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villainsandheroes · 8 months

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Hi, I like your writing, and I really liked your "A Discussion" idea with the hero and villain jailed together! I would love to see any other writing you have on that, though only if you want to post it. Have a wonderful day! 💜💜💜

Aw thank you so much! I love you anon :)

Here is that post

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Hero paled a little. “What?”

“You heard me.”

They all eyed each other for a minute. “What happens to the other person?” Villain frowned.

“Well, I’m kinda bored of two pets.” Supervillain pouted. “I think it’s time I get to know one of you more closely.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Supervillain left to give them time to decide, Hero thought Villain would have gotten up and gone to get free. Making a sneering comment to Hero which was supposed to be a joke but in actuality hurt.

But instead, Villain carefully settled back. Moving his chained hands to his lap. “You ready to get out of here?”

“What?” Hero mumbled.

“I’ll stay.” Villain offered quieter.

Hero frowned. “Hold on. Wait-”

“Discussion over Hero.”

He winced at the harshness. It had been a while since Villain had shown such an attitude towards them. Despite it all, they had grown close. They used to fight each other till blood was drawn. Now they were the ones patching each other up after a torture session with Supervillain.

Hero stayed quiet for a minute, knowing time was running out but trying to figure out what to say. “My job is to help and protect others. If I have the chance to help you and I don’t-“

“Hero. You have the chance to go help hundreds, maybe even thousands of people. I'm not gonna be a hero after this. I won't go out of my way to save people. I won’t return the favor, I'm not like you.”

Hero held back a whine of sorts. “Villain, you are important.”

Villain quietly considered that. Looking down at his arms and legs scattered in scars before over at Hero, some were the same, others were different. They’d been tortured together for years now. He didn’t know why the supervillain was doing this, or why now he wanted one of them gone, but he knew it wasn’t for any good reason.

“Hero. You need to go.”

“B-“

“Ssh.” He mumbled softly. He moved closer before gently wrapping his arm around them, careful not to tangle their chains up.

Hero looked at him before carefully hugging him back. “I hate you.” He mumbled, gently pressing his face against him for comfort.

“I know.” Villain chuckled softly. “Hero? Just… don’t forget me. I know saving me may not work-“

“Oh, I will save you.” Hero hissed quietly.

Villain laughed at that, harder than he had in a long time. After a minute grinning. “Alright. I’ll give you that. Just. If you can’t- please don’t forget me?”

Hero frowned. “I would never.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Supervillain took Hero away Villain could barely watch. Just praying he hadn’t made a mistake and Supervillain was going to kill him.

Supervillain didn’t though. They kept to their word.

They took Hero outside the facility and even took them on a plane flight before going to a random street. Hero’s hands were tied and he was struggling to keep up with Supervillain’s longer stride.

Suddenly he stopped and Hero ran into his back. “Now. I wanted to try this new power on you.”

Hero frowned, looking around at the streets that were full of people. “Wha-“

Supervillain released his arms and held Hero’s head. “I can take away memories.”

Hero thrashed suddenly while trying to get away but Supervillain pinned them onto a wall.

Hero’s memory was wiped in seconds flat.

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painsandconfusion · 2 months

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Something's Not Right

Whumping the Whumper - Part Thirty-six

(tw: internal bleeding, death threat, illness, long term captivity, concussion, bruises, gun, murder mention, nonsexual nudity)

[Previous | Masterpost | Next] [Chronologically following this scene]

Four years ago...

“E-Ethan? Ethan wake up..-”

Ethan stirred at the light poke to his thigh. He groaned, stretching against the cold concrete before squinting open his eyes. His arms instinctively snaked around Johnny, pulling his warmth closer. His head was throbbing- he pressed the ache closer into Johnny’s shoulder to bury it away again.

“N-no, Ethan. Please.”

His eyes fluttered open, squinting down at Johnny in the moonlight. He looked…scared. Must have had a nightmare again.

Ethan swallowed the grogginess from his throat and reached up to brush a few stray locks of hair from Johnny’s forehead. “What’s wrong?”

Johnny stared up at him, eyes shimmering. “Som..something’s not right. It’s wrong and-” Johnny’s voice cracked as a tear leaked from the corner of his eye. “It’s just…wrong.”

Ethan’s brows pinched together. “Why don’t you try to get back to sleep? It always hurts worst right away - maybe when you wake up-”

“-no, it’s wrong.” Tears were dripping steadily now. Johnny’s quick, shallow breaths pressed against Ethan’s chest.

Was Johnny always this warm?

Ethan sat up, looking over Johnny. He was bruised, sure, but..he’d woken earlier and Johnny was alright. Not…completely alright, of course. But…healable. Crawford had used his fists, the damage was mostly to his thighs and torso. No broken bones, no sprains, just deep, aching bruises.

..Ethan tried to pull him a little closer. “Some more sleep sh-”

Johnny pressed his palm against the ground, tugging himself free from Ethan’s arms. “I-I don’t know what it…what it is. Something…something’s not right…”

Something akin to fear started to curl in Ethan’s stomach. No. Weighed it down. Sour and heavy and hot, pressing against his mind. He sat the rest of the way up, too, folding his arms around Johnny. He kissed the back of his neck.

…Johnny was sweating.

In this cold??

He gripped Johnny a little tighter. “Does it hurt?”

Johnny reached up, clutching Ethan’s fore-arms. One hand clamping down, the other resting lightly. “Yeah, it’s…yeah.” Johnny swallowed. “It’s wrong. Something’s wrong.”

“Okay, okay I…I hear you.” Ethan didn’t know what to do. He rubbed his thumb up and down against Johnny’s shoulder. “What does it feel like?”

“..just...wrong.”

“Does…it hurt more than usual?”

