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gumnut-logic · 3 months

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I need to tell you something (Bit 1)

From this prompt :D a little random virgil!whump before breakfast.

-o-o-o-

Virgil tripped over a chunk of masonry and nearly fell flat on his face. At the last second he caught himself and only staggered.

For the zillionth time in his career, he thanked the specialised rubber in his boots. They made him slightly less agile in the field, but he had compensated over time and his boots had saved so much skin and bone they had proven themselves essential and a blessing.

He blinked, the grey of post-disaster blurring a moment. Scott was in the distance liaising with the GDF. Virgil knew he would much rather be pulling people out from under the rubble, but they were at the stage of the mission where ‘liaising’ was necessary. A good part of the time John managed to handle that, but onsite it was usually Scott.

You would think Virgil’s calm and calculating mind would be better suited to speaking to the local authorities than Scott, who despite being an excellent commander had been known to fly off the handle at the occasional idiot. However, Virgil had also been known to calmly ignore idiots and just do the job of saving whoever needed saving at the time.

It was probably the incident where Virgil had backed Firefly over the top of some guy’s car because the idiot refused to move it. In Virgil’s view it was simple practicality.

Scott and John did the majority of liaising from that point on. Apparently some people did not agree with Virgil’s efficiencies.

A grumbling thought. Didn’t stop Scott from torching a car or two with One’s exhaust.

It was a matter of style, apparently.

“Virgil, what are you doing?” John’s cool voice was ever reassuring as it bounced down from orbit.

“I need to speak to Scott.”

Scott blurred again as he gesticulated with aggravated arms. Great, he was pissed about something.

“Is there something wrong?” There was sudden suspicion in John’s tone.

Virgil grunted at him. “Just need to speak to Scott.”

While Virgil loved John with all his being, Scott was the big brother Virgil was drawn to when he needed help. Scott was his leader, best friend, support, someone he couldn’t do without.

Virgil had a problem? He went to Scott.

“Scott?”

The gesticulation stopped and his big brother turned. “Virgil? What? You’re supposed to be on the east side.”

“I know.” He swallowed. “But I have to tell you something.”

Blue eyes stared at him through two layers of plexiglass, his brother frowning.

“Excuse me, Commander, but you still need to move your craft.”

Virgil blinked away blur and realised Scott had been talking to two people, not one. One was GDF, yes, but the other was some guy dressed in a suit. His expression was one of outrage.

Oh, great, one of those.

“What is it, Thunderbird Two?”

Yay for name dropping, muscle flexing, and…he located Thunderbird One and sure enough, she was perched on the road, blocking a fancy looking car.

Hmm, Virgil could whip up a Firefly. She’d climb nicely over that polished hood.

“Virgil, are you okay?” A gloved hand landed gently on his shoulder.

“Huh?” Turning his head back to his brother, the world took a moment to catch up. Oh. Urgh. “Um.” His stomach clenched.

“Virgil!” Two hands were suddenly holding his arms. “What the-?”

“I’ve been shot.”

The specialised leather of his boots did nothing to help as his legs suddenly decided they no longer wanted to hold him up.

But strong arms disagreed and as his big brother caught him, he knew he’d made the right decision to tell Scott. Scott would look after him. Scott always did.

He did yell, though. Virgil attempted to blink away the blur but this time it was persistent and wouldn’t clear. It only got worse.

Scott was calling his name, and swearing, so much swearing. And the other guy, the guy with the car…

Virgil really needed to construct a Firefly and trash that guy’s car just to shut him up.

But as the world faded, he focussed on Scott’s voice.

His big brother always knew what to do.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #nuttyfic #nothing much #just a little virgil!whump #whump #I always end up writing foggy brain #maybe because I exist in foggy brain far too often #Scott always savees the day #Virgil will always go to Scott #he loves them all #but Scott is Scott

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galaxywhump · 7 months

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Not to start anything but if people stop writing what they like it doesn't mean they'll start writing what you like.

