generic-whumperz

[generic-whumperz]

"Modus Vivendi" in all of its bloody sexy glory?

-🕯

Bloody sexy glory to the NSFW chap you say? Yes, Chef 🫡 (Sorry this took me a few days to reply to, please accept this lil longer bit as my formal apology for lagging ass. Hope you enjoy!)

WIP Snippet

(Brought to you by WIP Folder Ask Game)

NSFW non-con, biting, blood, begging, crying, dub-con oral, degradation, The Aid is having a horrendous time

An indiscernible amount of time later, The Aid’s full-blown whimpering, backsliding from the short-lived ecstasy, and fighting off the beginnings of a panic attack.

Wyatt’s dug himself so far up in him that the man’s practically squished his balls into pancakes against his ass, effectively leaving no room for Wyatt’s throbbing cock to do anything but rut against the deepest part of him. He forces himself to morph his crying into pained moans, hoping it’s the missing piece Wyatt needs to hear in order to wrap it up and finish.

The man purrs. “Such a slut, you take it so good. I know you love it deep. You’ll be feeling me for the rest of the day and thinking about how good I’ve been to you.”

Wyatt nips at the untouched flesh of his neck, a space between his jaw and collar, and licks at the sheen of sweat glistening on his skin, puddled in the hollow of his throat. Wyatt’s teeth graze the wet skin trail before ferociously biting down on a chunk of flesh. The Aid screams until his voice turns into a hoarse croak. Trembling under the weight of his sobs, he tries to kick his legs free and push the hulking man off, but the brute won’t budge.

He desperately tries to inch closer to Wyatt’s wrist and bite him back, but the man has him pinned in place, trapped him in a losing proposition, and he can’t wiggle free.

Defeat.

He mewls and begs, pleads for any reprieve from the physical torment and the cacophony of wet squelching that drive him equal parts mad and nauseous. Wyatt grunts something, but he tunes it out with a self-taught level of professional detachment, a well-worn defense honed over countless encounters he’s best forgetting. The noises fade, lost on him. All that remains: the familiar thud of his heartbeat hammering in his ears and a conscience brimming with regret.

Maybe the basement is preferable to this…

No—darkness lurks there. Forces more malignant than Wyatt form in the shadows. Glowing white eyes wait to pounce, feast on him, and spit him out just the same. Food for the paranormal leech or the blood sucker’s pawn; either way he’s fucked.

Wyatt grunts into The Aid’s neck, causing him to clench impossibly tighter. A shutter ripples through him.

“Fuck!” The man breathes heavily, the vibrating force at The Aid’s throat is enough to drain the air for his lungs.

He feels the man’s dick twitch before a spurt of hot cum shoots inside him. 

He wants to vomit.

Wyatt releases his jaw and laps at the enflamed bite mark on The Aid’s bruised neck. The man pumps a few more times, then lazily eases out of The Aid’s battered hole, leaving him simultaneously hollowed out and filled.

“I was built up, really needed that.” Wyatt tongues the rouge blotches of blood streaked across his skin, refusing to release him from the constricting position—a prison that’s left his legs tingling and numb—until he’s erased every trace red from his trembling body.

The Aid, face turned purple, finally sucks in a breath When Wyatt retracts.

The movement brings an uproaring blood rush to his legs, weak muscles howl in protest, but the allotted freedom allows him to stretch out. He winces. Sits with himself, listening to his loud but shallow wheezing as he rubs out the soreness in his thighs, trying to delete the memory of this event so he can go about the rest of the day without it creeping to the forefront of his thoughts. 

Wyatt clears his throat, then cants his neck until it shoots off in a succession of popping sounds.

“Lick it clean,” The man drones, sprinkling some salt on the word for emphasis.

The Aid glances below to see Wyatt standing parallel to the bed, with his dick still drawn at full mast, streaked in globs of bloody cum. It’s a sight he’s seen a million times over, but one that still always makes his heart drop to his stomach and flip with revulsion.

He peeks between his legs, sees vermilion smudges between his thighs and coloring his groin. Panting, he swallows back a sob he promises himself he’ll let out later and quickly robes himself. He fights against the bursts of pain in his legs and makes himself stand a second, only to drop to his knees and take Wyatt’s cock between his trembling lips.

He tries to detach from his mind, not think about how this thing in his mouth—this instrument of torture—was just in his ass, refusing to acknowledge this is his own blood he’s sucking off, the cum of his rapist collecting on his tongue.

If only turning off his taste buds were as easy.

He gags.

Bile creeps up, burning the back of his throat and adding an acidic overtone to the mix.

He forces himself to go down as far as possible without cutting off his airway. Admittedly, he’s missing out on quite a bit of real estate; the bastard’s gigantic size doesn’t stop below the belt.

“All of it,” Wyatt grunts. Rough fingers grapple around his head, snap tight in a grip, yanking out a few hairs, and jerk him forward.

He holds his breath, dives further down until his nose crushes against Wyatt’s untamed bush.

The man chuckles from above.

He wants to bite down, dehorn the Devil.

Tempting—but not worth the aftermath, not worth losing everything again.

Instead, he resigns himself to making quick work of skimming his tongue on the front side of the man’s balls—if you’re going to do something, you might as well do it right.

On the pullback, his tongue encircles the underside of Wyatt’s cockhead for good measure. He’s furious to admit to himself that he’s gotten good at this, how effectively he can lick a dick completely clean like a dog licking a plate in a single take.

He’s had more practice than he’ll ever care to admit.

He rocks back on his heels. Slowly stands.

Wyatt smiles at him, looks pleased with himself. He feels it, Wyatt’s contentment creeping down the link at his expense.

Fucking bastard.

The man clicks his tongue a few times, then says offhandedly, “Swallow.”

He obeys, forcing down an audible gulp, hitching before dropping low for emphasis—just the way Wyatt likes. It burns on the way down, although that’s nothing compared to the burn of it coming back up. 

He bows his head, anxiously waiting for Wyatt to finally pardon himself, hoping for the chance to decompress in peace and face the brewing mental breakdown in solitude.

“Good boy, Scrappy. That was good; you’ve gotten better.” Wyatt situates himself, zips his pants up, twitches his nose, and sniffs. 

The Aid feels eyes on him, but he refuses to look up, partly out of trained obedience, but mostly because he knows the leavy will break if he does.

“Look at me,” Wyatt demands, sensing enough to exploit the discomfort emanating from The Aid’s end of the link.

