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diamond-flavored-whump · 9 months

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Best ways to restrain your Whumpees (a subjective scale)

Tied to a chair: 7/10. Classic, gets the job done. Rub their skin raw while you're at it.

Cuffed to the chair: 9/10. The more cuffs the better. Sure, cuff each wrist to an arm chair. But what if you also cuffed their wrists together with just enough slack so their circulation doesn't cut off? ... what if you didn't give them enough slack? What about their legs?

Chained to the chair: 4/10. Oppressive weight is nice and all, but unless you know what you're doing, these are easy to slide off and best used alongside other methods.

Strapped to the chair: 6/10. Better suited for impersonal settings.

Duct taped to the chair: 7/10. Potential 9/10 if you rip the tape off every time you move them. Do you do it hard and fast, listen to their sudden scream? Or do you do it slowly, savor each pitiful little whimper?

(Surgery required) Put magnets in their wrists: 9/10. Make them try to lift their arms, only to feel like their skin is ripping from the inside. Make sure they know you put the magnets in there. Nothing that will make them sick, you reassure. Just making sure they can't go anywhere without you un-magnetizing the arm rests.

Chained to the wall: 7/10. How much room do they have? Is it only one wrist, both on the same chain? Each one on opposite sides of the room? What about ankles? Do their steps rattle? Can they toss and turn in bed without making any noise?

Chained/cuffed to the floor: 10/10. Absolute humiliation. Forced to kneel, bow their head, cower like a dog before you. Their restraints holding them down every time they try to rise against you, reminding them of their place.

Ankles chained to a pole: 6/10. Oh sure, you can run. You just can't go very far. An interesting idea, but overall mediocre.

Leash wrapped around a pole: 8/10. Leave your pet unable to wander too far, perhaps keep their food bowl just out of reach. Make them dependent on you for bathroom breaks, food, and water.

Tied to a beam/pole: 8/10. How big is the pole? Are they tied so tight that all they can do is squeeze their shoulder blades together, and every time they try to relax the ropes tug them back? Is it large enough that their entire arms can wrap around it? A little too big for that? Did you tie up their feet as well?

Tied horizontally to a beam/pole: 9/10. So many ways this could go! Arms and legs above them like they're a pig on a spit, or one of those rotisserie chickens in the grocery store. Arms below, facing up, like they're laying in bed. Forced to look down at how high up they are, unable to do anything to get down.

Dangling by their wrists: 8/10. Once again, a classic choice. Rope or cuffs work here.

Dangling by their hair: 2/10. Not a long-term solution, hair will be pulled out. Only works with certain Whumpees. Only suited for short-term punishments.

Dangling by their neck: 7/10 if done right. Once again, a temporary solution best used to scare and threaten your Whumpee. I cannot overstate that you must be careful with this method if you like to reuse Whumpees. Remember to let your Whumpee down once they pass out!!

Dangling by their leash and collar: 6/10. Same concerns as above.

Dangling by their waist: 4/10. Has some potential, but have not seen it used much if at all.

Dangling by their ankles/feet: 5/10. A good way to disorient and weaken your Whumpee, but must be used in moderation. Excessive blood rush to the head can cause permanent damage and makes your Whumpee less fun to play with.

Standing in water: 4/10. A good short-term punishment, but can cause loss of toes and even feet of water gets too cold. Proceed with caution.

Gags: 9/10! Good for defiant Whumpees, Whumpees in transport, ones who can't learn the lesson not to speak. Just remember to take it off when you want to hear their screams.

Small rooms, holes in the ground, boxes: 8/10. Less about restraint, more containment, but still gets the point across. They cannot escape you, no matter how much they wish to.

I reiterate, leashes: 10/10. Hold their leash at all times, and you'll know when they try to run away.

#whumpblr #whump #whump scenario #your whump words of the day #whump writing #whump tropes #whump prompt #whumpee #whumper #restrained #captivity #captive whumpee #pet whump

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jump-in-the-whump · 5 months

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Whumpee doesn’t really understand what is going on, everything is happening so fast and their head is pounding so bad.

“hey, can you hear me? Whumpee?” A voice calls out their name. Whumpee raises their head.

“i-i... don’t... understand....i-i...” Whumpee rasps out, before a coughing fit interrupts him.

“shh, don't force yourself too much. I'll explain everything later, now I'm here and I just wanna help you, ok?”

Whumpee is in so much pain, it's hard to breathe. They’re so weak, they lean onto Caretaker, drowning in their quiet words and soft movements. A tear escapes Whumpee’s eye. It's been so long since they were treated like this, like a human being.

