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whump-is-love-whump-is-life · 5 months

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Whumpee whose love language was physical affection; emphasis on was

Now they recoil at the slightest touch and they hate it.

#oh also they’re severely touch starved at the same time #:)#whump prompts #whump ideas #whump tropes #whump community #whumpblr #my whump #my posts #whump #past torture #touch aversion #love languages in whump

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just-a-scratch-man · 7 months

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Ballister and his robot arm

#whump #whump community #whumpedit #whumpee #nimona ballister #ballister blackheart #ballister boldheart #nimona movie #Nimona #robot arm #arm chopping is not a love language #metal arm #riz ahmed

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maybeitsalivescribbles · 12 days

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Oh oh!!!!! Can you do prompts about "Language"!!!

Been wanting to write a language related fic for months but can't think of any cool ideas :(

Best regards,

@heroes-villains-side-blog

Ah, apologies for the delay, I’m not always online.

Anyway, let’s see what I can do:

Language

There’s yet another prophecy about doomsday, but it’s encrypted/in an ancient language. Time for Hero to ask for Renowned Linguist’s help once again, aka Villain under their secret identity.

Superhero claims that Citizen’s body language shows that they were lying during their interrogation. They’re not. They just really, really don’t want to be here.

Hero and Villain are the only two who can speak a dying dialect. Reluctantly, this brings them together.

Same idea, but they’re absolute nerds and speak Vulcan or Elvish fluently.

Hero&Sidekick (or Villain&Henchman) share a second language the other team don’t speak. It’s great to yell messages at your ally that your foes can’t understand.

Hero and Villain don’t speak the same language. They need Henchman/Sidekick to be a translator to understand each other. The translation might or might not be accurate.

Villain has captured someone who knows things, but speaks in a language they can’t understand. They use an online translator. Confusion ensues.

Villain has captured someone who knows things, but speaks in a language they can’t understand. They kidnap Sidekick to force them to be a translator. Sidekick tries to communicate with Citizen and find an escape plan together without getting caught.

Villain’s Evil lair has a great gadget able to detect any kind of human voice to detect any intrusion. Shame that Hero speaks ASL, then.

Once captured, Villain has a lot of four-letter words to say about the way the heroes treat them. Hero whumps them into watching their language.

I hope these can be useful to you! (I'll keep your other ask for later.)

*

More prompts like this under this tag.

Back to Hero x Villain Masterlist

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bltzgore · 8 months

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I doth drabble...

Background info:

Whumpee is being held at the base of a group of whumpers (maybe for interrogation, or ransom, or maybe just entertainm). There is this sort of arena where some of the whumpers like to take turns beating whumpee in the cement floor. This scene comes on the tail end of one of those beatings.

Tw: broken bones (specifically ribs), collapses lungs, blood in the lungs, bruising, strong language, mentions of sci-fi augments, pain relief drugs

Laying on their stomach was brutal. Whumpee wasn't sure they still had a fully intact rib left in their torso. But they were exhausted. This round had only gone three hours, not the shortest, but hardly the longest they'd suffered through.

This didn't change how horrendously the position they were laying in made their entire chest burn, and their lungs practically spasm with the strain.

They needed to move. They needed to breath properly.

So, Whumpee began to arrange their hands against the ground, well, one of their hands. Their left shoulder had stopped working right since the particularly vicious handling whumpee had received about an hour and a half into this session.

Still, they worked against the shaking of their right arm and pressed up. Slowly, they shifted the weight off their abused chest cavity and were rewarded with a fuller breath.

Whumpee was figuring out which way to let themselves back down when there was a sudden pressure on their back that dissuped the careful architecture of their current position.

Whumpee crashed back onto their stomach. The second they made contact with the floor, their world went black. Their mouth gaped in a scream, but their lungs were on fire. Nothing left their mouth but a strained wheeze like sob.

The world pieced itself back together in patches, their vision crept back at a snails pace, as they tried to handle the shock and the lack of oxygen.

The pressure, which had now been identified as Whumpers foot, pressed down harder, making whumpee gasp and immediately regret it, siezing up with rabid heavy tears. The less oxygen their body got the more it struggled, forcing whumpee to squirm and aggravate almost all their existing injuries in the process.

Whumper grinned, "That's right, you fuckin' worm." They dug the toe of their boot into whumpee's back.

Whumpee's spine arched, and their face contorted. They felt their ribs scraping together and displacing, stabing new holes into their lungs, crushing into everything they were supposed to protect.

