#ANYWAY. WHUMP. YEAH.

[sad-leon]

firefight animatic for my lovely friend @remedyturtles [Spoilers up until Chapter 9]

unfortunately the last chunk of frames are incomplete and will likely remain that way as i have hit a massive mental brick wall -- probably an ugly mix of depression and burnout -- but I wanted to share my vision, so I edited what I had

Song Used: Dancing After Death by Matt Maeson

wish I had more to say but im dead on the floor,, sorry

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

unpopular opinion but whump should and deserves to be messy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[shreddeddescent]

raph is in an extremely fucked up place and equates all his problems with each other and blows up at leo about it.

⚠️ content warning: mentions of internalized transphobia, dubious consent, child abuse/incest (but not how you think) ⚠️

it might be a bit soon for this drama bomb for you guys, it might be a little out of order for how i wanna present anything in this story ive got going, but honestly... fuck it. lets just get that out of the way. tired of having it hanging over my head.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Augusnippets Day 15: Starvation

cw: drugging, substance dependency, starvation, emeto, sorta dehumanization, dissociation, nonsexual nudity, vague deathwish

previous // next

for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 537

=~=~=

He can no longer sit up on his own.

Too weak. In the sparse moments where he's coherent enough to think, the spy knows they're tapering off his rations. Hunger crawls up from his stomach like a swarm of ants, leeching what little strength remains.

He It is always trapped in a haze, but the haze is no longer big enough. It aches all day, unable to even sleep until someone brings another water bottle. Pain consumes its leg, hunger shivers in its bones. When guards pass by, it begs them for water, not food, wanting only to numb it all.

Sometimes they comply, but it's rarely enough. Are they taking away its relief too? Or has it built a tolerance to the drug?

(the thought terrifies the spy when he can comprehend it; the thought of never returning to himself)

It can hardly move. It doesn't want to move. When the stubborn thing inside tries to lift its head, there is only dizziness, more pain, a fleeting fear that this may be the end.

The creature wants none of that. No thoughts, no senses, only the drug that allows it to sleep.

They bring it water and it drinks and nothing happens. No fog, no sudden emptiness. It whimpers into the concrete for hours or days.

The bring it water and it drinks.

(no food)

It can't stop shivering, nausea twisting its empty stomach.

(why can't you do something why can't you move why couldn't you have held fast)

They don't bring it water.

Two guards, it can see them through hazy vision. Its eyes hurt, its head aches.

(this is different)

They grab its arms, dragging it out of the cell, bad leg howling, utter agony, creature howling with it, voice weak

(pathetic, could've ran, could've done something)

the movement and pain and nausea and dizziness are all too much after it's been allowed to feel nothing for so long and it heaves up nothing, bile on its tongue, tears in its eyes. They drag it somewhere and it hurts it hurts it hurts.

(could've turned it down)

would've died

(would've been better)

They have to hold it up, hands around and under its arms. Someone else is talking at it, but it doesn't matter. It hurts and it's cold, colder than the cell was.

(when did they take his clothes?)

It tries to vomit again, left with a sour string of spit clinging to its chin. Over, it just wants it to be over, just wants it to—

Its head jerks up so quickly it sees spots when it hears the snap of a bottle opening. The new person is holding it out

(smirking)

It tries to reach for the bottle, can't shake itself free of the hands, trapped. It can't make sense of the stream of words pouring from its mouth, but it can't stop them either.

pleasepleasepleaesithurtspleaseithurts

(you were supposed to be better than this you were supposed to endure–)

The man laughs.

“Damn. Guess you really can do a number on a guy without lifting a finger.” He screws the cap back on, ignoring the creature's despairing whine.

“Put him back for now. I think he's almost ready for some questions.”

[3-2-whump]

Falling Like Snow

<prev next>

The penultimate chapter, can you believe it? Break out the tissues for this one, folks.

Thanks again @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz, you two are the best!

Obligatory Author's Note: This is it, folks, the end of Tom's story. Sorry to those who wished for a miracle, and congratulations to those of you rooting for his demise. You know exactly what to do if you desire a different ending. Fanfiction, canon divergence -the world is your oyster, so just go for it! I encourage it, if anything! Just, you know, tag me or let me know in some way. But anyway, here we go

TW/CW: major character death, blood, gore (?) (tagging it just to cover my bases), aftermath of torture, cigarette whump (brief), emotional angst, slave whump, noncon nudity (in the first half), Stockholm Syndrome (maybe?) (like the beginnings of it), but more so, emotional angst. So much angst. Please let me know if I missed anything though! Enjoy

From: Master Forgot about a meeting I have tonight. Be home late. Wait for me.

