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honeycollectswhump · 7 months

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Nothing but Art

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, dehumanization, conditioned whumpee, burns (branding)

A sense of foreboding washes over Ashtray before he can even process what is happening, as his Mistress rips open the door to the room he is kept in, grabs him by his golden collar and drags him through the halls.

Even though he can barely breathe, gasping for air with every intake, he keeps his eyes low on the ground where they belong. It most definitely looks ungraceful, the way he can’t even properly get his legs under him to crawl along with his Mistress’ relentless pace. Instead, he is pulled along like a disobedient dog, and that thought alone makes him try twice as hard to keep up.

The entire time, his Mistress’ is hissing words Ashtray can’t even begin to comprehend, her usually angel-like tone seeps into his bones like poison and makes him shake. Still, he knows –he hopes– she hasn’t called him a Bad Boy yet, so maybe, maybe he still has a chance to make this right.

Suddenly, there is a jerk and Ashtray’s head collides with the ground. The whole world spins and lurches and for a moment, all he can smell is smoke, yet the familiarity doesn’t bring him any comfort. Desperately, he tries to get his arms under his body to push himself up as quickly as possible. He needs to please her, he needs to be good, and he needs to do it right now.

Ashtray gets into position, kneeling, eyes on the ground, humble, submissive, and hers.

Part of him wants to grovel, to offer himself up in the name of his eternal obedience or to read her thoughts and act accordingly. If he could change himself to be an even better Ashtray for her, he would, without hesitation, no matter the price. It is his duty as her Ashtray and beyond that, it is what his soul strives for.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the fireplace, with flames dancing in it. His beautiful Mistress is standing right in front of it, wearing a stunning dress, adorned with gems, red like Ashtray’s blood, a sight which she enjoys occasionally.

In her hands, she is gripping a strange metal rod. There should be a word for it in his mind, yet nothing but a grave emptiness comes up.

His Mistress silently stares down into the fire as if she could get it to burst and devour everything in her path with her gaze alone. Ashtray scrambles to come up with a reason, with anything that might have caused this. But then again he wasn’t made to think, he was made to obey.

He can only hope that he didn’t cause her displeasure and that maybe, he can be useful for her now, in any way she desires, hope that he can make her happy again. There is a chance this might not be a Punishment, considering she hasn’t even used Ashtray today.

But when his Mistress’ gaze falls on him, it is cold, devoid of any of the adoration it usually holds for her Ashtray.

“Back.” she seethes.

Despite the underlying, prickling fear that still hasn’t left him, Ashtray beams at the familiar word and the chance to make himself useful, even though he can’t yet see a cigarette. He will be used and he will be Good.

Ashtray complies immediately –of course. At this point, it is barely a conscious thought, his body just moves on its own, the way it is supposed to. Ashtray straightens and turns around, pulling off the loose shirt he is wearing with all of the gratefulness he can muster. Each movement is exceptionally trained, from the way his thin fingers grasp the fabric of the shirt, to the way his muscles work when his back is bared.

It’s how he was designed, ingrained into his very being to make the perfect product for his Mistress.

Ashtray does his best, as he always does for his Mistress, but it’s not enough. She doesn’t even look at him for more than a moment, doesn’t stop to appreciate the display she spent so much money on.

With every second, Ashtray’s hope of doing something right, of earning her mercy dwindles and instead leaves him with the harrowing knowledge that he is failing at the single purpose of his life.

But no matter his already insignificant feelings, no matter the fear that this is a Punishment, he has to behave. Obedience is his first and second nature. It doesn’t depend on rewards or Punishment or any of his Mistress’ graces. It just is.

A good Ashtray is used but not noticed; a good Ashtray is still and silent. A good Ashtray doesn’t move even though he knows his Mistress is holding the metal rod into the fire. A good Ashtray doesn’t twitch in anticipation when his Mistress lays a hand on his bare shoulder to bend him over slightly for easier access.

A good Ashtray doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even think when burning hot metal touches his skin for the first time, when his Mistress presses the edge into his skin and drags it down in a straight line and the fire follows–

He is a good Ashtray. He is a good Ashtray. He is a good Ashtray. He is a good Ashtray.

Really, this shouldn’t be too different from the cigarettes he was made for. But no matter how hard he tries, he cannot find the same comfort in the sizzling burning. It might not be a Punishment, his Mistress’ effort and care are too great for that, but it’s too close to one, with the cold glint in his Mistress’ eyes and her cutting voice.

