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content: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, past forced pregnancy, past noncon, lady whump, lady whumpee, child whumpee, minor whump, coercion, implied murder, emotional whump, manipulation, conditioned whumpee
It had been fourteen years.
Two months of Errol trying to get her pregnant.
Eight of carrying the child.
And about thirteen years of Adela accompanying her father on torture missions. It wasn't hard to see the signs. She did the laundry — she saw the blood splatter.
Sheila was… worn down. It was clear that Adela wanted pretty much nothing to do with her, spending all her free time with her father. She tried stepping in sometimes, but Adela's violent outbursts just got worse and worse. Sheila was… scared. Scared of Errol, in a way, though she tried to mask it. But now, she was also scared of her thirteen-year-old daughter. And that devastated her. That was her baby girl. Her sweet Adela. And she was scared.
One day, after Errol and Adela came home from their 'outing', and Sheila was in the laundry room, trying to get out blood stains from Adela's clothes, Errol called out to her and asked her to come to the living room.
"I'm in the middle of something," she called back. "Can it wait?"
"Mommy!" Adela's voice came from right outside the door. "It can't wait! Come on, come on!"
It had been a while since Adela sounded so enthusiastic about anything involving Sheila, so she found it hard not to oblige. She left the clothes soaking in the sink, wiped her hands on her pants, and exited the laundry room.
Adela seemed very happy. Whatever this surprise was, she knew it, and was excited about it. "What's this about?" Sheila asked her in a low voice as they made their way to the living room.
"You'll see!" she chirped. "It's gonna be so good! Mommy, I'm so excited."
Sheila smiled. It was as if she had her daughter back, even if only for a day, or a few hours.
They reached the living room, and Errol was standing there, hands behind his back, clearly hiding something from sight. "Sheila," he said with a gentle smile. "I'm sorry for interrupting whatever you were doing. Come here."
In this house, surprises were usually not of the pleasant kind. Sheila's stomach was in knots as she approached, but she did anyway, if only for her daughter. She wanted to keep Adela happy. "What's this about?" she asked again, this time from Errol.
Instead of answering, Errol got down on one knee. "Sheila, I should've done this way sooner, but to be frank, I didn't think you would stick around for so long. But now that I see your commitment to our family, it only seems right that I do this."
Sheila swallowed. He couldn't possibly be—
He pulled out a small box from behind his back and opened it. In it was an intricate ring, an expensive-looking one, and Sheila felt like she was going to faint. "Sheila, will you marry me?"
"No," she breathed. "You can't be serious."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Adela's smile drop. Sheila backed away from Errol, not taking her eyes off of him.
"You ruined my life. You groomed me. You knocked me up. You're training my daughter to be cruel and uncaring. A murderer, probably. And you have the nerve to ask me to marry you?"
Errol closed the box again, hiding the ring once more. He sighed. "I thought this might happen." He stood up.
"And you knew this?" Sheila asked, turning to Adela, who looked like she was on the brink of yet another outburst. "And you were okay with this? Do you have any idea what your father did to me?"
"You talk of this pregnancy like you never wanted me," Adela said. And what was there to say? She didn't want a child. She certainly didn't want a child with Errol. But she'd come to love her daughter more than anyone else in the world.
"It's complicated."
"You're making it complicated!" Adela snapped. "Just take the ring and marry Daddy so we can be a normal family!"
"This is not a normal family, and I'm sorry I can't play into your fantasy. You're only a kid, so I get that you don't understand the situation, but honestly, Adela, at 13, I thought you'd be a little more mature than this."
Adela trotted over to her, and before Sheila could've realised what she was about to do, she reeled her hand back and punched her in the stomach as hard as she could. And though she was only a child, it hurt.
"Marry Daddy!" she demanded as Sheila was doubled over, gasping for breath. "Marry him or leave! You're not part of this family unless you marry him!"
Adela had become more and more violent over the years, but she had never hit her. "Adela—"
"I don't care! I don't care that you don't like him! A proper family is when the parents are married! Everyone in my class has married parents! I want a normal family, and you're taking that away from me!"
"You're being manipulative," she pointed out after she'd righted herself.
"And you're just being stubborn! Daddy knew this would happen. I didn't want to believe him; I thought you had common sense. But maybe that was thinking too highly of you."
"I'm not going to tie my life to—"
"You already have a child with him! And you tied your life to his when you decided to stay here and be an absolute killjoy at every opportunity! You act like my mommy, but you don't want to marry Daddy, so you're not really my mommy."
Sheila felt cornered. She was living with Errol, that was true. And she didn't want to leave Adela, that was also true. And if this was the price she had to pay to be able to stay in her daughter's life, then… then…
"Okay," she said quietly. "I'll marry Daddy."
She looked up at Errol, and the insufferable smirk on his face almost made her backtrack. But she couldn't. Maybe this marriage would endear her to Adela a little, maybe she would listen to her more, maybe, maybe, maybe.
"Come here," Errol cooed. "Let me put the ring on you."
Adela watched like a hawk as Sheila approached Errol again and let him put the ring on her finger. She was now engaged. To a murderer. Adela cheered.
"Yay! Daddy said I'd be the flower girl on the wedding, let's go, let's go get a dress!"
"We don't even know when the wedding would take place—" Sheila tried.
"Soon!" Adela said enthusiastically. "Daddy said he already made preparations."
Sheila looked back at Errol quizzically. "Preparations? When you thought I wouldn't even accept the ring?"