It takes a moment for The Aid to begrudgingly comply, but not enough of a lag to earn a slap upside the head. Bleary eyes flick upward, meeting the ogre’s testy smirk.

“I know you liked it.” Wyatt snickers, plucking his phone out from the drawer.

[generic-whumperz]

Enter, if you dare

[generic-whumperz]

"Comfortably Numb"

-🕯

I don’t have much of this one done yet, but here ya go, thanks for the ask, hope you like it! <3

SFW, but CWs still in tags!

WIP Snippet:

(Brought to you by WIP Folder Ask Game)

The lingering smell of weed and tobacco, mingling with a heavy cologne and the faint scent of gunpowder, pins his nose and drags him into a fuzzy consciousness.

Vinny.

At the first crack of lucidity, the pain floods in. The Aid groans, too weak for anything else.

How long was he out for—how long was he melting into a blood-soaked mattress, time slipping through his fingers like fine-grain sand?

He tries to will himself back to sleep, to fade from consciousness, but awareness claws its way in, sharpened by the bone-deep flares of pain in his muscles and torn tendons. With consciousness comes the spasms—sharp, knotting bursts that pulse in time with his quickening heartbeat—shattering any hope of slipping back into blissful oblivion.

In a haze of agony, he grits out something inaudible, a strained hiss between clenched teeth, then whines.

It’s strange to feel the urge to cry, to know he would, yet be unable to as dehydration drains every drop of liquid from his tear ducts.

A softer lilt, threaded with concern meant to soothe, murmurs by his ear: “Come on. Ah, that’s it. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d believe the gentler tone as earnest. The way the man dons that passable mask of affection, one The Aid refuses to buy not despite but because of the two-time polished service record. Accolades they both know were never anything more than well-choreographed masquerades—tools for another game, rigged, as always, in Vinny’s perverse favor.

Vinny’s ringed fingers dig into the soft spaces below The Aid’s ribs and thighs, peeling him off the sad excuse for a bed, its hard metal springs jutting up through the fabric and stabbing at his sore pressure points. Only when crusted scabs of blood and pus tear away does he realize how partially cemented he is to the filthy, tufted fabric beneath him, the acrid stench of infection masking the brow-singeing reek of body odor and week-old sickness as he’s torn free.

Despite it all, he can’t help the heat of embarrassment from his own filth climbing to the tips of his ears.

His aching body howls in agony, pain escalating to a brutal crescendo as he's twisted and bent over strong arms gripping his shoulders and the backs of his knees. The wounds covering nearly every inch of him throb in intolerable intensity, made all the worse by his several broken bones grinding under his skin. They took his glasses—once an act of cruelty, now a small blessing—leaving him blind to the impending compound fracture threatening to tear through his shin. The sharp, stabbing strain in his muscles serves as a potent reminder of the inhumane positions they forced him into, his body now a withered map of suffering.

A confusing rush of cool air licks his bare body before he’s met with subtle warmth pressing against his side, only slightly subduing his pained whimpering and intelligible pleads swallowed up by darkness.

“Pipe down, I gotchu. You’re fine, ight Kiddo?” Vinny says, brushing back a thick clump of greasy hair plastered to his forehead. Vinny’s nose scrunches and his brows form a tight V-shape as he jerks his head back in disgust.

“Fucken Christ, you smell almost as bad as you look.”

[generic-whumperz]

Tommy in Wonderland

Chapter 29 of Professional//Victim

Paralyzed by injection, Tommy joins a tea party as the only guest still alive.

CW: Captive whumpee, intimate whumper, drugged whump, dehumanization, "willing" whumpee, medical whump, doll whumpee, doll fetishization, sex dolls, dollification, force feeding, hand feeding, discussion of food+eating+nausea+gagging, noncon body modification, desecration of remains ig???, manipulation, and strong horror elements.

This chapter really won't make sense out of context.

~ ~ ~

Caius pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, using it to shield his hand as he gingerly picked up the holding pin Sam had dropped. He shook his long blond hair behind his shoulders with a shimmy and wrinkled his nose at the decomposing corpse. 

“Help me get the mask back on, before he comes back.”

Tommy could not do that, as he was very aware that the paralytics in his system were preventing him from moving away. Running away. That would be pretty good about now. 

“Um, Caius…”

“What?!” Caius snapped, looking over to him. Tommy cleared his throat self consciously and nodded his head towards each shoulder. 

“Ah. Right. Sam, get over here, help me with this.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?! We gotta get the fuck out of here! I’m not going to–”

 “Ten. Nine. Eight.” Caius interrupted, his countdown short and terse. It made the last few hairs on the back of Tommy’s neck stand up. He wondered if his arm hair was prickling too, and he just couldn’t feel it. He looked down at his arms, which were covered. Oh, no, I don’t even have arm hair. They sheared me like a fucking sheep. Right. 

Tommy pondered his lack of arm hair while the man who ruined his life bent over the decomposing body beside him, counting. Caius tapped a leather wing tipped oxford toe impatiently. 

Sam had frozen when Caius had started counting. At three, he finally hustled over, breaking Tommy from his dissociation with the movement. Tommy wasn’t sure exactly what Caius would do to him if he didn’t come, but Sam suddenly looked pale and scared in a way that seemed unrelated to the corpse doll. 

“Move the hair out of the way,” Caius directed, and Sam hesitated, staring uneasily at the blond wig strands that had fallen in the way of closing the mask. 

“You are a doctor Sam, pull your shit together, we don’t have time for this,” Caius hissed.

“But I don’t–” Sam could barely start to protest before Caius growled over him. 

“Listen to me. If you do not suck it up and do what I tell you, I am going to shove my fist so far up your ass I could work your mouth like a hand puppet. You’ll be sitting on a hemorrhoid pillow for a month after what I’m going to do to you.”

Sam pulled the hair out of the way and closed the clamshell mask, holding it until Caius could slide the pin back in place to secure it. It was hard to tell if it improved the smell, the stench was so thick in the nose, but Tommy hoped it would clear. Caius tossed his handkerchief to Sam, who used it to wipe the traces of brown fluid from the corpse away. 

He was shaking. 

Tommy still had no arm hair. 

There was a sound slowly getting closer, something metallic with an odd wub wub wub and a rattle. It was coming from the long hallway off to the side that Dae-Ho had disappeared down. Caius sighed and straightened himself out, producing a bottle of hand sanitizer from another pocket and cleaning his hands meticulously. He kept his voice low. 

