#tw fingore

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

unpopular opinion but whump should and deserves to be messy

"Yeah duh there's plenty of scenarios with blood and tears--" no. I want more.

I want pink tinted spit dribbling out of Whumpee's mouth. I want strings of saliva connecting between their busted lip to Whumper's tongue. I want drool running down the corners of their mouths because of a gag that makes it difficult to swallow.

I want sweat making Whumpee feel sticky and clammy to the touch. I want their skin to be slick and soaking into their soiled clothes. I want them to squirm in discomfort of a dirty shirt clinging to their back from precious fluids that are going to risk further dehydration. I want their hair to be continuously damp and hanging in thick strands in their face.

I want the scabs to turn white with pus and black with infection. I want old wounds to tear open and bleed a thick red. I want the pink flesh underneath to pulse and quiver, the sight of yellow fat and cartilage. I want blood vessels and capillaries to burst and spread over an area, I want burns to start brown and peel away to a tender pink.

I want Whumpee to vomit out of their nose because their mouth is gagged. I want bile to reek on their clothing and on their tongue. I want them to grow use to the taste of bitter blood and burning chyme forever in the back of their throat. I want them to have to snort and hack to be able to spit out whatever was still caught on their tongue or risk swallowing it down.

I want their tears to remain unwiped and crusting over their eyes. I want snot to smear over their cheeks and leave their lips uncomfortably tacky. I want their face to remain blotchy and red because they just can't get it clean. I want dirt and blood and skin to build up under their fingernails to the point they risk infecting their own wounds if they try and mess with it. I want Whumpee to only be sprayed down with cold water and an old towel, never any soap and never in all the creases of their body.

I want their bodies caked in grime and viscera and bodily fluids. I want Whumper to never give them the luxury of feeling clean and in fact actively making them more filthy each time. I want Whumpee's clothes yellowed and their hair matted and their skin sickly. I want injuries to never properly heal so that the only option is to amputate the necrosis. I want Whumper to force Whumpee to clean up whatever kind of mess they made by licking it off the floor.

I want arteries to spew like a garden sprinkler. I want the exposed roots of pulled teeth to dangle freely in their mouth. I want Whumpee's hair, including all of their body hair, to grow to unruly lengths that are constantly tangled and ingrown. I want them to find comfort in starving because it means there's nothing to risk throwing up. I want them to scrub their skin raw and bleeding, uncaring how much it aggravates their injuries or how the soap stings, the first chance they're given for a real bath.

I want it to be nasty!!!!!!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

IRL whump but it's me cutting the tip of my finger off with a mandolin slicer

Description includes blood and discussion of pain and what it looks like below cut

I was trying to make spring rolls. I was slicing carrots and cucumbers and sliced a huge chunk off and my finger won't stop bleeding because, like, a big part of it is missing and my kitchen looks like I committed a gruesome murder against some cucumbers and rice paper and I had to dig out my skin from the fucking mandolin I had to DIG IT OUT and I could SEE THE EDGE OF MY FINGERPRINT

Also it fucking hurts like hell, the pain is sharp and throbs with my heartbeat and we don't have any gauze WHY DO WE NOT HAVE GAUZE so I had to wrap paper towels around it but I kept bleeding through them it took so fucking long to stop bleeding and all my nerve endings are PISSED OFF and I am. I am so mad at the mandolin right now.

It took my fingertip as a blood sacrifice. It cost ten dollars and it requires blood.

I can see the fucking wedge missing. I liked that wedge. It was my favorite finger skin! Which I did not know until it was gone and left me with PAIN.

When I can write again I am doing this to a whumpee and they will feel my pain

Probably Kauri or Chris

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Hands in Whump

- Caretaker with shaky hands as they dress a deep wound for the first time in their life

- Whumpee’s fists clenching absentmindedly while they are restrained, as the only way they can possibly calm themselves

- Whumpee who puts their hands in their pockets to hide the fact that they’re bruised and bleeding (and the pain that comes with shoving your raw hands into rough denim)

- Whumper who strokes their torture implements to show them off (or because they’re just fascinated by them) before using them

- Whumpee who bites their hands out of nervousness

- Caretakers with a featherlight touch and steady hands

- Accidentally getting a nail ripped off in an accident

- Nerve damage from getting a hand sliced through with a knife

[painsandconfusion]

Breathless

Merry Whump of May - Day 1

[“Get back in there” | Ring box | Cliff] (tw: claustrophobia, panic attack, phobia, death threat, failed escape attempt, punishment, self inflicted injury (panic), splinters under nails, manhandling)

[Merry Whump of May Masterpost] [Phobia Whumper Masterpost]

Whumpee’s eyes were burning and blurring over as they gripped at Whumper’s fingers. “N-noonononno please no-”

“Shut up already and get back in there-” Whumper shoved them further into the crate. It had started off as a large shipping crate and now felt like an apple crate, bruising in at their shoulders and knees and ankles as they tried to twist and curl to stash themself tighter into the space. As it closed in on them. Sucked their breath and whisked it away to an unknown darkness that pervaded their mind and dripped cold through their white-hot flesh.

