleeve the requested document. Hammerspaces. Neat things. “Here?”

His shading is light lilac, more out of pre-party nerves than any true fear as he hands the woman the invite.

She takes it with a soft smile, setting it to the side. She plucks a glowstick from the box on the table.

“Alright, you’re good to go - make sure to keep this on, it lets the bouncers know you’ve talked to me.” She cracks a glowstick and it lights up blue. With a soft shake, she hands it to him.

Sammy blinks, shading going sky blue in surprise. “Oh! Oh blue is pretty…” he admires, smiling sweetly at her as he takes the blue glow stick. “Thank you!”

She nods a smile and turns to the next person, wordlessly shooing him away.

Sammy scurries away, head swiveling for where he’s supposed to go next. 

There’s a hundred or so people mingling around. The music is loud, but not too loud for idle conversation. Blue and gold lights streak across the room. A bartender he walks by smiles at him “Can I get you anything?”

He goes pink. “U-um, do you sell apple juice?” He asks shyly.

He laughs softly, turning around and slipping a bottle from the cooler. He swirls it, making a miniature tornado of liquid as it pours into a small metal pitcher. “I’ll do you one better - you seem like a cider kinda guy. Warm and spiced and snuggly - right?” He slips the pitcher under a steamer, and it whirrs to life.

“I um, is cider alcoholic?” He asks, shading going light purple again.

The man shrugs, finishing the steaming and pouring it into a glass mug. “Sometimes yes, sometimes no. This just has a smidge for flavor - won’t get you drunk or anything if that’s what you’re worried about.” He slides it across the bar top with a soft yet proud smile. Steam rolls off of the top of it. Warm. It smells heavenly.

Sammy swallows. His stomach roils a little at the thought of the minute alcohol inside but… he takes the mug with a smile. “Thank you.”

He takes a tentative sip. 

There’s definitely alcohol in there.

His nose reflexively scrunches, shivering. “…can I have some water too?” He weakly asks, shading neon green. 

But the waiter is already gone.

A man sitting at the bar glances between Sammy and the bartender who’s slipped away. “..want a sip of mine? Is that weird? I don’t want to be weird-” He slides it closer. “But. Um. I promise I’m not sick or anything?”

Sammy smiles weakly at the other man. “As long as it’s not alcoholic? I don’t… do good with alcohol.”

He smiles softly, pressing it closer. “It’s just water in this glass.”

Sammy relaxes in relief. “Oh thank gods.” He reaches for the glass, taking a tentative sip. 

It’s just water.

He pulls out the bar stool next to him, patting it was a soft smile. “My name’s Peter, by the way, what’s yours?”

Sammy sits gratefully, sliding the cider away from himself with a small shudder. “Sammy. It’s nice to meet you Peter.” He says, genuine and sweet. 

Peter smiles back. His eyes roam down Sammy’s body the moment he glances away to get himself seated - right back up at the toon’s eyes once he’s looking again.

“Did you not come here with anyone?”

Sammy shakes his head. “No, I’m by myself tonight.” He says simply. 

Peter frowns. “Yeah, me too. Friends all bailed - they were supposed to be here, but…” he glances around a little sorrow tinging his eyes.

Sammy makes a soft sad noise. “Aw I’m sorry to hear that. Bad friends suck. I’m just visiting town and got an invite. But we can be friends!” He chirrups, smiling sweetly at Peter. “So now we’re both not alone!”

Peter smiles warmly back. “You put such a good spin on that.” He raises his glass of rum toward Sammy’s (at least Sammy’s now) glass of water. “I’ll drink to that.”

Sammy beams, shading bright sunshine yellow as he clinks his glass with Peter’s.

Peter takes a sip, smile warming over Sammy. His eyes linger on the man’s hair.

Rainbow.

Not something you see every day. 

He nods to it. “I love your hair - very eye-catching. Have you ever considered modeling?”

Sammy’s shading goes pink and then goes purple. “I um no? N-not particularly. Thank you for the compliment though.” He shifts in his seat, finger rotating around the top edge of the glass. “…I don’t really want to have my face plastered all over magazines.”

 Peter smiles softly. “Shame - I’m sure there’s plenty of people who’d love to see it. But I guess, I’ll just count myself lucky that I get to.” Small grin. Adorably proud he said a smooth line. 

Sammy goes bright pink again with a squeak, blushing. He giggles, sipping at his water. “M-mhm… you do.” He says shyly.

