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tabletopwhumper · 2 years

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Second post, but actually the first thing I ever wrote outside a character backstory.

A note for context: Ali was raised by who two older brothers after their dad was killed when she was eight. And even though it's been fifteen years since then neither brother has been able to shake the overprotective parent role, which has caused friction between the three of them many MANY times.

I did take some liberties with how medicine works in Shadowrun. I have only a vague working knowledge on how the mechanics play so I leaned pretty heavily on "if they have magic and smart weapons they gotta have some kick ass med clinics."

Blowback

A run for the Red Knights comes back to bite in a shit way.

CW: Whump, blood, gun violence, gang violence, and so much profanity.

Four. Fucking. Days.

How much life altering shit can possibly be crammed into four fucking days? A long time friend turned traitor. The Ancients' little rat's nest turned to rubble only to discover the real Ancients' deception. Mr. Johnson fucking her team over thoroughly.

But the thing making Ali’s chest feel tight is the fact that it’s been days since she’s talked to Jordan. Since White-Eyes' disappearing act her older brother hasn't been right. She’d watched from her barstool as he collapsed heavily into a chair, dead eyes staring straight ahead, hammering back one shot after another. She wanted nothing more than to speak to him at that moment but a small head shake from Tim warned her away. “Might wanna give him a bit, Sprog,” Jens also cautioned.

So Ali waits. But three days later her human brother’s eyes are still hollow. “How is he?” she’d quietly asked Tim after two nights of hard drinking.

“Not gonna lie to you. He’s not himself.”

“What does that even mean??”

“It means he needs time. The Ancients, White-Eyes…. It’s a lot. Give him time.”

So to The Engine Block she went. And there she stays, doing her best to help Jens optimize the bikes. Jordan had once told her that she helps the Knights best when she’s in the garage and Ali clings to those words, ensuring that each machine is in as prime condition as she can make it before moving on to other, more personal, projects. After helping Bean fix his Harley- fucking mages- she turns her attention to the armor repairs on her Roadmaster.

A fire blasted hole in one side hadn’t quite reached the interior. Ali is sure the charred edges are mocking her. But having something to take out her anger on is cathartic. Prying loose another damaged panel leaves her sweating. “Mother FUCKING Johnson,” she mutters, pulling back with all her weight. “Mother FUCKING spellcasters.” The panel finally gives way, nearly knocking her to the ground. But Ali catches herself at the last instant and hurls the scorched piece to the floor. “Motherfucking White-Eyes!”

“Trouble?”

Ali turns, surprised to hear another voice in the garage. She expects it’s either Jens or Newbie Mike sent to “check up” on her. What she does not expect is the abrupt ringing in her ears or the distinct feeling of being punched in the chest. The workbench stops her fall but there’s no air left in her lungs. Another punch, this one forcing her to her knees. Distantly Ali realizes the reason she can’t hear anything beyond the high pitched whine in her ears is because someone fired a gun in the garage.

Oh. Not a punch then. Shit.

A pair of booted feet approach from beyond her van. As he comes into view Ali can clearly see the shotgun draped over one shoulder. Home painted Ancients tags adorn the haphazard armor that looks like it was bought at a thrift store for gangers. His mouth is moving but she can’t hear a word. Dropping down to his knees, eyes level with hers, she can just barely make out what he’s saying.

“...bitch that killed my brothers.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“I… didn’t…” she hopes the words are making it beyond her mouth despite the lack of air in her lungs.

“Sure ya did.” The elf sneers, eyes narrowing, as he brings a large nasty looking knife up for her inspection. “You… and that shit group of runners. You followed them home and burned down their nest. YOU!!” Ali tries to inch away from the pointed end of the weapon toward her van where she knows her own arms are waiting. But the elf laughs as her trembling limbs fumble to support her weight. “Oh please. You’re not going anywhere! Because I KNOW it was your sad little biker friends who put out the hit. So the way I see it?” Faster than she can see the knife is buried to the hilt in her middle. “I win twice.” The fucker twists the blade, slow and deliberate, before pulling hard to remove it from her flesh. Grabbing her commlink from where it sits on the workbench, the bastard gets to his feet. “Don’t bleed out too quick now. I want your friends to find you first.”

Ali’s thoughts race as she curls forward, arms rising in a futile attempt to stem the tide of blood. Too many wounds, too much damage… Her stomach is the worst, the knife’s jagged edges leaving a gaping hole. Red seeps through her fingers at an alarming rate. Looking around, trying not to let panic drown her, Ali looks for anything that might be of help… No. Not in the garage, not within reach.

The room is spinning.

She tries to get to her feet only to have one wobbly leg quickly collapse beneath her. Tears track down the sides of her face as she falls, and Alison silently prays that she will be the only one to die over this.

**************************************************

Ali’s message had been short and to the point: Down at EB. Come give me a hand?

Jordan had rolled his eyes but shrugged on his coat. He owes Ali a conversation anyways. Or, at least, Tim says he does. “She’s just worried about you.”

Walking in the back door of The Engine Block and Jordan can’t help but notice the unusual smell wafting through the air. Copper and smoke, like somebody had been setting off pipe bombs. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. Moving a little faster toward the garage bays the smell gets stronger. “Ali? What the hell is that-”

There’s nothing that could have prepared him for this. For several heartbeats Jordan simply can’t fathom what he’s seeing.