Even now, one of her hands rests on his shoulder, maybe to keep him perfectly still, even though Ashtray would never move away from her, no matter if it's affection or a Punishment. With the other, she carves a design into Ashtray’s back, which is already full of perfect, round scars.

Mistress’ nails dig into his skin. Ashtray finds joy in whatever makes his Mistress happy, but somehow he thinks this isn’t an act of pleasure, not how it is supposed to be. Nevertheless, he wishes using him this way pleases her.

There’s only a brief pause, in which his Mistress lifts the burning rod from his back and he dares to hope it may be over. But then it starts all over again.

This time, his Mistress takes her sweet time, tracing a circle on his back with precision, and Ashtray tries to cling to the underlying message that he has become her art piece. He still fulfils a purpose and that is more than he could ever wish for.

Yet, it is nearly impossible to form thoughts beyond the pain and the sizzling smell of his own burning flesh. Ashtray wonders if his Mistress smells it too, if it disgusts her or if she doesn’t care.

By the third time she lifts and brings down the fire again, Ashtray is barely here or there, stuck in his own body and trying to stop it from twitching or shivering. His back is burning, but his limbs feel deathly cold, and beads of sweat cover his forehead.

His Mistress is drawing something, making her Ashtray into her canvas, each stroke filled with intention. He isn’t made for this but maybe it will make him pretty nonetheless. If he is pretty, he is worth more and that is half of his function.

He is a good Ashtray, he is a great Ashtray, and he is burning.

Just as abruptly, his Mistress stops, or at least Ashtray thinks she does. Still, the fire lingers, eating itself down to his bones.

She stands up, leaving her Ashtray kneeling on the ground; The sound of her heels echoing through the hall. Only when the door closes behind her does Ashtray allow himself to gasp for air, shivering and trembling with exhaustion and pain.

Eventually, one of his Mistress’ servants comes to collect him. They know not to speak with him, it has no use, even though they sometimes try. He never understands them. Now, Ashtray can’t even muster up the strength to listen to the servant's hushed voice, as they pull him up and examine his back.

He isn’t being used. No one but his Mistress and those with her explicit permission are allowed to use him. So –for once– it’s okay when he disappears into his own body for a while and into the numbness in which his consciousness is already being pulled.

Ashtray is nothing if not obedient. Ashtray is nothing.

And for a while, everything is muffled…

Halls, halls, then The Room. Alone then not. Bandages, but no cream. He must not have been good enough art then.

The disappointment that should be intertwined with that thought barely registers in Ashtray’s mind. He’s Art, he’s Ashtray and he is Nothing…

Eventually, as the pain dulls and melts into the background, Ashtray comes back. It is a relief to be a part of his own body again, to be conscious not only of pain but of his emotions.

He checks his body but the bandages have already been taken off. Some part of him is thankful for the mindfulness of the servants, keeping his Mistress’ objects clean for her use.

The other part of him starts to feel curious about his Mistress’ artwork, the design she needed her Ashtray to portray for the rest of his existence.

There is a mirror in The Room, where all of the precious objects are kept, to make sure they are presentable. Now, far removed from any person’s view, Ashtray dares to use it for his own little purpose.

He stretches, uncaring about how it pulls on the new burns, to get a good look. It must be beautiful if it was hand-drawn by his Mistress, and that alone is worth all of the pain. But to his dismay, the only thing he can see are letters. Three of them.

Even though he recognises the letters, the word is another one of those mysteries that are unsolvable for mere objects like him, or maybe just him, and not for the first time does Ashtray wish he could understand.

Nevertheless, he knows the word must be special if his Mistress deemed him worthy of it.

T.O.Y.

Whatever it means.

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump let me know if you want to be added or removed

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sunnynwanda · 10 months

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The Darkside: Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Warning: mentions of physical torture and trauma, a somewhat grafic description of rape in the 2nd chapter, blood, broken bones, healing and aftercare for Villain cause I love them.

The motorcycle comes to a halt in front of an abandoned cabin. There are no lights in the windows, as far as Hero can see, which makes it even more plausible that Villain is here. They turn the keys, stop the engine and take off their helmet as they walk to the door. They pin the lock and step into the silent darkness of the cabin. Hero stops, searching for signs of human presence, but senses nothing. They take a few hesitant steps, glancing into the kitchen, then moving toward what looks like the living room. They hear laboured breathing to their right and turn just in time to dodge the dagger aimed at their shoulder.