Peter fiddles with his glowstick absentmindedly as a flush presses to his cheeks, too. Both blush and bracelet vibrant red contrasting icy blue eyes.

He glances around, but snags the bartender as he walks by. “Hey! Hi- can we get just…like…a normal apple juice? Pretty please?” Something in his tone shift slightly as ‘pretty please’, but isn’t negligible.

The bartender’s eyes flick between the two of them - down to glowsticks - back up to Peter. “Yeah, of course - one second-” He disappears to go fetch a bottle.

Sammy slumps up against Peter, hugging him. “Thank you thank you thank you I really didn’t wanna drink alcohol tonight it tastes like ink and grossness—“ he babbles, pressing his face into Peter’s shoulder. Completely unaware of the byplay. The context. The danger. 

Sweet and innocent. 

Peter freezes a moment, not having expected that, but sputters a soft laugh, wrapping an arm around Sammy, too. “You’re very welcome, Sammy.”

Sammy hums happily, nuzzling in close and resting his head against Peter’s shoulder. “Mmm… you’re warm. S’ cold outside.”

Peter smirks, rubbing a hand up and down Sammy’s shoulder. “It is, yeah-” he cuts off as the bartender returns, setting a glass of apple juice down in front of Sammy.

“Here you go.”

Peter thanks him and presses it a little closer.

Sammy eyes it suspiciously. “…it’s not alcohol again right?”

Buuuuut the bartender’s already gone again. 

Peter picks it up, smelling it. He gives it a small taste. “Nope - just apple juice.”

He hands it to Sammy.

Sammy relaxes. “Thank you.” He sweetly says, and sips it with a happy noise.

Peter resumes sipping at his, eyeing Sammy’s drink a little. “So what are you doing in town?”

“Art study! M’ going to different cities around the country and painting pretty locations.” Sammy explains happily, before taking a long pull of his apple juice. 

Peter tilts his head. “By yourself??”

Sammy nods. “Mhm. Easier to just go if I’m by myself. I don’t have to wait on anyone else to be ready, I can just leave.”

He gives an appreciative hum. “That’s convenient.”

Sammy nods. “It’s nice being able to travel like this.” He says, completely missing any implications Peter might be thinking of. 

Peter smiles just as soft as always. His hand drifts up to Sammy’s cheek, thumb brushing down it. “If you’re on the go that much, then I’m counting myself doubly lucky to be able to see you tonight.”

Sammy’s breathing shudders in his chest, eyes widening as a blush further spreads across his cheeks. “Y-yeah… m-me too.” He squeaks out.

He hums, eyeing the blush. “You’re so soft…” he traces the edge of it with a finger. 

Sammy goes pinker. “T-thank you?” He squeaks out, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

He laughs softly. “Sorry - that…was weird. I’m just…I don’t know many toons. I didn’t expect you to be so…perfect..” He clears his throat, hand dropping - looking away. Flush spreading. “Wow I’m just- making this more awkward aren’t I? Ha-”

Sammy is blushing furiously now. “N-no, no I, um. I thought it was sweet. Thank you.” He clears his throat, lips spreading into a sweet smile. “Thank you Peter, you’re really sweet.”

Peter’s eyes flicker back up to Sammy. “...I’m glad.” He glances down over Sammy. “..are you doing okay? You look a little tired?” He glances around. “...lights too bright maybe? I know they’re kinda flashy..-”

Sammy blinks, confused but when he opens his mouth he sways, suddenly dizzy. “O-oh… I don’t… mmmsomethin’ wrong—“

Peter is on his feet in an instant, concern bleeding over his face. “Are you okay..??” He steadies Sammy with a hand on his waist and one on his elbow. “...should we go to one of the quieter rooms where you can actually sit down?”

“Mmmm’yeah…” Sammy mumbles, pressing his face into Peter’s neck with a soft whine. “Don’ feel good…”

“Okay,” he murmurs softly into Sammy’s hair, shifting around the bar and toward a hallway. He keeps a hand around Sammy’s waist, grabbing his apple juice with the other. 

Sammy’s legs don’t listen to what he wants them to do, becoming tangled nuisances and making Sammy sag against Peter drastically as he trips over his own feet and air itself. “Merg.” He complains eloquently. 

“Oh shi-” Peter chirps in surprise, but wraps another arm around Sammy. “I’m- I’m gonna carry you, okay?” He scoops the man up into a princess carry and continues on his way, nestling Sammy’s head against his shoulder. “You didn’t hit your head earlier or something, did you?”