"Caretaker..... " Whumpee manages to say, with a weak, raspy voice.

“Yeah, that's right, I am Caretaker. I am here and I won't let them hurt you anymore..." Caretaker whispers, hugging Whumpee, caressing their dirty, greasy hair. Whumpee winces in pain and can't help but cry, the happiness and comfort are too much for them to manage.

#whump drabble #whump prompt #whump scenario #whump community #caretaker #whumpee x caretaker #weak #captivity #hurt/comfort #rescue #whumpee #whump #ptsd #jump-in-the-writing

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whump-bunny · 3 months

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Thinking about Whumpees in neighboring cells. They have never seen each other's face, but they can talk to each other through the grate in the wall. They keep each other sane, and make life just a little more bearable.

Until one day, when the other Whumpee doesn't answer.

#whump #writing #whumper #multiple whumpees #captivity

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whumblr · 3 months

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I, too, like the trope 'forced to listen' with hearing agonising screams from the room at the other side of the cell block.

But I'd like to raise with:

Hearing a single gunshot followed by earth shattering silence from the room at the other side of the cell block.

#whump #whump tropes #I just love the finality of a single gunshot #bonus when fake execution #whump prompt #whumplr #implied death #implied murder #captivity #captivity whump #my prompts #my writing

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oddsconvert · 12 days

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Intimate Whumpers that bathe their Whumpee's in scents that they like 🌸 Whumpee's hair smells like milk and honey shampoo, their skin smells like vanilla and raspberry. Even if it makes Whumpee's nose crinkle in disgust, it doesn't matter. It's all for Whumper 💖

#whump prompt #noncon bathing #intimate whumper #whump #whump writing #whump thoughts #whump community #whumpblr #whump blog #whumpee #whumper #captivity

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vintagewildlife · 1 day

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Grant's zebra By: Unknown photographer From: Le Zebre 1913

#captivity #grant's zebra #plains zebra #zebra #equine #ungulate #mammal #1913 #1910s #Le Zebre (1913)

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folklorespring · 8 days

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❗Speak about Ukrainians in russian captivity❗

russian captivity kills

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hufflepuffwritingstuff2 · 3 months

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An Offer You Can't Refuse- Part 2

Part 1

Hero woke up to the feeling of being watched. The weight over their eyes had been lifted, and their restraints had been removed as well, judging by how they were sprawled out in bed. Bed? This bed felt much bigger and softer than their own bed. The feeling of being watched grew stronger. Who cared whose bed it was- who was watching them!? Hero’s eyes snapped open, darting around the room until they landed on- oh. Right. Them. That. This.

“Good morning, Hero,” Supervillain said softly, “I must admit, you slept so long I was worried they had overdosed you, but you seem to be alright. That’s good.”

Alright? Alright!? What about this was alright!?

“Do you often make a habit of watching people sleeping?” Hero blurted.

Did they really just say that!? Hero’s heart hammered in their chest. This was Supervillain they were talking about- one false move and they were dead. No, scratch that, death would be a mercy- surely someone like Supervillain was an expert at dishing out fates worse than death-

Supervillain just chuckled.

“No,” they said, “but after eighteen hours and no sign of you waking, I did want to check up on you. That couldn’t have all been the drugs, I’d wager. Were you overworking yourself before you were abducted?”

“Eighteen-” Hero started.

“Technically twenty-five if we’re being specific,” Supervillain said, “your little snores are quite cute, and did you know you sleep-talk?”

Hero blushed in embarrassment. More than flustered, they felt confused. Supervillain had bought them for… however much they paid for them (Hero couldn’t quite remember) and now they were waking up in a lavish bed while the mastermind made small-talk about the whole thing?

“Are you hungry?” Supervillain prompted.

“Confused.” Hero admitted.

Hero’s stomach didn’t like that answer, and it growled loudly in protest. Supervillain smiled knowingly.

“I’ll have my chef make you something,” they said, getting up, “It would be in your best interest not to leave this room.”

Supervillain left the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Hero waited until their footsteps faded into silence. They sprung out of bed and tried the door. Locked, of course. Hero formed a small icicle in their hand and started to pick the lock. After a couple seconds of picking, the icicle snapped in two. Right, well, time for something more aggressive then. Hero forced the door down with a blast of ice. Stepping over the now-warped door, they looked around for the nearest exit. They ran down a hallway and past a few different doors, before reaching a grand staircase. They checked both ways for signs of Supervillain, then descended the stairs at a breakneck pace.