Crimson. Copper. Ali.

His sister lays on her side amidst a sea of red, arms wrapped tightly around her middle as if to ward off the chill from the concrete floor. His legs are moving, body responding, though something in his brain has completely shut off. Kneeling in the sea, hands hovering, some distant rational part of him recognizes the mess seeping through his jeans while the primal animal in control howls that it doesn’t MATTER.

“Ali??” His voice is strangled, even in his own ears, as he turns his sister onto her back. Drawing her trembling arms away to assess the damage… Jordan nearly chokes. A gamut of red soaked wounds paint her front punctuated by a dangerous gouge in her middle. Quick labored breaths heave past ashen lips as he shakes her. “Ali?! Alison!!” Her eyes flutter and for a moment he’s relieved… until they open wide in panic.

“J-Jordan,” she gasps around the shivers wracking her body.

“You’re okay kid,” he murmurs. “I promise, you’re gonna be fine.”

“N-no! Y-y-ou n… need-”

“Shut up. I’m gonna get you to the doc.”

But as he moves to pull her from the floor she shoves him away, her failing strength evident in the weak attempt. “N-not s-afe,” she breaths. “A-a-ncien-"

"Awwww, the little bitch held on longer than I thought she would." Jordan's head snaps to the source of the scathing words as he instinctively clutches his sister closer. A lithe elf approaches slowly, leisurely, slow claps echoing off the rafters. "Or maybe you just showed up sooner than I expected. Either way… good job."

Comprehension gnaws its way through the adrenaline. This bastard shot Ali. He shot her, gutted her, left her to bleed out, lured me here. A rage like he's never felt corrodes his guts and rises with such abrupt intensity that he nearly chokes. Every nerve is alright with the demand for retribution, hands trembling but his arms are full… full of his sister looking weaker and more pallid by the second and her blood is still pooling and there isn't TIME for this!!

"What do you want?" Jordan rasps, shifting Ali in his arms.

"Isn't it obvious?" The elf stalks around the siblings in a wide circle while his shotgun remains trained on them. Taking a good look and it's easy for Jordan to pick out the rookie gear and shit weapon. "I want to SLAUGHTER every piece of shit Knight who had my BROTHERS KILLED!!" With the focus on them, Jordan knows he just has to watch the elf's footing, keep him talking…

"Brothers?" Jordan barks out with a laugh. "That what you call those shitty ganger cosplayers?" Feral rage dances across his adversary's face, his feet abruptly frozen to the floor. "Ya know what's really funny? The real Ancients? They're LAUGHING at your dead brothers. They used you fucks as cannon fodder for years."

"You’re LYING!!"

"Why the fuck would I lie? They're all dead. All but one. One. Dumb. Fuck."

Faster than he can track the elf darts forward, shotgun barrel flush against Jordan's forehead. "You're the one looking dumb now, human," he snarls. Glancing down to the wilting girl in Jordan's arms, the snarl twists into a grin. "And I think soon it'll just be you and me."

"Naw, I don't think so. We're not stupid enough to travel alone."

The shot from Steve's pistol sounds through the garage from its place at the back of the elf's head. As Jordan had hoped, the sorry excuse for a thug hadn't heard his Armenian friend slip in through the back door. For a few heart stalling seconds nothing moves. Time resumes as the elf falls into a graceless heap, the bullet hole still smoking from his left brow.

But Jordan can't spare a thought for the dead with Ali still struggling for breath in his arms. "Steve!" His friend's face darkens before he disappears into the back… and returns, trauma patch in hand. Jordan's eyes widen, hesitating only a heartbeat before snatching it away from his friend. "Call Chuck," he orders, planting the patch beneath Ali's shirt. "We need him now."

"Already done."

"Go wait out front, make sure they find us." The darker man nods, already pulling up his commlink as he jogs back toward the Block's entrance. "You're gonna be fine," Jordan whispers, clutching Ali tighter with one hand while the other presses against the gaping wound in her stomach. Already he can feel the flow of blood ebbing as the trauma patch does its work. Whether it's going to be enough- "You're gonna be fine."

"J-Jordan?"

"Yeah?"

"Sor-r-y I yelled at y-you."

"Shut up. You were drunk. You yell at me all the time."

"Th-i-is is di-fferent. Y-you d-i-idn't know."

Her eyes keep dipping closed. But it's the limpness in her arms as the tremors slow that's scaring him. Jordan props his sister up against his shoulder, shaking her. "Hey, c'mon, wake up Sprog." A breathy murmur is the only reply. His mind races. He's gotta keep her awake. "What didn't I know, huh? ALISON!!" Her eyes snap open. "What didn't I know?"

"I was so s-scared," Ali whispers around shallow breaths. Her eyes are still open but wander unfocused in the space between them. Altered state of consciousness from blood loss the rational part of his brain chimes. "A-and a-angry. There w-ere s-so m-many of them! I j-just wa-anted to h-e-lp… And… Ferg… h-he-"

The garage door lifting startles Jordan. But with the bust of adrenaline comes half a dozen familiar figures silhouetted in the headlights of a van. Chuck is the first as he kneels beside the siblings, somber and grim, inspecting Ali with a knowing eye. "How long?" he mutters.