Sammy blearily shakes his head negative. “Nnno? Don’ know why…” he whines plaintively, pressing into the hollow of Peter’s throat.

Peter presses a long kiss to the top of Sammy’s head, eyes still up as he moves through the smaller rooms and to a back door.

He presses an elevator button and steps inside. 

And then it’s quiet.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Out of the crowd now.”

Sammy hums, pressing his face up against the pulse point of Peter’s neck, eyelashes fluttering against skin. “…thank you…” he mumbles blearily. 

“No problem.”

It takes a few long moments for the elevator to slide all the way down the building, but the lights are beautiful from this angle. Glass elevator looking out of the nighttime tinkling of the city.

Sammy is so dizzy he can barely appreciate it, but gods… he’s an artist. He stretches out a hand toward the expanse of the city below, humming. “Pretttyyy…”

Peter hums in agreement. “It is…” He looks out over the lights. “It’s like…a black sky filled with stars…” He glances down at the toon in his arms. “..you said you didn’t want to model. What about acting? Don’t you want to be a star, too?”

Sammy shakes his head dizzily. “Nnnno? No, stars. Too far away. Wanna stay right here on ground. Safe. Mhm.”

Peter laughs softly. “I mean the star of a movie, silly. Did you know I make movies?”

Sammy blinks up at Peter, the words slowly penetrating the dizzy haze he’s fallen into. “…not safe.” He mumbles. “Movies safe for not-Sammy’s, no Sammy movie nope. Sinclair find.”

He raises a brow. “..Sinclair?”

Sammy shudders, shading dark purple, a whine in his throat as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad— “

His eyebrows pinch slightly. “....Simon Sinclair?”

Sammy goes rigid. Fear floods his dizzy mind. Peter… knows the man who hurt him for years.  “Let me go, l-let me go—“ he starts to weakly struggle, limbs uncoordinated and flailing wildly. 

“Shhhh..-” He tucks Sammy a little closer, reeling his arms back in. “You’re okay - you’re just fine. It’s just Peter and if I set you down you’re gonna fall.”

The elevator stops on the ground floor.

No. 

Lower than that.

Parking garage under the building. It’s dark.

Sammy struggles against Peter’s grip, breathing quick and dizzying. “Let me GO!” He wails, bursting into terrified tears. Peter rolls his eyes, carrying Sammy out of the elevator. 

Peter absentmindedly hands a slip of paper - his valet number - to a young man who greets them. A young man who doesn’t seem to notice or care about Sammy’s distress. 

He’s gone just as quickly.

Peter sighs. “Just calm down, will you?”

Sammy shakes his head rapidly hands beating weakly against Peter’s chest. “Let me go, let me go, bad! Bad!!!”

Peter groans, dropping Sammy’s legs and shoving him against the cement wall next to the elevator. He grips Sammy’s jaw, keeping him pressed back hard against the wall and keeping him upright by it. “Shut. Up.”

Sammy squirms, hands scrabbling at Peter’s hand with a fearful cry, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“Better.” He glances over his shoulder to see how far the valet’s gotten. 

“Ssstop…” Sammy begs tearfully, breathing hitching in his chest. “S-sto-p, Pe-ter please—“

He sighs, glancing back to Sammy. He doesn’t look so soft anymore. He just looks exhausted. A little pissy.

“Can you chill out? I haven’t even hurt you yet.”

Sammy flinches, a whimper in his throat. Not one of Sinclair’s, his fuzzy mind registers. They would have already drawn ink. 

But Peter knows Simon Sinclair and that makes him dangerous. He grows quiet, tears trickling down his cheeks. 

“What… What do you want from me?” He whispers, tongue heavy. Limbs heavy. Fear rich on his skin in purple hues. 

He looks back again as his car starts to come back. “I just wanna make a movie with you, that’s all.” He pulls Sammy away from the wall again, ripping tight so he doesn’t fall. 

Sammy squirms, whimpering. “I-I don’t want to be in a movie! Let me go, please! I-I’m scared!”

“Good - then you’ll do great.” He tugs Sammy up to the slowing car and gives the driver a nod and a tip.

The trunk pops.

Sammy tries to jam his feet into the ground, but he just skids forward. “N-no! No, no, no, no—“

Peter doesn’t relent - just forces Sammy forward until he’s bent over the open trunk. “Chill.” He shoves Sammy in, knocking his legs out from under him and guiding his fall into the dark space. “It’s not like you have anywhere to be.”

