#oc whump

[dying-crying-pining]

it’s not my fault they’re so pretty when they’re crying and covered in blood. the horrors persist but so does their jawline

[whumble-beeee]

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!)

[elliehallers]

Me with my favorite OCs:

[ohbandera]

day 9: Injury

When u get shot by an arrow and then strike a pose

[spuddy-potat]

small collection of whumpy art of my oc 🫶🫶🫶 i was kinda hesitant to post these since idk if anyone who follows this blog really wants oc art but YALL ARE GETTING IT ANYWAY

[whumpninja]

Being an OC whump writer feels like reverse demon possession. You have little people in your head and you do terrible things to them. And instead of you summoning them, they go “poof!” and summon themselves and then you beat them up for it. And maybe when you make them suffer enough you give them a happy ending, but also they have to go through The Horrors first because that’s the price of living rent free in your brain.

[whumpurr]

i'll take "bruises and blood" for 500, please

[aller-geez]

since you're in your sven (🩵💚🧡) kick i literally can't stop thinking about him having a bad 'one of those days' on top of being sick..

Hey there Nonny! Thanks so much for your request! Seriously living for all the Sven love 😈😈

I see you are a person of culture as well! 😈

When sick, Sven’s sneezes are extremely congested with extra enunciation on the first syllable. He usually has desperate, gasping vocal build ups, but typically will only sneeze once or twice at a time. Every cold turns into bronchitis or pneumonia due to severe asthma and lung problems from when he was a kid.

But with his allergies, they’re very rapid, gentle, kitten like fits of 6-12 sneezes at a time that can completely take him off guard.

“One of those days” mixed with the chest cold from hell, and poor Sven would be an absolute mess. His downtrodden body wouldn’t even know what to do with those itchy sneezes or the lack of oxygen afterward 😩😩

[wolfeyedwitch]

Set Up For Failure

Bailey and their no good, very bad day month year

Taglist:

@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world @dolls-circus

@pickleking8 @ghostfacepepper @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @mylifeisonthebookshelf

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @extemporary-whump @whumpwillow @multiple-characters1-acct

@sunflower1000 @fleur-alise @equestrianwritingsstuff @scp-1296 @livingforthewhump

@thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @suspicious-whumping-egg @kaiwewi @lelly-belly @neuro-whump

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpthisway @whumpcreations @wicked-whump @heart4brains

@myhusbandsasemni @how-to-be-a-hero @kixngiggles @kurochan @whumpsday

@extrabitterbrain @pattonvirglsanders @neverthelass @we-write-as-one @elrysdoesstuff

@whumperflies-and-roses @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @ramadiiiisme @towerlesskey

@emmanemanemm @pigeonwhumps @whumpycries

[chaotic-orphan]

The Immortal Hunter (7)

Continued from here

for @jumpywhumpywriter — bestie I accidentally published your prompt when this was unfinished so I am dedicating the part to you instead <3 hope you enjoy~

*~*~*~*~*

Heath shot out of bed before he opened his eyes, gasping, moving impossibly fast in a stupor before crashing his shoulder against the wall beside the door. Memories from when he was human snuck up on him in Felix’s venom induced haze. He gasped for air that he didn’t need anymore, clutching at his chest for a heart that didn’t beat as often or as hard; imperceptible to humans but Heath could feel it. His canines elongated to fangs that cut his bottom lip drawing blood, filling his senses with the stale stench of iron and he was back in his body.

His undead, monstrous body.

His mouth was dry, he realised as he pressed his head back against the wall and released a sigh. His gaze travelled around the room almost lazily until he realised he was in Felix’s room. That he jumped up from Felix’s bed.

He scoffed. No wonder he was thinking about them when he was sleeping here.

That bastard. Speaking of… the door beside Heath opened and he caught a flash of white hair in his periphery.

“Darling! I thought that was you, I remembered how thirsty you used to get after a dose of my venom so I brought you water and blood if it takes your fancy, or we can go get some on tap,” Felix said conversationally as he walked into the room. He didn’t look at Heath as he crossed the room to Felix’s small table tucked under the right window and set down a tray with two glasses, a carafe of blood and a pitcher of water.

“You know which option I’d prefer,” he continued with a shrug, pouring put a glass of water. “But the youth of today have more reserved tastes.”

Felix was in front of Heath in the blink of an eye, one hand on the back of Heath’s neck and the other pressing the glass against his lips. “Open up. I know you’re parched,” Felix sang lightly, his voice velvet smooth.

Heath glared at the pale vampire but he obeyed and opened his mouth so Felix could fucking force his affection on him. He remembered the deal, keep Felix happy for the next eighty years. A relatively short amount of time for an immortal.

