#whump

[whumpster-dumpster]

"How's your [specific injury]?"

"Well, it's kind of hard to tell because everything hurts."

[whump-card]

Whumpee is kept outside on a leash and fed scraps, barely interacted with. They've worn a track from pacing at the end of their rope. Out of boredom, they start feeding crumbs to the nearby birds.

This attracts more... and more.

Soon whumpee has a whole flock of friends - and when Whumper finally decides to pay Whumpee some special attention, they find themselves divebombed by an enraged army.

[thisgameissonintendo]

"ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘᴜɴɪꜱʜ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ʜᴇʟʟ

[anigst]

Kaiju No. 8 - Ep 07

[letitbehurt]

A Whumpee who, at the start of their captivity, challenged Whumper’s stare. Glaring openly, fists clenched around the bars of their cell, undeterred by the threat of Whumper’s approach.

That same Whumpee, weeks or months or years into their captivity, flinching when they hear Whumper’s footsteps in the corridor. Whimpering at the sound of a key fitting a lock. Curling up tighter in the farthest corner of their cell, unable to meet Whumper’s eyes.

[bebs-art-gallery]

By Robin Isely

[hitlikehammers]

Kas!Eddie versus the Upside Down Steve Harrington

(it's still steddie though don't worry)

The plan was to send him through the cracks remaining around the gates, and simply let the beast in him, in this new resurrected version of him, do what it was bred for.

The flaw in the plan was believing that this creature was a novelty; that there wasn’t a beast inside Eddie Munson long before the bats had picked him clean.

It left certain things—little things, nothing so vital as to truly override his commands—but it left the man who was Eddie Munson certain capacities to control. Mostly idle ones, inane memories of being himself. He thinks it’s worse, that way.

Like how he remembers grabbing Steve’s arm in the woods, not knowing why, what his next move was going to be but his heart hand been pounding—so human, a scathing voice echoes in him now, taunting; patronizing—but he’d pulled hard enough to draw Steve’s bare and bandage chest to his only to freeze when their lips brushed entirely by accident and Steve had spoken without moving back an inch:

Later. Let’s make him pay first, then we’ll have time.

And Eddie had half-gasped on weak lungs: Im gonna hold you to that, baby, wholly missing salacious and sticking on squeaky-breathless with his tone, knowing he didn’t have the balls to follow through, if they managed to crawl out alive.

But it is why his parting words were what they were. Make him pay.

A coward’s way out to beg it: give us the chance in the after.

And Steve’s eyes had widened, dilated even in the dark and he’d nodded. He’d agreed. There was a future for them worth fighting for and—

Eddie remembers these things.

The beast in him, that’s he’s become more than any other thing, the creature whose master reference to ask Kas: that beast laughs.

The beats Eddie’s always carried in his chest, for all the wrong and hurts he’s already survived: those beasts long desperately to tear this Kas-thing to shreds.

But the Kas-beast holds the reins; the other beasts can seem to wrangle them free.

Which is how he ends up at this house. This window sill. Slithering up the siding to crawl inside.

His landing could be silent; Kas has the capacity. And the deed could be done instantaneously—Kas could do that but won’t.

Eddie’s beasts, and the heart with wishes beyond merely housing dragons; Eddie makes his landing hard, to draw attention.

The Kas-beast growls and vows a slow and painful show.

Eddie steels himself inside himself, bites at his tongue and hates that the taste feeds Kas as it repulses all that Eddie still is—bur Kas’s promises mean time.

More time. More time to try and grasp some control, some capacity to fail and not, not—

“Eddie?”

Eddie snaps his attention, turns toward the voice: he’d made noise to wake his prey on purpose.

He hadn’t expected even Steve Harrington to be so skilled as to know his shape even so altered, what’s left of the face of him under every scar and shift—impossible.

But Eddie’s breath catches anyway.

Weakness. Failure. He means nothing. Why hesitate, cretin? Atta—

“Eddie,” and Steve’s standing, his full height still matched to Eddie’s own, the Kas-beast had transformed his shape but he doesn’t tower, even if he’s broader—he’s built for speed now. An efficient tool, the Kas-beast was called by its master.

Eddie, for whatever he’s worth, for whatever what’s left of him could possibly be worth: Eddie shudders, feels sick when he hears that voice. Knows the touch of those vine-wrinkled fingers tracing his face and—

“Fuck, god,” and the hands on Eddie’s face—whole hands, warm and unhesitating, tracing his cheeks, testing his pulse where is slower, deeper, thunder-like except now it’s a tempest, like two different creatuely muscle vying against themselves inside one chest because Eddie’s human heart’s racing, Steve is touching him, is eyeing him like a muscle and it’s heady hit horrific Bevause Eddie didn’t come alone.