“Look. It’s not like Dae-Ho is some murderer. He just kept a few favorite…” He adjusted his glasses, looking over the table.

“..clients.”

“You fucking knew?!” Sam snapped, coming back to himself a bit. 

“I was told it wasn’t going to be a problem. And it wasn’t, until you decided to be a real fucking Sherlock Holmes over here. Look at Tommy, he’s keeping it together just fine.”

Uh oh. No, don’t compare me to-

Too late. Sam did look at him, and his look of incredulity fell to a glower. Tommy gave a weak smile that felt more like a grimace.

“You knew too?!”

“No, he didn’t, but he knows how to behave himself.” Caius carded his fingers through Tommy’s hair as he praised him. Tommy didn’t want to compete for Caius. He would gladly secede, if only he had the option. Sam looked pissed, but there was a little hurt under there, too. Tommy thought, not for the first time, I am so fucked.

The sound was getting louder quickly. Caius dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“If Dae-Ho causes problems, I’ll put him in the cremator myself. But I don’t see any reason to stop.” 

One of the silver cadaver carts rolled into view, Dae-Ho at the helm pushing it along. He was using it like a trolley, a lace tablecloth over the table and carrying all the fixings of a lavish tea party.

“Tea!”

Caius and Sam found their way back to their seats to the side, and Dae-Ho took his time setting out plates. Each doll got a saucer, tea cup, and a folded napkin. The teapot, cups, and saucers were all a deep blue with golden star-like flecks. 

“Lapis Lazuli, very beautiful. The ancient Egyptians highly valued it. Cleopatra painted her eyes with its blue powder. They had a culture very involved with death – very different from here and now.”

Tommy felt compelled to compliment him, but he held his tongue. The tea set was very beautiful indeed. 

Dae-Ho started to work his way around the table, filling each plate with practiced ease. There was a fine spread of charcuterie, finger sandwiches, fresh fruit, tarts, and bagels with lox. Every doll got a small portion of each food, working down the mountains of it Dae-Ho had prepared for a total party of two. 

Even with the portions left for himself and Tommy, it was still far too much food. Not that Tommy was complaining - he was always hungry, or nauseous in a way that he now knew well was still a form of hunger. 

“Are you hungry, Tommy?”

Tommy gave him a plastic smile. Dae-Ho’s smile faltered, and he looked down at his empty plate. 

Something is wrong.

“I um - yes, bibs. I’ll be right back.” Dae-Ho moved to the cabinet Sam had been rummaging through before.

Caius watched the scene unfolding in front of him. Tommy had a sheen of nervous sweat on his brow - Caius would have to powder his face again the next time Dae-Ho left the room for a few minutes. He was nervous for this one after Tommy’s sudden outburst in the car, but so far he was keeping to his word and behaving.

He couldn’t quite say the same for Sam. He looks down at his phone for a minute after telling Sam to quit fucking around, and boom, corpse reveal. Tommy had stayed miraculously calm, but Caius could tell he was in game mode now. He had to be unshakeable. Caius was looking for any kind of break in his poker face to flay him about later. His clever boy probably knew Caius was – so he needed to be a perfect doll today. Not that he’d be free from punishment, but he wouldn’t dig his grave any deeper. 

Dae-Ho faced away just long enough for Caius and Tommy to touch base. It wasn’t a formal thing, just an instinct that had formed as Tommy slowly learned to serve his clients. They spoke with their eyes, with their expressions, subtle enough that few would notice. Tommy looked fully to him, and Caius was struck again by how beautiful he looked. His flawless skin was painted porcelain, a tinge of pink on his cheeks, his eyes drawn in thin lined black, the soft glow around them that Caius had painted on. His eyelashes were feathery, his lips plumped and glossed pink. Tommy’s curly hair fell in sculpted ringlets around his face. With the green contacts on top of his natural ones, his eyes looked enormous and jewel-like. So pretty. He wanted to see him cry. Tommy gave him a lot of cute aggression.

He was distracted, slower to take up Tommy’s message, but it was there. He looked anxious but determined, though Caius could see his vulnerability was wearing at him. It was hot seeing him so helpless, his limbs posed in the wire harness to sit docilely in his wheelchair, hands in his lap just waiting to be fed. Maybe afterwards he’d let Sam fuck him silly before the paralysis wore off. 

Tommy’s eyes were pleading. Don’t be angry, I’m being good, see? It was like he’d barely registered the bodies in the room, but Tommy had a funny way of compartmentalizing sometimes. Or he would seem to drift a bit, his eyes unfocused, like he was forgetting what was happening as it happened. If it kept him calm, and he was compliant, then Caius found no reason to complain. Tommy was focused enough when they met eyes, and Caius gave him his signal in a subtle nod. 

You’re doing well so far, keep it up. 

Each doll was given a bib, adorned with ruffled white layers that almost resembled Victorian cravats. Caius had to stifle a laugh when Dae-Ho anointed Optimus Prime with one, showing the utmost care. Tommy was dressed in his bib last, Dae-Ho careful to pull his soft locks out of the way as he secured it over his collar. He stayed perfectly still, not even flinching when Dae-Ho’s hand touched his cheek. Caius knew Tommy hated it, but there was no indication given of his distaste. Tommy maintained a small smile, his eyebrows slightly raised to appear happy. 

Dae-Ho finally sat down in his chair beside Tommy, taking his place at his little throne. Dae-Ho felt no need to don a bib himself. He loaded his and Tommy’s plates before starting to eat. 

Caius hadn’t given Tommy anything to eat that day, and it was midday. Dae-Ho raised a cucumber sandwich square to Tommy’s lips. Tommy’s eyes flickered to Caius’s, seeking permission, and Caius tipped his head slightly. Go on. The communication between them was instant, practiced enough now that the client wouldn’t even register hesitation. Tommy opened his mouth and accepted the food. He didn’t lean forwards, resisted catching the crumbs with his tongue, only bit off exactly as much as Dae-Ho put in his mouth and chewed gratefully. 

He flinched a fraction of an inch when a fleck of cream cheese fell to his chin, but adjusted immediately. Dae-Ho dabbed at his mouth gently, cleaning him up. Tommy snapped back to his soft smile after every bite.