“It’s me,“ they offer. A silhouette behind the sofa's back shifts to get a better look at them. “Villain, it’s me.”

“Why are you here?” Villain's voice is barely audible. Hero suspects they haven’t had time to treat any of their wounds. Villain brings another dagger up, pressing it to their own throat. “I’ll die but won’t be taken back, Hero.“

“I’ll die but won’t let them take you,” Hero claims, unwavering. They cannot blame Villain for not trusting them after what their mentor and colleagues had done. After everything that Villain had to endure because Hero was too slow. “I swear.”

Villain does not reply, but they do drop the dagger down. With a relieved sigh, Hero crosses the room, walking around the sofa and dropping their bag to the floor. They crouch in front of the fireplace and light a fire, then scan the room, fetching a blanket upon locating it.

“Shh, don’t move too much.” They place their palm on Villain’s chest, pushing them back on the sofa. “What do you need? Water?”

Villain nods, wordless from exhaustion and concern. “Why are you here?” They repeat after Hero returns with a large glass of water and a jar. “And what is that?”

“Honey,” Hero’s hands are shaky, they attempt to ignore it for now. “It’ll give you some strength before I can get some food in the morning.”

Villain takes the spoon with their right hand, the left safely tucked away under the blanket. Hero shudders, remembering the state of it, what was done to it. They reach for their bag, pulling out their first aid kit. Something they learned to use to heal themselves while in training. Villain had no need of knowing that.

Villain scoots away the moment they notice forceps. “No, no, no, please, no...” Hero looks up, not yet understanding what’s gotten into them. They stop Villain from jumping off the sofa and follow their frightened gaze, locked onto the instrument.

“No, God! This is not... I want to treat your wounds, Vil.” They explain, putting everything aside and holding their hand in their own. “I would never hurt you.”

They can see the panic subsiding in Villain’s eyes, but the fear is still there, ever-present in the back of their mind. “I don’t have to use those, okay?” The enthusiasm with which Villain nods shatters Hero’s heart into the tiniest pieces. “Let me have a look at your hand first, alright?”

They are still hesitant, eyeing the forceps with utmost hatred when Hero puts those away into the kit. “I can heal, remember?” Hero prompts, pulling their jacket off and discarding it onto the floor. They push the hem of their shirt aside. “I got this when you threw the giant doughnut at me.”

“You didn’t have it the next day,” Villain attempts to smile, opening the cut on their lip. “Shit.”

“Hey, stop with that!” They stop Villain’s sleeve mid-way to their face. With a sigh, Hero moves closer to them, taking Villain’s face into their hands. “Lean back and just trust me.”

They allow their fingers to move gently over Villain’s lip, wiping the crusted blood and then using their power to heal the cut in mere minutes. Villain looks shocked but remains silent when Hero’s fingers move up to their cheekbones, then forehead, ghosting over every bruise on their face. Once they are done, Hero shifts, pulling the blanket off and revealing Villain’s mangled hand pressed to their stomach for protection. Hero shudders, sounds of flesh and bones crushing under repeated hammer strikes fill their ears.

“It’s...” Villain starts, but is unable to finish. They blink back tears that sting their eyes and take a sharp breath when Hero lifts their hand onto their lap. “Fuck.”

“Sorry, love,” Hero says as they attempt to straighten their crooked fingers. They disinfect the wound - the entire hand from the wrist down. Villain hisses, teeth digging into their lower lip. “Hey, I just healed that! Don’t you dare damage it again!”

They chuckle at the stunned expression on Villain’s face, happy for the distraction as they snap their phalanges into place. It’s rough and painful, but they know it will heal right. There is no time for surgical precision. Villain inhales sharply but does not pull their hand back, watching Hero tear their hand apart and then work their magic to fix it.

Twenty minutes later, Hero looks up with a small smile. “Done.” They shake their head when Villain waves at them, delighted at their fingers moving freely.

God, they are so cute, so pure. Hero cannot comprehend how deranged one must be to inflict such torment on them. Without a word, they hook their palm under Villain’s knee, bringing their leg up to examine the damaged foot. Villain shifts, leaning on the couch and watching Hero peel off their impromptu bandage.

“A T-shirt?“ Villain shrugs. It’s not like they had a bunch of supplies at hand. Hero knows Villain spent whatever time they had in the city to go meet them. Warn them. It takes a moment to compose themselves and start talking because the fabric is stuck to their skin, and it’s about to get painful again. “That’s a pity. I liked that one on you.”

