#how much whump is too much whump
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grrr cross whump⌠grrrr making him suffer⌠grrrr giving him extreme amounts of injury and blood soaking his bones⌠grrrâŚ
#whump#cross sans whump#cross whump#block those tags if you donât want to hear me talk about cross abuse!!!!#how much whump is too much whump#itâs not sexual. or suggestive. but like when does it teeter into âoh thatâs not!â territory. I donât want to cross that line#haha get it. cross#anyway when is the line drawn chat#dehumanization conditioning coding humiliation (not in the sexy way)#ive been there written that#not piss btw??#anyway#how much gore is too much gore#when does it become cancel worthy#like i wrote disembowlment#and near-decapitation once#and severed limbs and teeth injury (i donât like the latter. not my thing)#cw whump#cw gore#cw violence#cw character abuse#is there liek? a line to be drawn?#tortues is so iffy to write. Like yeah itâs torture itâs bad and itâs angst for a reason#but when does it seem like the author is kind of fucked up and needs help#cuz i dont! literally the only reason i write whump is because i love psychology and like descriptors#and thereâs not many descriptors to casual scenes#because not a lot is going on#like yall wouldnât cancel the saw movies or anyone who watched them. But you get real weird when someone makes horror content#i dont. get off to it?? people assume that a lot for some reason. no i donât like gore that way i just think itâs cool. i dunno#evil wick hours
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wuh oh-
#ive been sitting on these so long#literally how did the devil himself bring back my like for whump?!#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin lucifer#hazbin hotel#lucifer morningstar#lucifer magne#whump art#whump#fycodraws#tw blood#tw injury#tw kidnapping#tw knife#lmk if im missing smthn#ichor got too fun to draw#dont think too much abt who's doing this bc i dunno#knife n situation are inspired by the scene in hb tho lol
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The creature needs its morning coffee
#and some fucking melatonin#and a healthy work life balance#but that might be asking too much of him icl#httyd#how to train your dragon#Rtte#race to the edge#httyd rtte#hiccup httyd#hiccup#hiccup how to train your dragon#hiccup haddock#hiccup whump#sort of#idk#this is a shit post#look at him lmao#sleep deprived moron get fucked
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Part 2 of this piece
Commission info / ko-fi
#i just like hurting Jason <3#honestly DC should hire me#seeing as how they like doing the same thing but worse#i've been watching WAY too much much 911#jason todd#dick grayson#red hood#nightwing#dc#dc comics#batman#batfamily#batfam#batkids#batbros#batsiblings#whump#whump art#cpr#fanart#fan art#my art
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You Look So Much Prettier This Way
Poor Stan. What will you do to get out of this predicament, I wonder?
What will you do when fighting back isn't even an option?
Stan sat stunned. He couldn't speak. He couldn't scream for help, he couldn't complain, he couldn't quip, he couldn't stand, he couldn't struggle, hell, he could barely even move.
He wanted to cry.
His face hurt from where they punched him. His neck hurt from where they grabbed him. His entire body hurt from where they'd manhandled him to the ground and pinned him down and tied him up, choking him, punching him if he dared flinch, or god forbid he struggled against their grasp.
And after all that excessive tying, the rope that scratched against his tender skin and pressed in on his ribcage in a suffocating embrace.
They'd gotten out the duct tape. His heart stuttered, eyes wide. He started to scream, he kicked out at them.
Big mistake. As soon as they finished they mortifying ordeal of wrapping his mouth in layer after layer of duct tape, they slammed him down onto his back and hoisted his legs into the air, bent them into the most odd position, and by the time Stan realized that had still more rope, they were already wrapping it around his ankles and his thighs.
Over and over.
He tried to scream. They kicked him. He screamed some more into the duct tape gag. More blows. Tears. It didn't stop. He couldn't even curl in on himself to protect his soft underbelly.
Then they plopped him on the floor.
Surrounded him.
Appraised him, hungry eyes searching over his body.
Stan couldn't hold back the tears anymore.
The one he thought to be the leader stepped foreward.
Knelt in front of him, cupped Stan's cheek in their hand.
Stan could barely even find the strength to jerk away, and when he did, they just grabbed his collar and yanked him back, made him stare right into their ruthless shark-like eyes. And there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop them.
"You look so much prettier this way," they lulled. "I wonder if your friends will agree when they come to find you."
* * * * * * * *
Whumptober 2024 | Day 7 | The Bee's Whumptober Masterlist
Stan is an OC that belongs to The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping!
Whumptober Taglist: @whumperofworlds | @whumptober-archive | @regular-whump-sfx
(If you wanna be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)
#whumptober2024#no.8#used as bait#altprompt#oc#art#whumptober#ailesswhumptober2024#augh OOOOF#POOR STAN#I love this one so much#I spent way too much time working on it#I have no idea how or if this would be canon#bc lets be real none of the whumpers in the story would do this#(except maybe lana)#but I just love the way he looks in this#so good so good#delicious#whump#(un)official guide#heroes and villains#whump art#oc whump#whump snippet#oc stan
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A gift for my dearest friend @skyloftian-nutcase ! I promised her I'd draw her a scene from her post " Malice's Stain" when she finished it â¤ď¸
You're AMAZING Lofty! This au hurts me so so much but I love iitttđđđđ
#im sorry if I butchered our boy hehe#I LOVE YOU FRIEND!!#my brain is empty since it's almost 2 am#so I don't have many words#but you know how much love Power Link (and hate you for whumping him)#jk tho hehehe#cus I also love whumping him heheheđđđ#HAPPY EARLY BDAY TOO!!!đđđđđ#your actual bday gift is to comeđ#legend of zelda#imprisoning war#power link#ganondorf#zelda au#loz au#link
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Hi, Paris! (Destroyer era)
đĽ - Looking back on the last year, is there anything you regret? Anything you would have done differently?