"I don't know. Fifteen, twenty minutes?" Ali is still murmuring in breathy whispers, utterly oblivious to them.

"Get her in the van."

**************************************************

She’s too damn pale. Sitting on the floor of the van, Ali still cradled against his chest, Jordan tries to reign in the fear coursing through him. In the few short minutes since he had moved her from The Engine Block’s floor to the rickety van it seems as if her breaths have slowed, the tremors in her arms having stopped altogether. Sometimes he’s sure she’s awake but it’s quickly followed by more incoherent mutters.

“Her pressure’s shit,” Chuck mutters from behind the scanning tool in his hand.

“What can I do?”

The grizzled old man begins hooking Ali to a medkit. “Keep pressure on her gut. Get her talking if you can.”

Jordan presses a little harder on her middle as he shifts and begins shaking the shoulder her head rests against. “You hear that Sprog? Head up, you gotta keep talkin.”

Ali’s eyelids lift, but only just. He’ll take it. “Jordan?”

“Yeah kid, I’m right here.”

“Did… did h-e get any… anyone… else?”

“What, you weren’t enough?” A smile he doesn’t feel pulls at his lips but her fragile breaths cause it to evaporate just as quickly. “No kiddo. Just you.” His baby sister manages another shallow inhale that seems to catch… before she stops moving altogether. For one horrifying moment Jordan can't understand, can't figure out why her eyes are open but she’s not… "Ali?"

"Shit!" the doc declares even as the doors of the van are thrown open but Jordan can't pull himself from the face of his sister, utterly still, her blood still hot and sticky on his hands, eyes open and unseeing. An orc wearing the clinic's emblem on his coat pulls Ali from his arms. Instinct overtakes him and Jordan fights to pull her back… only to find Chuck steadying him with a firm hand. "We've got her lad."

"No, she-"

"You kept her alive this long. We've got her."

**************************************************

Fergal pushes his bike harder, trying to get a little more out of the old girl if it'll just get him to the clinic faster.

Bloody FUCKING ANCIENTS!!

His first memory of Alison is clear as day: wee Sprog sitting in the bar with one project or another broke apart across the table. A spitfire, even then. Knowing that he had brought this hell down on her, on them, that the rising tides of his war might have drowned the youngest Merrick….

"The kid’ll live,” Fatback had uttered as they watched Jordan gingerly carry his sister to the van. “If not there’ll be hell on earth, that’s for sure.”

The biker had meant it as an observation, a statement of fact. But Fergal clings to it as an oath sworn in blood: if Alison Merrick dies no Ancient to step foot in front of him will survive.

Fergal and Fatback storm into the clinic to find Jordan pacing the waiting area, blood still clinging to his hands and clothes. It's not the red that makes Fergal's heart stutter. He's no stranger to blood. But the frantic, almost feral, expression tearing across Jordan's face is enough to hurt the old soldier. "They took her in the back," Jordan explains, his voice wavering.

“How’s it look?”

Jordan shakes his head. “She wasn’t breathing. Ferg…. I don't….”

“She’ll pull through. Lass would never let a shotgun get the better of her.” Jordan doesn’t reply, simply stares at the tile beneath his feet.

The door at the end of the hall opening to the sound of booted feet heralds the approach of the rest of their party. Jens and Steve flank Tim as the trio joins them. The troll's eyes find his twin, taking in the crimson stains, and Fergal feels his rage flare at the fear the brothers share.

"Any word?” Jordan shakes his head. “How bad is it?”

“Bad.”

Tim looks his twin in the eye, steadfast and terrified all in the same instant. “She gonna be okay?”

A confession Fergal knows Jordan could only make to his brother: “I don’t know Timmy.” **************************************************

Two hours later there's still no news. Jens glances up to where the twins alternate wearing holes in the floor. Must be Jordan's turn to pace because Timmy is the one sitting with his arms crossed, lips pressed into a firm line. The human brother fidgets on his feet, possessed by a fear Jens doesn't want to think about.

Opening the garage door, seeing blood on the concrete and Jordan's desperate gaze… she'd been alone. Ali had been alone on Jens' watch. Guilt worms freely though his gut. He’d known the Merricks long enough to remember their dad. Hell, Jordan and Timmy were better to him than his own. And to get that call, to raise the garage door and find Jordan kneeling on the crimson floor clutching his lifeless kid sister… In HIS shop. HIS garage.

Jordan stops at the window as a deep shuddering sigh heaves from his shoulders. Jens joins his friend, speaking in low tones. "I'm sure Doc will have something for us soon," he offers lamely, extending a cigarette to fill the void of his platitudes.

"I hope so. I'm fuckin losing it over here."

Jens pats his long time friend on the back. "I can't imagine. I…" Jens scowls. "Christ, I'm so sorry. If I hadn't left her there alone-"

But Jordan is shaking his head. "No. This isn't on you. I should've been watching her closer. I should've-"

"Jordan." Both men turned to Tim. "Don't. You can't watch her every minute. And if you tried she wouldn't let you."

"Yeah." The human twin doesn't sound convinced. His friend doesn't wear grief easily and to see both of the twins so raw… Jens silently vows to do whatever he can to get the twins through this, no matter what happens next-

The small side door opens to reveal Chuck as every eye levels on him. Jordan takes a few tentative steps as Timmy gets to his feet. "Hey, doc…?" Chuck looks up and for a moment Jens fears the worst. Don’t even fucking-

"She's alive." Relief blows through the room and for a second Jordan looks as if his legs will give out. “I won’t sweeten it for you lads: it’s bad. There’s a lot of damage, she lost a lot of blood.”