Villain chuckles at the attempt at distraction while Hero’s fingers gently soak the fabric before tugging at it. They bite the inside of their cheek to suppress an anguished moan. Their vision is blurring.

“I’m so sorry.” Hero’s expression is pained, and that provides comfort to Villain. They needed to know there was someone who didn’t take pleasure in their suffering. They tug again, finally ripping it off their skin. “Sorry. This was the last one, I promise.”

Villain nods, blinking to refocus their eyes. They notice their foot is bleeding when Hero starts breathing frantically. Their hands hover just above the wound, almost touching the skin to rush the process. They stop, from time to time, to fix the positions of some bones or make sure they don’t lose functionality. After what feels like an hour, Hero leans back with a satisfied groan. “Can you move your toes?”

Villain wiggles their toes, and Hero can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of their mouth. This idiot.

“Good. Now take off your shirt.” Villain does not move for a good minute, staring at them with a mixture of emotions that range from surprise to something Hero is better off not discovering. “I need to check your shoulder.”

“It’s not that bad,” they start, pulling the collar tight around their neck, but Hero’s gaze oozes determination.

“One touch sent you flying across the street, Vil,“ Hero reasons. They can see the hesitation colouring Villain’s features but do not budge. “Let me take a look.“

This time, Hero asks gently, and that’s what breaks Villain. They exhale, looking away to hide the glint of tears in their eyes as they unbutton their shirt and pull it off one shoulder, revealing the bite wound. A large deep purple bruise surrounds the area, and the skin around the torn tissues is red and swollen.

“Shit, it’s infected.” Hero knows there’s a tremble in their voice but cannot bring themselves to care about that right now. They are thankful Villain doesn’t question it.

When Hero finishes treating Villain’s shoulder, the sky is dark grey on the horizon. Both are exhausted and sleepy, but a question keeps eating at Hero’s heart. They know Villain did not expect to see them again when they came to warn. They wouldn't allow Hero to see what was done to them otherwise. Yet, as much as they knew Villain hated the idea of them knowing, Hero had to ask. They had to, despite knowing very well the answer would be a resounding no.

“Vil, can I...” Hero stops mid-sentence, looking down at their hands covered in Villain’s blood. They wish it was Superhero’s. Elbow deep. Villain shifts in the corner, using a pillow to prop themselves up. Hero takes a deep breath, then another, attempting to steady their heartbeat. “Can you allow me to...“

That is when it dawns on Villain what Hero’s question implies. What they are asking permission for. What remaining wound of theirs they are referring to.

“No!” Their voice sounds fragile. They sit up, using their legs to push themselves further away from where Hero is seated. They dreaded this moment, this topic from the second Hero walked in. “No fucking way. No.”

“Vil, you know I would never... I want to help.” It takes everything in Hero to keep a sob from escaping. Unable to handle the terror behind Villain’s eyes, they cover their face with trembling hands, dissociating from the horridness of the situation.

“I know.” Villain is silent for a long moment, waiting for their words to sink in. I know you won’t hurt me. I know you would probably murder Superhero for this. But I can’t. “But no.”

Hero remains irresponsive, so they continue. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t need help.” They lean forward, placing a hand on Hero’s shoulder. Their muscles feel tense enough to crumble under Villain’s touch. “Trust me on this one.”

Hero nods, still not taking their hands away from their face. It takes them several minutes to collect themselves, pulling the pieces of their broken self into a person-shaped pile. They look up, offering Villain a small smile, then drape the blanket over their nemesis. “Get some sleep. I’m gonna go grab some food.”

“You’ll come back?“ It sounds more like a request than a question. Villain’s eyes are closed when Hero reaches the door, their breathing uneven.

“No matter what.” With the doors locked, Hero hops onto their motorcycle, pulls a black mask over their face and departs. Once again, they have three hours till the sun is up. Until then, they need to reach the city, complete their mission and return to Villain. No matter what.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Masterlist

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befuddled-calico-whump · 7 months

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The Soiree (part one)

@whumptober No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

cw: alcohol/forced intoxication, dehumanization, adult language

Masterlist ///// next

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Alexei Wilder didn't used to hate parties. He wasn't much of an extrovert, and the majority of the events he'd attended had been in pursuit of a target, but even so, parties had a certain charm. There was something about being surrounded by people, united for the common purpose of celebration, and happily distracted enough to not pay him any mind.