#destroyer asks#destroyer art#paris#whump art#whumper turned whumpee#i actually dont love how this drawing turned out but fuck it main tag#sorry i know you specified destroyer era but crash out era was too good to resist#hopefully not too much of a spoiler for you !!#i will answer for destroyer in a separate post <3
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when are we gonna talk about the demonization of dean in order to whumpify sam that in actuality reduces both of their characters to something they just arenât
yeah iâm a samgirl but iâll be damned if i donât understand that dean is just as much a victim of the narrative as sam. if you reduce dean to an abuser, you victimize sam in a way that just isnât accurate at all to the story and to them
donât take away samâs autonomy and change deanâs entire characterization to fit your babyvictimlittlebrothersam ideal, because itâs unfair to them both. itâs just not who they are
#we need more deangirls in the wincest community#thereâs a serious drought#iâm a samgirl but i am also a deangirl#how can you love sam yet ignore the little autonomy he actually had within the show#the narrative strips him of his agency and most wincest samgirls go even further with it#and take away the only agency he has by painting him as a victim#but heâs really not#at least not a victim of dean the way that some think he is#dean deserves better#dean is a victim of abuse too#we canât forget that just cuz it fits our whumpy idea of sam#i love sam whump just as much as the next but good god he is a grown man#you can have sam whump without mischaracterizing dean and sam#wincest#samdean#hot take#me n my words
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My train of thought took me on a journey (cw for gore and eye trauma):
Lol, Lucifer threatening to cut off Alastor's head and cut out his eyes was kind of overkill.
Ooh, what if that was foreshadowing?
Now I hope Alastor gets his eyes sliced out in season 2 (sorry Al, I love you).
The Vees are going to be the main antagonists of season 2.
Vox hypnotizes people via eye contact or when they watch a screen he controls.
Alastor's weaker without his staff; he may be vulnerable to Vox's powers potentially for the first time.
What if Alastor gouges out his own eyes to keep Vox from hypnotizing him!?
What if because of the angelic wound on his chest, there's no guarantee his eyes will regenerate?
Charlie and her crew finding him like this, terrified and wounded.
Alastor lashing out violently, forcing Lucifer to step in to subdue him.
Lucifer watching the trails of blood running down his mangled eye sockets and feeling violently ill.
Aaaaaand that's all I got.
#fanfic idea#not really?#not sure how to classify it just a random train of thought#Hazbin Hotel#Alastor#Vox#Lucifer Morningstar#'sinners are violent psychopaths' Lucifer says as he imagines serving Alastor's severed body parts to his daughter on a plate#methinks the devil doth protest too much#I just love the pain and whump okay?#cw gore#cw eye trauma#no spoilers just speculation#I have seen the leaks I will not discuss them in detail until season 2 is actually out
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So, I have been in a very long, very hot shower because I hurt like a bitch, and I think I have narrowed down the basis of my major whump pet peeve, and I'm going to be using my pet fav series Word of Honor to do it.
You cannot survive sustained/chronic/severe pain if you don't develop a relationship with it. The first couple episodes of Word of Honor aren't about Zhou Zishu x Wen Kexing, they're about Zhou Zishu x Zhou Zishu's pain/condition. And that latter relationship continues to evolve and stay at the forefront on a parallel path to the development of the former.
He saddles himself with this thing as penance, because when he makes that decision, he believes that being crippled is "a fate worse than death." And then he goes on living, and discovers that life goes on, so he makes an increasingly-less-guarded peace with it. So when he meets Wen Kexing and Gu Xiang, he's doing his own thing, enjoying the good parts of what remains of his life even though his condition remains at the forefront, and will for the rest of the series. He's integrated it into his life to such an extent that Gu Xiang readily dubs him "Sick Man."*
That's what gets my goat every time: whumpees that aren't allowed to develop a relationship with their pain and are instead thrust into relationships with "caretakers" who don't do much more than provide warm blankets and snuggles and therapy-approved conversation on demand, and be "heartbroken" over how broken and pathetic the whumpee is in their eyes. Because the reality is that the relationship with pain has to be established before any other relationships can go anywhere.
Pain/illness kills relationships. People leave. They just do. It becomes too much of a bother to make changes to their own lives, and they jet.** And it's just you and your pain/condition until you can find the few truly good people who will give you love and reasonable help. You have to develop a relationship with it. It's your new roommate for the rest of your life.
You and your pain are going to be in the wars. You're going to get mad and scream and throw things at it. You're going to resent it for being the only one who's there with you every day. You're going to think about all the shit you can't do anymore, and you'll be frustrated to tears.
But eventually - if you're allowed - you make peace. You stop hating your roommate for holding you back from parties, you just find someone who can drive you home, or stay in with you. You'll find other people who have the same kind of roommate, and then you'll all get along.
And if you are very, very, galactically, fictionally lucky, you find a partner who will help you stand your ground against life and what your roommate pain has made of it. This is what happens in Word of Honor.
Wen Kexing is by no stretch Zhou Zishu's perma-caretaker, or "Caretaker" in the sense that plagues new wave whump. But he cares, and offers what help he can, when he can, without hovering and without kid gloves. He looks for a cure earnestly but without coddling or pitying Zhou Zishu for being a Sick Man. It's a more honest and realistic portrayal of someone ill/disabled and someone not who loves them than I've seen anywhere else.
My relationship with my pain is ongoing and continues to evolve. It takes things from me, but it gives me things, too. My love of whump, the Pain Genre, is one of those things. Whenever my pain spikes like this, my tolerance for fluff in the whump zone plummets, so just know that whenever you get ornery meta from me, my pain and I are sitting around having wine (gingerbeer, can't have wine with the new meds, thanks a lot pain) and bitching.
The reason there's no good chronic pain rep outside of WOH is that characters are not being allowed to develop relationships with their pain, and are only allowed to have relationships with other things and people, and those relationships are inevitably trainwrecks, or insultingly unrealistic and saccharine, because an entire segment of the character's life and personality and identity is being masked or exploited instead of embraced. So let your whumpee have a relationship with their pain/conditions/traumas. Chronic pain/illness havers the world over will thank you.