“PLEASE- Pelas e I w-won’t d o it again pl-ease-pplease-!”

Whumper shoved the lid on the box, latching it into place. “Try to pick that lock, you little pest.”

The air in the quickly-heating space stuck at their lungs and slammed in and out of their throat in choppy, uneven bursts. They gasped and shoved and clawed, only distantly aware of the bruises pressing at their bones and the shards of wood wriggling up under their nails. The panic was too thick. Too stifling. 

Forget the apple crate. This felt like a bread box now. A ring box, even. Impossibly small and crushing their bones under its infinitely shrinking horror. 

Pleas and screams kept exploding from them, sucking what little air they had into worthless desperation. “PL-EASE PL LEASE WH HUMPER PLLLEASE- LE T ME OUT O-OPEN TH- SSSTOP-STOP STOP-PLEASE-”

The boards over and around them creaked slightly as Whumper settled their weight onto the crate. Whumpee froze, dreading for a moment the thought of Whumper’s weight cracking through the box and crushing them only to realize that would mean the box was broken and they would be better able to wriggle out or at least get some fresh air inside. They pushed against the spot. 

Whumper mused as they sat there, “I could do anything right now, you know… Couldddddd…..toss you in a lake. Off a cliff. Bury you in the garden..”

Whumpee’s sobs started fresh, thrashing gaining new strength. Their heart twisted and stabbed. They couldn’t breathe- “Nn--onp plp-lease-ep-pleas-”

“We don’t have to do that, though, do we? Because you’re not gonna pick any more locks.”

“Y-ees-y– nn-n-omore-!” Just desperately agreeing to anything that had even the vaguest promise of getting out. Nothing else held their attention as darkness grew and their head weighed more on their aching shoulders.

“Good. I’ll leave you in here tonight to let you really think that over before we try again.”

tagging isn't sparking joy today, i am so sorry-

[galaxywhump]

wasn't sure since it didn't seem like you'd written anything in a bit and i didn't want to just put you on the spot! so we've seen wren experience panic/triggering from pre daniel trauma and daniel's reactions to that. i'd be interested to see daniel's reaction to wren getting triggered/having a panic attack/flashbacks from something daniel has done to him (whipping, breaking his fingers, stabbing through his hands)

Took me a while (what else is new), but here you go!

[SV-240 masterlist]

contents: forced relationship whump, slavery whump, creepy/intimate whumper, trauma, flashbacks, panic attack, creepy comfort, referenced: broken fingers, whipping, cutting.

~~~

Wren has gone through so much pain since he was captured; torture has become just a fact in his life, something Daniel loves too much to let it go. 

The regular torture methods he has gotten used to. They hurt regardless, but he's used to the sight of the whip or Daniel's favorite knife, and the way they bite into his flesh.

But then there are the others, the ones that have only happened once, in circumstances he'd rather not relive. The more time passes, the fuzzier the memories become - but the memory of the pain becomes exaggerated, and when he catches himself thinking back to it against his will, all he remembers is agony.

But all of that is behind him, hopefully. He's learned to block it from his memory - until now.

"Give me a break."

It's just a movie. They're sitting on the couch, Daniel's arm wrapped around Wren, holding him close, and they're watching a movie together. It means over an hour of relative silence between the two of them, since Wren's not in the mood for commenting on what's happening on the screen. He was relieved to hear that this was the plan for the day, that Daniel wanted to relax too.

Then he hears the words. They're just words, just that one common word that he's heard again and again here, but this is different, and it takes him back, like he's been punched in the face and sent flying backwards into the past, but then ended up here again, on the couch, in Daniel's casual embrace.

"You're breaking my heart."

His hands are trembling, fingers stiff; he's scared to move them, expecting agony accompanying a nauseating crack. He can hear it so clearly, one after another, and he can hear something else, laughter, so much laughter, Daniel's and Berkeley's, laughing at him as he sobbed into the couch, unable to resist while his fingers were getting broken one by one.

He jolts in place when someone grabs his hand, he can already feel the pain even though nothing has happened yet, tears gather in his eyes and trickle down his face, and he can barely breathe.

"No!" he cries out, wrenching his hand free and backing away, scrambling to the end of the couch, his breathing quick and shallow. Breaking echoes in his head, the word said in Berkeley's voice and the sickening sound reverberating from his fingers, which hurt so much.

"Hey."

Daniel's voice. It's different, there's genuine worry where there used to be sadistic satisfaction, and yet it's nowhere near soothing, it never is. He shakes his head, curling up, holding his hands close to his chest.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Daniel frowns, moving closer and reaching towards Wren, not stopping when he flinches away. 

"N-no," Wren chokes out when Daniel grabs his arm, but he can't free himself, it wouldn't change anything, he was only punished even more harshly for trying to run. "Stay away, d-don't-"

"I'm not doing anything. Did the movie remind you of something? Whatever it was, it's okay now. You're here, and you're safe with me."

"You did that to me!" Wren curls up more to protect his hands, terror only increased by hopelessness, because if Daniel really wants to repeat that torture, there's nothing that can change his mind.

"Did what?" Daniel tightens his grip on Wren's arm, looking him up and down, and realization finally seems to dawn on him when he notices the way Wren's hiding his hands from him. "Oh. You mean breaking your fingers?"

Wren shivers and doesn't respond, but Daniel doesn't seem to need his confirmation.

"Oh, sweetheart…" Wren can't back off any further and has no choice but to let Daniel pull him closer and wrap one arm around him again; Daniel doesn't let go when he feels Wren tense up, his breathing still strained. "That was ages ago, and I promise it was a one-time thing. I'll never do that to you again."

Wren exhales, doing his best to calm down, but Daniel being so close is anything but calming, and then he whimpers and tries to pull back when Daniel gently takes his hands.

"No…"

"Shh. It's okay. I won't hurt you like that again." Daniel squeezes his hands and smiles.

"You're still hurting me," Wren whispers, his voice shaky.

"I know, but there are things I won't do, again or at all. That is one of them."

And yet Wren's breath catches in his throat when Daniel takes hold of his fingers and curls them slightly.

"Relax, sweetheart. I won't do anything."

"Then let go."

"Just trust me." Daniel leans his head against Wren's. "We'll finish the movie some other time, okay? Or we can watch something else. For now just try to calm down."

It's hard when Daniel continues playing with Wren's fingers, squeezing his hands from time to time, knowing well that it’s counterproductive to his goal of making Wren calm down, but choosing to do it anyway. Not hurting him, just reminding him that he can, at any moment, whenever he pleases, while Wren can do nothing but follow his suggestion and do his best not to reminisce about that nightmare any longer.

