#cruel whumper
Whumper who’s studying anatomy and uses whumpee as their stand in cadaver. They like being able to see how a live body functions, even if it’s a lot more messy.
Whumper making it seem as if Whumpee is dead so no one goes looking for them. They brag to Whumpee about this, how they can now be theirs forever. But not before sliding in a comment about just how few people showed up to Whumpee’s funeral.
June 14th- Counting
Cw: kidnapping, torture, mentioned beating, illness, death mention, fear of death, cell, uhhh cold, idk what else to put here
Whumpee’s hand shook, their fingers flexing around the small piece of jagged stone as they raised it to the concrete wall.
A chill crept up their spine as a frigid breeze blew in from the barred window, goosebumps raising along Whumpee’s sickly skin. The rock slipped from their frail fingers, falling to the floor with a small clatter.
“Shh-hit,” They cursed quietly, head whipping around to the barred door. For a moment, they barely dared breathe as they listened close, praying to whatever force would listen that the guards didnt hear them.
The wardens were not very forgiving whenever a prisoner broke the rules.
Whumpee waited a few moments, their heart pounding as a terrible dread began to fill their chest. Oh god, if they heard- they’d be beaten for sure, whipped even- their body wouldn’t handle that- they couldn’t handle that. They were already sick, already weak. Another beating would be a death sentence-
A small breath of relief slipped from their lungs when they heard no disturbance, but the weight didn’t lift from their gut as they carefully palmed the stone once more, fingers wrapping around it so tightly their knuckles turned white.
Once again, they raised the rock to the cement, pressing the rough edge against the wall.
Ever so slowly, they began to drag their hand down, careful not to move too quickly for fear of giving themself away.
The scraping sound was barely audible, yet still much, much, much too loud.
Whumpee let out a small sigh, pulling the rock away from the wall and gently setting it down. Their eyes flicked over the tally, the newest scar added to the dozens upon dozens which already lined the walls.
Day one hundred and forty-eight.
They couldn’t help but wonder how many more they’d be able to survive.
June 13th- “Did I say you could stop?”
Cw: abuse, forced to clean, cruel Whumper, kicking, exhaustion, denied sleep, uhhhh idk what else
Whumpee blinked hard, trying to clear the fog from behind their gaze as they stared down intensely at the floor in front of them.
They stifled a small yawn as they dipped the rag back into the bucket, what had once been full of warm suds having long since turned into a cold mixture of dirt and cleaning products.
A moment later, they pulled the cloth back out, vision blurring as they began mindlessly scrubbing the tiles once more.
The tiles were beyond disgusting, coated in layers of dried blood and grime—most of it likely their own. They barely noticed as they’d hand slipped, already bruised knuckles scraping hard against the floor as they dragged the rag across a particularly difficult stain.
A twinge of pain shot through their fingers, but Whumpee didn’t react, much too exhausted to focus on anything other than the task at hand.
Whumper had said that only once they finished cleaning, would they finally be allowed to rest.
They had been working for hours, the minutes dragging by as they cleaned tile after tile, only taking a break every so often to refill the soiled bucket and switch out the rag.
Whumpee let out a surprised yelp, their arms giving out as a sharp kick to the ribs took them by surprise. They came crashing to the ground, chin knocking against the slate flooring as they landed.
Whumper glared down at them, their face twisting in disgust.
“I didn’t say you could stop, now, did I?” They hissed, drawing their leg back once again. For a moment, Whumpee could only grace themself for the incoming blow, their eyes squeezing shut. But instead, the toe of Whumper’s boot slammed into the bucket, knocking it over. The dirty water sloshed out, quickly soaking over the section Whumpee had just spent the last ninety minutes scrubbing.
“Get back to work.” Whumper rolled their eyes, spitting onto the floor before turning and stalking from the room.
Whumpee didn’t even have the energy to be annoyed as they slowly rose to their feet, picking up the bucket and stumbling back over to the sink.