“...Um…I think so? No. Wait. Not…not more, jus- … different. I can’t…everything feels wrong.”

Ethan’s hand presses against his forehead. “..is it any particular place?”

Johnny’s breath pulled out in a whine, hugging Ethan’s arm closer. “...e…kinda everywhere but…b-ut ‘specially here-” he made a vague gesture over his abdomen.

Ethan frowned, extracting himself from Johnny’s grip. He carefully picked at the hem of Johnny’s shirt, carefully pulling it up and off of him. There were no goosebumps despite the chill that must have just washed over him. Sweat clung to the shirt, making a sticky sound as he forced it off Johnny’s skin.

Ethan’s eyes slid back and forth over the bruises that just barely showed up as an outline in the sprinkling of moonlight that worked its way into the basement. His brows pinched, worry starting to churn through him.

..Crawford hit too hard. He knew these symptoms, Johnny was bleeding where he couldn’t see.

Ethan pulled the shirt back down, praying to the first handful of gods he could think of that it would clear up within a couple days. At least one god had to listen to him, right?

“..is…is i-t okay..?”

Ethan looked helplessly over Johnny, hand lifting to cradle his face. “..I don’t…I think so - I do. But..I really think we should get you a doctor.”

Johnny laughed- but the small, spiteful sound immediately sputtered out into a small whine, breaths immediately falling faster and shallow. “Hh-hhhe w-on’t- n-no way-”

“...Just let me ask.”

Johnny’s head tilted into Ethan’s palm, cradling it there with his own. “...o-kay..”

So much for his headache. Is it still considered a headache when it’s a concussion?

In any case, so much for his concussion.

Ethan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Johnny’s forehead before dragging himself up and toward the stairs. He took them three at a time until his fists bruised against the door with the force of his banging. “HEY ASSHOLE-! GET THE FUCK DOWN HERE-!”

Johnny rolled his eyes through labored breath, propped against the wall. “...h-e’s not gonna come- it’s like fffour in the morning.”

“He will if I don’t shut up-” Ethan turned back to the door, hammering on the wood again. “CRAWFORD, YOU SLIMEY BITCH WE NEED A DOCTOR-!”

Ethan paced, shouting up and out into the house he couldn’t reach for almost twenty minutes, his own head reeling and spinning damn near off his shoulders each time he screamed up to the well known abuser and an unknown god in tandem.

Finally, finally, the bastard showed his face.

The door slammed open the moment it was unlocked, gun pointed at Ethan.

Ethan took a hesitant step backward down the stairs, eyes on the gun. He never got that out.

“What. The fuck. Is wrong with you,” Crawford bit out, all but drooling venom.

Ethan lifted his hands. “We need a doctor- you fucked up Johnny too much.”

Crawford scoffed, starting to close the door. “I didn’t do anything different, go the fuck to sleep.”

Ethan stepped forward, bracing one hand against the door so it couldn’t close. “No, wait- I’m seriously h-”

The sound of the gun cocking cut off his sentence. “He’s. Fine. You were a little bitch when you first got here, too. Deal with it.”

“He’s bleeding internally!”

“And who’s fault is that?”

Ethan froze, memories of running skittering across his mind. Johnny’s screams. Crawford’s cursing. Guilt curled fresh into his blood.

Swallowing down emotions and pride, he tried again. “...please. He needs a doctor.”

“I will kill him if you don’t shut the fuck up. He’s fine. Keep pushing it and he won’t be.”

Rage flickered across Ethan’s eyes, but he let his hand fall from the door.

In a moment, it slammed in his face, deadbolt snapping back into the frame.

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @paleassprincess @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @hold-back-on-the-comfort @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @orphans-parent @whumplr-reader @rainbowsandwhumperflies @starfields08000 @sunnyesunny)

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

#internal bleeding #death threat #long term captivity #concussion #bruises #gun #murder mention #nonsexual nudity #whumping the whumpers #ethan #johnny #crawford #ethan and johnny #illness

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heartinthehospital · 5 months

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idea of lara threatening to skin Elijah like he's a deer she shot, trailing the knife where she'd slice :) he's a fellow hunter so maybe it's time he understood the prey's perspective

deer in headlights

hunting season masterlist

content: male whumpee, female whumper, big whumpee, small whumper, defiant whumpee, intimate whumper, captivity, threats of violence

Lara glides her hunting knife down Elijah’s throat to his sternum. “I’d start here.”

Maybe if she hadn’t pulled his shirt up, Elijah’s reaction wouldn’t be so obvious. As it is, every single contraction of his lungs is visible in the movement of his chest. When she taps the tip of the knife lightly against his sternum, his taut muscles reveal the silhouette of his ribcage, and the transparency of his emotions leaves him feeling more naked than if he had been stripped completely.

Elijah can’t see the expression on Lara’s face when she’s standing behind him, but he can hear the smile in her voice. “If you want me to kill you so bad, it’s only fair you know how I’d do it. You can’t get shy now.”

“You’d slit my throat and leave me to bleed out. I get it,” he says through gritted teeth.

Lara pauses. “Aren’t you a hunter?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You should know that you’re supposed to use every part of the animal. Why would I slit your throat when there’s so much of you to cut into?” This time, when Elijah breathes, Lara finds the indentations of his ribcage with her knife and presses the flat of the blade to his abdomen. In the few seconds that pass, he tries to find something to say, but between the throbbing wound in his thigh and the path of Lara’s knife against his skin, he isn’t able to focus on much else. He keeps his mouth shut.

“Have you ever skinned a deer?” Lara’s fingers fall to his side opposite where her knife is, and his body involuntarily shudders at the freezing touch. Elijah thought any cold would be welcomed, considering he’s been covered in a thin sheen of sweat since he woke up, but his entire abdomen tenses when she wraps her hand around him. “I haven’t, but I think it’d be similar to what I’d do with you. It’s satisfying to tear through muscle. And you have a lot of it.”