They realized, as they were rushing to freedom, that they weren’t wearing any shoes. In fact, their entire suit had been replaced by silk sleepwear. Oh well, they’d just have to make a new one when they got out of here. Their hand was on the front doorknob when a rough force yanked them backwards.

Hero yelped in surprise. They craned their neck to see a large, muscular person behind them. They had an earpiece and a small microphone hooked up to them.

“Got ‘em,” they said, “taking them back now.”

The henchman started to drag Hero back by the arm.

“Hey, let me go!” Hero shouted, forming cold energy in their hand and hurling a snowball at the henchman.

“Gah- why you-!”

In shock from getting a snowball to the face, the henchman had let go of Hero, who was now making another run for it.

“C’mere you-”

Hero turned, anger burning in their eyes. If it was a fight this bozo wanted, it was a fight they were going to get. And Hero was going to win.

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#writeblr #writing #creative writing #whump #hero x villain #snippet #heroes and villains #captivity #drugging mention #hero x supervillain #I'm so excited about this series guys you don't understand #an offer you can't refuse #hufflepuffwritingstuff2

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panimoonchild · 28 days

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“I tried to explain that I was a musician but it didn’t work. You say you are a musician and it irritates them so much they beat you more, and accuse you of lying,” said Merkotan

While international organizations inspect and have access to our prisons where Russian prisoners are held, they turn a blind eye and do not fight for proper conditions for Ukrainian prisoners.

Another thing that outrages me is the way "Putin's prison" is used. It was not Putin who tortured him and others, but russians. This is not Putin's war, but Russia's. These are not the decisions and crimes of one person. After 10 years of war, the Russians are still being singled out and absolved of responsibility. That's impossible levels of stupidity and cowardice.

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theonceandfuturequeenoftarts · 1 month

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Vampirism would never be Voldemort’s preferred form of existence, but needs must.

It’s unfortunate that the Ministry seized his body for examination instead of burying him – or even putting his corpse on display, he merits at least that much. But alas, when his back-up plan finally kicks in (well, the horcruxes were his initial back-up plan, but hardly the only one. One can never be too careful when it comes to ensuring one’s continued survival), he’s on an examination table surrounded by Aurors and Unspeakables. Not ideal for making his escape, especially when he’s weak and disoriented.

He manages to latch onto the nearest mage and drink enough of their blood to mount a defence and get to the exit, but being a vampire is different enough that he’s taken down before he makes it more than two steps through the door. How humiliating.

So now, here he is, tucked somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry with guards posted just out of sight, interrogated frequently on such matters as who his Death Eaters are, the extent of his crimes, what he knows (far more than these dunderheads can comprehend), and on and on. He gives them nothing, unless it doesn’t matter anymore and will just frustrate them to know. Then he provides more detail than they would ever want. Their methods of information extraction are laughable, anyway.

They only try to starve him to death once. After he rips through the wards and bars containing him and drains one of his guards dry, they don’t try it again. Now, they bring him some kind of blood in pouches once every few days. It sustains him, but that’s about all that can be said for it. He doesn’t feel hungry, per se, but too long without blood makes a headache pound behind his eyes and worsens his already irascible nature.

He’s certain he could escape this cell if he wanted to, but it’s taking him far longer to adapt to being a vampire than he had expected. His magic functions differently, his senses are heightened and inconsistent, and he’s unsure what his reaction to sunlight will be. (Or even regular indoor lighting – it’s kept quite dim in this corridor.) He’s willing to be patient and make his move when the time is right.

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

It’s during one of the Minister’s occasional visits – as though he has any respect for the position and will give up his secrets more easily – that he appreciates his intensified sense of smell for the first time.

(His guards could stand to brush up on their cleaning charms. They don’t appreciate it when he shares this knowledge with them.)

It’s enticing, the fragrance, and strong enough that it almost feels visible, wafting down the corridor from the open door. He feels himself drawn to the scent, only stopping when he hits the bars. It takes a fair bit of self-control to resist pulling them apart and pursuing the delicious smell. “Who walked by just now?”

“That isn’t of any concern to you,” Shacklebolt says flatly.

One of the Aurors snaps, “We’re asking the que–”

“Bring them here,” Voldemort commands. “Or we’ll find out exactly how well these new wards will hold up against me.”

His ability to enthral the Aurors guarding him might be limited by the amulets they wear, but the fact that it still affects them at all seems to terrify them more. One looks to the Minister, hands shaking; he races off once he gets the nod.