There lay the root of his issue with Uriah's parties. Here, he was the distraction.

It wasn't too bad at first. Fox dressed Lex in suit pants and a black silk shirt and kept him at his side as he made the rounds, greeting guests. At dinner, he knelt on the floor beside the CEO's chair, a debasing position that Lex was actually grateful for. Here, the eyes weren't lingering on him. Here, they wouldn't touch him, at least for a little while. Uriah had even been gracious enough to let Lex keep his cybernetics for the party, though the threat of having them taken away for good if he tried anything was still being held over his head.

But that wasn't bad. If anything, that was normal. Until—

"You're a terrible host, Fox." A meticulously groomed brunette across the table was leaning past his cocktails and hoeur d'oeuvres, addressing Uriah though his eyes were heavy on Lex. Before the Tower, Lex would've stared back, pouring threats into his gaze until the other man backed down. Now, it felt safer to drop his head and hope he lost interest.

"Oh?" came Fox's response.

"You haven't let anyone play with your new toy."

(Ploy, alloy, coy.) Pretentious dickhead. Alexei had learned pretty quickly that the city's wealthy had a glitzy, roundabout way of speaking, especially to each other. It made him want to puke.

But under the thick layer of disgust, there was still the fear of this guest's—all the guests'—intentions, as well as the hope that Uriah would prove to be his usual controlling self and shut the request down. Instead—

"Of course. Where are my manners?"

(Planners, banners.) Lex's stomach dropped. He'd beg Uriah to take it back if it would change anything, but that would only show weakness—fear—to the guests.

Under the table, he saw the brunette man's hand move, tapping his knee.

"Here, boy."

Are you fucking kidding me?

He didn't say it. Somehow, he didn't say it. That would only give them something to punish, only make things that much worse.

One stern look from Uriah, and Lex was crawling under the table to a chorus of amused laughter. He prayed that at the very least, none of them knew who he was, who he used to be, but Uriah wasn't the type to hold his tongue when there was bragging to be done.

He tried to retreat from his body, placating his mind with fantasies of setting the tablecloth on fire and beating the shit out of the man who was now sitting above him, tracing his cheekbone with a finger, hunger in his gaze.

This new enemy tilted his chin up and pressed a glass to his lips. When Lex caught the sharp smell of alcohol inside, he drank without protest, grateful that he could at least be moderately numb to the humiliation.

But the man didn't stop, and drink after drink was poured down Lex's throat until the room was spinning and he was no longer sure if this was a kindness or a curse.

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tag list:

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise

#whumptober 2023 #no.1 #but now the room is spinning while im trying just to fill in all the gaps #oc #fic #alcohol tw #welp more lex suffer time #sorry for the uncreative title i am at a loss #wildefire #alexei wilder #assassin whump #some will be short #its hard for me to write short stuff cause wrapping it up neatly is harddd #multiple whumpers

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whumperer-86 · 23 days

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Fainted

Best choice ever ep 12

#whump #whumper #asian whump #emotional whump #suffering #drama #whumpee #asian whumper #chinese drama #xu kai

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pixelatedraindrops · 20 days

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So I noticed before that you posted Yakou with a stomach bug or something like that, but what other illnesses do you think Yakou should be inflicted with! Personally I want to sprinkle a bit of flu or pneumonia on the man. Idk why but he has become my whump character

Ha. Now you know how I feel with Yuma. It must be the pathetic wetcat-ness emanating from them both lol

Tbh I only gave him that to differentiate the illnesses between the detectives in that post. I still think its true and can work for him with all his drinking issues or maybe Yuma’s cooking gives him the WORST case of food poisoning.

But when it comes to other issues, I think Yakou would have a TERRIBLE cough when sick due to smoking. Wouldn’t be surprised if it gives him breathing issues as well. Or maybe he has a fit so bad it causes him to vomit. Or maybe when he’s out cold from a high fever, his labored breathing is super hollow. And I think he can also be prone to really bad hot flashes and dizziness if he gets up too fast if he has a bad headache/migraine/fever too~ 👀

#pixel answers #rain code #whumpcode #whumpcode ask #yakou furio #sick headcanons #yeah we love to make our whumpees suffer don’t we? 👀#you get it lol #go forth and put him through hell 😈#you already gave him pneumonia though #but godspeed to you fellow raincode whumper in the making 🫡#I could give this man so much hell and yet I decide to torment the trainee instead LMAO #ITS A PREFERNCE x'D

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whumpshaped · 1 year

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tw period talk, captivity, implied torture

This was ridiculous. This was something so entirely... normal. It was too normal. Logically, Whumpee knew that if this ordeal stretched for longer than three weeks, they'd have to deal with the period cramps in a stupid, dingy basement. But when the waves of nausea actually hit, they felt unprepared.