"Can't even scream." Whumper laughed, deep and satisfied, "how pathetic can you get?"

Whumpee's vision was fraying at the edges, pain lighting up every corner of their body as they writhed under the pressure. Whumper was right, they were a worm.

Whumper removed their boot and let whumpee breathe, unconscious creatures were no fun.

Whumpee tried to breathe in. They tried so hard, but they couldn't breathe deep enough to get their vision to clear. They could at least stay awake though. That was something, right?

Tears ran down whumpee's face without permission, whumper sneered, and pulled whumpee's head up by their hair. "Damn, you look awful. With that many broken bones, maybe it'd be more humane to put you down." They laughed at their own joke, "You want that little worm? Want me to make it all stop?"

Whumpee blinked heavily as their view of whumper cycled through degrees of blur. They weren't sure they wanted to hear themselves answer that question.

Whumper had opened their mouth to continue when from across the room-

"Hey! The hell are you doing? The boss said 'e needs 'em alive, dumbass."

Whumper dropped their grip on whumpee's hair and stood, turning to go address the source of the voice. "I wasn't actually gonna do it, caretaker."

"The hell you weren't." They muttered, then more directly, "You're time is up anyway, get the fuck out you freak."

Whumper sighed, "Yeah yeah." And started off. "Patch 'em up better this time, maybe then they won't break so easy." Heading out through the door.

Caretaker growled something more obscene than usual and climbed up onto the arena floor. They knelt next to whumpee, who was trying to move again, lacking the lung capacity to cry properly.

Caretaker set the makeshift medical kit down and gently drew whumpee off the floor, taking the weight mercifully off their torso. They shifted how they were sitting just enough to lean whumpee's back against their chest to keep the weight pressing against bones that weren't as damaged.

They could feel all of the small movements whumpee's muscles were making in their failing attempts to protect themselves. All of the light twitching of muscle that had been pushed to their brink. They could feel whumpee trying to breathe. Stuttering, wheezing, shaking.

With the gentle treatment, whumpee's body had a free moment to remember the fluid building up in their lungs. Whumpee tried to cough, and it was hell. A spray of red on the cement floor and their world went white. Their sobbing picked up enough to just be heard over the wheezing. But their body didn't take the hint, it just wanted to expel the collecting blood.

"I know, kid, I know." Caretaker soothed, holding them up with one arm and rooting through their medical supplies with the free hand. It stopped on the cool glass of the syringe and brought it out. Caretaker closed their teeth on the cap and tugged it off. "This'll help, just hold on for me." They forced the needle into whumpee's arm and pressed down the plunger, sending the clear liquid in, to work its magic.

As it took effect caretaker layed them back on the floor for assessment.

A gentle warmth slowly traveled through whumpee, pooling in places where the pain was heaviest, and making it hard to think. That was ok with whumpee though, they didn't want to think anymore. Not about the agony, not about the hopelessness, not about how they had almost said yes to whumper.

Whumpee felt a hand on their cheek, thumb carefully brushing away a new tear. They leaned into it, and whimpered. The only soft touch in weeks. "Evrything h-hurts." They whispered.

Caretaker felt their heart clench, but they kept it out of their voice, "I know, kid. I'm gonna fix it."

Caretaker started by investigating what was clearly going to be the biggest problem. The ribs. So they carefully drew up whumpee's shirt. Holy shit. What had whumper been thinking?!

Whumpee's skin was a galaxy of black and blue, with sick undertones of yellow and un-oxygenated red. When their chest rose it rose wrong, there were inconsistencies... dents, in the usual contours of the ribcage, and places that reshuffled themselves as they moved.

For a moment, Caretaker was paralyzed. This was such a mess. They weren't even sure how many ribs could be saved. They were going to have to open up and replace, and they barely even knew how to- caretaker shut down the spiral. They needed to think clearly... as clearly as they could.

First, the things they knew they could do. Drain the blood from the lungs and the air from the chest cavity. Then, they could worry about reconstruction. Because that's what this was going to require, if whumpee was going to live, much less live through another one of the doubtlessly impending beatings whumper or whumper 2 was going to give them the moment caretaker stepped away they needed to open-

Caretaker caught the spiral again, focusing back on their breathing, slowing it.

"It's bad-" They stopped for a few half breaths, blinking slowly, and looking up through half lidded eyes, "isn't it?"

Caretaker looked down at whumpee. They hadn't realized it had shown. They hadn't meant to let it slip. But they wouldn't lie, "Yeah, whumpee. It's bad."