The water was cool and refreshing as it hit his tongue and he leaned in, cupping Felix’s hand with his own to tilt the glass back more and get every last drop. Felix didn’t allow him even that. The closer Heath neared the glass, the more Felix pulled away until Heath stilled with a huff, his breath reflecting on the glass. Felix smiled and tilted the glass up until the water was gone.

“There, sweet boy,” Felix said, his thumb stroking Heath’s carotid artery tenderly. Possessively. Heath couldn’t find it in himself to care as he drew back, his throat still dry but not as bad as when he first woke. He shut his eyes and rested his head back against the wall. “Are you tired, child? Would you like me to put you back to bed?”

Heath shook his head. Felix’s grip tightened on his throat and Heath’s eyes snapped open, catching the smiling, royal red of the ancient vampire’s.

“Use your words.”

Heath swallowed, not just to get more moisture into his tongue, but also to smother the pride that wanted to fight him on everything. That urge hadn’t died from when he was a human. He opened his hand, reaching for a blade that wasn’t there and closed it again, taking a breath.

“No,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m not tired.”

Felix’s grip tightened ever more so and Heath’s expression turned pleading. He reached a hand up to cup Felix’s wrist that was gently — always deceptively gently— pinning him to the wall, a quiet show of his strength and power over Heath. Human, hunter, vampire, it didn’t matter; Felix was always going to be stronger.

“I’ll go out on a fang here and assume the venom clouded some of your memory, Heath,” Felix purred, stepping closer so his body caged Heath in more. No warmth. No comfort. Just weight against him, pinning him further. Shivers raced down his spine at Felix using his real name. He only did that when he was scolding him, warning him. “But did you already forget our deal?”

Heath curled his lip back over his teeth, fear mixing with frustration, his familiar cocktail of self-destruction around Felix. “I didn’t,” he snapped. “My life for Killian’s.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Felix taunted, his cold fingers wrapping fully around Heath’s throat and lifting him up until Heath was on his toes, trying to yank Felix’s hand off of him with both of his. “It’s been too long, darling, clearly you’ve forgotten your manners.”

“My— my manners?” Heath asked, struggling to cast his mind back to when he was under Felix’s employ and— he stiffened, his eyes widening in realisation.

Felix practically purred like a cat he was that excited, his eyes glinting with a sadistic gleam. “That’s right, Heathy. You do remember, don’t you?”

Heath sputtered. “You— you’re joking, right?” He asked, his voice unsure even to himself.

“I’m always serious when it comes to you.” Felix tilted his head down, his smile exposing his fangs as he leaned into Heath’s throat. No, he couldn’t be out of it again on the venom, but Heath really didn’t want to— Felix’s hot breath on his throat had Heath floundering.

“Master, wait! Please!” He cried, panic colouring his words and then the weight of them fell on him. He felt Felix shiver with delight, a wet tongue slid along Heath’s throat, teeth nipping playfully at the skin. But… but Heath said what he wanted, right? Heath’s hand opened reflexively but he didn’t find a blade, and he curled his fingers closed again. “Master? Master, that’s what you want right?”

“Mmm, I did,” Felix murmured. “But I forgot how much I loved to hear you beg,” the vampire said. His words flooded Heath with a fear he didn’t know he could still feel. “Do it again and maybe I won’t bite you again.”

“Felix—” Heath said with a breath, his voice cracking. The mistake was replied with an instant shift. With a flurry of movement Felix yanked Heath off the wall and threw him onto the bed. Heath scurried backwards, his headache throbbing too much for him to have any capacity to think about fighting back. No, his moves were locked on defensive, evasive manoeuvres trying to flee, to get away.

The vampire appeared again at the foot of the bed, hands behind his back as he tilted his head observing Heath like a farmer watched his prized pig that was to be butchered. A distant love with a barrier between work and emotions.

“You’re still weak from my venom,” Felix noted aloud. Heath glared at the vampire but there was no bite behind it.

“Aren’t we past this, Felix?” Heath asked, struggling to keep himself from stammering. He tried for a winning smile that Felix always liked. “We’ve outgrown these roles of Master of the house and valet by now, surely?”

Felix smiled razor sharp. “Of course, darling. You’re right,” he said and Heath frowned as Felix moved away from the end of the bed. Felix walked to the tray where the decanter of blood was and inclined his head without looking at Heath.

He could hear the smile in the vampire’s voice as he continued. “Only one of your thirsts have been quenced by mere water darling, you need some aqua vitae now, yes?”

Heath hesitated. He didn’t usually enjoy drinking human blood but the blood pact had taken a lot from him and he couldn’t deny this feeling of weakness that had swamped him in the aftermath of his decision.