#yes this is about all the 'enough about x let's talk about y' posts #or 'there is too much x trope and not enough y trope'#it's a pet peeve of mine and it's so rampant in the whump community #whump is niche and if you like a trope or character archetype that is even more niche i get the frustration when there's not a lot of it #there are rare tropes i love and there are popular tropes i don't enjoy #i'm far from insulting people who write the latter and demanding they write the former #i'm sorry for this rant this is just something that partially caused my hiatus and made me fall slightly out of love with the community #it's the most exhausting type of whump discourse #it's so pointless #and i just needed to vent about it i suppose #marti vents

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just-here-for-the-whump · 5 months

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Leverage 3x7 The Gone Fishin' Job

#leverage #eliot spencer #parker #whump #ice pack #injury #sibling energy #i love their friendship so much #the last gif isn't whump but it's too cute not to post

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riacte · 22 days

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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 (≖_≖ ) 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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silversanimewhump · 1 year

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Castlevania

Se2Ep8

More like this

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whumble-beeee · 1 month

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The Man in the Sweater Vest

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 7

Content: attempted noncon, threatened mouth whump, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, scissors, tied up/handcuffs, noncon unshirtening, noncon touch, past captivity references, graphic threats, blood, crapton of whump. As a treat :)

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[Inevitably, there will be disagreements on how you should treat your captured hero. One villain might want to just hold the hero hostage long enough to finish their dastardly plans. Another will want to break the hero’s will entirely! Or anything else in between!

But when working together with other villains, bounty hunters, henchmen, etc, it is crucial that everyone is on the same page about how your captured hero is to be treated, lest your hero end up with a few less limbs than you meant them too, or your months of breaking down the hero's fragile mind is undone by a single nice gesture.

Always communicate effectively, your hero will thank you for it (or curse the day you were born)!]

* * * * * * * *

Sweater-vest stumbled back, reeling from the punch and clutching his face before pulling his hands down and gawking at the blood staining his hands.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!!” Stan screamed.

An intense elation washed through his chest despite the surprisingly sharp exploding pain that crackled up the very bones of his arm when he punched the man, and the now freshly ripped open scabs and bruises from where he’d forgotten to account for the handcuffs and yanked on them violently, streaming new ruby red over dried light brown that already carved down his arms;

Because he'd got him. He'd got him! Punched him, made him back off! Stan did that! He'd finally managed to actually do something about the atrocities being committed against him and it was so, so sweet.

Relatively short-lived, though.

Vaughn, the sweater vest man, started to giggle to himself as he wiped the blood streaming from his nose onto his sleeve. Elation gave way to tentative confusion. Then a sinister seed started to take root in Stan's gut, the roots already reaching out and tightening around his body.

“You-...” Vaughn giggled some more. “You– you think–?...”

He started fully laughing, speech overtaken by an apparent hilarity that Stan must’ve just been too shocked by the sudden mood change to understand. He was cackling. Then practically shrieking, crazy, loud, heaving laughs.

He must be crazy.

Insane.

Well and truly insane, the way he was shriek laughing into his shining red-stained hands.

His gaze snapped up to Stan, and Stan could practically hear the horror movie crackling effect with how fast it snapped up, crazy maniacal shudders still overtaking his body, piercing gaze turned wide, animalistic.

“You think you can HURT ME?! HURT ME?! AHAHAHAHA!!”

Suddenly Stan slammed into the wall, cuffed wrists pinned above his head, chest to chest with the crazy man and staring up into his crazy bloodshot eyes.

“You can't hurt me,” he growled into Stan’s ear through gritted teeth. ”I don't feel pain. I carved that weakness out a long time ago, my brain doesn’t register it anymore! And I did it so I could deal with horrible little brats like you–” he slammed Stan's wrists into the wall, “--however I see fit! So I could do whatever I wanted to them. So that even if they fight back, they always, always, always lose.”

He pulled back and leaned into Stan's face, staring the captive directly in his glaringly defiant, wide and shining eyes. Hot shaking breaths misted surprisingly minty breath onto Stan’s cheeks, nearly overpowered by the metallic tang of blood that still poured down his face.