#granny fish on the warpath again#hopefully in an articulate way this round#*I've talked about this before but it's one of my fav things abt the series#it's not pejorative at all#she recognizes his advanced kung fu#and the fact that he has been and for the most part still can take care of himself#he's just a Sick Man#and it's fine#**i know a lot of people whose illnesses/disabilities hit critical mass out of nowhere#i only know one whose partner didn't decide it was too much effort and leave#whump#whump community#whump scenario#whump prompts#whump tropes#whumpee#whumpblr#writing#whump writing#whump reference#writing reference#chronic pain#writing chronic pain#caretaker#whumpee x caretaker#hurt/comfort#which is what most of new wave âwhumpâ is#it's just mislabeled#whump is about the whumpee and their struggle#not the caretaker and how heartbroken and squishy and perfect they are
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so hey guys i finished dungeon meshi yesterday and i'm still thinking about it
#ria.txt#i spoiled myself so at first i was like 'this is bonkers wtf are they doing in those last few chapters?????'#but then it was like. yeah. i see#love those ch when it's just clearly putting the squad into Situations#also. izutsumi#what i really liked was how tightly the protagonist and the deuteragonist were wound up in the overall themes#the plot the themes the conflict the characters it was very neatly connected#hence i am also now accidentally invested in whatever going on between laios and marcille#not just platonic not romantic not enemies i just think they work well tgt and deeply care for each other its great watching them develop#it's the leader + most trusted advisor / anxious girlfailure + the annoying freak she's somehow attached to vibes#haha that rabbit chapter with marcille. hahha i was like what the fuck man. it was funny and then boom whump [tears streaming down my face]#those shapeshifter chs were sooo much fun esp seeing other chara's perceptions of each other. stealing that#the changeling ones were great too elf senshi is the fucking funniest he looks sooooooo unserious#marcille's evolving perception with death starting with saving falin and saving the squad and her nightmares of outliving everyone-#-and her dad and her 'temper tantrum' and UGH when at the end she said she was fine with falin not coming back.... WAAA. OUGH.#i think dunmeshi handled the trope of 'prophecy of chosen one becoming king' pretty well and it makes sense why laios is the protag#the worldbuilding is so thoughtful as well i liked seeing different characters with different worldviews interact#very solid and well rounded series wooo#the main 4 has such a fun dynamic together#anyways. dunmeshi au.....#more like borrowing the worldbuilding bc charas are too nuanced for a one to one comparison#ren is like some prince of his own species but he's like 34th in line and no one cares about him so he fucks off to eat monsters#which is why he's both snobbish AND a total freak when it comes to his food taste#false is originally in for the money from ren and plans to scam him but unfortunately the cringefail swag captures her#martyn is Obnoxiously Clueless and thinks he's smart but he's not. he's resourceful but also pathetic and crazy#stress cant cook but she thinks she does so everyone goes (â_â ) when she picks up a pot. they delegate her to killing and chopping duty#the mvp is iskall who keeps on saving everyone's asses and somehow has resources for everyone#i think ren is actually aware false is going to scam him but he has too much money to spend anyway and he thinks shes cool so he lets her??#and somehow she doesnt take the money and run. and goes back to eating monsters w/ the party. everyone is crazy
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Whow who would've guessed
ID. Four doodles of Petrichor. In the first one, he is looking doen terrified and his hair is cut above bis shoulder with ugly and messy ends, leaving a scrap on his neck. There is blood splattered on his face and the png of pair of scissors looms near him. In the second, he is restrained to a porch outside by a collarand looks sad. In the third, he is tied by magical shibari rope over his clothes and struggles to get out. In the last one, he is naked and has his back turned, looking over his shoulder. He is in a lake with the water reaching the top of his tighs and the character "ç" is cut on his back, that is dripping blood on the water. The note "çăż - pain" is written near him. End ID.
Get whumped idiot *evil laughter*
Also the secons drawing (top left) was inspired by this beautiful one here by @callaeidae3
Art taglist: @for-the-love-of-angst @thewhumpywitch
#im very fond of him#petrichor oc#oc art#whump art#my doodles#whumpblr#tw blood#nonsexual nudity#my art#this took me very long and i was gonna do more but#the hyle wore off#and the way they were drawn is starting to fall out of my process now so it got complicated to work on them#thats a problem that happens. when you spend too long on a drawing and your skills evolve midway though so your process is like#a little bit incompatible with how it was when you started it#which is a lil inefficient#anyways#i was gonna treat those as âdoodlesâ and not put the taglist but. yknow what. fuck it#i spent too much time for them to be doodles
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Doctor whumpee, too injured/sick to deal with it themselves and so they have to tell Whumper/Caretaker what to do
There's so much potential to this! Just look
What exactly is preventing them from dealing with the wound/whatever?
their hands are shaking too much(love this one)/they have a bad fever and are delirious/don't have the strength to move an inch/or more
Then we have what the treatment is?
Cleaning, disinfecting, bandaging are the basics, how about an injection(go old timey and you can do morphine for painkillers), or full on surgery if you want intense scenarios(just think about it!! Whumpee has to be up and giving instructions for the entire ordeal I don't know how but make it happen if you want), holding broken bones in place, putting in dislocated limbs, stopping the bleeding with their own clothes, these are like just off the back of my head
If you go with bad fever and delirious you can say the Caretaker(or Whumper) realizes halfway through following instructions that Whumpee's instructions are wrong and will put Whumpee in more harm
Then we get what the reaction is
Perhaps Whumpee can't help but laugh at the bad job they're doing, even in this awful situation, and Caretaker laughs weakly along
or screams for them to do it quick, then maybe apologizes later
or completely disoriented in pain, tapping ground with finger furiously, groaning, repeating instructions quietly
Just come on this is so good
#sorry for the giant text ball in the middle#but I love just how many ways this can branch off#my personal favorite is too much pain/hands are shaking/need to have an injection/Caretaker knows literally nothing about giving shots and W#humpee has to tell them everything like where to inject and the angle and how deep and how fast to push#and the relieved sigh when everything is done! can't leave that out#whump#whumpee#whump prompt#whump prompts#whump ideas#whump idea#doctor whumpee#medical whump
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I thoroughly enjoyed your medic story! Always a fan when the whole team gets a piece đ Do you think you might continue it someday?