“But she’s okay.”

When the doc doesn’t answer right away Jens feels his stomach sink. “...let’s just see how the next few days go. We put her on a vent to keep her lungs workin. Lass just… doesn’t have enough to keep everythin runnin on her own.”

“Can we see her?”

“Aye. Thought you'd want to."

**************************************************

Edging into the small room, Jordan isn't sure what to expect. But his heart falls at the sight of his sister. His baby sister…

"When can I work on the bikes?"

"When you're big enough to reach the ground from the seat."

"Jordan! Tim pushed me off the bench!"

"Did you deserve it?"

"..... maybe."

"I don't feel good."

"C'mere kid…"

“I love you Jordan, please don’t leave…”

Ali lays swathed in white sheets. Her chest rises and falls in rhythm with the ventilator while a nest of tubes and monitors keeps her this side of death’s door. But the girl in the bed looks wrong. Her skin is white and bloodless, complexion the same as when she'd been dying on the garage floor, punctuated by deep bruises beneath closed eyes. When had he last seen her eyes open?

"Did he get anyone else?"

"Fuck Ali," Jordan breaths as he reaches the side of the bed.

Tim's heavy hand finds his shoulder. "She's alive,” his twin murmurs. Jordan isn’t sure who the reassurance is meant for. But he'll take it.

**************************************************

Four. Fucking. Days.

Four of the longest days of Jordan’s life finds Ali back at The Last Round. Still unconscious, still hooked to all manner of machines, but breathing on her own and stable enough that Chuck deems it safe to move her. There the twins can keep a close eye on her progress as their adopted family of bikers struggle to rebuild itself after the Ancients’ devastating reveal.

Jordan for one is happy for the distraction. He’s better when he’s moving, working… doing anything but sitting beside his still too pale comatose sister. He’s out with Fergal, negotiating for a few extra sets of hands, when his commlink begins to chirp.

**************************************************

While Tim and Weaver make a desperately needed supply run Jens offers to sit with Ali. Despite Jordan’s need to be busy the bigger twin had insisted a spare set of eyes rest on their sister until Chuck is more comfortable with her status. The girl hasn’t moved in four days despite the many meds and oxygen mask keeping her whole.

Jordan had tried to claim responsibility, but the guilt planted firmly in Jens’ gut tells him where the real blame rests. Because he’d left. He’d left her alone.

“Hey Sprog!” Ali rolled out from beneath her van, one hand full of bolts while the other gripped a wrench. “I’m headed back. You comin?”

She considered it. But something anxious crossed her face before she shook her head. “Naw, I'm gonna finish up first. I’ll be over in a few.”

“You want help?”

“Naw, it’ll just be a few minutes. Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

She hadn’t though. He knows now that she had no intention of returning to the bar. Her hesitation, the amount of time she spent at the garage in the days prior, any excuse to stay out of Jordan’s vicinity. If only he’d waited a few minutes. If only he’d recognized sooner…

“Go back to the Round,” Fergal uttered to Jens and Steve as they watched Jordan gingerly carry his sister toward the makeshift ambulance. “Get Tim, bring him to the clinic.”

“What do we tell him?”

“Tell him she’s alive.”

Hardest thing he’d ever done. How the twins don’t blame him he doesn’t know. Watching over the youngest Merrick seems like the least that he can do. Idly browsing through the net on his commlink, it's impossible to focus. The motions are almost mechanical, fingers browsing without interest, eyes seeing without seeing… until a low huff sounds from the bed before him. Quickly he jumps to his feet, moving closer, and finds his charge awake, eyes wandering.

“Jens,” she breathes beneath the oxygen mask on her face.

“Yeah. Hey kid.”

A smile, small and weary as it is, appears in the corner of her mouth. “Hey.” Her voice is scarcely more than a whisper. Ali’s eyes roam the room before settling back on him. “Where’s…?”

“Tim went out for supplies. Told me to watch you. Jordan is out running around with Fergal and Fatback.” For a moment something shadows her gaze. Then, to his horror, she moves to sit up. “Oh, uh, no. Just… shit, just stay put. I’ll get the doc.” As he makes his way down to the bar he raises his commlink.

**************************************************

Jordan pushes his bike faster, Jens’ call still echoing in his ears.

“Hey. Listen, Ali’s awake.”

“What? Doc said-”

“Yeah I know but she’s awake and she’s asking for you guys. Tim’s a few hours out-”

“I’m on my way.”

When he passes through the door to The Last Round his feet lead them toward the safehouse almost without thought… to find a familiar gaze staring back at him. Still prone, still lying flat amongst a sea of tubes, but awake. All the breath leaves his lungs. Awake and alert after four days of cool white flesh. After watching her dying by inches in his arms…

“I just wanted to help…”

Jordan crosses the space between them and wraps his arm around the back of her head, pulling his brow against hers. “God dammit kid,” he whispers, his voice wavering around the looseness in his chest, “you can’t do this shit to me.”

Tears swim in her eyes. “Sorry.” But Jordan makes no move to withdraw, her hitched breaths and responsive expression more of a comfort than anything else could be.