Whumper didn't give them painkillers, and Whumpee never asked. They told them at least, because they had to, because they had already gotten tired of lying in a pool of their own blood during the past weeks. But they didn't mention the pain, and Whumper didn't assume. Or maybe they didn't care.

The ache spread from their abdomen to their lower back, and no position was good enough to relieve both areas at once. Their head was pounding and the urge to throw up was getting more unbearable by the second. Every wave was worse than the last. They couldn't help gently rocking back and forth on the cold floor in a desperate attempt to ease the agony.

And then Whumper came downstairs, and Whumpee sat up, their whole body screaming at them to lie back down. They bit the inside of their cheek to keep from groaning, and to give themself another kind of pain to focus on. It was ridiculous. It was somehow worse than all the things Whumper had done so far, because this one was too insistent, and it couldn't be stopped by begging.

Still, Whumpee was determined to get through the added torment with grace.

@ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @dustbunnywhump @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland

#is this a weird thing to write out just bc im suffering #maybe #do i care #no #the more i think abt it #the more whump potential this has #hormones are wack. the pain is unbearable. and some meds sound mighty good #what an absolutely perfect thing for whumper to exploit that literally never gets mentioned #ok ive just never seen it lol #whump #whump drabble #period talk #captivity #implied torture

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whump-in-the-closet · 1 year

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14. Collars in the Shape of Hands

previous.

cw: burning, failed escape, inhuman whumpers

Your vision blurs, choked with the sight of Valian’s blood and flashing steel. You can’t watch this. You–

You panic. And the world panics with you, slipping away and blurring into vague, indistinct shapes. You run, heart ripping apart your throat– you don’t think an internal organ is supposed to be there, but you brush it aside– you have to run.

You have to get out of here.

The ring of trees that’s a fuzzy line of green means freedom. Safety. You draw close, panic turning to exhilaration. You’re going to make it. You’re going to be safe. The thought settles comfortably inside you, all dull edges and warm fall colours.

You never make it.

You never had a chance.

Keres materialises directly in front of you, coming up from the grass with the finality of a mountain.

Fall colours fade to winter and despair.

Grinding to a stop, you try to backpedal– you still have a chance to reach the woods. To escape this nightmare of a clearing–

Keres tilts her head and gives you a paper-thin smile. A smile that says, “Hey, congratulations, you messed this up splendidly. Good for you for being so bold and so utterly stupid.” Really, who needs words when they can smile like that?

Someone grabs your shoulders from behind, grip tightening with an impossible strength. No human should be able to make your bones feel like they’re about to turn into powder.

Solis drags you back to the middle of the clearing. In a final fit of resistance, you dig your heels into the ground, leaving scratch marks in the grass.

Solis drops you. Pieces of green grass twist between your fingers and wrap around your wrist.

Voices echo like they're coming from the end of a very long tunnel. “You shall regret that.”

“Helect, you should not have tried to run.” Mocking. “But, alas, that is your loss.”

It’s Solis who hauls you back to your feet. There are flecks of Valian's blood on her face. She doesn’t let go of your collar, but twists it to the point of choking.

Leaning in close, she whispers, “Have you ever been in so much pain, death seems like a mercy?”

The lightning in her eyes seems like an entire flashing storm. The air contracts with suppressed energy.

She slips into an old way of speaking. A hymn. A threat. “Prepare thyself.”

“For– for what?”

Solis raises two of her four hands and the light catches on the dead skin. Then you realise it's not sunlight on her skin, but white flames. Her hands are on fire.

And she smiles. “For this.”

Terror spikes through you, filling every nerve in your body with a silent scream. You try to wrench away, fighting with the strength of a trapped animal.

Keres grabs your wrists in a vice-like grip. With another hand, she grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back.

You stare at the sky through the tree branches and wonder if it's the last time you’ll see the sun.

Flashing red wings.

Cicadas buzzing.

The green of the forest.

Don’t think about the burning--

The sound of sizzling hits you first, then the pain.