Sammy goes down with a shrill scream, shaking his head, terror dark purple so close it’s almost black on his skin. “I-I’ll be good, I’ll be good, don’t take me to him please—!”

Peter signs, reaching into his jacket. He pulls out a syringe and preps it, flicking air bubbles to the top and pushing them out. “Don’t plan to.”

Sammy stares up at Peter, hiccuping. He closes his eyes. “…okay.”

“Good.” He jabs the needle down into Sammy’s thigh, shoving the serum in with no real care to keep it straight or avoid bruising. “Nuhnight.” He slams the trunk closed.

Sammy’s world goes black. 

.

When Sammy wakes, he’s in a basement. Cold. 

He’s bound down to a wooden chair - one that’s bolted to the ground. The back digs into his shoulder blades, hard and unyielding. 

Around him are grate-covered shelves and cabinets full of tools and weapons.

In front of him, a table with a laptop. And a camera.

The light is on. Red glaring.

Sammy’s shading is immediately purple, and he panics, squirming in his restraints. A high pitched whine leaving him breathless and heady.

“Welcome to the show,” Peter’s voice murmurs from behind him, hands curling onto his shoulders. “Are you ready?”

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @meowsikbox @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @michaeltalks @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @astralrunic @cursedscribbles @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

[sanguine-arena]

une soiree | drabble

cw: alcohol use, noncon drugging (implied), creepy whumper, kidnapping, some physical violence (slapping/choking), hair pulling, some verbal abuse

desc: Alec is invited to an exclusive party he is told is for CSHL players, agents, and executives looking to network and socialize; however, at the party, Alec accidentally gets too drunk and a seemingly concerned stranger has different plans for his night. this got WAY longer than i had originally planned it to, but i had a lot of fun writing it and the prompt is super neat!

wc: 2,194

tagging: @the-whumpers-soiree

Keep reading

[just-horrible-things]

Felt inspired today by @the-whumpers-soiree so here's a brief little thing.

Red Bracelet Please

“I’ll have a red bracelet, please.” It’s as easy as that. The doorman reaches under the counter and hands me one with a smile. And I’m one of them.

I mingle briefly, complimenting outfits without really looking at them, then make my way to the bar. Blue bracelets are everywhere, smiling, dancing, treating this like a normal party. They don’t know the risk they’re taking, how close they are to losing everything.

I can’t stop looking at their faces.

It’s like one of those videos that circulate sometimes, where an unsuspecting beachgoer handles a cute little octopus, cooing over the beauty of the bright blue rings. You know you shouldn’t click, but the morbid fascination is real.

I’d watch snuff, I think. I wouldn’t go looking for it and I certainly wouldn’t get off to it. But if someone sent it to me… I couldn’t resist. I’d need to know what it’s like, to watch someone die. Does it look the same as in the movies? Can you really tell if it’s real or fake?

A red bracelet pauses next to me to put his empty glass on the bar. We make accidental eye contact. He smiles and tips his head.

I’m in the shark tank, but I’m one of the sharks.

I’ve never felt so powerful, so hidden, so free. They don’t know I’m not one of them.

Watching the red bracelets circulate through the room, I wonder how many of them tell themselves they’re not like the others. They’re totally different.

A blue bracelet sits at the bar next to me. “How come you got a red one?” she asks. She’s smiling. She wouldn’t be smiling if she knew. “It means I’m a VIP,” I answer. Not exactly a lie, not exactly the truth. “Very fancy,” the blue bracelet purrs. “What are you drinking?”

I flirt, although she doesn’t have my full attention. I ought to find someone to take home, I think. It will raise fewer suspicions if I leave with a blue bracelet in tow. Maybe this one, maybe another.

There’s that power rush again, deciding who to save from the sharks. 

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim AU: The Whumpers’ Soirée #1

Masterlist (Masterlist part 2 where the AUs are stored)

content: vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, kidnapping, recapture, multiple whumpees, drugging, creepy whumper, burns, asphyxiation, choking

my piece for @the-whumpers-soiree at long last! see here for setting details, recommend reading that first if you’re unfamiliar with the whumpers’ soiree writing event.

-

“Red.” Kane told the attendant, declining the blue glowstick as per the invitation’s instructions.

The human smiled politely and switched out the glowstick accordingly. “Enjoy your evening, sir.”