“Yes, thank you,” Heath said eventually. “Some blood would do me good.”

Felix’s smile only grew. “Marvellous.”

With a whirlwind of movement the door of Felix’s room flew open and he returned before Heath could even get out of bed with Killian. Heath’s heart lurched and he jerked forward as Felix grabbed a fistful of Killian’s hair and yanked his head to the side.

Heath was between them in an instant, pushing Killian away rather than Felix. Felix grinned down at him wolfishly, his gaze ravenous at Heath’s defiance.

“Felix! No, I can’t let you hurt him,” Heath said, his voice low and guttural. Killian had the good sense not to question what was happening, something Heath was grateful for.

Felix bent slightly and grinned in Heath’s face. It’s not like there was much of a height difference between them, but Felix made two inches feel like two feet and Heath wanted to wither under his feral gaze.

“You said you wanted blood, darling, so I brought you some.”

“No,” Heath said and he wished he hadn’t. Felix’s hand shot out in a blur and Heath was slammed against the wall, gasping as Felix strangled him, his eyes alight with danger and malice.

“You dare deny me in my own house, fledgling?” Felix hissed. Heath scrambled to push Felix off but his efforts were in vain. Felix moved again and Heath was against the window, the glass cracking beneath the weight Felix was pressing against it. Felix closed in on him grinning. “Go on. Save him with everything you have. Try and stop me, see what happens.”

Heath grit his teeth and snarled, lunging forward. He managed to push Felix back a couple steps before all traces of humour and playing left Felix’s face. The next thing he knew, Heath was flying across the room. His back connected with a shelf and Heath gasped as he crumbled to the floor, but Felix was there again.

Felix drew his leg back and kicked Heath in the chest. Then the stomach, and in the chest again, and again and again until Heath’s ribs broke and he gasped as pain speared through him, blinding and hot. “Felix—” he wheezed.

Felix kicked him again in the same place and Heath felt his bone puncture his lung. “Please,” Heath rasped. But Felix didn’t stop. He grabbed Heath by the throat and yanked him up, and tossed him across the room. Heath’s back hit the poster of the bed and he crumbled to the ground and Felix was on him, lifting one leg over his waist, straddling the hunter.

Felix slapped his palms against Heath’s ears and Heath howled in pain, a devastating ringing ignited in his brain and between his ears and he couldn’t focus on anything. Felix placed a hand on either side of Heath’s head and slammed it into the wooden floor. Over and over until Heath was moaning dumbly, blood dribbling down from his hairline and from the corner of his mouth.

A jolt of movement to their left and the vampires heads’ snapped in Killian’s direction. He was ashen white, even through his blurry vision Heath could see that. Felix’s smile returned. Heath grabbed at Felix as he stood, trying in vain to stop the ancient vampire from hurting Killian. Heath couldn’t fail.

He couldn’t fail.

But he couldn’t see.

He coughed as he rolled over and blood stained the wood beneath him. He could hear Killian pleading but he couldn’t hear what over the incessant ringing in his ears. “Felix…” he mumbled, the word clunky on his tongue. “Master… please.”

A hand grabbed Heath’s shoulder and sat him against the bed frame. Heath’s head lolled to the side, too heavy to hold up. Only then did he smell it.

Blood.

Fresh, human blood.

He raised his eyes to Felix and Killian who were beside him. Felix shoved Killian to the ground beside Heath, wide terrified eyes greeted him with a sickening fear.

“M-master…” Heath said again, tears forming in his eyes. “No… please. Please.”

Felix put a hand in Killian’s hair, stroking him like a dog. It turned Heath’s stomach. He knew exactly how humiliating and debasing that felt.

“Come on, Heath. You know you want to. Drink from Killian.”

Heath dragged his head up to meet Felix’s gaze. “You said… you said you wouldn’t hurt him.”

“And I didn’t, did I, Killian?”

Killian was shaking beside Heath. “Blood.” Heath said. “He’s bleeding. Deal’s—”

“I—” Killian began, cutting Heath off. The poor boy’s teeth were chattering he was so scared. “I cut myself, Heath.”

Heath turned his attention back to Killian. “Isn’t that so nice, Heathy? He saw you were hurt and wanted to help.”

“No…” Heath said, turning to the decanter of wine. “That blood. Stale blood. It will do me fine.”

“Oh nonsense, darling. Killian’s being generous, don’t be rude.”

“You said—”

“I know what I said, and I have kept my end of our bargain. I won’t hurt a pretty little hair on his head. I never said that you weren’t going to.”

