#whumpee!Arch

[bltzgore]

tag list: @d-cs​

Last - Next 

Tw: mentions of slavery and race/speciesism, panic attack

It had been three weeks, well something like that. ChainLink, Logan, whatever, had been trying to play nice with the members of the Allicos street agency. one of many companies, of sorts, that employed inhumans, non-humans, and beasts to protect the population on a somewhat freelance basis. The other factions didn’t have this, only intra-gen, it was seen as a very forward thinking way of doing things considering Hex R.E.M.’s outright racism and ID’s whatever it was bordering on slavery. So Logan counted himself lucky to be here, the camps prevalent in his younger years not withstanding. 

So all things considered, when Logan discovered they were going to some kind of agency appreciation bullshit PR thing he naturally assumed they meant the actual members of the agency. He had not counted on himself somehow scoring an invitation. He had asked Elliot, but she hadn’t said anything, knowing he thought these were as stupid as she did, which he did, but it was nice to be considered. 

Logan adamantly refused to give Caine the satisfaction of going to him for answers. He did not work at this agency, and Caine didn’t get to order him around. So Elliot went and asked instead. Yes it had been Caine. Apparently Logan had been seen around enough that if he didn’t come people would think something was up, and they, meaning Caine and Elliot, still hadn’t agreed on how they were going to handle Fission. So he was going to the party, yay.

As soon as they entered the foyer Caine grabbed Elliot and Logan, and dragged them to the side. “You two are going to be on your best behavior so help me God. No fighting, no swearing in front of cameras, no biting, no acid spitting...” he started staring directly at Elliot as he listed things consecutively for what may have been five minutes, ending on No killing. “Do you understand?” 

Logan thought she was going to just nod and be a good little soldier but he clearly misread the gleam in her eyes.

“So absolutely no spitting acid on the food, then complaining about it, swearing as part of that complaint, dragging one of ours through the mud by saying they must have made it because they’re a shitty cook just like they’re a shitty hero, and killing someone in my rage, right?”

Logan could see the steam coming out of Caine’s ears, then he breathed out. 

“No,” he whisper-growled, “Definitely none of that.” 

“Good. Just making sure.” She grinned. 

He pointed towards the sounds of party goers. “Go.”

So the two agency problem children meandered out into the party. Logan made up his mind, that despite how hard it had been to keep from laughing at all of Caine’s rules, he was actually going to try. He didn’t want to make trouble for the guy, not really, and not trouble like this. He didn’t like him, but he didn’t dislike him enough for that, and Elliot worked there. He didn’t want to start trouble for her. He was gonna be on his best behavior. 

Logan looked over at Elliot, while he had just picked a standard suit, poached from Steel of course, she wore something a bit more out of her comfort zone. All his life Elliot had been tougher than nails and fiercer than wolves, she had never really had femininity to her. She could be gentle when the situation required it, but Elli was just Elli, and he loved that about her. So to see her in a dress, that was definitely something to stare at. 

It matched Shakedown’s eyes, blue in a way that made water seem dull. Lined in all the right places with sequins that shined like scales. It fit her perfectly, but he knew better than to point that out. He knew no one else could see it, but when he looked, he knew the inability to stand still, the playing with her jewelry, and the occasional shifting and setting of her jaw meant one thing. Elliot was deeply, deeply, uncomfortable.  

His mind started to wander. He knew Elliot wasn't actually a separate consciousness from Shakedown. Despite the whole two names thing. Most people assumed it was just the novelty of playing like super heroes in the comics, pretending to have a secret identity or something. It was charming, but no one had secret identities these days. Thing was, she had told Logan why, only once. She had said she gave the beast a different name so that she could separate herself from those monstrous impulses. The ones that begged her to let them go and reduce the world to blood and rubble.

Until then it had really never occurred to him that Elliot had to work twice as hard to keep on her best behavior. So when he suggested seeing if they could get away with sticking a whole steak in the chocolate fountain it wasn’t just because he was getting bored of polite conversation, which he was, it was to give her a creative outlet for Shakedown.

They snatched a steak from the tin on the end of the table and rushed over to the dessert table. They were going over what they should jam it onto when Logan froze. All of his muscles locked up, it was so tense he was sure he couldn’t breathe, wasn’t breathing, should he have been breathing? He couldn’t look away but he was terrified they’d make eye contact.

It only took Elliot a moment to notice he was distracted and only a moment more to notice something was wrong. “Logan?”

He couldn’t look away, afraid that if he took his eyes off them they’d come closer. He be pinned! Hands about his head -he couldn’t breathe!!!- The pain in his ribs! It was coming back, it was spreading to his chest! 

She followed his gaze and understood immediately. Fucking Fission. Of course he was here, how had she not thought of this!? She shouldn’t have let Logan come to this stupid party! 

She didn’t want to be rough, but she couldn’t leave him standing there. She took him by the arm and started to pull him with her, her enhanced strength making it easy. She wasn’t sure where they were going, she just knew she needed to bring him somewhere away from all of it. Somewhere she could help him grab his rampant thoughts and get them back under control.

They stopped outside the bathroom and Logan was shaking, his breathing was heavy like he’d sprinted there. It felt like there was something in his throat, just wide enough to make it hard to get air in but small enough that air could be pressed in if he really tried. 

“Logan, can you look at me?” she asked gently. 

He tried to answer, but could only shake his head. 

“That’s ok. We’re going to work through this, everything is going to be ok.” She silenced her own racing thoughts and focused on the steps she had learned for helping victims at accident cites through panic attacks. “I need you to ground yourself here. Can you tell me about the clothes you’re wearing? Are they soft or scratchy? What colors are they?”

It took actual work to bring his eyes up, to fix them, then focus them on his sleeve. This wasn’t his hoodie, this was a dress shirt Caine had demanded he wear to the party, beneath Steel’s poached jacket. “It’s silky, kinda slippery, and gray.” He really didn’t think gray was his color but what did he care what he wore to get in here.

“Good, that’s really good. How about the floor, what can you tell me about it? What is it made out of?” She didn’t really know how many things he ought to identify, but she figured she’d just keep it going until he seemed calm enough to focus on leaving. 

“Uh,” He glanced down, “Some kind of rock probably, it's blue, I dunno what it is.” It was getting easier to speak, at least a little. 

“Alright Logan, we’re gonna head to the car ok? Think you can walk that far or do you want to sit for a few minutes?” She kept a light but steady grip. 