Khaled noted the time the message was sent, and compared it to how late at night/early in the morning it now was. He wondered if his master was out drinking, or whoring, or whatever it was he got up to when he’d stay out late on short notice. Not like it was his business anyway.

Khaled yawned, shaking out the numbness in his legs from his kneeling position next to the couch. He put away the plate of food on the table that had long gone cold by now. His own stomach gurgled with the need to eat something, but he dared not touch any of the food he carefully stowed away.

With the leftovers sorted out, there was nothing to do but put the dishes in the dishwasher and start the cycle. The kitchen, as well as the rest of the apartment, was spotless, since now he had nothing else to do but keep it clean. Khaled returned to his place on the bare living room floor, grabbing a blanket off the couch as an afterthought as he wrapped it around his nude frame. He was forbidden from wearing any clothes now, as the man who owned him was just a little too eager to see his ‘beautiful body,’ as he called it, and did not want anything obstructing its form. He’d watched in abject horror as all but a few changes of clothes were burned before his eyes and the rest had been locked in a safe. It had been a cold February ever since.

“I like you more like this,” his master had told him. “You’re far more cuddly like this, love, far more tactile.”

That’s another thing; Master was saying the word ‘love’ a lot more, averaging at least one “I love you Khaled” per day for the past two weeks. More than a little overwhelming, the frequency at which he’d expressed his affections seemed just this side of insincere. The three little words Khaled had craved for so many years now sounded so flat and fake, given everything else that had happened to him. How could anyone who isolates a man from his friends, from his job, from the world itself claim to love him? How was any of what he went through love?

What was more unbearable was when he was expected to say it back.

And he would say it back, a strained ‘I love you too’ that grated against his throat like swallowing broken glass. Yet, with a defeated resignation, Khaled realized it had gotten much easier to say, with enough repetition. If he said ‘I love you too, Master’ enough times, he may actually begin to believe it. It was only a matter of time until he would say it and mean it, if his enforced isolation continued much longer. Thomas Costa and Luca Bianchi were the only other human beings he had seen for two weeks now; he had no idea how he was strong enough to deal with this for more than a year when he was a child!

He positioned himself on his side, his sore back facing the door and his head facing the wide windows of the living room overlooking the city skyline. Outside it began to snow. The white, fluffy flakes were a vision of beauty flying against the heavy gray sky. Khaled’s eyelids drooped as he watched the snow fall in the greyish-white winter night. It was cold, yes, but beautiful, like him, he guessed.  His last conscious thoughts were wondering when his master would come home to him. Regardless of whether he loved him back or not, he was cold, so cold without him.

-

It was cold, so cold, on the dirty concrete floor. Not even the blood pouring out of his lacerated wounds could keep him warm anymore. Above him, Julio circled him like a vulture, taking a long drag of his cigarette before throwing it lit-end first at Thomas’ face. The beaten man was too far gone to even flinch.

Damn, is this how Khaled felt when I cut him? he deliriously wondered. With all that Julio and the Juicio Divino boys had done to him, he doubted he’d ever get the chance to ask.

Khaled. There are so many things Thomas now wished he did differently. He should’ve been kinder, more patient, should’ve protected him from the world, from his men -even from himself. Especially from himself.

“Khaled…” he moaned.

A blood-speckled Nike connected painfully with his side. “You dare call out to him, even now?!” Julio growled icily. He kicked Thomas again.

“Julio, just kill him already, for fuck’s sakes,” a voice shouted from the corner of the warehouse. The traitor –Nico- stood off to the side, icing his bashed-in face with some snow wrapped in shirt fabric. “You’re worse than a cat that plays with the mouse it caught!” he admonished. As furious and confused and disappointed as Thomas was about the Clemenza boy betraying him like this, the primal animal part of him was grateful that he was asking for mercy on his behalf.

Although he could no longer raise his head to see past Julio’s ankles, Thomas could feel the assassin roll his eyes above him as he cursed in Spanish. The next thing he knew, Julio was crouching down to his level. He tried to mentally prepare for whatever would happen next.

Julio sunk his fingers into his short, blood-soaked hair, wrenching his head back as he held up a now-very-familiar knife to Thomas’ throat. “Any last words, puto?”

So many last words.

So many things to apologize for.

So many words left unsaid. Not just to Khaled, but to Callahan, to Trémeaux, to Robinson, Kreuger, Martinez, Kościelsky, and of course to Tony. Young Tony, dear Tony, high as fuck at a church wedding Tony. His pain in the ass little brother and his only constant in his childhood, who never lived to see twenty-two years old.

Khaled and Tony were a lot alike in some ways. Smarter than they thought they were, yet looked up to him for no explicable reason. It was a shame Thomas never consciously noticed that similarity until now.