Solis’s hands are around your throat, forming a collar of fire.

The sunlight beats down on you as you scream. Back arched, clawing for even the slightest relief.

The first scream is choked, strangled and half-swallowed. It rips at your throat, crawling out of your mouth and falling dead beside you.

Just like your dignity.

You never had a high pain tolerance.

“Oh, be quiet,” snaps Solis, withdrawing her hands. But the burns remain. A mark that won’t heal and is unable to be hidden.

Burns in the shape of a collar.

Keres lets go of your wrists and you sink to the ground. Your vision blurs– worse than before.

Unconsciousness is a mercy you would beg for.

You slip further into the grass.

Bare feet appear in the corner of your vision and Valian crouches next to you. Their bottom lip is shredded, blood dried to their face. They're really not much better off than you are.

There’s concern in your eyes, but it’s darkened by fear. “You should stand up for this next part,” they whisper. “Do you need help standing?”

Nausea rises up with an unbidden horror. The agents aren’t finished?

taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @d-cs, @annablogsposts, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @whumpsday, @whumpinthepot, @whumpycries (lmk if you want to be added/removed!)

#helect cyoa #interactive whump #fantasy whump #whump writing #whump cyoa #cw burning #cw torture #cw inhuman whumpers #helect is gonna suffer so badly #ask and ye shall receive #this was actually kinda fun to write #methinks helect should suffer more eh?#some of you were shouting for helects blood and i am five hundred percent with you on that

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inkwell-and-dagger · 3 months

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"Mum. Dad."

Foster greeted the gravestones with a simple nod, stuffing their hands into the pockets of their hoodie as they gazed upon the snow sitting atop the stones. They didn't know why they kept doing this; visiting their parents graves every couple months, talking to themself like the insane bastard they were. They didn't know why they believed they were listening.

Sighing, watching their breath come out as a puff of white in the frigid air, they shuffled on their feet. "...Um, I'm sorry I haven't visited in a while. I've been.. busy."

They hated how soft their voice was, how quiet the graveyard was at this time in the winter. They were meant to be strong, but it was hard not to crumble in front of their parents named etched onto the gravestones, slowly fading with time.

Foster sighed again. "...I know you're probably disappointed in the decisions I've made. How cruel I've been to certain.. people. It's a surprise I haven't been arrested yet, eh?" A humourless chuckle escaped them, though it didn't quite reach their eyes. Fuck.

"..Anyway, um, I've made friends, at least. They're nice, for the most part. Madir's a bit.. weird. Doesn't seem to understand that staring into someone's soul when he first meets them can be quite unsettling." Another attempt at a laugh. "They've all been a massive help, though, especially Zayn. It.. it's nice to have people around for once."

They sat down between the two gravestones, leaning on their elbows and closing their eyes, imagining they were with them right now. Their mind was blank.

"...I'm sorry." They whispered. "For— For running, for letting myself get caught up in that sketchy fighting ring, and now.. being an actual, genuine killer.

"...I don't know if you're listening at this point," Burying their face in one hand, they fought back the tears in their eyes. "But I've tried to be better. I swear I have. It just..."

Foster trailed off. They weren't trying. They weren't doing shit. Maybe they were just saying this to make themself feel better.

"...I'm sorry," They repeated after a beat of silence, "I'm so sorry for letting you go. Metaphorically and literally. I— I can't even remember what you two look like anymore without the pictures I've kept. I can't remember anything."

A rough, pained sob escaped them, resting their head on their father's grave, their other hand resting on their mother's. They didn't mind staying out in the snow, despite how much they were shivering by now. If anything, a part of them said they deserved it.

"Please come back. I'll get better, I promise. I promise."

How To Kill An Immortal Taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

#genuinely tearing up rn </3 #i haven't done anything actually angsty in a while #i swear the last time i did a scene in a graveyard was a couple years ago #in a mandela catalogue fanfiction on wattpad #and now poor foster has to suffer too <3 #whump #whumper #angst #tw character death #whump oc #writing #oc writing #foster canavan

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lthrboy · 4 months

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Warning: movie spoilers below

So I was just watching The Man From U.N.C.L.E (2015) on an airplane and hooooly shit there's a scene that almost made me go feral. Giga whumperflies below ❤️

Protagonist codenamed "Solo" gets caught and tortured for fun by a minor antagonist called Uncle Rudy. He had such a sick and twisted and beautiful monologue about his love for torture, especially electrocution. The torture chamber, Rudy's scrapbook of torture photos, the smoke wisping off Solo's body, absolute perfection! I think I've rewatched this scene 4 or 5 times now.