And the beast in control has no attachments; shows no mercy.

“I’d,” Steve blinks, when he moves his hand from Eddie’s neck back to his face, framing in both splayed palms but Eddie still whines at the loss of the feeling of a delicate touch at his throat—it comes out as a growl, menacing, and a piece of him wants only to cower inside himself; from himself.

Steve, though. Steve doesn’t even fucking flinch.

“I thought, Eddie, I couldn’t have even hoped, you were so,” and oh, oh, Steve almost looks like he’s going to tear up, he looks flat out fucking overwhelmed and Eddie wants to reach, he wants to reach out and hold but his hands are indelicate, and the claws—

“Are you in pain?”

Of course Steve sees the way he grimaces, the war inside him to reach but no, no because it will tear through flesh like paper and then the voice, ehe thunderous tattoo building reach, reach, end him—

You have your orders.

“Steve.”

Eddie realizes he hadn’t really bothered to try his voice above ground, hadn’t paid attention below. He should have. He sounds ragged, half gravel and half bat-screech.

Steve stills, then, but doesn’t back away. Doesn’t move his own hands from Eddie’s face. His own face softening, like, like…

Maybe he didn’t expect his first name, versus his last name. Maybe he didn’t expect Eddie’s voice at all, nevermind bastardized like this. Maybe he…didn’t expect Eddie to remember his name at all, maybe he sees the changes, maybe he...

Whatever he sees. He can’t possibly…understand.

“I’ve come to kill you.”

Eddie thinks he means it to come out pleading. The beast that’s not him wants it somewhere between a threat and a promise.

It ultimately lands flat. Almost tired.

Steve just tilts his head, the gorgeous moron.

“That’s what you’ve decided?” Steve runs a thumb across Eddie’s scared cheekbone; “or that’s what you were told?”

Eddie stills. Screams in his own mind. The Kas-beast snarls; writhes, howls.

“So much to tell you, now,” Steve leans closer, runs a thumb along Eddie’s lower lip, exposes the fangs Eddie knows are pointing lethal from the top; “so much, baby, we—“

Eddie’s hands move without his own conscious choosing; yet he Kas-beast doesn’t even seem to know what the body they share is aiming on doing as it pushes Steve into the nearest surface: the bed, folding Steve at the knees back onto the mattress and falling to straddle his hips, the claws drawing red lines on Steve’s skin, the glow of it almost precious, the dotting of stars Eddie can’t see down below; the temptation of it delicious, the beasts in him all ravenous, his own and the interloper alike just…

Different kinds of ravenous as Steve’s chest rises and falls beneath him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Eddie whispers, sandpaper over ice, like the low pitch will hide the words from the enemy; “but he will end me if I come back without your head.”

Which ‘he’ Eddie means isn’t clear, even to himself. Which enemy is uncertain.

But Steve’s cheat just rises, falls. He doesn’t pull away from the dig of claws into the skin of his arms, the gloves of his shoulders—leans into it further, in fact. Like he wants Eddie to break, and the beast that isn’t his to win out, to fulfill its mission, its purpose but how could he? He can’t want to die—

The human heart left in Eddie’s chest skips: Steve did throw himself to danger. In the stories Eddie barely believed before and in the flesh of it all, here and now. What if, what if—

“Oh darling,” Steve coos, and it’s not, it’s not blind to the danger, or the horror. His hand reaches back to the spaces Eddie knows his wings burst free from in agony and traces the scarred-up lines: “you half-died there weeks ago,” and none of it, he realizes, sounds lamenting. Or hesitant.

It’s almost…patronizing.

Steve blinks, and his eyes don’t darken like Eddie’s ever seen before; his voice pitches in a way that forgoes what’s left of Eddie and speaks straight to the foreign beast:

“I’ve learned what it means,” Steve, or, or: maybe the beast that lives in Steve Harrington, that maybe always did, that’s piquing something in the Kas-creature for its timbre, something that makes it draw back for the first time. That scares it, in a way Eddie can’t be quite scared, not by Steve and yet he’s trembling anyway, and the Kas-creature isn’t even vying for the blood beading where Eddie’s new-grown claws dig into Steve’s flesh—whatever is dark in Steve’s eyes, sharper than usual in his features, and glistening when the kids of his gaze close the wrong fucking way, blink side-to-side as Steve seems to sense it, like whatever’s in him seeks to snuff out the Kas-creature for Eddie’s sake like protection, almost possessive even but beyond that like it’s sough out less as a threat and more like a nuisance as Steve bares his teeth and Eddie’s still straddling him, but he feels no sense of control, of power, here, as Steve circles a vice grip on Eddie’s wrists, their own sharp edges more like a firm caress somehow before Steve hisses again:

“I’ve learned what it means to live there,” and he sneers, and Eddie feels almost wholly himself, almost his human heart alone threatening to burst for the way it pounds when Steve’s teeth reveal themselves like the mouth of a whale, the soft sifting parts just razor sharp behind Steve’s lips.

