Sorrowreblogs - Tumblr Posts

Reblog if it's okay to invade your ask box.

Always

Seriously though, I love this! This is probably how my OC's would feel if they could talk to me, thinking that I actually have a story when really I just want to see them hurt a bit.

OC: "Hey so um, I've been through a lot of pain and trauma already, when is the plot going to move more towards the story?"

Me: "Oh... you thought there was more to this story? Hate to break it to you, but you're in for the long haul buddy. I haven't decided if this is Hurt/Comfort or No Comfort yet."

-🪻

"You're w-wasting your time, Whumper," Whumpee said, looking straight into Whumper's eyes. Their breath was erratic. "I don't know anything a-about it."

Whumper smiled, gently touching their hand to Whumpee's bruised cheek. "You think I'm doing this for information, huh?"

Pleasure in Pain (AU)

To be fair, I really haven’t written anything in a hot minute, but I blame school for being so damn stressful. So here’s a snippet of Cordova and Rojan in an AU where a forge master took on an apprentice. They’re still going through training.

Contents: TW branding/ burning mentioned, TW torture mentioned, TW burn scars mentioned, begging, merciful Whumper, pet Whumpee, Forge master Whumper, Apprentice Whumpee.

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“N-no no no no p-ple— hiccup… p-p-please. N-not today I-I, I’ve been g-good. I p-promise I’ve been good.”

Rojan looming over the shivering body of Cordova curled up in the corner of the large room. The heat from the forge radiating in the room. Making Cordova’s tears mix with his sweat that glistened on his bare body. A pathetic sight of begging. Rojan couldn’t ask for a better way to start his morning.

Cordova flinches and whines breathily when a calloused hand runs through their tangled and dirty hair. It had been months of training, setbacks, and a bit of manipulation. Though Rojan knew in the end that they could make this once bold and strong willed person crumble to a shell of their former self.

“What gives you the right to decide whether you’ve been good or not?”

Fresh tears pooled in the sniveling figure trembling at their feet. The fear in his eyes when he grew so quick to believe he made a mistake in his choice of words, as if it was an act of treason that deserved death. The rough hand grips his hair only in warning before loosening and slipping from his curls.

“Why don’t we let the forge decide whether you’ve been good today, as you so claim.”

The thought of struggling crossing the Cordova’s mind, as it has countless times. He knew where this led to and every time felt like the last time he would be able to handle it. Throat thick with saliva, tears streaking through the soot on his cheeks, a dull hope flickering like a dying flame in a storm.

Rojan turned their back and walked to the forge. Grabbing a fire poker that was left to heat up prior. A bright red hue at the tip of the metal. Cordova could feel the scars on their skin heat up as if he were being engraved for the first time.

Rojan softly humming to themselves a tune he had sung since the very first day while using pliers to bend and shape the metal into the perfect sharpness. To his surprise, a feeling of weak and trembly arms wrapped from behind him. Soft hands trying their best to cling onto their shirt. A gentle press of a forehead on their back. A new development.

“… please. Whatever I’ve— sniffle… done wrong today. M’s-so sorry. I’m t-trying to be g-good for y-you, but I don’t know what I did wrong and I know that’s not a good answer, b-but… p-please give me a chance to correct it.”

Such a quiet and delicate voice. One that a strong enough breeze could blow away. Rojan wasn’t a breeze, he was a hurricane, but perhaps just for today he could relax and be a simple breeze. The fire poker goes back to cook in the blazing flames. Cordova tenses when his captor turns around and faces him. Making his gaze turn down to the floor as he took his arms off of them. Another mistake, another punishment, another scar, another meal lost, anoth—

“Your mistake today was not greeting me when I arrived today.”

Rojan’s arms wrapped around the confused and timid person who was at eye level to his chest. A gentle embrace that he’s never blessed his pet with. He could practically feel their heart pounding in their chest and the subtle tremble in their body from the unfamiliar yet comforting touch.

“I’ll let it slide today. Only because I believe you’ve certainly learned some manners and you’ve been working very hard to please me as of late. Just a simple warning then, always greet me when I come in. Okay, little flame?”

The relief the younger man felt was immense. When had his master become so merciful? No, he wouldn’t question it. It was a blessing he needed and he wouldn’t take it for granted. He would behave better than he ever has before and prove to his master that he deserves days like this more often. He could hardly control the way his body naturally clung onto his master. How his face buried into the rugged man’s broad chest while stray tears fell onto his shirt. Soft, relatively quiet sniffles leaving him while Rojan rubbed his back in circular motions.