June 7th- Experimentation
Cw: forced stripping (kinda—non sexual, just a shirt), noncon partial nudity, restraints, threats, noncon touching, implied noncon body mod, noncon surgery, lab whump, implied torture and kidnapping, threats, mentioned gore (not really)
Whumpee let out a strained cry, their pupils dilating as Whumper flicked on the bright O.R. lights. Their limbs moved on their own, twisting and thrashing against the restraints that kept them pinned to the operating table.
“WHUMPER- WHUMPER PLEASE-” They screamed, hot tears dribbling down their cheeks, craning their neck as they tried to see what their captor was doing.
Whumper’s movements were quick and calculated, almost mechanical as they moved around the frigid cold room. They didn’t bother to look up as they washed their hands in a plain sink, drying them on a sterile white towel, before slipping plain see-through medical scrubs over their typical outfit.
“Oh hush,” They sighed, surgical mask already pulled over their face as they slid their hands into a pair of latex gloves. “You’ll be fine.”
“NO- NONONO WHUMPER- PLEASE-” Whumpee’s eyes blew wide as they watched Whumper circle the room, picking up a tray of surgical instruments and carrying them closer.
“I said be quiet,” Whumper snapped, slamming the tray down on a stand closer to the table with much more force than necessary. Whumpee flinched at the clanging of metal. “Maybe I’ll cut your vocal chords while I’m at it, hm? That’ll sure teach you…”
Whumpee’s body went cold.
“NO-” They yelped, before quickly realizing their mistake and shutting their mouth. They instead shook their head, more tears welling in their eyes as they watched Whumper pick up a pair of metal shears.
“That’s much more like it,” Whumper grumbled, stepping forwards and grabbing the hem of Whumpee’s shirt.
Whumpee barely had time to panic before Whumper cut the tattered material clean down the center. A small sob slipped from their lips, the cold metal just grazing their skin as Whumper cut both the sleeves, and tore away the fabric.
Goosebumps pricked against Whumpee’s exposed skin, making them shudder as Whumper set down the scissors.
They watched anxiously as Whumper stepped away from the table, moving out of Whumper’s line of sight.
A few moments of tense waiting later, Whumpee jolted as an oxygen mask was pressed over their mouth and nose, the elastic band pulled back around their head and fastened in place.
“Now,” Whumper stepped back around into their sight, eyes creasing with a grin as they sauntered over to the tray of instruments, looking over them for a moment before picking up a wickedly sharp looking scalpel. “Where to begin?”
Songbird Series: Melody’s Downfall
Honestly, I don’t recommend reading this chapter at all unless you’re not phased by gore/surgery/horrible pain in general
CONTENT WARNING: humiliation, hair pulling, cuts, crying, begging, mention of death, mention of being burned alive, mention of being beaten to death, heavy torture; slit Achilles’ tendons, vocal cords removal surgery, teeth removal surgery (all while being awake and conscious)
Melody’s Downfall
Melody loved being on the stage. All eyes on it and the feeling of pride when Master told it it had done well. But today, something was different.
It didn’t really know what happened, it didn’t understand what went wrong, it just knew it was done for when it fell on the ground and missed its note.
In that moment, everything had gone completely silent. It was too shocked to move, still on the ground with an open mouth, eyes closed and its brain trying to process what had happened.
Then, the fear kicked in. It had never been as panicked as it was in that moment, that moment when it realized what was going to happen to it.
It was frozen in fear and heard footsteps approach it from behind.
It felt like a trapped mouse being approached by a giant monster.
A hand grabbed it by the hair and lifted it up to its knees.
“Stay.” Master obeyed in a terrifying tone before he left the stage again.
Then, the crowd started booing and throwing things at it.
Horrified tears streamed down its face as it stayed there, kneeling and protecting its face with its arms as bottles and glasses flew around it.
It felt scared and humiliated. It couldn’t believe it had failed. It had worked on this number for so long, how did it mess up? What went wrong?
It didn’t understand, it didn’t understand!
It curled up on itself as it cried and as broken glass cut on its skin, the audience booing echoing in its head over and over again.
It stayed there for what felt like hours, until it felt a hand grab it by its hair again.
When its head got forced back up, it saw the empty theatre, lights off and silence floating in the air.
“Do you know how much you just cost me?” Master snarled. “You’ll regret this for the rest of your miserable, useless life.”