"Am I- g-gonna?" They couldn't say it.

"No." Caretaker was sure this time, "Not if I can help it."

"I-its gonna h-urt though, i-isn't it?"

"Yes."

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #whumper #whump prompt #whump scenario #whump drabble #beating #tw broken bones #broken ribs #broken bones #bltz loves ribs #tw language

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in-love-with-writing-whump · 3 months

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TW: Implied Abuse, Strong Language

Caretaker couldn’t find Whumpee anywhere. They'd been searching the seedy part of the city— this is where they lived?— all night after they had stormed out after an argument, and still nothing. Caretaker didn't like this place, all grimy and full of faces that smiled with too many fangs to be human. The bars clamored with the worst type of clientele, and though their coat did little to protect from the cold, and the warmth enticed them, they ignored it.

They heard some murmuring from a small crowd, and their stomach turned to lead. They pawed their way through the crowd, glaring up at the jostling gossipers. They parted through the sea of people, finally able to see.

Whumpee laid there, still dressed in the less-than-winter-appropriate outfit from earlier, blood matted into their hair, skin all scraped up and bruised. One of their eyes appeared swollen shut, blood dripping from their split lip as they trembled in their unconscious state.

Caretaker shoved the people around them back. "Get the fuck out of here! Don't you have places to be?!"

The crowd grumbled but dispersed upon seeing Caretaker's gun. They crouched before Whumpee, cautious not to touch them. They didn’t want to scare them, instead letting Whumpee see their hands.

"Whumpee?"

They let out what sounded like a whimper, eyelids fluttering but never fully opening. Caretaker had a million questions, but sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose. They already knew have the answers, and besides, they weren't going to get much out of them like this anyway.

Caretaker stood up, shrugging off their coat, thankful for the thick top they had on underneath. They laid it over Whumpee, holding back a cry at how small they looked like that. They weren't supposed to be small.

"Whumpee, I'm going to pick you up now. I'm going to bring you home, alright?"

Their face scrunched up, voice too hoarse. "Whumper... No, please..."

Caretaker knelt back down, eyes burning as Whumpee's arm flailed, not hitting anything, just revealing more bruises and cigarette burns.

"I'm here now, Whumpee. Whumper won't hurt you while I'm here. I'm right here."

They gingerly scooped Whumpee up into their arms, wincing at how hollow they felt, like a strong breeze would blow them away. Whumpee's face nestled into Caretaker's shoulder, and as Caretaker carried them back home— their real home— they let that act as the smallest insurance that they might be okay.

#whump prompt #whumpee #tw: trauma #caretaker #tw: angst #whumper #tw: crying #tw: guilt #tw: abuse #tw: blood #tw: bruises #tw: injury #tw: hypothermia #tw: missing #tw: strong language #tw: violence #tw: self destruction #definitely not based on a new ship I love #nope definitely not

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se-run · 2 months

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where is my malleus dies in the middle of his overblot in the most gruesome and devastating was possible without ever knowing what actually happened bc his mind was clouded type angst

#um did i tell you guys that #i love whump an unhealth amount before #my love language to my favourite charas is killing them off #when shrouds said that killing malleus was their only chance #the alarms in my brain went OFF #the possibilities man #yall fic writers gotta work harder give me my major character death/j #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #twst book 7 #twst spoilers

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whump-n-comfort · 10 months

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when a character who is "nearly burned my kitchen down once" levels of bad at cooking slowly gets better at it for the sake of helping another character during a time when they aren't doing so great

#whump #whump trope #caretaking #food as a love language #whether it be like a mental health crisis or a major injury etc etc it just makes me go AWOOGA #~my stuff~

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painsandconfusion · 8 months

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#done Whumpy words for the Whumpy writers who wands use lovely language #some whump words #for Whumpy writers

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pierrotwrites-hc · 3 months

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cliffhanger-tastic chapter 46 preview

The bandit with the crossbow emerged from the shadow of the trees. The light caught on the buttons of his prison uniform and traveled up to flash on teeth bared in a grin. As he took in Luca, the grin widened.

Hodge had made the bad mistake of crawling out of his tent. Seeing the bandit, he tried to retreat, but the crossbow swung around to point at him.

“Out you come,” said the man. “Hands over your head, now. There’s a good fellow.”

Toby stumbled out of the wood, held at crossbow-point by another bandit. Two more men emerged behind him. One was a Northman, his hair almost as pale as Luca’s. He was armed with a sword—Saunders’s sword, Luca realized belatedly. He was wearing Saunders’s boots, too.

