#women whump

[spirit-whump]

The whump fandom usually prioritizes male characters, so tell me in the tags your favourite female characters to whump! OCs or canon characters, whumpees or whumpers - name some women.

[womenwhump]

Yona of the Dawn

[whumperofworlds]

Give meeeeeee

Ladies in distress. Bound and gagged. Tortured. Hurt in general.

Ladies being whumped FTW!

Reblog if you have ladies being whumped! 👀

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

i know the whump community hates women characters or whatever but the lesbian in me is dying for bloody femininity please

let them have thicc thighs and bazoinkas and wear dresses with the hem ripped to shreds so they can run faster. have them sprint in heels. have them use their stilettos as weapons when they jam it into a person's eye. girls kissing girls. beautifully manicured nails chipped and broken away or idly tracing the length of a blade. fishnets and stockings with runs gouged in them. low cut blouses that leave their collarbones exposed to be traced with the tip of a weapon. tight dresses that hug every curve to distract wandering eyes while they spike a drink. girls kissing girls. long silky hair to be wrapped around a hand and pulled. messy curls. a sultry villainess or a vixen in distress. smeared lipstick and mascara running down their cheeks. jewelry ripped from their necks and earrings torn from their lobes. clawing their way out of the carnage to emerge victorious, drenched in blood, beautiful in their madness. being upset that their hair was forcibly cut or their favorite bra was snapped or missing their skincare routine. girls kissing girls. feeling icky when they've been stripped of their womanhood. being empowered when they reclaim what's rightfully theirs through any means necessary. using their sweet face and lilting voice to draw a false sense of security in their victims. feminine rage and revenge. being underestimated because what could such a pretty little thing like her do? girls kissing girls. ultra femme cottagecore babe drenched in red. black leather dommy mommy being the gentlest caretaker. sisterhood. to be kind and nurturing or cold and cruel. did i mention the girls kissing girls.

[where-is-my-whump]

Lost in Fuseta 1x01/02 Part 1 Part 2

Added the video for the sounds from the whumpee😫😩🤤😌😏☺️

[wren-l-winter]

“What did I tell you?”

Whumpee panted, choking back tears as the cool air caressed her bare, throbbing ass. “Please,” she whispered.

Whumper grabbed a handful of hair, wrenching it back at an unnatural angle. “What did I say?”

“If-if I flinch,” she gasped, “we start over.”

“That’s right.” Whumper dropped her head. “You’re making my arm tired with all this nonsense.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be. Now stay fucking still.”

[little-peril-stories]

Women in Whump

Hello! If you like whump stories featuring women characters (in any role/character), feel free to browse the list of works below. It's a spreadsheet with links to author and stories with prominent women character in their whump!

Here's the link to the spreadsheet!

It's editable, so you if you know a great example of some 'women in whump stories,' or you wrote on yourself, please feel free to add it! ✨

It doesn't have to be just lady whumpees, FYI. Whumpers, caretakers, what have you. All are welcome. :)

[sunnynwanda]

Hello! I Absolutely ADORE your writing. Could you please write on my idea if you like it? Just your everyday hero and villain, and their relationship.

They both used to fight nail and tooth, ready to murder eachother, well versed in what would maim their so called enemy. Then would also take the other in their arms as gently as possible and heal them anytime they're hurt, physically or mentally.

Until villain dissapears. When the hero finds them painstakingly after months, they're in their weakest state, just living by on medecine they're about to run out and vitamins instead of food

Turns out, supervillain was going to attack and maim the hero as part of their plan, but the villain stopped them, and willingly took the attack for their darling hero.

Villain has a new complex now "I cant feel pain or hunger anymore" they say as they walk on broken glass in front of their hero, who wishes for nothing else but to hold them against their chest and not let go until They get their lover back

Dream

Warnings: injuries, medication use, self-isolation, mentions of death, angst with happy ending?

It's been months since Villain has seen the light of day. They couldn't leave the house because there were too many stairs on the porch - six, to be precise. After trying for a month and not getting past the third without collapsing, they gave up on the idea. They couldn't open the curtains because sunlight hurt them, burning their retina with a pain they never imagined could come from something they loved so much.