~~~

taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between @whatwasmyprevioususername @procrastinatingsab @funky-little-glitter-bomb @goneuntil @redstainedsocks @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @renkocchi @whump-only @muddy-swamp-bitch @girlwithacoolcat @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sophierose002 @whump-headspace @to-whump-or-not-to-whump @kixngiggles @ohwhumpydays @whumpvp @wibbly-wobbly-whump @stab-the-son-of-a @his-unspoken-words @pumpkin-spice-whump @onlyhappywhenitpains @suspicious-whumping-egg @morning-star-whump @burtlederp

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 6

CW: hand gore, broken bones, violence, passing out, emeto warning, torture

PART 5 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 7

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

With the fifth blow, he finally came to.

Fighting through the wild ocean drumming inside his skull, he felt white-hot pain creeping up his arm, unknown in his source. As he tried to pull his hand towards him, dizzy with nausea and not sober enough to realize what was happening to him, the pain only started to multiply.

With every second that passed, hundreds and thousands of tiny needles made his nerves mewl in chaos. The signals normally designed to keep him safe and alert ran rampant up to his neck and directly behind his eyes; dragging and dragging to no avail, his hand stayed wrenched against the table.

"Just one more..." a voice at the end of the storm spoke, soft words accompanied by a sickening crack just beside him.

As the steel met flesh again, the world went blinding white.

If he were able to hear his own screams, he would have noticed his scarf slipping back against his palate, the awfully familiar threat of choking came to his mind. Helpless to any of it, the pain rutted itself deeper into his insides, spreading throughout his whole body.

Even as he finally managed to rip his limb protectively to his chest, the despair kept on building. 

Blooming itches crept up and down the limbs, a primal attempt to push out as much pain as possible. His heartbeat frantically pressing against the hand on his chest, which started to feel more like a liquid; flowing through itself and back down his forearm, it became dangerously shapeless, numb at the places where skin split to let agony flow freely to the outside.

What did I do? I haven't… I wasn't...

A face became visible behind the white fog clouding his vision. Morris called out to him, pushing the squirming form back into the chair and held him in place. 

He did this. 

The fog, a presence he was too familiar with by now, gave room for just one single thought. 

He did this to me.

Elliot had never seen him so nervous, quickly talking to him but keeping an even level to eye him thoroughly. He must have knelt down to continue his gibberish. His face had gone rosy again, eyes bulging out of their sockets to underline his panicked expression.

"-ve to take a picture. I fix you right up, okay?"

Snatching back control over his body, Elliot used the fading shock to bring his head forward, smashing it against Morris' nose. Instantly, the pressure on his chest faded away and without thinking any further, he jumped up to get as far away as possible.

--------

Morris snapped back quickly after Elliot, obviously confused and semiconscious, pressed his forehead uncomfortably harsh against the other's face. It didn't even hurt, Morris was too agitated himself to react in any other way.

The wild expression in his captive's eyes was surrounded by a light splatter of red. Somehow, his method of choice must have spread the escaped blood all over its surroundings.

With a kick to the bound legs, useful for once as a point of contact, Morris simply knocked him down to the floor again to curb any kind of escape attempt.

