spidersanonymous

[spidersanonymous]

Sorrys for disappearing but the 99+ notifications Scared me..

[spidersanonymous]

what about a whumpee who tries to train the whumper right back

every time whumper is kind to them they’re golden, acting just right and even taking the initiative with what whumper wants (reinforcing positive behavior)

every time whumper is cruel to them they rain down hell.

does whumper get to a point where it’s just so much easier to be nice to whumpee and get what they want anyway? do they realize what whumpee is doing and go along with it, amused? or do they use whumpee’s plan to shatter them whole?

[spidersanonymous]

Hotel/motel Whump

Escaped/on the run whumpee laying low in a shabby motel, hiding black eyes and bloody noses from the person at the front desk, praying they don’t get the cops called on them.

Whumpee tied up and gagged in a bathroom, hearing guests and staff passing by outside the paper-thin walls, oblivious to whumpee’s muffled cries for help.

Caretaker running to the ice-machine with paper cups and plastic buckets, frantically filling the containers and rushing back to the room where whumpee lays with a too-high fever.

Caretaker paying for a nice hotel room, leaving whumpee speechless at both caretaker’s kindness, and the ‘luxury’ of the place. Maybe they wrap themselves up in the clean white sheets, or finally take a warm shower, or relax their aching muscles in the hot tub/pool.

Whumper herding whumpee inside a motel, asking for a room while whumpee attempts to signal to the person at the desk that they’re being kidnapped. The person plays along for a minute, appearing horrified and concerned, before their mask cracks and they laugh along with whumper, joking about how much fun whumper is going to have breaking whumpee.

Paranoid whumpee barricading the door to their room with anything they can find, untrusting of the flimsy latch. Even then, maybe they stay awake the entire night, too anxious to sleep.

[spidersanonymous]

"what's wrong with you" i was designed in a lab to sicken and torment you specifically

[spidersanonymous]

A Taste of Your Own Medicine #5

Masterlist / Previous

CW: Whumper turned whumpee, multiple whumpees, pet whump, kidnapping and captivity, restraints, collared, muzzle, stress positions, fear/talks of death, starvation/dehydration, reference to past torture, mentions of blood, use of pet names, conditioned whumpee, defiant whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, threats of violence, adult language

-

Ronan didn't come back in the morning...or the rest of the day for that matter.

Or the day after that.

It was starting to dawn on Henley, striking realisation that he may never return at all. 

Whether Ronan had his little burst of fun; got his fix, scratched that itch and quickly grew tiresome of the pets he once fawned over. Leaving them down in the basement, to wither away, to rot now that they had served their purpose.

Izaak’s stomach, crying out in hunger, rumbles like thunder from across the room, his face painted a ghastly, sickly hue. A crumpled ball slumped into the corner of the room, huffing laboured and raspy breaths that waft against his muzzle, only to blowback the hot air flush against his face.

The hunger was tolerable, childsplay, for Henley at least. He'd long grown accustomed to that constant painful nagging in the pit of his stomach that never seems to subside.

But the thirst? Henley's lips are sore, dried and cracked like desert sandstone, desperate for even a droplet of water. Not even saliva wets his tongue or throat. So he can't imagine how dehydrated Izaak must be. Henley’s eyes scan over all his welts and scabbing wounds. Picturing how much blood he must have lost, the agonising pain, how much energy his body must be devouring to heal him.

But Izaak's running on an empty tank, all out of fuel. Scraping the barrel for whatever's left and by the way he's shaking violently on the ground, his eyes screwed shut and whining in pain - there’s not much energy left in him.

Henley can’t die here. Trapped with Izaak in his final days, to suffer through both life and in death. Was there really no mercy in this world?

If Ronan doesn't come back soon, Izaak isn't long for this world, and Henley knows that it will be his fault. That Izaak will have succumbed to the injuries that he gave him, he'd be a murderer. 

That's not the person he is, who he wants to be and fights so hard to continue to be. He could never live with himself, fighting to survive, knowing it should have been him. He's cheated death one too many times for him to send someone else his way.