Killian swallowed hard. It was deafening in Heath’s ears, the sound of his pulse, his heart racing, the intoxicating scent of his fear. The monster in him was ravenous. The blood was right there. It would heal him completely for a time. He could get Killian out of here when he was strong again, he just needed a taste…

“No,” Heath wheezed, turning his head away from Killian. His fangs elongated past his lips, nicking the pink flesh and drawing his own blood. Heath heaved out a breath, placing his palm flat on the ground and leaning onto it, trying to move away. Felix was at his side in an instant, grabbing Heath’s jaw and tilting his head up to meet his crimson glare.

“You dare say no to me pet? Look at you, darling. You’re practically salivating.”

Killian’s heart thumped faster behind him. Felix ran his thumb along Heath’s lip, wiping the blood away. He brought it to his own mouth and licked the red stain from the tip, humming happily. The hunter’s blood was sweet. Even Heath knew that and he was the hunter.

“Please,” Heath croaked.

Felix smiled. “It’s okay, sweet boy. I know what you need. Killian, your arm.”

“No,” Heath whined as Felix turned his head back to face Killian. “Please, no.”

Heath was too weak to fight Felix’s hand as he grabbed Killian’s bleeding forearm and pulled it to Heath’s lips. Heath turned his head away again so Felix smeared some of the blood under his nose and Heath started to cry.

“Killian… don’t,” Heath pleaded, his voice weak even to himself. He could feel his instincts take over as he reached his hand up to replace Felix’s on Killian’s arm. “Run, go.”

“Killian, you stay right where you are,” Felix’s smooth voice said and Heath winced. His eyes flashed up to Killian’s terrified brown but he was trying to be stoic. He was trying to tell Heath that it was okay. That he was allowed to drink from him.

Felix, impatient, slammed Heath’s head down further on Killian’s arm and this time Heath’s instincts took over and he let them. Heath’s teeth sank into Killian’s arm just above the open wound. Killian’s breath hitched so Heath licked the wound, trying to numb it before he started to drink but the frenzy took over and Heath needed blood.

Heath drank greedily from the tap, only vaguely aware that Felix was purring proudly, running his hand down Heath’s hair as Heath’s body repaired itself with the waters of life. The blood was warm, igniting his senses and sharpening them to the world. He heard Killian’s heartbeat race, he felt the fight leave him, he felt Felix’s hands in his hair.

He gasped as his rib lifted and repaired itself in his chest and glued itself back to his sternum, his lung stitching itself back together again. The bite in his lip glazed over with fresh flesh and Heath gasped again and pulled away.

His eyes found Killian’s brown and he wanted to throw up. The boy’s face was paler than a ghost’s, all blood drained from his face. Heath hated the swirling, dazed look in his brown that looked as if the boy had gone for five rounds in the pub.

Heath recoiled, biting his own wrist and pressing it to the boy’s lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Killian drank the blood willingly. He would do just about anything Heath asked when he was blood drunk like this. Heath could even feed again, just a taste… but, no! Heath watched Killian’s wound seal itself and pulled away, scrambling back into the waiting arms of Felix.

“Get off of me,” Heath growled, but Felix wrapped one arm around Heath’s waist, pulling him back into the diamond space between his legs so his back was against Felix’s chest. One hand in his hair, stroking Heath’s head lightly and purring happily. Heath struggled, but Felix shushed him, a warning growl emanating from his chest and Heath stilled.

Some part of him, an annoying part, still recognised Felix as his sire and that small annoying part wanted only to please his master. He wanted to make Felix happy and keep him happy, longed for this kind of physical affection and presence and soothing.

But the big part of Heath was screaming at him, rage barely simmering under the surface. He didn’t want comfort and warmth from Felix after he fed on human… on a human’s… on Killian’s blood. The guilt flooded him with an unconscionable shame and regret.

His red eyes lingered on the dazed human and his stomach turned. He wanted nothing more than to turn his head away and not look at the state he caused, the harm, but he forced himself to witness this. He tried to sear the memory into his eyelids so he wouldn’t be weak again like this. He felt so young, so like a boy again. So human and it curled something awful inside him.

Why did fresh blood make him feel so human? Why did he want nothing more than to reach over and grab Killian and feast again? Heath allowed silent tears to fall down his cheeks and over his nose, dripping from his chin down. Felix cooed and wrapped his arms tighter around him.

“You did so good, sweet boy,” Felix whispered. Heath shivered in the vampire’s arms. He didn’t want to do good in Felix’s eyes, he didn’t want his approval—

But he did.

He needed his sire’s approval in some form or another, and to have the close contact, the praise, the hum of Felix’s chest— it made Heath feel so good, and that made him feel awful.

He was supposed to protect Killian, not feed off of him.