“I wanna sit down.” His voice waivered, still weak.

Elliot obliged him and joined him on the floor herself. She kept her hand on his arm, not grabbing, just resting. They had a signal when they were younger, one squeeze for all good and two for help. She didn’t know if he could think that critically right then, but she wanted to make sure she left the option open if words became too much again.

It was kind of hard for him to hear, his heart beat was thrumming in his ears, and his entire being felt like it was rocking with it. He was happy to sit, but he was still having a hard time coming back from the intensity of the reaction. He was starting to get tired, he didn’t want to stay here. Had Elliot said something about the car? He needed to get out of here. He noticed her hand and set his over it, his breath suddenly feeling like the marathon sprint had stopped. He was slowing down, he finally let his eyes travel up, first to Elliot, then they widened as they noticed someone had followed them out of the room. The air left his lungs again.

He squeezed her hand twice. 

She turned around her eyes darkened. She stood, and as she faced him her height increased by a full foot, her fingers turning bone white and scaley and spiked on the end with highly contrasting black talons. Her eyes matched her dress now, even at this stage well below half change. Her mouth wasn’t open but her growling rattled heavy through Logan’s bones. 

Elliot got a grip on Shakedown just enough to speak. The name came out sizzling a little around the edges. “Fission.”

[fleur-a-whump]

Overloaded (#1)

Preventative Measures

so like. this is a thing. been toying with this little guy in my head for a few weeks and like, almost nothing is concrete but I'm hoping I'll turn it into a series.

content: ex-villain whumpee, hero/leader whumper, manipulative whumper, just like a LOT of manipulation, collars/collaring, referenced electrocution, low self esteem, subtle threats, guilt trips

I've never done this before, let me know if I missed something!!

masterlist | next

----------

Villain has finally been given a chance. A chance to prove he's more than what the whole city has always thought of him, more than what his father raised him to be. He wanted to do good in the world. The heroes were finally giving him a chance to be more than they've always thought of him. 

...or so he thought.

He gulps as he stares at the shock collar in Team Leaders hands. It's a small thing, sleek and unassuming. But he knows exactly what it is because Team Leader had shown him how it worked.  The man is currently speaking to him nonchalantly. Villain should really be listening to the hero that holds the key to a better life. But that collar... shakes Villain's faith in Team Leader. Just a little.

"Villain," the man says shortly. Impatiently. Shit.

Villain jumped to attention, nerves only growing worse. 

"Sorry, sorry! I'm just-just a little confused. I thought... I was a part of the team..." He tries to keep the heartbreak out of his voice. He doesn't quite succeed. 

"If you'd listen..." the Team Leader sighed deeply. Villain was going to throw up. 

Team Leader began again, speaking slowly as if to a child. Or a stupid person. Villain thinks he fell into the latter column. "I was just saying this will help you better mesh with the team. I'm sure you've noticed people are a little nervous with you around."

Hostile. Villain would use the word hostile.

"Given your past, everything you've done," the man drawled. Villain can't hold back a wince. 

"So, to ease their worries, and allow them to see how great I know you can be, this is just a little precautionary measure. A bit of a show."

Ryan swallowed thickly.

"So... It wouldn't be used..."

He tries to keep himself from thinking about electricity burning the sensitive skin of his throat as it shoots down his spine and into his skull to paralyze him. He's familiar enough with the feeling; he doesn't need to imagine it.

Team Leader gives him an easy smile. "As long as there are no issues, of course not."

"...Issues?"

"Oh, stuff that'll never happen. Just breaking any of the rules."

Villain arched his brow, slightly dubious. "Rules.”

"Yeah, like, follow orders, don't fraternize with any of your old contacts, don't leave our level, don't work unsupervised, don't harm the team. Stuff you've been doing this whole time."

"Wait, don't leave the level?

"I mean, that's pretty obvious, bud. If we can't see you, we can't know that you're following the rest of the rules."

He nods mutely, gaze wandering. this whole thing just. He didn't know. It hurt.

Team Leader gently tilted his head up. "Villain, I'm only doing this because I trust you. I know you'd never do anything that could jeopardize your place here."

He doesn't trust that Villain is a hero though, obviously. That he's good. Because Villain could never be good. Not now. Not after all he's done. 

No, he can only hope to do good. And the only way he'll be able to do that is with the team. If this is what it takes to ease his team into working with him, if this is what it takes for him to stay, then he'll do it.

"O-okay."

"Atta boy, Villain! I knew you could do it, man."

Villain nods, trying to give him a smile.

Team Leader moves towards him all too quickly, and he can't help the flinch. The man doesn't seem to notice—or at least he doesn't acknowledge it—and is soon once again gently tilting Villain's chin up from where it had fallen. 

Villain fights the urge to lean into the touch.

While he's distracted, Team Leader swiftly brings the collar, already disengaged and bent open at the hinges, and presses it to Villain's skin. 

Villain jolts at the cold metal and fights to swallow as it's closed around his neck.

The locking mechanism clicks right up against his spine. He can't help the shudder that trickles down his back at the finality of the sound.

"I'm so proud of you, bud," Team Leader says with a big smile and a ruffle of Villain's shaggy curls.

The tightness in his chest eases, just a little. A little part of him flares in anger at how easily he's comforted. He doesn't deserve the comfort.

But he's trying. The collar now fit snuggly around his neck, like it was made for him, is proof of that.

--------------

ps ex-villain whumpee on the hero team but whumped by the hero team is my all-time favorite trope and it is so hard to find I have finally hit the point of needing to produce my own story to scratch the itch

[whump-allthe-way]

“thanks.. dad..” says whumpee, their voice rough and low, as caretaker threads their fingers through their tangled hair

vs

“no please-! dad make it stop! it hurts- please-!” as they thrash and scream, arching away from whumper’s blade as they slice and carve into their skin, caretaker watching in chains

[marvel-ous-whump]

Leader and Medic were a couple, but could never have kids of their own. Somehow, they find themselves the surrogate parents of the team's youngest recruit; Whumpee. And then, Whumpee got taken. Every single day, Leader was sent a video by their Arch-Nemesis, Whumper. Showing Whumpee suffering. At first, there's a fire in Whumpee's eyes in every video as they tell Leader they'll be alright. But the more time passes, that fire slowly gets extinguished. till Whumpee is a quivering, bloodied mess staring vacantly in to space. When Whumpee is finally rescued, it's impossible to keep Leader out of Medbay, they plant themselves at whumpee's bedside; doing anything and everything they can to comfort their kid.