They couldn't walk around the house either. It would usually take three breaks to get to the kitchen and pour water into a glass to take a handful of painkillers and vitamins - the only thing keeping them alive. Both their forearms were covered in punctures from the catheters they used to get IV fluids. Their medical skills had kept both them and Hero alive more than on one occasion, but now it was their lifeline.

At first, they retained hope that it would get better. One day, they could walk to the kitchen without breaks. One day, they'd be able to lift a hand high enough to reach the top cabinets and the duvet on their bed wouldn't feel as heavy. One day, they would walk out of the house.

One day.

They gave up on the thought, the dream, five months into their miserable existence. They had tried to cut their hair that day, but the scissors were stuck with rust. Or so they told themself. Villain threw them out of the bathroom and broke the window on the door. They've been walking on shattered glass ever since, too weak to pick it up.

Villain spent most days on the armchair near the fireplace. They couldn't light it, but the spot was optimal to minimise the distance to the kitchen, bathroom and their bed. Not that they slept much, their mind being too busy to rest - yet too tired to think clearly. That was the worst part of Villain's new reality. Their mind was as sound and sharp as ever, but their body had failed them.

They thought of Hero when it got especially rough. The most unbearable moments would become tolerable when they replayed their memories. Hero always said they had a vivid imagination, and for that, Villain was grateful. They could almost hear Hero's laugh ringing in their ears; could almost see the dimple on their cheeks when they grinned brightly. They could still remember every speck around Hero's irises, every freckle on their nose, every... everything.

They could remember everything about Hero. The way their arms would wrap around Villain when they were injured or feeling down because nothing seemed to work out. The way their body felt in Villain's arms. The way their voice shook violently that one time Villain hid a wound and ended up on their deathbed.

If they tried hard enough, they could almost feel Hero's hands brushing their hair away from their face, their touch feather-light and so so gentle. Sometimes, they would lie face down on their pillows, pretending it was Hero's chest. Their frenzied mind would delude them into thinking they could feel Hero's heartbeat under their ear, and that was enough. It was enough to know that Hero was smiling, laughing, breathing. That Hero was alive.

Alive.

That word alone was worth any and every way Villain's body was broken and maimed. Every second of aching and despair was worth it because Hero was their greatest pain. Their greatest weakness. Their everything.

It wasn't much of a choice. The moment Villain saw the ray gun in Supervillain's hands, aimed at Hero - their Hero - they knew what they had to do. Hero couldn't even see them, busy fighting off a distraction set up by Supervillain. Villain didn't have time to think, though there was no need for that either. In a matter of seconds, they were in front of Supervillain, the gun barrel pressed to the middle of their chest and their knife sinking into Supervillain's heart. Another instance that had them thankful for their medical background. Supervillain fired, the heat ray sinking into Villain's chest and spreading all over their being, crushing every bone, constricting every muscle. Villain didn't care. It was the last thing Supervillain would do, and that was what mattered to them. Hero was safe.

They held on pure adrenaline for another thirty minutes - enough to get into their car and get to the one location Hero didn't know about. The house they bought with one purpose in mind - retiring from their respective jobs and simply living. Deep in the woods, away from the personas they had adopted for god knows what reasons. Villain couldn't remember anymore.

But the house meant for happiness became their prison. The cage that kept the broken creature after the circus left. They regretted it in moments of weakness. Not their sacrifice. God no. They would never regret saving Hero.

They regretted disappearing. Remorse was eating them alive every time they heard on the news that Hero was searching for them. They would repent at night, begging for forgiveness, but come morning, one look in the mirror would solidify their determination to stay behind. Villain knew Hero would never abandon them. But that was what scared them the most. Being a responsibility. Being a burden. Being Hero's cross to bear.

During moments like that, death didn't seem such a bad option. Quite frankly, Villain had no idea why they insisted on living. It shouldn't have been so hard in their current state. But a stupid, defiant part of them still held out hope. Or maybe they were too much of a coward to do it by their own arms.

When the door creaks open, Villain can't even be bothered to get up from their seat. Instead, they turn their head, patiently waiting for whoever had discovered them to come and end their suffering once and for all. When Hero appears in the doorway, walking carefully to avoid any potential booby traps, Villain jumps up from their seat. They don't even know where they got the strength from.

No, no, no, no, no.

It's the only thought going through their mind, feverish with denial and hope. Excruciating, shattering hope that's ripping their lungs apart, making them choke on their own blood, bringing them to their knees before they can even process that they are collapsing. Hero is next to them in seconds, cradling their head with anguished desperation.