Dae-Ho fed himself a few bites, and stood to circle his dolls. He stopped behind one of the sex dolls, picking up a tart from its plate and mashing it against the plastic mouth. Bits fell, catching in the ruffled bib. Other pieces fell to the table, or out of sight to the doll’s lap. Caius registered a faint feeling of disgust, considered it, let it pass. Others would look down on Caius’s own pleasures. He felt an aversion to judging those he chose for Tommy to play with, even a faint sense of kinship with them. If Dae-Ho wanted to feed them, well, Caius felt pleasure feeding Tommy, too. Still, it was hard to watch Dae-Ho "feed" his various dolls, mashing the food against their plastic faces.

When Dae-Ho sat beside Tommy again though, he looked oddly sad. He poured tea for the both of them, overfilling Tommy’s until it spilled over the edges and nearly filled the saucer before stopping with a startle.

Caius felt Sam’s hand on his thigh and turned his head, meeting his eyes. Sam looked uncomfortable, bouncing his knee with agitation.

“Are you seeing this?” Sam whispered urgently. Caius sneered at him, an anger rising again. He’d brought Sam to client appointments before, but it had been a while. Caius didn’t need him as much now that he was confident with patching Tommy for the drive home. But he didn’t remember Sam being so irritating before. 

“What is wrong with–” A clatter at the table snapped Caius’s attention back. Dae-Ho was leaned over in his chair, feeding Tommy a tart. Tommy was keeping his composure as best he could, but Dae-Ho seemed suddenly distressed, and was trying to jam the whole thing in his mouth at once. Pieces were breaking off against Tommy’s lips, the tart filling smearing around his mouth. Dae-Ho shoved it suddenly, grinding it into Tommy’s face with anger.

“Why aren’t you right?? Why are you doing this?!” Dae-Ho demanded, though if he was actually talking to Tommy, it was unclear. Caius was immediately standing up, his hand moving down to his belt where he kept his baton.

“Dae-Ho, Dae-Ho,” Tommy cooed, his voice sweet. Caius grit his teeth - he wasn’t supposed to speak. But he stilled, for a reason beyond him, waiting to see Tommy's angle. 

Dae-Ho stopped when Tommy spoke, his hands hesitating around his face. 

“Play nice with your dolls, Dae-Ho,” Tommy said softly. 

“Let me be here, with you. What’s wrong? Talk to me, I’m here for you.” The scene was a little goofy, with a pastry smeared on his face like a clown had done a drive by. But Tommy’s voice was gentle, understanding. It disarmed Dae-Ho, who withdrew his touch. He stared at Tommy, his lip trembling, before he suddenly collapsed onto him.

He pressed his face to Tommy’s chest, throwing his arms around him and squeezing. Caius started forwards again, but Tommy caught his eyes. His eyes were clear, determined.

Wait. Let me work.  

“I don’t understand, why isn’t this working?? I don’t feel the way I thought I would,” Dae-Ho cried. Caius could see Tommy thinking. 

“What feels different?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!”

“Dae-Ho….I’m here to be your doll. But let me be with you. Let me appreciate all you do. Did you know I was admiring your beautiful tea set?” 

Dae-Ho sniffled and pulled back, grabbing Tommy’s napkin to wipe the crumbs from his own face. 

“Really?”

“It looks like the night sky, with all the stars in gold. This is the nicest tea party I’ve ever been to.”

Caius caught it. Let me, let me. The way Tommy spoke was repetitive, hypnotic. Presenting himself as passive by asking Dae-Ho to let him, disarming his assertion down to a kind suggestion. Beautiful.

Tommy’s voice was melodic and even, using the light tone one would use while reading a bedtime story to a child. It was odd seeing a grown man like Dae-Ho, in his nice clothes, throwing a tantrum. Stranger still for Tommy to be talking him down, when he was usually the one having a fit. 

Caius stepped back and sat back down, casting an arm around Sam’s shoulders. Sam looked spooked, but seemed to have given up on protesting for the moment. Tommy soothed Dae-Ho with niceties, and he was starting to warm back up. Normally Caius would have Tommy’s hide for breaking his client’s rules, but Tommy was handling himself. Almost self sufficient – but he would never stay by true choice. 

Dae-Ho dabbed at the pastry still clinging to Tommy’s face apologetically, giggling when Tommy licked at the edges of his lips, inspiring a playful mood in him again.

“Can we try again? We will clean up, and you can come back in and introduce me to everyone.” Tommy could only slightly move his head, so all his acting had to be through his voice and his face. Caius imagined him as one of those little dolls with a pull string. 

Pull on the string and hear him speak!

“Yes, Caius,” as it wound back in, and he would fall silent again. Pull it again.

“Thank you, Caius,” he would sigh. Wrapping him in the string, letting it cut into his soft skin. Untying him, finally letting the blood rush back in, the sweet way he cried Caius’s name forced from his throat as he rewound. 

Dae-Ho departed to collect himself again, and they were left alone in the room. Caius took up his satchel and approached, Tommy’s eyes wide and nervous as he neared. 

“Did I do okay?”

Caius pulled some baby wipes from his kit, one in hand while the other shook Tommy’s curls free of crumbs. He tucked them back behind his ears and away from his face so he could work, wiping his face clean.

“Talk less. But I think you’re reading him right.” Tommy’s eyes fluttered closed when he scrubbed too close. Caius licked his thumb and wiped the last smear of filling at the corner of his mouth away, drawing it back to his lips to taste it. 

“I think I have an unusual amount of baked goods up my nose,” Tommy joked, giving a nervous smile. A small offering to break the tension between them that Tommy had caused in the car. Caius gave him nothing, keeping his face austere. Tommy’s face fell again, and he cast his eyes down. Caius had to hold the tissue for him to blow his nose. Sam cleared his throat loudly. Caius ignored him. He opted to powder Tommy’s face again, fixing his makeup with a few touches.

“You should try the food, it’s really good,” Tommy offered quietly. 

“I don’t need handouts.” Caius was going to be bitchy until he could properly punish him. It gave him a delightful sense of schadenfreude to watch Tommy wilt from his words.  

When he finished Tommy's touch up, he collected himself and turned to reclaim his seat. He saw Dae-Ho’s head peering around the corner out of the hallway, watching, ducking out of the way when Caius turned. 

“Uh…Okay, Dae-Ho returning now!” He announced, backing into the hallway before walking out as if he had just arrived.