When Whumpee finally wakes up, they find themselves in a medical bed, cradled against a sleeping Leader's chest like they're the most precious thing in the world.

[secretlythegodofdesire]

Weapon Prompt 8

Ropes, belts, restraining in general

Rope burns all over whumpee's wrist and ankles

Whumper just shy of hanging them, if they don't keep on the tip of their toes they be strangled

Only thing stopping them from hanging themselves is the fear of punishment, maybe Whumper will know exactly when they do so, and if they do they'll kill a loved one, or bring them back into the living and do something worse.

Using belts and ropes instead of metal restraints because Whumpee won't hold still long enough to apply anything else

For children, spanking is discipline, but for Whumpee, it just means more marks all over their back that they can't see, but sure enough they can feel.

Has anyone ever tried to use a belt or rope as a gag. Rope burns and frayed pieces in Whumpee's mouth. The tang of leather surpassing their tongue, sound like a good idea I guess

Restraining your ankles and hands and then connecting them, makes like an arch like position, pressuring Whumpee's shoulders.

Restrained into a bowing position

Geographic Restraints, an island, a mountain etc, whumpee is not physically tied down, but they know that escape is futile.

Politcal Restraints, No one would ever believe Whumper is bad, they are such a good person, whumpee must just be a hater

Having people demean you experience is the worst

[whumper-cars]

Whumpees with animal-like features/qualities are the best. Whumpees who purr and growl and screech and roar. Whumpees with wings and claws and tails and gills. Whumpees who open their wings and shoot out their claws and arch their backs in a display of threat. Whumpees who curl their tails and wings and bodies around Caretaker to protect them.

And then there is the different Whumper reactions. Do they find it cute, patronizing Whumpee by talking to them like one would a cat or dog? Do they find it intriguing, wanting to study Whumpee like you would a lab rat? Maybe Whumper is even scared of Whumpee, having an equally animalistic reaction and trying to kill Whumpee before even thinking to try and understand them.

And Caretakers who know. Caretakers that are experts on Whumpees species. Caretakers who know that Whumpee could kill them at any moment. Caretakers who know that Whumpee won't kill them because if they wanted to, they would have already. Caretakers that take Whumpee in because, monster or not, everyone and everything deserves love, right?

sigh, just, animal-like Whumpees

Feel free to add onto any of my prompts

[whumpy-daydreams]

Since you mentioned living weapon prompts…

Defiant whumpee with some sort of superpower finally breaking and becoming a weapon?

ooh i love this and now its really long and i want to write more because i have the plot bunnies

CW: electric shocks, brainwashing, needle mention, military indoctrination

Whumpee had been sloppy. They'd trusted the wrong people and been screwed over as a result. And now they had been arrested? Drafted? They supposed the specifics didn't matter.

Whumpee was wondering how long they'd been stuck in this stupid chair when a door opened, pneumatics hissing as a portion of the wall slid aside.

The man in uniform didn't smile. He sat opposite, barely registering them as he opened a file, scanning through the two pages inside. That was good. They clearly didn't have much information about what Whumpee could do.

"Please state your name for the record."

If Whumpee could cross their arms they would have. But instead they just cocked their head, lips pursed. A slight twitch was all that gave away the man's annoyance.

"It would be in your best interest to comply."

"Why?"

"Because it will save me time and you pain." He clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward slightly. "Your name."

"You forgot the magic word," Whumpee smirked. A jolt of electricity burst across their wrists and ankles. Clearly the restraints were for more than keeping them in place. "Shit!"

"As I said, it is in your best interest to comply. What is your name?"

"Fuck. You." Another flash of pain, stronger than the last, and Whumpee cried out through gritted teeth. Their heart was pounding now, sweat beginning to bead on their back.

The man waited patiently. Whumpee just glared.

When the electricity hit again they screamed, back arching. White flashed across their vision. Whumpee wished they could move. Wished they could shake out the growing cramps in their arms and legs. Still the man just watched, waiting.

Whumpee lost track of time as shock after shock hit them, the only breaks in the silence being the sounds of screaming and the same question from the man, over and over and over. Your name.

"Whum-" their voice caught between sobs, "-Whumpee. My name's Whumpee."

They were drenched in sweat now, limbs shaking from the electricity that had coursed through them just moments before. They were so tired.

The man just nodded, not bothering to write anything down. Bastard. He already knew their name. All Whumpee had done was shown how much pain they could take.

"Would you like some water?" The question caught them off guard. After a moment Whumpee nodded. The man reached down, putting a glass of water on the table, a straw already in it, but didn't move it closer.

"You are being recruited into a special division here. There are others like you already in service, and you will receive comprehensive training to complete your missions."

"Why would I do that?" Whumpee rasped.

"To serve your country. You would receive compensation: food and lodging, thorough medical care, as well as a generous package when you retire."

"Can I think about it first?"

"While cooperation is preferable, we do not need any consent from you to enrol you into the program. I will repeat that it is-"

"In my best interest to comply." Whumpee finished for him. They looked at the glass of water and thankfully the man got the hint. He brought it forward, holding it so Whumpee could drink from the straw.

They took a long sip, looked at the man, and spat it in his face. "You can go to hell." He reeled back, wiping the water from himself with a sleeve. To Whumpee's dismay he didn't look angry, or even particular annoyed.

"Perhaps you need some time to think about it." Was all he said before leaving, the door hissing shut behind him.

___

Whumpee sagged forward in the chair, cheeks stained with tears and sweat as their muscles spasmed.

It had been hours. The shocks were random, or random enough that they hadn't been able to find a pattern - though it was hard to keep track when you kept getting electrocuted.

They didn't have the energy to scream any more. Strained whimpers and a rigid body the only sign of the electricity coursing through them. I won't let them do this to me. I won't let them turn me into a monster.

A firm hand on their arm startled Whumpee, who flinched away, silently sobbing. Then a scratch on the back of their hand, the strange feeling of tape keeping something secure. Whumpee didn't have the energy to look.

"Please..."

"Let it run through before shocking again, don't want them dislodging it." A different voice, and a murmur of acknowledgement. A few minutes silence.