"Well, I knew you wouldn't, at first. But I know you, Sheila — you would never let Adela down."
Adela. Her daughter, that just assaulted her minutes prior. Sheila closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "So when's the wedding?"
"Next week. I have everything planned out, except of course your part of the ceremony. You need a dress."
Her mind was reeling. Next week? And she needed to go wedding dress shopping? This was a nightmare.
"We can get in the car and go right now," Errol offered.
"Yes!" Adela said immediately. "Let's go, let's go!"
"I… I don't know…"
"Don't know what?" her daughter asked, dangerously demanding.
"This is all so fast, and, and I—" I don't want to marry Errol. Wasn't a child enough? "I need a moment to collect myself."
"Daddy always talks about how strong you are, you know," Adela said. "How that was what made him fall in love with you. But you don't seem strong right now."
Strong. Yes, Errol had said that about her many times. But she didn't feel strong right now. She hadn't felt strong in a long time. She wasn't the same Sheila that Errol 'fell in love with'. She was broken down, dejected, and it felt like life and her relationship with her daughter were slipping through her fingers.
But she had to be strong. For Adela.
"Okay," she said. "Let's go get dresses."
If the price she had to pay to remain in Adela's good graces was to take on Errol's last name and become a missus, if that was the price of potentially getting to be with her again, to talk to her, to play with her, to help her with schoolwork, to do all the things they used to do together… Then she'd do it. She'd do it for her.
"You will be a beautiful bride," Errol said, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her closer, and with Adela in the room, Sheila felt defenceless, like she couldn't even push him away, like she couldn't speak her mind.
"Let's just get it over with," she muttered.
Errol kissed the top of her head. She wanted to retch. "Enjoy this short engagement season. You're my fiance now. Isn't that exciting?"
Adela was bouncing around the room, repeating 'flower girl, flower girl,' and Sheila forced herself to focus on that instead of Errol's invasive touch. She even forced a smile.
"Yeah." If they were married, and something happened to Errol, she would at least inherit his money. Yeah, that was exciting. "Let's go get those dresses."
content: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, past forced pregnancy, past noncon, child whumpee, minor whump, lady whump, lady whumpee, emotional whump, manipulation, conditioned whumpee, domestic whump, child groomed to be a whumper
It had been ten years.
Two months of Errol trying to get her pregnant.
Eight of carrying the child.
And about nine years of her girl growing and maturing, and growing colder and colder towards her.
That day, Sheila was in the kitchen when the front door opened. She left the dishes and rushed to her daughter, desperate to get her away from Errol. Adela's hands were covered in what looked like dried blood that'd been attempted to be washed off.
"Sweetie!" Sheila said, tears already forming in her eyes. This wasn't her baby. This couldn't be her baby. Her baby wasn't a murderous... thing.
"Hi, Mommy," she said unenthusiastically. "Daddy and I are gonna go upstairs to talk."
"Don't you want to come chat with me in the kitchen? I'm in the middle of something, but I'd love to hear how your day went."
Adela regarded her with a distant look. "My day was okay." Then, noticeably more passionately, "Daddy, can we go now?"
"Yes, sweetheart. Go on ahead, I'll just talk to Mommy a little."
"Okay!" Adela ran upstairs, and Sheila was left standing there, soapy water still running down her forearms and dripping to the floor. Alone with Errol. Because it was either Errol, or Errol and Adela. She couldn't get her daughter alone anymore. She couldn't talk to her. She couldn't save her.
"Adela has talent," Errol began, and Sheila immediately held up a hand for him to stop.
"Don't. Just don't. I don't care for your twisted worldview. Why is my child covered in blood? Is it hers? Or somebody else's?"
"You know I would've taken care of her if it was hers."
"So you're making her participate in bloody activities. Constantly. Still. Despite me telling you to stop."
"Do you want to have this conversation for the hundredth time? Do you want us to go back to the days where you had to be chained up because you acted so crazy?"
"It is not acting crazy that I don't want my daughter to torture others," she hissed. "What are you telling her during those times? When you have her alone? What are you telling her about me? Why is she acting so hostile when I try to talk to her? We haven't had a proper chat in weeks. She just gives me evasive answers and runs to her room. Did you put something in her room that's that interesting?"
"Maybe you two are too similar," Errol mused. "Maybe your personalities are clashing."
"Or you're purposely making it so that she doesn't like me. I'm her mother. I love her. You can't take her away from me."
"It's her decision who she chooses to spend time with."
Sheila pursed her lips. Errol was right. Sheile had no right to force her presence on Adela, even if she was her daughter, even if Errol was dangerous, even if. Even if. Even if.
She didn't like Errol being right.
"I have a right to try to ensure her safety, as her mother," she said in the end. "And you," she went on, poking him in the chest, "are not safe."
Errol grinned. "Oh, Sheila. That fiery passion in you. That's what I fell in love with. That's what I wanted our daughter to inherit. And she did."
She wanted to punch him. "You finish the dishes. I'm going upstairs and talking to Adela."
"Adela wants to—"
"You know what? I don't care what Adela wants right now. She's an impressionable child, and I won't have her be taken advantage of. I'm going and talking to her."
Without waiting for a response, Sheila stomped off, up the stairs, into Adela's room. Adela was sitting on the bed and looked up with a bright smile, that immediately faltered when she saw who it was that entered. "Oh," she said, not bothering to hide her disappointment. "Mommy. Where's Daddy?"