“Always submit. Just like you're going to.”

Stan pulled down hard against Vaughn's grasp, struggling and wiggling and tugging and screaming and kicking and doing every single little thing he could to, if not escape, at least make this as difficult as possible.

“Get away from me!" He cried. "GET AWAY FROM ME, get OFF of me, I’m not gonna let you do this you sadist, you can’t do this to me!! LET GO–!”

A punch to the gut. Stan tried to double over and wheezed as much as he could with his arms pinned up, which delivered him right into another punch to the face.

Then something cool and sharp stabbed into the soft underside of his chin, straining his neck with how far his head pushed back into the wall.

“This is why I like to keep my victims gagged,” Vaughn gritted. “That bounty hunter of yours never does it, no matter how I tell him to. Always has to do stuff his own way, never listens. All he does is talk talk talk, always has a retort for everything. So defiant, and so is every single subject he brings in.”

A dull aching throb emanated from where Stan’s head pressed into the wall. Black spots dotted his vision.

“You–... y-you can't–”

The scissors pulled back and dove toward Stan's mouth, eliciting a loud cut-off scream of revolt as he cowered and squeezed his eyes shut from some vain, animalistic instinct to protect himself.

Then he pried open his eyes again, confused when no cutting metallic pain ripped through the fragile flesh of his face.

The handle of the scissors were fuzzy, too close for his eyes to focus.

They weren’t that far into his mouth.

Just enough that if Stan tried to close it, his teeth would clip on the tip of the metal blades instead.

The scissors lifted slowly, tapping on his top teeth, tilting his head up until he stared into Vaughn’s metallic blue eyes once more.

“I could always prep your throat with these if you like,” he drawled softly, letting go of Stan’s cuff chain and instead lightly grasping his thumb and forefinger under Stan’s chin, forcing his mouth open further. A small sob crackled out from Stan’s throat.

“It would be so easy… I could just–”

The scissors lurched further into Stan’s mouth, and Stan let out another involuntary squeak and an open-mouthed, unintelligible pleading of “no, no, no, no…” as tears started to sting at his eyes.

But he let him do it.

He even still held his arms up, because surely if he tried to fight back now, with the scissors in his mouth quite literally pinning him to the wall… He didn’t even want to think of the consequences.

“Careful, dropje. Wouldn’t want to cut yourself. Be quiet, be still, be good for me, right? You can be good for me? You can finally shut the hell up. No more fighting.”

He let go of Stan's chin and let his hands wander lower, caressing Stan’s sides, the curve of his waist, making his entire body tense and shudder. His breathing turning loud and shallow as he cringed away.

Vaughn just giggled.

“See? Isn’t this better? You’re not getting hurt, you’re doing what I say…” His fingers slipped under the waistband of Stan’s pants again. Slower this time. More deliberate.

It took all of Stan's willpower to not start hyperventilating at what he knew was about to happen. He knew. It was always this, wasn’t it?

Vaughn’s voice lowered as he leaned closer, pressing his body into Stan’s. He could feel the fibers of the stupid damn sweater vest against his stomach, deceptively soft, almost pleasant. The hard blade of the scissors tapped on the tip of his nose. “Because you physically have no other–”

BANG!!

Stan screamed.

Vaughn screamed.

The ghost of the gunshot echoed off the cinderblock walls.

Vaughn also nearly fell backward, pushing off of Stan just in time for Stan to fall to the floor in a duck-and-cover position and pray to whatever gods would listen that his last day on earth wouldn't have been spent dealing with two of the worst people he'd ever had the displeasure of being kidnapped by.

Wait, scratch that, his knee reminded him. He'd had worse.

His heart threatened to jump out of his chest completely, but he finally realized that in fact, he was still alive. So he opened his eyes to what he never thought to be one of the most beautiful sights in the world;

Deeby.

Gun pointed to the sky and streaming a light grey smoke into a small puff of explosion that hadn't had time yet to dissipate.