"Have you thought about your situation, Whumpee?" The man's voice again, calm and professional. Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou- "This can all stop if you want it to. All you have to do is cooperate."

It was so tempting. It would be so easy to give in. The exhaustion in Whumpee's body screamed at them to say yes, to accept whatever future they were offering.

With a sob, Whumpee shook their head.

"Why?" The man's voice was different now: softer, gentler. "You have no family, no true friends. Here you will have purpose. People to depend on, a stable place to live, the chance to make a difference in the world."

It was true. Whumpee didn't have anyone they trusted. There was no hope, no purpose, no stability in their future. Because of you. It was their fault Whumpee didn't have those things.

"Just let me leave," they said weakly.

"I can't do that. You belong here, even if you don't realise it yet." Whumpee heard rather than saw the man walk over. He pushed them upright, their head lolling backwards. "What's your name?"

"Whumpee." They didn't know why they said it. Whumpee told themselves it was because he already knew, but deep down that was a lie. It just... happened. They felt pliable, like their brain had been massaged into acceptance.

A video hologram appeared in front of them. It showed people in uniform eating together, playing games, doing training exercises and helping each other. Images of clean facilities, sports and books and tidy bedrooms flashed past one another.

It looked... nice? Not cosy but safe and welcoming. The calm speech of the voiceover repeated itself in Whumpee's brain.

'You'll be part of a family trained to be the best'

Whumpee wanted a family. They wanted to feel safe. Loved. To not have to worry about food and shelter, or who to trust. They're lying to you. The voice in their head took on an uncertain tone.

"Well, Whumpee? Are you ready to cooperate?" Yes. No. Whumpee didn't say anything, their thoughts merging together in a swirling pool of conflicting needs.

The man didn't say anything as he left again. Panic gripped Whumpee and they nearly called after him but it was too late. The door disappeared into the wall.

But no shocks came. Instead another video started, this time an interview of a young woman in uniform. She had powers too. And despite Whumpee's exhaustion they couldn't help but listen.

Another video played afterwards, and another, and another. Each one echoed in Whumpee's head, the voice telling them it was a lie getting quieter until it all but disappeared. Calmness spread over them, making them forget about the shocks, about the fact Whumpee had been kidnapped.

When the man finally reappeared, Whumpee looked at him silently.

"Are you ready to comply?"

"Yes."

[whump-in-the-closet]

"Don't You Remember?"

whumper-turned-whumpee who can't remember what they did to whumpee and a whumpee-turned-whumper who wants revenge so very badly

cw: implied torture, blood, scars, fist fight, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned whumper, implied torture of a minor

In the abandoned alley, Whumper stood over Whumpee, blood on their boots and blood on Whumpee's clothes.

Whumpee gasped for air, back arching against the stone wall. They whimpered. “Why– why are you doing this?” There was terror in their eyes, deer-in-headlights-bright.

And all it did was piss Whumper off. They were no longer the scrawny kid that Whumpee had once bloodied and scarred, but their temper still had the same short leash. And this time, there was no one to stop them.  

“Why?” repeated Whumpee, their voice shaking. Blood dribbled down their chin. “Do I know you?” 

Whumper laughed. Bitterly. In the bronze-lit alleyway, it tasted like dirt and metal, bouncing off the walls before dying out. "You have got to be kidding me."

Whumpee's breathing rattled in their throat, eyes locked on Whumper with their bruised fists and dangerous smile. "I--"

Whumper cut them off. “You think this hurts, Whumpee?"

Whumpee coughed up more blood, clutching their ribcage. They nodded, Adam's apple bobbing in their throat.

“Just imagine it goes on for days. Imagine it doesn’t stop. Imagine you’re in so much pain, you can barely breathe, but it doesn’t fucking stop. But you know what hurts the most, Whumpee?” Another laugh, angry and half spat out. “That you don’t even remember what you did to me. Fuck, you don’t even have the-- the decency to acknowledge you’re the reason they all pity me. Fuck. It makes me want to beat you to death right here and right now.” Whumper ripped off their jacket, letting it drop to the gravel.

 “I mean, fucking look,” Whumper smiled harshly, more of a grimace than a grin.

Whumpee's gaze darted up and then immediately away. Whumper's arms were badly scarred-- raw-rimmed and poorly healed-- but the lines were steady, in methodical knife-blade form.

“Hold still, or I’ll have you lick the blood off my knife. That would be a new low for you, wouldn’t it?” 

Whumper shook aside the memories that burned their way into their mind, the ones that played behind their eyes whenever they tried to sleep. 

Oh, god, when was the last time they had slept?  The anger in their voice was venomous and they re-directed it at Whumpee. “You really don’t remember?” 

No answer. 

Whumpee kicked Whumpee. Hard. “C’mon, Whumpee, I know you’re in there.”

Whumpee only shook their head. They didn’t dare to look up, keeping their arms wrapped around their abdomen for protection. 

The street light bounced off the pooling blood, Whumpee's broken nose, highlighting the deep purple color under Whumper's eyes.

“I was just a kid!" snarled Whumper, "Tell me what I did to deserve this! Fucking tell me!" They didn't want closure. They wanted a fight. 

Instead, Whumpee was wiping at their bloody nose and crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  

Whumper bit back a scream. “Fight me!” 

Whumpee stood shakily, clinging to the wall. “I told you, I…I don’t remember…” their voice cracked. “Please don’t hurt me.” 

Whumper grabbed Whumpee's jacket and hauled them close until their faces were inches apart.

Eye to bruised eye.

Breath shaking.

The smell of copper and leather.

Once, Whumper had cried those very same words.

“Please– please don’t hurt me.”

The knife began its slow work and they began to scream–

One final punch. Whumpee's head cracked against the wall and they slumped limply against the sidewalk. 

There was no closure. 

Just bruised fists and blood on the gravel. Whumper left Whumpee in the alleyway, licking blood off their knuckles. 

[whumblr]

Whumpee paced up and down, leaving a trail on the dirt road as they peeked out from under the arch of the bridge, didn't spot anyone yet, and walked back again, almost in a constant circle. They fiddled with the phone in their hands, checked their messages again.

Caretaker - 08.13 Will meet you there. On my way.

Well, hurry... They didn't feel comfortable here. They'd never been here before, didn't even know it existed, and not a soul had walked past yet. But it didn't take long before they heard footsteps approaching and Whumpee lit up.