"Daddy is finishing the dishes for me. Isn't he so nice?" Sarcasm was dripping from her words, and Adela pursed her lips just the same way as Sheila had done minutes ago.
"You always try to talk badly about Daddy, when he really is nice."
Sheila turned around and locked the door.
"What are you doing?" Adela asked.
"We're going to chat. And I don't want any interruptions."
Adela looked... scared. Scared of her? Had she ever given her a reason to be scared? She certainly didn't think so. She thought she even hid her outbursts directed towards Errol well enough so that Adela never had to see them. But maybe she'd heard. Or maybe Errol told her something. She didn't know. She didn't want her child to be scared of her.
Sheila walked over and sat on the bed. Adela scooched an inch further. "Adela, sweetie, what are you and Daddy doing when you two are alone? Or when you're with his friends?"
"I won't tell," she said, determined. "That is between me and Daddy. He always tells me that."
"You... Well, let's just confirm one thing, for a start. You're not being hurt, are you? Has anyone ever hurt you? Or made you uncomfortable?"
"Never! Daddy and his friends are always super nice to me. They even bring me sweets that I like!"
"Okay. That's good, at least. Now that that's out of the way—"
"I won't tell. You'd just get mad and I'd have to chain you up again."
Again.
Sheila thought back to the times Adela had chained her to radiators. Sometimes leaving her for half a day. Without food, without water. She doubted Adela spared her a second thought during those intervals. She was off having fun with Daddy.
"Adela, you need to tell me. Right now. I'm done beating around the bush, I'm done being polite about it. This is serious. Your hands are covered in dried blood. What have you done? What has Daddy made you do?"
Adela looked away. She hid her hands behind her back, as if that'd do anything by now. "I won't tell."
"Either tell me or I'm calling the police and they'll interrogate you properly!" Sheila snapped at her, and she immediately wanted to take it back. Not the words, but the tone. She had never yelled at Adela before.
"Call them!" Adela yelled back. She had never yelled at her before either. She'd thrown fits, sure, but she'd never directly yelled at Sheila.
Sheila buried her face in her hands. What was she doing? She was a bad mother. Maybe staying behind and trying to protect Adela was a foolish choice. Errol's voice rang in her ears: this child will grow up to have only known me. Maybe there was never anything Sheila could've done.
"Mommy?" came Adela's soft voice.
A sob escaped her lips. She was a bad mother. A worthless mother. She was nothing but an incubator for a baby she wouldn't get a say in raising. She was nothing.
"Mommy..." Adela scooched closer this time. "Are you crying? Crying is for... for weak people. I never... I never cry."
Sheila slowly lowered her hands to look at her. Adela seemed uncertain. She'd been made to hurt others, Sheila was sure of that, but maybe hurting her own mother felt different. She wished Adela would feel bad for everyone she might've hurt. Or that Errol might've hurt. This was such an impossible situation.
"People cry when they're hurt. Or scared," she said quietly. "And right now, I'm both hurt and scared. I'm hurt that you're pushing me away, and I'm scared that... that Daddy wants to take you away from me entirely."
Adela shook her head. "He says it's good you're here."
"So why have you been so cold to me recently?"
"Because it seemed like you wanted to take me away from Daddy! And I love Daddy!"
Adela wasn't wrong there. If she could, she would've grabbed Adela and run for the hills. But she couldn't.
"Daddy is not a good person, Adela."
"Yes he is! He loves me! He teaches me things! He brings me to martial art practice!"
"Daddy hurts people, doesn't he? And he makes you hurt people too."
Adela fell silent again. Errol may have instilled in her a strong will to keep quiet about the sorts of things they engaged in, but it wasn't that difficult to read between the lines of a nine-year-old.
"Hurting people is bad, Adela. Unless you're in a situation in which you have to protect yourself, hurting others is bad."
Adela was quiet for a minute or so. Her lip quivered. Sheila could tell she was trying hard not to cry.
"Sweetie..."
That broke the dam. Adela broke down sobbing. Sheila immediately embraced her, pulling her close. It had been so long since she could hold Adela like this. She couldn't help but think back to when Adela was just a little baby, and she'd held and cradled her.
"I love Daddy! And I love what we do together! But it hurts you! And that hurts me!" she wept. Sheila kept caressing her hair.
"You need to tell me everything, okay? Daddy tells you more than he ever does me. If we went to the police together—"
Adela pushed herself away and stood up. "No! This is why I don't talk to you as much anymore!" She reached up and grabbed fistfuls of her hair. "Daddy tells me bad things about Mommy, and Mommy wants me to tell on Daddy! I can't! I can't do this!"
"Adela—"
"I don't love you when you say things like this!" she cried, and Sheila felt her heart shatter into a million pieces.
"You don't...?"
Adela shook her head vigorously. "Why can't you and Daddy just get along?"
"Because Daddy is not a good person!"
"I'm leaving!" Adela ran to the door, but Sheila was quicker. She jumped up from the bed and ran to the door as well, keeping her daughter from unlocking it and leaving. "Let me go!"
"Adela, sweetie, listen to me—"
"Daddy!" she screamed. "Mommy won't let me leave the room! Daddy, help!"
Sheila's blood ran cold. She didn't know what Errol would do to her if he heard that. So she stepped back, and Adela fumbled with the key to get the door open, then ran outside. Sheila collapsed to her knees on the floor.
Her baby girl. Her sweet, innocent baby girl. She was being taken from her day after day, and every time she thought the distance between them closed an inch, it opened up a mile just seconds later.