Shacklebolt attempts to stare him down, which would be more impressive if he’d been able to do it before Voldemort had his metaphorical wings clipped. Once he realises Voldemort has no intention of engaging in a childish staring contest, the other man chats quietly with the remaining guards.

The Auror returns, looking pale and pinched. “Er, Minister Shacklebolt…”

“Who is it?”

The Auror slides his eyes over to Voldemort before returning to meet the Minister’s gaze and shaking his head.

The look is telling. He makes an educated guess and calls out, “Harry Potter.”

After a brief pause, the tense, angry silence is shattered by the thud of footsteps rapidly approaching before the boy skids to a stop before Voldemort’s cell, panting for breath and looking horrified and enraged by what he finds.

“What the hell is he doing here–”

“Harry, wait–”

“He’s alive?!”

“Let’s go talk about this–”

“Hello again, Harry Potter,” Voldemort cuts in. “So kind of you to finally visit me.”

“How in Merlin’s name did you survive?” Potter shouts, sounding a touch hysterical.

“Come closer and I’ll tell you.” A rather transparent ploy, but the scent of the boy’s blood has his head reeling. And, well, Potter has never needed a sophisticated touch to lure him in.

Shacklebolt snarls at him and quickly raises the silencing barrier that prevents him from being heard beyond the walls of his cell. What a pity.

He says, “I’ll see you soon,” ensuring his mouth moves deliberately enough for the message to get through even if it can’t be heard. Potter’s brows furrow at him, eyes aflame, before he follows the Minister down the corridor, irately demanding to know everything.

No matter. If Shacklebolt thinks Potter won’t find a way back here, he doesn’t know the boy at all.

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

It takes four days before Potter skulks out of the shadows around Voldemort’s cell.

Voldemort knows from the moment he enters the corridor, even if he can’t see the boy getting closer. Wild, black hair and a lumpy jumper emerge from under an invisibility cloak directly in front of his cell, just inside the sound barrier. Clever boy.

“Come now, you’re not afraid of me, are you?” he taunts. “I’m no danger to you from in here. You can step closer.”

A vampire’s power of suggestion works just as well as the Imperius does against Potter. He’d expected it, but the boy’s mental resilience remains irritating.

“Did you seriously think that would work?” Potter says incredulously.

“I have so little entertainment, I’m not in a position to be picky,” he mockingly laments. “In any case, congratulations. You’ve exceeded my admittedly low expectations of you.”

“Tosser,” the boy mutters, before demanding, “What are you doing here?”

He raises a judgemental, nonexistent eyebrow. “Well, when the Ministry offered me room and board in perpetuity for the low cost of my freedom and privacy, how could I refuse?”

If looks could kill, Potter might actually have a chance at putting him in the ground permanently. “You know that’s not what I was asking,” he snaps. “How are you here, alive?”

Voldemort observes the boy for a moment. Deep bruises under his eyes, still too skinny – no one at home to notice if he goes missing.

“I propose a trade,” he says, moving ever so slowly closer towards the bars. “I have something you want, and you have something I want. Surely we can come to a mutually satisfying agreement.”

“What could I possibly want from you?” Potter grits.

“Isn’t it obvious? Your curiosity, Harry Potter, would put the proverbial cat to shame. You have questions.” Voldemort reaches out and wraps a hand around one of the bars. “And I have answers, if you’re willing to barter for them.”

Potter considers this, looking torn. Voldemort is confident the boy's need to know will win out. And he's correct.

“What do you want?”

“Something that I am certain will answer at least one of your questions. Come closer and you’ll find out.”

That nets him an unimpressed look. “I’m not stupid, you know,” Potter says.

“No, you aren’t, but you are rather gullible at times,” he replies with a grin.

“You are such a prick,” the boy says, almost wonderingly. “Fine. How are you alive? I saw you die. I checked your pulse, even.”

“You want to know how I am alive,” he says mysteriously. “How do you know that I am?”

Potter gives him a flat look. “Well, the whole walking and talking thing kind of gave it away.”

“Animate and alive are two different things,” he corrects.

“You pedantic–” the boy begins cursing, before pausing and considering the words more closely. Voldemort smiles and ensures his fangs are visible. “You’re a vampire,” Potter concludes quietly.

“Thirty points to Gryffindor,” Voldemort mocks.

Potter is still staring at him, and he can almost see the dots connecting in the other’s mind. “What you want is the answer… You want my blood?!”

“Oh, well done, Harry Potter. We’ll make a scholar of you yet.”