“Izaak?” 

His eyes don’t snap up, flashing with malice like they always do. They struggle to drift open, like he’s fighting against invisible weights forcing down his eyelids and when they finally do open, his eyes are glassed over and unfocused. Bloodshot red, glazed over with pain.

“If - I… Well, I don’t know if Ronan is coming back. Like… at all,” Henley's rough, scratchy voice manages to force the words out, Izaak performs a weak bob of his head to signal he’s listening, and that he agrees, "And if he doesn’t, then I want to say my piece about what happened the other day" Henley fiddles nervously with his hands, picking at his fingernails, now averting his gaze from Izaak.

Redundantly. Izaak’s head has already flopped back down to his chest, too exhausted to even hold it up to maintain a few seconds of eye contact.

“I am… so sorry about what I did to you. I hurt you. No matter our fucked history, despite everything you did to me, despite-”

He won’t finish what he was about to say. He can’t think like that.

Despite how much you deserved it.

“No-one deserves that,” Henley states, more so to reiterate that to himself than to comfort Izaak, “I didn’t want to do that to you. I hope you can forgive me. And if I could go back, maybe I’d take Ronan’s offer to switch our places."

Despite how much you don’t deserve that.

Ronan has to come back. He will come back. Henley has to believe that, otherwise... he's killed Izaak.

"He's coming back, Izaak. I-I know he will. Even if we don't want him to, we need him to."

Izaak's eyes narrow, glaring up at him from underneath the brow of his forehead. He's not buying a word of it, buying into all that optimistic, glass half-full bullshit that Henley seems to live by. Why set himself up for failure and disappointment?

He tries to trap, swallow the pained moan that sounds from low in his throat. Every wince, every shiver sends ripples of pain through every single inch of him.

Ronan won't come back. Not for him anyway.

*!*!*!*

Rise… fall.

Rise… fall.

Henley watches intently, counting each breath to make sure that Izaak’s chest continues to rise and fall, albeit staggered and erratic but at least he’s still breathing. Dreading the moment where it may potentially come to a stop, where his chest puffs out and doesn’t retract back down.

There's just one thing he's glad about: that Izaak has finally fallen asleep, or what he hopes is sleep - and not dragged into a deep unconscious, slowly deteriorating. 

The basement door swings open at the top of the stairs, slamming against the wall in an almighty bang that jolts Izaak awake with a startled, muffled screech, squirming in his restraints to quickly shuffle upright and stare at the source of the noise. Henley’s heart beats out of his chest, panting for breath - his eyes burn at the sudden and blinding light streaming through the doorway.

A shadowy silhouette lingers in the doorway, with the rays of yellow light shining around its figure, looking down upon the two pets. It looks almost celestial, like a guardian angel finally there to rescue them.

Only when the figure takes a few steps down, that harrowing familiar face comes into view. Ronan had come back for them - his eyes darting between the two pets, to be met back with looks that question if he’s real. That look at him almost as if he’s their saviour, a look of hope and relief in their eyes at the sight of him.

Henley looks at him with wide, pleading eyes, blinking slowly and wearily. He’s close to passing out too.

“Sir..?” Henley whispers, questioning if he’s really there, if he can trust his scattered and exhausted brain. He may aswell reach out to try and touch him, some tangible proof. Ronan strolls right past Henley, wordlessly. No-one says a single word, dares to break the eerie silence.

Beelining straight for Izaak, unclipping his muzzle and peeling it away from his face, holding his head up for him and allowing him to cough hoarsely. Sucking in breaths of fresh air, his eyes streaming with how much each breath scratches and irritates his dry throat.

“Drink.” Ronan commands, gently lifting Izaak's head upwards with a delicate finger under his chin and begins to pour a water bottle down towards his lips - the water glugging and sloshing about and Henley gasps at the sight of it. Like it's a rarity, like Ronan's holding the holy grail in his palms.