Also, if you have the motivation, I beg of you to please write the western one! I feel like there's never quite enough outlaw whump
Have a great day today!
Hey thanks! I'd probably continue it if someone specifically requested it...I just have issues with pacing in a story if I'm being honest lmao
Anyway, western whump! I was very excited about this ask >:)
cw: branding, gun wound, pistol whipping, western whump, death mention, captivity, manhandling
It wasn't supposed to end this way.
With the malignant, rose-colored sun setting behind the shredded trees.
With the blood pooling out around him, staining the red clay.
With the butt of his gun glinting just out of his aching fingers' reach.
With the sheriff's men picking their way towards him.
He was supposed to get away.
They circled him, spurs cutting through the tall grass. They towered over the outlaw, smiling with satisfied confidence. The outlaw had seen vultures with that same expression in their beady eyes.
The sheriff crouched down, pushing his hat back to look at the outlaw. He smelled strongly of cigarettes and leather.
"Well, well," his toothpick shifted between his coffee-stained teeth, "Evenin' sunshine."
The outlaw grunted, keeping pressure on his injured arm. His fingers were slick with blood. His head buzzed, and he could suddenly see two of the sheriff.
It wasn't a pretty thing to see two of.
"You ain't talkin' so proud now," he said, hooking a calloused hand under the outlaw's arm and hauling him to his feet. He tied the outlaw's hands in front of him with quick movements, giving the outlaw no time to protest. "Should have put a bullet in your arm a long time back."
The rope was thick and the sheriff cinched it mercilessly.
The outlaw cursed through gritted teeth, his wrists turning an irritated red beneath the rawhide. "My-- my arm--"
The sheriff slapped him lightly. "None of that bitchin'." He gave the rope to one of his men and picked up the outlaw's gun.
The sheriff spun the outlaw's gun, letting him get a good look at the weapon.
A murderous glint flashed in the outlaw's eyes as the rope was tied to a horse's saddle. "That's mine," he spat.
I'll kill you.
The sheriff laughed. The toothpick jumped inside his mouth. "No, it ain't. Not anymore. The only thing that's yours is a date with the gallows." He stepped in close, too close, and pressed the still-warm muzzle of the gun to the outlaw's forehead. "You got that?"
The outlaw held his gaze, then dropped it. He said nothing, setting his mouth in a thin line.
The pressure increased. "Say, 'yes sir'."
The outlaw's mouth twitched.
"Say it."
Those two words brought the outlaw more pain than the bullets lodged in his shoulder. "Yes...sir."
Somehow, he made it sound like fuck you. He worked his jaw in a tight circle, swirling the tobacco and blood out from between his teeth. Wasting no time, he spat in the sheriff's face.
The sheriff didn't waste any time either. He swung the butt of the gun across the outlaw's forehead.
The outlaw crumpled-- hot pain spiking behind his eyes.
A thin line of blood traced away down his shirt collar.
His hat was knocked off his dusty hair and when they rode away, it was the only thing to mark that they were ever there at all.
A cowboy hat, discarded in a muddy pool of blood and trampled grass.
They dragged him for miles.
Stumbling, coughing, arm ripped at jarring angles. Until his legs turned to lead, and every breath made his ribs ache. His jeans were shredded where he'd fallen, knees bruised and raw.
When they arrived at the camp, they tied him to a low-lying tree. They left him alone as they built up a fire, but his cramped muscles hardly let him stretch and every movement felt like his last.
The young moon shone with a tired glimmer, highlighting the sandy patch of earth with a watery glow.
The fire snapped, sending up sparks into the grey night.
Somewhere, a coyote yipped, and another joined in, then another. The chorus became a long, drawn-out howl.
The outlaw watched as they ate.
His stomach growled. He had been on the run for weeks, and the smell of venison made the starved realization crash down harshly.
The sheriff stood up with a long stretch. He bent over the fire, adjusting a metal prong. He turned towards the outlaw with a slow smile.
The outlaw snarled. "What the fuck are you looking at?"
The sheriff approached him, nodding to two of his men.
A straw-haired man put out a cigarette on the heel of his boot and walked towards the outlaw. Another man, with a greasy mustache and striped shirt, followed.
The outlaw glared at both of them, straining against the ropes. "Fuck--" Too much pressure on his arm. Hurt. He inhaled deeply. "Fuck off."
The sheriff looked down. He spat at the outlaw.
Tobacco-stained spit dribbled down the outlaw's face, and he couldn't wipe it away. He squinted up at the sheriff.
"Do y'know how long I've waited for this?" drawled the sheriff. "A long time. A long, long time."
The straw-haired man grinned. He was missing his front teeth. "We always knew you were gonna git him, sir."
"Shut up, Barney," said the man with the greasy mustache. "Kissass."
The sheriff ignored both of them. "I reckon," he said to the outlaw. "You know how many men you killed when you stole those cattle?"
Three.
"I dunno."
"Three," the sheriff confirmed. "Three good, hard-workin' ranch hands, you cattle-lovin' bastard." The sheriff spoke in a low, harsh voice. "Now the ways I see it, you're about to get what you deserve."
A cold dread filled the outlaw. "The gallows?"
The sheriff smiled. "That. And this." He waved his two men forward and turned back to the fire. "Death is too kind for the likes of you."
The straw-haired man flicked open a knife, and the other pinned the outlaw against the tree. They cut off his shirt, leaving the fire to cast shadows on his bare skin.
The outlaw cursed them, cursed the sheriff, and cursed their mothers.
The greasy-mustached man grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head back until he shut up.
The sheriff's spurs clicked to a stop beside him.
Out of the corner of his eye, the outlaw could make out the red-iron of a cattle brand.