“What in the ever-loving SHIT are you doing?!” he shouted.

He was completely maskless, face now on full display, fiery eyes matching his equally fiery sneer. The sudden absence of the mask almost scared Stan more than the gunshot, the sight making his heart beat in his throat.

Then, for just a split second, Deeby's enraged eyes met Stan's stare. His eyes scanned down his body, looking him up and down, his face changing ever so slightly when his gaze caught in Stan’s chest. A slight crinkle of the eyebrows, a small tilt of the head. Then his eyes widened in some sort of realization, and Stan felt his heart turn to ice.

Recognition.

No.

He couldn't have realized who he was.

Just because of the binder?!

Stan choked on his own throat as the collar suddenly constricted once more and he was dragged violently forward to his knees.

“Your fucking dog punched me in the face!” Vaughn shouted, jangling Stan around enough that he had to grab the collar just to gain back his breath.

“Just because–!”

Vaughn jolted Stan's collar back hard and cut him off with a violent gag.

“I was disciplining him.” Vaughn narrowed his eyes at the mercenary. “Like we're supposed to.”

Deeby’s jaw set. And still, he managed to find a slight smug smile within his fury. “That why your face is gushing blood, then? Disciplined him too hard?”

Stan didn't even realize when they started, but tears were practically streaming down his cheeks now, chest heaving in panic. “Deeby, Deeby, he was gonna–”

“Shut up!”

A kick this time, straight to the back of his spine, and Stan's throat strained hard into the collar before breaking free of Vaughn's grasp and nearly face-planting into cold concrete. He scrambled to get up, but the same foot planted on his back and slammed his chest right back to the floor, grinding the heel of its shoe into the captive’s spine. Stan clutched at the ground, screams barely bit back by force of sheer willpower.

“Christ, man! Stop it, get off!” Deeby yelled with uncharacteristic urgency.

The force pinning him down suddenly released, followed by the scattered footfalls of someone catching themself from nearly falling over.

Stan just lay there limp. Heaving and shivering. He couldn't move. His limbs felt like heavyweights, the world tilted on it’s axis, and he was sure that if he lifted his head up, he would lose every last morsel of that protein bar he'd shoved down earlier.

But at least now no one was methodically turning him into a fine red mist anymore.

Deeby stood between the two of them like an impenetrable stone wall, hand resting on the unlatched holster of his gun and pointedly ignoring Vaughn’s stuttering disbelief as he patted at the pockets of his jacket, pulling various probably very sharp things out and shoving them into his pants pockets.

Protecting him.

“You– You just–...” Vaughn finally composed himself. “You pushed me off! You're saving him? He needs to be taught a lesson!”

Stan tried to push up despite the dizziness. “Only–... D-Deeby, he was trying–”

“Shut up, Stan, I know, let me handle it! Here.” Deeby slid his jacket off and dropped it practically on top of his captive’s head, never once letting his gaze slip from Vaughn. Stan shakily pulled the brown leather of the jacket over his shoulders before he had time to think better of it, doing his best to just enjoy the show and not think about the implications of what was currently happening.

“Because he wouldn't let you put your dick in him without a fight, right?” The bounty hunter said sarcastically. “Or– or– or because he wasn’t gonna let you mouth-gore him without complaint? Let you ‘teach him a lesson?’ Yeah, I am stopping you. Piece of shit.” The bounty hunter grabbed the scissors off the floor where they landed when Vaughn dropped them after the gunshot. Then he used them to point sharply at the door.

“Get out.”

Vaughn scoffed and melodramatically rolled his eyes.

“You got the message from Lana then? Is that why you're acting like such a belligerent wittle babeee?” Vaughn posited in his most obnoxious baby voice.

Deeby bristled. Stan could've sworn for a moment he could see the man shaking.

“Yes,” he said, slowly. “I talked to Lana. Your useless job is done. You can go back to being an even more useless sidepiece now.”

Vaughn’s shoulders tensed, and he laughed.