The hunter in him was stirring, angry, wanting to kill the filthy bloodsucker that hurt Killian. He swallowed the reaction, his hand opening and closing for a dagger that he didn’t have.

“I hate you,” Heath whispered to himself. Felix’s hand tightened on him. The hand in his hair tightened and dragged his head back into Felix’s shoulder.

“I know, darling boy,” Felix cooed. “But unfortunately I love you. And I’ve missed you like this. That fa��ade at the masquerade was really something, but I missed this version of you. The adorable, self-loathing, human-esque vampire hunter.”

Heath shivered in the ancient’s arms. Felix’s lips went to shell of Heath’s ear, his voice carrying like smooth, velvet chocolate, so sweet and dripping in sin. “This is the Heath I miss. The darling servant boy, the terrified human, and the determined protective hunter. Hmm? You’ll be good for me, won’t you, and you’ll never have to do this again.”

Heath jerked forwards but Felix wrenched him back. “I hate you!” Heath spat, vitriolic.

Felix chuckled, the vibrations echoing in Heath’s back. “I know, and yet… you’ll stay and endure this for as long as you want Killian to breathe.”

Heath swallowed the lump in his throat. Felix’s grip tightened. “Won’t you?” He hissed.

Heath grit his teeth. Felix clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Tell you what, I’ll make Killian forget this exchange.”

“I’m not making another deal with you.”

“Fine,” Felix said, releasing Heath. Heath grabbed Killian the moment he was free and brought him to the cloth, smoking chair by the window. “Let him hate you,” Felix said with a dismissive wave. “See how long you want to protect him then.”

“I forgot how much of a bastard you were,” Heath said, fussing over the human, making sure he was comfortable. His lips turned down into a frown as Killian leaned into the touch, vulnerable to anything Heath would do to him. And that blood was divine…

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Heath. You know that.” Felix said. In a blur he was at the door, leaning one shoulder against it and crossing his arms over his chest. “But fine. Be rude. I’ll still have to re-teach you your manners another time, won’t I?”

Heath shot a withering glare over his shoulder. Felix smiled. “You seriously expect me to address you with a title after this?”

Felix’s lip curled over his fangs pointedly. “Yes. Especially if you want your pet human to continue breathing.”

Heath stared at him for a long, hard moment in a silence filled with friction. The tension left Heath’s shoulders. Felix grinned.

“I’ll leave you to stew on it,” Felix told him. The slightly wide eye of his favourite fledgling was enough of a reward right now. “And when you’re ready, you will come around to my way again.”

Felix turned to walk out the door, leaving the two humans to it, but he paused before he grabbed the handle. “Remember how good life can be here, Heath. And remember how bad I can still make it for you.”

With that Felix was gone, whistling a happy tune somewhere in the house. It echoed eerily against the walls. When Heath finally tore his gaze from the door, turning back to Killian he wished he had taken Felix’s offer of making the human forget.

It would be difficult to explain all of this to him once he awoke from this altered state. Heath sighed, running a hand down his face. His red eyes landed on the decanter of blood, and despite himself, Heath walked towards the table. He poured himself a glass and downed it, shivering at what was to come.

*~*~*~*~*

Tag-list: @mj-or-say10

[dying-crying-pining]

whump tropes in everything i write pt. 2:

• that pause and dizzy sway A does after a fight/ordeal/magic overuse. B grabs a fistful of A’s shirt to steady them

• running a character into the ground: every time they get a second to rest, another fight happens/they’re on the run again/they’re attacked. bonus points if they’re in the same outfit the whole time and it progressively gets bloodier, more stained and ripped—makes that final collapse sooo good

• A is on the verge of completely losing it, shaking hands/frantic pacing, whether that’s bc anxiety/the horrors™️/the plot etc. B is the only person who can ground them. Love a good forced hug that A resists but B’s stronger and it turns into B guiding A to the floor as A melts into them

• A hiding an illness/injury right up until they literally tip over and give B the fright of their life

• a character coughing up blood and still pushing thru

• obligatory homoerotic wound cleaning: A and B both covered in A’s blood. lots of shushing. frantic soothing. very handsy. bonus points if B is inexperienced and freaking the f out while A is delirious & breathlessly trying to comfort them

[melpomenelamusa]

Little whump intro ❤️‍🩹

Hi! I´m Melpómene.

I decided to make a small introduction focused on the whump community. I don't know since when I started liking these genres: Whump, angst, hurt/comfort… Maybe since I was a child. I was very impressed to see my favorite characters go through very hard situations, face them and then have their well-deserved happy ending. That changed my brain chemistry in some way, hahaha. And when I started writing, I decided to do the same with my OCs.