Lara brings her knife up to where his shirt is rolled, then back down to his waist, the same way you lazily pet a dog by stroking its fur, and when Elijah squirms, he wonders if he’s always been this ticklish or if Lara’s knife brings it out of him.

“I wouldn’t touch your face,” she continues. “Not until the end. I’ve cut out tongues when I didn’t want to hear screaming, but not yours. I want to see if you can shatter a couple of teeth clenching your jaw hard enough to not make a sound.” She uses the knife to swipe away a few strands of Elijah’s hair in his eyes. “The rest of your face speaks for itself.”

“So you think I’m handsome.” Lara laughs. Elijah feels a twinge of satisfaction, then an immediate wave of disgust.

“I’m not the only one. Do you know the things they ask me?” Lara still hasn’t explained who they are, even though it’s been days, but Elijah doesn’t have to ask. Finally, he acknowledges the camera, with nothing more than a glare.

“To skin me alive, I guess.” There’s no humor in his voice this time. That’s what Lara means to do if she kills him. There’s nothing Elijah can laugh at about that.

“More than that,” she replies. “It’s what you sound like when you scream.” Lara drops her hand from his abdomen to the fresh stitches on his thigh, and his face twists in pain even as she lets go. “What you sound like when you cry. What you sound like when you come.” She tilts her head with a thoughtful expression, twirling her knife incredibly close to his face. “What you sound like when you don’t.”

There’s no question about whether or not Elijah’s disgust is visible, because Lara continues with a renewed liveliness. “It’s not that they don’t want to see your insides. I want to see your insides. It’s that you’d be wasted if that’s all I did with you. You’re the type to go down kicking and screaming, Eli.”

Lara tosses her knife haphazardly to the floor, and walks around Elijah so she stands in front of him. The rise and fall of his chest is unmistakable as she leans in towards him.

“I want to see how long it takes you to go down.”

Elijah blinks beneath his dark lashes, his voice unsteady. “And if I don’t?”

“I told you.” Lara smiles, and taps his sternum.

“I’ll start right here.”

#incorporated this into the main story because i liked the idea #not sure if i did it justice #but there’ll be plenty of time for elijah to get hurt either way #don’t worry #male whumpee #female whumper #big whumpee #small whumper #defiant whumpee #intimate whumper #long term captivity #whump stuff #whump fic #elijah king #lara callaway

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cupcakes-and-pain · 9 months

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A whumpee that has been with their whumper that they have sway with them.

Whumper listens to Whumpee’s opinions on some things. The two know each other and trust each other, in a way. They know what to expect from one another. They are comfortable. Not that Whumper stops hurting Whumpee necessarily, but there is a certain level of, I don’t know… authority? Get a choice in what happens?

Like Whumpee can get away with more because Whumper isn’t so worried about them escaping. Because they know that when Whumpee tries to escape, they use specific methods and behaviors.

Or if Whumper captures/hurts more people, Whumpee can negotiate and reason with Whumper to protect the others. And Whumper values their opinion and happiness.

idk if this makes sense but yeah…

#whump #whump prompt #whump senario #captivity whump #long term captivity #captivity #whumper #whumpee #multiple whumpees

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whump-or-whatever · 11 months

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Whumpee who is finally freed from captivity after years and years being sad because they have to leave behind all the people they’ve grown to like. Certain employees of Whumper, other whumpees, maybe some of Whumper’s friends, the person who delivers the mail, etc.

Just the simultaneous relief of finally being free, of going home, while also being forced to reconcile the fact that they will never see any of these people ever again.

#whump #whump prompt #whump idea #whump scenario #whump community #whump prompts #whumpee #whumper #captivity whump #long term captivity

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nade2308 · 3 months

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I love this gifset so much. Ever since I saw this prompt I knew what I was gonna do for it. The trick was to remember this scene, and where I had seen it. Both me and @thethistlegirl were seeing the same thing in our heads when we read the prompt and through a process of elimination of possible shows and episodes, we found it was the Magnum reboot pilot episode. It was too vivid for us to have made it up, and we were right, we did it see it somehere. This scene somehow got seared in our brains, and I am glad for that. This moment is going to haunt me for a long, long time. The trust, the support, the love and care between these two, mwah, chef's kiss.

@febuwhump

A03 link

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday3 #bite down on this #thomas magnum #sebastian nuzo #magnum pi 2018 #1x01 #I saw the sun rise #jay hernandez #domenick lombardozzi #my gifs #magnum pi gifs #my edit #wound cauterization #POWs #long term captivity #flashback

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actress4him · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023 - Day 24 - Siren

This is a short piece about Siren's early days, before she changed hands and started being trained as a weapon. For this month's other Siren fic, click here, or read her backstory and get a link to her one other fic here.

This is another one where I used a different line from the prompt song.

No. 24: “If only I could dream in a little less color.”

Contains: lady whump, long term captivity, amnesia, conditioned whumpee, referenced hitting, dehumanization (not pet whump), implied restraints

Siren’s life is simple. There’s one room, the only room she’s ever been in. There’s a routine for each day that never changes. The same people come and go, bringing the same food and making the same disgusted faces. The only thing that changes is that sometimes they hit her, sometimes they don’t. It’s been this way for as long as she can remember.

White walls. Grey floors. Black hair. Brown skin. Grey clothes. Silver chains. Black uniforms. White gloves.

Sometimes, she gets a glimpse of blonde and brown hair, blue and green eyes. But she isn’t supposed to stare. She has to keep her head down, like a good, obedient monster who doesn’t want to hurt anyone. If they think she might hurt them, that’s usually when they hit her.