It cried and clawed at its hand, begging for mercy as he dragged it away.
•
It had been strapped down to a metal table and Master was there with a surgeon, both of them circling it while talking.
Its ears had been plugged and it was gagged, unable to hear nor make a sound. It couldn’t move its body either; the surgeon had inserted a catheter in its wrist with a drug that immobilized it.
All it could do was silently cry and watch the two men’s lips move as it laid there, naked and helpless.
It watched as Master Williams walked towards its feet, a large knife in hand, and tried begging and squirming, but its body didn’t react. It only managed to make small squeals through its gag as fear submerged its brain.
Then, a horrible sharp pain went through its tendons.
A screech escaped its lips, drowned in complete agony.
Master had just slit its Achilles’ tendons.
Master had just slit its fucking Achilles’ tendons.
Master. The Master it trusted and loved, just ruined its body. Just put it through the worst pain imaginable because of a mistake. It had thought he would simply kill it, not torture it, not destroy it, not ruin it.
And yet here it was, screaming and crying as it helplessly bled and suffered.
And this was only the beginning.
It saw the surgeon change the drug and slowly lost its ability to make a sound.
The gag was then removed from its mouth and replaced with something holding its mouth and throat open.
It became even more terrified.
It felt metal rods slide down its throat and something rip inside.
Its eyes widened in pain and horror as it understood what was happening.
Its vocal chords were being ripped out.
The pain was even worse than its tendons and the fear even more intense.
It could’ve learned to live without dancing, but without singing?
It would rather die. It would rather be burned alive or beaten to death.
And it still wasn’t the end of its punishment.
•
It thought this was it. It thought the punishment ended yesterday.
But as soon as it woke up strapped to a metal chair down in the same place it had been twenty four hours earlier, it knew it had been wrong.
Same drug keeping it immobilized, though it didn’t need the one to keep it silent too.
It didn’t have its vocal cords anymore, after all.
It didn’t even have the strength to cry or panic. Nothing could ever be as worse as what they had done to it the day before. Its soul was already dead.
It looked with lifeless eyes the surgeon approach it with pliers as a metal gag kept its mouth open.
It knew what was going to happen. It knew and yet it only felt anxious, not afraid. It was too exhausted to truly care about its fate anymore.
Nothing mattered. Not since its ability to perform has been taken away from it.
It felt the plier on one of its teeth, and that’s when its instinct finally kicked in. But it still didn’t cry.
It felt its teeth get pulled down, then back up, the plier slowly crushing its teeth and the nerves inside, the disgusting taste of blood in its mouth.
It was completely agonizing, but it wasn’t afraid.
It just felt like it was dying all over again.
Songbird Series:Sick
This chapter is literally just my worst fears and anxieties. So yeah, Skye isn’t having a good time
CONTENT WARNING: dehumanization, conditioned, mention of removed vocal chords, mention of ripped out teeth, mention of slit Achilles’ tendons, reference to heavy torture (blood, bruises, injuries, shaved head, mutilated body), fear, anxiety, throwing up, panic attack, slight mention of suicide
Sick
Skye had been allowed to sleep for at least ten hours since it had performed the day before. It was eternally thankful to have such a merciful Master.
When it woke up, its entire body was sore and hurting.
A displeased groan escaped its lips as it opened its eyes.
It sat up and stretched its arms and neck before stepping out of the bed to stretch the rest of its body.
It stepped to its wardrobe and chose simple yet elegant clothes to change into.
It wore a white sweater crop top with matching mini shorts and then tied its hair loosely behind its back.
It put on a face mask and did its vocal warmups for the ten minutes it had to keep it on.
It hummed a few tunes while doing its simple makeup for the day, painting its eyelids with a bit of white and blue and putting on a pinkish beige on its lips. It added some blush and mascara and got back up from its vanity.
It sprayed on some perfume and put on simple blue socks before heading out of its room.
It walked the rough the corridors of the manor, heading towards the living room, knowing that’s where Master Williams would be.
It arrived in the living room and Master was exactly where it had anticipated him to be; sitting in a red sofa while looking at the fireplace, a glass of wine in hand.