The fourth bandit was wearing the Steward’s coat. His hands were shoved in the pockets; he swaggered out from the trees, whistling a high, bright tune. When he saw Doran, he lit up as if he’d seen an old friend.

“Doran! It’s me, Harry Riggs. We met a few weeks back. Did you miss me?”

“No,” said Doran hoarsely.

Riggs looked genuinely crestfallen. It was an act, and a mocking one, but he had the sort of elastic face that could pull itself into a convincing facsimile of any expression.

“No, he says! And after we went through all this effort to track him down. That’s no way to treat a pal.”

“Want me to shoot him?” offered the bandit whose crossbow was still pointed at Toby.

“Not yet, Murdock. Let’s hear what he has to say for himself.” Riggs turned an elastic smile on Doran. “You can start by explaining why you lied about the other slaves in your company.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Lying again? You’re only digging the hole deeper, you know. Well, let me remind you. You told us you were traveling with two other slaves, a cook and a scribe. I assume the fellow with the ladle is the cook.”

He nodded at Connell, who’d thrown his hands up when he saw the bandits; he was still holding the ladle he’d been using to stir the pot of soup which bubbled away over the campfire.

It’s going to burn, thought Luca absently.

Stupid of him. As if the soup mattered now.

“Plausible enough,” said Riggs after a moment. “But if he’s the cook, that little barbarian is the scribe. And this is where I start to doubt your story, Doran. That boy is no scribe.”

Hodge spoke up, words tripping together in his eagerness.

“He was General Balkas’s bed-boy. The King’s before that. Check his brand.”

Connell threw the ladle at him. But it was too late. A hand came down on Luca’s shoulder. The Northman’s; it was almost as big as Ged’s. He threw Luca down as if he weighed nothing at all.

Luca landed on his hands and knees. He had only a moment to register that this was a bad position to be in before the Northman was on him, yanking his tunic up. The wind was cold on his back, but the heat of the hand tracing the brand between his shoulders offered no comfort.

“He’s got the False King’s mark,” said the Northman, breathless with excitement. He pinched the scarred skin hard enough to make tears spring to Luca’s eyes. “The stinking lily of Solas. Shame to mar a thing so fine with such an ugly mark.”

Luca bit back a gasp as the Northman shoved a knee between his legs, forcing them open. The man’s beard scraped his neck.

“Pretty little barbarian bitch,” he murmured. “This is a good position for you. Did the False King fuck you like this?”

Rough hands slid over his chest to pluck and twist at his nipples. Another knee joined the first, spreading Luca wider and forcing him to arch his back in some awful parody of invitation.

Distantly, he heard Doran shouting.

“Stop it! For gods’ sakes, stop! You can’t do this, you said you’d free us, you swore—”

“Should’ve gotten it in writing,” said Riggs with a shrug. “Besides, you lied. If we had a contract, it’s void now.”

The Northman thrust his hips forward, rubbing his crotch against Luca. Luca could feel the shape of him. He could imagine the taste, the weight of it in his throat. Already he felt it choking him.

“How’s his ass feel, Jacken?” called the bandit holding the crossbow on Toby.

“Expensive.” A thumb teased the seam of Luca’s breeches. “Wonder what it feels like from the inside.”

Doran started towards them. Riggs made a small movement; a switchblade glinted in his hand.

“Ah, ah. None of that, Doran. Stay where you are; we haven’t finished talking. And you can take that pigsticker from your belt and drop it. I don’t trust you not to try something you’ll regret.”

Doran laid his dagger down. His empty hands flexed at his sides.

“We made a deal, damn it.”

“With conditions, Doran. With conditions.”

“I did what you told me to! Saunders, the Steward—”

He broke off, realizing what he’d said.

In a low voice, Connell said, “For gods’ sakes, Dor, what did you do?”

“Go on, Doran,” said Riggs. “Tell your friend what you did.”

“I killed them,” said Doran, tearing the words out of himself. “I had to. He said—you, Riggs, you said it was a test, you said—if I wanted to be free and fight for Kenever, I had to prove it, I had to—and I did—”

“Yes, but there was a second part of the test, wasn’t there? You were supposed to bring us the two free men left in your party.”

“I couldn’t! Not when you wouldn’t tell me what you were going to do to Toby—”

“What’s so special about this Toby, then?” asked Riggs. “Is he your lover?”