“Good! And I’ll make sure to tell Lana all about you taking the side of the disobedient dog of a test subject–”

“Yeah, go cry to your girlfriend about it, he's under my jurisdiction and I'm not gonna let you fuck that up because you feel the need to live out your perverse power fantasy with the helpless people you kidnap and torture. As if it isn’t torture enough to have to be in the same room with you at all.”

Vaughn clenched his fists at his side and forced on the worst imitation of a smile Stan had ever borne witness to.

“You better watch your tone, Deathberry,” he said, sickly sweet voice doing nothing to mask the hissing rage. “I could have you in the same spot as him in ten seconds. Don't ever–” he jabbed Deeby in the chest. “–forget that. You're only allowed to be out here roaming around with your fancy gun and your fancy cowboy boots because you're useful, otherwise you'd be locked up with the rest–”

Vaughn had just started to reach for the holster on Deeby's belt when, faster than Stan could perceive, a flurry of movement between the two men, a cry of surprised fear, the shuffling of feet and spinning of bodies and suddenly Vaughn was pinned back first to Deeby's chest, a wire that Deeby pulled from somewhere stretched taut between his fists and pressing a hard line directly under into the skin of Vaughn's throat.

Vaughn's hands quickly flew up to the wire to try and pull it off his throat, then just as quickly let go when he realized the wire would sooner cut through his hands before it would be pried off.

Stan couldn't help but stare.

“You're just about at the end of my rope, Verhulst,” Deeby growled, accent fully presiding now as he stepped backward and pulled Vaughn toward the door. “Don't you ever put your filthy hands on my gun.”

A slight rasp to Vaughn's voice was the only thing that denoted anything was amiss. “You sure this is about the gun, Deebs? Sure you're not taking your frustrations at Lana out on me?”

“Trust me, if I was takin’ my frustrations at Lana out on you, bud, you'd be dead.”

Vaughn's eyes shot to Stan, and his smile broadened.

“Ohhhh, I see. So what then, you are falling for the captive? I'm sure Lana would love to hear about how you're going soft, how you miss her, and how spectacularly you're failing at finding someone better so you have to–”

A small gurk finding its way from Vaughn's throat as he was pulled to a sudden stop.

“You know what, maybe I am. And maybe you should use your mouth to do something not completely useless for once.” He spun the both of them around to face Stan again.

“Apologize to ‘im.”

What?

Vaughn stared at Stan, apparently more stunned by the notion of apologizing than the motion of having a garot wire to his throat. Stan… honestly had to agree.

“Come again?”

“Apologize to Stan. For tryin’ to rape him. It's the least you could do.”

“You want me to… apologize?? To the test subject? You really are losing it, Deathberry, let me go.”

The wire dug into his throat more. “Say sorry, doctor.”

Vaughn glared at Stan. Stan glared back as well as he could.

“I can't feel the pain of this, you know,” Vaughn's voice came, even raspier. “You're not doing anything.”

“You can still bleed out from a slit throat. Still drown to death in your own blood as it slowly fills your lungs,” Deeby dismissed lightly. “Still bleed out. Very quickly. I wonder what would happen if I hit your carotid–

“And I wonder how Lana would feel about you slitting her head scientist and boyfriend’s throat.”

“Probably call you a little bitch boy for invoking her name every time you need to defend yourself like a spoiled toddler ‘steada bein’ a man about it and defending yourself. Or maybe not. You’d never know, you’d be dead.”

“You wouldn't–”

Deeby twitched the wire across Vaughn's throat and a line of red bloomed across the light tan of his neck. Vaughn's face grew just a little bit paler. He brought his hands up to graze across the wire and felt the warm wetness smear across his fingertips.

“Apologize.” Deeby growled. “Now.”

Vaughn's eyes flitted back to Stan, fully appraising the wonderfully wide-eyed mess he'd had pinned against the wall only moments before.

He narrowed his eyes.

Took a deep breath.

Stared daggers directly into Stan's soul.

“Sorry.”

Oh you bastard.

