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i feel like getting shot would feel so interesting for two seconds and then it would probably feel bad

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How it feels to find a fanfic where your favorite character is going through literally the worst horrors you can imagine

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many will tell you that the dog motif is passé and cliché and overdone . don't listen to them. keep chaining that fictional man to a fence

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Spellcasters hate this fact but if you just stick your fingers in their mouth while they're casting a spell with a verbal component it's literally more effective than a counter spell.

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Jokar tongue meme

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El frio me la pela por que yo siempre ando caliente

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living weapon whumpee who was trained to not show signs of being in pain but punishments won't stop unless whumper(s) believe they've been properly punished. which goes until whumpee cracks, at which point they are additionally punished for showing pain.

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“No… please, I can be good.. no! That’ll kill me! Please… don’t.”

“You’ve had your chance, sweetheart. And I think you’re more tough than you give yourself credit for.”

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Alder belongs to @bumblingdragon

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Grey from Dusk's Edge by @deadwrites

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No peaceful sleep for whumpee.

Captive whumpee who isn’t given a place to sleep.

Captive whumpee who is kept bound in an uncomfortable day and night, with no way to lay down.

Captive whumpee who is forced to sleep on a cold, hard floor.

Captive whumpee who is woken up every hour by whumper.

Captive whumpee whose whumper comes in to torment them while they’re sleeping.

Captive whumpee whose whumper blasts noise so they can’t sleep properly.

Captive whumpee who is sprayed with water whenever they fall asleep.

Captive whumpee who is allowed to sleep, but only when they fulfill whumper’s terms.

Captive whumpee who is allowed to sleep but only while whumper is with them or only in whumper’s bed.

Recovering whumpee who can’t sleep without horrible nightmares that wake them up with a racing heart.

Recovering whumpee whose caretaker always sees them whimpering and tossing and turning as they sleep, muttering ‘no’ and ‘please’ in between sharp breaths.

Recovering whumpee who is afraid to go to sleep due to the fear that something will happen to them while they’re not alert.

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Bitches will find a fictional man attractive and then immediately imagine him in situations where he is losing alarming amounts of blood

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Whump dialogue #66

"You can't fight your way out of this and you can't run. So here's what's going to happen. You're going to walk with me to my car over there and if you hesitate on even a single step, I'll break both your arms and drag you along. Got it?"

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Whumper leaned against the counter, sliding a small box across the surface.

“You know Whumpee, I always thought you were gonna be a screamer.”

He fished a glove from the box, latex smacking against his skin as it slid onto his hands. His eyes flicked to the figure in the corner.

In the corner of the room, Whumpee crouched against the wall, a limp, shivering heap of bare skin and bone. There was no shape to him anymore, just a mess of limbs folded tight, trying to disappear into the concrete. 

He’d told himself he could endure this. That he had enough strength left to fight. But now he was just cold and broken.

Whumper smirked at the sight, stifling a laugh. It was pathetic. Whumpee looked pitiful—scrawny, naked, and hunched over like some half-dead thing.

“You’re so quiet tonight…” Whumper crossed into the light, casting a shadow over the smaller man.

Whumpee didn’t respond. His arms wrapped tightly around his legs, trying to hold onto what little warmth he could.

“You’re not holdin’ out on me, are ya?”

Bootsteps clapped against the concrete floor. Slow, unhurried. Each one rang hollow-- a countdown to the inevitable. Of course, Whumper was in no rush. He allowed the silence to stretch.

Whumpee kept his eyes down, burying his chin into his chest.

Then—pain. A gloved hand tangled deep in his hair.

“You know, being quiet won’t make it hurt less.”

He yanked hard, fisting a knot of Whumpee’s chocolate brown curls. The rubber gloves snapped tight around the strands, dragging scalp and skin with them. Whumpee gasped through clenched teeth.

“Aw. Poor Whumpee.” He mocked. “Did that hurt?”

No response. Whumpee stared blankly ahead, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“C’mon. Are you scared?”

Slowly, Whumpee turned his head just enough to meet his captor’s eyes. His stare was dull—but cold, steady. He wasn’t completely broken yet.

“Christ you’re no fun.” Whumper dropped the man’s head with a shove. “Get on your knees.”

Whumpee didn’t want to, fuck he didn’t want to-- but his body betrayed him, yielding to Whumper’s will like it had been trained to do. 

He shifted onto his bruised knees, grimacing as they dug into the gritty concrete. The pain was sharp, but he bit down and took it. There’d be worse soon enough.