Errol barged into the room and found her on the floor. He lectured her about something, something something false imprisonment, whatever. Sheila didn't care. He didn't hit her, he didn't even touch her. So that was a step up. He probably wasn't that mad.
"Leave her room," he said towards the end.
"Yeah," she said dejectedly.
"Now. We want to talk in here."
Sheila dragged herself to her feet. Just then, she saw that Adela was standing not far from the door, listening to the entire exchange. And she didn't say one word in her defence.
I don't love you when you say things like this!
She walked past Errol and Adela, out of the room. She heard the door close and lock behind her. She stumbled back to her bedroom and lay on the bed, thoughts swirling in her head. She was a failure.
curious, will we ever get to see Sheila and Errol pre-Adela?
Vodka-orange and Cigarettes
masterlist
content: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, grooming, lady whump, lady whumpee, child whumpee, minor whump, nothing explicit happens to her but it is very uncomfortable, substance use whump (alcohol)
"You're very mature for your age," the stranger at the bar said, and Sheila stifled a giggle. Well, she was. She was mature for a sixteen-year-old. That was why no one asked for her ID before handing out drinks to her. Of course, the stranger didn't know she was only sixteen — she'd lied and said she was nineteen.
"Well, I do hang around a lot of older people," she said with a smile. "What did you say your name was?"
"Errol," he said, returning the smile. "What brought you to the bar today? It's a Wednesday night."
"Oh, you know..." Sheila traced the rim of her shot glass with her finger. "I can let loose every now and then, even on a weekday. College classes are flexible."
"Mhm," he hummed, and for some reason, Sheila got the impression her lie wasn't working on him as well as it did on the bartender, so she felt the need to make it more specific, more believable.
"I study engineering at the local college," she said. "I'm a computer engineer."
"What classes are you taking this semester?"
Fuck.
"Oh, you know... The boring stuff. IT, uh, programming..."
"The music is pretty loud here, isn't it?"
"Yes," she agreed instantly, hoping she would be saved from admitting she wasn't in fact a college student.
"Do you want to go outside? I want to grab a smoke."
"Sure!"
And so she followed the nice and kind of hot stranger out of the bar into a back alley. She didn't feel threatened — she knew basic self-defence, and honestly, she was just happy she was being taken seriously despite her age.
"So, how old are you really?" Errol asked when they were outside, with a smile that told her she didn't need to keep up the college lie. He even held out the pack of cigarettes to her, like a peace offering. Like he didn't care she was underage. Like she was worth it.
"I'm nineteen, I told you," she said stubbornly, taking a cigarette as if to prove her point. "Why would you offer me a cigarette otherwise?"
"Age restriction on things like cigs and alcohol doesn't do much," Errol said with a shrug. When Sheila placed the cigarette in her mouth, he lit it for her. "Smart people, charming people, will find their way around them. You've been throwing back vodka-oranges for a while before I approached you. Nobody cares."
Well... Maybe it was safe to tell. Just to this one guy. "I'm sixteen," she muttered, blowing out cigarette smoke. "But that doesn't mean I'm a kid, okay? I am mature. I mean, have you seen these?" She pushed her chest forward, and Errol laughed. She smiled to herself. She could make older men laugh. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Thirty-nine."
Woah. And he was dressed nice, too. She glanced at his hands — no wedding ring. Even if he had one, Sheila knew she was a better catch than most women. "What brings you to the bar on a Wednesday?"
"Well, you know, I study computer engineering, and college is flexible—" Sheila punched him in the arm. Not that hard, but Errol pretended to be seriously hurt. "So it's a one-way street?"
"It most definitely is. By the way, I will be studying that. Computer engineering. I was telling the truth, just a couple years early."
"Of course. Well, to tell you the truth, my work is flexible. I don't have anything planned for tomorrow, so I thought I'd drop by, see if anyone interesting was around."
Sheila was interesting. Her heart fluttered. "And you found the one."
"I found a lying kid."
She hit him again, stronger this time. "I told you, I'm not a kid!"
Errol rubbed the spot where her fist had connected with his arm, giving her an apologetic smile. "Of course, of course."
"What kind of flexible work do you do, Mr. Fancy?"
Errol dropped his cigarette and stepped on it to put it out. "I can tell you all about it at my place, if you're interested."
Sheila laughed. When Errol didn't, she realised he was serious. "What, you think I'm gonna go to a stranger's house in the middle of the night?"
"What, your parents wouldn't approve?" he teased, and this time, when Sheila went to hit him, he grabbed her by the wrist. He was strong.
"My parents don't have anything to do with this," she mumbled, suddenly a little flustered. "I'm just not an idiot."
"I know you're not, Sheila," he stepped closer, still holding her by the wrist. "I trust your judgment. Do you deem me safe enough to visit?"
Maybe it was the closeness, or the alcohol in her system, but she felt a little more daring than a moment ago. She looked up into his eyes. "Let go of me, then we can talk."
"I'm barely holding you," he murmured. "Can you not just pull your hand away?"
She tried. She couldn't.
"It must be the alcohol," she said. Then, without missing a beat, she raised her leg and kneed him in the crotch.
Errol did not expect that. He let go and doubled over. Sheila stood there triumphantly.
"Would a kid do that?" she asked, and a giggle escaped her lips. Errol groaned and straightened up again, giving her a strained smile.
"I take that as a 'yes' to my invitation."
"We'll see if your car's as fancy as your clothes, and then I'll decide."