“Absolutely not,” Potter says firmly. “You really must think I’m stupid, if you think I’d let you bite me.”

“Where’s your sense of fairness? I’ve answered some of your questions, but you won’t keep up your end of the bargain?”

“You want to kill me!”

“Not anymore,” he maybe-lies. He’s fairly certain the prophecy lost its relevance once he died at Hogwarts. If so, he’s not particularly fussed about what happens to the boy now.

Potter shouts, indignantly, “Like I’d believe that!”

And, well, he can’t blame Potter for his scepticism. He has spent the better part of eighteen years repeatedly attempting to kill the boy. But that’s neither here nor there.

“You made a trade with me,” he reminds the boy. “It’s hardly my fault that you failed to clarify the terms of the deal beforehand.”

“Fucking…” Potter tugs on his hair, looking frustrated. “Fine. But you’re not allowed to kill me.”

Voldemort gives him an indulgent look. “I swear.”

“I can’t believe this…” the boy mutters. “How…?”

“Give me your hand.” He’s close; he’s so close…

Looking like he’d rather be anywhere else and giving Voldemort a warning look, Potter slowly slides his left hand between the bars. Voldemort pulls the boy’s wrist towards his mouth, ignoring the wary glare boring into the side of his head, and bites down.

Finally.

He feels like he’s been starving for years – a feeling made all the more intolerable by the complete lack of hunger he’s felt since his bodily resurrection. Slaking his thirst for the first time is revelatory – if he’ll experience this transcendent feeling each time he drinks, he finally understands why vampires accept the troublesome aspects of their nature.

He drinks deep, revelling in the euphoria coursing through his veins. On the periphery of his awareness, he can hear the boy making noise, but the wards will prevent the sounds from escaping. He feels Potter’s other hand pushing at his shoulder, his face, and wonders whether he should kill the boy here and now.

But he’s not so lost in bloodlust that he forgets how disappointing the Auror was when he’d drank from her. The taste of her blood was barely different from the blood bags they give him. Perhaps, much like the scent of his blood is rare, the intoxicating taste of Potter’s blood is equally uncommon. He can survive with the blood of others, but…

Existence is so much more enjoyable with little luxuries to break up the monotony.

So he stops before the boy’s blood levels fall dangerously low. Potter will even be able to walk out of here, if a little unsteadily. If this becomes a regular thing (and he hopes it will, until he makes his escape and can steal the boy away to feed on as he pleases), he’ll have to recommend Potter bring blood replenishers.

He floats back down to earth slowly, enjoying the warm, effervescent feeling filling his body and mind. When he opens his eyes again, he sees he’s not the only one affected.

Potter is leaning heavily against the bars, left arm limply hanging from Voldemort’s grasp, and panting like he can’t catch his breath. His face is flushed – though the unflushed sections of skin are decidedly paler than usual – and his body keeps twitching. Perhaps he’d taken too much blood. Or the boy is having an adverse reaction.

Voldemort licks the bite wound to help speed the healing – can’t have his portable meal bleeding out, after all. As his tongue slides across the boy’s wrist, Potter whimpers. Needily.

Hmm.

That recontextualizes the boy’s other physical cues.

“Why Harry, did you enjoy that?” he asks, exhaling an unnecessary breath over the damp flesh of Potter’s wrist. A low, soft moan and a glassy-eyed glare are his only response.

This could be entertaining.

He passes Potter’s hand back through the bars and watches the boy straighten up on wobbly legs.

“May I offer some assistance–”

“No!” Potter gasps, pushing away from the bars, though his hand remains firmly gripped around one to hold himself up.

“Very well. I appear to have taken more than was fair for the questions you asked, and you’re in no state to ask any more at the moment,” Voldemort says smugly. “I’ll be sure to answer a few extra queries for you next time in exchange.”

“Next time,” Potter says, a slight rasp to his voice. From the frown on his face he means it to come out angrily, but the breathiness makes it sound more like a promise.

Voldemort reaches through the bars to take the boy’s invisibility cloak from his pocket and fasten it around his neck, pulling the hood up as he says, “Yes, next time. Until then, Harry Potter.”

Potter lingers outside his cell for a minute, likely gathering himself for the walk back, before Voldemort hears his slightly unsteady steps moving away.

He starts to think of all the avenues this opens to him – and all the fun he can have while he waits for the opportune moment to leave here.

After all, Potter will be back.

#voldemort #harry potter #harrymort #vampire!voldemort #captivity #harry “making bad decisions” potter #fic snippet #cw blood

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