He should have stayed asleep, that's all he tried to achieve with this theater, but nothing seemed to go as planned anymore.

As he laid on the carpet, still cradling his left hand and utterly lost in painful shivers, Morris quickly used his opportunity to grab him by the ankles.

He couldn't work like that.

Elliot had gone slack again, staring up at the ceiling with watery eyes so raw around the edges, it looked like they too were about to stain him red. 

Pulling him through the threshold, Morris managed to get them both settled onto the bathroom floor, ripping fingers away from the protective grasp and fixed them quickly onto the once white tiles.

--------

He remembered everything now. The car, the alley, even the fight that followed shortly after - like time was turned back to the biggest mistake of his life, to give him another chance. He would make use of it. 

Spurred by his new will to survive, Elliot let his free hand grab up into Morris hair, nails digging into the soft scalp and twisting the head away from his mauled side. 

Both their breathing went rapid now, but Morris still had the upper hand. His knee connected painfully with Elliot's stomach, threatening to cause even more damage than intended. Taking advantage of his loose grip, his right arm was ripped to the floor and kept in a tight squeeze under Morris' knee.

"Don't make me do this, Elliot!"

Never even thinking about stopping his struggle, Morris looked down at his captive horrified, nearly apologetic, as he pushed the fingers apart with his own. Trapped in violent hand holding, the man above let his body weight shift onto the vice-like grip, thus leaning directly into the abused flesh.

Unable to keep himself together anymore, the agony took over his higher brain functions with a high-pitched wail. Pushing the cursed scarf out of his mouth through a simple retch, everything his stomach could handle during the day just emptied itself onto the bathroom floor, to find its place within blood and tears.

A broken yelp slipped through the room, as Elliot let go of all consciousness; escaping his torture after all.

--------

He should have never done this alone, how stupid could he be? The mashed appendage on the bathroom floor let its blood pool freely, teared skin ripped open to reveal thin bones underneath, visible for anyone who would watch.

"Fucking hell!" Morris murmured to himself, taking a good look at the surrounding damage.

The tremors ripping through Elliot didn't seem to halt for even a second, though his eyes were half-closed and staring blankly into the void.

It was better that way, gave him more time for clean-up. Grabbing the first aid kit from his bag, he nearly forgot about the photo until the antiseptic fell out of his shaky grasp.

He needed to calm himself, immediately. A voice deep inside forbade him to leave his little bane on the ground like that, between piss stains and vomit. He tended to underestimate the risk of infection when it came to this house.

Snapping some quick close-ups of the mess Elliot caused him to inflict, Morris could finally get back to damage control.

If Amber wouldn't answer now, what would be had left as an alternative? He didn't plan anything after this point, frankly, not even after he got Elliot to the house.

His gaze stayed fixed onto the man's face: The horror of the last minutes, or day maybe, was etched into his features. Old and new bloodstains finding each other to blend seamlessly into his clothes and hair.

Morris would not resent him for this, he wasn't erratic enough to expect a man just to sit and take it.

Not knowing what else to do, he started to pour the disinfectant over the open gashes, thinned crimson seeping into the grout.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2023 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[fearyandear]

Februtality Theme 2: Fingore (TW Soft Gore, Finger Torture)

Posting this theme early because I've got DnD tomorrow! Fingore with Brandy, the baby of my murder family ocs (and a minor role from Cash, the eldest brother, who is holding the hedge trimmers <3)! With her now drawn digitally, I've got something on all of the siblings now! WOOO!

So first thing's first, this family came to be from a demon that got seduced by a trucker gal that picked him up after he finished a sinful bender. She's got him whipped, and vowed to help him with his 'evil mission' of spreading horrors to the world. Their kids popped out, 4 in total, and are also tasked with helping in their efforts. They've all found their own niche on how to be useful, and Brandy's is by being the smartest. She's a prodigy that makes her dad proud; a natural at reading people and manipulating them, she's become her dad's go-to for planning out big disasters. Unfortunately, her kryptonite is the one victim she couldn't secure. The girl that got away back in juvie... Barbie, her beloved <3

[disneyprincessbuffyannesummers]

just think about wolf kissing scarlet's pinky finger and telling her everything is gonna be alright

[whumpshaped]

tw depersonalisation, derealisation, self-harm, gore (fingore)

Whumpee was getting a little too hasty with the knife as they diced their onions. The blade cut through the flesh of their finger like butter, and blood quickly pooled to the surface in its wake.

They stared at it, uncomprehending. It didn’t even hurt. It looked like their finger and their blood, but it didn’t… feel like it.

They used the tip of the knife to poke at the wound, sliding it under the half-detached flap of skin and folding it back. They dug the sharp point into the raw flesh and their muscles twitched, but at best they felt like they were a doctor, hitting someone else’s knee with a reflex hammer.

Blood, so much blood from just a tiny little cut. Maybe Whumper was right. Maybe they had gone easy on them. Maybe it wasn’t that hard to leave them in a puddle of their own blood.

