Hi there fellow whumpers! I'm Remy or you can simply just call me Unforgiven. I'm Bisexual, use she/her/they/them (whatever you want lmao), have a big obsession with cats and axolotls and live in Dubai! (Pronunciation of my name cuz a lot of you people are confused)
This is my first blog and I'm really new to this so I have no idea how to make a masterlist. Please go easy on the criticism and bear with me😭 I post angst filled writings here. There might be some smol sketches filled with whumpy things which are faaarrrr away from my professional artwork. Also feel free to go through my new blog @unforgivenntired2 as well where I post fanfictions of anime characters!! though it's not active anymore cuz I lost the email i used for it :(
Please give @nuriiz134's blog some love and support too (18+) ^^
Things you should know about my blog
❗️❗️YOUNG WHUMPEES MIGHT BE MENTIONED❗️❗️
❗️❗️THERE WILL BE *NO* NSFW HERE❗️❗️
❗️❗️PLEASE TAG ME IF YOU USE ANY OF MY PROMPTS❗️❗️
❗️❗️NONE OF MY WORK IS FREE TO REPUBLISH❗️❗️
What you can expect to find here
𓆩♡𓆪 Contains a lotttt of Pet whump so if you're not comfortable with it or don't like it then please don't interact with this blog.
𓆩♡𓆪 I absolutely adore scenarios where Whumpers force whumpees to address them as 'sir' (≧∇≦)ﾉ.
𓆩♡𓆪 I'm very much into psychological torment so there will be a lot of that here.
𓆩♡𓆪 There's something irresistible about defiant whumpees slowly breaking down over time, it's my ultimate weakness 🤌.
𓆩♡𓆪 I'm completely obsessed with stories having human blood bags and vampire whumpers. I mean, humans being treated as both a food source and a pet? That's double the torture!!
𓆩♡𓆪 Carewhumpers hehe
𓆩♡𓆪 Manipulation
𓆩♡𓆪 Small bois crying :)
Prompts are free to use but please tag me if you do. Asks, dm's and requests are always open so please don't feel scared or shy to send one in! <3 Please ignore if I post some bullshit in the middle of the night.
What i probably won't write
𓆩♡𓆪 BBU
𓆩♡𓆪 NSFW
𓆩♡𓆪 Tiny whumpee/Giant whumper
𓆩♡𓆪 Furries. Please don't even ask me about it.
Some stories I'm absolutely obsessed with and you should check out as well!!
Jack and Asher by @whumpasaurus101
Play Pretend by @oddsconvert
@astrowhump's every single story it's too good
Whiskey and Baxter by @cyberwhumper
Smile for the camera by @morning-star-whump
@demondamage's aziphem and haziel
ONESHOTS
CONFINED THE KNIFE'S EDGE SORRY ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH ISOLATION
HIDE AND SEEK BLOODBOUND SIDEKICK WHUMPEE PRETTY LITTLE THING GIFT OF PAIN PAIN OR PLEASURE
many more but i forgot to keep up😭
PROMPTS AND SNIPPETS
FEEL THE PAIN
NOTHING BUT A PAWN
BURNING DRESSES
WINGED WHUMPEES
BROKEN VILLAIN WHUMPEE
YOU BELONG TO ME
TWISTED PLEASURE
A DISOBEDIENT PET
FEAR'S DELIGHT
CHEERFUL WHUMPERS
MANIPULATIVE WHUMPERS
HERO WHUMPEE VILLAIN WHUMPER
PREY
TRAUAMATIZED WHUMPEES WHUMPERS WITH NO REASONING FOR TORTURE BETRAYAL FAILED ESCAPE/RESCUE ATTEMPTS A FOE DISSAPOINTMENT CHOKING IN WHUMP WHUMPERS WHO FEEL SORRY
anddd again a lot more but i forgot to keep up with the other ones 😭😭
MY ART
CALEB AND DOMINIC MASTERLIST (SLOW UPDATE)
SHACKLED BY ROYALTY
Sypnosis: In a world where power reigns supreme, Noah, a 17-year-old, finds himself thrust into a nightmare beyond comprehension. He's kidnapped by Andrey if it even is called kidnapping. All the torture he endures, everything he goes through whether it be mental or physical torture. Everything is legal and no one can stop it unless they want to be beheaded. Forced to become a slave, Noah's life got a 180 degree turn where betrayal and pain lurks at every corner and shadow.
16th HOUR
based on this
Sypnosis: In a messed-up world where your whole life changes on your 16th birthday, society decides if you're human or livestock based on your social status. If you get the livestock label, you lose all your human rights and become a piece of property, destined for work, experimentation, or even get slaughtered for meat. What happens when Samuel gets classified into the livestock category despite being the son of a big-time businessman?
DEAR SOMEONE
Sypnosis: When Mile is given a notebook as a “reward” for his obedience, he’s both terrified and relieved. To Ezra, it’s a token of control, a way to keep Mile’s mind occupied and compliant. But to Mile, it becomes a lifeline, a place to pour out his soul, document his suffering, and cling to the last shreds of humanity.
Dear Diary,
Why is this happening to me?
Masterlist is constantly updated
Reblogs are always appreciated <3
The mirror is small, cracked at uneven places that makes one wonder how it's even holding up in the first place. At this moment, Whumpee feels awfully similar to that small item, their face pushed further against it as if to make two broken things into one.
"You fucking idiot!" Whumper shouts, but Whumpee is deep deep deep down in the ocean, their ears are filled with water. They can't see, can't hear, can't understand what's going on. Whumper's voice seems to be miles away, a fuzzy sound rattling their brain.
They hadn't seen their face in weeks. Weeks? Days? Months? Time was nothing but a merciless entity that did nothing but remind them of their own suffering. Sometimes he caught fragments of himself, from metal trays and the glass shards from that one time Whumper made them kneel on it for hours on end. But the figures in the reflection were disoriented, easier to ignore.
The echo stared back at them with hollow uncertain eyes; eyes that looked older than they should have, ringed with exhaustion, fear and that underlying madness at the torture they were being forced to go through.