"There you are! What too--" They stopped dead in their tracks. Fell back a step. Breath faltering and voice weak as they brought out, "What are you doing here?"

Whumper strode up and merely gave a shrug. "Well, what are you?"

"I'm waiting for Caretaker! And he'll be here soon so you'd better--"

"What a coincidence," Whumper cut over them. "Because Caretaker..." he pulled a phone from his pocket and Whumpee immediately recognised the case, "...is also waiting for you."

-

General whump taglist: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink

@painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop

[secretwhumplair]

Don't you want a bath?

727 words | Izara and the serpent king (sequel to Fighting spirit)

Content | Slavery, dehumanization, manhandling, defiant whumpee, carewhumper, implied/mentioned: nudity, future noncon, punishment, victim blaming

Notes | Izara's introduction to the serpent king continues! He hates it!

Taglist | @yet-another-heathen @echo-goes-aaa @whumpinator @neverthelass

Izara was dragged on to the next room.

It had large, arched windows, looking out over the palace grounds. It was on some sort of terrace—which made sense, there was a sizable pool in its center, a bath, Izara realized—and if he leapt just right-

»What are you looking at, little thing?«

The serpent king had seen through him, Izara could tell from the amusement in his voice. Like he knew just how helpless Izara was. The worst part was that it was true.

Izara didn’t answer. What was he supposed to say, anyway? He just forced himself to look at the serpent king, who had slid into the water, then dropped his gaze to the edge of the pool. He could vaguely imagine what the serpent king wanted with him here; he was already naked, after all. He tried not to think about it too hard. His whole body already hurt. Maybe the guard, still holding him, would get a turn too.

He tried not to think about it.

The guard marched him over to the edge of the pool, and the serpent king moved over to look up at him. It was the smallest comfort, looking down on him like this, but he knew it wouldn’t last.

»Come join me.« The softness of the serpent king’s voice couldn’t conceal that this was an order.

Izara didn’t want to move. He knew what was going to happen. It would be worse if he disobeyed, too.

There was no way out.

His eyes drifted to the windows again. Freedom was so close, and yet utterly unreachable.

»Come, sweet thing. You can let him go,« he added at the guard, and then added something in their language. Izara could imagine his punishment, should he disobey, being outlined to be carried out by the guard at the first wrong move.

For now, the guard let go of his arm again and positioned themself between him and the windows.

Izara’s hands—his newly freed hands, for whatever reason—curled into fists again. Of course.

The serpent king still looked up at him, quizzically. »Don’t you want a bath?«

Izara could have screamed at the duplicity. Of course he wanted a bath. He was desperate for a bath, even if he doubted he would ever feel actually clean again. What he didn’t want was for another master to toy with him, make it worse, and least of all he wanted for it to be disguised as some sort of mercy.

He could see what would happen if he refused, as clear as day. He would probably be locked up somewhere in a cell, or perhaps made to do the dirtiest work the king could think of, without the slightest opportunity of washing himself, and then he would be told it was him who chose this. He had been offered a bath, after all.

He ground his teeth, swallowing down tears. »I do.«

»Good. I want you to bathe as well.« The serpent king stretched out an arm, as if offering to help him into the pool.

»I don’t want to take a bath with you.« He was furious enough he barely felt fear at the impossible thing he was saying.

»I’m afraid that is not a choice I am offering you,« the serpent king said softly. »I want to get to know your body.«

Of course. Of course that was what he wanted. Izara felt sick.

»I won’t hurt you.«

Izara didn’t believe that for a second. A good bedslave would pretend not to be hurt far beyond the threshold of what counted as pain for real people, and that was probably the serpent king’s reference point, if he wasn’t straight-up lying.

He was not a good slave. He would forever refuse to be.

For as long as he could.

For as long as his waning strength lasted him.

He couldn’t fight the tears forever, and now they were welling up. »Come on, little thing,« the serpent king said, even softer. »It’s alright. Come on in.«

He reached further and took Izara by the hand, only grabbing on tight when Izara tried to pull away. »Come on.«

There was no way out.

He let the serpent king pull him into the water with the same uncanny gentleness he had displayed this whole time, and he hated himself for it.

[idek-anymore-what-the-heck]

Whumpril Prompt #21

“Just Hold On”

TW: whip, torture, chains, kidnapping

“Why do you have to make this so difficult?” Whumper asked through gritted teeth. Whumpee couldn’t hear them. Blood was rushing through their ears and their vision was going black on the edges.

Whumper growled, frustrated. They walked around whumpee, who was chained with their arms wrapped around a post in the middle of the room. There were bars on the other side of the post for whumpee to hold on to, both to make it easier for whumper to whip them and for whumpee to have something to grab and support themselves. Whumpee must not understand.

“Just hold on! It is not that difficult!” Whumper grabbed both of Whumpees wrists and chained them to the bars. “This has to help.”

They circled back around. Whumpees fingers were wrapped feebly around the bars. Whumper nodded, then grabbed the whip.

Whumpee was just falling into the darkness when they felt the most sudden, burning rip against their back. They arched their back, gripping the bars as their eyes flew open.

“There we go!” Whumper smiled, pleased that it worked. “Now just don’t let go!” Whumper pulled the whip back again and whumpee relished the cold metal in their hands.

Just hold on, they thought.

Just hold on.

[greatgigintheskiess]

cw: violence, blood, guns

"You'll pay for what you did to them", Caretaker spat full of rage, walking towards Whumper, who crouched on the ground.

Their usual calm and gentle voice was ice cold, eyes filled with fury where there once used to be warmth. Whumpee has never seen them like this, never would've imagined them to even act like that. That couldn't be the Caretaker they knew.

And Whumpee flinched when they kicked into Whumper's abdomen. They gnashed their teeth in pain, arching their back.

Just like they used to kick Whumpee whenever they were bad, didn't want to listen.

Another kick followed, this time against their jaw and Whumper's blood spurted, dropping on the floor, covering everything in dark red.

Blood. Just like theirs.

"Caretaker! Please, stop!", Whumpee cried out, as they couldn't stand this sight anymore.

Whumper panted in agony before Caretaker pulled out a weapon, pointing it at the helpless figure covering to their feet.

"You'll pay with your life. You fucking deserve it."

They drew a sharp breath through their clenched teeth, the desire for revenge glowing in their eyes.

Nothing could stop them now. And they had no pity for this asshole.