Too bad the good guys broke in and saved Solo, putting Rudy in his own chair and electrocuting him to death. He kinda ended up being a pathetic whumper and sold out his organization before he died. I felt like that was kind of a generic end to that scene, being fed to his own machines. I feel like torture for fun is more enjoyable than torture for revenge, it's prettier too.

#whumperflies #sadistic whumper #creepy whumper #pathetic whumper #electrocution #torture for fun #saving this idea for my ocs #yes yes yes #can relate to uncle rudy a lil bit #watching people suffer gives me an insatiable high #time to go do unspeakable things to my ocs i guess

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robbietheferal · 2 years

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nO because-

Give me a TRULY deranged Whumpee. One that hasn’t gone sad because of what happened to them, more like one who lost their fucking mind. I want a Whumpee who not only hurts Whumper as a result of their trauma, but also Caretaker and the people Whumpee loves.

JUst.. bat-shit insane Whumpees.

#whump #whump prompts #whump prompt #whumpee #Whumper #caretaker #deranged whumpee #whumpee just has a horrible time #pain and suffering #i am not even sorry

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piracytheorist · 1 year

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Anyway when I talked about the "hero without a shadow" monologue from the first episode I got so sidetracked by my other thoughts about it that I completely forgot my original idea; and it's that I wonder if they're gonna turn it on its head at a later point.

Like, Twilight's deeds will see the light of day - painted as heinous crimes he committed against innocent Ostanian citizens, instead of being forced to stop criminals by way of assassinating or confining them. He will make it into the papers - he'll be exposed and arrested, his face on every paper calling him a traitor. He will earn "medals" - scars from being tortured by the secret police. The Forger family's day-to-day life will get disrupted and it will be his fault for creating it in the first place - Anya and Yor's lives being turned upside down due to their unwilling (to his knowledge) involvement in Operation Strix.

I don't know, it's maybe a bit too dark, but there's so much work done in the writing that I can't help considering it an actual possibility.

#also I'm a whump fan #I'm physically unable to rule it out lmao #of course with a happy ending cause what's our whole investment for?#but maybe make him suffer a bit until then :)#(and no for us whumpers there's no ''he's suffered enough'')#(it's never enough!)#Spy x Family #torture mention #if this happens in the manga and y'all find this post: please don't spoil me about it #let me live in ignorance until the anime hits me with it #nah actually y'know what #I'm so paranoid about spoilers I'm legit making this post unrebloggable

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whumpity-whumpwhump · 11 months

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Failed escape attempts are great and all but you know what’s even better? Failed escape attempts that get civilians involved.

The whumpee nearly escaped and yes they will suffer for it but you know what else will happen? The whumper can kill whatever poor innocent soul was trying to help whumpee. And they can make the whumpee watch as they do it, making sure that they know that this wouldn’t have happened if not for them. That this person is only dead because the whumpee tried to escape and they tried to help them.

The whumpee then gets to spend some wonderful moments stirring in guilt and self loathing, along with anger at whumper.

Bonus points if the next time they have a chance to escape or alert someone they don’t. They stay silent and pliable as whumper guides them through a train station. They barely even need the threat of the knife in their back to comply, all too aware that whumper won’t hesitate to kill anyone who helps them. Or they go out of their way to assure the police officer that pulled them over that everything is fine, they haven’t seen anyone or anything suspicious. They’re just on a trip with their friends.

#the traveling with a family member or friend angle #could then maybe segue into some of those too intimate touches from whumper #a pat on the shoulder that is way to familiar and has whumpees skin bristling #running a hand through their hair as they say that yes it’s just a low grade fever but they are going to the doctor anyway #whump #whump tropes #I just love the idea of a defiant whumpee that gets punished through other peoples suffering as well as their own #there team sees security footage of them fighting whumper and being defiant #and then a few days later they get more security footage and this time whumpee is just silent and going along with what they’re told #looking resigned #and of course this makes their team worry even more because it would take a lot for whumpee to just go along quietly #what happened to them?#also then the whumpee ends up escaping alone for fear of getting others hurt #and is wary of strangers and refuses any help #until they collapse from exhaustion and pain and someone finds them and calls the hospital #and they wake up to their team sitting around then anxiously

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