"Baby..." They whisper hoarsely, tears streaming down their face, but Villain pushes them away, scrambling to their feet. Hero rushes after them, catching them in time when their knees buckle under them. "Wait, hold on!"

"NO!" Villain doesn't recognise their own voice, panic filling their eyes when Hero's strong arms wrap around their frail body. Hero shudders at the feel of Villain's small form under their touch. "No..."

"Villain, stop!" Hero snaps, watching in horror when their bare feet step on broken glass. It's already covered in dry blood, and Hero can only guess how long they've been taking this path, tearing the skin of their feet apart.

Villain shakes their head, determination colouring their features again. "Kill me. I can't feel pain," Villain pleads, their voice sounding bone-weary, "or hunger, or thirst, or... Please, just end me. I can't... I can't feel anything anymore."

Hero doesn't respond, picking them up in a smooth movement and holding them against their painfully heaving chest. "Shh, I've got you." They press their forehead to Villain's, speaking in a low, soothing voice. "I've got you, baby."

They carry Villain back into the living room, lowering themself on the couch, keeping Villain cradled in their lap as they cup Villain's jaw, pressing desperate, tearful kisses all over their face. "I've found you, baby. I'm not letting go of you ever again."

When soft sobs start raking through Villain's tiny body, Hero hugs them closer to their chest, burying their face in Villain's overgrown hair and kissing their head, temples and face until Villain falls asleep in their arms. Only then does Hero pick them up again, carrying them to the car and driving to the city at an ungodly speed to get to a hospital.

Villain doesn't wake up until hours later, when the doctors have taken care of their injuries and reassured Hero that recovery - albeit a slow one - was achievable. When Villain peels their eyes open, it takes them a moment to adjust to the sunlight shining through the open window.

Hero notices Villain stirring immediately, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, still not letting go of their hand. They bring it to their mouth, pressing a tender kiss to their lover's knuckles. "I'm here, baby."

Villain cannot find it in them to respond. They close their eyes, letting out a soft exhale of relief, unable to process that Hero was not another one of their delusions. This was real.

That "One day" they'd been waiting for.

The dream.

A/N: Hi, darling! Took me long enough, I know :') Thank you for this idea and for reading my stories! <3 It took me some time to wrap my head around this idea, it had been simmering in the back of my mind for some time now and I'm glad to have it out for all of you. I hope you enjoy reading this, even though I might have deviated a bit. Love, Sunny xo

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444

[women-in-writing]

Women in Whump: Superpower Edition 1

- Teen sidekick forced to do her hero's grunt work, i.e. mending costumes, fixing the car, investigating the sewers etc.

- Woman picking gravel from her thighs after a fight because her costume is too revealing.

- Woman with healing/ regenerative powers being the teams go-to sparring partner because they know they don't need to go easy on her.

- Supervillain who's betrayed by her compatriots, left bleeding out as her doomsday device is stolen.

- Young girl chased out of town by a religious mob when her powers manifest in a church.

- Woman with powers who's abducted by the US government so they can experiment on her.

- Abused woman who's powers flare-up, killing her abuser and forever branding her a murderess and villain.

- Black superhero who's still harassed and accosted by police even in her costume, even when saving people.

- Teen girl desperately trying to hide her powers has a flare-up at school that destroys an entire building, prompting the government to lock her away to keep civilians safe.

Non-con under the cut!!

- Woman who's prisoner of someone with mind control powers who's forced into sex.

- Villainess who's gang-raped by the Hero team as part of her 'rehabilitation'.

- Only woman on superhero team who's raped after every mission as a way of celebration or letting off steam for the others.

- Woman with past sexual trauma who's still forced to wear a skimpy costume as a hero.

- Supervillain who's betrayed and assaulted by her henchmen. When they're finished the heroes arrest and handcuff her before she's even given clothes.

[paingoes]

Cuckoo Egg

@echo-goes-aaa: Speaking of uniforms Slave whumpee belongs to a general in the army. As a punishment for being "disrespectful and ungrateful" the general puts him in uniform and sends him out "on mission" to "see what I do for you" Whumpee gets captured by the enemy, and it's only after an interrogation that the enemy realizes something is very very wrong with this soldier...