The hair had grown uneven and dull, falling in limp strands around a face they barely recognized. Every muscle locked from pain and exhaustion after countless days of pain that got worse every day.
Bare minimum food.
No sleep except when they passed out briefly during sessions.
Just endless cycle of agony specially tailored to destroy Whumpee psychologically as much as physically.
Their face looked swollen, decorated with patches of blue, purple and red bruises. Permanent frown lines formed from a migraine that wouldn't go away. The branding scar was visible on the shoulder - still raw, red and angry looking despite being days old. Salt and alcohol wounds scabbed but painful to move even slightly.
They studied their face, the damage done to it by beatings and brandings and burning. A tear ran down their cheek. This possibly couldn't be them. It couldn't. Their brain rejected it immediately.
No.
No, that wasn't-
They leaned closer before they realized they were moving.
The reflection did too.
They looked horrible.
Blood caked on their face, dried from nosebleeds. A mix of blood and grime and scabs peeling on cuts. The fingershaped bruises under the throat. Skin sickly pale from days without sunlight and real food.
A sound escaped them. Something small, almost incohorent. Something that almost sounded like a child realizing they got lost in a mall while on a trip.
Their hands flew to their face. The reflection copied them exactly. Trembling, shaking hands with cracked nails and bones too sharp beneath muscle.
Whumper had never shown him a mirror before. Somehow, that childish, innocent part of Whumpee lead them to believe they were still the same.
Maybe a little tired. Maybe hurt.
But still them.
This stranger looked breakable.
They couldn't be this pathetic loser.
They are were beautiful. They knew they were. From the silly compliments they got every day to the countless times they were asked for their number.
A laugh escapes them accidently; small, sharp, horrified as their knees buckled under them. A hand covered their mouth as they half sobbed - half laughed because of the madness of it all.
Because now they understand why the guards stare too long sometimes.
Why one of them had muttered "poor kid" under their breath last week.
Why their rescuers froze dead in the doorway as if it was yesterday, expression falling into a look of horror and devastation before they could hide it.
Rescuers.
Rescuers.
Caretaker!
They were breathing heavily, hands gripped on the edge of the sink, as they looked up at that wretched, perfect mirror. No cracks. Brand new as if it was bought from the store the previous day.
Their face was bandaged, clean, taken care of. But the damage was still there beneath the white gauze and careful stitches. One eye still carried a burst of purple around it, yellowing at the edges.
That wasn't their face anymore.
The person in the mirror looked as if they had been dragged through hell and fire.
Whumpee stared.
and stared.
and stared.
Their breath fogged the tilted glasses on their face slightly, their fingers tightening around the sink hard enough to ache. The bathroom light buzzed above, too bright, too clean. Everything smelled wrong, unfamiliar - Soap, antiseptic, detergent. No blood. No grime. No rusted metal.
The thought should have comforted them.
It just made them want to puke all the blood, and organs out their body until they were left as nothing but a puddle of skin.
If this was safety.. then that meant what had happened was real. Every second, every hour, every day was real. Not just a nightmare that could be joked about at a family dinner.
A soft knock at the door made Whumpee flinch so hard, pain shot through their still healing ribs.
"Hey buddy" Caretaker's gentle voice simmered through the wood. "You okay in there?"
Their chest heaved harder. They could hear the clock ticking loudly, their blood pumping, the small creaks of the tiles underneath them. The air in the room suddenly turned into sludge, colors twisting and turning together.
Rescued.
The word still felt fake in their head. Like a pretend happy ending that went on for long enough to convince the princess she was okay and then drag her back to her nightmare. 'Help' was no longer a language they understood.
"Whumpee?" Caretaker continued after a moment, their voice the same pitch thought it now carried something that could be mistaken as worry. "J-Just let me know you're breathing?"
A watery laugh nearly broke out of Whumpee again. They grit their teeth together. Were they even worthy of breathing anymore? Their eyes stayed locked to the mirror. They looked so weak.
Whumper had turned them into something fragile-looking. Something thin and trembling and terrified. They hated it. Hated hated hated it. Hated the way their shoulders would curl inwards automatically as if waiting for a blow at any time.
They hated how they could still his monstrous voice. Whumpee knew he wasn't there anymore, he couldn't hurt him anymore but still, Whumper's voice remained stitched to every thought.
"Pathetic."
"Weak."
"Look at yourself, Whumpee."
"Do you really think anyone would still want you with that disgusting face now?"
Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut so tightly it hurt. They covered their ears with their hands trying to stop that never ending laughter at them.
"Pretty things don't stay pretty forever."
"No." Whumpee gasped. "Nononono-"
Outside, Caretaker was now rattling the doorknob forcing it open. "Whumpee! Please say something! fuck!"
"Nononono please please-" The panic crashed over them all at once. Their hands scrubbed violently at their face like they could erase it, could erase themselves, nails painfully dragging against healing skin. Their reflection copied the frantic movement perfectly and somehow that made it worse, because why the FUCK would ruined stranger keep moving exactly like them?
"I don't-" Their voice cracked, small and high pitched as the door broke open. "I don't look like me."
Caretaker stepped in slowly, with careful steps as if approaching a scared animal. Their eyes landed on whumpee's face and they let out a small wince at the slashed bandages and nail marks.
That expression. Pity again. That awful, shattered pity.
Whumpee turned away sharply, one hand covering part of their face like hiding it would somehow undo the damage done. "Don't." Whumpee choked out hoarsely, curled on the floor, hyperventilating, eyes red.
Caretaker stopped. "Okay." They said carefully.
Silence.
"Don't say it like that!" Whumpee's fingers curled into their sleeves, eyes fixed to the ground.
Caretaker blinked. "Like what?"
"Like- Like it's fine.." They snapped, voice breaking halfway. "Like everything's fine now."
Caretaker's jaw tightened for a second. "I never said that."
"I just don't want alone in here when you're like this." They continued.
Whumpee let out a short, humorless laugh that made their chest rattle with hidden pain. "Like what? Like something you picked off the floor and decided to feel sorry for? Or like a kid throwing a tantrum? Which one is it huh?" Their eyes burned with more tears.
"No!" Caretaker pleaded. "Like someone who's been through something they shouldn't have had to survive."