Izaak greedily gulps the water down, pressing his mouth closer to the bottle to get every last drop. Ronan pulls away when the water is half-drunk, Izaak groans in devastation, dissatisfied and his thirst still not quenched. Green-eyed jealousy, watching Ronan then tip the remaining half to Henley, chugging the rest of the bottle and panting for breath once he’s done. Ronan crushes the plastic in his hand and tosses it across the room, before sitting on the bottom of the basement steps. Resting his head on his knuckles, blinking dotingly at both of his pets.

“Fuck. I’ve missed you both” Ronan sighs.

“T-Then… why did you leave us, s-sir?” Henley questions, concerned he's speaking out of turn but the fear is wiping any clarity from his mind.

“Have you forgotten your own tale, little one? How your tormentor left you for days. Alone, afraid? No water, no food?” 

Henley remembers that ‘tale’ like it was yesterday. He just didn’t realise Ronan was still playing around with that god awful memory, and he definitely didn’t realise he’d have to go through that part all over again.

“I am a bit disappointed, though,” Ronan looks over to Izaak, a bit of life slowly coming back to him, “No hallucinations yet, pet?”

Izaak rolls his eyes at that little retort, infuriated, “What do you want?” his voice scratchy and frail, like he’s not spoken in decades. Although he means it to sound tough.

“To play a little game. You don’t know how bored I’ve been without my little pets to keep me entertained. I’m sure you two are bored out of your skulls, too. We could all use a little lighthearted entertainment to raise the spirits, hm?”

Nothing good can come of this. They’re already so hurt and so drained. Was half a bottle of water really worth whatever pain was about to follow? 

“What…what kind of game?” Henley dares to ask, knowing he’ll soon regret asking. That he’s only enabling Ronan in his sick little ideas.

Ronan smiles, a scheming and threatening smile, “A competition.”

Hopping up from his step, he begins to pace around the room, deep in thought. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Ronan starts explaining, retrieving a long coil of rope out of the cabinets against the wall, unwinding it in his palms, “We’re going to see who can outlast the other. I’m going to tie you both into a position, and I won’t lie - it’s going to hurt. It’s going to stretch and pull at all your muscles, press on all your weight, but where’s the fun without stakes? Whoever wins… wins dinner tonight. I mean, a proper meal and water. Not the usual bland shit I give you. So who's in?"

Neither of them jump at the idea. They exchange a questioning glance at one another and keep their lips sealed shut.

"Henley? Would you like to play? Shall I tie you, little one?"

"No…" Henley casts a glance to Izaak, guilt-ridden with what he was forced to do to him, at how bad a shape he's in now because of him, "Izaak needs to eat. More than I do. I concede."

"Oh, maybe I haven't explained fully. If one of you refuses to play, neither of you eat. You both get to starve as a reward for your pathetic selflessness. Does that change your mind? Will you play?"

Henley instantly nods.

“Izaak? Are you playing?”

“...Do it" Izaak snarls - refusing to let his pride kill him, he's got his eyes set on the prize. Determined to beat Henley, if it's the last thing he does. That meal is his. He deserves it.

It's game on.

Ronan winds the rope around Izaak's wrists first, ten times over, binding them tightly behind his back, at the base of his spine before he even considers unlocking his handcuffs to get him into position. He's not a mind-reader, but it'd be foolish to assume Izaak will waste an opportunity to tackle him.

The rope is looped through a ringlet in the ceiling, pulling at it until Izaaks arms are wrenched high above him, forcing his shoulders down, facing him towards the ground. Howling in pain as his arms are pulled higher... and higher above him, nearly snapping at the impossible angle. His muscles burn, shaking from the pressure - trying to breathe through the pain but it comes out as animalistic grunts.

Next, Ronan attaches rope around the D-ring of Izaak's collar, pushing down on Izaak's head to force it lower as he connects the rope between his collar, and wrapping them around the top of his thighs to tie them in place. His head secured, unable to pull it up or even move an inch.

He's tied in a bowing position, his forehead pressed hard into the ground, on his knees. He's fucking bowing to Ronan like a good submissive pet. Like Henley.