They angled the knife and made another cut, severing that small piece of flesh entirely. They made another cut, entranced by the idea of dicing up their own fingers along with the vegetables. Were they even their own fingers? They should’ve felt something by now, right?

“Whumpee!” Someone grabbed them by the shoulders and pulled them away from the cutting board, and the knife fell from their hand, loudly clattering to the floor. “Holy shit– fuck– what are you doing?”

They were guided to the sink and their hand was put under running water, but they couldn’t tell whether it was cold or warm. They felt nothing apart from fascination with the way it painted the sink pink.

“Whumpee,” their friend tried again, and they slowly looked up to meet their eyes. They looked so concerned. And for what? They were completely fine. “What were you doing? That– that doesn’t look like an accidental cut– and there’s so much blood…”

“Dicing.” Their voice sounded distant and unfamiliar, and they wondered whether they’d ever find their way back to their own body or they were permanently locked outside. “I was dicing.”

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

he's not a big fan of copycats...especially the ones that go after his final girl

[suspicious-whumping-egg]

Low Profile pt 3 — Wayford

Tw: light fingore

Low Profile Masterlist

“Come on Hale, this isn’t hard,” Viper mocked, deftly sliding another needle into Hale’s fingertip. “Tell me where Soros’s safehouse is, and all the pain goes away. As soon as the information is confirmed, I can get you right back home like nothing happened. Just tell me where he is.” 

Hale gritted his teeth as the sharp prick turned into a sickening, deeper pain when the skin under his nail was pierced. His nondominant hand was splayed out on the table in front of him, a tightly clustered triad of needles buried deep under each of his fingernails.

“I already said, I’d tell you if I knew,” he bit out, squinting his eyes shut and trying to keep his breathing steady. “I barely knew the chancellor… It's my father who knows— nhh! I— please, I don’t know—”

Viper had given a sharp jab to one of the needles, sending it stabbing deeper into his finger. “And if that really is the case, you’ll just have to wait until I’m ready to move onto something else,” he said coolly. “Now. The safehouse?”

Hale swallowed a sob and just shook his head. “I wish I knew,” he said pitifully, blinking back tears. “I, uh, I could tell you about my father’s security? He knows the chancellor, he could give you what you needed…”

His words were cut off by his own gasp of pain as another needle was driven under his thumbnail. 

“No can do,” Viper said smoothly. “You’ll just have to tell me yourself. Although maybe this just… isn’t motivating enough. Is that it?” He abruptly stood from his chair and turned around to rifle through the shelf of weapons behind him. 

Hale froze, his heart kicking into overdrive. “Nonono I promise— I’m not— I don’t know anything— I just don’t— please— don’t make me—”

Viper whirled around to grab a fistful of Hale’s hair, forcing his head back and clapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Stop freaking out,” he hissed, his nose crinkling in disgust. “You’re pathetic. Either you tell me now, or you get what you deserve. Make your pick and deal with the consequences.” He eased his hand away to let Hale speak, a pleased smirk settling over his features. Hale was wonderfully easy to threaten into silence. 

Hale struggled on instinct, squirming in Viper’s grip, but the movement sent shocks of pain up his immobilized hand, and he shuddered still once more. He glanced up fearfully behind him, catching only a glimpse of his captor from his peripheral vision. 

He remained speechless for a moment, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. He couldn’t do this. He’d start with the truth, as much of it as he knew. Just to try and spare himself.. But it wouldn’t be enough. 

“Okay… I-I’ll tell you what I can,” he said slowly, his fingers twitching in pain even as he tried his best to hold still. “I— I didn’t think it’d be enough to matter, I swear I don’t know a lot… It’s not much, but…” he trailed off with a soft sigh. “What do you need to know? 

“First, the location of the safe house,” Viper said smoothly. “Anything else you know about their security would be appreciated.” 

Hale closed his eyes, struggling to think back to anything he knew about the chancellor's safehouse. His fingers throbbed, but he could think now that the pain wasn’t worsening with every second. 

“Okay, okay, uh.. I think I’ve been there a few times. The safehouse. My father would take me when he had long meetings, I guess so Soros’s kid wouldn’t be alone. It was hours from the city, west, I think? I remember— uh— seeing the sunset over the treetops. It was somewhere deep in the woods, but not far enough to get to the mountains. A bunch of gates, coming up to it. All coded. It was a different word each time, I just remember my father would roll down the window and say some kind of nonsensical-sounding shit, then it’d open.”

The whole truth, and Hale knew it wouldn’t be enough. 

Viper nodded, scrawling a few lines on a notepad. “What town is it close to? Did you ever make stops anywhere along the way?” 

Hale shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and anticipating another sharp stab of pain. He drew in a shuddering breath, his gasps quickening until he was hyperventilating. “I don’t— I don’t think— we almost never stopped anywhere— I don’t know— it was ages ago—” he stammered out, tugging instinctively at the restraints. “I can’t—”

“Hey, hey,” Viper shushed. “I can’t understand you when you do that. Calm down. Take a minute, it’ll come back to you. And if not, I’ll be more than happy to jog your memory.” 