“Everybody else okay?” she asks quietly, the words seeming labored beneath the hiss of the oxygen.

“Yeah Sprog. Everybody’s good.” The sound of Chuck clearing his throat sounds from the doorway. “I think the doc wants to have a look at you. But I’ll be right outside, okay?” Ali nods, her eyes beginning to droop. “Hey,” he brings her gaze back to him. “You’re staying close for a while, you hear me?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, though he recognizes the patronizing tone beneath the word. “I hear you."

#whump writing #stabbed #whumpee #whump #ladywhump #women whump #female whump #injured whumpee #shadowrun #original character

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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 4 months

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i know the whump community hates women characters or whatever but the lesbian in me is dying for bloody femininity please

let them have thicc thighs and bazoinkas and wear dresses with the hem ripped to shreds so they can run faster. have them sprint in heels. have them use their stilettos as weapons when they jam it into a person's eye. girls kissing girls. beautifully manicured nails chipped and broken away or idly tracing the length of a blade. fishnets and stockings with runs gouged in them. low cut blouses that leave their collarbones exposed to be traced with the tip of a weapon. tight dresses that hug every curve to distract wandering eyes while they spike a drink. girls kissing girls. long silky hair to be wrapped around a hand and pulled. messy curls. a sultry villainess or a vixen in distress. smeared lipstick and mascara running down their cheeks. jewelry ripped from their necks and earrings torn from their lobes. clawing their way out of the carnage to emerge victorious, drenched in blood, beautiful in their madness. being upset that their hair was forcibly cut or their favorite bra was snapped or missing their skincare routine. girls kissing girls. feeling icky when they've been stripped of their womanhood. being empowered when they reclaim what's rightfully theirs through any means necessary. using their sweet face and lilting voice to draw a false sense of security in their victims. feminine rage and revenge. being underestimated because what could such a pretty little thing like her do? girls kissing girls. ultra femme cottagecore babe drenched in red. black leather dommy mommy being the gentlest caretaker. sisterhood. to be kind and nurturing or cold and cruel. did i mention the girls kissing girls.

#sexy sexy women please i love them i cherish them #'ew these tropes are for the male gaze' wrong they're for the female gaze and that's me #whump #whump community #whump scenario #whumpee #whumper #whump ideas #whump prompt #whump tropes #whumpblr #lady whump #female whumper #female whumpee #caretaker

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little-peril-stories · 4 months

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Women in Whump

Hello! If you like whump stories featuring women characters (in any role/character), feel free to browse the list of works below. It's a spreadsheet with links to author and stories with prominent women character in their whump!

Here's the link to the spreadsheet!

It's editable, so you if you know a great example of some 'women in whump stories,' or you wrote on yourself, please feel free to add it! ✨

It doesn't have to be just lady whumpees, FYI. Whumpers, caretakers, what have you. All are welcome. :)

#women in whump #lady whump #add to it #make it pretty #share it #browse it #add links #fix my spelling #do what you like

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sunnynwanda · 2 months

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The Game

Part 2

Warning: manipulation, electricity used for restraining (I have no idea how to phrase this).

"Good mooorning," Hero sings, drawing out their vowels in a tone way too chirping for such an early hour. Villain wonders if they are the psychopath after all.

“What?" Villain blearily turns around, midway through taking a sip of their coffee. They don't have the energy to snarl, opting for a dismissive wave of a hand as they turn back around, ignoring Hero's presence to enjoy their drink. "It could have been good if I didn't have the displeasure if looking at you before I've had my morning coffee."

Hero huffs, unamused at the lack of reaction to their theatrics. But before they can speak again, Villain turns towards them again. "How did you find this place?"

Hero flashes a devilish smile, lifting their hand to show off the handcuffs they are holding. "You’re under arrest." They muse, enjoying this a little too much for Villain's liking.

"Like hell I am," they retort, placing their cup down with a clink. They aren't armed, but that doesn't mean they will go down without a fight.

"Don't make me force you, darling," Hero's voice is much closer now. Villain can feel their breath on the back of their neck, tickling them with a sinister promise.

"You think you can?" They question, standing up to face Hero at a common level. "Let's put that to the test, shall we?"

Hero's smirk is nothing short of sadistic. Oh, how the want to wipe it off Hero's lips. One way or another. But it's too early for that yet.

After a short and rather uneventful tussle and one broken cup - Villain makes sure to curse at Hero for that, since it's their favourite - the cuff clinks around their wrist, the other secured around Hero's to keep them under control. Villain almost breaks character at that statement but catches themself before Hero can notice both of them are exactly where Villain wants them to be.

They are barely restaining the urge to laugh out loud when Hero brings them to their Headquarters, leading them down the stairs towards what Villain assumes are the cells. Their eyes sparkle with anticipation when they pass the double doors, their lips parting in awe at the sight of the equipement they craved held behind tempered glass and layers of laser beams.

Everything was going according to plan. It's almost as if getting an unstable scientist near the most guarded lab in the city was Hero's intention as well. They chuckle, amused at how perfectly Hero played their part in their game, albeit unknowing.

Villain throws their head back, laughing out loud as they are tugged further down the corridor. The cell door creaks open and they are dragged in. Hero takes the cuff off their own wrist and chains Villain's wrists together through the bars of their cage before exiting.