His breaths quickened, rising and falling at a sharp, frantic pace. "No--"
"Yes. A cattle brand for a cattle thief. Only fair."
A new terror blossomed, wrapping around the outlaw's ribcage and rising up his throat as the brand loomed over him.
He could feel the heat before it even touched. He shrank back, incomprehensible swearing cutting through the night. Like his words were the only thing protecting him from the burning touch.
The sheriff pressed the brand down on the outlaw's chest.
The pain was instantaneous and brilliant, a fiery throbbing that made him scream until his voice was raw. He ripped away, back arching in a futile attempt to escape. Raw tears burned their way down his face, blurring his vision until the world narrowed to two things: the smell of burning flesh and the sheriff's veiny hand.
He collapsed as soon as the sheriff's men let go of him, spine curved in the moonlight as he doubled over.
The agony was new and fresh and throbbing, throbbing, throbbing.
The coyotes paused their chorus, then started up again. This time, the outlaw's crying joined them.
#whump#whump writing#whumpblr#whump community#whump scenario#western whump#cw branding#cw blood#cw gun violence#cw death mention#cowboy gets got#outlaw whump#i watched brokeback mountain yesterday so lmao this was perfect#perhaps i thought of heath ledger a bit too much when writing this#so what sue me#this was so much fun#no edits we die like men#dude i have no idea how to write cowboy colloquialism#i hope this doesnt sound ignorant or blatantly pretentious I'm trying my best dammit#answered asks#whump drabble#whump tropes
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good. morning.
#i'm buzzing with adrenaline i need to finish this fic before i go insane#what the fuck what the FUCK#i can't believe chapter six contained everything from jay getting the rib bone to.....#um#that#how the fuck did all that fit in one chapter#I WAS SKIPPING AROUND TOO CUZ I DIDNT WANNA READ THE DETAILED PARTS OF THINGS#WHAT THE FUCK!!#IT WAS SO MUCH#im in shambles I WANT JAY TO GET RESCUED SO BADLY NEVER IN MY LIFE HAVE I BEEN SO DESPERATE TO GET TO THE COMFORT ASPECT OF A WHUMP FIC#NOT EVEN WITH WYTYAA NOT EVEN WITH RIGHTS OF A NINDROID NOT EVEN WITH LFLS FROM ROTTMNT hi glitch youre probably not gonna see this I'M SO#HOOOOOO#lies down on the floor#im a wreck yall#on the bright side i was worried nadakhan would show up in my dreams given how late i was reading and was not thrilled about that but inste#d i dreamed that i worked at walmart????#so thats something#im a mess guys im such a mess help#spinjitsu screams#spinjitsu reads
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Donât Do This
a/n; I was gonna try and take a couple days off posting âcause I felt bad for being way too much but Iâm addicted to the panicky feeling that a new post gives me & I could only hold out for one day :â) hello again
I wrote this world in drabbles so thatâs a big part of the reason itâs getting posted in drabbles but the conundrum Iâm having now is that two or three of them are now actually following the plot & the rest are all just completely random so WHAT is the rhyme or reason here ?? there isnât one buckle in
hereâs another random âĄ
(introducing the rest of the unit ! fun fun fun)(Iâve created a universe thatâs just so much fun for everybody involved)
tw/cw: grievous bodily harm, mutilation, disfigurement, life altering injuries, rape, noncon, guns, graphic depictions of violence, gore, transphobia, misgendering, psychological torture, torture, amputation, humiliation
living weapon whumpee, creepy whumper, super soldiers, punishment
word count : this oneâs long as hell, like almost 4K words, thatâs why youâre getting the heads up <3
Good days, in a place like this, are far and few in between.
Most days are wrought with some kind of torment, haunted by something unimaginable. Silasâ day to day can be averaged out to mutilation, brain surgery, training exercises â a game of slaughter for the soldiers â and field tests â a game of slaughter for Silas.
Silas doesnât have a lot of good days.
When he does, they just make him tense.
Itâs like something is missing, and how fortunate it is that the missing piece is some kind of agony but Silas finds himself bracing for it all the same.
Theyâre sprawled across the common room, across the couches and the mismatched carpets, and Silas isnât in surgery, nobody else is in training, their wounds are all healing. Silas is dwarfing the loveseat but Wren had fit himself into the spot at his side and heâs so warm next to him that itâs a good day. It makes Silasâ fingers twitch. Somethingâs just â
Something isnât right. Itâs electric, and it prickles at the back of his neck. Heâs already looking at the door when it chirps to life; a keycard is accepted, then a fingerprint, then the vault lock is unsecured.
Silas was right. Somethingâs wrong.
The door grinds open and a cavalry of soldiers explode into the room like a swarm of flies. Itâs an ambush. They move quickly, covering the door and the perimeter of the common room, shouting over each other, shouting commands.
They flood through the common room, guns pointed towards them.
Wrenâs small hand finds Silasâ quickly and Silas squeezes. He helps Wren to his feet as guns are aimed into their faces and soldiers shout at them, commanding and militant, âon your feet, asset! On your feet!â
Theyâre herded into a row, which gives Silas a cool, uneasy feeling he doesnât let show on his face. Standing next to each other, theyâre too drastically different in size to hold hands in any practical way, but Wren keeps close at his side, fingers woven through Silasâ sleeve so tightly his knuckles are white.
It gives Silas a pang of â not of reassurance, because itâs next to impossible to ever be reassured in a place like this, but something a bit more akin to resolve. Somethingâs wrong, but it really doesnât matter what it is. If Wrenâs in any sort of danger, Silas will raise fuckinâ hell. No harm will befall even a hair on his little blonde head as long as Silas has something to fuckinâ say about it.
He shifts, only slightly, shielding Wren behind his arm just as Point saunters into their unit, hands behind his back, at ease. He walks with casual, unhurried footsteps, pacing up and down the line of them, and heâs quiet for a long time. He stops once in front of Wren and Silas doesnât like the way he looks at him.
