saccharine-suffering
the silliest of guys
• she/they/xe • 18 • latina • autistic • lesbian • if you try to argue with me about moral purity i will kill you ♡ •
315 posts
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Notes From The Decline
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the flinch that betrays a defiant whumpee’s terror
the curse that’s broken off by a plea
a small shudder that they fail to suppress
the choked breathing in between the sarcastic comments
what good is their defiance when whumper kicks their legs out from under them, leaving them on their hands and knees?
The blood on the concrete is their own and whumper kicks them when they’re down.
“Do you think I’d forgotten?” Whumper smiles and leans down. “Do you think I’d forgotten how to make you bleed?”
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The villain scrambled back, bloodied and bluffing through their fear with a shaky false grin.
“If you kill me, you’re just as bad as I am.”
The hero’s face was calm, eyes alight with cruel amusement as they continued to approach. They had no intention of killing the villain. They had no intention of showing mercy, either.
“I won’t kill you. Not because I’m better than you - no,” the hero crouched before their cowering nemesis, “I am so much worse.”
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A drug-induced bedridden Whumpee.
They know the food and water Whumper offers them is laced with a sedative, but they don’t have the strength to refuse it. Their limbs are too heavy in their restraints. They can hardly string a sentence together, much less fight anyone off. Whumper guides Whumpee’s head, tilts the bowl to their lips, and warns them to swallow.
Whumpee does.
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tw past trauma, conditioned whumpee, dehumanisation, de-conditioning (gone wrong?), manipulation
“I… I’m not sure about this. It feels kinda mean.”
“I’m literally asking you to do it,” Whumpee said, rolling their eyes a little. Despite their attempts to seem nonchalant, though, it was very clear that they were nervous about this. “Please. I can’t live my life like– this. If I’m outside while some fucker is training his dog, I– it’s embarrassing. I need to do something about it.”
“And you think re-triggering yourself is… the way to go.”
“It’s exposure therapy. I don’t get why you’re the one being so weird about it. You’re not even the one who’s about to do the heavy lifting.”
Caretaker sighed, still uneasy about the concept. “I just don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I don’t want to be rude, I don’t want to do any of that. I want you to be okay.”
“Well, I need this to be even remotely okay.”
Caretaker bit their lower lip as they thought about it, trying to convince themself this was fine, and they shouldn’t be making a fuss about it. Whumpee was right, they had to get over it at some point. It was just… Caretaker didn’t imagine they would be the one doing any sort of therapy. “Okay,” they said softly. “Um… then, uh, do you wanna start on the floor, or–”
“No. Come on. Tell me to– say the command.”
Fuck, this was so uncomfortable. Caretaker took a deep breath and closed their eyes. “Alright. Kneel.”
The sound of Whumpee’s knees hitting the floor followed just a few moments after. It wasn’t really a conscious reaction, from what Caretaker understood. It was instinctual. Reflex. They opened their eyes to see their friend looking at the carpet, flexing and unflexing their hands that were resting on their thighs.
“Can you get up?” Caretaker asked gently.
“I… Of course…” Whumpee swallowed audibly, and made no move to actually get to their feet. “I just need a moment…”
“This was a bad idea.”
“No! No, I can do this. This is so stupid. I can do this. I need you to repeat the command whenever I start getting up, though. Please.”
“I shouldn’t–”
“Can you just help me for once? Instead of coddling me endlessly? I want my fucking life back!”
Caretaker flinched a little at the yelling. “S-sorry. You’re right. Um… Go ahead, then.”
Whumpee slowly took their hands from their lap and placed them on the floor, then made an attempt at pushing themself to their feet. Caretaker hated to do this. They hated seeing their friend on their knees, they hated ordering them around like an animal. But what else was there to do? Whumpee had asked them for help.
“Kneel,” they repeated quietly. Whumpee’s resolve crumbled immediately, and they sat right back down: back straight, hands in their lap, perfect as ever. They seemed embarrassed by it. “If at any point you’d like to stop–”
“I can do this,” Whumpee insisted. “I can do this. They’re just words. Stupid words.”
They tried to get up again. Caretaker sent them back to the floor with a single word. They tried to get up. Caretaker told them to kneel. It was awful. It was so bad. Whumpee started crying after the fourth time, and Caretaker just couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’m done,” they said, tears in their eyes. “I’m not doing this to you.”
“What the fuck?” Whumpee snapped. “You said you’d help!”
“And I said I didn’t want to hurt you!” they yelled back. “You’re sobbing! I’m not doing this. I want you to get better, and I’ll pay for as many therapy sessions as I can, but I’m not doing this.” They turned around and stormed off, wiping their eyes as they went.