The one responsible for Whumpee's pain, for those years of hell. They will die in the same cellar, where Whumpee used to be tortured for so long.

Caretaker has sworn to kill them if their paths ever meet and here they were.

"Please, don't do this!", Whumpee repeated and watched the whole scene with horror.

No one should die just because of them, someone so worthless, insignificant, unlovable.

No one deserved to die through Caretaker's hand, not even Whumper.

And if Caretaker kills them, they won't be any better than Whumper, who tortured and killed others before.

Yet Caretaker ignored their pleas, as if all of their morals went to waste in that single moment and they put their finger on the trigger, ready to pull. That's when Whumpee jumped in front of Whumper.

"Whumpee! What the hell are you doing?! Go out of the way!", they growled, the weapon still pointed at Whumpee's teary face.

"Please, don't..."

"Whumpee. Move to the side."

They stayed like this, looking into Caretaker's scowled features and it seemed like they were another person, as if replaced and blinded by vengeance.

Why did Whumpee defend this monster?!

[secretlythegodofdesire]

Weapon Prompt 9

Handcuffs (second person, mild gore)

The non innocent Whumpee's, whumpee's who have broken the law, whumpee's who have been whumpers

Handcuff to a pole in someone's basement, they were a vigilante of some sort, a name you never heard of yet, you were sure would remember them after this

The handcuff bleed in to your wrist, definately leaving a mark

Hands above your head, hanging you, with or without your feet touching the ground

Or perhaps your hands are tied low, forcing your back to arch or forcing you into a bow

Dirty Cops doing things they shoudn't, bright lights in your face, handcuffs to the table on both wrist.

The sharp part of it could be used as a weapon, so could the keys, simply if you are desperate enough, and I am sure by then you would be.

[newbornwhumperfly]

in defense of lightening...

so, uh, i love when whumpees think they deserve to suffer and it's even more fun when whumpers think so too! 😈😈😈🥺🥺🥺 here's a silly little snippet of Morja suffering at the hands of Jorah "Self Righteous is my Middle Name" Cuthbert 😩

written for the @whumpmasinjuly prompt - day 3: "____ deserved it" - because it's glorious and delicious and fitting for my blorbos 💖

title insp. by this hanif abdurraqib quote - “in defense of lightening, there is always a darkness asking to be split open.”

~

Annoyingly, the asset is limping. 

The rec room on this stiflingly small base is stupid-small and doesn’t leave much room for hiding in corners, but Morja seems to be doing his best to stay out of everyone’s way, at least. Small blessings. But he hasn’t left the rest of present company alone, lingering by the water cooler and taking infuriating little sips of a paper cup. 

Short journeys, quiet shuffling steps, from the cooler to the corner. Cooler to corner. Jorah’s jaw tics. The soft drag of the tip of his shoe across the floor. Lift, absence of pressure, drag, tiptoe, mouse-step, take more water, scurry away. Fuck, can’t he just take the whole industrial jug at this point and leave well enough alone? 

Like a mosquito buzzing near his ear and never quite landing, Jorah just can’t ignore it. He’s lost a second round of Battleship to Pfeffer, inducing one of the guy’s booming chuckles in the wake of slipped curses. He doubts anyone else has noticed - it’s not exactly obvious. Whether the asset isn’t feeling very sulky today or else he’s too chicken-shit to fish for sympathy while Jorah is in the room, Morja is behaving himself. 

It’s not like anyone can see it either. It’s not like anyone knows why the little creep is dragging his heels around. But if the twinge of soreness in Jorah’s arm is anything to go by, Morja’s soles have gotta be smarting in the hours since last night. In the cool shadow of the corner, he leans against a wall to spare his stance.

His soles were that pre-bruise red, that deep shade right before purple Jorah knows well by eye, the welts in perfect straight lines over the arch of his thick skin. Jorah has to work for the break in the skin. Had to stop before it bled, before the lines broke altogether, even though a scream, hard to draw out as blood, broke in muffled echo through the rag between the asset’s teeth. Jorah is patient, he’s not some fucking brute who doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows when to stop. 

Knows when to reel back, gloved hand gripping the black metal ruler firmly. It’s shimmering ricochet gleams in the low-wattage, unstained by its task. God, Jorah admires military hardware. Even tools as simple as this have many uses, such as drawing out beads of sweat from the asset’s screwed-up face, rolling down into his dark hair, in making the skin of his knuckles bleach white with clenching, making those bare feet quiver and dance to the beat of Jorah’s tune, unable to fake. 

The way those thickly callused toes flinch in their tight bonds can’t be faked. 

It's different than the spasm drawn out by the jolt of electricity across his feet. Jorah's baton can always cause that. Getting the skin tender, blistered. But some days, you've gotta hit something. And the response - the jerk, the whine at the tail end of a trailing yelp, the harsh drag of breath through the nostrils - feels practiced in a way that doesn't at all discourage the conversation.

That’s the beauty of physical pain. It might not “work” for traditional interrogation but it sure does tell you a lot of other shit. Jorah checks the bonds over, the tight security of zip-ties over cloth, no grooves, no marks, good work. He watches a bead of sweat roll down the back of the asset’s calf, catching on dark hairs, a path down to land on one of the welts that match the feet. Watching the clench of his thigh when the stinging salt likely hurts like a motherfucker in the stripes across the backs of this thighs. 

Pain is a language everyone speaks fluently. The perfect fucking teacher. The highest grade in understanding. 

There’s a purpose to the shit he’s going to Morja. Mindless beating accomplishes nothing much - not unless you’ve got a lot of free reign to work with. And here, Jorah simply doesn’t, not with soft-touch attitude of everyone at hand. No. Until Claudia or Cobi or especially Brax - Captain Hutchins - sees the value of it, Jorah’s work has to stay discrete, even-handed, subtle. 

Unfortunately for this guy, he gives Jorah a lot of room to work with. 

“Never knew you beefed it so bad at Battleship, J-Man, wanna switch to Go-Fish?” 

Jorah blinks, shaking away the fucking mosquito buzz around his ear, snorts, flicks a little plastic boat at Cobi’s arm and it bounces off the skin. 

“Owwwww.” Cobi whines, his big dumb face wrinkling up as he flicks the boat back. Sticks his tongue out. “Sore loser.” 