The threat only served to elicit a soft sob from Hale’s throat, he leaned over on the table as if he was going to pass out, burying his face into the cold metal. “Please— we didn’t— we didn’t— aah! Please—”

Viper had deftly slid another needle deep into his fingertip, prying up under the nail. “Come on, Hale, you said you knew nothing before and now you’ve given me this much. I can’t trust you anymore.” 

“No, no, I can’t…” he choked out, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t remember… please… I only said I knew nothing ‘cause I thought it didn’t matter, and I barely remember any of it…” 

The harsh pain of a slap to the face sent him crashing back to reality.  

“Hale, love, you gotta work with me here,” Viper said softly. “I wouldn’t need to hurt you if you’d just tell me, and you’d be able to tell me if you didn’t get all worked up over all of this. Just calm down, give me what I need to know, and we can call it a day,” he instructed. His voice was soft, but there was an undeniable threat in the words. 

Hale bit his lip, blinking back a fresh wave of tears and forcing his mind back to those vague days when he was younger— before he’d become the disappointment, the bleeding heart, the weakling of the family. “I— uh— don’t think we made any stops,” he managed. “One time… one time we stopped in Wayford, I think. On the way. I was, I don’t know, eleven? They made me stay in the car the whole time.” 

“Wayford? Yeah, that aligns with our suspicions,” Viper mused. He leaned over to tug the needles from Hale’s fingertips, and Hale nearly dissolved into sobs of relief. 

“See how easy it is when you cooperate?” His captor soothed as he set the needles in a pile. “You could’ve just told me off the bat and then you wouldn’t be a pathetic little mess now, hm?” 

Hale just let out a soft whimper. 

“I— I didn’t think it was enough to matter—” he protested weakly, clenching his throbbing fingers into a fist as if to protect them. 

Viper shook his head as he moved to unlock Hale’s shackles, the restraints slithering to the floor in a series of clatters. “Anything you might know is enough to matter,” he assured quietly. “So unless I tell you it isn’t important, you’ll be better off staying on the safe side, alright?” 

Hale nodded mutely, clutching his wounded hand to his chest and staring blankly at the bloodstained cement floor. He couldn’t do this again for another day, much less however long it would take for Viper to be satisfied. Would he be tortured to death once they couldn’t get anything else out of him? Dumped in an alley, bleeding out? Buried alive? His stomach clenched at the thought. 

 Viper tilted Hale’s face up with a finger under his chin, forcing his captive to meet his eyes. “With that being said, it was nice of you to keep me in mind,” he added, his voice as mocking as it was sweet. “It’s always so much more fun when it’s all drawn out.” 

“I didn’t—”

He pressed a finger to Hale’s lips, stifling his words. “Don’t argue with me, that won’t be pleasant for either of us,” he warned. “Now that you’ve given me what I needed, it’ll be a lot easier if you just stay quiet.” 

Hale clenched his jaw and nodded bitterly, his eyes narrowing. Don’t fucking touch me! He wanted to scream. But he said nothing. 

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Viper murmured, pulling a compact pistol from his holster. “Now follow me.” 

Hale froze, his gaze flicking to the gun and back. “No… please…” he whispered, his chest aching from the rapid pounding of his heart. His eyes filled with a fresh round of tears, and he fought to keep them from spilling. “Please… I’ll, I’ll still be useful, please don’t—”

“Hey, calm down,” Viper said condescendingly. “I’m not going to kill you, don’t be stupid. This is… insurance, so to speak. I won’t use it if you don’t act up.” 

He nodded weakly, rising shakily to his feet and wiping his eyes with his undamaged hand. 

He let Viper lead him down a dimly lit hall into a small cell, stumbling alongside him on unsteady legs, weak with fear. A rickety cot took up the length of one wall, and the rest of the room was bare. Hale nervously perched on the end of the bed, hugging his legs to his chest as he took another glance at the gun. 

“Don’t try anything stupid,” Viper ordered before turning and bolting the door behind him. 

As soon as he was alone, Hale dissolved into weeping. 

Taglist: @morning-star-whump

[whump-me-all-night-long]

What's the WORST torture you can think of in the next five seconds??

NO CHEATING

TYPE IT. TYPE IT NOW.

tw: fingore

that thing where they slowly peel off the skin of your body part (eg a finger) and then layer by layer flay your appendage until you're just begging them to cut it off

[dungeons-and-dragons-and-whump]

lately ive been into epithet erased (which is REALLY GOOD you should watch it if u havent) and been lookin all over for whump but have found none so. did it myself.

_____

Percival King is Not Afraid of Pain / Rated PG for violence / angst/hurt/comfort / feat. finger whump, fire whump (is there a name for that? I don’t know)

Percival King was not afraid of pain.

Pain was nothing more than a natural response of the body, often following an action that caused physical harm. An alarm system, if you will, to ensure that one ceased the dangerous activity as soon as possible to avoid further damage.