“I’m his brother,” said Toby, ignoring Doran’s muffled noise of surprise. “He might not like me very much, but he still likes me too much to kill me.”

“Brothers, eh? That explains a thing or two.” The knife flickered over Riggs’s knuckles in a lazy figure-eight. “Too bad you’re not my brother, Toby. I certainly don’t like you too much to kill you.”

The bandit holding the crossbow on Toby drew back the arrow. The click was so loud it jolted Luca’s heart, as if the arrow had lodged there.

“Wait, for gods’ sakes!” Doran shouted. “He’s important, I swear to you. His father—our father was Duke of Chesten.”

This was enough to distract Jacken from rubbing off against Luca’s ass.

“That means his mother’s Princess Amelia. Riggs, that’s Kenever’s half-sister!”

“I know,” said Riggs shortly. His mouth was turned down at the corners. He narrowed his eyes at Toby. “So I’m to believe you’re Kenever’s nephew.”

“I am,” said Toby—and oh, he was so brave; his voice only trembled a little. “Kenever came to our house once. Mother was terribly rude to him. I thought he was nice, though, even if his mother was from Guye.”

“That tracks,” said Jacken. “Amelia’s a bitch, by all accounts, and she hates the True King.”

“Then again,” said Riggs, “he could be lying.”

“He’s not lying, I swear to you,” said Doran. “On my life, I swear it.”

Riggs’s mouth lengthened into something like a smile.

“On your life, eh?”

“He gave me a coin,” said Toby quickly. “Kenever, I mean. A very old coin from Guye. It’s in my pack, in the pocket with the geometry proofs and the mouse skeleton.”

One of the bandits rifled through Toby’s pack. He produced the coin, along with the proofs, the skeleton, and some very odd mushrooms. The mushrooms he discarded with a grimace. The coin he flipped to Riggs, who studied it before shrugging.

“He could’ve gotten this anywhere,” he said, tucking the coin into his pocket. “It doesn’t prove anything.”

Toby’s cry of “Then give it back, you thief!” was drowned out by Doran bellowing, “What more do you want, you murdering bastard? Scald the land, he’s a prince, I tell you!”

Riggs made a sign. The bandit who’d pointed his crossbow at Luca swung it round to point at Doran. There was a click as the arrow notched into place.

The clearing went still.

“Ah, what a shame you keep making trouble for yourself, Doran,” said Riggs, clucking his tongue. “Now it’s time to choose.”

“Choose what?”

“You or Toby. One of you leaves here alive. Your choice.”

Doran didn’t hesitate.

“Me,” he said. “Kill me.”

#cliffhangers are my love language #the golden bird #pierrot writes #tgb #whump #wip

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primalbloodlust · 3 months

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Wouldn't it just be so romantic if I split open your belly from hip to hip with a hooked knife, shot you up full of adrenaline via syringe, and forced you at gunpoint to hang yourself with your own intestines?

#my love language is acts of service if you couldnt tell #whump #dark kinks #horror kink #slasher kink #cnc kink #dubcon kink #18+ only #suicide kink #erotophonophilia #autassassinophilia

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procrastinatorrex · 1 year

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“I told you to stay back!” He was shouting before he’d finished dismounting. The finely made helm rattled as it hit the ground and bounced. Merlin sighed as the furious blond knight strode over to the edge of the camp where he leaned against Gwaine. “Throwing his toys like a child, once again.” He said, to no one in particular.

“I’ll show you childish.” The prince seethed. “Are you trying to prove you’re an idiot?”

“I seem to recall you were willing to accept magic on the battlefield before, my lord,” each breath made his chest burn, but Merlin wasn’t about to mention that. He ehxaled slowly between his teeth, trying to control the pain.

Arthur’s gaze was focused on his chest instantly. “Where did it hit you?” He was closing the gap between them as he spoke, taking Merlin gently by the shoulders and pulling him away from Gwaine.

“Nothing gets by you, does it?” He hissed out a breath as Arthur shifted him to take his weight.

"I'm a leader of knights, Merlin. They're much better at hiding wounds than a skinny idiot." His warm fingers were tugging at Merlin's collar, undermining the harsh words with gentle persistence. "Let me see."

#merthur fanfiction #whump fanfiction #mine #what is my deal with the whump lately?#oh well #just kiss already good lawd #merthur #Yelling is Arthur's love language

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flowersarefreetherapy · 11 months

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Begging

For @whumpawoman’s Whump Girl Summer: Day 4, Begging

CW: Degrading language, dehumanization, begging, BBU typical violence, threats of violence

“You know better than to speak like that,” Handler Ava snaps.