Everything is different inside her head, though. When she sleeps, she sees things that she can’t name, can’t comprehend. Objects and places and people that she’s never seen before fill her mind.

Something big and bright yellow moving by, full of children wearing every color of clothing imaginable. A pink bag that she wears on her back. Purple rings around her wrists, not holding her in place but jingling happily as she walks. Colorful pictures, made by children, hanging all over the walls. An orange stick in her hand that she smears across a white background. A brilliant blue sky and a hot yellow sun. Pink and red plants that she picks and holds tightly in her fist.

None of these colors exist in her life. But they follow her when she’s awake, dancing through her mind. They feel so real when she sleeps. She can imagine herself being there, walking through those scenes, soaking it all in.

Sometimes, thinking about those places and colors are what get her through each day. Other times, she wishes she could just turn them off and never see them again. Going there in her sleep is like escaping this room, like being free.

But she’s a monster, and monsters can’t be free. She belongs right here, with the white walls and grey floors and silver chains. That’s where she’s always been, and where she’ll always be.

#whumptober2023 #no.24 #song #original content #fic #captivity tw #dehumanisation tw #conditioned whumpee tw #amnesia tw #hitting tw #restraints tw #siren the weapon #lady whump #lady whumpee #long term captivity #magical whumpee #captivity whump

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patheticlittleguy · 8 months

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Primavera

my writing masterlist

Aspiring hunters visit the historic Harker Estate at all times of the year to partake in hands-in training. Craig had flown in just a few days ago and had already seen his first (heavily restrained) vampire up-close, and had gotten to talk with a lot of very experienced hunters. And god, there were so many shops full of weapons: knives and stakes and crucifixes of all sorts. He felt like a kid in a candy shop.

On a sunny, Wednesday morning, he got up bright and early and put on his best black polo. He had an appointment to meet the world’s longest-held captive vampire.

At eleven-thirty sharp, he met its handler in a quiet corner of the estate grounds. The handler was a tall, imposing man named Javier. When they exchanged names, Javier shook his hand firmly, and said, “I am very happy that there are still people interested in seeing Primavera.”

“It’s an honor, sir,” Craig said. He rubbed his sweaty hands against his pants. “I mean, it’s not every day you get to meet a hundred and twenty year-old vampire.”

“Ah, that is true,” Javier sighed. “You know, when I met Vera, she was owned by a different handler, and had a different name.”

Craig nodded, and said, “oh, yeah, I think I remember reading about that.”

“So you did your homework!” Javier smiled. “Well, I suppose I should not keep you waiting any longer. Come with me.”

Javier walked Craig through a maze of brick pathways, past hedges, thickets, and patch after patch of purple alliums. As they went, Javier talked about the history of his prized possession. The vampire first appeared in the historical record sometime around 1900, just years after the Dracula became known to the world at large. He said that some believed her to be the first person turned into a vampire, and that it definitely happened by accident before the process was well understood. “And, only people who come meet her get to know this, but the name Primavera is my own little joke,” Javier admitted.

Craig said, “oh, really?”

“It is similar to primera, which means first.” Javier smiled. “First to be turned, first to be captured. And a fascinating creature, too.”

He stopped in front of a small house- his house, tucked away in the ancient conifers and landscaping. It was painted a lovely forest green, and the doormat said, ¡oh no! ¿Tú otra vez? The front doorknob had an ornate cross engraved in it.

Inside, the space was homey and inviting, all dark hardwood and old bookshelves. Javier led him to a steel door that looked very out of place, and opened it to reveal a dark stairwell.

They descended the stairs, Craig hesitantly, Javier confidently.

What Craig saw at the bottom of the stairs was much… less that he expected. There should have been a cocoon of chains around an old, proud seductress. A thousand crucifixes, an iron maiden of stakes. He looked into the dark corners of the room, expecting the vampire to jump out at him. There was just dust, and a single withered body on the floor.

Javier walked right up to the corpse, and nudged it with its foot. Craig suddenly felt stupid- that wasn’t a victim; the vampire had not been fed in decades. The body moved, the ancient bellows of its lungs coming to life in ragged breaths.

“Up and at ‘em, cariño,” Javier said. “Up.”

The vampire opened its sunken eyes, and stared up at Javier. Its pupils dilated in slow-motion, and it had striking irises, deep brown with a ring of pink in the center.

With arms literally as thin around as its bones, the vampire slowly pulled itself up. It parted its lips, and emitted soft huffs of breath. Even propping itself up on its elbows seemed a Sisyphean task.

“Tenemos un amigo nuevo, Primavera.” Javier spoke to it softly, as one might to a lover in the early, pre-dawn hours.

The only sound Primavera seemed able to make was a breathy, “ah…” Its head turned towards Craig, its crusty eyes not quite looking at him.

“Uhm,” Craig said, looking to Javier for guidance. At Javier’s encouragement, Craig moved closer, and crouched down. “Hello there.”

The vampire made another breathy sound, and then sniffed the air. It was only wearing a pair of cheap-looking basketball shorts, and the scars threading across its skin were all visible. It was as if someone wrapped a mummy in scar tissue instead of linen. It hunched in on itself, face blank as an animal’s.

Javier crouched down next to Craig, and caressed the vampire’s cheek with curled fingers. To Craig, he said, “Primavera doesn’t really understand what goes on around her anymore. It is incredible that she still responds at all.”

Craig did not touch Primavera. To Javier, he said, “does she still produce venom?”

“A little,” Javier said, and he slipped his thumb into Primavera’s mouth. The vampire opened its jaw, its fangs extended. Javier pressed against the back of the fang, and coaxed out the smallest droplet of clear venom. Its pupils went slitted, like it was feeding, but none of the other reflexes were there.