Everything throbs and aches, he can feel his heartbeat in every part of his body. Piling on to all the pain he's already battling against. One twitch of a muscle and his screams will echo throughout the room.

He thought it was over. That Ronan was done with the last of the restraints, until he feels the rope slither around his ankles, tying them together.

And then his feet are lifted off the ground, his one source of balance. All his body weight, all the crushing pressure pushed down onto his knees and skull. All the blood rushes to his head, a dizziness manifesting from the intensity of it all.

He doesn't notice that Ronan's left his side, going to tie Henley in the exact same manner, the same horrific stress position. He can hear the rush of blood in his ears, his strained gasps of breaths slipping from his lips. His muscles tremor like an earthquake rattling the ground underneath him and only him.

"Let's begin!" he hears Ronan clap.

*!*!*!*!*

Had it only been hours?

It felt like a millennia, suspended hopelessly in time. Stuck forever in pain. With no relief, Izaak's kneecaps threaten to shatter underneath him, the only way to ease the pressure to pull up on his arms but they'll break.

They can't see Ronan's face, but they imagine he's absolutely thriving off of this. May aswell get the popcorn out and sit back.

As if to taunt them, to remind them of what they're competing for, of what they risk losing - the sweet aroma of food wafts in, through the open basement door that Ronan's left open in an obvious attempt to tease them.

Izaak can't help but whine, and simultaneously Henley grimaces and twists in discomfort in his position, only succeeding in sending waves of agony coursing through him. Ronan pouts, strolling over towards him and stroking down the curve of Henley's spine

“How are you holding up, my boy?”

Henley whines, pressing his forehead deeper into the ground, gritting his teeth. 

“G-Good...sir…”

“Aw, you sweet thing. You’re in pain. Do you want me to untie you, pet? Here-” Ronan’s fingers trace along the cords of rope, about to fiddle with the knots when Henley’s body jolts and he cries out in protest.

“No!...Sir. Please don’t untie me.”

Henley wants to win, too. The hunger is starting to eat at him from the inside out. And as Ronan's reminded them for the past few hours:

'If you lose... who knows when you'll next get to eat again'

That's not a risk he's willing to take.

“What about you, Izaak? How are you faring?”

Izaak doesn’t answer, his muscles trembling violently with strain, his skin slicked with cold-sweat. Ronan tugs at the rope tugging Izaak’s arms to an impossible angle, and Izaak gasps in pain, one pull too hard and there’s no doubt Izaak’s shoulders will pop and dislocate. A low growl roars up in his throat at Ronan's touch.

“Doesn’t dinner smell nice tonight?” Ronan attempts to torment him.

“Shut the fuck up-”

“I can make you lose right here right now if you’re going to talk to me like that, pet. Declare Henley the winner and give him his food?”

Izaak remains quiet, biting his tongue to stop himself screwing this whole thing up for himself.

“That’s what I thought.”

*!*!*!*!*!

Izaak sounds like he’s in immense pain. Like he’s seconds away from passing out. Henley can hear him whining and whimpering, shaking violently, gritting his teeth. He'd twisted his head to the side on the ground as best he could against his collar to see: he's not looking good.

Henley knows he can last longer, that he could win this. He could go to sleep tonight with a full belly and rid the thirst. But what would be the point? the endgame? When Izaak needs it more.

Izaak deserves the win right now, Henley gives in.

“I give in, sir. I can’t take it - please untie me" Henley's voice waivers.

“You’re giving up?”

“I can’t go any longer. I’m sorry, I tried.”

“Well then...congratulations, Izaak" Ronan smirks, slow clapping Izaak as condescendingly as he can. It doesn't feel like much of a victory right now, his world is just constant pain.

As long as he gets out of these restraints, that's the win. Lining his stomach is just a bonus.

Ronan unties him, his body collapses with a thud, gently helping him by propping him sitting against the wall and retying his hands in front so he can eat. Fighting back isn't even on his mind right now, only the pain is. He just lets Ronan move him around how he pleases. Leaving to go fetch his prize.