âAssets,â he greets finally, loud and commanding. âIt has come to my attention that this unit has been causing me some trouble. Again.â He stops, turns to face them, arms still at ease. âOne of you,â he says, âhas been feeding some information to the big guy ââ he points at Silas ââ that we suspect will make him extremely volatile. That puts us in danger, and that just wonât do, will it?â
Point looks down the row of them before he settles on Wren, close against his back. âAnd it was you, wasnât it?â He asks. âYou werenât a very good girl.â
Wren inhales sharply at his back and Silas isnât sure if the race of his heartbeat is Wrenâs or his own. Something cold starts to trickle down the back of his neck, just as cold as whateverâs started to frost over the inside of his ribcage.
âI asked you a question,â Point says.
Wrenâs fingertips dig into Silasâ arm so hard he probably draws blood. âNo,â he breathes, so soft itâs barely audible.
Point grins at him. âNo?â
âNo,â he insists, just as soft. âIâve never â no. They donât â they donât know.â
His eyebrows lift. âThey donât know?â The way his smile spreads wider across his face is grotesque. âMy,â he says. âDidnât this just get a whole lot more interesting?â
âPlease,â Wren whispers.
The way Point grins at him makes Silasâ stomach bubble. He pushes Wren behind him entirely. âFuck off.â
Pointâs gaze flickers up to Silasâ face, almost appraising, before that awful, grotesque smile spreads across his face again. âThatâs why youâve got such a soft spot for her,â he says. âShe never told you sheâs a whore.â
Wren inhales sharply and Silas is going to rub that smile off Pointâs face with the concrete floor.
Before he gets the opportunity, Robin says, âit was me.â
He doesnât break line, he doesnât change face, a proper and trained soldier. But, âI talked to Silas. Wren didnât know.â
Point turns his head before he follows the movement of it, stalking the line of them to Robin.
Wrenâs older brother, the familial resemblance is undeniable; they have the same white hair, the same dark eyes, the same cheekbones. The difference between them is that Wren is a person, soft and warm, and Robin is a super soldier. Heâs big and heâs broad, his hair cropped short above his ears. When he isnât in combat, he wears round, dorky glasses. Heâs always scared the hell out of Silas and Silas doesnât quite know why. Not much else scares him.
Robin had come to him maybe a week ago, and he hadnât said much. He didnât know much, even. Wren hasnât really beenâŚhimself, heâd said. More than usual. He wonât tell me whatâs going on with him but I was hoping you wouldâŚkeep an eye on him. He trusts you.
He really didnât even need to ask, because Silas was always keeping an eye on Wren but Robin was worried about him and Silas knows more than enough how that feels.
He keeps his chin up as Point approaches. Wren is shaking at Silasâ back. âYou?â
âSir,â Robin agrees.
Point hums thoughtfully. âThis unit is just full of surprises today, isnât it?â
He just barely looks at his men, tipping his head towards Robin. The militia descends on him, shouting and aiming and threatening, getting Robin to his knees, hands behind his head. Two of them hold him there, kneeling on the concrete as Point stands in front of him with a grin.
âAsset,â he says. âYou have been charged today with inciting violence.â
âNo,â Wren breathes. âNo, please ââ
âNormally,â Point says, grinning wider, not turning his head, âthe punishment for inciting violence is execution. But weâve made exceptions for the freak,â he explains, his eyes flickering to Silas, âso weâve decided to show you mercy. You will get to walk away.â And he grins, flicking his wrist, and a buck knife slides out from his sleeve and glints tauntingly in the fluorescence. âWe just need to make absolutely certain you are no longer capable of inciting violence in our facility. Precautions need to be taken.â With his other hand, he grabs a fistful of Robinâs white hair and he drives his knee into his windpipe.
Robin chokes, gasping for ragged breaths as Point takes a step back, just far enough that he can boot Robin in the face and throw him off his knees, onto his back. From there, Point stomps down onto his face, and the pitch of the gurgling noise that Robin makes gives Silas goosebumps.
âToday,â he announces, âwe will take your tongue. We will no longer have to worry about threats of violence, and you will be used as an example to your unit. We donât make empty threats. We will not have any more insurgence in this fuckinâ place, do I make myself clear?â
âPlease,â Wren breathes, peeking out from around Silasâ arm and Silas tries to shield him again but heâs stubborn, heâs insistent. âPlease. Donât do this.â
Point looks at him and he looks for a long time. It makes all the hair at the back of Silasâ neck stand up, and he holds out an arm, not shielding Wren, just blocking him, just in case. Silas can see the idea form in the way that Pointâs face lights up, cruel and delighted. He clicks his tongue at Wren, angling his head, some kind of signal. âBring the girl over here,â he commands. âI want to be inside her while I cut out her brotherâs tongue.â
âNo,â Robin grunts, with the wet strain of somebody bleeding down the back of his own throat.
âNo,â Wren breathes, taking a quick step back.
A wall of black tactical gear and assault rifles closes in on him quickly, and Silas moves without any hesitation or conscious thought at all.
He pivots. Heâs gentle, heâs so gentle with Wren as he pushes him behind himself and barricades him from the nightmare cavalry. Wrenâs hand finds his arm so tightly that Silasâ bones grind together and itâs his resolve. He wonât let anything happen to Wren â he canât. Over his dead fuckinâ body.
Robin â whatever. Silas could take him or leave him. But he means a lot to Wren, and Silas wonât let Wren down.
âI fuckinâ dare you,â he spits.
Give lifts his gun. âStand down, asset.â
âTell you what,â Silas says, lifting his chin. âIf you get me down, Iâll stay down.â
Give aims his gun towards Silasâ dick. âI donât think thatâll be too hard.â
But the funniest thing about these soldiers is that they know Silas. They were here for his creation. Theyâve witnessed every field test. They know what he can do. They know exactly what heâs capable of. When Silas needs to be escorted from the unit theyâll argue amongst themselves, throwing weight and rank around, about who has to stand in front because none of them want to put their backs to him.