Whumpee shook their head. "Don't- Don't talk like you of all people could understand."
"I don't. I don't understand, whumpee. But I'm willing to help. I want to help you go through this together."
"I can't- I can't look like this. Fuck! I told you to stop looking at me!"
Caretaker immediately turned their face away. "I'm sorry" They said in a soft voice.
Sorry. For some reason every one kept saying this one word as if it could rewind months, years of suffering at the hands of an inhumane man.
"I look disgusting!" They sobbed, ugly and loud.
"No" Caretaker's response was immediate.
"Yes I do!" The words came out louder than Whumpee wanted, echoing off the walls.
"You don't. You're so so beautiful, Whumpee. And y'know what I think? I think that all those scars are a testament to how strong of a person you are and that just makes you all the more breathtaking."
Whumpee flinched at the words like they'd been struck. "No. No, y-you don't get to say that to me."
"Okay then, I won't push. I just need you to breathe with me for a second. Can you do that for me?"
Whumpee let out a broken sob. "I-I don't know.."
"Yes, you do." Caretaker's voice remained steady, warm and comforting. "Look at me - no, not the mirror. Just me. In. Out. That's all."
"In." Their rescuer murmured.
Whumpee took in a shaky breath.
"You're doing so good, buddy. Out."
It came out, trembling at the end, but it came.
Again.
And again.
"Would you like some hot chocolate now? I've added marshmallows!" Caretaker gently smiled at them.
And for the first time since that wretched place, Whumpee smiled back.
The mirror is small, cracked at uneven places that makes one wonder how it's even holding up in the first place. At this moment, Whumpee feels awfully similar to that small item, their face pushed further against it as if to make two broken things into one.
"You fucking idiot!" Whumper shouts, but Whumpee is deep deep deep down in the ocean, their ears are filled with water. They can't see, can't hear, can't understand what's going on. Whumper's voice seems to be miles away, a fuzzy sound rattling their brain.
They hadn't seen their face in weeks. Weeks? Days? Months? Time was nothing but a merciless entity that did nothing but remind them of their own suffering. Sometimes he caught fragments of himself, from metal trays and the glass shards from that one time Whumper made them kneel on it for hours on end. But the figures in the reflection were disoriented, easier to ignore.
The echo stared back at them with hollow uncertain eyes; eyes that looked older than they should have, ringed with exhaustion, fear and that underlying madness at the torture they were being forced to go through.
The hair had grown uneven and dull, falling in limp strands around a face they barely recognized. Every muscle locked from pain and exhaustion after countless days of pain that got worse every day.
Bare minimum food.
No sleep except when they passed out briefly during sessions.
Just endless cycle of agony specially tailored to destroy Whumpee psychologically as much as physically.
Their face looked swollen, decorated with patches of blue, purple and red bruises. Permanent frown lines formed from a migraine that wouldn't go away. The branding scar was visible on the shoulder - still raw, red and angry looking despite being days old. Salt and alcohol wounds scabbed but painful to move even slightly.
They studied their face, the damage done to it by beatings and brandings and burning. A tear ran down their cheek. This possibly couldn't be them. It couldn't. Their brain rejected it immediately.
No.
No, that wasn't-
They leaned closer before they realized they were moving.
The reflection did too.
They looked horrible.
Blood caked on their face, dried from nosebleeds. A mix of blood and grime and scabs peeling on cuts. The fingershaped bruises under the throat. Skin sickly pale from days without sunlight and real food.
A sound escaped them. Something small, almost incohorent. Something that almost sounded like a child realizing they got lost in a mall while on a trip.
Their hands flew to their face. The reflection copied them exactly. Trembling, shaking hands with cracked nails and bones too sharp beneath muscle.
Whumper had never shown him a mirror before. Somehow, that childish, innocent part of Whumpee lead them to believe they were still the same.
Maybe a little tired. Maybe hurt.
But still them.
This stranger looked breakable.
They couldn't be this pathetic loser.
They are were beautiful. They knew they were. From the silly compliments they got every day to the countless times they were asked for their number.
A laugh escapes them accidently; small, sharp, horrified as their knees buckled under them. A hand covered their mouth as they half sobbed - half laughed because of the madness of it all.
Because now they understand why the guards stare too long sometimes.
Why one of them had muttered "poor kid" under their breath last week.
Why their rescuers froze dead in the doorway as if it was yesterday, expression falling into a look of horror and devastation before they could hide it.
Rescuers.
Rescuers.
Caretaker!
They were breathing heavily, hands gripped on the edge of the sink, as they looked up at that wretched, perfect mirror. No cracks. Brand new as if it was bought from the store the previous day.
Their face was bandaged, clean, taken care of. But the damage was still there beneath the white gauze and careful stitches. One eye still carried a burst of purple around it, yellowing at the edges.
That wasn't their face anymore.
The person in the mirror looked as if they had been dragged through hell and fire.
Whumpee stared.
and stared.
and stared.
Their breath fogged the tilted glasses on their face slightly, their fingers tightening around the sink hard enough to ache. The bathroom light buzzed above, too bright, too clean. Everything smelled wrong, unfamiliar - Soap, antiseptic, detergent. No blood. No grime. No rusted metal.
The thought should have comforted them.
It just made them want to puke all the blood, and organs out their body until they were left as nothing but a puddle of skin.
If this was safety.. then that meant what had happened was real. Every second, every hour, every day was real. Not just a nightmare that could be joked about at a family dinner.
A soft knock at the door made Whumpee flinch so hard, pain shot through their still healing ribs.
"Hey buddy" Caretaker's gentle voice simmered through the wood. "You okay in there?"
Their chest heaved harder. They could hear the clock ticking loudly, their blood pumping, the small creaks of the tiles underneath them. The air in the room suddenly turned into sludge, colors twisting and turning together.
Rescued.
The word still felt fake in their head. Like a pretend happy ending that went on for long enough to convince the princess she was okay and then drag her back to her nightmare. 'Help' was no longer a language they understood.
"Whumpee?" Caretaker continued after a moment, their voice the same pitch thought it now carried something that could be mistaken as worry. "J-Just let me know you're breathing?"