"A gold digger in the making, are you?"
"I just know what's worth my time."
"Well, I'll lead the way, then. But if you throw up in the backseat—"
"I'm riding shotgun." Sheila threw her own cigarette away and stomped on it. "And I want another cigarette."
You can tell a lot about a person by entering their mind palace and encountering their greatest fears and darkest hopes in a labyrinth reflective of their subconscious thoughts.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i didn't want to write anything from povs like this, i wanted to exclusively tell the story from sheila's pov so the reader never really gets to know what is happening... but i can't resist. so here's a peak behind the curtains
masterlist
content: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, child whumpee, minor whump, child whumper, lady whump, lady whumpee, lady whumper, sadistic whumper, restraints, gagged, dehumanisation, gore, eye gore, knives, stabbing, gutting, dismemberment, child groomed to become a whumper
Jack woke up in a daze. He didn't know where he was, and when he tried to move, he found he couldn't. The dim lighting in the— wherever he was illuminated two figures before him. He wanted to call out to them for help, but his mouth had been taped shut.
Panic was starting to set in.
"He's awake, Daddy!" the... child? said. Was this a father-daughter duo?
"I can see that, sweetheart. Thank you."
Whatever was going on was not right. Something was horribly, horribly wrong, and Jack didn't know why, or how this had happened, and tears quickly started welling in his eyes.
"Can I remove the tape? I like talking to them," the girl who must not have been older than 10 said. Jack nodded eagerly; maybe he could talk his way out of whatever hostage situation he'd found himself in.
"Go ahead," he said, and the girl skipped and hopped over to the chair, reached up, and tore the tape off his mouth in one swell swoop. It stung, and Jack couldn't stifle a pained groan.
"Don't start with the noises yet," the girl said in a chastising tone. "It's not time yet. Men are supposed to be strong. Only weak people—"
"Help me," Jack cut in, desperate. "Please. Tell your daddy to release me. Please, little girl."
There was something wrong with the girl. She didn't look at all innocent, and her half-a-monologue was very out of place as well, but she was Jack's only chance. There was no way he could convince her father to let him go, if he'd already gone through the trouble of kidnapping a person.
"My name is Adela," she said, ignoring the pleas. Yet again, she sounded chastising, like he was supposed to know that.
"Adela, please, I don't know what's going on, I am very scared—"
Adela giggled and stepped back. Jack tugged against the ropes holding him tied to the chair, to no avail. "I'll tell you what's going on!"
It was so eerie, the way her father did basically nothing but supervise. Supervise as his young daughter talked to a captive in a basement. He could only assume it was a basement.
"Daddy kidnapped you because you were silly and went on a midnight walk alone!"
Her tone was cheery, her demeanour was somehow both child-like and beyond her age, and all Jack wanted to do was pinch himself to wake up from this nightmare. "That's it?" he asked, tears streaming down his face now. "That's my crime? That I took a walk?"
"You're so pathetic," she said, and he could tell she got the vocabulary from her father. "Why are you crying? I haven't even done anything yet."
"And you won't, right? You won't do anything? You and Daddy just wanted to scare me a little, right?"
Adela laughed. "Daddy would never run a pointless errand like that! And where is the fun in just catching something and releasing it immediately? We're not fishers!"
The dehumanisation in her language didn't go unnoticed, and it just set Jack more and more on edge. Something in his mind was telling him this wasn't the girl's first time in this basement with someone captive.
"Listen to me, Adela," he pleaded, and she stopped laughing, listening intently. "What you're doing right now is very, very bad. It's a crime, and it can get you locked up in a very bad place."
"Nope!" she said in a sing-song voice. "I'm too young to be held criminally responsible!"
How did she know those words?
"It can get Daddy locked up, since he's your father," he tried again, from another angle.
"Can I tell you a secret?" she asked, rocking back and forth on her heels and toes, hands clasped behind her back. The very picture of child-like innocence, in cirtumstances that were anything but.
"Adela," her father cut in, apparently knowing what she was about to say.
Adela turned back towards her father. "What? Does it matter if he knows? He's not leaving this basement in one piece."
Jack's blood froze in his veins. She said it so casually.
"I suppose that's true," he relented. "Fine, sweetie. Go ahead."
"Yay!" Adela turned back to him and walked over so she could whisper in his ear. He didn't know why that was necessary, since the only other person in the room already knew what she was going to say. "Daddy knows all the police in town. He's good friends with them. People have tried to get him in trouble before, but he knows what to say and who to call. You will never get anywhere."
Then, she skipped back to the centre of the room, smiling sweetly at him. Jack was stunned.
"S-So there's— there's nothing I can do?" he stammered out. "I'm going to die?"
"Yep! But look on the bright side," she said, holding up a finger, "you'll be good practice for me!"
"I have a wife! And two kids!" Jack sobbed. "My youngest is about as old as you are, Adela. What would you do if someone ripped your daddy away from you and killed him in a basement?"
"Nobody would do that to Daddy, because he is strong, and he knows all the right people, and he's careful!"
"Don't you have a smidgen of empathy?"
The smile disappeared from Adela's face. It was like she suddenly ceased to be a little girl, assuming the personality and expression of something ancient and terrifying, something Jack never wanted to see in a dark basement.
"I don't have empathy for low-lives like you," she said, deadpan. "You're nothing but a sack of meat for me to butcher. You're garbage, picked up from the street to make it cleaner. Your family won't miss you. Nobody will."