“Thank you.” With his red glowstick around his wrist, Kane straightened his tie and entered the party.

Keep reading

[quietly-by-myself-deactivated20]

About

Hi, I’m Harper! I lurk, sometimes interact, and am a somewhat active blog. I’m posting a few stories. Asks are always open! I love interacting with people, so if you ever have anything on your mind about my stories (or me for that matter), feel free to ask!

Just send me an ask if you wish to be tagged!

Also - all ask games and asks are open at all times, so if something’s on your mind, please interact!

I’m also always willing to collab, so if you have an idea, please reach out!

This blog posts NSFWhump/18+/mature content at times.

TERFs are blocked on sight.

—

Story Masterlists:

COMPLETE:

Mercury, Titanium, and the Balance of Time (Mercury and Time) - Louka and Atticus

The Dark Side of the Sun - Hakon, Cassius, and King Myndill

Three Days - Finlay and Faolan - 18+ content

Smoke, Salt, and Asbestos - Briac and Silvanus

ONGOING:

Shadow By My Fireplace - Sacha and Cyril - 18+ content

Fearless - Nikolay, Kaloyan, and Dimitar

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Lore Masterlist

Recent (past 2 weeks) Updates

Shadow By My Fireplace - Sacha’s Missing Persons Report

Chapter 31 of Shadow By My Fireplace

Chapter 32 of Shadow By My Fireplace

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Link to the whump directory (for people looking for new things to read)

Profile picture from https://picrew.me/image_maker/1451105

[the-whumpers-soiree]

Food for though, 2 previous Whumpees attend the soiree for the sole purpose of kidnapping their previous by switching their bracelets. inspired by a previous ask! :3

As the administrator of this event, I can guarantee that any such misbehaving guests will be put in a holding room until the conclusion of the evening. Any red-braceleted guests who have not yet found a victim will then be set free on anyone in the room.

You have been warned.

[the-whumpers-soiree]

Hey! Can I have an invite to the Whumpers Soiree?? 😉

Absolutely! *hands*

[the-whumpers-soiree]

waaaaa i just want to thank you lots for hosting this event!! it’s so much fun to write for

I'm glad to hear you're enjoying yourself this evening. If you need anything, be sure to let myself of another member of staff know. ~Sand

[the-whumpers-soiree]

Hello! Just wondering if the event is still ongoing, I have a devious idea in the works for this event. I just love this scenario- so many good ways to go with it!

Also, a quick question, would a whumper be allowed to use a blue bracelet? (assuming they're willing to run the risks of doing it)

-🦋

Hmmmm...this would need full disclosure and pre-approval. Unless you just swiped one which is totally doable and I CANNOT condone it, but if you WERE to do such a devious and disastrous thing, you would probably have your best luck either slipping one off a whumpee's wrist, snagging one from the front table by asking a question or something with the bouncers, or grabbing one from the extra stash behind each bar.

I cannot possibly condone this and you will be removed from the party if you break protocol like this so don't let anyone see you doing it.

[the-whumpers-soiree]

*throws a couple dozen squishmallows at you*

*snoogles them*

[the-whumpers-soiree]

That ask is so funny because the whump community has been one of the kindest most compassionate places I’ve been in including as a marginalized person. Are there some annoying people who have said insensitive or cruel things? Of course but that’s true of literally every community and from what I’ve seen from others too people into whump are the nicest people ever

Because…hurting fictional characters…is not related to real life cruelty

-@outofangband

Great input! Thanks for sharing <3

[the-whumpers-soiree]

*tosses pillow*

*catches* *snuggles*

Thankieeeeeeee <3

[the-whumpers-soiree]

People who are into whump are invariably sociopaths with no sense of compassion or remorse. Change my mind.

Oh dang, I get this stuff on both blogs?

I'm honored by you taking your time to ask twice. Shows you care.

[darkthingshappen]

Three Days, Chapter 8

This is a collab with @quietly-by-myself for @the-whumpers-soiree. It features Faolan from their Mercury and Time series (link here) and my original whumper, Finlay Iver.

This story will contain elements of explicit noncon, references to past violent events, including noncon, torture, among other adult/dark themes. Reader discretion is advised. It's much darker than what I normally post. Minors DNI.

Tags: @oddsconvert

CW: past noncon, PTSD, captivity, kidnapping, aftermath of noncon, Implied future noncon, restraints, shock collar, defiant whumpee, nightmares

A nightmare had woken Faolan up in the middle of the night. If he’d been home, he would’ve listened to some music. Atticus had gotten him some upbeat tunes of happy tales - marriage, love, youth, and enjoying life. It was comforting for Faolan. If the adrenaline was too much, sometimes he’d dance.