Only when the door shuts with a loud bang does Villain stop cackling. They glance at Hero's smug smile, shaking their head. Their voice is barely a whisper when they speak, leaning in as if to share a secret. "You think you won?"

"I'm pretty sure it's obvious," Hero nods at their restrained hands clasped around the bars and flicks a switch, sending a current through the bars. Villain hisses at the sensation, letting go as their fingers spasm from the shock.

They watch Hero walk away, allowing them to revel in the victory they assumed they had. Once Hero is out of earshot, Villain's face breaks into the widest of grins. Their hands close around the bars, electricity running through them in waves of pain and pleasure.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

Part 2

A/N: based on this amazing request by @thiefofthecrowns. Thank you! I had a lot of fun writing this. I know it's on the shorter side but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless ♡

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpific @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444

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gritpyre · 11 months

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Whump Girl Summer Day 1 - Begging

AND SO it begins Alma’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week

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musashi · 5 months

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"rare" mean post but god i fucking hate being a lesbian in the whump/whump adjacent community so so much. i hate you scenario posts that use he/him pronouns throughout for some fucking reason. i hate you "lady whump" being a term that needs to exist. i hate you 20-something year olds online saying "male gaze" constantly without ever once even googling what that phrase means. i hate you "internalized misogyny" as an excuse for never even considering stories about women. i hate you following a bunch of people with lesbian flag icons thinking i will finally get posts tailored to me only to find that even the other lesbians only post about men. i hate you "men are supposed to be covered in their own blood and women are supposed to be covered in someone elses teehee <3"

it's so fucking stupid that we have somehow gotten to a point where the general unspoken consensus is "oh well we can't write about female pain because it's misogynistic <3" as if making women fully rendered characters who think and breathe and feel and ache is somehow a sin. women are not allowed to be vulnerable. women are not allowed to be in pain. women are not allowed to be disheveled and bloodstained and ugly and injured and sick and anything less than perfect. if you write about female pain you are somehow a misogynist who gets some voyeuristic kick from seeing women hurt.

like no, dipshit, i'm a lesbian and you're a fucking idiot. god.

#wordy wendy #whump #whumpblr #sorry i was looking at that post i reblogged into my franziska getting shot tag fghfhfd #thinking about how much i love that scene. i love her bleeding out. i love her scared and furious and indisposed.#i love her in the hospital. i love her breaking out of the hospital.#i love her in the anime at trial in a sling. i love her breathing heavy because she fucking ran inside in heels.#i love her crying her eyes out on opioids at the airport. i love her broken and desperate and at the end of her rope #i love that shes allowed to be that way. loved. looked after. lain low.#and i hate that its controversial to love that #''women are not allowed to be in pain! this is feminism somehow!''

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xbuster · 3 months

Text

It’s literally just a video about a girl getting beat up and the guy repeatedly crushes her head on the floor with his boot. There’s no sound or context. There’s nothing “kino” or “based” to get out of it other than watching this anime girl get turned into a bloody pulp. Kind of scared of guys who are this proud of their ryona fetish ngl.

#i’ve said before there line between horror and eroticism is nonexistent #but people who are this proud of their ryona fetishes scare me #i’ve also historically gotten creeped out by women who are proud of their whump fetishes #like there’s a clear kind of misogyny/misandry on display with these that you don’t get from even the average ryona/whump fetishist

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toyybox · 5 months

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Spiderwebs #22: Vanity

Masterlist

content: implied starvation

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

This was a good sign. Their first excursion had been a success. Jackie was starting to warm up to her. He wasn't happy, but he was getting used to the operation of things, and that was all she needed. He had even buried a body with her, which was an impressive development considering their rocky start. Cooperation and compliance—that was all she asked of him.

“Can I eat that?”

Jackie’s voice brought her back from her thoughts. He was sitting on her sofa, legs curled up, staring at the sandwich on the table like it would run away if he blinked. Such an ordinary, domestic scene. What was Heather doing? What had she done? Why had she kidnapped a man, then killed another? She was sure there was a good reason, but she could remember it in the morning. Right now… food. Right. Giving Jackie food.

“Go ahead. It’s all yours.” She had disposed of her coat, and Jackie had disposed of his gloves. She now sat across from him, on a chair she’d retrieved from the kitchen.

“Thanks!” He took it without hesitation and ate quickly, his body angled away, guarding the precious treasure of a single sandwich. As if she was going to take it from him. It was a bit uncomfortable to watch, especially as he was covered in dried blood.

She stared at nothing at all, as he ate. What other experiments did she have to perform? The paralysis compound had been perfected, at that point. She’d done a few dissections on the jars of organs, and found little worth noting. She still needed to find the source of the immortality—that was something. Something to occupy her.

Jackie had finished eating a long time ago. He was now giving her a curious look, trying to decipher what had captured her gaze. He had such captivating eyes, such a pretty face—not that Heather thought… well… in any case, this was irrelevant.

“You’re filthy,” she said casually.

He sounded genuinely hurt, or at least confused. “Excuse me?”

“You’re covered in blood, I mean.”

“Ah, yeah.” He cleared his throat and grinned again. She could tell he was scared. Startled, for whatever reason. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve got a bit of something too. Over there—no, higher—“ He put a finger to the edge of his face.