“Hello Dae-Ho,” Tommy greeted him, giving him a smile that didn't quite cover his pain. Caius realized a moment too late that he had shaken Tommy up at a time where he needed the utmost focus. 

“I suppose I could be more supportive,” he murmured to Sam.

“I bet you could get some good money for him. Dae-Ho could add him to the guest list for his tea parties. Make him into corpse tea or whatever.” Caius slapped Sam’s thigh playfully in response. He was well aware of Sam’s jealous nature, but it was just too fun to exploit. His animosity towards Tommy could probably be soothed over the course of another few blowjobs. It was always good for Tommy's ego to spend some time on his knees, anyhow. 

Dae-Ho scooped Tommy out of his wheelchair, picking him up bridal style. Tommy’s limbs dangled limply where they weren’t supported, and Caius could see the unease in his eyes as he was rearranged. Dae-Ho sat him in his lap, pushing and pulling him this way and that to get him seated the way he wanted. There was a tightness in Tommy’s jaw, his childlike glee fleeing his face the moment Dae-Ho was distracted. The second Dae-Ho looked over to his face, he would find a mask securely in place, perfectly serene. But Caius could see it when Tommy nervously swallowed, how his jaw was set, how empty and scared his eyes looked under the makeup he wore like warpaint.

Perched on his lap, Tommy resembled a ventriloquist dummy. Especially with the bow tie, peeking just over the top of the bib. Dae-Ho curled an arm around his shoulders, and used a fistful of his hair to move him, bending the armature up his spine to tilt his head back. Tommy held the position, his eyes flickering over to Caius momentarily as Dae-Ho picked at his plate. 

He fed Tommy a sandwich, gentle this time, as he spoke, addressing his inanimate audience.

“Everyone, this is Tommy. Tommy, this is everyone.” He pointed to the corpse doll beside Tommy. She was drooped to the side slightly, and he realized with a start that there were still strands of her hair that had been pinned underneath the mask. Her blond wig was sitting low on her forehead, and there were drops of dark brown putrefaction staining her hair beneath the pin.

“This is Wendy. She’s a girly girl, and she loves to shop. But more than anything, she wants to be a mommy.” Tommy’s stomach clenched at the stark reminder of his situation. When did he stop noticing that awful smell? Now it was all he could think about. Suddenly the food seemed a lot less appealing.

“Next, we have Matthew, he is a model AND a safari guide. Don’t get this guy talking about cheetahs, he loves his cheetahs.” Dae-Ho winked and smiled conspiratorially with Tommy, who maintained the curl of his lips as a mechanical endurance. 

“Then Oliver is a painter, who still leaves flowers on his mother’s grave every Sunday. Madison is a princess, but she ran away after she got pregnant from her peasant lover! Jamie is an archeologist for dinosaurs, and discovered an ancient Egyptian tomb. Optimus Prime is on a scouting mission to learn the pleasures of human life, and bolster his forces with meaning to save the Earth.” Each doll had a dramatic backstory, and seemingly, a personality. Dae-Ho’s tone was enthusiastic on some, wary on others, even angry with others still. 

He must lead a… complex inner life. Tommy wondered absently if he would end up the same, bored and isolated to madness in his basement dorm. 

He wondered if he would be happier for it. 

Dae-Ho finished with the sex doll at his side. She was short but otherwise human sized, with a big head and bigger breasts. She had long, dark brown hair, pouty lips, and dead eyes. 

Well. Not dead dead, but lifeless.

“This is Angela. Her dream is to be a fashion designer. And she is very, very kinky,” Dae-Ho informed him, turning to face him with a dirty grin. Tommy faltered slightly, unease tugging at him from the idea of Dae-Ho fucking a silicone doll. 

“What, um – what kind of fashion?”

“Dresses! Fancy dresses,” Dae-Ho told him gladly, looking a bit surprised at the question. 

“-But you should enjoy your tea. Bitter darjeeling with honey and hibiscus. Open up!” Dae-Ho brought the tea cup carefully to Tommy’s lips. The brown tea looked murky in the blue cup, a few drops of cream clouding the drink. It was hard to sip without moving anything other than his lips, and uncomfortable to drink with his head set back like it was. Lukewarm tea trickled down his chin, and he couldn’t help thinking of the ooze that flowed from the corpse doll’s head. He gagged, shifting his torso without thinking, but managed to cover it with a cough. 

Dae-Ho looked at him with sudden disgust.

Too human. 

“Such good tea, Dae-Ho, did you make it yourself?” Tommy tried to force his voice smooth with a hoarse throat. Dae-Ho’s face brightened back up a bit. 

“Yes I did! The key is to let it steep for just long enough.” Smile, seem interested, bat eyelashes, repeat. 

Sam watched Tommy at the table, having a grand old time of it. Dae-Ho fed him treats and he smiled and giggled like a tickle-me-elmo. Sam didn’t know how he could eat among dead bodies, it was disgusting. Dae-Ho pushed his fingers into pitted olives and fed them to Tommy from his fingertips, and he just lapped it up. When Dae-Ho fed him a tart, he sucked the crumbs from his fingers, making Dae-Ho erupt in delighted laughter.

Sucking fingers, his eyes flashing to Caius. It made Sam’s stomach churn. When did this scummy punk kid turn into such a little slut? And how the hell was Caius buying it? As irritated as he was watching him, he couldn’t quite make himself look away. He remembered Tommy sucking his cock, nibbling the piercing at his tip with his teeth, laving his tongue along the underside and – fuck, he was hard. Fuck this, I don’t want to see this shit. 

When Dae-Ho finished eating, he set Tommy back down in his wheelchair. It was weird seeing him go limp, but Sam figured that’s what Dae-Ho was used to anyways. He was deceptively strong for being as petite as he was. He still took a couple breaths and stretched before he took the handles of the wheelchair in hand, turning to look straight at Sam. 

“Well, gentleman, I believe it is time for the show. I’ll be changing Tommy into his costume, if you’d like to join me in my home theater.” Tommy’s eyes went big, and he looked as confused as Sam felt. Sam looked to Caius, who mostly looked bored, but he recognized the sparkle in his eyes that suggested he was very interested indeed. Caius stood and beckoned him to follow, padding after Dae-Ho to another room in the strange mortuary mansion. 