My favorite whump prompts 💜:

Non-human whumpee (vampires, mermaids, fairies, demons, yes yes yes! I love it when the final enemy is humanity itself)

Parental caretakers (I´m soooo weak for found family dynamics)

Used as bait

Kidnapping (Restraints, Bound and Gagged, it´s a total yes)

Magic whump (I love magic! Magical torture, magical fatigue, magical powers that cause pain…)

Fainting, collapsing, unconsciousness

Randsom/Hostage situation

PTSD and trauma recovery

Manipulator whumper

Crying, emotional angst, psychological whump

Anything that ends with a recovery and comfort arc

Whump prompts I don´t like 🚫:

Noncon

I really don´t like anything that is sexual, sorry, it´s my ace sex-repulsed self talking

Major character death (I like happy endings where all the characters I love live happily)

Gore (Dismemberment? Inhumane torture with no chance of recovery? No thanks, not my thing)

Brainwashing (depending on how it's used I can enjoy reading it, but I'm generally not a big fan)

Dehumanization (I like it when, despite everything, whumpers take care of their whumpees, at least giving them ways to satisfy their most basic human needs).

Wow, that's a lot of things! Well, there's probably more, but I can't think of them anymore. For those who made it this far, thanks for reading! Being part of this community will be a very interesting experience ;) I'm excited to read many stories and also write my own! This is my on-going whump story, in case you want to take a look.

See you later! ;)

[sacredwrath]

P7. Hot Stuff

This part was supposed to come like directly after the last part. Planned to post em on the same day. But no, apparently, had to rewrite the whole thing. Better late than never i guess

Torture, burning, graphic burns, nausea, vomit mention, stress position, sexual innuendo, implied sexual sadism, taunting almost kinda entering self harm territory.

Sweat soaks Adrian's body, running across his skin in cooling rivulets. He breathes hard, forcing air in and out of straining lungs.

Each breath fights screams.

It's pointless, of course. Everyone screams. Eventually. But he fights it anyway, knowing all too well the helplessness waiting for him on the other side. Once the fight goes out of him, he'll scream. He’ll scream himself hoarse and then into helpless silence. His body will hang limp and lifeless, like the dead thing it is, able to do nothing but take it.

His tormenter paces, heating the knife to a molten glow before pressing the flat of it into Adrian's ribs again.

The blade sizzles and spits. Blood and fat charing to black ash before the man slowly pulls the blade away.

Adrian is sure he can feel each raw nerve tearing. He writhes against his chains, strangling wails, managing to compress them into a single gurgled whimper. Not quite stoic silence, but as good as he can manage

"Had enough yet?" The man asks

"Why? You getting tired?" It'll never be enough.

The man sets his knife and torch down, turning back to him with a raised brow. He moves to undo the tie on Adrian's sweatpants.

"Ooo" He taunts. "This is new, if you wanted to see me naked, you should've taken me to dinner first."

"I brought you dinner." He gestures to the cans strewn across the floor. "You didn't eat it"

"Hey, that was for you buddy. You want vomit all over you? Torture isn't easy on the digestion ya know." He watches the man stiffen slightly at the comment.

Still feeling guilty? He can't quite identify the emotion.

The man doesn't respond, pulling Adrian's sweatpants off over his feet.

He stops, taking in the scarring here too. Adrian fights the urge to recoil as he runs a thumb over a brutally ugly patch spreading up his thigh.

"Another hero did this?"

"Why does that surprise you? You think your knife won't leave scars?" Again, tension crosses the man's face. Too easy.

"I want it to leave scars" He growls

"Of course you do, so did they." He hesitates, "we get off on shit like this, ya know." He watches the man's face, surprise, disgust, anger, revulsion. He grins.

The man doesn't take the bait, instead grabbing his instruments from the floor and flicking the blowtorch on. Adrian let's his eyes drift closed.

For a fraction of a second the knife feels ice cold against his skin, but then the familiar sickening agony flashes up his leg, eating into him. He groans, fighting off sobs.

His rapid breathing drags in the acrid stench of his own burning. No matter how many times he's smelled it, the scent brings with it a bleak animal terror that turns his mind to panicked mush

When the knife pulls away he manages to contain everything but a whimper, vile, pathetic, disgusting-

Stop

"Another beginners mistake." He blurts, stalling, waiting for his head to clear, he opens his eyes, the man is heating the knife again "burning on top of scar tissue," he continues, "less nerve endings there. Doesn't hurt so bad."

"Well you're not exactly a blank canvas are you?"

Fair enough. He watches the blade turning slowly red "I did this to Jesse you know."

The man freezes, lips compressing to a thin line.

"Not very original. Thought you said something about ten times worse? You'll have to step up your game, 'm not even winded."