A watery laugh nearly broke out of Whumpee again. They grit their teeth together. Were they even worthy of breathing anymore? Their eyes stayed locked to the mirror. They looked so weak.
Whumper had turned them into something fragile-looking. Something thin and trembling and terrified. They hated it. Hated hated hated it. Hated the way their shoulders would curl inwards automatically as if waiting for a blow at any time.
They hated how they could still his monstrous voice. Whumpee knew he wasn't there anymore, he couldn't hurt him anymore but still, Whumper's voice remained stitched to every thought.
"Pathetic."
"Weak."
"Look at yourself, Whumpee."
"Do you really think anyone would still want you with that disgusting face now?"
Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut so tightly it hurt. They covered their ears with their hands trying to stop that never ending laughter at them.
"Pretty things don't stay pretty forever."
"No." Whumpee gasped. "Nononono-"
Outside, Caretaker was now rattling the doorknob forcing it open. "Whumpee! Please say something! fuck!"
"Nononono please please-" The panic crashed over them all at once. Their hands scrubbed violently at their face like they could erase it, could erase themselves, nails painfully dragging against healing skin. Their reflection copied the frantic movement perfectly and somehow that made it worse, because why the FUCK would ruined stranger keep moving exactly like them?
"I don't-" Their voice cracked, small and high pitched as the door broke open. "I don't look like me."
Caretaker stepped in slowly, with careful steps as if approaching a scared animal. Their eyes landed on whumpee's face and they let out a small wince at the slashed bandages and nail marks.
That expression. Pity again. That awful, shattered pity.
Whumpee turned away sharply, one hand covering part of their face like hiding it would somehow undo the damage done. "Don't." Whumpee choked out hoarsely, curled on the floor, hyperventilating, eyes red.
Caretaker stopped. "Okay." They said carefully.
Silence.
"Don't say it like that!" Whumpee's fingers curled into their sleeves, eyes fixed to the ground.
Caretaker blinked. "Like what?"
"Like- Like it's fine.." They snapped, voice breaking halfway. "Like everything's fine now."
Caretaker's jaw tightened for a second. "I never said that."
"I just don't want alone in here when you're like this." They continued.
Whumpee let out a short, humorless laugh that made their chest rattle with hidden pain. "Like what? Like something you picked off the floor and decided to feel sorry for? Or like a kid throwing a tantrum? Which one is it huh?" Their eyes burned with more tears.
"No!" Caretaker pleaded. "Like someone who's been through something they shouldn't have had to survive."
Whumpee shook their head. "Don't- Don't talk like you of all people could understand."
"I don't. I don't understand, whumpee. But I'm willing to help. I want to help you go through this together."
"I can't- I can't look like this. Fuck! I told you to stop looking at me!"
Caretaker immediately turned their face away. "I'm sorry" They said in a soft voice.
Sorry. For some reason every one kept saying this one word as if it could rewind months, years of suffering at the hands of an inhumane man.
"I look disgusting!" They sobbed, ugly and loud.
"No" Caretaker's response was immediate.
"Yes I do!" The words came out louder than Whumpee wanted, echoing off the walls.
"You don't. You're so so beautiful, Whumpee. And y'know what I think? I think that all those scars are a testament to how strong of a person you are and that just makes you all the more breathtaking."
Whumpee flinched at the words like they'd been struck. "No. No, y-you don't get to say that to me."
"Okay then, I won't push. I just need you to breathe with me for a second. Can you do that for me?"
Whumpee let out a broken sob. "I-I don't know.."
"Yes, you do." Caretaker's voice remained steady, warm and comforting. "Look at me - no, not the mirror. Just me. In. Out. That's all."
"In." Their rescuer murmured.
Whumpee took in a shaky breath.
"You're doing so good, buddy. Out."
It came out, trembling at the end, but it came.
Again.
And again.
"Would you like some hot chocolate now? I've added marshmallows!" Caretaker gently smiled at them.
And for the first time since that wretched place, Whumpee smiled back.
Hi babies!! I'm working on a webtoon right now which will be filled with the whumps, the horrors and the angsts. It will be a thriller comic having deep characters that *i will have a lot of fun experimenting on hehe*. Anyways do apologize me for not continuing my current stories and the only excuse i have left is that no longer makes me feel fulfilled to write stories. It more so seems like a burden than a simple hobby. I have never been the one to finish my started projects lol but do look forward to this one! I'm very excited to officially start the webtoon but until I do, I'll keep posting some of my *very whump* arts from the comic here!
honestly hair pulling is so fucking based as a means of physical control like —- there’s just no choice — they don’t stand a chance. It’s like nature’s leash. Either they follow the direction of the hair pull or get their hair yanked out. And their brain’s base instincts will do anything to avoid getting their scalp torn/hair ripped out. It’s perfect for dragging a whumpee by the hair across the room or down the hall. Or using a hair grip to hold their head in place while you slap the ever loving shit out of them. Grabbing their hair and yanking them down to their knees. Shoving them face down onto a surface with a tight fistful of their hair—holding their head down against that surface with a fierce grip, maybe twisting your wrist if you wanna hear some pretty noises. Dragging them UP by the hair to look at their pretty red face while they pant and gasp after getting hit a bunch of times… hearing them groan against the pain as you shake their head side to side… hair grabbing hair pulling… it’s just so humiliating and so so based…
iran is bombing the country i live in, please stay safe if u live anywhere in bahrain, the uae, kuwait, qatar, and anywhere else in the middle east. stay indoors, and talk to a friend
edit: some things / tips to keep safe !
1. stay informed
keep track of local news and official travel advisories (like embassy warnings or government sites). if there's any security notice about avoiding travel or gatherings, take it seriously. try and follow official sites and trusted news channels (ik we hate to see the orange man but...)