Javier pulled his finger away, and Primavera leaned towards it, like a tired old dog hoping for another treat. He wiped his hand on his pants, and said, “you should feel her skin.”

“I dunno,” Craig said. He eyed the vampire, with its matted hair and dirty face. It looked like something that would give him fleas and ringworm.

“You may never get another chance,” Javier said. “As a hunter, most vampires you touch will be dead-dead. But Vera is only mostly dead. One of a kind.” He smiled when he spoke of the vampire.

Craig looked at Primavera, and reached out. He cupped her cheek, and found it to be room temperature. Like something left out to thaw. It leaned heavily into his hand.

Javier chuckled. “She likes you.”

Craig didn’t know what to say. He watched carefully for a sign that the vampire would bite him. Its eyes were sliding shut, and it made no move to lunge at him. It was restrained only by its own weakness.

Fascinating, indeed.

#shark writes #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #starvation whump #long term captivity #captivity whump

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whumpinggrounds · 2 years

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Hard to Recognize

CW: male whumpee, female whumper, creepy whumper, possessive whumper, little whumper, big whumpee, emeto, brainwashing, manipulation, threats of violence, nonsexual noncon touch

Delilah is sitting in Liam’s lap. She’s in his lap, and a book is in hers, and she’s paging through it with that intense, absolute focus she gets when she’s reading. While one hand turns pages, the other arm is wrapped around Liam’s shoulders. Both of his arms are wrapped around her waist. The wispy lighter hairs on the top of her head tickle his nose.

They’re picture-perfect. Well, Liam sitting there zoning out isn’t exactly right, but he’s the strong, silent type anyway, right? He doesn’t need to be reading for this to work. He can just stare manfully at the wall. Without thinking about it much, Liam presses a kiss to Delilah’s temple. She hums, a happy sound, and he watches the corner of her eye crinkle up in a smile he can’t quite see. She’s pretty like this. Even beautiful.

Liam almost smiles. Then he freezes.

What the fuck is he doing?

There’s no cuff on his ankle, no drugs in his system. Delilah isn’t holding a shovel, or a Taser, or even a knife. Liam is just – doing this. Like it’s normal. Like he wants to. He’s thinking absently about how good they look together, how pretty Delilah is, how focused on her book. He’s thinking that this is a nice moment for them.

None of that is who Liam is. None of it is how he feels...right? When he thinks about Delilah, his skin crawls. His breathing picks up, his heart rate goes through the roof, and his stomach lurches like he’s on the deck of a ship in a hurricane. He’s afraid of her. He dreads her touch.

Yet here he is cradling her in his arms, and he isn’t even in danger.

All at once it’s too much. All at once, Liam feels like he’s going to throw up. Delilah must feel something, maybe the stiffening of every muscle in his body, because she glances up at him, her face all innocent confusion.

“My love?” She lifts a hand to his cheek, and her fingertips against Liam’s skin makes him want to cringe. It takes all of his will to hold himself in place. “Is something wrong?”

No, darling. I was just…thinking about how perfect you are. And how I almost lost you.

Sweet prince. You shouldn’t think of such things.

Sometimes, I think I need to remember it. So that nothing like that ever happens again.

That’s what Liam should say. That’s how the conversation should go. Fine, he doesn’t know exactly what Delilah would say, but he knows the shape of the exchange. He knows how to make her smile, how to make her swoon. After these long, terrifying weeks in her cabin in the woods, he might know her better than anyone else in his life. That scares the shit out of him, and it also regularly saves him from harm.

As he tries to force the words out, Liam finds that he can’t do it. He’s reached some inner limit, and when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. His throat works and his lips move but he just can’t make himself lie to her. Deep in himself, he knows that this lie, right now, is too much to ask. He says those words he doesn’t feel, acts them like he’s someone he’s not, and he’ll lose another essential little piece of who he is. He’ll become that much more unrecognizable. Less Liam, and more of whoever she wants him to be.

She sees the distraught look in his eye and frowns, still more curious than anything. He needs her off of him. He needs her off of him now, needs to feel himself in control of his body and what happens to it for just one precious minute. He needs to pretend he’s a real person, his own person, instead of her overgrown plaything.

“I need some air,” he tells her, and her face darkens. It’s not good enough, not a reason to shift her from his lap. If he doesn’t want to get hurt, he needs to come up with something, fast. If he doesn’t want to get hurt, or worse, his brain reminds him darkly. “I…Princess, I don’t feel…”

There must be something concerning in his face because she stands from his lap, taking her time, every move embodying grace. He lurches to his feet and throws himself toward the door, not needing to fake any urgency. Crashing through, the chill outside hits him like a slap to the skin, and he welcomes the early spring sting. Hanging himself over the porch rail, he makes a few convincing retching sounds, spits up some bile. As he stares at the ground and pictures his lips pressed to Delilah’s cheek, the nausea he’s faking churns to genuine life in his gut.

“Sweetheart?”

Her voice chimes out behind him, and he winces. She isn’t pleased. A puking prince isn’t exactly part of her fantasy. Dread coils in his stomach as he thinks about how he’ll have to appease her.

“I’m so sorry, darling.” He fixes his eyes on the ground as he grinds out the words. It’s the only way he can get through them. “I don’t know what’s…what’s happened to me. I don’t…I just didn’t feel well. Perhaps it was the, um, the injury? Perhaps I caught something?”

The dull throb in his arch grows to a piercing stab - probably from the running, his foot pounding on the floorboards. In his head, it feels more like an answer to his desperate search for an explanation.

“Hmm.”

Hearing her expectant tone, Liam lets his eyes fall shut, and gives her the words he knows she wants to hear.

“I feel, um, weak. Would you…tend to me?”