It was behind him and he hadn’t seen it yet, so it walked towards him shyly to see if there was anything it needed to do today.
Once at his side, it glanced down and its eyes met Mud.
It felt its heart twist in its chest as it looked at it.
Mud was another pet of Master’s, but it didn’t have the same status as Skye. Skye had a lot of freedom and privileges, thanks to its talents, but Mud wasn’t as lucky. It couldn’t sing nor dance, or at least it couldn’t anymore. It used to be the same as Skye, until it failed. As a punishment for humiliating Master, it had its vocal chords removed and teeth ripped out. It also had its Achilles’ tendons slit so it couldn’t walk on its two legs anymore. Now, it’s only purpose was to be a punching bag for Master, or just a simple piece of furniture, like a footrest or a side table. If Skye recalled well, its name used to be Melody, until it messed up.
It had trouble keeping its eyes off of it; its shaved head and rash skin, the big scar in the middle of its face, the multiple bruises and untreated wounds all over its flesh, its pleading and tearful eyes and trembling body as Master laid his feet on its back.
“What is it, doll?” Master asked, pulling it out of its thoughts.
“I-I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do for you today.”
He sipped on his glass of wine. “No. You’re free to do as you please. You did very well yesterday, you deserve a break.” He smiled at it and brought his attention back to the fire.
“Thank you, Master.”
It bowed its head and glanced back at Mud before leaving the room.
It wished it could help it, but it was terrified of what Master would do to it if it did. So it did nothing and left, heart sinking to its stomach.
It was terrified of ending up like Mud and couldn’t even begin to imagine the constant agony it must be in. Just the sheer thought of being unable to perform scared it, especially Master’s way to ensure it.
Skye hurried to the kitchen, passing through the big corridors covered in doors and framed pictures of it during its performances.
It grabbed an apple and a glass of lukewarm water, and ate even though it wasn’t feeling hungry anymore.
Swallowing was physically difficult; its stomach was in a knot and it felt sick. It couldn’t stop putting itself in Mud’s place. It knew neither it nor Mud had any access to dangerous objects to ensure them not committing suicide, but it still thought it would have found a way. In its place, Skye would’ve done anything to put an end to its life. But maybe Mud was stronger than it.
It forced another bite down despite feeling like it might throw up, and took a sip of water to help it.
It managed to finish the apple, but still felt sick.
It got up and walked towards the front door to take some fresh air.
As it walked, it felt less and less its legs and started trembling.
It tried running to the bathroom, knowing what this meant, but it didn’t make it.
It fell to the floor and threw up as it started crying.
It breathed heavily and hunched over its sick, too weak to get back up and clean it.
It stayed there for god knows how long, unable to move or form any thoughts, until Master’s maid found it.
“Oh, Skye..!” She hurried over. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“S-Sorry…” it mumbled as tears streamed down its face.
“Come, I’ll clean this up later.”
She helped it get back up on its feet and helped it walk to the closest bathroom.
She made it sit near the toilet and gave it a warm blanket.
“There you go.” She stroked its back softly. “I’ll go get you some water, okay? Stay here.”
Even if it wanted to, it couldn’t move. Its body was too exhausted and mind too overwhelmed.
It was also terrified that throwing up ruined its vocal chords and that it wouldn’t be able to sing anymore.
It tried doing a few notes, but its voice was hoarse and scratchy.
Terrified, it started crying frantically and mumbling incoherently.
When Lucie came back, she put the glass on the ground and held it tightly in her arms, hushing it and whispering nice words.
Skye couldn’t stop crying, it was so scared, so terrified. Its voice was ruined and Master would destroy it for becoming useless.
It felt sick again at the thought of becoming like Mud and braced itself as it felt something come up again, but it’s stomach now empty, only air came out.
It hurt and burned and it cried even more.
It felt a glass of water on the tip of its lips and instinctively drank through its sobs and sniffling.
The water helped with the pain, but not with the fear.
Lucie caressed it gently and kept on holding it tightly, doing her best to reassure it, until it passed out in her arms.
She brought it back to its room and installed it in its bed with a bucket next to it.
She sat on a chair and looked over it for the rest of the day.