“I’m sorry,” 327 whispers, staring hard at the tiled floor under her. “I’m sorry, I-I am sorry, I’m sorry, I-“

“If you want to keep those hands of yours, I suggest you shut your mouth.”

327 clamps her mouth shut. It’s been a long time since the handlers have threatened her hands. She’s being good, talented, smart, picking up on the language like they want her to. They can’t hurt her hands. She’ll lose her skill. She’ll stop being good.

“Better.” Handler Ava grabs her hair and forces her head back. 327 swallows back a whimper of pain. “But not good enough. I think you can handle a few broken fingers. You don’t need your pinkie that badly, do you?”

“No, no, no, please!” 327 panics, shaking her head. Hair tears from her scalp and tears burn her eyes. The pounding of her heart is all she hears as her handler laughs. “Please, please don’t! I’ll be good! I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was a stupid pet, I shouldn’t have said that!”

“And what did you say?”

She shakes her head. No, she knows this game. She can’t say it again. If she does–is she speaks the words they are trained to avoid at all costs–then she’ll be hurt and her handler will be mad and it isn’t good!

Just like you. Such a bad pet. You know you aren’t supposed to say that.

“What did you say?” Handler Ava snarls, tightening her grip. 327 flinches. “What did you say? Answer me!”

“No!” 327 shouts. Tears stream down her face. “I-I said-I said no! I said no and that was stupid! I’m a stupid pet! I don’t say no! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“And why don’t you say no?”

“Because I-I exist only to serve my master! My body and my wants are not-not my own! I exist only to serve my master!”

Handler Ava slaps her. The warm taste of copper fills her mouth, her cheek throbbing from the blow. It’s going to leave a bruise. Just another one to add to her already battered and tired body. She wants to crawl into a corner and cry.

“Stop crying. I wanted to hear you admit your mistake, not blab on about how stupid you are.”

“Sorry,” 327 whispers. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Shut up, 327. No one cares what you have to say.”

327 closes her mouth and nods. No one cares. Her hands are what are valuable. Her knowledge of the language is valuable. No one cares about her. All she is is a vessel. Something for the message to pass through. Like a wire, a transmission, a way for information to pass through without involving her.

You aren’t important. The message is important.

“No one cares what I have to say,” she repeats. “The message is what is important.”

“You are not important.”

“I am not important,” she whispers.

“Good pet.” Handler Ava steps back and rubs her hair. “You’re learning. Slowly, but you’re learning. Doing better than before, 327, which is good.”

“Thank you, handler.”

#waw2023 #whumpgirlsummer #begging #day 4 #jenna my love #dehumanization #degrading language #threats of violence #bbu #bbu universe #pet whump #it's short; but inspiration was not my friend today

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whumpcereal · 2 years

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whumptober, day twenty-five: duct tape | lost voice | "you better start talking"

part of behavior modification (masterlist here). set in the future, during hallie's senior year of high school. references some events from this piece. part one of a four-part whumptober mini-series. don't worry: hallie will be fine.

content warnings for: light lady whump, filmed whump, noncon drugging, noncon nudity, terror, bbu/bbu-adjacent, emeto mention, adult language

future snippet, like father, like daughter

Hallie turns her head, and the room keeps spinning, even after she’s stopped moving. She laughs, because it’s silly. The room isn’t spinning; she isn’t moving. But it spins and it moves and a vague sour feeling settles at the back of Hallie’s throat, and she doesn’t fucking care.

“Whooooa, Hallie, you’re fucked up.”

Hallie doesn’t recognize the person she’s toasting, but she shoves her cup in the air anyway. “Yes, I am!”

“Yeah, you are!”

The bass is so loud that Hallie can feel it thrumming in her core. She spins again, moving her hips in time with the beat.

She’s never been this free. Or at least, she’s never been so out of control. Her dads don’t know. They think she’s a free spirit, a wild thing, untamed, so wholly herself. That’s what they say. Oh, baby. We’re so glad that you know how to be yourself. She’s so beautiful, so smart. And Hallie is smart. Smart enough to recognize the pain her fathers carry with them.

Dad–not Daddy, not anymore–still spends some days in bed, silent and scrabbling at scars that won’t ever fade. Hallie knows what made those scars now. She’s read about the shock collars, seen pictures online. She knows what it means to be the “bad kind” of pet, all the things Dad would have suffered. All the things he did suffer. His WRU files were unsealed after they went to court. Hallie knows more than she wants to. She doesn’t understand how Dad can smile, how he doesn’t spend all his days in bed.