And it really just feels like Eddie, then, above Steve but wholly at the mercy of him and his beasts alone, and maybe they were some of what Steve had said he’d wanted to tell him—so much baby, so much to tell you now—as Steve blinks wrong again and snarls, like life stripped raw:

“For years.”

🖤

For @medusapelagia, who requested 'Dark AU' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson

divider credits here

[bestwhumptropes]

can i have a round of applause for "recklessly attempting to heal as fast as humanly possible with detrimental conciquences"!!!!!

[the-bar-sinister]

all characters regardless of gender are allowed to

have extremely nasty sex

be covered in their own blood

be covered in someone else's blood

suffer horribly

torture people

engage in toxic yaoi

engage in toxic yuri

make poor life choices

get doomed by the narrative

doom the narrative

die miserably

live atrociously

commit multiple homicides

make out with your OC

[whump-galaxy]

“There’s no need to be scared of me.”

[aceofwhump]

9-1-1 7x09 "Ashes, Ashes"

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

enemies to lovers prompt where one of them accidentally goes too far and nearly kills the other.

the thing is that they always wanted to hurt them, always wanted to see their archenemy on their knees, bruised and bleeding in front of them.

until they go too far and their archenemy might actually die, and that's when they realize they can't live without that man they hate the most.

— from this fic.

[painsandconfusion]

I’d love to see a fic with a whumper who specifically preys on people who make jokes about wanting to be kidnapped or abducted because they hate their lives.

Whumper starts off making it their perfect reality. Of course they didn’t actually want to be taken or hurt. It was a joke. Yet with whumper’s schedule and forced comfort and simple obedience requirements, they settle into it quicker than expected.

Then Whumper starts making their condition worse and worse and worse. Eventually escalating to the point they’re begging to go back home again.

[justbreakonme]

Whumper always doing something sweet or soft before torturing the Whumpee, like brushing the hair out of their face or kissing their cheek.

It’s too small of a detail to mention or even remember during the rescue and the first few days of settling in with Caretaker.

But that means both Whumpee and Caretaker are completely blindsided by the intense flashback/panic attack that small, unassuming gesture caused.

[a-living-canvas]

Hey! I have an idea for a whump prompt that you can write if you like.

Basically, after the aftermath of a torture, whumpee is left on the ground sobbing with broken ribs and whumper gets the bright idea of slowly approaching and looming over them, raising them up, and hugging them tightly with love all the while whumpee screams in agony.

Thank you for your delicious idea! I hope you enjoy this! <<3

~

Whumpee's soft whimpers filled the room. They laid on their side, staring at the wall with half-lidded eyes. They brought their hand to their broken ribs, gasping sharply as the pain coursed through their frailed body.

At least Whumper is done for today, they thought in relief. They curled their fingers tightly, sweat trickling down their forehead. It hurts to even breathing right now. They could only close their eyes, hoping they would pass out from the exhaustion.

Not long after that, Whumpee could hear the sound of the door being unlocked. They peeled their eyes open, frowning in confusion. It's still dark in here, and they were certain they just closed their eyes only for a few minutes. So, why would Whumper enter the basement again?

Usually, he would just leave them alone to collect their thoughts or bring them to his room so he could treat their wounds. But this time it was different. Whumpee could practically feel the dark aura radiating off of Whumper as he walked towards them.

Whumpee's line of vision suddenly met with Whumper's leather boots as they mustered their strength to look up at him. They both locked eye contact with each other for a moment before Whumper grabbed Whumpee's wrist and without a warning, pulling them to stand on their feet.

Whumpee let out a soft moan of pain, trying to push Whumper away with their weak form. "N-no, please..."

"Shh…shh…let me comfort you…" Whumper said gently, relishing the aching sounds coming from Whumpee's mouth as he pulled them into a tight hug.

"Please...please...!" Whumpee pleaded. They could feel their ribs burning and crushing even more under Whumper's grasp. Tears wetting their cheeks again, and they amazed at the fact that they still had any tears left in them.

Whumper smiled, closing his eyes in delight. "Shh…it's okay. Just let it all out."

Whumper tightened his hug, pushing their body closer to him and Whumpee couldn't help but release a strangled scream that Whumper always loved to hear coming from their mouth.

"That's right, you are doing good for me." Whumper put his chin on top of Whumpee's head, rubbing their back up and down in a gentle motion.

Whumpee's fingers gripped tightly on Whumper's shirt, and their desperate plea was muffled and drowned by Whumper whispering sweet nothings to them.

Looks like they would suffer for a few more hours with him.