“Good. Looks like some part of you remembers who’s in charge.”

Turning back, Whumper retrieved an instrument from the metal tray on the countertop. The tools clinked faintly as he selected one, holding it up to the light. “I was gonna be nice to you. Make this quick and clean.” He chuckled under his breath. “Heh. But now… it’s like you’re begging me to make you scream.”

Whumpee balled his fists. If he was going to die here, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Whumper get the better of him.

He spat on the ground by Whumper’s shoes.

“You’ll never hear me scream, fucker.” Whumpee snarled.

Whumper sighed—long and slow. The scalpel glinted under the harsh overhead light as he turned it between his fingers.

“That sounds like a challenge,” he murmured.

He crouched behind Whumpee, moving with casual confidence. One arm slung around Whumpee’s shoulders. His other hand brought the scalpel up in front of Whumpee’s chest, letting the blade hover just close enough to feel the heat of his skin.

The cold edge teased his collarbone as Whumper leaned in, his breath warm and deliberate against Whumpee’s neck.

“No one can hear you scream down here,” he whispered, voice low and intimate. “So it doesn’t matter one way or another.”

The scalpel kissed the side of Whumpee’s neck—

A shallow drag. A hiss of pain.

Whumpee flinched, breath catching in his throat.

Whumper smiled against his ear.

“Scream if you want to.”

((more whump))

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Whump ABCs 3

Pick the letter group of whump tropes you like most

R: Rescue, Ransom note, Rope burns, Revenge S: Stabbed, Stitches, Sacrifice, Split lip T: Torture, Tied to a chair, Twisted ankle, "Take me instead" U: Unhealthy coping mechanism, Undead, Unresponsive, Used as bait V: Vehicular Accident, Vertigo, Viral Infection, Voice breaking W: Waterboarding, Whipping, Withdrawal, Wrongfully accused

(i skipped some letters i couldn't find enough tropes for, but feel free to comment if you know any!)

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY DECLAN!!!! Here's a pair of pliers, maybe someone in this house can have fun with that :3

Declan had a great birthday thanks to you and other generous donors! Here's a snippet of his fun day!

Content warnings: threatened mouth whump

~~~

Hasan snatches them from you before Declan even gets the chance.

“Hey!” He levels a glare at Hasan before it darts over to you. “The hell’d you give them those for?”

“Be nice, Dec,” they hum, practically on cloud nine. “That’s my friend.”

“Some friend. Have fun with the fuse box, or whatever,” Declan huffs. 

It certainly doesn’t help that his hands are already cuffed behind his back. What a travesty it would be if he got his hands on one of these fellow sadists. Held them by the neck until Hasan dialed the police and stepped into that backseat…

His fantasy can’t persist past the fingers under his chin and they prod until Declan glances up again, only to come face to face with the pliers. Needle nose, he recognizes: long, round, slim jaws with simple handles that Hasan won’t stop clacking. 

“Want to see how well these grip?” 

“Not particularly,” Declan mutters.

“Good, because I wasn’t asking you.” Hasan looks back and you shrug, as if to say why not?

They pinch his cheeks and press the pliers into his mouth but Declan clamps his teeth down on the joint, baring them with a growl.

“Absolutely not.” 

But they push further in, letting his teeth slide up the handle and it’s clear when the metal tickles his gag reflex. Declan has no choice but to open his teeth and retch dryly. 

Hasan’s thumb keeps his mouth wide.

“Leh go-!” He starts to shout, but pressure stops it. The pressure of the pliers pushing against a molar and, oh so slowly, opening to grip it. “No.”

“No? After you nearly bit me, darling?” Hasan mocks him, tightening enough to make his tooth ache. “I think you’d deserve to lose a tooth or two.”

His begging is incoherent, twisting sharply into screams when they pull to wrench it from its socket. Declan’s mouth is wet with iron and salt letting cries loose with every subsequent tug, and he wonders if he’s bleeding yet or how long this is going to take when Hasan pulls the pliers out, empty-handed.

“Sweetheart, don’t tell me you thought these were the right model to remove a tooth, did you? Look how flat that is. Not nearly enough surface to grab your tooth, let alone yank out a healthy one.” They flex the jaws again and laugh. “You’re just adorable.”

“Asshole! That’s not something to fucking joke about!” Declan cries, and you think you see tears welling up before he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Of course, of course, you want to do something for real. Turn around, and we'll see about taming those claws you call nails.”