Days, shut in Delilah’s bedroom. Drinking only hot water and broth that’s basically just more hot water. Endless boredom, little to no movement, and worst of all, her touch. On his brow, his chest, his arms. Everywhere. Her hands all over him, her fingers feeling, testing. For illness, she says, but he knows it’s more than that. She just loves to be in control.

“Oh, my sweet prince.” She sounds overjoyed now. “Of course!”

There’s no way out, is there? There’s no right move. One small moment for himself, that’s all Liam wanted, and now he’s paying for it, as he follows Delilah back into that cursed cabin, back into her bedroom. Liam had his moment away from her, his moment to breathe clean air and feel like himself.

Now he’s hers again.

Was it worth it?

He doesn’t know.

@whumptober, @whumptober-archive, @stab-the-son-of-a, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @lonesome–hunter, @diyalogues, @deluxewhump, @hearse-song, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpy-writings, @warm-my-whumpee-heart @brutal-nemesis

#whumptober #whumptober2022 #no.17 #breaking point #oc #fic #male whumpee #female whumper #creepy whumper #possessive whumper #nonsexual noncon touch #long term captivity #emeto #brainwashing #manipulation #angst #threats of violence #liam and delilah

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villainsandheroes · 8 months

Text

A Discussion

Hero and Villain had been in captivity together for three years when Supervillain came down to their cell. “You have 5 minutes. One of you is allowed to leave.”

part 2

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heartinthehospital · 5 months

Text

not that hot

hunting season masterlist

content: male whumpee, female whumper, big whumpee, small whumper, defiant whumpee, possessive whumper, kidnapping, violence

When Elijah wakes up, Lara is nowhere to be seen.

Well, he can’t see much of anything. Elijah blinks a few more times to confirm, but he’s sure he’s blindfolded. And tied to a chair. His back muscles tense through his t-shirt as he measures how much movement his arms are allowed when they’re duct-taped behind him. It’s none. The same goes for the duct tape that secures Elijah’s ankles to the chair legs. Slowly, he tries to recollect the events of the last few hours.

There was the gas station. The couple of guys who mugged him. Elijah shifts his weight and winces when he can feel the bruises on his ribcage. There are other injuries, but this has to be the worst of them. Elijah knows what broken ribs felt like, and this isn’t that, but damn if it doesn’t hurt the same.

There was Lara. The offer to clean him up back at her place. Elijah wonders if his car is still at the gas station and frowns. Everything he packed for the hunting trip was inside, and if getting mugged was any sign, that couldn’t be a safe place to be parked.

Elijah told Lara about the hunting trip, when she asked why he looked like he was ready to tour Afghanistan. She laughed, and he began to question if it was the alcohol they were sharing or if she did really look that pretty when she smiled. He must’ve asked out loud, because the next thing he remembers, she was on top of—

Elijah hears footsteps. Thank God.

With a swift tug of the cloth around his eyes, Lara is standing in front of him again.

“Are you awake?”

Absent-mindedly, Elijah decides that she really is that pretty. There’s no alcohol in his system to convince him otherwise, but as soon as he realizes that, he wonders why he isn’t hungover. There’s no way he doesn’t have a throbbing headache if he blacked out hours ago.

“Eli?” That’s not important.

“My bad,” he clears his throat. “I’m awake.”

Lara steps back, still in the same clothes. Elijah can’t help but imagine how the two of them look. Him, dressed in what looks like military uniform. Her, barely clothed in a wife beater and daisy dukes. If either of them were to be tied up, he wouldn’t expect it to be him.

She’s searching in his face for something, but Elijah doesn’t know what. The look in her ice-blue eyes is unreadable. It's like she's waiting for something. Behind his back, he gently grazes his bloodied knuckles with his fingertips, expecting her to speak first. It doesn’t look like she’s going to.

“Do you want me to be scared?” Elijah offers.

Suddenly, Lara’s expression turns into blatant confusion. “What?”

“I mean, do you want me to be scared?” That’s what he just said. Elijah clears his throat and tries to explain himself. “You know, what we’re doing here. I’m tied up. You’re not. Should I be scared?”

The expression on Lara’s face doesn’t change. Somehow, the conversation brings him back to high school, when everyone stared blankly at him whenever he spoke because his accent was too thick to understand. Elijah feels as stupid as he did then. What was Lara not understanding?

“Okay,” he tries again. “Last thing I remember, we were on your couch together, and I guess I blacked out when we— it’s not important. Now I’m in your basement. You didn’t ask if I was okay with this, which I don’t mind, because I am, but I don’t really do this. I don’t know if I’m supposed to ask if you want me to be scared, or if I should be scared as soon as you walk in. I don’t know how we’d even have sex if I’m tied up like this, honestly.”

Something like recognition clicks in Lara’s face, but she doesn’t say anything. Elijah begins to consider he might not watch enough porn. That’s not true, and he knows it, but no matter how he racks his brain to think of every video he’s watched, he can’t think of one that lets him know what he’s supposed to do. “If you didn’t want me to be this confused, you could’ve told me what you wanted. Maybe it would ruin your fantasy, but it would help. Like I said, I don’t do this.”

Finally, Lara steps back. She looks him up-and-down, her features softening.

“Oh my God, you’re stupid.” The sentence is said with such incredible tenderness, Elijah takes a few moments to register it as an insult.

“Hey, what the fuck?”

“You’re not scared?” Lara reaches out a hand to brush against Elijah’s bruised jaw, and he stiffens at the physical contact. “You’re tied to a chair in my basement, and you’re not scared?”

“That’s what I’m asking you.” Elijah shakes his head. “You know what? Nevermind. Thanks for helping me and everything, but I don’t think this is working. I wish it did—” his eyes rake over her body in the same way she did his “—but it’s not.”