2. know how to contact help
save phone numbers for:
local emergency services
trusted friends/family
and keep digital copies of your ID and important documents so remember to keep ur phone charged
3. have a "go bag" ready pack a small bag with:
copies of important IDs
some cash
basic first-aid
water + snacks
phone charger/power bank
just in case plans change suddenly
4. avoid sensitive sites
travel advisories often say to avoid protests or locations linked to diplomatic or military sites because of anger or instability, but also diplomatic and military sites becsuse that's where it's most likely to be bombed
5. be mindful about travel plans
flight cancellations, airspace closures, and route changes can happen without much warning during stuff like this. stay flexible and check with airlines before going anywhere.
7. talk to your family/friends about safety plans
even if it feels hypothetical agreeing on what to do together can make it less complicated so everyone's on the same page just in case.
so yeah stay safe PLEASE and Imk if i need to change or add anything
Did i just create 3+ OCs and write a whole ahh one-shot based on the story "Shackled by royalty"?
Yeah, i did.
Will i post it?
No.
Anyway, your writing style is awesome. I want to ask what kind of timeline does the story take place? Or is it kind of a semi-fictional Russia in no particular period?
From my observation the setting is medieval, but technology such as cars already exists. So i assume circa 1850 - 1914 (?).
Communist manifesto would be already out, and ww1 is by the corner. Shall we expect these motives mentioned in the story? (my historian ass would absolutely eat it)
EEEE THISS MAKESS ME SOO HAPPPYYYY I ABSOLUTELY NEED TO SEE UR WORK!!! I'LL ABSOLUTELY DEVOUR IT I SWEARR! IF YOU ARENT COMFORTABLE WITH POSTING U COULD ALWAYS SEND IT TO ME EHE BUT IF NOT THATS ALSO OKAY 🫶 I'VE BEEN SOO BUSY THIS YEAR (time to choose my career >.<) I HAVEN'T EVEN GOT THE TIME TO UPDATE MY STORIES PROPERLY LMAO
I think like when I made these stories it was like very unplanned like lowkey I just went with the flow. But for me I think it takes place somewhere from end of 17 to 18th century ? The time when slaves were most popular in Russia. I mean it’s definitely not entirely in that era of Russia but it’s definitely based on it. So it is kind of a semi fictional Russia? I think the car part was mentioned in the first chapter but for me when I wrote it out, I imagined it more like those ox drawn carts?
I definitely had planned about Andrey having to go to wars but I never really thought of it as WW1. The time period is wayyy too early for that tho I would loveee to keep it. Genuinely such a good idea. So probably like WW1 but earlier? Though definitely not as big as it. Ooh probably like the Seven years war! I think that would fit the vibe I wanna go for!
Overall, yes you can definitely expect some motives and political drama. Though probably not this year. But I do have a lot of plans for next year! I’m gonna get back into animation so you can expect a lot of goodies next year hehe
Thankk youu tho mwah mwah lots of kisses for uuuu🫶🫶🫶🫶
So sorry it took so longg >.< so hereeee's an extraa long one for my babiess
TW: Mikhael is an asshole, humiliation, captivity, slight mention of food deprivation, emotional manipulation
Noah woke up to the ache first, then the emptiness. He felt a slow, bruised ache behind his eyes. He tried lifting his head but the world tipped, colors and shapes seeming to merge together. A strange buzzing filled his head. What was that about? he wondered. A sudden hunger hit him now. Not actually the kind he'd forgotten in the earlier hours of being taken, but a raw, gnawing hollowness that didn't really have anything to do with hunger and everything to do with emptiness.
He tasted metal when he breathed, and when he moved his shoulder accidently a hard jolt coursed through his body that made him almost arch his back in pain. He realized his arms were covered in bandages. His shirt had been cut away, his arms were an array of bruises and swollen purple lines. His back and torso too had been neatly bandaged. He noticed a smell - a clean clinical scent that made him feel dizzy; alcohol and something like boiled linen.
He remembered - as if being heard of it from outside - the punishment, what had happened to Damian wasn't supposed to happen but Noah couldn't help but feel a little selfish for not wanting to care about it anymore. His life until now had been nothing but filled with misery and pain, and he wanted nothing more than to just not think about it anymore. He wanted to just let himself drown in his own consciousness. He didn't want to think anymore, didn't want to care anymore. But the dull ache in his heart whenever he thought about Damian gave away his indifferent facade that he so desperately wanted to immerse in.
He remembered Andrey's face so clearly that, for a second, he thought the door would open and the chill of those eyes would sweep the room again.
As if on cue, the door did open. It wasn't Andrey. The footsteps were too careful, too performative unlike Andrey's prideful, confident strides.
A face Noah hated as easily as he hated the bruise-sour taste of his own fear filled the doorway. Mikhael's tall figure gave an irritating smirk, his jaw too square for any kindness. He moved like a man who had practiced cruelty until it was the simplest thing to put on. For some unknown reason, Mikhael annoyed him greatly, he didn't know whether it was because he had a hand in Noah's recapture or it was just his face.
He didn’t need to say anything to make Noah resent him. Apparently, resenting Mikhael was the new compulsory thing.
"Awake. A pity really." Mikhael observed, as if Noah were a nuisance. He stepped forward and looked at him with slow amusement. "I was reaallyyyy hoping you'd have just dropped dead y'know." He gave a pout and Noah felt unbelievably offended.
Mikhael sighed dramatically when Noah didn't say anything. "You're really not much fun huh? All that silence, all that blank little stare-" He reached out suddenly, gripping Noah's jaw and forcing his head up as the younger boy let out a whine in pain. "It just makes me wanna ruin you soooo bad" He smiled sickeningly sweet, one that sent shiver down Noah's spine.
Fortunately he moves away, releasing him, straightening and brushing imaginary dust off his immaculate coat.
He snapped his fingers, and a young servant appeared behind him, wheeling in a small tray of food - soup, bread, and a cup of water. How typical, Noah thought but still his stomach twisted violently with hunger at the sight of it. He hadn't eaten properly in two days.
But Mikhael wasn't about to make it easy. He kicked the tray closer to Noah - hard enough that the cup tipped over and half the water spilled across the concrete. “There you go. Eat. If you can crawl for it.” He simply shrug as if it was such a minor inconvenience.
Noah felt the urge to go and pull out the asshole's hair out. Only if he had the energy and Andrey wouldn't beat the absolute shit out of him. He hesitated, staring at the small puddle of the precious water spreading out before him.