As they left, some movement caught Sam’s eye, and he hesitated to look back. Two maids, dressed in the classic black and white, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. They emerged to tend the dolls, one making rounds to remove the bibs as the other started to gather the dishes together. She scraped the mostly-untouched food into a pile and started to stack the plates. They didn’t seem bothered at all by the smell, or the dolls. Sam shuddered to himself, happy to leave the tea party behind. 

Exactly what the “show” would be, Sam had no clue. He wasn’t sure he was going to like whatever it was. Ahead of him, he saw Tommy’s hand slip off of his lap and dangle to the side, his numb fingers catching in the spokes for a few rotations before Dae-Ho pulled it back. 

Well, at least Tommy was having a worse day. 

~

~

~

Taglist:

@suspicious-whumping-egg  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @jumpywhumpywriter

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @knivestothroats @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

Thank you all for reading!

[generic-whumperz]

2. What pronouns do people use for them? How do they feel about it? Would they change it if they could?

10. Are they a favorite? Are they precious or replaceable?

23. Are they loyal? Do their superiors trust them to go off on their own and come back, or are they kept on a tight leash?

(+ a random fact/ramble if you want)

For the living shield oc you mentioned? 👀

Ask Game Here

2- it's really dependent on who is talking to or referring to him. Sometimes he's an it, seen as just a tool. Other times, he's seen as a living being. Never as an equal until somewhere in the middle of the story, though. He is so fractured he kind of sways into referring to himself one way or the other.

10- I would say yes, he is a favorite. Dasa’s training is harsh, but he has a skill no one else of his species has. It's come at a great cost, but it does afford him certain privileges with his masters.

23- he is extremely loyal to a fault. Despite this, he's kept on a very short leash- basically literally.

Random fact: I classify Dasa as more of a living shield than a living weapon because he's protective, and will jump to another slave's (and later his masters') defense in an instant but goes out of his way to avoid hurting anyone. This leads to him mostly just taking the brunt of the harm. Part of this is due to his conditioning, part of it almost a grasp at the tiny bit of agency he does possess, which he wields almost as a form of self-harm, and another piece of this is guilt.

[generic-whumperz]

High Like an Eagle!

Ahhh why is it so hard to choose a snippet! TY for the ask! <3

WIP Snippet

(Brought to you by WIP Folder Ask Game)

Vinny’s freakish, beamed-out pale eyes find his. "Got a special request from a few of your top fans…"

"Whatever would I do without these parasocial relationships with random-name-generator strangers on the internet?" The Aid sarcastically chuckles, though he’s damn sure he’d accomplish a hell of a lot more with all the spare time he’d have if it weren’t for these creepy assholes paying for his demise and clogging up his schedule.

"You likey?" Vinny smirks, drawing out the 'y' as he fishes out a black-and-white frilly tutu from the paper bag. With an obscenely glinty-eyed wink that makes The Aid cringe, he lays it out on the bed.

The Aid glances wide-eyed between his Masters, feeling simultaneously amused and vaguely offended but too stunned to voice the objection that shriveled up and died in his tight-lipped mouth all the same.

Not even taking the time to bask in his discomfort, both Sullivans eagerly extract more hellish-looking lacy strips of fabric—too see-through and flimsy to be actual articles of clothing—and scatter them above the tutu.

"Would it matter if I said I didn’t?" The Aid finally winces, though more hesitant than he intended. He shifts on the mattress, his movements masked by a sly pretense, subtly gaining distance with each sideways scoot.

There’s no way in hell The Aid’s putting any of that on—can’t, he settles, especially with a cast nursing a broken arm and wrist, and the limited mobility from months of torture he doubts he'll ever fully recover from. Not to mention the staunch awareness that he’s nowhere near high enough to deal with this level of bullshit.

The double-stacked anxiolytics do little to quell the anxiety blooming in his chest or slow the frantic thump of his heart, racing faster by the second.

Then it blindsides him: his tongue grows heavy, his mouth parches, and an unfamiliar, tingling warmth spreads across his face. His fingertips drum out a frantic beat as he parts his lips briefly, then chews them, offering his Masters a beggar’s pout when their shit-eating grins don’t falter—well aware he’s already lost a battle he was never strong enough to fight.

He spoke too soon; whatever the fuck they gave him is already hitting his system.

Shit.

[generic-whumperz]

Tell us more about this ‘ghost stories’ draft?

@3-2-whump

Trying to spoil your gift I see (/j)!

“Ghost Stories” is about the weight of memories and how some events and pieces of our past seem to haunt us—some more literal than others.

It begins with The Aid finding himself drawn into a surprisingly lighthearted exchange with Benny over breakfast. Their banter offers a rare reprieve, but the emotional weight remains—songs and small moments invoking grief, remorse, and the bitter endings that define his existence. Meanwhile, Benny’s natural, unbreakable confidence and sharp-witted resilience are both a source of envy and fascination for The Aid, further complicating his feelings of inadequacy and longing for a life out of reach. And sometimes, these negative feelings, act as a Mystical conduit for strange forces to take hold—dun, dun, dun!

[generic-whumperz]

normalise writing official spin-off books where everyone's side character is now the main character

[generic-whumperz]

WIP Folder Ask Game!

“Alternate Endings Notes”

How many alternate endings you got there?!

WIP Ask here

ENOUGH THANKS

Seven to be exact. They are enumerated here, and some of them are full length endings, others mere beginnings/outlines , and the rest are somewhere in between

Here’s an excerpt of the ‘Khaled does not escape’ ending. Spoilers for the end of Eternal, and for death of a major character, but aside from that, nothing. those who are hoping that Khaled has a well-deserved recovery will be happy to know that this is not how the sequel opens.

[generic-whumperz]

Recovery Arc NSFW and/or Alternate Endings for the wip ask game!

My WIP asks

You’re the first one to ask, so I’ll give you both!

First, the SFW one. There are sooooo many ways I could’ve ended Eternal, and so I organized the alternate endings all into one document.