“You’re so stupid,” Lara repeats herself in that same voice, her fingertips still soft against his skin. Elijah might find it attractive if she wasn’t insulting him. She turns her head towards a blinking red light in the corner of the room that he hadn’t noticed. “None of them have ever done that. They always wake up asking me what happened, and he just explained it to himself."

Elijah looks at the camera. “Are you fucking recording this?”

The dread finally begins to set in, and he struggles against his restraints. The duct tape didn’t feel this tight when he woke up.

“I’m leaving,” he insists, glaring at Lara. In the back of his mind, he imagines himself telling this story to his friends when he arrives at their cabin. That’s all this is going to be. One of his stories.

“Go ahead.”

“Fuck you.”

Lara smiles. “Do you always curse this much when you’re scared?”

“I’m not scared. I’m pissed that my fucking pit-stop is going to cost me hours and I’m not even getting laid. Which doesn’t matter because—” he continues to struggle without success “—you’re not that hot anyways.”

When Lara turns around and walks away, he twists his neck to try and follow where she’s going. “I’m going to get out of this chair, and I swear to God, I’m going to kill you if you don’t help,” he raises his voice to make sure she can hear, his stomach twisting itself into knots. If he strains, he can hear her rummaging through something. “I mean, I’m going to fucking rip you apart. I’ll—”

When Lara returns, Elijah’s voice dies in his throat. He doesn’t know whether it’s the ten-inch hunting knife in her hands or the calmness in her expression that silences him, but either way, his blood runs cold. With every step she takes towards him, his arms twist against the duct tape with more urgency, but he can’t get free.

“What are you going to do to me?” Lara tilts her head innocently, weapon still in hand.

Elijah stops moving.

Even when she turns back towards the camera and goes, “I can’t believe that’s all it took to get him quiet,” he doesn’t ask who the fuck she’s talking to. He doesn’t make a sound. Not when Lara steps closer to him, not when she brings the tip of the blade to his Adam’s apple, and not when she smiles at the slow roll of his throat underneath the pressure. Not a goddamn sound.

She puts her mouth against his ear, and when she speaks, her warm breath grazes his skin. “Are you scared yet?” This time, her voice is barely above a murmur. This question’s for Elijah, not the camera. His mouth is suddenly and totally dry.

“Kill me quick.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop himself, but he doesn’t regret them. It’s a hunting knife. The images of what she could do with it flash in his mind one after the other. If all she does is kill him, here and now, it would be merciful. Maybe that makes Elijah a coward, but nobody’s going to know it.

Twenty-three years. He could be satisfied with twenty-three years.

“That’s not what I asked.” Lara’s knife presses deeper to his throat, and a pinprick of blood drips down his neck. Elijah strains his peripheral vision trying to catch a glimpse of Lara’s expression. Nothing.

“I’m fucking terrified,” he whispers. It doesn’t matter what his last words are. Nobody’s around to hear them.

When Lara pulls away, knife and all, Elijah doesn’t shut his eyes like he wants to. In a few minutes, he’ll be dead, and maybe he wants Lara to be the last thing he sees. He doesn’t know. Elijah’s about to die, and he doesn’t know anything.

Lara slams the hunting knife right between his legs into the chair.

“Good answer,” she hums, looking back over her shoulder to the camera. “I think this one is going to be fun.” Elijah’s entire body shudders involuntarily.

“I’m serious,” his voice shakes. “Kill me. Quick.” Twenty-three years.

Lara looks back to the sweaty, trembling mess she’s made of him and wrenches the hunting knife out from the chair with little more than a glance in his direction.

“Sorry, I missed.” With an alarming swiftness, she plunges the knife back into his thigh. The scream that rips out from Elijah’s throat drowns out her voice as she steps back to admire her work.

"Like I said. Fun."

#lara's right elijah's stupid #but i love him anyways #she does too #male whumpee #female whumper #lady whumper #big whumpee #small whumper #defiant whumpee #possessive whumper #long term captivity #whump stuff #whump ideas #whump scenario #whump writing #whump fic #whump #elijah king #lara callaway

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cupcakes-and-pain · 1 year

Text

Just a Taste?

Dead dove, do not eat. Please read the content warnings!!

Contains: eating a person (technically not cannibalism because it’s a human and a god), religious themes (not Christian), long term captivity, magic, regrowing limbs, dehumanization, immortal whumpee, god whumpee, messed up mental headspace, amputation, butchery (as in the cutting of meat, not the other definition)

———

The butcher hummed to themself as they prepped their shop for the day. The morning light streamed through the windows and hit the recently wiped down surfaces, making the whole place sparkle.

They adored their job. Cutting up the meat and packaging it was strangely satisfying. And they liked how people’s face lit up when they tried the free samples of jerky and seasoned patties. How they brought joy with their cooking.

The only downside to it was their special meat. A priceless food that most people would usually only get to eat in once or twice in their lifetime if they weren’t lucky enough to have a nearby source (and very, very few did). It had to be cut fresh every day, or else it would lose its magic.

The meat of a god.

Gods automatically healed their injuries. Even losing limbs or organs would come back within a day or so. And their meat could heal anything if eaten. Lost limbs, broken bones, deathly illnesses, comas, and more. What’s more, it tasted better than anything else. It was the most exquisite, rich, juicy flavor and texture known to man.

Even still, obtaining it was quite frustrating. The butcher was insanely lucky to have their own god, but that didn’t stop how much the brat would fight back.

Of course, it was understandable that it fought. Gods were simple and stupid. They didn’t remember that their flesh would grow back or that they weren’t in danger of pain. It was very annoying. The butcher couldn’t believe that their ancestors had once worshipped these things. Eh, they had less information on gods back then. At least people knew now that it was foolish. The gods couldn’t really do anything for them.