“Grab you a soda and we’ll call it even.” Jorah drawls, drawing cheerful agreement from his friend as he stands, stalks to the nearby little fridge. Drawing out the cold cans in hand, he catches a you, uh, a fan of Go Fish, buddy, it’s cool if you join us, right, Jorah? 

Oh. Right. He’s still fucking there, huh?

Jorah straightens, glancing out of the corner of his eye, catching the asset, catching Morja, stock-still. Cobi’s head tilts back, yellow curled and shaggy, dog-like, beaming in the man’s direction like a spotlight. 

Morja’s stillness is broken by the flicker of his eyes, dark, narrowed, from Cobi to Jorah. Blink. Widen. Blank. Creepy. 

Jorah’s fingertips crack the tab of his soda, the sharp pop snapping through the air, a hiss of cool air, and Jorah’s mouth pulls up at the corners. 

Morja’s throat jumps in a swallow and those black blank eyes blink once-twice. Sways side to side on tiptoe. This close, Jorah hears a small squelch at the sway. Oh. Interesting. Putting cold water in his shoes, huh? Jorah’s eyes flick down to his feet, up again, close-lipped, and Morja blinks faster. 

“Yeah, man.” Jorah says. “You wanna sit down with me and Cobi?”

It’s almost boring the way Morja’s eyes widen. The way he lowers his weight down to rest on his swollen soles to spare his thighs the strain. It’s a little funny though. Like a dog trying its hardest not to look at you when it threw up behind the couch. 

Flick to Cobi. Back to Jorah. Back again. 

“I-“

Almost on cue, Cobi cuts in with a musical you don’t HAVE to, of course, only if you wanna. Jorah can always count on Cobi not to ruffle any feathers. And at that, Morja’s body unfreezes, doing his little at-attention routine, shoulders drawing back like a flinch of its own. 

“Thank you, sir, I have work to do.”

Right answer, Asset. 

“Hey.” Jorah shrugs. “If you have work to do, you should do it.”

There it is, that dumb fucking tilt of the head, like he doesn’t get it. Like he doesn’t know what’s expected of him. Has to be told fucking everything - what to eat, how to kneel, when to talk, where to shit, probably. Jorah’s mouth pulls at the corners again, his teeth grit and bare. Read the room. 

That sends the asset scurrying off, click-swallow-blink, the paper cup tumbling out of his hand into the garbage, squelch squelch squelch, and that awkward thorn-in-foot limp when he retreats, dragging one foot after another. 

Jorah’s body relaxes all at once, shoulders dropping down, rolling his neck. Fuck, corralling people in line is hard work. Whatever, a sheepdog is thankless sometimes. Still. It’s a nice thought that this idiot runs off with his tail between his legs, with wet shoes and a dry tongue, unable to sit or stand. 

Setting the sodas on the table with a wide grin, Jorah lounges back for the first time, guard settled, plucking a new little ship between his fingers. 

“Fuck Go-Fish, bro, I’m stretched and hydrated now, your fleets gonna sink.”

Cobi’s face beams and then frowns a little, glancing back towards the exit, the crinkle in his face making Jorah’s stomach sour again. “Man…I hope Morja didn’t feel left out. I don’t want him to be lonely.”

Jorah flicks another ship at Cobi, drawing another sqwuak. His shoulders are down flat now, hackles soothed. The mosquito has fucked off and the room is cool and calm again.

“Aw, big softie. Get your head in the game or I’m gonna sink your battleship. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

He deserves it. 

~ 

taglist: @much-ado-about-whumping @whump-tr0pes @haro-whumps @whumpthisway

@whumping-every-day @stoic-whumpee @whumpzone @straight-to-the-pain @redwingedwhump

@wolfeyedwitch @suspicious-whumping-egg @liliability @whumpster-draganies @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whatgoeswhumpinthenight

@tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @scoundrelwithboba

I hope you enjoyed this little snippet cause i was so so excited to write something new again!! 🥰🥰🥰 have a very merry @whumpmasinjuly 💖

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[serickswrites]

Two Birds, One Bullet III

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, forced to watch, broken bones, blood, head injury, cruel whumper

Whumpee screamed as Whumper pressed down on their broken collar bone. "FUCK YOU!"

"STOP YOU'RE HURTING THEM! LEAVE THEM ALONE!" Caretaker pulled to the end of their chain. They had to get to Whumpee.

Whumper chuckled. "You two are hysterical with your trying to sacrifice yourself for the other."

Whumpee spat in Whumper's face.

Whumper wiped the spit from their cheek. "You really never learn, do you."

"Do your worst," Whumpee growled.

Whumper grabbed Whumpee by the hair, yanking roughly as they slammed Whumpee's head against the table. Whumpee groaned as Whumper raised their head again and slammed it down.

"LEAVE THEM! ME! YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO HURT ME!" Caretaker cried out.

"Nnnnn," Whumpee moaned as Whumper released their head. Their forehead was bleeding again. Blood dripped from their nose.

"You would trade places with them?" Whumper asked Caretaker with an arched brow.

"Yes, yes. In a heart beat."

"Whumpee isn't that sweet they want to sacrifice themself for you?"

"Nnnnnoo-o-o-o," Whumpee stammered as they managed to roll onto their side on the table. "M-M-Me."

"I agree. It should be you." Whumper grabbed Whumpee by their ankle and twisted. Whumpee let out an unearthly shriek as the misaligned bones in their ankle ground against one another. "This is way more fun than shooting Caretaker in the head."

Tags: @freefallingup13 @painsthegame @dragonfireridge @whump-it-like-its-hot @whumpitywhumpwhump

@st0rmm @thelazywitchphotographer @beomsstudio

[livingforthewhump]

Whumper let out a long sigh as he stretched back on the couch, back cracking against the cushions. Whumpee was curled in the corner, his own back aching, but the protective instinct to make himself as small as possible won over any kind of pain he felt.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Whumper from looking over at him. Nothing he did ever seemed to stop Whumper. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his long legs, and surveyed Whumpee.

Then he reached out a hand. “Come here.”

Whumpee hesitated, but the decision had already been made for him. Whenever Whumper spoke, Whumpee never had any choice but to obey, never mind his feelings on the matter. Shakily, he peeled himself up from the floor and walked over to Whumper. It felt weird to be standing over him. Whumper was so much bigger, so much taller, and Whumpee wasn’t usually on his feet a lot anyway. Still, Whumper’s gaze was as much a prison as anything else, and there was no question as to who had the power there.