And god, does it look amazing. The plate is huge, so big that Izaak isn't convinced he can stomach it all, and a huge bottle of water is handed to him. The hot plate placed down in his lap.

“All yours, pet. You were so good. And good pets get rewarded. Are you starting to understand that now, Izaak?”

Izaak takes a forkful, looks up at Ronan. He doesn’t answer, he continues to wolf down his food and drink before it can vanish in a puff of smoke and be told it's a cruel trick. Ronan strokes and ruffles his hair and crouches before him.

“I’ll put it in ‘Izaak’ terms for you, bud. Comply. Obey me. And your life will become a hell of a lot easier.”

Izaak stares back blankly. Uninterested and continuing to chew the food. He can feel the threats on his tongue, and the spit in his mouth ready to go.

Fuck his obedience. Fuck being a good little pet.

Izaak carries on eating, ignoring every word. He’ll stay silent this time. He’s not giving Ronan a reason to snatch his hard-earned food off him and give it to the little puppy-eyed bastard across from him.

"Enjoy your dinner, Izaak. You performed very well today. I'm impressed," Ronan places a hand on his cheek, full of food, paused in his eating as he stares up at his captor, "You've got more stamina than I'd thought. I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

It's an unbelievable relief when Ronan leaves. Yet terrifying when they realise they may not see him for days again, maybe to have a repeat of this. Or something far worse.

And Henley's still tied in his excruciating position. Beginning to sob when he realises this is his punishment for losing, for giving up. He doesn't regret it, Izaak needed to eat and drink tonight but the pain still runs through his bones.

The smell of Izaak's dinner hits his nostrils, his mouth waters. He's shared his food with Izaak before, showed him mercy and helped him out. Would it be far-fetched to hope he'd show him the same leniency?

Henley twists his head on the ground, his cheek planting, smushed on the cold floor to look at Izaak.

“Izaak…? I - I wouldn’t ever normally ask this but - pl-please can I have a bit of your food? I-I’ve shared with you before. I’m just so hungry.”

“Oh wow, that’s rich. You’re so sly and manipulative, Henley. After what you did to me, you expect me to give up my food to you? To share? Count this as your payment, your debt paid for fucking torturing me, you little freak."

Henley turns his head away, to hide the tears tracking down his dirt-stained cheeks. More so from Izaak's words than the pain.

Everytime he tries to help Izaak. To show a speck of humanity for the man who stripped his away, he's the one who is left at a loss. Berated, humiliated and abused.

That stops from today. Henley's not helping anymore. Now they can suffer equally.

-

Taglist: @no-terms-and-conditions-apply @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @darkthingshappen @echo-goes-aaa @ryvixn @keep-beach-city-werid  @whumpndump  @kiichu  @whumpsday  @sparrowsage  @whatwasmyprevioususername  @interdimensional-chaos  @pigeonwhumps  @formally-yours  @kira-the-whump-enthusiast  @emmettnet  @whumpofdory  @whump-queen  @wolves-and-winters  @ha-ha-one  @kixngiggles  @ashh-ed  @mannerofwhump  @damienxozmoze  @whumpinthepot  @bliss757  @whumpycries  @icyheart-and-friends  @nicolepascaline  (

[spidersanonymous]

Defiant whumpees who need a muzzle whenever they're being handled because they will bite :)

[spidersanonymous]

Whumpees who are complicated. Who have made mistakes. Who have hurt people. Whumpees who don't care about the damage done along the way as long as their mission gets completed. Whumpees who like causing pain a little too much.

Whumpees who deserve some kind of comeuppance, but the whumper takes it too far.

Whumpees that the caretaker has every right to hate, to distrust, to treat as an enemy.

Whumpees who fight and curse and scream at whumper, even though deep down they know they had this coming.

And they know they don't deserve to be saved from it.

[spidersanonymous]

Malicious compliance whumpee

When your feral and defiant whumpee wants to try something new for which they’re def gonna catch shit.