@sowhumpshaped: sucks to suck! saying this to both whumpee and the enemy. idiots lol also there goes a perfectly good general uniform, ugh. whumper's never getting that back

inspired by this post. i really couldn’t get over how much i loved this prompt, i wrote something out last night! it ran a little long so this is part one of two. i’ll upload the next section soon.

(Content: verbal abuse, implied physical abuse, institutionalized slavery, military content, minor character death, fear, begging, lot of crying, blood)

========================

“I didn’t mean it like-,” The sharp look his master gives him cuts off his speech. Cillian shrinks back in on himself, tucking his chin into his chest protectively.

“Did you iron the flag as I instructed you to? Yes or no?”

“No, sir.” Cillian says through gritted teeth.

“Did you take care to make sure the emblems on the uniforms were in their proper state? Yes or no?”

“No, sir.”

“When you disrespect the symbols of our nation, do you disrespect those who have given their lives so that you may live? Yes or no?”

“No, sir,” Cillian answers automatically. His eyes widen.

“No?” The general asks, danger in his voice.

“Yes, sir.” Cillian corrects himself.

“That’s right. And when I asked you why you had neglected your duties like that, did you accept your failure and apologize? Or did you talk back to me and disrespect me further?” The general stares at him, as if challenging him to argue more.

“I talked back, sir.” Cillian lowers his head in apology. 

The general taps the riding crop against his own leg. Cillian flinches, but it does not strike him immediately. The general bounces it idly, as if caught in deep contemplation. Cillian waits, barely breathing.

“I don’t think you appreciate the sacrifices we make every day for you. You’ve been sheltered all your life. If you spent a day out in that heat, you’d shrivel up. Where is your gratitude, son? Don’t you have any respect?”

Cillian looks down. It’s not a question he’s meant to respond to. He can recognize when he’s being scolded. The general’s voice booms throughout the small space. Small, stinging tears begin to form at the boy’s eyes. The general gives him a disgusted look.

“Maybe you would benefit from a day in the field. Would it stop you from crying your eyes out everytime you get disciplined?”

It is decided for him that quickly. He’s sent immediately to bed, knowing well he’s expected to rise early the following morning. He blinks and the sun is up. 

The general dresses him personally. He is particular about the details. Cillian only catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He has seen the soldiers brought into the manor. They have been large, strapping. Their muscles bulged out from beneath their uniforms, the fabric well-worn and natural looking. On Cillian, the effect is clownish. It hangs off him loosely. His sleeves and pant legs both have to be rolled up and pinned.

His master guides him forward, his hand clamped tightly over Cillian’s shoulder. For better or worse, the encampment is not set up far from their current lodging. Cillian is dropped off without fanfare, rolling out onto the hot sand of the desert.

He falls in line. One of the officers was made to expect him. She retrieves him quickly from the entryway, shuffling him in amongst the other soldiers. He’s noticeably shorter than most of them, just barely meeting the height requirements for enlistment. 

It was only meant to be a day trip. At the same time, she understands the exercise is punitive. She puts him onto one of the offroaders set to leave that morning. It pushes off into the hottest parts of the desert, well past where the gore begins but where it’s unlikely to see any action. There is not much that is required of him. She does not care enough about making a point to endanger her own mission. All he has to do is keep watch. He is not — under any circumstances — to be given a gun.

Cillian shifts uncomfortably in the seat. The leather burns him even through the uniform. The other soldiers there are content to ignore him. He gazes out into the horizon, his eyes catching on the painted rocks that jut out from the sand. The craters in the ground become more and more frequent the further they go. The offroader shakes in protest as it hits another one.

“Whoops,” the driver lets out a laugh, pulling over before the whole thing topples. They’re close enough, anyway. The soldiers pour out. Cillian climbs to the top of the vehicle. The sun beats down on him immediately. His neck quickly burns up. The dark brown of his hair captures the heat. It makes him feel feverish. 

The pack takes off further into the desert and in between the painted rocks. They carry their devices with them; gunpowder, thick coils of wire, shovels. It’s not demolition day today, but it will be when the insurgents next arrive on the scene.

You can imagine their shock when they are already waiting for them. 

They’re dressed in slick black despite the desert heat. Their bikes are tucked safely into the shade of the rocks. Almost thirty of them are pressed against the rock face, all of them armed. Outnumbered two to one, there is no fight.