It sent shivers down Jack's spine. This girl was no ordinary girl, she was a monster. Maybe trying to convince the dad would be a better move after all? But as he raised his head to look at the dad, he found him smiling at his girl with pride.
No. It was definitely him who had trained her.
"Adela—"
"Let's start!" she said, cheeky grin returning to her face. She hopped over to a table Jack hadn't noticed in the dark, picking up an instrument he couldn't see in the dim lighting. It was only when she walked back to the centre of the room, under the one working light bulb, that he could see it was a butcher's knife. Was she... serious about the butcher comment? "Daddy says that even though my attempts in the past failed, because I wasn't strong enough, I should continue trying and seeing if I can finally sever limbs!"
"Adela, listen to me—"
"What do you want cut off first? Hands or feet?"
Jack felt like he was sweating blood. The light reflected off the blade and Jack could see tiny spots of what must've been dried blood on there. It looked sharp. And though Adela's tiny arms were not particularly muscular, he had no doubt in his mind that she could do a lot of damage with a butcher's knife.
"If you don't choose, I'll choose," she said, with the smile of a cat who got the cream.
"Do you want to start with that?" her father cut in, and Jack held his breath. What other thing was there to start with that wasn't even worse than this? "Remember last time? Chopping them up is usually the last thing we do. Don't you want to try out some other things first?"
"But I want to see if I've become stronger!" Adela whined, like... well, like a child.
"Patience is a virtue."
Adela lowered the butcher's knife. "Fine," she said, pouting.
"What are you going to do?" Jack asked, petrified.
"I guess I can start by gouging your eyes out," she said, like it was a chore.
"You what?"
Adela went back to the table and put the knife down. She didn't pick up anything else. Was she going to— to do it by hand? She was going to gouge his eyes out?
"Adela! Adela, please, I don't know what your daddy told you, but this is wrong, this is—"
"Open wide! Your eyes, I mean. I know doctors usually say that about your mouth." She approached him, and Jack immediately squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could.
"Adela, no!"
The girl laughed again. "They always do this, Daddy, don't they? I wonder if it's because I'm small. Whenever you give orders, they seem to follow them a lot better."
"You'll get there," her father said encouragingly.
Adela pried one of his eyes open, then took her thumb and dug into the inner corner of his eye, and he screamed, and there was blood, and suddenly he couldn't see out of his left eye anymore. The pain was unbearable, and Jack thought he might pass out from just imagining what the damage must've looked like.
"That's one down," he heard her say over the sound of his laboured breathing. "Daddy says there are bad people out there. People who look at little girls like me with bad intentions. You will never look at anything ever again."
She pried his other eye open and repeated the process, leaving Jack fully blind and reeling from pain. His tears were mixing with the blood.
"Adela... Adela, please..." he said, but at this point, he knew it was futile. She was cruel. A monster, created and engineered to be as demonic as humanly possible, likely from a young age. "Please, stop..."
"If I'm not allowed to chop you up yet, I want to feel you," she said, and though he couldn't see her anymore, he heard her walk over to the table. "Daddy likes this part best, he told me. So I like it too. I mean, not like... I don't just like it because Daddy does. I like it myself. From myself. By myself."
"Please, no..."
"I will cut across your tummy so your guts spill out," she said with a girlish giggle. Jack thought back to his wife. To his kids. They would never see him again. And though Adela said they wouldn't miss him, he knew they would. And they would keep wondering. Would his wife think he'd left of his own volition? "Ready? Set, go!"
Sharp pain exploded in his stomach. He had been stabbed. And then the girl started dragging the knife across, and Jack screamed, and screamed, and screamed until there was no air left in his lungs.
Then she started... fondling his insides. There was no other way to describe it. The sounds were absolutely horrifying, paired with that persistent giggle, and Jack was suddenly glad he didn't have eyes to see this with anymore.
"So warm," Adela commented. "It would be nice to crawl inside another human on a winter night. Have you ever thought about that?"
There was nothing but pained moans and groans coming from Jack anymore. He didn't understand how he hadn't passed out yet.
"Daddy, he stopped talking. Does that mean I can try to chop him up now?"
A sigh. "I suppose so."
"Yay!"
The small, curious hands retreated, and Jack was left there in the dark, with his guts spilling out onto his crotch and the chair underneath.
"I'll be good at this one day," Adela's voice came from close up, and Jack could only assume she had the butcher's knife in hand. "Like, really good. Daddy will be proud. Mommy... Mommy doesn't have to know."
So there was one sane parent at home. Good to know, Jack thought distantly.
"One, two, three!" The knife came down on his left wrist, and he screamed again. "Aw... It didn't go all the way through."
"Try again, sweetheart. That was a good blow."
"Okay!"
And that marked the beginning of Jack's last minutes spent conscious. Blow after blow to his extremities, Adela missing and having to retry, then finally severing some limbs... It was torture, plain and simple, even if she didn't intend for this part to be.
Hello and welcome everyone! This year, as it has in the past few years, we are celebrating Whumpmas (in July). With the original hosts' blessing and two new hosts/mods: @set-phasers-to-whump and @yet-how-they-creep
We are working day and night to make it happen as smoothly and professionally as it runs every year, the prompts will be announced in a day or two (before the 1st of the month, don't worry).
The rules stay the same: tag your works with #whumpmasinjuly2026 and #whumpmasinjulyday[X] and mention @whumpmasinjuly-archive so we can find and reblog your submissions.