Theyâre scared of him. Theyâre right to be, but theyâre scared of him. But thereâs something in this unit â maybe itâs because Silas is corned and drastically outnumbered, but it makes them cocky. Itâs like they forget to be scared.
They should always be scared.
Silas rips the gun out of Giveâs hands and shatters every bone in his face with the base. He drops into a limp pile of limbs and Silas canât tell if heâs breathing. He struggles, sometimes, with how little it actually takes to kill a human being. Overkill, sometimes, but heâs never tried to tone it down.
âAsset!â Preach bellows, and Silas hooks his foot behind his ankle, sending him sprawling. Once heâs on the ground, Silas drives his heel down and right through the centre of his face. He hits concrete, and bone tears through his sock and bites open the bottom of his foot.
Heâs rewarded with a knife between the ribs.
Itâs whatever, itâs a knife to the ribs, itâs definitely not Silasâ first. But it hurts, of course it fuckinâ hurts, it hurts all the way through him and deep into his chest and he rips the knife out of his side with a roar. Rock, still standing close at his side, exhales an, âaw, fuck,â before Silas gives him back his knife. He brings it up, through the underside of his chin, into the roof of his mouth. Blood pours out of his face like a faucet had been turned on. He hits the ground with a noise like a splatter.
This time, heâs rewarded with a bullet to the face.
It isnât lethal, but Silas is still shot in the face.
His cheekbone shatters on impact and he goes completely blind on his left side. For a second, for only a second, the world around him blurs completely, but it happens for a second too long. Silas sways, and when the vision clears in his right eye theyâre all close, theyâre all way too fuckinâ close.
âBack up,â he snarls, but then everything blurs again and their hands are on Wren and theyâre trying to wrench him from his side.
âNO!â Silas roars.
âSilas!â Wren cries. He reaches for him, and Silas grabs him quickly by the hand.
While his arm is outstretched, Need strikes, and he breaks all the way through Silasâ elbow with a buck knife.
It crackles with pain for barely a moment before Silas stops feeling anything in his arm. It falls to his side, useless and limp, and Silas quickly reaches for Wren with his other arm but Silas thinks he might be losing a lot of blood and quickly isnât quick enough.
Wren is hauled away as Silas is surrounded, guns aimed at all his most vital spots, fingers on triggers.
Wren fights, begs, struggles, but Tide and Vineyard make easy work of dragging him across the concrete. His wrists are tied behind his back, and when they drop him at Pointâs feet, they drop him on his back, his hands trapped against the concrete. Thereâs something really helpless about it and it makes Silas really nauseous. The knife is still pierced through his elbow.
Point lifts his boot and presses it down against Wrenâs throat, holding him there.
Silas doesnât snarl so much as his chest makes some kind of noise, something low, like some kind of predatory animal. The barrel of a gun is hoisted, cold, against the nape of his neck, a warning.
âThis is getting just fuckinâ ridiculous,â Point snaps at the room at large. âRidiculous! All of this fuckinâ trouble! For some whore!â He looks down at Wren and tells him directly, âyou are not worth all this fuckinâ trouble.â
Something akin to hatred knots in Silasâ chest, something akin to hatred but something so much stronger, something he doesnât have the words to describe. Itâs heavy, and itâs restless under his skin. The knife is still pierced through his elbow.
Point coils Wrenâs braid around his fist and drags him over to Robin as Wren cries. Robin tries to protest, makes a hiccuping sort of sound, but he doesnât speak. He probably canât. Heâs drowning.
âYou people have been giving me a lot of trouble,â Point announces. He props Wrenâs head up against Robinâs chest. âIâve earned this.â
Wren sobs and itâs the single worst sound that Silas has ever heard. He doesnât think heâll ever forget it. The knife is still pierced through his elbow.
âPlease,â he begs, âplease, please. Donât do this. Please.â
Point grins at him. âYou know how much I love it when you beg.â In a single, fluid motion, he hauls Wrenâs joggers down his thighs.
The knife is still pierced through Silasâ elbow. He takes quick stock. He can still use one of his arms and he can still see from one of his eyes. Heâs probably still at an advantage over a regular, human soldier.
Except Hal is swarmed, too. Not the same as Silas, because Halâs a little more human than Silas, but heâs swarmed, and still, he shoves a soldier out of his way by the side of his head as he shouts, âyou canât do this!â
Point looks up quickly. He kind of scans the room before he settles on Hal. âExcuse me?â
âYou canât fuckinâ do this!â Hal cries.
âStand down,â a soldier warns him and Hal pulls that guyâs knees out from under him.
âAre you fuckinâ serious?â He protests. âThis is fucked up!â
Point looks down at Wren for a long time, who cries quietly and doesnât look back. Finally, he leans over him, up to Robin, and pries his mouth open. Robin doesnât fight him. He doesnât even hiccup this time.
Point eases his tongue from his mouth and severs it with a flick of his wrist. Stepping over Wren and Robin, he sidles up to Hal, getting right up in his face. âWhich one are you?â
âSingh,â Hal answers. He adds, mocking, âsir.â
Something flickers in Pointâs jaw. âSingh,â he agrees. âThey tell me youâre not very bright, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt. I will choose to believe it is ignorance and not defiance that has made you think you have any right to stand up to me or to tell me what I canât do. You do not. I can do anything Iâd like. I can do whatever I want to you people. Do I make myself clear?â
Hal doesnât deign that with a response.
Point flicks Robinâs tongue into his face and bellows, âdo I make myself clear?â
Hal doesnât flinch, but he closes his eyes.
Point delights in it. âSoldier,â he says, and when Hal looks at him, he goes on, âyou know to look at a superior when theyâre talking to you.â He looks at Vineyard. âBoth eyes. Left and right.â
Vineyard nods.
Hal says, âwhat?â
The swarm is back at him in a second and itâs bigger this time. They force Hal onto the ground, onto his back, they pin him there by his arms and his legs and his wrists and his chest and his chin. Tide holds his eyelids open.