"Not hungry?" Mikhael taunted. "Fine then. Waste away. See if i give a shit. I'm just supposed to make sure you don't die before Andrey does whatever he has to do with you."
His words were soaked with venom, but his eyes carried something worse - amusement. The bastard enjoyed this. Enjoyed watching Noah struggle, watching him hesitate between pride and survival.
Noah finally reached forward with trembling hands, pulling the bowl toward him with much struggle. The soup was lukewarm, watery but he didn’t really care. He drank, shaking, careful not to spill a drop. Mikhael’s chuckle and mocking voice echoed off the walls.
“There you go. Good little pet.”
Noah froze mid-sip, every nerve in his body tensing at the word. Pet. He wanted to throw the bowl, to scream, but he didn’t. The fear was too deep, the exhaustion too heavy.
This was too degrading for him. He could handle Andrey but this man's taunting voice and remarks made him want to rip his own hair out. He ends up choking halfway through, coughs rattling his body.
A loud laugh makes him flinch and he slowly looks up at Mikhael's overjoyed face. "You can't even eat properly. Tch. Pathetic."
Mikhael leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes flicking lazily over him. “You know, Andrey says you’re special. Says there’s something about you that makes people stupidly loyal. Damian especially.” His grin widened. “But honestly? I don’t see it. You’re pathetic. Weak. A liability.”
Noah’s head jerked up before he could stop himself. His heart slammed against his ribs, each beat louder than the last. Even the air seemed sharper now, harder to breathe. Damian’s name, spoken casually, carelessly, felt like a knife twisting deep into the hollow place where hope had lived.
“Ah, there it is,” Mikhael said delighted. “I've heard Andrey's got something special planned for your beloved friend y'know”
“You should’ve seen the mess he made when Andrey was through talking to him. Stubborn little thing — wouldn’t stop asking where you were.”
Noah’s pulse thundered in his ears, his throat closing around a sound that refused to come out. Every muscle in his body locked tight, as though bracing for a blow. His hands trembled, clenching into fists so hard his nails cut into his palms. He wanted to protest, to shout, he’s still alive, you can’t touch him, but the words dissolved into a thick, choking lump.
Mikhael noticed. Of course he fucking noticed. That was the point.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Mikhael drawled, dragging the back of his chair closer until he was sitting right in front of Noah, elbows on his knees. “I’m just saying, maybe if you behaved a little better, Andrey might let you see him again. From a distance.”
He grinned, leaning in until his breath brushed against Noah’s ear.
“Or maybe he’ll let you watch what happens next.”
Noah’s stomach pitched violently. His body wanted to move, to escape, to curl up and disappear, but he could barely lift his limbs. His mind screamed at him: Don’t let him see that he’s getting to you. Don’t. You can’t. You can’t. But the truth was undeniable — every nerve, every muscle, every fragile fragment of him, was betraying him. Noah’s stomach twisted violently. He wanted to move, to fight, to do anything, but he was frozen — body betraying him with its shaking.
Noah’s throat tightened, his eyes watering, but the tears wouldn’t fall. He felt hollow, as if all the light and warmth inside him had been drained, leaving only raw, pulsing pain. He wanted to argue, to shout, to tell Mikhael that Damian was worth more than this, worth more than anything, but his voice had turned traitor too.
Mikhael chuckled, low and mean.
“You know what’s funny? He used to ask about you all the time. Drove everyone insane.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch until Noah’s trembling became noticeable. Then his voice softened into something almost pitying — false, deliberate.
He pressed his hands to his face, trying to block it out, trying to force his body to stop trembling, to stop breaking, but there was no wall high enough to contain the ache.
“Not anymore, though.”
And then it hit. A tidal wave of despair, sharp and unrelenting. Damian wasn’t asking about him anymore. Damian wasn’t waiting. Damian was gone — and it was Noah who had failed him. It was all his fault. His fault. His fault. His fault. The thought looped endlessly in his mind, a mantra of guilt and self-hatred. You’re worthless. You failed him. You always fucking fail.
Mikhael’s laughter, low and cruel, cut across the room, dragging Noah further into the pit he was already buried in.
“God, you’re easy.”
Noah’s knees buckled. He sank to the floor, curling in on himself, a small, broken thing. The air felt too thick, the shadows too close. The taste of bile rose in his throat. He pressed his hands over his chest as if that could hold the pieces together, as if it could keep Damian alive in some small corner of him.
When Mikhael finally left, whistling as if nothing had happened, the silence that remained was a living thing — heavy, suffocating, mocking.
For a long moment after Mikhael’s footsteps faded, Noah didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t even blink.
It was as though something inside him had gone perfectly still — a silence too heavy to carry. The air around him felt thick, suffocating, pressing against his ribs until it hurt to draw in a breath.
Damian doesn’t ask about you anymore.
The words echoed, over and over, until they no longer sounded like Mikhael’s voice. They became something else — hollow, merciless — like they were crawling out from inside his own skull.
He wanted to scream that it wasn’t true. That Damian wouldn’t forget him.
But the thought caught in his throat, dying before it could form. Because deep down, beneath the haze of exhaustion and bruised hope, another voice whispered something quieter, crueler.
What if he really hasn’t? What if Mikhael was right?
Noah’s hands trembled, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if to hold himself together. He could still feel Mikhael’s touch on his cheek — the mocking pats that burned with humiliation. He rubbed the spot furiously, trying to erase it, but it only made his skin ache more.
He drew in a shaky breath. The air stung like ice when it hit his lungs.
His stomach twisted violently, bile creeping up his throat. The soup he’d forced down earlier churned, threatening to come back up, but he swallowed it down — because he knew if he made a mess, someone would make him regret it.
He pressed his forehead to his knees. Every muscle in his body screamed from the motion, but it didn’t matter. The pain grounded him — something solid in a world that kept slipping through his fingers.
He used to ask about you all the time.
The memory flooded in — Damian’s laughter, his hand brushing Noah’s shoulder, his voice soft when he’d said “I’ll get us out of here.”
He had believed him. God, he had wanted to believe him.
But now…
Now that promise felt like a cruel echo of something that had never really been real.