Cillian isn’t fast enough. Of course he’s not fast enough. He falls quick and hard when they catch him, his hands bound up with zipties before he can even see the face of the man doing it. He does catch a glimpse of the soldiers fleeing. Most die before they reach the threshold. The bag is pulled securely over his head and the last thing he sees is the blood boiling in the sand.

===================

There’s a hand against his face. 

“The fuck? Did you waterboard him or something?” A voice says, feeling the dampness of the fabric.

“No. Crying, probably.”

“That’s hysterical,” The voice says flatly. 

Cillian thrashes as his wrists are yanked back. The knife nicks him. Its wielder curses. The ziptie breaks abruptly, but his hands are pulled in front of him just as quickly. He whimpers as the cold steel bites into his wrists, pinning both his hands to the surface. The hands depart and the door slams shut. It is dark and silent and cold.

He has no way of knowing how much time has passed, but the bag is abruptly yanked from his head. Even the dim light of the room is shocking to him after the hours spent in darkness. He winces. Tear tracks stain his face. His eyes adjust enough to just make out the features of the woman standing in front of him.

Black eyes. Black hair. It falls off her shoulders in sharp edges. Strangely pale skin. Her eyes don’t blink. Her blank expression does not change. She leans against the table, only inches from his face.

“I swear they get younger every year,” She mutters to herself.

“Please let me go,” He sobs. “Please, please.”

It’s like she doesn’t even hear him. Cillian gets the overwhelming urge to hide himself. Her stare seems to go right though him, so much he begins to think she isn’t here for him after all. He’s just in her sightline by mistake. Stupidly, he glances behind him. It’s a blank wall. When he looks back, her expression hasn’t changed. She still hasn’t moved an inch.

She tilts her head as if it’s about to roll off her shoulders.

“What’s your name?” Her affect is flat and cold.

“C-Cillian,” he sniffles.

“Sicilian?” 

“My name is Cillian,” he takes a shaky breath.

“Hello, Cillian. My name is Nicolette.”

Her slowness is agonizing. The silence hangs in the air, interrupted only by Cillian’s little gasps for air. 

“Please let me go,” he repeats, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please.”

It seems like the silence will go on forever. He startles a bit when she is first to break it.

“Cillian, why did you try to bomb us?” She asks.

How could he possibly answer? He panics at the question.

“I didn’t- I’m not-. I’m not with them,” he manages, cut off by his own sobs. 

“Cillian?”

He glances up.

“I don’t like liars.”

She withdraws from the table. Her hand disappears behind her back, appearing just as quickly. She places the dagger gently down on the table. She fixes him with a final look before she withdraws from the room. The door slams shut again. His frightened sobs are still audible even down the hall.

=================

She’s perched above him on the table, rolling the knife between her fingers. She rests her head in her other hand, her eyes narrowed. Cillian sobs, trying to put as much distance between the two of them as he can. The cuffs make it impossible. She’s practically sitting on his hands. 

“Cillian.”

He regrets having given her his name. He flinches at the sound of it.

“Are you going to be good?”

It’s a familiar question. His mouth answers before his brain can catch up.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, I kinda like that,” she says, as if she’s surprised too. He blushes. She doesn’t notice. His face is already flush from crying nonstop. He jumps in alarm as her hand suddenly presses up against his chest.

“No,” he mutters in protest.

She flattens out the insignia on his breast pocket. “E5, sergeant? That’s not bad.”

“It’s just a uniform,” he whines in protest, about to break down again.

“Cillian,” she says in warning, “Enough games. You know what I want.”

“No I don’t!” He protests, “I’m not enlisted, I’m not-“

She cuts him off with a sharp slap. Again, his reaction is involuntary. He curls in on himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly. 

Nicolette withdraws her hand, placing it back in her lap.

“They’re carving out supply tracks along the Eastern Stretch. Why? What’s the target?” 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, absolute misery entering his voice, “I don’t know. I’m not part of it.”

A brief look of frustration crosses her face. He almost misses it. He’s been so trained to anticipate that twinge of annoyance, he reflexively flinches.

Nicolette stops twirling the knife. His breath catches. It’s poised at such an angle that it’d be very easy to just stab him in the chest and end this whole thing. She moves the tip down by his fingers instead. It doesn’t touch, not yet.