Percival King was not afraid of pain.

Or, at least, that is what she told herself, as she was backhanded across the face for the fifth time since she had woken up fifteen minutes before.

“Do you think I’m playin’?!” The masked figure shouted, leaning uncomfortably close to her face. “I’m not afraid to kill you! I’ve killed before!”

“Regardless of their criminal record, anyone is capable of taking a life.” Was the officer’s nonchalant response. “Admitting to having committed such a heinous crime in the past only digs your grave deeper, my friend.”

“I am no friend of a cop!!” The young man slammed his fist down on the table beside her - which, seemed to be its’ only purpose, as the surface was bare. “And I’m not getting caught!! Tell me where the amulet is, now!!”

“That information is classified.” Percy replied firmly, shifting her wrists where they were locked in the cuffs behind her back. “You may as well give up. I am not going to give in.”

“We’ll see about that.” Fuming, the boy turned and stomped away into the darkness. Blinking into the bright light aimed at her face, Percy twisted her wrists once more, trying to get a better view of her surroundings.

She wasn’t entirely sure how, but approximately seventeen minutes ago now she had awoken in a dark room, chained to a chair with Eraser cuffs and very disoriented. Her captor - face hidden by a ski mask - had soon discovered she was awake, and had set to interrogating her in the hopes of finding a lead on the Arsene Amulet.

It was pitch-black other than the light in her eyes, so she had no clue as to what time of day it was, but the detective was confident that she would soon be found and rescued. Otherwise… she wasn’t sure how to get out. Her epithet was as good as gone, and her sword was nowhere to be found. Unless her captor slipped up, she was, unfortunately, rather helpless.

Speak of the devil, her captor appeared once more from the darkness, brandishing a lighter in one hand.

“Fire?” Percy questioned in amusement. “An amateur move, to be sure.”

“Maybe so, but I’ll take it if it gets you to talk.” He spat. She caught another voice in the darkness to her right - he wasn’t alone. Reaching out, the young man grabbed a shock of her hair, yanking her head to the right as he flicked the lighter open. Percy didn’t fight him, only tracked the dancing flame with her eyes as he held it close to her cheek.

“Where is the Arsene Amulet?” He demanded once more. Percy did not respond. “Tell me!” Nothing. “Now!” He edged the lighter closer. The heat on her face wasn’t painful, not yet, but it was getting to be quite uncomfortable. Still, she didn’t speak. “You really don’t want me to do this, cop!” He yelled, getting in her face once more. Her only response was to raise one corner of her mouth in a grimace.

He pressed the lighter against her cheek.

Percy was disappointed to hear a pained sound come from her mouth, her face scrunching up into a wince as she tried to jerk away. Unfortunately, though, the hand in her hair was strong, and all she accomplished was additional pain from the tugging of her hair from her scalp before the lighter flicked off.

“You see?!” Before she could recover, his hand struck her across the face again. “I’m not playing!!”

“I can see that.” She responded through gritted teeth.

“Then talk!!”

“No.” He hit her again, then whirled around, retreating into the darkness once more.

Rolling one shoulder, Percy craned her neck to press her burned cheek against the fabric of her jacket. While she obviously couldn’t see the damage, the wound felt raw and open. Most likely second-degree.

Returning once more, her masked captor set a pair of pliers down on the table beside her before coming around behind her and beginning to work at her cuffs. Percy waited with bated breath as one wrist was freed- her left. The now-empty cuff was then locked to a leg of her chair before the young man crossed into her field of vision again, her limp wrist held firmly in his grasp.

Snatching up the pliers, the man slammed her hand down onto the arm of the chair, positioning the pliers around her pinky finger - bare and unprotected, her gloves were missing. Percy winced in apprehension, but didn’t fight it.

“Talk.” His voice was low, and his eyes through the mask burned with intensity and rage. Percy shook her head once. He squeezed.

Percy let out a pained grunt as an audible crunch came from her pinky finger, pain shooting up her arm and into her body. The man released her for a moment, and she clutched her hand to her chest, bending over her shattered finger as pained tears threatened to flood her vision.

The next moment, she was on her feet, kicking her chair backwards and causing the other cuff to slip free before hurling a fist into her captor’s face.

The young man let out a startled yell as her punch landed straight on his nose, and she was already throwing another by the time he opened his eyes. Her second punch sent him crashing to the ground, but the next moment she found herself tackled to the ground by a second figure in a ski mask.

“Pin ‘er!!” The first voice snarled, and she twisted, trying to get a leg underneath her to unbalance her opponent. Abruptly, she was cut off by her own yelp of pain as one of her captor’s hands landed squarely on her broken finger, grinding it into the concrete floor. 

Her right hand flew to her left, trying to protect her damaged hand, but this only alerted her captor to her pain and caused him to press harder. A pained wail escaping her throat, Percy scrabbled at the hand pinning her down, desperately trying to stop the pain that blinded her senses. A second hand seized her right wrist, slamming it onto the cold floor, and she looked up with wide eyes as the first man aligned the pliers with her right little finger.