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you know what I love?
a fucking maintenance beating.
whumpee didn’t do anything wrong, at least, not that they can remember. but tracing back in their memories is hard when they’re constantly getting kicked into the ground.
but this isn’t a punishment. they’ve been perfectly well behaved, as a matter of fact.
no, this beating isn’t corrective. it’s preventative.
whumper just does it to keep them in line.
#oh this is some#good soup#just reminding them of their place#leaving whumpee on the floor#wondering what they did wrong#<3 <3 <3
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i love the phrase "cruel and unusual." not only is what you're doing mean but it's also quite frankly fucking bizarre
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whumpee is locked in a cell with one of whumper's other victims. the other person is dying.
speaking with what little strength they have left, the dying person asks if whumpee will let them pretend they're their [partner/sibling/friend], just for a moment. they'll be gone soon, so they won't be a bother for too long. they're just scared and miss their family.
whumpee allows it. they let this dying stranger lay their head in their lap and pretend they're someone else, as whumpee silently strokes their hair and hopes they don't suffer too much.
true to their word, it's only a minute or two at most before the dying person mumbles the name of their loved one under their breath, and then goes still and quiet in whumpee's lap.
and now whumpee is locked in this cell with a corpse until whumper comes back.
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She slumped against the wall, blood spattered all around her, soaking her clothes. She could feel the exit wound more than she could see it. Legs turned limp, too shocked to hold her weight, splayed out in front of her as she took several ragged breaths.
And then, he was approaching, his shadow darkening her before he appeared in her field of vision, looming over her and staring down with a cold sneer. She looked up at him, and he aimed his pistol directly at her, clicking the safety off.
“Good,” she breathed. “You fucking missed the first time.”
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I love super strong/jacked caretakers with weak or tiny whumpees, especially with the Whumpee-thinks-caretaker-is-their-new-master trope.
The whole “I just have to pray that they mean it when they say they’re not going to hurt me because it would be so easy for them”
“They could kill me without even trying.”
“They’re only being so merciful because they know I’m too weak to fight back so they don’t need to waste their time…”
And of course the caretaker-uses-their-strength-for-good and beats whumpers ass, and suddenly whumpee realizing that, yes, caretaker was a formidable master, but…a protective one too.
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chain him to a chair and make him cry just from the sight of all the different instruments of torture. lined up neatly like an operating room. give him time to look at them and imagine how it'd feel, and not know whether to beg not that one or accept it out of fear of what else might be chosen
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person: if you enjoy darkfic then you're a bad person and fiction should reflect morality
me: whump whump
#get it like#womp womp#pun courtesy of my darling gf#whump shitpost#aslo sorry for disappearing again#its nit my fault im literally just a girl#more coming soon i prommy
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Whump prompt XVIII
Caretaker is trying to buy whumpee to free them.
Only they cannot afford the asking price, so they're left haggling down whumpee's value, picking out every conceivable flaw and arguing with the seller that whumpee really isn't worth that - all fully within earshot of whumpee.
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Drugged whumpees my BELOVED. All dizzy and out of it, leaning against whumper for support. Looking at Whumper with hazy-eyed fear, their words slurred when they ask what whumper's done to them <3
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Playing Dolls - 1
TW: Alcohol, vomiting, graphic violence, needles, kidnapping.
Word count: 1k
- ♡ -
Ethan knows better than to walk home alone in the dark.
It’s not a good city for crime, he knows that. If it weren’t, rent wouldn’t be so cheap. Was this the street that they found that dismembered corpse on last week? For the sake of Ethan’s peace of mind, he’s gonna say it’s not. Normally, he wouldn’t ever walk home at this hour, not alone, not through this neighborhood. But he hadn’t expected Jason to go home with a girl and bail on him by the second bar they hit. And he has the audacity to call Ethan an easy fuck? Maybe Ethan just needs better friends. He didn’t even want to go to this bar, but Jason insisted that it had the cheapest vodka shots in the southwest.
He braced himself on the crumbling brick wall of the defunct warehouse beside him, trying to settle his stomach from the nausea. He shouldn’t have had that much to drink. Jason wasn’t lying when he said it was cheap vodka. You could probably give yourself an overdose for less than fifty bucks there. Did it really only take five shots to have him clutching his gut in the alleyway? He remembered college when he could shoot ten shots before he'd end up on the ground. And what did he get for his troubles? Debt and an English Degree. And probably irreparable liver damage.
He wanted to walk home as opposed to calling a ride for the sake of getting some fresh air. That turned out really well for him, didn’t it? The atmosphere, suffocatingly dense and oppressive, clung to him like a shroud, making the inside of that overcrowded club seem like a haven in comparison. The fog was too heavy for him to see more than fifteen feet ahead of him. His only companions were the echoes of his own heavy footsteps and the haunting whistle of a distant train, a mournful cry that seemed to resonate with the eerie emptiness of the night.