The alternate endings are:

Multiple Whumpers/Epic Rescue by Julio & Nico

Tom lives, but just gets arrested and put behind bars for tax fraud or something silly like that, potential for him to come back in 10 or so years to reclaim what is his

Or to apologize and try to make up

Khaled dies (I know 😬💀 😭💔)

Khaled lives, but gets the Stockholm Syndrome pretty badly, and they live ‘happily ever after’

Khaled is abandoned like a unwanted pet

Khaled does not escape at the very end

And yeah, I mean, obviously it was a decision to stick to the ending I stuck with, because I love all these alternate endings and ways it could’ve gone

So, Recovery Arc NSFW was unplanned, but it kinda wrote itself? Frank discussion of kinks and consensual sexy times below the cut:

The first story on the Recovery Arc NSFW is purely self-indulgent, exploring a what-if situation that eventually culminated into Khaled discovering he has a degradation kink 🫠🙃. I know. I didn’t see that one coming either. Here’s a teaser I guess:

It’s kinda a big deal because at this point, Khaled is brave enough to ask for what he wants and put himself out there, and through this *sigh* degradation kink discovery, he regains some agency and distances the pleasure he’s currently experiencing from his past traumas. And I’m not gonna lie, the following smut scene is a flavor, sure, but the important part is our boy asked for it, wanted it, and enjoyed every moment of it.

[generic-whumperz]

For the WIP Folder Ask game!

I’m interested in all of these! But I couldn’t pick one, so…

The Capture, and The Video 👀

The Capture (Tristan's POV) WIP snippet!

(Content warning: mention of the possibility of vomiting/being sick, though there isn't anything in this chapter):

---

                There was no sound of retching, nor any other noise that one would expect from a person with an upset stomach. He barely heard any movement at all, but there was enough to let him know that someone was present.

                Gingerly, he knocked again, his voice softer.

                “Dair? Are you alright in there?”

                Nothing.

             ��  Oh God, had he passed out or something? Tristan hadn’t heard a thump, but Darius tended to carry himself with a natural poise and elegance… perhaps he had even mastered the art of fainting with grace. Tristan wasn’t sure what to do. He eyed the cupboard that contained their drinkware and wondered if he should offer up a glass of water.

                Maybe it was best to assess Darius’ condition first. Would he need to call an ambulance? Instinctively he reached for his phone but realized that he had left it on his bed. Shit. Well, he could go grab it if he needed it.

                With worry mounting, he knocked a third time.

                “Darius? Hello?”

---

The Video WIP snippet:

                “Smile, fucker.”

                The instructions only made Darius angrier. Thick dark brows pulled into a furious scowl, his brown eyes burning with hatred as their captor adjusted the camera pointed at him on the tripod.

                “This is for your parents. Don’t you want them to see your beautiful face?” The man’s tone was mocking. He didn’t give two shits about how Darius presented himself in his ransom video. It only mattered that it was shot in the first place.

                Darius would have let loose a string of biting curses and insults, but his mouth was still stuffed with wadded fabric and plastered over with duct tape, effectively silencing him. All the same, he expressed his seething discontent with a deep growl in the back of his throat.  

---

For the WIP folder ask game!

[generic-whumperz]

WIP Folder Ask Game

Thanks @pyrepostings @3-2-whump @whumpty-dumpty-doo for the tags!

Open tag for the rest of ya!

Rules I am altering to loose-instructions cause I ain’t ever played by a set rule a day in my life: make a new post (or reblog if you prefer) with the names of all the files/docs in your working WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. People send an ask with the title/placeholder that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it! (I’ll probably post a snippet, since I’m giving these descriptions for context.)

Or, original rules if you prefer to be law-abiding:

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it!

These are all my WIPs for The Aid (shocker), some of these are actually finished, but since I haven’t posted them yet, fuck it, they’re WIPs as far as I’m concerned. Others are in various states of disarray, AKA drafts. Some are actively being worked on, others I haven’t touched in months (maybe even a year at this point?) Needless to say, all this is subject to change before it reaches the “final draft” (because is it ever really done?) stage, and just assume it’s non-cannon until you see it in a chapter, ight? Additionally, I have a shit load of world building articles I am also working on, but for the sake of my sanity, I won’t be sharing those drafts yet cause some messes you gotta keep to yourself—there’s too many undecided things I’m actively ironing out, kay?

(Unfortunately Benny doesn’t have more chapters right now, but I have big plans of giving Mr. Man his very own prequel backstory apart from all this at some point. I know this is all very Aid-heavy, but make no mistake, he is just as much as a staple main character here!)

*Unless requested, I will *NOT* post NSFW snippets from these, even for the NSFW (mostly M/M but I have one M/F) chapters. That being said, as always, here’s The Aid’s general content warnings (I haven’t written any Cannibalism Lite™️—“anthrophages” AKA my zombies, crazy and starving wasteland people, & freak ass Wyatt Mariana Trench level rock-bottom behavior—yet, so don’t worry I wouldn’t throw that at you even if I had any to, nor have I fully written or would post out of context snippets containing the more heavy themes without warning.)

**Answered asks will be crossed out + linked to the answered post for your convenience, so make sure to check the original post!

***(Just a quick note: some of these are backstory bits, others are part of the progressing storyline, I’ll try to distinguish each.)

WIPs:

Soothsayer: the next chronological Aid chapter! The Aid awakens from a nightmare only to find Vinny high af rummaging in his kitchen and looking for [insert drug and cigarettes here].

(NSFW, M/F) Her: The Aid is tried up by his Madame’s (adult) granddaughter, Taylor, during what was supposed to be one of their “therapy sessions” (thanks Waylon) that took a turn south. She blackmails him into performing oral—and what do ya know, maybe he even ends up kinda liking it.

(Graphic violence) Volumes: previously the first chapter, but has since been partially reworked to serve as backstory. Wyatt stabs The Aid and he dies from blood loss, but is brought back to life, thanks to the work of Vinny’s medical combat training. This is the event leading to the turning point from Basement Days to The Aid’s reintroduction into the main house (big deal narratively).

(NSFW, M/M) Modus Vivendi: part of the progressing storyline, and where the fuck do I begin? CW’s for intimate, creepy whumper, graphic dub-con turned non-con, biting & blood slurping, suicide ideation, helplessness, and bulimia—this is a rough one. Wyatt comes to claim his Monday morning agreement and The Aid reluctantly gives him what he wants in hopes it will be quick and relatively painless—spoiler, it’s not.

(Graphic violence) Lessons: random parts of what I think I thought day 1 of Basement Days would look like? (Has since changed from what I wrote and I haven’t touched this in quite some time.)

Dinner & Dignity (5-part Vignette): flashback backstory segment that’s finished, taking place 1 month after Wyatt’s acquisition of The Aid (before things got *horrible,* but it’s still bad cause Wyatt’s a dick).