However, that nightmare was all too familiar to what had happened earlier the previous day. The room suddenly felt too big, too empty, too hollow. Anxiety was sometimes funny like that. Rooms could bring panic just for their color or shape. He needed less space, something less empty and less big.

With tears in his eyes, he crawled under his cot with his blanket and pressed himself against the wall the best that he could before the chain began to limit him. 

He couldn’t face Finlay. 

He couldn’t face his brutality. 

He needed to watch carefully for a time to escape or to alert someone, anyone that he was alive and in need of help. That would involve earning Finlay’s trust. It was absolutely impossible to gain his trust. He couldn’t just roll over and accept torture like that. If he died, he died. At least it would be the end to a miserable life he hardly wanted.

Just the thought of seeing his face and having to face being bedded again, forced to feel pleasure against his will terrified him. So, he pressed himself further and further into the underside of the cot, making a small, secure place with his blanket.

Suddenly, the lights came on. He knew exactly what that meant. Panic rushed through him. Primal instincts took over. He needed to be quiet. He needed to be small and pretend not to be there. Sometimes, it worked on William. He’d give up the chase. Maybe if he hid enough, Finlay would get frustrated with him hiding and detaching and just leave for a little while.

Finlay gave him several minutes to wake up and get himself ready for him.  Still, he was prepared for a fight or some show of defiance.  He’d know as soon as he opened the door.  Resistance really was stupid, but they all seemed to do it.  

Finlay opened the door, knocking as he entered.  He sighed with frustration when he was not met with the sight of a kneeling and submissive Faolan.  Still, this was fun too.  Just meant he’d get to break him more today.  But really, his instructions had been quite clear and simple to follow.  This is no one’s fault but Faolan’s.  

He pulled the shock collar remote out of his pocket.  “Faolan, I will give you five seconds to come out and get on your knees like I asked before I press this button.”  Finlay started an immediate countdown.  

The sound of Finlay’s voice was so very loud that it immediately invaded that small, comforting hole he’d made in the vast emptiness of the cell. He froze, stuck between not wanting to give in and being scared of whatever button Finlay was about to press.

All he could do was make a small keening noise. He couldn’t give in. He couldn’t face the torture. He couldn’t make it worse.

“Three… Two… One…”  Faolan did not make a move out from under the cot.  Finlay rolled his eyes.  Honestly, what was he going to accomplish?  Finlay pressed the button.  

A scream ripped through Faolan as he gripped the blanket until his fists turned white. It’s a shock collar. It’s a fucking shock collar.

Screaming, he scratched at his own throat, ripping the skin with his broken-up nails. He needed the collar off and he needed off right then. As he writhed, he continued to claw at his throat. Make it stop. Make it stop.

Finlay stopped pressing the button.  “Faolan, come out from underneath the cot.  If you make me pull you out, I’m going to be very cross with you.  I really don’t want to have to force you out.  I’d prefer it if you would obey on your own.  I’ll give you another chance to come out.  I know that probably hurt, so…” He looked at his watch, “You have twenty seconds to come out, starting now.  Twenty… nineteen…”

Faolan scrambled to get out from under the bed. It wasn’t an easy task with the way he’d built a nest around himself. Every second that ticked by was agony and his rush was making everything more difficult. 

Just towards the end of the countdown, he managed to crawl out from under the bed. He hoped that being sprawled on the floor at the end of the countdown would be enough for Finlay. Not again. It hurts so much worse than yesterday.

Finlay reached down and grabbed Faolan by the hair.  He tugged.  “Up… On your knees like I asked.  Head bowed.  Come on.  Let’s go.”  And he kept pulling on Faolan’s hair until he got what he wanted.

Faolan yelped at the sudden pain of being wrenched up by the hair. 

He hurried to his knees and tried to bow his head, whimpering as Finlay’s grip only made the pain worse. His collar felt a little wet in some places, but he wasn’t entirely sure why until he looked down and realized he’d made himself bleed.

A new wave of panic crashed over him as he waited to be backhanded or something of the sort.