Hal thrashes. âAre you fuckinâ kidding me? This is bullshit!â
âYou shouldâve known better than to misbehave,â Point says.
He hands Vineyard the same knife heâd used to amputate Robinâs tongue. Vineyard flips it over in his fist, and straddles Halâs chest. Hal thrashes again, trying to throw him off. âGet the fuck off me! You canât do this shit! This is fucked!â
âWhat did I just say?â Point snaps. He snaps his fingers, and Vineyard carves both of Halâs eyeballs out of their sockets.
He screams the whole time.
He screams himself hoarse, and when Vineyard climbs off of him, when the swarm depletes, heâs a pile on the floor, head down, and Silas canât tell if heâs still conscious.
âI am getting sick,â Point spits, âsick of the behaviour from this fuckinâ unit. You are livestock. You are property. You belong to me. You have no power here. And Iâm delighted to let you know, livestock, that you arenât even our best. You arenât special. If you canât learn to behave yourselves, you will all be put down, and our efforts will be relocated to another unit and you will not be missed. Except the girl,â he adds, mostly to Wren, standing over him again. He winks. âWhat a waste of such fuckable meat. Weâll keep her in the barracks until we get bored of her. She will be kept busy.â
Wren sobs and Silasâ fingers twitch. His arm is hot with bleeding.
Point crouches down above Wren again and makes a sound, a mock sigh. âI was really looking forward to fucking you while I cut his tongue out,â he says, pulling his joggers the rest of the way down, âand now Iâm really disappointed. So youâre gonna have to make that up to me.â
Wren sobs again. His voice is trembling as he begs, âplease, please. Please donât do this. Please.â
âBe good,â Point tells him, and there isnât even any mocking amusement in it. âIâm already disappointed. Donât put me in a bad mood.â
âPlease,â Wren sobs.
Point pulls him a little closer, pulls his head off of Robinâs chest. âBe a good girl,â he says. âIâm not asking.â
His hands find Wrenâs waist and Wren wails. âPlease.â
Something shifts in Pointâs face. His bad mood. âJust be a good girl!â He cracks his fist into Wrenâs face so hard that the back of Wrenâs head ricochets off the pavement before he goes completely, unsettlingly still. His cheekbone is already bruised as Point snaps, âfuck sake.â With a grunt, he spits in Wrenâs face. âDumb bitch.â As he stands, he looks right at Silas. âNot as much fun fucking her when sheâs not awake to fight me off.â
Silas is a violent person, but the kind of violence that Point stokes in him is something like nothing else Silas has ever experienced. Itâs dizzying, not a thirst but a lust, and Silas doesnât just want to kill him but he wants to eviscerate him.
He makes it half a step closer before the soldier standing closest, Vienna, lifts his gun and shoves the barrel tight against the bottom of Silasâ chin.
âStand down.â
Silas doesnât even have time to remove the knife from his arm. Silas grabs Vienna around the throat and crushes every bone in his neck with his other hand. Heâs dead before he has time to react.
Two gunshots are the soundtrack to his body hitting the concrete. The pain registers a moment later.
It explodes through both of Sevenâs kneecaps, one at a time, a white hot sort of pain that seeps into the marrow of his bones and hurts from the inside. He drops to his knees, and fire licks up into his hips, his chest, it churns his stomach with something hot and acidic that crawls up the back of his throat as he bellows.
Point lowers his handgun. âHe told you to stand down.â
âEat shit,â Silas seethes, and Point fires another shot into the already shattered plate of his right knee. The way the pain ripples through him knocks the wind out of him, and Silas groans through his teeth, breathless.
âDown, boy,â Point says. Silas snarls as he saunters closer, gun raised but almost mocking in its brandishing. âYou embarrass yourself, you know,â he tells him. âLosing all this blood for the sake of the fucksleeve. This is a waste of your talents.â
Silas snorts at him. âGet fucked.â
It brings back Pointâs grin, and he points at Wrenâs limp body. âLike your little girlfriendâs going to be?â
Silas rips the knife out of his arm. He means to throw it, but he doesnât get that far.
He gets shot in the face. Again.
It blows everything to darkness for a second and when Silas comes back to himself heâs on his back, looking up at Point, illuminated ominously by the fluorescent lights.
Point grins down at him again. âFor constant belligerence,â he says, âleft leg. Below the knee.â He holds out a hand, and Vineyard hands him an axe. âIâll do the honours. Shame the girl isnât conscious for this one.â He turns the axe in his hands, brandishing it dramatically before he hoists the end of it towards June.
âTollier,â he says. âAny grand, heroic gestures for this one before I amputate his leg?â
June looks at Silas like she might try.
He shakes his head against the concrete.
She looks at him for as long as the moment will allow. Still, she doesnât look away when she whispers, âno.â
âHmm,â Point says. âGood girl.â He looks at her with an almost genuine approval. âTwo fingers from your left hand for general insubordination,â he orders. âBut Iâll let you pick which two fingers.â
Vineyardâs grin glints in the overhead lights.
Silas is sure June screams, but it sounds like his ears are full of water and he canât hear much of anything else.
Point grins, wide and maniacal. Itâs the most evil Silas has ever seen him look. âBrace yourself, big guy,â he says, and he leans in real close to make sure Silas can hear him. âThis is really going to hurt.â
#on the serious tho should i try & start actually posting w a proper timeline ??? or could i just put together a timeline master list#thereâs literally been no rhyme or reason for my drabble choices so far#i cannot stress enough though JUST HOW MANY DRABBLES OF THIS I HAVE#thatâs why i hate posting & im still posting too much i just have TOO MUCH TO POST#thereâs sooooooooooooo many horrible things that happen to these people to an almost soap opera degree#wait till you find out about the AUCTION :â)#human weapon whumpee#living weapon whumpee#whump#whump community#whump scenario#whump scenes#whump story#whump stuff#whump writing#whumpblr#whumpee#whumper#whump things#whump series#whump tag#whump prompt#whump tropes#whump problems#whump wip#whump blog#wren & silas
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