All this time, Thomas thought he bought Khaled as a form of penitence, to make up for killing that boy who was suspected of killing his brother. And while, yes, that was partially why he bought him, maybe he also bought Khaled as a way resurrect his brother. It had been so long since he’d seen warm brown eyes look up at him, he didn’t even know he missed it until he saw Khaled’s eyes that day.

“Forgive me…” he rasped.

Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was the certainty that this was the end, making him see things, but for a second, Thomas saw a crack in that frosty glare Julio bore down onto him. For a brief second, a painful mix of shock, anger, sadness, and even sympathy flashed within Julio’s golden eyes, before the glacial cold vengeance covered them in its frosty glare once again.

“See you in hell,” Julio murmured.

A sharp pain sliced its way into his jugular and down. (Who the hell slices down?!) As the pain dulled and his vision started to go, Thomas’ ebbing consciousness latched onto a memory, one of the fondest memories he had of Khaled.

He’d had an intense nightmare within the first month of buying his new slave, and instead of deriding him or prying for more details than he was owed, the boy had heated him a cup of milk, rubbed his back, and stayed up with him until he was ready to go to sleep again, just like how he and Tony used to comfort each other after a nightmare. As the last threads of his vision faded and the boss’ surroundings sunk into darkness, he swore he could still hear younger Khaled’s words that night, murmured shyly as he still had his accent.

“Sleep well, Master.”

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[whump-queen]

give me a whumpee who accidentally takes double the meds and drugs themselves stupid.

[pixelatedraindrops]

M: “You poor thing. Playing in the river isn’t a good idea in Kanai Ward you know!"

Y: (Who is he…? And why is he doing this for me…?)

A drawn scene based on my alt headcannon I made long back, and I even tried to make a small fic on it. (HUGE SPOILERS)

and tbh I just wanted to draw makoto feeding yuma something while he was completely helpless :3 dw the porridge is edible, he had someone else make it so yuma isn't in any danger.

Unmasked version (just because)

(he's too pretty to have the mask on for long)

(no shinigami since this is post game???)

this is like the 3rd or 4th time yuma got sick on one of his visits to kanai ward due to overworking himself out there

what is makoto to do with his silly workaholic original... (like he's one to talk lmao)

[riacte]

so hey guys i finished dungeon meshi yesterday and i'm still thinking about it

[wickjump]

grrr cross whump… grrrr making him suffer… grrrr giving him extreme amounts of injury and blood soaking his bones… grrr…

[allthewhumpygoodness]

So the way I see it, there's "cold sick" and then there's "warm sick".

(funnily enough, both can and should be accompanied by a fever)

"Warm Sick" to me equals a flushed face and puffy red eyes, bundles of blankets piled on so thickly you can barely see the poor sickie underneath, wet coughs, sad eyes and pathetic whimpers, body aches, restless tossing and turning in their sleep and frightened feverish mumblings -- usually offset with the aesthetic of firelight or cozy lamps, quilts and blankets on winter nights, mugs of hot tea and broth.

"Cold Sick" is distinguished by a lack of these things. When a character is past all that, instead of flushed they're white as a ghost, all pale lips and bruised looking eyes ringed with dark circles, face thin and cheeks hollow, too exhausted to lift their eyelids...they aren't conscious at all most of the time, their breaths thin and shuddering and wheezing; and when they're semiconscious they hardly have the strength to move at all and instead lie there frighteningly still. The light is cold and sharp, natural light from an overcast outside that sends a greyish shade over the whumpee's bedbound form.

The former suggests a warm and familial environment; the sickie in question feels miserable but has people around them they know they can trust. The theme is overstimulation - everything bad is too much, and every comfort is extra comforting. The whumpee may be emotional - upset over their circumstances or just plain scared - but their feelings are strong and ever present. You get this variety in domestic sickfics, someone coming in from the cold with a raging fever and being cooed over by a significant other, or a common cold that breaks a poor whumpee down to tears after one too many sleepless congested nights. Comfort, and warmth, and feeling, for better or worse.

The latter on the other hand, suggests understimulation. The whumpee may be in a place that's unfamiliar, or with strangers, and this gives a removed and reserved quality to their interactions. And they're far too out of it to notice this fact in any clear way. Even the 'comfort' is more practical than anything else, emphasis is placed more on keeping the sickie alive than on their personal comfort. If the whumpee is with it enough to know what's going on at all...well, they're resigned more than anything else. They've more than accepted their situation and fate. It's the kind of illness that haunts Victorian street urchins and Gothic heroines - one that will leave them looking close to a corpse by the end of it. And when they finally recover, it truly feels like they've come back from the dead.

[tales-of-magic-and-chaos]

The probability of Loki having a gigantic crush on Stephen upon meeting him is 100%.