“Thanks.” Heather wiped her face, though she doubted that would remove the stain. “Are you still hungry?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? People usually eat dinner at this time.”

He shook his head. "I’m fine. I don’t eat much anyway.”

They lapsed into silence. Heather couldn’t think of anything to say. It was the fatigue, she decided. It had been a long day. Small talk came sparse after a murder.

Jackie was the one to break it. “You’re not so bad. I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—“ He took in a sharp breath. He spoke with a gentle yet adamant air, as if he was attempting to give her advice. “I don’t know. You’re okay.”

“How touching. Didn’t you threaten to kill me once?”

“I’m mercurial, alright? I’m a sensitive soul.” He shrugged. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You have mood swings, like, every day.”

“I don’t—“ She thought about this. “Never mind.”

He began to pick at the edge of the sofa, at the seams of black leather. Fluffy white pillows surrounded him like the petals of a lily. Behind the curtained window, the light slowly drained from the sky. The clock on the shelf carried the seconds past them, tick-tick-ticking faintly in the background. The sound seemed to echo. Her house always felt empty, even in the presence of other people. And it had been so long since she had lived with other people.

She wasn't alone anymore, but she felt no difference. Her home was constantly quiet. A kind of reverential silence, the silence of churches and graveyards, sticking to the walls like mold and hollowing them out. Jackie didn’t have a very active presence there, after all. Four months, and this was the first time he'd seen the living room.

That was not an accident. It was safer to keep him in the basement. It was easier. Still, Heather thought he needed the fresh air. He was starting to get restless, fidgety. He didn’t sleep much. Was that normal? She didn’t know much about people. Just the inner workings. Birds and dogs had to be taken outside their cages sometimes, or so she’d heard. Even rats liked to run around, but Heather’s subjects usually died before that ever became an issue.

And there was the topic of Jackie’s growing weakness. Despite his attempts to hide it, his fragility was obvious to Heather. It did not surprise her in the slightest. To regrow entire limbs, to replace entire organs—well, it would take a toll on anyone’s body. He didn’t eat enough, of course. And God knew what those drugs were doing to him in the long-term.

That wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily. If Jackie could physically overpower her, he could escape. And that wouldn’t do. Along with the usual fear of incarceration came a stronger hunger, a stronger want, something stronger than she was used to. What did she want, exactly? It was hard to say, looking at him, still a sort of stranger regardless of their time together. She didn’t really know Jackie, did she? He was still a subject to be studied. That’s what she wanted, maybe. Answers.

“I think you should take a shower,” she decided. “I’ll show you to the bathroom.”

“Shower?” he echoed. “Just a shower? It’s not an experiment?”

“No. What kind of experiment is that?”

He didn’t answer. “One last thing. Does your bathroom have a lock? I know—“ He held up his hand, as if she was about to protest about what an offense this was. “I know, just… does it lock? From the inside?”

“Yes, it has a lock, and all that.” She gave an exaggerated, exasperated sigh, more out of habit than anything. “I’m not a monster.”

He didn’t seem to understand, but he nodded.

See, she was capable of kindness! There you go. That was her generosity, over and done with. Nothing more needed to be said. She showed him to the bathroom, then left him to sort whatever he needed out.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

He came back about twenty minutes later, in which time Heather was able to scrub most traces of blood from the house, and dispose of the chainsaw, which she had thrown into the river as well. She then waited in the living room again, watching the clock.

When Jackie returned, he looked unsure of himself. Less scared now, more overly polite. He sat back down on the sofa, significantly cleaner, hair still damp and curls heavy, hands clasped together in his lap. He couldn’t quite meet her gaze, but didn’t quite glance away either. Didn’t say anything, didn’t ask about anything. Watched, listened to the clock.

Though Heather shouldn’t have, she found his wary respect a little amusing. She couldn’t quite believe that she was intimidating, that she held any sort of power over other people. Other people always appeared as a paradox, or else as immaterial, indistinct shadows. Trying to catch smoke, trying to control light sparks, trying to capture the brief sounds from the next room. That’s what other people were—always in the other room, something she wanted to possess but could never grasp. But here was Jackie, in the same place and time as her, maybe not totally under her control but at least a little put-off by her presence.

“You have a nice bathroom,” he offered.

He was just trying to make small talk, she figured. “What do you mean, nice?”

“The soap looked expensive.”

She’d seen him nearly every day for the past four months, at least once a week, but this was the first time that she really felt curious about him. Thought of him, not in the context of a drug or dissection, but as his own person. How many layers to that nesting doll? People were all so complicated...

“How are you?” she asked instead.

“Tired.” That was it, a monotone answer. “Heather, can I go outside again? Tomorrow?”

“I don’t know about tomorrow.”

“But eventually?” He spoke earnestly, and now Heather knew this was like the small talk—he wanted, not the truth, but just something. Something to hope for, something to keep. “Soon?”

She nodded.

Heather never thought about her other subjects like this. The dog bones went with the garbage, and that was the end of them, the moment where they stopped to exist in any meaningful way. That was necessary. A necessary separation, a mental blockade. If you thought too much about anything, if you let your logic run its complete course, then you’d fall into an inertia that would never lift. Maybe all this contemplation was bad for her, like candy was bad for your teeth. But it was so sweet, wasn’t it? The thought of knowing someone so deeply.