“You’re being extra good today. Perhaps this warrants a reward. How does a bath sound, my little apprentice?”

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Date: May 23, 2024

Taglist: @turn-the-tables-on-them

If you're reading this, you're obligated to whump an OC/blorbo today.

Reblog to make others whump their OCs/blorbos!

Honestly, I’m genuinely surprised by how many people chose the douchebag. I think I get it, but it’s just an interesting thing to note. I too like seeing douchebags being put in their places 😌

I need opinions!

I may or may not be drafting a new series just because I got a lot of inspiration hit me at once. So the general idea is that Whumper is someone who travels the world constantly on a ship. He’s a very powerful and rich person because he does shady stuff. Dun dun dun.

My dilema here is that I don’t know what I want him to be. Should he be like a pirate from the 1700’s with that classic wooden ship style. A modern day pirate that’s sophisticated and more business-like in his approach, probably even has a yacht or a cruise ship. Maybe not even a pirate at all and just some rich guy that does business deals around the world and tends to cheat people while being in the safety of his boat.

Date: August 22, 2024

[p.s.: I thought I put it for a day, not a week. Whoops.]

I eat this shit up.

- 🪻

A Whumper who has been captured by Whumpee for revenge. And they can't take it. They break. They beg, plead, try to bargain, cry, scream, but nothing helps.

And the worst part is that they know nothing helps. Because they didn't show Whumpee mercy either. They know nothing they do will stop this, because nothing Whumpee could do would've made them stop.

They get exactly what they gave Whumpee.

What The Tide Brought In

[Next]

Contents: TW Restraints, TW Choking/ Strangling, TW Venomous Injury, TW Threats, Siren Whump, Pirate Whump, Sadistic Whumper, Defiant/ Stoic Whumpee

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“Captain, we’re going to need to make a port stop sooner than we expected. Our food supply is a little low.”

Looking off towards the distance of the endless sea, Malik was leaning against the wooden railing along the side of the vast ship. A deep internal sigh escaping him from the calmness of the morning. The waves were docile today, clear skies, and perfect winds. Glancing over his shoulder to acknowledge his first mate, Jovey. His signature side smirk that was as charming as ever.

“Means the lads are all eating well. Maybe too well, but we’ll tackle that later.” The deep rumble in his chest resonates through his chuckle, coming out a bit course from the early morning air. “Set a course for Port Royal, should be the nearest one to us.” 

Rising from his hunched position, his arms reach to the amber sky and soft huff escapes him. It had been a long month on the waters of the Atlantic, but shifting to the warmer tides of the Caribbean always reminded him where home was. It wouldn’t be more than a day now when he’d be able to collapse in a bed that doesn’t sway with the waves, in a warm tavern with a bottle of rum all to himself, and a bowl of stew from anything that wasn’t pescado. Possibly partaking in a little stealing, sabotaging, or cheating just to pass the time. Not having to be a captain for at least a week was a break he couldn’t wait for. The crew he inherited only knew how to follow orders when his voice was harsh as the winds, otherwise they’d slack off or get too comfortable. Not that he minded putting them in their place, it boosted his ego and there was a satisfaction in seeing the yielding in their eyes as they adjusted their tone and fixed their posture. Intimidation and strength. The qualities he believed was required of a captain, especially one as successful as he was. 

Unfortunately for him, because of his imposing presence on both the waters and the shores, it was now a rare occurrence for his ship to be attempted to be commandeered or attacked by other occupants of the sea. Even on land, most steered clear of him or were careful with their words. It made his exhibitions boring to say the least, no challenges, no competition. There hasn't even been ruthless storms as of late, the type to make experienced sailors soil themselves, the ones that threaten to sink you with your ship until you come out victorious. Even now as he turns to grip the wheel in his hands and his eyes scan the deck a flight below him where his men work, he doesn’t feel that thrill of adventure that used to drive him. He didn’t know if he would anytime soon with his reputation being as strong as it is.

His luck was akin to that of being at the mercy of a coin toss at times, whether today was a virtuous luck sent by the gods or a vicious one, he couldn’t care when his wishes were granted. Of course they were, he always got everything he wanted eventually.

“Captain! We caught something!”

His heads whips over towards port side, his men hoisting up large net that swung and twisted violently. Setting Jovey to steady the wheel, he quickly glides down the railing of the stairs before hopping to his feet on the deck. Trotting over to the commotion as his crew surround the catch. They part away to forge a path for him as he approaches and what he see’s makes his whole world light up in flurry of excitement. A siren. 

“Captain... is that the creature from the legends?”