And Papa is afraid. Afraid for Dad, and afraid for Hallie. He asks too many questions, and he never seems content with the answers. Papa trusts her, she knows he does, but he doesn’t trust anyone else. Everyone is a would-be Ivan Peters or an agent for WRU. Everyone is waiting to fracture their little family.

Her dads try to play it off like that isn’t how they live, but Hallie knows better. There’s a reason this is her first real party in four years of high school.

Don’t leave your drink. Better yet, don’t drink at all. Always tell someone where you’re going. Never let your guard down, even for a second; there are people who would give anything to make an example of you.

But her dads aren’t here. If they knew she was at Kaitlyn Halstrom’s house, if they knew that Hallie was drunk, they would certainly have something to say about it. But they don’t know, and Hallie is drunk at Kaitlyn Halstrom’s house, and she has never felt quite this way before.

“You want another?”

“Fuck yeah!”

Hallie doesn’t recognize the boy who hands her the shot, not really. Maybe they’re in the same study hall? But it doesn’t matter. No, what matters tonight is having fun. She throws the shot down her throat and slams the glass down, coughing as the alcohol burns all the way to her chest.

Her ears rush, and the pulse of the bass seems to slow.

“Grab her,” someone says. “Before she falls.”

Hallie falls anyway, but she doesn’t hit the floor. There are hands on her arms, at her hips, yanking at her hair. Her feet aren’t on the floor, and her head feels heavy. Everything feels heavy.

She’s flying. She’s flying, and she doesn’t like it. She tries to set her feet down, but she can’t. Sweaty hands cinch tight around her ankles.

This isn’t right.

“No,” Hallie grunts. “No, pu’me down.” Her tongue feels like swollen leather in her mouth, and she’s still spinning. “Please,” she tries to say, but she isn’t sure the word actually makes it past her lips. She squeezes her eyes shut. It doesn’t help. She’s moving, and it feels like she’s left her stomach behind.

Snippets of other people’s words bounce through her head.

“...did you give her?”

“...worry…be fine!”

“...take her?”

“....my room, I guess.”

“...have the stuff?”

“Yeah.”

The hands lay her on something that’s hard and soft at the same time, and they manhandle her until she’s resting on her hip. Instinctively, she curls over her stomach; it’s cramping, and she doesn’t know why. Well, she might know why, but she can’t remember. Not right now. Just now, she knows that she wants the world to stop spinning so fast.

She coughs, and she tastes acid.

“Gross!”

“Just keep her on her side. And don’t tape ‘til you think she’s done.”

“Kaitlyn–”

Hallie’s brain grasps for the name, but it slips away just as suddenly. She feels like she’s sinking into thick mud. It’s clogging her mouth and nose, her ears, her eyes.

Daddy, she thinks. Daddy, I need you.

She slips into blackness just as she feels clumsy fingers plucking at her fly.

-/-/-

When Hallie wakes, it feels like someone’s driven a Mack truck between the hemispheres of her brain. It’s the only thing that lets her know that she’s actually awake, because when she opens her eyes, there is only blackness; something soft is wound around the top part of her face, blocking her eyes.

“Wh–” she tries, but her mouth doesn’t move. Her lips feel like they’re stuck against something, and she can’t seem to get them apart.

She screams, but the sound stays trapped in her head. It makes everything hurt worse.

“She’s awake.” It’s a boy’s voice. He sounds excited. Maybe scared. She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know.

“Perfect,” answers another voice, a girl this time. “Sit her up.”

Hands are on her again, but this time, they’re up against her bare skin. Hallie wriggles, and she realizes that she isn’t wearing her shirt or her jeans.

No. This is what they warned her about, what Daddy and Papa have been terrified of Hallie’s entire life, even before. This is what happened to Daddy. There was something in his drink. She remembers that she thought it sounded like a magic potion when she was a little girl. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t magic at all.

Hallie screams again, and this time, the girl laughs.

“She sounds like a stuck pig.”

The boy snorts. “Well, people have pigs for pets, don’t they?”

Pets.

Hallie’s entire body runs cold. The hands holding her still squeeze her tight, and she shakes her head.

Daddy, she thinks. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have listened. I didn’t listen.

Hallie wonders if Dad was this scared, when it happened to him. When he was taken. When he was–

“Put the sign on her,” the girl says.