Finlay released his hair and then squatted down in front of him, his height still allowing him to dwarf the smaller man.  “Faolan, what was it about my very simple instructions for you to be on your knees with your head bowed that was difficult to follow?  What made you think that it would be a good idea to completely defy me and instead nest under the cot?” Finally wrenched the blanket out from under the cot.  “Would you prefer to not have a blanket?  Maybe you’d prefer to be strapped to the bed?  Oh, or maybe you’d prefer to be strapped to my bed?”

He looked hard at the top of Faolan’s bowed head, but he didn’t make him look at him.  He simply waited for an answer.  

This, Faolan recognized all too well. Tears formed in his eyes at the memory that had washed over him. He remembered what to say right then and there. The feeling of needing to use those automatic phrases again was awful. Why did I think this could be any different?

“There was nothing difficult about your orders, Master.” Faolan heard himself saying it, but couldn’t tell if it was past or present him speaking. “I have no good ideas. I should not have done anything to upset you. You may do with me as you please, Master. I deserve whatever you find to be best.”

His voice broke around the last words. It had been so long that to say them all again was more painful perhaps than the shock collar itself. He cringed back visibly after speaking, expecting some sort of blow.

Finlay placed one finger under his chin and tilted his face up.  “You’ve been through this before, that much is obvious.  So I expect an improvement tomorrow morning.  If you’re not in this exact position when I open the door tomorrow, you’re going to wish I’d killed you instead of kidnapping you.  Actually, you’re going to wish I would sell you.  And I know you’re terrified of that prospect.  So do with that information what you will, little dove.”  He released Faolan’s head.  “Now, are you ready to cooperate?  Or do I need to shock you again?”  He pressed a finger on one of the particularly deep gashes that Faolan had scratched into his neck.  

Faolan’s blood went cold as he flinched away from Finlay’s touch. He let out a series of small whimpers and pleads at the finger digging into the wounds on his neck. Faolan was feeling very sick and it was a conscious effort to not be sick on the man who currently held his neck. He knew that would end incredibly poorly, even if it was something Faolan had little control over.

“I’ll listen, Master. I’ll do anything you say, Master.” It was a plea more than anything. He was shaking uncontrollably and sweating from the nausea. He needed his medicine soon.

Finlay took a breath and calmed.  His prey was pleasantly pliant before him.  Interesting.  “I like you calling me Master.  You may keep doing that.”  He ran his fingers through Finlay’s hair.  “Now, on to business.  I trust you will remember this lesson.  I don’t like employing the collar.  That is not its main purpose.”  He hooked the lead through Faolan’s collar.  “Do you need to relieve yourself before we go next door?  You don’t have an opportunity to do it privately now.  That has to be done before I come in the door if you want privacy.  I have your medicine ready next door, so if you need to vomit, now would be the time to do that as well, my little dove.”

Faolan shook his head. He was hoping that if he was about to get his medicine quickly, he could save himself the pain of having vomited bile. He was already dehydrated and didn’t need to lose fluids like that. “It-it’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

Finlay tugged on the leash.  “You may walk or crawl if you feel weak.”  

What was his attempt at standing to walk quickly turned into crawling. Faolan struggled to his feet, only for one of his legs to buckle, sending him tumbling to the floor. When he caught himself, there were tears in his eyes. The prospect of having to crawl was utterly humiliating.

He changes so much. One moment kind, the next cruel. It was almost worse than William, because at least he was cruel all the time.

Finlay watched the pathetic attempt at walking.  Had he been compliant from the start, he might have helped him, but this could serve as his penance for his lack of cooperation.  Finlay walked ahead of him, keeping the leash taught.  It was only a short distance to the next heavy metal door.  He opened it and walked in with Faolan crawling behind him.  

As Faolan crawled into the room, he felt ounces of strength coming back bit by bit. Once he was in the room, seeing the force-feeding chair he’d been strapped to the previous day and the table where Finlay had restrained him to electrocute him and test every limit he had filled him with an urge to run.

The door was slightly open, somehow. Finlay had the remote and the leash in his hand but Faolan had an advantage that Finlay didn’t - Faolan had seen the bloody glare of combat before. 

With that fluid movement his short stature allowed him, Faolan placed one sharp punch to Finlay’s gut, then kicked him in the side. As Finlay fell to the ground, Faolan grabbed the leash from Finlay’s hands and made a rush for the door.

Finlay was completely caught off guard by the punch and the swift kick.  It knocked the breath from his lungs.  He heard Faolan’s footsteps as he ran for the door.  So, his little dove had talons after all.  He rolled to face the door and smashed the button on the remote to Faolan’s shock collar, smiling at the loud thud that accompanied the sight of Faolan seizing up and crashing to the ground.  