Whumper looked Whumpee over, humming in thought. “You don’t have your collar on right now. But I don’t particularly want to go get it…” Whumpee’s heart jolted and he took a half step back. The collar was never a good sign. Whumper’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back in with an iron grip. “See, that’s exactly why you need it, dumb thing,” he chided.

After a moment’s pause, he reached up and slid his tie off over his head, keeping it knotted. Using the hand holding Whumpee’s wrist, he tugged Whumpee down, successfully pulling the tie over the other man’s head and securing it at his neck.

“There we go,” Whumper murmured, using the tie to tug Whumpee in closer. Whumpee's throat bobbed in a swallow. The tie was pulled too tight by Whumper’s hand, digging into his adam’s apple and all but choking him. The tension tugged him into an odd angle, leaning over Whumper on the edge of his balance, centimeters away from collapsing on top of him, leaving his shaky core to work overtime to keep him upright.

It certainly didn’t help when Whumper’s hand left his wrist and started moving up his side, ridiculously warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Stop—” Whumpee tried, but it ended in a grunting cough when Whumper jerked the tie, sending Whumpee toppling forward.

His arms flew out to catch him, landing on the back of the couch on either side of Whumper’s head, caging him in in an odd imitation of the pose Whumper was so fond of taking with Whumpee. Still so obvious to them both that an imitation was all it was. All the power lay with Whumper—not in the circumstances Whumper had forced them into or the resources Whumper had, as Whumpee had tried to convince himself at first. It lay within who Whumper was, and who Whumpee was before him. Nothing more than clay to be molded. A game to be played.

Whumper’s arm was looped around Whumpee’s waist now, stopping him from pulling away. His arms were shaking from the effort of holding himself up like this.

“You look scared, Whumpee…are you?” Whumper murmured, eyes sparkling. His voice dipped down low. “Answer me, boy.”

Whumpee swallowed thickly. “Y-yes.”

“Yes…?” The word was a warning, as was the slight tightening of the hand around his waist.

“Yes sir.” His eyes screwed shut as he spoke. A mistake. Whumper tugged him forward further, bending his elbows more and making him tremor from the strain.

“You think you don’t deserve this. Is that right? You think you deserve to be free of me?” There wasn’t any of the anger Whumpee expected in his voice, mere curiosity and amusement.

Whumpee opened and closed his mouth, entirely unsure how to respond. Whether to be honest and give the wrong answer or to face the punishment for lying.

Whumper seemed to take his hesitation as its own answer. “That’s okay, I’m not mad.” His hand left his waist—other still firmly grabbing the tie—and slid up his chest to take hold of his chin while Whumpee arched away from the touch. “I understand where you’re at. Up until now I’ve only ever hurt you, haven’t I? And you can’t understand why, so you assumed I was being unjust. Does that sound right?”

Whumpee’s heart clambered in his chest. Nothing Whumper had just said was wrong, exactly…but it also didn’t sound right.

“Whumpee?”

“Mm—yes sir,” he whispered.

“Good.” His voice was silky and gentle and it terrified Whumpee more than anything else he’d done. “Relax, now, boy, I’m just talking to you. You can let go, I’m not going to let you fall.” His arms wrapped around Whumpee’s middle, bracing around him as he obeyed and let his arms fall limp under his weight. Whumper supported him, maneuvering him to sit on the couch beside him with his knees tucked underneath him.

Then he grabbed onto the tie again, making Whumpee to lean over his lap, shoulder pressed against Whumper’s chest.

“You fought me so much in the beginning. Do you remember? It wasn’t that you were afraid of being hurt—that’s only natural. Your defiance was against me. You didn’t want me anywhere near you, no matter what I was going to do.” As he spoke, Whumper traced his hand across Whumpee’s curved back, his shoulders, slipping into his hair. Whumpee held back his very breath for fear of attracting even more attention.

He leaned forward suddenly, lips brushing up against Whumpee’s ear as he murmured, “You were very bad to me, Whumpee.” And then he relaxed again, and eyes roving over Whumpee’s half-cowering form. “But I’m sure we’ll make up for that later. In the meantime, I’ve had to give you a form of exposure therapy, if you will.”

Whumpee shuddered at the term, sucking a breath in through his teeth when Whumper’s hand found his face, cupping his cheek and turning it up to look at him. From the way he was leaning against Whumper, they were very, very close together.

“I had to hand-feed you the worst possible scenario, little thing. You were rebellious no matter what I planned to do, so I worked with you until you were okay with whatever I wanted to do by helping you not fight against the most scary things. And just look at you now.” His thumb stroked over Whumpee’s face for emphasis, then he wrapped both arms around the poor boy’s shoulders and pulled him fully into his chest. “You still don’t understand yet, all the way. But it’s helped. Hasn’t it helped you feel better, Whumpee?”

His throat burned. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cry. More than anything he just wanted to not be here anymore. “…yes sir.”

Whumper’s arms squeezed tight for a moment before relaxing, sinking Whumpee into his lap to lay down. “It has, I can tell. And we’re not done yet. We’ll keep working until you’re willing to let me do anything, so long as it’s me who wants it.”

Whumpee’s bottom lip wobbled. He hated the way Whumper looked down at him, like he was a sacrificial lamb on an altar, just waiting to be destroyed for the sake of his own sins. Whumper’s hand pet over him absently before grabbing ahold of the tie and wrenching it tight, cutting off Whumpee’s air completely.

“Don’t worry, boy. I’ll make sure to keep you needy in the meantime. After all, what’s the real joy of receiving something if you don’t want for it first?”

—

General Whump Taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @twistedcaretaker @lonesome--hunter @poppys-writing @endless-whump @multifandoms-multishipper @shadowylemon @utopian819 @whumpkitty @journey-the-panda @freefallingup13 @prettyboysinpain @1becky1 @temporary-whump-sideblog @chartreusephoenix @thelazywitchphotographer @mylifeisonthebookshelf @badluck990 @lockedupuniverse @luna-rein @broadwaybabe18 @pinescales-whumps @silverwhisperer1 @embersalive @the-bloody-sadist @batfacedliar-yetagain @nicolepascaline @whump-angst-fluff-repeat @susanshinning @didieatyourdog @corvid-voidbur @insane-writing-things @thebaffledtiewriter @morning-star-whump