How much did he have to drink again? His ears are ringing and he’s seeing double. He better not pass out on the street. Maybe it would be a good idea to just call a cab and deal with the overdraft on his card later. He doubled over himself when the swirling in his stomach finally pushed him over the edge. A wretched, violent expulsion, a repulsive cleansing that brought a strange relief. The acidic taste lingered on his tongue, but the tormenting waves of nausea that had previously threatened to capsize him were now mercifully subdued. At least with his stomach empty, he can finish this cursed walk–
Whose footsteps did he hear before?
Ethan wasn’t walking. He was too busy trying (and failing) not to puke. So then whose footsteps were that? His blurred vision searched the fog to see who was there with him. The echo of the footsteps led his eyes to the shadow that seemed to be getting closer. He attempted to take off running, but his legs felt like putty beneath him. His attempts at escape only served to knock him off his feet. Soon enough, the shadow took the form of a person, around the same height as Ethan himself, give or take a couple inches, oppressively cornering him.
“H-hey, man, I don’t want trouble.” Ethan managed to slur, backing himself even further into the wall. He fumbled for his back pocket when he saw they weren’t walking away. “You can take my wallet if you want, there’s nothing in there, but you can have it.” But instead of taking the wallet, the figure seized Ethan’s wrist. Panic swelled up in Ethan’s chest the second skin made contact. As best he could in his heavily drunken state, he tried to thrash out of the grip. Soon enough, both of his wrists were taken and he was pinned back against the cold bricks.
“NO! Fuck, help! Someone–!” His pleas were quickly cut off by a heavy impact from a knee into his stomach. Coughing up yet more bile as the impact disturbed the fragile balance in his gut, he collapsed onto his hands and knees. Fuzzy vision peeked up at the assailant. It didn't take long at all for his neck to give in, letting his skull press to the cracking pavement.
Footsteps circled around him as the heavy combat boots disappeared from his line of sight. Warm hands pushed his head to the side and pulled down his collar, exposing his neck to whatever this freak wanted it for. A whimper involuntarily pushed itself past his lips as the sound of bags landing on the ground and zippers moving filled his ears.
“Please… why…?” He managed to squeak out. For a mere second, the calculated and practiced movement above him paused.
“I’m sorry.” Spoke a soft voice. Light and airy, with an almost English accent to it. A woman’s voice. A delicate voice speaking a gentle apology that didn’t match the rough actions that accompanied it. A pinprick penetrated his neck and left as soon as it arrived. It makes his dizziness from before feel like nothing at all in comparison. The weight of the person pinning him lifted, and he tried to peel himself off the ground, hoping against all reason that this ordeal was over.
Ethan’s limbs couldn't support his weight as the drug took hold of his bloodstream. His vision grew increasingly blurry, the ambiance of the train fading into a monotonous static in his ears. Tears pricked at his eyes. He could already feel himself being lifted and thrown over the shoulder of his attacker. He didn’t know who this was or where they were taking him or why. He opened his mouth to plead, but the only thing that came out was a pained groan.
Car doors slide, and his body lands on leather. He could barely even twitch his fingers when he lost consciousness.
#I forgot that i had this account#whoops#anyway#i cant really call this a new story#given that i made these characters when i was 14#but here it is#whump#whump fic#kidnapping#tw vomit#tw drugging#tw alcohol#vomit#drugging#alcohol#oh i should#Playing Dolls#Ethan#i also cant believe im rewriting this yet again#please someone read this#i need internet validation
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"Ah ah ah, it's time to go to bed now-"
One firm hand tightened the restraints while the other stayed on his forehead keeping him in place.
"Please- I want-"
"You need rest dear, it's okay, I'll help you."
Something flashed bright in the haziness then a sharp prick and he felt the familiar descent into nothingness. Not again, not again...
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me, beating a man to a bloody pulp: what's wrong? I'm just stimming.
#i can make this joke im autistic#whump#whump meme#elytra.txt#im so eepy#i didn't sleep last night#honk shoo mimimimi#uh#i dont know if this makes sense#whump shitpost
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Day 1: (Re)Introduce Yourself!
Hiii!
My name is Elyzabeth, or Elytra for short! My pronouns are she/they/xe in no particular order of preference. I've been on this blog for about 4 years now!
I'm actually not technically working on anything at the moment, since I'm just back from like a 10 month long hiatus due to some mental health issues. (I mean there is the Super Secret Project but shhhh I'm not supposed supposed talk about it.)
I am a new adult, and have been dipping my toes into some more ~adult~ themes, but if and when I post those, it'll be tagged ofc!
I <3 blood and gore and begging!
I'm totally down to make friends but keep in mind that I am autistic and super shy and reserved, so sorry if I don't respond right away!!
#whumpmasinjuly2023#wij23day1#i TOTALLY didnt forget i was doing this this month. nuh uh.#elytra.txt#whump introduction#or rather#reintroduction
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