Faolan screamed as loud as he ever had when he came crashing to the ground from the electricity crashing through every cell in his body, making him lose control. He was simply left as a screaming, seizing heap on the ground as he clawed with everything in him, every ounce of strength, to get the goddamn collar off. 

Those gashes from before were only growing deeper as he fought the collar, eventually breaking down into sobbing, gasping, pleading screams and cries. He needed it to be over soon. He was going to die if it didn’t end soon.

Finlay popped up from his spot on the floor and stalked towards Faolan. He rolled Faolan over and tugged his arms behind his back.  

“Parker!  Get in here and get me some zip ties!”

One of the henchmen, the one that never seemed to talk, came into the room from the still open door.  He went to a drawer and then came back with three zip ties.  Finlay took them and knelt down on Faolan’s back, letting his knee dig into the boy’s spine.  

He pulled the first zip tie painfully tight around his wrists, making sure that the plastic dug into the skin.  He wouldn’t leave him like that for long, but he wanted it to hurt.  He grabbed Faolan by his elbow and dragged him towards the force feeding chair, straining his arms.  He tossed the smaller man into the chair and secured his ankles to the legs of the chair and then moved in close to stand on either side of Faolan’s knees.  

He leaned forward, resting his hands on the arms of the chair so that he was only inches from Faolan’s face.  

“I’m impressed, little dove.  I underestimated you.  I knew you could handle more.  And boy are you gonna get more today.”

He ran his fingers along the scratches on Faolan’s neck.  “You’ve made a mess of yourself.  The collar isn’t coming off anytime soon.  It’s leather and padlocked on.  Keep it up and I will flush the key.”

Faolan had broken down from crying to straight hysteria. He was sobbing and making small, incomprehensible pleas from under his breath. Something was keeping him there, as Finlay treated him with so little regard, as he ran his fingers along his throat and neck.

Should he plead and try to get a lighter sentence? Should he try to appease Finlay a bit? It was impossible not to claw at something causing him so much pain.

What had he said to William when he was in such a foul mood? What calmed William down? Maybe it would help to calm Finlay. Maybe it would get that gleeful, sadistic grin he recognized all too well off of his face.

“Please, I’m sorry, my lord.” He was hardly able to get the words out in between the sobs. “Please, I know I deserve punishment but please take mercy on me, my lord. I can’t take much more. I’m weak and pathetic.”

Faolan had hardly realized what he’d said to Finlay. He’d just said the first thing that had come to mind.

Finlay was thought full for a moment.  He grabbed Faolan’s hair and pulled him forward, bending him at the middle.  He cut the tight zip tie he’d just put on him and held his wrists tightly.  

“Don’t fight or I’ll rip the fingernails from your hands.  Do you understand?”

Faolan nodded frantically. For a moment, he could’ve believed he was being given mercy. The zip tie had cut into his wrists and, at the least, had left marks. To have it off was an impossible mercy.

FInlay guided each arm to the arm rest and fastened the thick leather straps at his wrists, and above the elbows, pinning the young man in place.  

“Now, I absolutely can’t have you hurting yourself.  So, I need to make it so that you can’t do that.”

He went to one of the drawers and came back with a roll of duct tape.  He forced Faolan’’s fingers into a fist and then wrapped them with layer over layer over layer of duct tape until there was no way Faolan could flex his fingers.  He then repeated the action with the second hand.  

“Clearly you like making a fist, so you can stay that way.  And I suppose that means that I’ll be feeding you again.”

Faolan looked down at his fists in horror. Fresh tears flowed from his eyes. He hadn’t been given mercy at all. He was going to be force fed again. His throat was still sore from the previous night’s meal.

He shook his head repeatedly, frantically. “Please, my lord, please have mercy. Please feed me yourself. I’ll be good, my lord, I promise.”

“Faolan, you puzzle me.  You literally had the strength and wherewithal to knock me to the ground, and now you’re crying and blubbing like the weakest little girl.  Did you not think that if you failed there wouldn’t be consequences?  I am truly impressed by your attempt, but now I have to follow through on my end.”

[the-whumpers-soiree]

Sorry if this has been asked before, but is there private rooms or spaces? Also, is there different rooms with themes possibly? Like a room where everyone goes to xyz? Like what you'd see in clubs?

Sure thing! Make it whatever you need it to be!