“Well, then.” A little curiosity was fine, but she needed to know when to quit. Heather stood. “It’s late. We should go to sleep.”

He stood also, after a reluctant pause. “Okay.”

She thought of pinning him to the wall and breaking his neck. Holding him and watching him die. Holding him, a living thing, a real person in her home and in her arms. Catharsis for this tension. It came on as a papercut does—there, all of a sudden, welling up red, meaningless and shallow but too sharp to ignore. Ah, it was all his fault. He was making her feel things. She hated him for it. He was too good at it, with that poised little frown, that wide and wary look.

Instead of enacting this, she swallowed, picked the thought off like a scab. “I’ll take you to your room, then.”

He nodded, so unaware of her feelings, so oblivious. That was for the best. Their relationship was purely professional, but she still wanted him to respect her.

It was laughable, she knew. Pointless. What he thought of her didn’t matter in the end. That was vanity, plain and simple. But they could find some common ground, couldn’t they? This could work, this would work, over the months and days, even over the years. They would find something to share. A life, to share. A life and a home, quiet though it was, unnatural though it was. A compromise of sorts.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

#whump #whump writing #whumpblr #my writing #Spiderwebs toyybox #lab whump #You can tell that Heather is a really sane and well-adjusted individual #god forbid women have a prey drive </3

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dathen · 7 months

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Yes I’m going to spend the rest of my day sulking over that article saying Jon Sims has “no devotion,” but now I’m distracted by it citing whump and hurt/comfort as “because women like sad men.” Those are both gender-neutral genres, particularly hurt/comfort.

#granted whump is much less popular for female characters #bc gratuitous pain for women is very common in media #but it’s still there

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sunnynwanda · 1 year

Text

Repent

Warnings: betrayal, torture, public punishment, sexual undertones.

Hero was a fool.

And they knew it too.

They were a fool for letting Villain in. They were a fool for allowing Villain to kiss them and a fool for kissing them back. They were dumb enough to trust it was real.

They were a fool for letting Villain rock into their body late at night. They were a fool for kissing every inch of Villain's skin. Even more so - for sneaking into the enemy's lair for that.

They sensed something was off. From the way Villain enjoyed leaving bruises on their chest too much. They felt a chill run along their spine when they racked their nails down Villain's back and heard them whisper - You'll pay for this.

They are paying now. On their knees, with their hands tied over their head. They are paying for every second of weakness.

They still remembered the feeling of Villain's fingertips digging into their thighs. Yet that wasn't what they hated most. It wasn't the pain either. The whip swishes through the air, tearing into their reddened skin. The wound heals in mere seconds, only to be torn open again. And again. And again. Endless.

They squeeze their eyes shut, teeth digging into their lip until they taste blood. They have been paying for their sins every day for over a month. Ever since the dark side took over their city, turning the central square into an execution zone and Hero - into a living example of torture and terror. Not one civilian they'd saved over the years had attempted to show them mercy. Some were enjoying the show, some even participated.

Yet what wrecked them the most was their own being. Their gift of healing turned into a curse rather quickly. As did Villain's voice that kept repenting in their head. Their mind wouldn't stop playing tricks on them as if their tormentors didn't do enough. They would hear apologies for what was done to them. Promises to get them out. To come back for them. To end their suffering - one way or another.

But none of it was real.

None would come true.

None could stop the whip from meeting their back.

Masterlist

#villain x hero #hero and villain #hero x villain #villain and hero #hero/villain #villain/hero #hero #villain #betrayal #torment #creative writing #writing #writeblr #female writers #women writers #writers on tumblr #requests open #sunnynwanda #whump

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little-peril-stories · 2 months

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I have been slowly working my way through Prince of Thieves on ao3, and thought I would come and find your blog after I was done with it. However, I just read chapter 30 (in fact, have stayed up too late so that I could read it when I saw what it was going to be) and I had to come and say THANK YOU for the delicious lady whump. That was my one complaint leading up to this chapter...the lady whump tag is how I found the story to start with, and I wanted Bree to get the same caliber of whump as Will was getting haha! So now I am very happy, and needed to tell you. Very well written story, I look forward to checking out more of your work when I finish it!

Firstly: Thank you so much for making my weekend with this message!! 💕🥰🥹

Secondly: 💕 LADY WHUMP 💕

(Sorry for making you wait so long for the real fun stuff. I'm so, so glad you enjoyed it...and wickedly delighted that you stayed up late to read that chapter.)

Also, to others who see this, @actress4him has SO much delicious lady whump in her repertoire! I can recommend In Irons (how cute is Adelaide??) and Lainey and Isa (just 😭), so go check out her blog if you're on the lady whump train!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the rest of The Prince of Thieves! I'm actually planning on self-publishing it later this year (and the edited version is just a *smidge* meaner to Bree in that particular chapter, lol 😇😅😈). Its ongoing AU The Queen of Lies has lady whump but of a pretty different variety, I'd say, and the upcoming TPOT sequel, The Court of Rogues...ho boy. Lady whump central.

Thank you, once again! Have an amazing day/weekend/whenever you see this. 🥰

#asks #lps the prince of thieves #lps the queen of lies #lps the court of rogues #thank you so much Jada this made me stupid happy #I love this #I love you #thank you #lady whump #women in whump

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