- - -

The god tried not to wail as they heard the butcher come near the doorway to their cell. It happened every day, there was no escape. But still, every day they wished that they could just put it off for a little while longer.

Their powers had faded many decades ago, when everyone stopped believing. The only thing that remained if their godhood was their healing and immortality. They didn’t even remember their name anymore.

They hated their automatically healing. What had once been a blessing and meant that they could keep serving their humans was turned into a curse by those same humans that they had once sworn to protect.

Now they were just food. An endless supply of mythical meat.

But even still, the couldn’t fight nature. They were glad that they were still helping humans. As much as they hated the pain, at least they could fill the bellies and heal the injuries and illnesses of their humans. They were still useful to the humans.

They tried to hold onto that lovely idea as the butcher came down the stairs, saw in hand. They focused on all the good their meat will provide as their arms were chopped off and thrown into a pile. Their organs taken, their legs cut into pieces. They tried to remember that helping humans has always been their purpose, but the pain was too much.

The butcher thought that they didn’t feel pain, but no. They felt every second of it. They felt when their body was torn apart by the saw. The way the cold, stale air stung and burned. The dust and grime of their cell getting mixing with the new blood. The unending things that didn’t know how to describe; the aches that were hundreds of times worse than imaginable.

And say nothing of the regrowing process. It was anywhere close as painful to the process of losing them, but it still hurt like hell, especially since they had to grow everything back all at once.

But what hurt the most, what always hurt the most, was knowing that all of it will happen again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. And the next.

They tried to not cry most of the time. It made them feel stupid and weak. But they caved in today and cried for a long, long time.

———

@kim-poce <3

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painful-pooch · 1 year

Text

The Belanger Masterlist

The Making of Beasts and Atrocities

In a world where animal shifters are beginning to be seen as second class citizens and ostracized for being different, street musician Cassiel Ohazia Belanger finds out in the worst way possible what happens when one is discovered to be a shifter. What hardships will the loving dire wolf shifter face and will he be able to change how the wold views those with an animal inside of them? Can Cassiel be able to fight the Beast that he holds within him without destroying everything he has ever loved and cared about? Will the world change for the better or will there be a war waged between humans and shifters? What truly makes a beast and what turns those to monsters.

CWs for the series (each post will be individually tagged): pet whump, slavery, inequality of race, long term captivity, dehumanization, team whump, death, fighting rings, forced drugging, and a lot of brutality from those in charge of the system, possible bbu adjacent themes

~~~

The Beginning/Training:

A Musician's Morning Routine

A Chilling Reality for the Musician

The Ring of Fangs and Blood:

Beasts Can't Love Anyone

Branding of the Beast

A Road to the Meadows

Colors of Symphony

~~~

Other Writings, Asks, and Extra Information!

This is where I am dumping writings where it’s either an AU or an ask. Some of the asks are actually writings and part of the story and will have already been sorted out above. This is mostly for extra information and what not that you would like to know.

~~~

AUs:

Cas and the Lamb (BBU Collab with @ocean-blue-whump)

Across the Stars and Through the Meadows (BBU Collab with @ocean-blue-whump)

Reference Pictures:

Character Sheet and Art

Asks:

Cas and Strangers // Cas and Verna // Cas and Arthur //

Cas and Tom and Runa // Insulting Cas (prompt) // Are you Smart //

Taking Advantage // Cas Meadows // Scream in the Bar (Prompt) //

Worst Thing to Ever Happen // A Secret Kept // Color of Screams //

What Are You Thankful For? (Prompt) // Cas Tells the Truth

#Cassiel Belanger #the belanger masterlist #writing masterlist #whump masterlist #pet whump #slavery #inequality of race #long term captivity #dehumanization #team whump #death #fighting rings #forced drugging #nonhuman whumpee #shapeshifter #shapeshifter whump #possible bbu adjacency #whump oc

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whumpers-inc · 2 years

Note

could you do something with an immortal whumpee, maybe featuring something that keeps killing them over and over, like being chained on the bottom of a pool or having a blade left in them? 🫣

Impaled on knives at the bottom of a disused pool, Whumpee had given up counting the weeks or months. They’d succumbed to dehydration long ago, throat seared with the lingering chemical cleaner. And now they were trapped, cursed with immortality, unable to tear the knives from their palms, instead forced to die and revive, the same scream choking their throat.

A whirlwind buffeted the dead leaves beside them. As they turned to look, Whumper appeared at the pool's edge.

“Thirsty, Whumpee?” Poisonous pity dripped in the words.

Eyes closed, Whumpee didn’t respond.

A hose slunk over the swimming pool’s edge and tumbled into a pile on the bloodstained tiles, a trickle of water flowing out on impact. It ran in rivulets over the dusty blood stains, swirling in the carnage till it dampened Whumpee’s neck. Whumpee shifted their neck, suddenly desperate for the moisture.

Whumper snickered. “What’s wrong,Whumpee, not enough?”

Ignoring them, Whumpee twisted their head as far as it would go to try and gain even a little of the water.

Whumper faked surprise.

“Oh, of course! You can’t reach it!” A twist of their hand and water gushed out of the hose, drenching Whumpee.

They yelped before greedily licking the water that soaked their lips.

“So desperate,” Whumper smirked, watching as the water formed pools and then a layer on the pool floor.

After a few minutes, water lapped around Whumpees ear and soaking through the dusty, matted hair. Whumpee shivered.

“I- I don’t want any more water.”

A cruel expression slid across Whumper’s face as the water crept higher, rippling around Whumpee’s chin.

“Oh, yes you do. After that much dehydration, you’re gonna stay submerged for a very long time.”

#immortal whump #forced to die #forced to live #drowning #dehydration #long term captivity #whump drabble

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