Comfortably Numb: during Basement Days (an era of the backstory). Vinny comes to clean up The Aid after a torture sesh, who’s naked and covered in blood and wounds, because he needs help tracking down a lead suspect of ripping off an associate’s shipment (Vinny’s using The Aid’s abilities for the Sullivans’ business dealings). Think weird af bath with some guy’s hands all over you but you’re too weak to slap him away. Vinny gives The Aid enough oxy to get him high and loose—does The Aid comply and do what Vinny wants in hopes Vinny will feed him and give him some clothes? Or does he refuse to help him since he’s sick of the blood on his hands and is pissed at Vinny for turning his back on him? Who knows—cause I sure as fuck don’t yet.

(NSFW) High Like an Eagle: part 1 is finished, and it’s more NSFW-themed as there’s light groping, teasing, and dressing as opposed to straight up non-con—but can’t say the same for the rest of this (that isn’t written yet)! This is a BDSM red-room backstory chapter that involves recorded and streamed torture for paying patrons of The Aid’s disgraceful downfall—because fuck that Mystic slave for trying to kill his Master, amirite?

(NSFW, M/M non-con, beating, drowning, burning + gun)“Tortured Instead”: part of the Beta Reader Holiday Gift Exchange my lame ass is still working on (for @whumped-by-glitter)! A very lengthy multi-parter featuring The Aid & Benny + a ridiculous prequel featuring Wyatt & Vinny arguing! (Part of the current storyline)

Ghost Stories: another very lengthy multi-part segment of the Beta Reader Holiday Gift Exchange my lame ass is still working on (for @3-2-whump)! This one is SFW (but still adult-themed) and instead spooky/weird, but still whumpy af, and best yet, features a rare inside look of The Aid’s and Benny’s starting dynamic! (Part of the current storyline)

[generic-whumperz]

If ya’ll want to, feel free to reblog this with your own stories (self promo time bay-bae) or rec list for Anon!

do you have a master list or something of original work whump stories? i want to read some but im having trouble finding good ones

Yeah, it’s pinned dawg. But I only got 2 chapters written so far (FML) + 2 out-of-context backstory chapters. I wouldn’t rawly recommend my story to anyone without context though, so read all the warnings and shit and make sure you’re okay with what it entails if you have squicks/can’t read certain themes.

As for other work—what are you into? I don’t do blind recs for anything (even irl), cause idk what you like/what your no-gos and preferences are! I haven’t read as many original whump stories on here as I would have liked to at this point, and haven’t been here for as long as some others who might have a better repertoire of recs, so in all honesty, idk if I’m the best person to reply to this.

[generic-whumperz]

do you have a master list or something of original work whump stories? i want to read some but im having trouble finding good ones

Yeah, it’s pinned dawg. But I only got 2 chapters written so far (FML) + 2 out-of-context backstory chapters. I wouldn’t rawly recommend my story to anyone without context though, so read all the warnings and shit and make sure you’re okay with what it entails if you have squicks/can’t read certain themes.

As for other work—what are you into? I don’t do blind recs for anything (even irl), cause idk what you like/what your no-gos and preferences are! I haven’t read as many original whump stories on here as I would have liked to at this point, and haven’t been here for as long as some others who might have a better repertoire of recs, so in all honesty, idk if I’m the best person to reply to this.

[generic-whumperz]

Bro ya gotta give us some wip titles if you're participating in the ask game.

Anon, I just sent a couple of these asks and I think I included titles for all of them? If not, my bad!

But if this is about my lack of a post currently, I’ll make a post too I swear! 😭 I was just trying to get some asks in before I made a post/did a reblog too!

Will make one after lunch, stay turned!

[generic-whumperz]

No one tagged me, but I wanna do it anyway!

WIP Folder Ask Game

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it!

---

Here's what I've got right now! (Yes these are the same ones from the poll the other week)

The Warning (Pre-Capture): Tristan feels uneasy as a storm approaches

The Capture (Tristan's POV): Tristan has a bad night at home while Darius is out

The Video: Darius is forced to film a ransom video for his parents

It's Okay (flashback): "Darius Astor will never care about anyone but himself."

Consequences: Tristan is treated with little care after his escape attempt | WIP snippet 1 | WIP snippet 2

Cutting It Close: Help is just on the other side of the window...

Unnamed explicit NSFW chapter: Something stands between the two boys (this one has two options! Either Tristan's POV or Darius' POV) - NSFW

---

Tags! Please don't feel pressured to send an ask or repost for yourself... I'm just tagging because those are the rules, and you guys are my lovely readers who might want to check out a WIP anyway. <3

@dutifullykrispyland, @fleur-a-whump, @gala1981, @generic-whumperz, @risahraun

---

Tag list (continued) : @morning-star-whump, @defire

[generic-whumperz]

ID: Screenshot that says 'WIP Folder Ask Game'. The caption reads: Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it!

saw this on a post Fira liked and wanted to give it a go :3

some wips:

the cage - logan's pov [2024]

the king's pet -prologue [2024]

body fashion au [2024]

nsfw whump sea food au [2023]

sanditon au??? comfort fic [2020]

sea food au [2023]

apop incest thing [2024]

apop version 2 [2022]

David busted the rotted door open with a solid kick [2024]

branding scenes [2022]

The Powerful and Powerless [2024]

practice makes permanent [2024] <- spn fic

It was dark when Logan woke up [2024] <- spn AU fic with demon!Derek nonconing Logan

SPACE MAFIA AU [2022] <- lore document

fake death au [2023]

evil moon au [2023]

Make Me Better [2023]

box boy au - scene 1 [2023]

space mafia au roughdraft 2 [2023]

logius mob au smut [2023]

philip is NOT a gentle lover (poor Dirk) [2023] <- TOH au

biz steals the show [2022]

A Guide to Helsoner [2022] <- lore document

no pressure tagging (23 ppl...HERE WE GO):

@firapolemos05 @whumpspicelatte @echo-goes-aaa @foresttheblep @blackberry-nightingale @that-one-awkward-anon @skittles-the-whumpee @blessedblasphemy @oddsconvert @pleasestaywithmedarling @defensivelee @blueberry-braincell @sparrowsage @whumpsmith @robozombii @whimpity-whumpity @edenisodd @starryybrained @whumble-beeee @sad-boys-anonymous @sunshineomeara @galaxicalphoenix @stuffbybean

if you rb this from me / tag me in your post i'll send you an ask! if i tagged you and ur not a writer, feel free to use other wips instead (i.e. wip art file titles)!