Noah’s chest tightened until he thought it might collapse entirely. His breath came in small, uneven gasps. Tears welled in his eyes but refused to fall, trapped there, shimmering like broken glass. He wanted to cry - to let it all out - but even that felt like too much effort.
He felt empty. Not the kind of empty that comes from hunger, but the kind that feels like being hollowed out from the inside. Every word Mikhael had said clung to him, sticky and suffocating, wrapping around his heart like barbed wire.
For the first time, Noah wondered if maybe Andrey was right - maybe Damian wasn’t a hero, maybe there was no one coming for him. Maybe he really was nothing but a broken thing made to kneel and obey.
The thought made him nauseous. He curled tighter into himself, arms wrapped around his body as though trying to hold the pieces together before they split apart for good.
In the quiet, his heartbeat sounded too loud, ragged and uneven.
And then, softly, almost silently, he whispered Damian’s name.
Just once.
Barely audible.
It fell into the air and vanished instantly, swallowed by the same silence that had been suffocating him for days.
And yet, somehow, that tiny whisper hurt him more than any wound ever could.
Because even as he said it, he knew no one was listening.
And no one ever would.
@electrons2006/ @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees/ @lolrpop/ @yassifiedinformation/ @ay5ksal/ @written-in-the-stars135(let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)
So sorry it took so longg >.< so hereeee's an extraa long one for my babiess
TW: Mikhael is an asshole, humiliation, captivity, slight mention of food deprivation, emotional manipulation
Noah woke up to the ache first, then the emptiness. He felt a slow, bruised ache behind his eyes. He tried lifting his head but the world tipped, colors and shapes seeming to merge together. A strange buzzing filled his head. What was that about? he wondered. A sudden hunger hit him now. Not actually the kind he'd forgotten in the earlier hours of being taken, but a raw, gnawing hollowness that didn't really have anything to do with hunger and everything to do with emptiness.
He tasted metal when he breathed, and when he moved his shoulder accidently a hard jolt coursed through his body that made him almost arch his back in pain. He realized his arms were covered in bandages. His shirt had been cut away, his arms were an array of bruises and swollen purple lines. His back and torso too had been neatly bandaged. He noticed a smell - a clean clinical scent that made him feel dizzy; alcohol and something like boiled linen.
He remembered - as if being heard of it from outside - the punishment, what had happened to Damian wasn't supposed to happen but Noah couldn't help but feel a little selfish for not wanting to care about it anymore. His life until now had been nothing but filled with misery and pain, and he wanted nothing more than to just not think about it anymore. He wanted to just let himself drown in his own consciousness. He didn't want to think anymore, didn't want to care anymore. But the dull ache in his heart whenever he thought about Damian gave away his indifferent facade that he so desperately wanted to immerse in.
He remembered Andrey's face so clearly that, for a second, he thought the door would open and the chill of those eyes would sweep the room again.
As if on cue, the door did open. It wasn't Andrey. The footsteps were too careful, too performative unlike Andrey's prideful, confident strides.
A face Noah hated as easily as he hated the bruise-sour taste of his own fear filled the doorway. Mikhael's tall figure gave an irritating smirk, his jaw too square for any kindness. He moved like a man who had practiced cruelty until it was the simplest thing to put on. For some unknown reason, Mikhael annoyed him greatly, he didn't know whether it was because he had a hand in Noah's recapture or it was just his face.
He didn’t need to say anything to make Noah resent him. Apparently, resenting Mikhael was the new compulsory thing.
"Awake. A pity really." Mikhael observed, as if Noah were a nuisance. He stepped forward and looked at him with slow amusement. "I was reaallyyyy hoping you'd have just dropped dead y'know." He gave a pout and Noah felt unbelievably offended.
Mikhael sighed dramatically when Noah didn't say anything. "You're really not much fun huh? All that silence, all that blank little stare-" He reached out suddenly, gripping Noah's jaw and forcing his head up as the younger boy let out a whine in pain. "It just makes me wanna ruin you soooo bad" He smiled sickeningly sweet, one that sent shiver down Noah's spine.
Fortunately he moves away, releasing him, straightening and brushing imaginary dust off his immaculate coat.
He snapped his fingers, and a young servant appeared behind him, wheeling in a small tray of food - soup, bread, and a cup of water. How typical, Noah thought but still his stomach twisted violently with hunger at the sight of it. He hadn't eaten properly in two days.
But Mikhael wasn't about to make it easy. He kicked the tray closer to Noah - hard enough that the cup tipped over and half the water spilled across the concrete. “There you go. Eat. If you can crawl for it.” He simply shrug as if it was such a minor inconvenience.
Noah felt the urge to go and pull out the asshole's hair out. Only if he had the energy and Andrey wouldn't beat the absolute shit out of him. He hesitated, staring at the small puddle of the precious water spreading out before him.
"Not hungry?" Mikhael taunted. "Fine then. Waste away. See if i give a shit. I'm just supposed to make sure you don't die before Andrey does whatever he has to do with you."
His words were soaked with venom, but his eyes carried something worse - amusement. The bastard enjoyed this. Enjoyed watching Noah struggle, watching him hesitate between pride and survival.
Noah finally reached forward with trembling hands, pulling the bowl toward him with much struggle. The soup was lukewarm, watery but he didn’t really care. He drank, shaking, careful not to spill a drop. Mikhael’s chuckle and mocking voice echoed off the walls.
“There you go. Good little pet.”
Noah froze mid-sip, every nerve in his body tensing at the word. Pet. He wanted to throw the bowl, to scream, but he didn’t. The fear was too deep, the exhaustion too heavy.
This was too degrading for him. He could handle Andrey but this man's taunting voice and remarks made him want to rip his own hair out. He ends up choking halfway through, coughs rattling his body.
A loud laugh makes him flinch and he slowly looks up at Mikhael's overjoyed face. "You can't even eat properly. Tch. Pathetic."
Mikhael leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes flicking lazily over him. “You know, Andrey says you’re special. Says there’s something about you that makes people stupidly loyal. Damian especially.” His grin widened. “But honestly? I don’t see it. You’re pathetic. Weak. A liability.”