- Getting on their knees all the time when not needed and especially when Whumper requires them standing.

- Asking permission for everything. Pretty much stalling for time with every little thing.

- Finding every little loophole there is to exploit. Making Whumper spell out every little order and if it’s not specific enough finding a creative way to do the exact opposite.

- Insert some gaslighting. “Come on, man. What do you want from me here, you’re not making any sense.”

- While trying to contain a malicious grin.

- Or being silent and letting Whumper softly boil over at having to force them to answer. Every. Time.

- Will definitely make Whumper think twice about slipping in a purred command like ‘scream for me’.

- Combine all this with being in public:

“You wanted me to call you master.”

“Not now gdi!!!”

[spidersanonymous]

A defiant whumpee bullies their Whumper so badly that they cry.

[spidersanonymous]

Whump dialogue #44

"Alright," Whumpee called out as he heard the creak of the celldoor behind him. With the blindfold on he hadn't seen anything or anyone for days, but his captors did have certain tells. "Which of you fucko's is it today? The one with the rotten breath or the one who smells like cheap booze?"

The only answer he got was a solid punch to the face.

"Yeah, it's okay, dude," he sputtered as the blood flowed over his lips. "I'd have a drinking problem too if I had to do this every day."

[spidersanonymous]

The whumpee had fought the whumper at every chance they got, even injuring them a couple of times- and now that some other person got ahold of them they’re determined to be just as aggressive. The problem with this defiance is that they weren’t given away or taken, they were rescued, and the whumpee refuses to believe this.

[spidersanonymous]

There was a soft knock at their door. Caretaker looked up from their mountains of paperwork, eyebrows furrowing as Whumpee fidgeted in the doorway.

“Hello, Whumpee,” they greeted smoothly, “is there something you needed?” Whumpee didn’t tend to stray from Whumper’s side, Caretaker could only imagine what they might need. With a glance at their emancipated figure, probably a hot meal and a bed.

“Caretaker, i-” Whumpee bit their lip, shakily stepping further into Caretakers office, “I need- help. Your help,” they finished lamely, shifting on their feet as they awaited Caretaker’s response.

Caretaker rose an eyebrow, a record amount of seven words in a span of all of twenty seconds, “Okay?” they set down their pen, giving Whumpee their full attention, “Here,” they stood up from their chair, the old metal shrieking, “i think you need a seat, yes?”

Whumpee’s lip curled down but they still crossed the room and sat down, the chair groaning quietly under their weight. They hugged their arms around themself, head bowed as they anxiously glanced at the door.

Caretaker hummed, eyes tracing over Whumpee before making a decision, “I could close the door if you’re that concerned about it,” they nodded towards the doorway.

“Don’t,” Whumpee rasped, eyes widening as their words registered; still, they continued, “it isn’t- it’s not- it’s… fine.” their frown deepened as they stammered through the words. Caretaker could sympathize.

“If you’re sure,” Caretaker shrugged, leaning against their table with as much casualty as they could manage, “so, you needed my help with what, exactly?” they asked, not unkindly.

“Um,” their arms tightened, “i need- you help victims um, escape from their abu-abusers, right?”

Caretaker leaned forward with rapt attention, eyes sharpening as they drank in Whumpee’s quivering lips, tight posture, the way their nails picked at the fabric of their shirt. Caretaker never saw Whumpee at lunch, nor did they ever come to the employee hang-outs on weekends. Something forced the ever elusive Whumpee to come out of hiding. “Right,” they nodded, “I do.”

“Okay,” they nodded once, twice, “Yes, there was a case- Jorgie May, and her sister,” they picked furiously at a view loose threads, avoiding Caretaker’s eyes as their gaze darted across the office space. There wasn’t much to see.

Caretaker hummed agreement.

“Their mother,” their voice strained, throat bobbing as they forced the words out, “she was- erm- abusive,” their eyes suddenly found Caretakers, “how did-” they licked their lips nervously, “how did they get help?” What did they say to make people believe them? Was left unsaid.