“I don’t know,” he curls his hands up into fists, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, ma’am. I don’t know. Please. Please.”

“You seem like such a nice kid. Why are you making this so hard on yourself?”

“I’m not trying to,” he sniffles, “I’m sorry. I’m annoying you, I know. I’m not trying to.”

“You aren’t annoying me,” Nicolette says. She does not elaborate.

The tears start back up. He doesn’t speak again. Nicolette twirls the knife on the table, its tip making a small dent in the surface.

“You know, in the old days of the war, your men would cut the noses and ears off of ours. When they’d come back to village, we could barely recognize them. They didn’t die from it. Neither did we. They only meant to terrify us. It’s the fear that gets you. It’s always the fear.”

Cillian twists his neck, wiping his face on his shoulder. He shivers.

“I’m sorry,” He says.

“Me too.” She stops twirling the knife, holding it firmly within her fist.

“I’m sorry,” he yelps, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, god, please. Please, I don’t know. If I did I would tell you. Please, please, don’t.”

He jumps back in the seat, his wrists still fastened firmly to the table. Her silence draw on. She doesn’t move. He keeps talking.

“I don’t know, I’m not lying, I promise, I don’t know. Please don’t. I wasn’t even supposed to be here today. I’m not one of them. It’s a mistake.”

“Some mistake,” she says, but she still doesn’t move. His crying is too out of control for him to speak further.

“Do you need more time to think about it?” She asks patiently. 

“No,” he insists, “I don’t know.”

She drives the knife clear through his palm.

(continued here)

[lovelizards]

"Well well, if it isn't the beggar baron's little flower..."

Lord Daniel's body pressed against her back, pinning her against the wall and leaning so close to the shell of her ear that she could feel his breath.

His hand brushed against her arm, cajoling her, and though his voice was honey sweet she knew better than to trust any man who came by her father's invitation.

"Good afternoon, my lord," she murmured, every inch of her going ice cold and dead, like something left by the tide on a rocky shore.

"Lady Iris, you look absolutely ravishing today. If I had more time, I would have asked for the honour of taking a walk through your lush gardens."

She felt him press in further, and braced her hands against the wall to steady herself, her head bowed, and vacant eyes on the floor.

"What a shame," she said, "I am also terribly busy. Perhaps another time."

"A shame indeed..."

The son of the Count who lorded over their territory, a rampant deviant, a rake, with a sharp and unpredictable temper. Why did her father have to borrow so much money from him? What was she supposed to do against such a powerful -

"Hey shithead-!"

Lord Daniel made a choking sound in anger, and his looming shadow moved away - finally allowing her to breathe. Iris recognized the voice very well, and glanced down the hall to see her rescuer stomping towards them.

Mabel - the daughter of her father's falconer, and a close friend since childhood. Her fiery hair was wild around a pale face smudged with dirt and entirely covered in freckles, like a starry night sky.

"Wh - what the devil did you just -?!" Lord Daniel could barely get the words out, before Mabel pushed herself in between him and Iris, puffing herself up - despite only reaching to his shoulders - and putting her fists on her hips.

"What are you doing here again?!" She shouted, her voice echoing through the halls and drawing the attention of some servant on the far end, "How many times do I need to tell you fuck off?!"

"You dirty little brat, how dare you speak to me like -!"

"Don't you take your anger out on me! It's not my fault the gods gave you the curse of incompetence and blond hair!"

Lord Daniel's face was mottled with heated embarrassment. The sound of stifled laughter came whispering down the hall. With an exhale of outrage - the feathers in his cap drooping into his face - he furiously turned from the two and rushed out of the annex.

Once he was gone, Mabel turned to Iris, her anger melting into worry; "My Lady - why do you let that bastard near you? You only need to scream once, and the guards would -"

"But my father owes him so much money..." Iris interjected. It was an argument they often had, "I can't afford to send him away myself, what if...what if father decides..."

"That would never happen!" Mabel insisted, taking her hands up and holding them tightly, "I would never let you be traded to pay any debt. Didn't you already say you'd marry me one day?"

Iris gave her a weary smile.

She remembered that day well, when the two of them were no more than seven and eight years old. Hiding from Iris' tutors in the rose bushes, the thorns tearing up their clothes.