Noah’s head jerked up before he could stop himself. His heart slammed against his ribs, each beat louder than the last. Even the air seemed sharper now, harder to breathe. Damian’s name, spoken casually, carelessly, felt like a knife twisting deep into the hollow place where hope had lived.
“Ah, there it is,” Mikhael said delighted. “I've heard Andrey's got something special planned for your beloved friend y'know”
“You should’ve seen the mess he made when Andrey was through talking to him. Stubborn little thing — wouldn’t stop asking where you were.”
Noah’s pulse thundered in his ears, his throat closing around a sound that refused to come out. Every muscle in his body locked tight, as though bracing for a blow. His hands trembled, clenching into fists so hard his nails cut into his palms. He wanted to protest, to shout, he’s still alive, you can’t touch him, but the words dissolved into a thick, choking lump.
Mikhael noticed. Of course he fucking noticed. That was the point.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Mikhael drawled, dragging the back of his chair closer until he was sitting right in front of Noah, elbows on his knees. “I’m just saying, maybe if you behaved a little better, Andrey might let you see him again. From a distance.”
He grinned, leaning in until his breath brushed against Noah’s ear.
“Or maybe he’ll let you watch what happens next.”
Noah’s stomach pitched violently. His body wanted to move, to escape, to curl up and disappear, but he could barely lift his limbs. His mind screamed at him: Don’t let him see that he’s getting to you. Don’t. You can’t. You can’t. But the truth was undeniable — every nerve, every muscle, every fragile fragment of him, was betraying him. Noah’s stomach twisted violently. He wanted to move, to fight, to do anything, but he was frozen — body betraying him with its shaking.
Noah’s throat tightened, his eyes watering, but the tears wouldn’t fall. He felt hollow, as if all the light and warmth inside him had been drained, leaving only raw, pulsing pain. He wanted to argue, to shout, to tell Mikhael that Damian was worth more than this, worth more than anything, but his voice had turned traitor too.
Mikhael chuckled, low and mean.
“You know what’s funny? He used to ask about you all the time. Drove everyone insane.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch until Noah’s trembling became noticeable. Then his voice softened into something almost pitying — false, deliberate.
He pressed his hands to his face, trying to block it out, trying to force his body to stop trembling, to stop breaking, but there was no wall high enough to contain the ache.
“Not anymore, though.”
And then it hit. A tidal wave of despair, sharp and unrelenting. Damian wasn’t asking about him anymore. Damian wasn’t waiting. Damian was gone — and it was Noah who had failed him. It was all his fault. His fault. His fault. His fault. The thought looped endlessly in his mind, a mantra of guilt and self-hatred. You’re worthless. You failed him. You always fucking fail.
Mikhael’s laughter, low and cruel, cut across the room, dragging Noah further into the pit he was already buried in.
“God, you’re easy.”
Noah’s knees buckled. He sank to the floor, curling in on himself, a small, broken thing. The air felt too thick, the shadows too close. The taste of bile rose in his throat. He pressed his hands over his chest as if that could hold the pieces together, as if it could keep Damian alive in some small corner of him.
When Mikhael finally left, whistling as if nothing had happened, the silence that remained was a living thing — heavy, suffocating, mocking.
For a long moment after Mikhael’s footsteps faded, Noah didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t even blink.
It was as though something inside him had gone perfectly still — a silence too heavy to carry. The air around him felt thick, suffocating, pressing against his ribs until it hurt to draw in a breath.
Damian doesn’t ask about you anymore.
The words echoed, over and over, until they no longer sounded like Mikhael’s voice. They became something else — hollow, merciless — like they were crawling out from inside his own skull.
He wanted to scream that it wasn’t true. That Damian wouldn’t forget him.
But the thought caught in his throat, dying before it could form. Because deep down, beneath the haze of exhaustion and bruised hope, another voice whispered something quieter, crueler.
What if he really hasn’t? What if Mikhael was right?
Noah’s hands trembled, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if to hold himself together. He could still feel Mikhael’s touch on his cheek — the mocking pats that burned with humiliation. He rubbed the spot furiously, trying to erase it, but it only made his skin ache more.
He drew in a shaky breath. The air stung like ice when it hit his lungs.
His stomach twisted violently, bile creeping up his throat. The soup he’d forced down earlier churned, threatening to come back up, but he swallowed it down — because he knew if he made a mess, someone would make him regret it.
He pressed his forehead to his knees. Every muscle in his body screamed from the motion, but it didn’t matter. The pain grounded him — something solid in a world that kept slipping through his fingers.
He used to ask about you all the time.
The memory flooded in — Damian’s laughter, his hand brushing Noah’s shoulder, his voice soft when he’d said “I’ll get us out of here.”
He had believed him. God, he had wanted to believe him.
But now…
Now that promise felt like a cruel echo of something that had never really been real.
Noah’s chest tightened until he thought it might collapse entirely. His breath came in small, uneven gasps. Tears welled in his eyes but refused to fall, trapped there, shimmering like broken glass. He wanted to cry - to let it all out - but even that felt like too much effort.
He felt empty. Not the kind of empty that comes from hunger, but the kind that feels like being hollowed out from the inside. Every word Mikhael had said clung to him, sticky and suffocating, wrapping around his heart like barbed wire.
For the first time, Noah wondered if maybe Andrey was right - maybe Damian wasn’t a hero, maybe there was no one coming for him. Maybe he really was nothing but a broken thing made to kneel and obey.
The thought made him nauseous. He curled tighter into himself, arms wrapped around his body as though trying to hold the pieces together before they split apart for good.
In the quiet, his heartbeat sounded too loud, ragged and uneven.
And then, softly, almost silently, he whispered Damian’s name.
Just once.
Barely audible.
It fell into the air and vanished instantly, swallowed by the same silence that had been suffocating him for days.
And yet, somehow, that tiny whisper hurt him more than any wound ever could.
Because even as he said it, he knew no one was listening.
And no one ever would.
@electrons2006/ @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees/ @lolrpop/ @yassifiedinformation/ @ay5ksal/ @written-in-the-stars135(let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)