Whumpee’s words lingered in the air for a moment as Caretaker considered, leaning closer as they dropped their voice to a whisper, “They gathered evidence, took pictures of their injuries, recorded arguments they had with their mother, things of that nature. One night their mother was drunk, so she took all of the evidence -and her sister- and went to the police,” they leaned out of Whumpee’s space, “bit hard to claim two malnourished kids covered head to toe in bruises were liars.”

Whumpee shuddered, squeezing their eyes shut as they exhaled forcefully.

“The fact the neighborhood didn’t have the highest opinions of their mother probably helped, as well,” they mused to themself.

“Thank you,” they whispered, “that’s-”

“A lot?” Caretaker suggested, eyebrow raised.

“Sure,” they shrugged, glancing at the door, “i should probably get going-”

A quiet knock interrupted Whumpee’s words as Whumper slipped in from the ajar door, “Ah,” they hummed, eyes narrowing, “Whumpee and… Caretaker. How curious.”

Not even a hello, “Hello, Whumper,” they greeted as smoothly as they could manage, “was there something you needed?” even then, their words were curt.

“There’s no need to be hostile, Caretaker,” they chastised with a frown, stalking further into Caretaker’s office, “I’m just here to collect my charge, I am responsible for them, you know,” their lips curled up, as if letting Caretaker in on a joke. Caretaker hated the look on them.

“Of… course,” Caretaker agreed, words sour, “is there any chance we could take a minute and chat?” and maybe, possibly, knock you over the head with a baseball bat?

“No, unfortunately,” they crooned with false pity, smiling sickly-sweet, “Whumpee and I have a meeting to attend, and we simply don’t have the time for any further conversations,” they spat the words, expression darkening as they grabbed Whumpee’s wrist and harshly pulled them up.

Whumpee, for their credit, didn’t yelp at the pull, even though they looked like one strong wind took knock them over. They grit their teeth, allowing themself to be pulled to Whumper’s side. Whumper curled an arm around their shoulder, looking painfully smug.

Caretaker wanted to wipe that look off their face.

“If that’s all, Whumpee and I really do have to be going,” they dragged Whumpee out the door, “it was lovely speaking with you, Caretaker.”

Can’t say the same for you, “Likewise.” They managed to spit out.

With one last smug smirk, they both disappeared behind the door, finally shutting closed with a click.

Caretaker only wished they gave Whumpee their number.

___

kind of insane about this idea tbh. not sure what about it is so good but… ohh boy. wrote this in a span of two days, lightly edited. also let me know if anyone wants to be added to a taglist lol

[spidersanonymous]

Whumpee forced themselves to be calm throughout their abduction. - More specifically, completely unwilling to cooperate. Whumper almost believed there wasn’t a single torture device they could pull out that would make them flinch.

But when caretaker broke down the door, beat whumper to the inch of their life and ripped the shackles off, whumpee snapped like a dry leaf and collapsed in their arm in a heap of tears. 

[spidersanonymous]

The whumpee would constantly defy the whumper’s rules, sure it was partly because they hated the whumper, but it was also because someone else- someone much weaker than them- was in the cell with them too, and whenever the whumper wasn’t hurting the whumpee they’d hurt the other whumpee.

[spidersanonymous]

“Come near me and you’ll regret it.”

A’s voice was low, deadly, their entire body hunched forward like they were ready to lunge, to attack. B held up their hands, placating and calming. Or tried to be. Their own patience was running thin.

“That wound is not going to clean and wrap itself.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.” A had their hands on either side of them on the mattress of the hospital bed they sat on, the plastic sheet crinkling in their white knuckled grip, ready to push themself up.

B raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’ll slowly bleed out. Or it will get infected. Both very bad, very painful ways to die.”

“I know pain, I can handle it.” A spat back. They were repeatedly glancing at the door, eyeing the distance. B knew they wouldn’t make it, with that gash in their leg and what probably was a broken rib, they wouldn’t even make it one step towards the door.