"Stop saying their name." The man's voice is hard and unamused

"Why?"

"Because I'm the one with the knife."

The metal presses against Adrian's knee and he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut.

The man drags the blade across his kneecap and down the front of his shin, leaving seared fleah and pain. He growls, long and low in his throat, he can't keep this up much longer

He doesn't open his eyes, focusing on breathing. He can't watch it coming. Each burn sends waves of fever radiating through him with sick, dizzying intensity. Even his sweat feels hot

The next burn explodes against the side of his knee. Blade digging its point deep into muscle, scraping against bone. His traitorous body finally shrieks, shattering his focus. Threads of panic race up his spine, a spider web of cracks in his control.

The blade twists away viciously, widening the cracks. He tastes the all too familiar ice seeping seeping through, grazing against him.

He waits for his breathing to steady enough to speak, patching over the cracks with random words, "It's these in between parts that's the worst... The anticipation, the fear. Can you feel it?" He opens his eyes, wanting to see the man's reaction. "Can you feel my fear?"

The man is watching him, face contorted in disgust. "I can" he snears, "I love it."

"I bet." Adrian means it as a taunt, but it comes out heavy with resignation

He burns the other knee worse even than the first. Adrian loses track of himself, screaming until he remembers he's trying to stay quiet. The cracks widen and he can taste cold, unreasoning panic waiting patiently on the other side. He fights it.

A long time passes, too long Adrian opens his eyes. The other man is standing back, watching him. He looks almost concerned. Pathetic, disgusting- he needs to kill this man, hurt him-

He licks his lips, "What's wrong baby? Where'd you go? I can last longer than that." He smirks, "come on back, finish me off."

The man's eyebrows shoot up, soothing him. He claws at the sense of control.

"To be honest, your inexperience is adorable. Don't let my screaming stop you we're just gettin to the good part."

"Who said anything about stopping?" The man scans him up and down “you said you did this to Jesse right?

"Ask them to show you their feet sometime." He winks.

"Their feet." The man repeats softly. It makes Adrian's lip curl back

"I made them walk on it." He snears "If they couldn't make it across the cell they'd get another. I kept going till they couldn't get up no matter how many times I-"

Not bothering with the knife the man storms across the cell igniting the torch. He holds it to Adrians knee and he starts screaming.

He loses track of himself again, the cold edges of panic bringing with it memories. Different burning, different pain entirely.

There are hands on him, he can't remember who's.

Something cold and flat pressed against his face, against his whole body, it feels good against the burning. Cold.

Ice.

But then the pain fluxes, twisting with new life

He remembers he can open his eyes,

There's polished wooden planks beneath his hands, dirty cement, white tile, clean cement. He flexes his fingers. Jesse, he's in Jesse's cell, no, Jesse's basement, relief floods him.

"Come on, up you get" and there's an arm around his waist, guiding him to kneel. He wants to cry out at the increased pressure, but bites his tongue.

The man reaches for his cuffed hands and Adrian offers them on instinct. The man raises them over his head then pulls him up so all his weight is resting on his burned knees.

"Fucking shit hell!" Adrian hollers, trying to pull his leg forward to get to his feet. It jerks against something solid. He looks over his shoulder, seeing his feet chained to one of the basement support beams. He groans in understanding.

"How's that for creative?"

Adrian tries not to cry, hoping his painful grimace looks like a defiant grin.

"Nicely done..."

"Wait, not yet. Who said I was done?" He shakes a bag in front of Adrian's face who only barely manages to suppress a sob.

"Thought you'd know what this is." He takes a pinch of the stuff and pops it in his mouth.

"Salt. Rock Salt to be specific. I thought table salt would be too... amature for you."

He dumps some on the floor at Adrian's knees and he closes his eyes to ward off tears.

The man's hand slides beneath his knee and lifts it off the ground, spreading the salt beneath. He lowers it slowly, almost gently and Adrian bites his tongue. The sharp pebbles cut into his open wounds as if kneeling on fresh burns wasn't bad enough. The man repeats the process with his other knee, hands too cautious, too gentle for this work Adrian tastes blood in his mouth.

"Good of you to help me with that." He spits blood. "I would've made them do it themselves."

He can't keep tears from welling in his eyes, so he squeezes them shut. He's been through worse, he reminds himself, but the thought does nothing to numb the pain.

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Tag list: @whumpacabra @turn-the-tables-on-them @kiichu @whatwhump

[dr-abitat-blog]

Day 1: "If you cry we'll go easy on you."

T/W: Minor whumpee, medical whump, begging, crying

A/N: They do get longer after Day 1 and 2, but for now, a little flavour of the type of fun in store for the rest of the month~

“Let me go! Let me GO!” 