For FAQ and more in depth rules take a look at the old account: @whumpmasinjuly
Stay tuned and help us get the word out, so everyone can find this blog!
black whumpees. black whumpees who were raised in a lab/living weapon facility/something to that effect and never had anyone teach them how to take care of their hair and always just had it roughly untangled with no regard for their pain meeting caretaker (also black) who knows how to do wonderful cornrows in whimsical patterns and softly comb their hair with more gentleness than they've ever known before. black whumpees with a creepy whumper who thinks their eyes—dark as the night, just as deep, just as starry, just as infinite—are the most beautiful thing on the world. black pet whumpee with a godawful no-good whumper who forces them to speak "proper" (= standard english or their setting's equivalent, whumper's definition of unproper being AAVE/ebonics) and who finally finds a safe space to let go and speak normally during recovery. black whumpee who got their hair forcefully cut/shaved in captivity getting to wear bright, beautiful extensions and braids to try and make up for what was lost, now that they have the freedom to. black whumpee snatched up and raised in captivity and isolated from their culture being tended to by a community who helps them reconnect with the lost time, good food making them tear up with nostalgia longing for a time they barely remember existed.
black whumpees in all shades of skin from bronze terracota to the deepest mahogany & with all kinds of hair from a curly cloud of sheep's wool to a fluffy, looser kind of curls & black whumpees in all shapes & sizes & all kinds of gender and sexuality or lack thereof & as robots and fairies and angels and vampires from all kinds of backgrounds & with all kinds of trauma. yes please.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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There’s something that makes me go insane and it’s the image of someone cradling a dead body tenderly. They’re already gone but you still try to comfort them. They’re already gone but while the warmth in their body still remains you can pretend. They’re already gone and you were too late but still you hold them like your kindness can bring them back.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I'm sorry this was so late my friend, work got crazy 🥲 I got @a-rat-named-corban's boy Corry for the latest @whump-art-exchange's whump exchange 2026! This poor guy got caught by the Joker (crowbar because if you know you know)
content: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, lady whump, lady whumpee, past noncon, past trauma, slut-shaming, child whumpee, threat of self-harm, restraints, broken bones mention, minor whump, grooming a child to be okay with torture and participate in it
It had been seven years.
Two months of Errol trying to get her pregnant.
Eight of carrying the child.
And about six years of the baby being trained like some sort of attack dog.
Adela hadn't gone to kindergarten, because Errol wanted to keep her home as long as possible. And with enough money, you could do basically anything you want. She would've been homeschooled as well, starting this year, but Sheila managed to shed enough tears and beg him pitifully to let Adela attend a real school. She wasn't equipped to teach her at home, and she wanted Adela to interact with other kids her age instead of hanging around Errol and his 'friends'.
It turned out to be a bad idea.
Adela came home from her first day of school with red, puffy eyes, and she slammed the front door so hard that Sheila jumped. "Adela?" she called, and her daughter walked into the living room and threw her schoolbag on the floor.
"I'm never going back!" she cried. Sheila was by her side in an instant.
"Adela, sweetie, what happened? Did someone say something to you?"
"It's your fault!" she went on. Sheila was taken aback. "Everyone knows you're a whore!"
How Adela even knew that word, Sheila didn't understand. And what… what even was this about? How did people know something like that, when it wasn't true? "Sweetie, let's sit down."
"I don't want to sit with you!"
"Please, let's sit."
Adela huffed and puffed but eventually took a seat on the couch. Sheila sat next to her. "Can you explain what you think a 'whore' is?"
"Someone like you! Who had sex super young and got pregnant! Everyone knows that's what you did, everyone calls you a whore, everyone says I'm gonna become a whore too!"
Rape culture was well and good, Sheila thought distantly. Victim blaming too. She didn't have a choice. Errol had made the decision that as a forty-year-old man he would go after her, a teen, and get her pregnant. She didn't have a choice. She couldn't run. She couldn't fight off someone twice her size. She couldn't abort when Adela was just a little fetus in her womb. She didn't have a choice in any of it.
"A 'whore' is a bad word used to describe sex workers," Sheila said as calmly as she could. "Sex workers are people who offer sexual services for money. Did I do that?"
"I don't know."
"I didn't. Will you do that?"
"No!"
"Then you won't be a 'whore'. But that's a bad word, Adela. Derogatory. Do you know what that means?"
Adela shook her head.
"It means it belittles those it's used against. Do you want to belittle others? Do you want to belittle me?"
Adela looked away. Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks. "It's your fault. All of it is your fault."
Sheila's heart was breaking for her. Errol had ruined both of their lives. Speaking of Errol, she wouldn't have been surprised to learn he had planted the seed in the kids' heads about her, that he somehow played a role in everyone knowing she was a teen mum.
But maybe the most horrible aspect of all of this was seeing how Adela looked at her with less and less love as the days passed. She didn't outright say she wanted to belittle Sheila, but Sheila wasn't sure she would've said no. Her outbursts were becoming more and more frequent as well.
"I can go in and talk to your homeroom teacher about bullying," Sheila offered.
"Yeah, right. And make it worse. I dealt with it."
Sheila froze. There was something about how she said that that made her afraid. "You dealt with it?"
"Yes."
"How, sweetie?"
"I pushed Claudio off the stairs when we were going to recess. Nobody saw it was me, I made it look like he just tripped and fell. Nobody believed him when he said he was pushed."
"Adela, that's… That's not a good thing to do."