B also had no doubt it wouldn’t stop them from crawling out if they had to. They’d probably pass out trying, and then start it all up again as soon as they came to.

“Did you hear the part about dying?”

“I’m not gonna fucking die. I’m not dying, shut up. I can fucking beat you and anyone who gets in my fucking way.” A was panting at the end of the sentence.

B didn’t doubt A’s words, they would fight tooth and nail. But they could also see through their vicious words. They could hear the hitch of pain in their breath, the nervous energy that gave way to anger. A was doing everything they could to hide the tremble in their body, their racing heart.

B sighed, defeated. They wouldn’t be able to reason with this one.

“Ok. If you want to leave without getting treated, then go.” B stepped away from the door, giving A a free way.

A’s eyes thinned in suspicion, then they glanced at the door again.

After a moment of hesitation A moved, pushing themself from the bed to standing and made a hasty step forward.

B was ready before A faltered and stumbled to the floor.

A growled against B’s outstretched arms, immediately trying to push them away. But B was faster, needle already in hand. A didn’t see it, they only felt the prick of it and B could feel them tense in their arms, see their eyes widen in shock, then fear.

“Nh- No, you fucking- get away from me!” A scrambled to push away from B and B let them. This time they fell to the floor, unceremoniously crumpling to a heap. They cried out at the impact, but as B had predicted, they immediately started to crawl their way to the door.

B waited a beat, watching how one movement slowed after the other, how A’s limbs got heavier as they struggled closer to their freedom. Then they bent down and picked A up, lifting them back up to the bed. A was struggling and pushing at B, even trying to turn their head and bite B when their arms gave way. But A’s strength left too quickly and B all but slammed them onto the bed.

“Nhh, no, no, you fucking bastard. I’ll kill you, you-” A’s voice had turned whiny now, high pitched.

“Trust me, this is better than an infection.”

“No, I don’t want-”

“It doesn’t matter what you want. You’re not dying on my watch.”

B watched as the last of A’s struggles thinned out and how their eyes drooped closed but didn’t let go of them until they were sure A was out.

Then they took a deep sigh and started to prepare their tools in blissful quiet.

[spidersanonymous]

“I can’t believe it…” Whumpee looked down, tears dripping to the floor.

“Can’t believe what, Whumpee?” Whumper knelt down next to Whumpee and grabbed their chin, forcing eye contact.

“I can’t believe… you didn’t notice.”

“Wh-”

Whumper didn’t have time to finish as a fist hit hard against their temple.

[spidersanonymous]

introductions!

hi! you can call me web or weaver, as i am a weaver of tales :) i use they/he and am a minor, dont be weird ect ect.

my current WIP is something im calling strawberry lemonade, it has many characters that im excited to showcase! eventually ill make a proper post introducing them all --and link it accordingly-- but for now, its one big universe with many people to play around with!  

also! dont be afraid to tag me in whump related ask games! cant guarantee ill respond immediately (seriously, the queue feature is the only thing thatll keep my blog active for awhile) but i’ll hopefully get to it at some point

tagging system: “#q” for all of my queued posts “#weaver of webs (tell me your tales)” writing tag!! “#strawberry lemonade” my WIP <3 ”#weavers talking tag” my talking tag and then writing of my ocs will be tagged with “#oc (first name) (last name)”

and finally: some of my favorite whump blogs!  @livingforthewhump (a classic <3 i also think one of the first blogs i really following after getting into whump?) @wisteria-whump (she has so many good ideas!! whenever i need a bit of inspiration, i like to scroll through her blog for a few minutes) @perlenfaust (again, so many good concepts that really get me into the creative headspace!!!)

and some whump tropes i like! recorded/livestreamed whump (mixed with hero/villain whump? lovely. villain kidnapping hero’s sidekick, the mocking, the dramatics. do you see the vision) captive/restrained whumpee (the struggling!!!! the panic!!!! the muffled words behind a gag!!!) hero/villain (fun dynamics all around!!!) defiant whumpee (my person favorite out of all of them. its so fun and im a big fan!!!!)