“No-!” The single syllable escaped her before she could stop it, but it was no use as it was cut off by another yell, accompanied by the sound of her bone shattering. She struggled, fighting against both of the men holding her down, but her stamina was too low, she was just too weak-

A loud crash of metal on metal rang out through the cavernous room, and Percy looked up with tear-filled eyes to see a new light source illuminating the room behind her captors.

“None o’ that now. Folks are tryin’a work.” The next moment, something cracked against the head of the first man, and he slumped forward on top of her. Percy began to scramble away as the second jerked up, spinning around to try and defend himself from this new contender. Unfortunately for him, he was no match against the force that took out his partner, and a solid force slammed into his head which sent him crashing to the ground.

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, Percy grimaced, holding her injured hands tightly to her chest. A silhouette appeared against the new light, and she blinked up at them as they approached.

“Percy King.” Howie Honeyglow squatted down beside her, casting a disdainful glance at her broken and bruised pinky fingers. “Should’a guessed it was you causin’ all that racket.”

“Believe me, it was not my intent.” Her voice was raised in pitch, and she swallowed to force it back down to normal. “I am- not sure how I ended up in this situation, but-” She flinched away as he reached for her hands, and he stopped. “Those two were attempting to wrest from me any information I would give them on the Arsene Amulet.”

“That the magical doo-hickey everyone been fightin’ over?” Howie rumbled. “Waste of time, ‘ask me.”

“Hmm.” Slowly, painstakingly, Percy got to her feet, Howie keeping a watchful eye trained on her should she stumble and fall. “I need to get back to the station. Those two- I need to restrain them. They cannot be allowed to escape.”

“You need a doctor.” Howie corrected sternly. “They’ll be out for long enough, you get those bones set. Ya didn’t win the fight, ya didn’t get healed.”

“I’m aware.” Percy gave in, guarding her broken hands as she began to make her way towards the door. Barely a moment passed before she heard the shuffle of leather on concrete, Howie catching up to her with ease as she limped towards the exit. He eyed her for a moment, then slipped an arm under hers, supporting her as she made her way towards the street.

“Did you tell ‘em?” He asked, his voice low. She shook her head.

“No.”

“Good.” His tone left no room for argument. “Y’did yer job.”

He walked her all the way to the hospital.

[whumpshaped]

Whumper walking on Whumpee during their escape attempt, where Whumpee has somehow escaped their restraints and managed to get a weapon. Bonus points if Whumpee is surprisingly competent with weapons.

this doesnt get bonus points but its so close i have to link it

tw guns, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned whumper, gore (fingore), death threat

Whumper froze for a moment when they saw the empty shackles, knowing well that they’d left all their usual weapons in the cell with their captive. If their captive was out–

“Don’t move,” Whumpee said calmly, punctuating it with the click of the gun being cocked.

“Now, let’s not get carried away.” Whumper slowly turned their head to look at Whumpee, flashing them a charming smile while trying to reach into their pocket. “I think–”

Bang. The bullet hit their hand with clinical precision, blowing two fingers clean off. Whumper let out a scream of sheer horror at the sight, cradling their wounded hand against their chest.

“Don’t. Move.”

“What the fuck?” they shouted. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Whumpee didn’t waver; their hand stayed steady, and the gun was still pointed straight at them. “I’m going to tell you exactly what to do, and you’re going to do it. Every time you fail to comply, I’m putting another bullet in you.”

“Oh, you’re going to run out very fucking quickly,” they snarled, and Whumpee allowed themself an amused smile.

“I know exactly how many bullets this has — the last one is going in your head. But at that point, I’d wager it’ll be at your request, as a last little mercy.” They tilted their head to the side, and Whumper saw nothing in their eyes but the murderous intent to support that statement. “I’ll give you a moment to think about whether you really want to spite me.”

[sideblogformindtrash]

[rp-meme-central]

Markiplier plays “Bad Dream: Butcher” - sentence starters

1. “I know that number. I just read that number. I’m smart and can remember numbers.” 

2. “Did you just bite me? You little bastard.” 

3. “I’m missing a finger? What the hell, it bit off my finger!” 

4. “Something weird’s going on here. Something very strange is happening.” 

5. “’Scuse me, _____, I was talking. I don’t even know if that was you, but don’t interrupt.” 

6. “Is that you, _____? You don’t look so good.” 

7. “_____ cut off my finger, why should I be upset?!” 

8. “I saw that. I saw that. I saw that.” 

9. “I should stop sticking my hand near things.” 

10. “Am I supposed to know what I’m supposed to do with this?”

11. “Can I have my fingers back?” 

12. “That’s good. I’m glad. This is a happy time.” 

13. “Dinner, _____! Escape the nightmare with some lunch - or dinner, cause I just said that.” 

14. “I’m gonna feed the hungry and the poor! Meaning me!” 

15. “I got a dead fish. I fished it out of a toilet. That’s... delightful.”