Adela reached down and pulled something small out of her sock. It was a Swiss blade. "I could've used this. I will if he says something again."
Sheila snatched the Swiss blade right out of her daughter's hand. "Adela! Are you insane?" She regretted saying that as soon as the words left her mouth. But she was so flabbergasted, she was so— terrified.
"Give that back! Daddy gave that to me!"
"You're not getting it back! I'm putting this away, and you're definitely not bringing it to school, and you're most definitely not hurting others with it!"
"Claudio deserves it!"
"We're going over to Claudio's house right now, and you're going to apologise for pushing him down the stairs!"
"We can't."
"What?"
"Claudio's not home."
"Where— where is he?"
"In the hospital. He broke his arm when he fell."
Sheila closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. There was no remorse in Adela's voice. She didn't even know why she expected it, after all of this. "Okay. I'm going to school with you tomorrow, and we'll see if Claudio comes. If he does, and if he's dropped off by his mother, we'll talk to them."
"I'm not talking to him."
"You are, and you will admit to what you did, and you will apologise."
"Daddy wouldn't make me do this!" Adela snapped. "Daddy would be proud that I dealt with it on my own, without any help from any of you!"
"Well, Daddy isn't home. So unfortunately, you're stuck with the worse parent."
"Yeah, a whore parent."
Adela was too young for discussions of rape, Sheila told herself for the hundredth time. This wasn't the time to explain it. It wasn't. No matter how much she wanted to defend herself, this just wasn't the time. "Grab your bag and go to your room. I'm not taking you out of school just because you had one bad first day. You're going back tomorrow."
"Just wait until Daddy comes home."
"I don't care what Daddy says!" she snapped back, and once again, she regretted it as soon as she'd done it. She took another deep breath. "Daddy and I disagree on most things. I don't doubt he will be excited to hear this story of yours, but that doesn't mean what you did was right."
Just then, the front door opened. Errol walked in.
"Daddy!" Adela jumped off the couch and ran over to him to give him a big hug. She didn't hug Sheila anymore. "Mommy is being really mean to me! But I know you won't be! Can we go out?"
"No," Sheila said from the couch.
"Why does Mommy have your knife?" Errol asked when he saw her holding it.
"She took it away!"
Errol gave her a look. Sheila didn't care. He admired her strong will and personality so much, she would get a piece of it today. "I took it away because she threatened to hurt a classmate with it. Which, I assume you'd agree, is bad."
"Well, what did that classmate do?"
"He called Mommy a whore and said I'd grow up to be a whore as well!" Adela said, filling him in. "But I dealt with it. I pushed him down the stairs and he broke his arm. I made it look like an accident."
Errol ruffled her hair. "That's my girl."
Of course he would do that. Adela was beaming now, tears long forgotten. "Can we go out now?" she repeated, and Sheila wanted to tear her hair out. She hated these outings. She hated the violence Adela was exposed to, ever since she was a baby. She hated that her daughter was growing up to be cruel. "I can chain Mommy up for you."
Sheila's eyes widened. Adela had never said that before. "Adela—"
"I think that's a good idea," Errol cut in. "Bring me the chains and the lock."
Adela ran off. Errol walked over to her, still sitting on the couch, and grabbed her wrist, twisting the knife out of it. "This is Adela's, I believe," he said with a smirk. "So I'm giving it back to her."
"You're raising a monster," she hissed.
"I got it!" Adela yelled as she ran back into the room with the chains and lock.
"Good. To the radiator, just like I do," Errol instructed, and Adela walked over and grabbed Sheila by the hand to lead her to it.
"Come on, Mommy."
Sheila wasn't moving. She wasn't about to be chained to the radiator by her own child. With her dad's approval.
"Mommy!" she repeated, and Sheila recognised it as the beginning of a temper tantrum.
"Mommy doesn't want to be chained," she said calmly. "And Mommy doesn't want you to keep going out with Daddy."
Adela turned to Errol. Errol looked back at her in a sort of 'well, what will you do now?' way. He wanted to test her. Whether she could do what she'd set out to do.
Adela began crying. "Mommy doesn't love me!" she bawled. Sheila knew this was an attempt at emotional manipulation — Adela knew well that she hated so see her cry, and would indulge her when it happened. But not this time.
"Mommy loves you very much, sweetie, but I won't be chained."
Adela kept weeping and tugging on her hand for a few minutes, and while Sheila's heart was breaking, she wasn't budging. The tears stopped almost in an instant when Adela realised they weren't working. It was scary.
"Daddy?" Adela asked.
"Yes, sweetheart."
"Give me my knife."
Sheila's heart was racing as she watched Errol hand her the knife. Adela made the blade pop out, and Sheila was about to get up and literally run out of the room— when Adela placed the blade against her own arm. "If you won't let me chain you up, I'll hurt myself, Mommy."
Sheila just sat there. Bewildered. Reeling. Before she knew it, she stood up and walked with Adela to the radiator. Adela chained her right hand to it, then popped the lock in place. Then, she put the Swiss blade back into her unicorn pattern sock.
"Good job, Adela," Errol praised, and Sheila was too shocked to say a word. "Now, let's go. I'll buy you some ice cream on the way."
"Mommy said I need to apologise to Claudio," Adela said in a tone that was so clearly looking for her dad to completely contradict Sheila and get her out of the obligation.
"The kid who said those awful things? Oh, no, sweetheart. You did what you had to do. Kid had it coming."
"Yay!" she said, bouncing after Errol. "I love you, Daddy."