Malik can’t help but let out a hearty laugh, not just at the question, but also out of astonishment at his luck. His eyes glued to the young male siren thrashing about in the thick rope, hissing and growling like a wild animal.

“That’s right lads! Look what the tide brought us, a siren from the tales of the sea.”

He gets down on one knee beside the tangled fishy creature. The strong scent of seawater mixed with an all too familiar rotten fish odor. Reaching down to grab the main rope line and tugging on it, the net tightens around the specimen and constricts its movements. A protesting growl leaving the siren as it glares through the rope straight at him. He can’t help grin a little maddeningly. Realizing just how amazing this turn of events was. Seeing this sirens unwavering aggression and defiance even from only being on board a few minutes sparked a fire in Malik.

“You’re far from home, aren’t you bilge rat? These aren't your waters.”

The siren, seemingly frantic and panicked from its predicament squirms in the net. Its tail thudding against the boards of the deck. Maliks chuckles overpowering the sirens protesting sounds. The crew that surrounded them watching in a mix of curiosity and caution. Taking the time to admire such rare creature in their waters. Its contrasting palette of blue hues and white accents. His finned tail pointed at the ends, three appendages along each side of his fish body with cerata extended out from each. His upper body resembling that of a normal young man, but scattered with a light blue vitiligo-esque pattern along his skin. Medium length dark blue hair damp and cascading over his shoulders. His fingers pointed like claws and his fangs baring. And those, oh so, captivating golden eyes.

“Alright lads, quit gawking. Why don’t we make our guest more... comfortable?”

Malik stands up as his crew get to work, knowing the protocol underlining his words. A few of the men dragging the siren towards the largest mast in the middle of the top deck. When they start to extract him from the net, he proves to be nothing if not aggressive and hostile. Using his sharpened nails to dig into the crews arms and legs, making them bleed. Biting hands and forearms when they try to lift him up. It took 5 sizable men just to get him up off the floor, but nobody was ready when one of the men got hit with one of the large appendages flapping around erratically through his struggle. The man stumbling back and falling down onto the wooden boards with a hard thud as he grips his chest. The crew managing to tie the siren up against the mast and restrain him. Everyone turns to look to their crew mate on the floor, struggling to breath. Malik rushes to his side and crouches down, inspecting the man and tugging his shirt down to see a hue of red amongst the inflammation quickly building on his chest. 

“Hey… hey, lad, keep your eyes on me, alright? You better fucking stay awake, you hear me?”

Malik slapping the mans cheek a few times to keep his attention when he notices his eyes lolling around with no intention. He looked sick, almost nauseous. His hands clawing at his own chest as if there was a pain that he fruitlessly attempted to dig out of himself. Malik having to grab the mans hands to keep him from hurting himself.

“Get this boy below deck! Don’t let him fall asleep and keep a bucket near in case he vomits.” When his crew just stare at the both of them with nervous and distant expressions after what they witnessed, Malik let go of the mans hands and stood up with a threatening posture. “NOW!” That woke the crew from their paralysis as they quickly made their way to the injured man and helped carry him below deck to be treated and supervised.

Malik turning towards the mast where the siren was left restrained and desperately fighting at the thick rope. His hands clenching at his sides, a fury in his eyes that would make most crumble at his feet. He walks over to the creature with steady strides until he’s standing before him. The siren glaring right back up at him, a smirk twitching onto his face, expressing his satisfaction.

“Whoops, sorry cap. Didn’t realize how weak your me—”

The siren chokes on his words as Maliks hand wraps completely around his throat. An iron grip, unyielding as he leans down closer to the sirens face. A cold fury brewing behind his gaze while the creature flails and gasps for air. His tail beating against the mast frantically. 

“If you dare to speak another word with that vile tongue fo yours, I will personally slice it out and force it down your throat. If that’s not enough to shut you up, I’ll cut off that tail of yours and feed you to the sharks. Got it, caviar?”

His voice was almost hushed, but didn’t lack the venom behind every word. Naturally making the siren tense as his glare falters from the combined threat and lack of oxygen. Maliks hand tightening around his neck hard enough to cause him to see stars and he reluctantly relented with a subtle nod. Enough for the hand to quickly retract and allow him to cough violently and heave for air. Maliks foreboding stance towering the fish creature while he watched with a sense of triumph that blossomed into pride as his grin plastered onto his face one more. For the first time in a long time, Malik found a thrill, something that made his heart race, something that made him tick. This siren, who had just backed down not even a few seconds ago, now scowling at him with a passion that was contagious.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for something like you to come along, little sea dragon.”

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Date: September 16, 2024