“Quit it, control! We haven’t even gotten you to your room yet.”

Despite my furious fight, they soon manage to drag me inside,  kicking and thrashing into the tiny cell. I struggle with every ounce of limited energy that I possess. My nails tear and scratch like a feral stray. I all but scream my lungs out in protest as they haul me over to the bed. The straps are already open and waiting — waiting for me.

"No — nngh  — get off!”

“What’s the matter, subject? You scared?”

A chorus of amused laughs ripple across the room.

“Heh. If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.” I thrash my head in protest.

You won’t see me cry.

"Whatever. Strap him down already."

Those callous words do nothing to ease my fear. 

“N-no! Stop — NO!” Shrieking, I aim another frantic kick in the direction of the guard. He barely even flinches. I've gotten that weak now. That fact is only emphasised as multiple hands converge on me. They force my limbs down roughly against the mattress, holding me in place as they cinch the cold leather straps tightly around my limbs. I twist and pull vainly, yelling out of pure desperation to avoid what's to come, but it's no use.

Y-you're pathetic, Krissy — just a pathetic useless control!

The buckles bite into my exposed skin. I'm amazed the tightness doesn't cut off my circulation as my wrists are secured. My ankles quickly follow, then my waist and lastly, my chest. I'm fighting the tears as best as I can, but they soon come crawling free anyway. Every tug and struggle is useless.

"Aw, look at those tears. I think we made him cry."

His sneer makes me want to throw up. More tears sting at my eyes.

"Looks like it. Get him prepped for his treatment."

Oh God no — NO!

I wail hoarsely. More hands arrive, grabbing at my arms, stabbing sharp tipped needles into my veins. I cough, trembling against the bed. Whether it's the fever or my current fear, the end result will be the same.

"There we go — peripheral lines in place. He also requested a catheter and a feeding tube."

A cathet—WHAT?!

I shake my head frantically, writhing in terror.

"N-no, stop it! STOP IT!"

My captors completely ignore me.

"Coming right up. The E-572 Globulin infusion is also being transported from the lab as we speak. It should be here in about ten minutes. I'm amazed we actually found some to spare."

"Well, once we get the sanitatems back, I'm sure we'll be well-stocked again."

N-no — Ash, Al—!

I can't help but think about them even now. 

Are they alright? Will they come here? Will they...t-try to save me?

The thought causes more tears to start crawling down my cheeks. Finally, I'm properly starting to cry. Weak sniffles escape my cracked lips. My eyes stare pleadingly back at the guards, begging for a shred of mercy, to remember their earlier 'promise'.

"Equipment’s all ready."

They approach me with blurred haunting tubes, sneering at my horrified expression. "Give me a hand with the insertion."

All I can do is sob.  I may be crying now — but they have no intention of going easy on me...

[geode-crystal]

“Don’t you hurt a single hair on his/her/their head.” for the prince and knight duo ❤️

-- @whumperofworlds

Hello friend! Thank you for the ask!! You get a fun little whumpy drabble lol

______________

“Don’t you touch him,” Darius snarled. “If you hurt a single hair on his head…”

He stood in front of Mianu, sword raised, using his entire body to shield Mianu’s form. Mianu was huddled as far into the corner of the tiny, dismal room as he could possibly go. He was curled in on himself, clutching at the wound in his side, his other arm lying limp on the ground. His own magic betrayed him, shadows pulsing around his bad arm. His breathing was ragged. Shallow. His face was pale. And Darius didn’t want to think about all the other injuries he had sustained.

All that damage, all because Darius hadn’t been fast enough.

But he was here now. And he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Mianu again.

The enemy soldier sneered. Their own sword was held casually at their side, tip down, practically touching the cold stone floor. An easy threat… and a sign that they were far from intimidated.

“A little late for that, don’t you think?” they drawled.

Darius bristled with fury. His own sword leveled out, pointing right at his adversary’s heart.

“Walk away,” he hissed. “Right now. Or I will ensure that everything you did to him will be unleashed on you. Tenfold.”  

The enemy only smirked. “Cute. But let’s try this: you stand aside, and allow our dear young prince to follow orders. Or I could run you through, toss you aside, and make him follow orders.”

Mianu winced. A soft cry, a pitiful hiss, passed his lips. Darius had never felt such hatred.

“Over my dead body,” Darius snarled.

The soldier laughed. “Alright. I’m flexible.”

And their sword flashed as they lunged right for Darius. Darius was only too eager to meet the challenge. Whatever happened to him didn’t matter. As long as it meant Mianu got out without any further harm.

It was his duty as a knight. And his honor as Mianu’s love.