"And didn't I already tell you that you're no more beholden to a child's whims than I am?"

Mabel huffed a sigh, but Iris could tell she wasn't really annoyed, because her ears always flushed pink when she was happy.

"Come on, then. Let's go visit Lady Ribbons, she'll cheer you up."

Mabel took her hand, and started leading her down the hall.

"That's so embarrassing! Please stop calling her that!"

'Lady Ribbons' was what Iris had named her silver falcon when she was a child, but as an adult she called the bird Rimona. Mabel would never let her forget it, though.

Sometimes Iris wondered if her friend was stuck in the past, somewhere far away, in her own little world. It seemed like such a nice place, a past full of the smell of flowers and feeling of warm sun on her face.

"It's a cute name! Just like you! Come on!"

"Alright, alright, I'm coming."

『 Next 』

[womenwhump]

Yona of the Dawn

[cherryinterlude]

Owen Teague as Harold Lauder in The Stand (2020)

[pinkrosealice]

Jason Todd AND Bucky Barnes?!?! Trending at the same time?!!!

Oh you know the girlies are going through it.............

[citrine-elephant]

thinking about poor leon getting the "fuck your legs" treatment from krauser, but he just cuts the tendons in his knees so he can't run

too much trouble, that pretty boy. krauser knows his tricks, and leon's very very slippery. a shame he's gotta do it...

[cepheusgalaxy]

CAHAM since it's lesbian day i feel like we need a good ol lesbian prompt:

Power imbalance whump where Whumper is the boss of a team and Whumpee is one of her top agents. But she only acts in her own interests, so stubborn and defiant, until... well, let's say Whumper has a way to be pretty convincing, and the rest of the team is quite impressed. Whumpee has never been that obedient! I mean, not exactly obedient, but she will get in line as soon as Whumper enters the room. Bonus points for one sided romance or dubcon!

Now, moving onto something a little healthier, Whumpee who is a living weapon. Classic; she hadn't ever known affection or care, until she is rescued or perhaps even captured, until Caretaker is put in the picture. Caretaker, the first woman, the first person, that's ever shown her an ounce of kindness, and oh, she doesn't know if she can even love or care for someone like that, but if it's for Caretaker, she'll give her heart and life if needed. All of her. (Perhaps not that healthy, tho.)

Or perhaps, moving on to other territorry, multiple whumpees scenario where Whumpee A and B are in a terrible situation, but A protects B at all costs: No, don't torture her, choose me. I don't need the food, give it to her. You can take my limbs, just please don't touch her. Not her. Me. And what can B do, if not watch? Maybe they were lovers, maybe she and A already knew each other but didn't notice each other's feelings until... well. Until A put her whole self on the fire just so B could be safe. Maybe they didn't even knew each other. Maybe A is just like that, maybe A felt like she needed to protect the other whumpee as soon as they met, maybe A wants to repay a favor (that B doesn't even remember, in true Heaven's Official's Blessing fashion), maybe B is valuable in some way (a rare species? a promising magician? someone A was put in charge to protect?) and A feels like she's not even close to be as worth her. She's less. She can take it. As long as it means keeping B safe.

(And maybe, as a bonus, torture B in front of A? Just to see her despair? As she feels that she failed? As she screams and shivers on the floor and her eyes fill with tears, and her ears, with static, pulling helplessly at her constraints, or fighting the inability to help with all those previous injuries she fought so hard to get?)

And lastly, to close it and wrap it up as a gift, multiple whumpers. That's not someting I see a lot, but it is pretty interesting. Whumper A and B who are a couple. Each one of them has a preferred torture method, or maybe one of them is batshit sadistic and the other just sighs and helps her. Oh, what one doesn't do in the name of love! Maybe they are partners in business, and one provides all the other needs for her deeds. Maybe each of them has their own whumpees—perhaps in a setting of BBU? Maybe Whumper B is even a loyal knight to A, her living weapon and torturer, and B doesn't even regret it. A is her mistress, her everything. She doesn't really care about the others. A treats her well, A's saved her. And really, what is a bit more of blood in her hands to see her shining smile? And well—she thinks while A pets her hair after her hands are washed in fancy soap in a fancy bathub above the dungeons where their latest work lays, screaming hoarse—it's not like she can't enjoy the ordeal a bit too, right?