[painonthebrain]

Toxic/bad “caretakers”… false caretakers if you will..

Caretakers who can’t deal with whumpee and don’t make any attempts to get them help or to educate themselves about anything

Caretakers who dislike whumpee and passive-aggressively make it clear to them

Caretaker who sees whumpee as a burden

Caretaker who dumps whumpee somewhere else/gives them to someone else as soon as they can

Whumpee who feels like they have to walk on eggshells around caretaker - but not only because of trauma, because caretaker is actually intimidating

Whumpee who doesn’t feel safe talking about their feelings with caretaker and knows they never will

Caretaker who’s at their wits end and snaps at whumpee

[siren-of-agony]

Ready To Comply

The Winter Soldier's last mission. | slight Stucky vibes but mostly fighting the conditioning.

Longing - Kurt Uenala / Rusted - Kayak Jones / Seventeen - Sir Chloe / Daybreak - Pallbearer / Furnace - Martin Stig Andersen / Nine - Sleeping At Last / Benign - With Teeth / Homecoming - Chris Linton / One - Harry Nilsson / Freight Train - Sara Jackson-Holman // The Winter Soldier - Henry Jackman //// Not Human - elegant slims / Poor Isaac - The Airborne Toxic Event / Lose Your Soul - Dead Man's Bones / Dead In This House - IAMX / Bullet Proof.. I Wish I Was - S. Carey / Splintered - Aisha Badru / Killer - The Hoosiers / Kitchen Fork - Jack Conte / Where Is My Mind - Safari Riot / Expectations - Sir Sly / empty crown - YAS / the Simplest Words - The Narcissist Cookbook / Asleep (Acoustic) - Sleeping At Last / Superhero - Johnny Hollow / Woke Up A Rebel - Reuben And The Dark / Fallin Infinite - Black Math / Elsa's Song - The Amazing Devil / Bullet With Butterfly Wings - Karen O / Bioluminescent - Softwire / I am the Antichrist to You - Kishi Bashi /Souls on Fire - Mad Gallica / железо поёт - Flёur / Older - Autoheart / Real Pain - Indigo De Souza / Human - Daughter //// Farewell To Bucky - Alan Silvestri // End - Hayden Calnin / Of - Nrthrn / The Line - Aure

I couldn't find a playlist that used the Winter Soldier's activation code so I simply made one. Working in these restraints was actually very fun and I have to say, I'm incredibly proud of this one. I feel like all the songs I picked for his words work both musically and lyrically and the order of the other ones was picked very deliberately as well. Normally this kind of rant goes in the tags but I wanted to include it here to ask that if you ever listen to a playlist of mine from start to finish, make it this one :D

___________________________________________ Taglist: @gottawhump @painsandconfusion @bright-whump @whumpwillow @dont-touch-my-soup @mostlydeadallday @kim-poce @lonesome--hunter @getyourwhumphere @not-your-housekeeper98 @yesthisiswhump @waitingforrescue @i-can-even-burn-salad @lazy8whump @painful-pooch (If you want to be taken off or included for coming playlists, please let me know!)

[cakeinthevoid]

Hello, World!

Hey y'all! I'm Coz (or Void) and it's about time I make an intro post :)

I've been lurking about the writing/whump communities for years now so... What changed? I finally feel like I've posted and engaged enough to warrant an intro haha. I'd really like to follow even more writers to keep myself on the writing train.

I mostly write original content with above average suffering (hello whump community), but I do like writing stuff set in existing stories (see: Vigilante). I also reblog plenty of stuff ))

My pinned has most of my WIPs—nothing truly complete by my standard, but there's a bit for each. My most recent WIP is Sticks and Stones, but I'll be working on Carrie and Willow sometime soon... eventually...

Feel free to send me asks! I'm down to talk about tropes or share fun facts or a secret third thing.

Hope to see y'all around ))

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Whumper A meets Whumper B online, and they bond over a shared fascination with pain and torment. As time goes on, sadistic fantasies gradually turn into hypotheticals, what-ifs turn to plotting, and one day, B suggests they meet up in-person and find a victim they can share.

A is nervous. Sure, they want to do this, they've dreamed about it, but the thought of actually kidnapping someone has them on edge.

At first, they plan to kidnap B, because at least then they're inflicting pain on someone who wants to hurt others, and that makes it more moral, right? But then they meet, and B is much bigger, far more prepared, and far more serious about their mission. So A says fuck it, at least I don't have to call the shots here, and plays along.

But even through the thrill of it all as they capture their first victim, the satisfaction they get from dragging out screams, A can't help but wonder what will happen if they stop living up to B's expectations.

[averlym]

4 on the angst list with Araleyn please I need them to suffer

4 : "but it's my fault, right?" (prompt list here)