Something thick and scratchy settles around Hallie’s neck, and she feels something flat settle against her chest–over her bra, she realizes with the smallest flash of relief. It’s only then that she realizes how badly she’s shaking. The sign–cardboard–jolts against her skin. A big hand slips over her naked stomach, and she feels the soft slip of a tongue against her neck. Hot tears squeeze out from beneath whatever they’ve wrapped around her eyes.

“Ohmygod, perfect,” laughs the girl. “Now the other thing.”

“Dude, are you sure?”

“Our little pet lib princess deserves a shock, don’t you think?”

At once, something else slips around Hallie’s neck, close against her throat this time. She feels the metal prongs settle against the back of her neck, and she knows.

She thinks of her father’s throat, of the collar he’ll never be able to take off. She wants to plead, to beg them to stop, but all she can manage is more tears.

“Awww,” breathes the girl, her voice steeped in mock sweetness. A soft little hand gropes at Hallie’s breast, and Hallie shrieks behind the tape. “Look at that; I think she likes it. Like father, like daughter. A future Romantic, if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Kaitlyn, you don’t have to–”

Kaitlyn. Of course.

“Let go of her,” Kaitlyn snarls. “I don't know how strong this is.”

“You don’t know how–Jesus, maybe don’t, then? If you hurt her–”

“Just let go! Come here, and take the camera.”

“Jesus Christ,” the boy mutters, but he does as he’s told.

Hallie doesn’t even have time to feel relieved; in an instant, the collar lights up, and her nerves explode.

taglist: @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @sparrowsage, @aut0psy-s, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @no-terms-and-conditions-apply, @darlingwhump, @squishablesunbeam, @dont-be-gentle-please, @deltaxxk, @irishwhiskeygrl, @keep-beach-city-werid, @keeper-of-all-the-random-things, @hold-him-down, @peachy-panic, @whumpyblogthing, @sowhumpful, @considerablecolors, @ramadiiiisme

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fluffypotatey · 2 months

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If they don't want me to wrap that traumatized monkey in a blanket burrito then they need to stop whumping him so badly in every fight encounter. I guess I could be talking about either monkey with that statement LMAO. Also can you BELIEVE they really had Wukong try and fix Macky's clothes who was all scandalized victorian maiden about it like HELLO YOU TWO WHAT IS UP. I love past Macky sm like he's such a wittle baby, teensy at the dinner table, adorably cautious about insane anarchy plans, squishy little loner under the tree trying to bandage himself with a serious wittle frowny face, little bean getting teased and fur ruffled and sweetly hopeful over his friend's dreams and promises. I apologize for the Macky crimes against fandom who want to hold him accountable for unspeakable war crimes but he is a cartoon monkey I deeply desire to squish in the palm of my hand and toss around like a paddle ball. fur-real friends plushie of a blorbo. I can be serious later 90% of the time those furry cheeks better be squished and pulled by my hands. Going to yoink his tail and watch him scramble like a rat in a mouse trap. Drop him into the whims of the fanfic maze as a giant Wukong looms over like a hallucination from a fever dream, time to play whack-a-mac. Okay, I'm normal now.

yeah you do that

#wukong will stay with me tho #i may not share in your desires but i'm happy it works for you #i'll keep making whumps for him and writing him as the rat he is (affectionate)#but i will join you on the paddle ball!#ngl i think you would terrify him anon but it would be funny to watch #lmk #asks #lmk six eared macaque #sorry if my reply is weird but tbh i do not share in your feelings when it comes to macky #bullying macky is my love language for him #maybe i'd squish past!macky's cheeks but i might die

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whump-is-love-whump-is-life · 4 months

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Pst— poison your whumpee’s love language

*scurries away*

#posting like the gremlin I am #whump #my posts #my whump #love language #whumpee #whump community #whumpblr #whump prompts #whump ideas

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sadisthetic · 2 years

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i have to attack jay like a dog.

#for the record.#i have an inconceivable amount of bloodlust in my body as baseline #BUT JAY WALKER IN NINJAGO SEASON 6 SKYBOUND SOMEHOW RAMPS IT UP BY A THOUSAND.#hes my precious blorbito and i love him very much #but unfortunately my love language is whump and torment. bullying. beating him to shit.#hes very fun to hurt im delighted by his potential to be a subject of graphic depictions of violence and torture #very non normal tags here but truth is i have always always always been like this please note my url.#jem.txt

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