“Go jump off a cliff!” Stan yelled, erratically reaching into the jacket pocket he'd seen Deeby pull the protein bar out of earlier and luckily finding many more, one of which was immediately thrown directly at Vaughn. He couldn't even attempt to dodge it, and it hit him directly in the chest.

The mercenary let out a singular loud laugh and spun Vaughn back around, letting the wire retract into what Stan now realized was a little housing box on his weird arm sleeve thing and shoving Vaughn at the door as hard as he could.

“Guess he doesn't forgive you. Better luck next time!” he laughed. Stan genuinely thought (and hoped) Sweater-vest would fall flat on his face, but he managed to grab the door and right himself before that happened. Shame.

“Now get out.” Deeby said.

Vaughn glared with a literal snarl, jaw half a second away from cracking in two. Right before he took a slow, deep breath and reset his features to a forced neutral. Then an easy smile. “As you wish, my liege.”

He bowed exaggeratedly low in a show of mock respect, retrieving his scissors from the ground in a surprisingly graceful sweeping motion as he went. Deeby just rolled his eyes.

“Oh, and Stanny?” He drawled, peeking back from the door as he left and pointing his scissors directly at Stan's face with a flourish. “I look forward to seeing you soon~.”

“Get outta here!” Deeby yelled with a threatening stomp toward the door, at the same time Stan stuttered out a very surprised and agitated “In hell!”

The door slammed shut.

Stan could swear he could still hear Vaughn's deranged laugh echoing through the room even as an eerie silence fell over them.

He was finally gone. Finally.

See you soon.

He didn't completely understand why his breath continued to quicken. He'd won that encounter, right? Or… well, Deeby had. But still.

I look forward to seeing you soon.

He felt dizzy. More than the concussion could have caused. This was different, made him feel like he was suffocating, even though Vaughn was no longer here to strain the collar against his throat. Yet he could still feel the knuckles digging into the back of his neck.

I look forward to seeing you soon. In hell.

* * * * * * * *

#whump #heroes and villains #whump writing #whumper #whumpee #hero whump #defiant whumpee #kidnapping whump #captivity whump #trans whumpee #disabled whumpee #(un)official guide #attempted noncon #noncon undressing #IT'S BACK BABYYYY #GAH I've been so excited to post this #I missed this so much #extra long and extra whumpy for all your waiting #whos idea was it to let me go on an accidental month long hiatus #WHO WAS IT #anyway I'm going into tech week irl for the musical i'm in #so I might not get to the next chapter next weekend #I'll definitely try to tho #I genuinely missed writing and posting this story too. I've got so much more of it to tell #anyway I hope you like this chapter it was a bitch to wring it out of me but I did it #and its glorious #Also vaughn is such a cringefail I love him so much #and we've got some secret hidden Deeby lore sprinkled in there!#making this like an easter egg hunt #did you find it?

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leyswhumpdump · 2 years

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Loud mouthy whumpees are so much fun, but I also love a defiant whumpee who is clever about it.

Clever defiant whumpees who know that talking back is dangerous, so they stay quiet. Whumpees who know they can’t fight their way out of the situation, and will only make their captor angry if they do.

So they play along.

They pretend to “give in” to the pet trainer’s attempts to condition them, knowing they’re less likely to lose their whole selves if the whumper is satisfied they’ve been brainwashed. They pretend to dote on a creepy whumper. They pretend to be broken.

But they aren’t passive. They quietly resist everything that happens to them. They mentally recite the things the pet trainer wants to condition out of them. They learn the creepy whumper’s buttons, their insecurities. They learn how to manipulate their situation, turn it to their advantage. All the while staying relatively unharmed and perhaps even growing to be trusted.

After all, once the whumper trusts them, sabotage becomes easier.

#whump #whump tropes #whump ideas #i for one would love to see more bbu where the whumpee plays along with their conditioning #because the more you openly defy it the more likely they are to completely break you #and i like that trope #but i feel like clever defiance is underrepresented too #this is totally not inspired by my thoughts on what i'd do if i were in these situations #also there is so much potential here for a whumper turned whumpee #because a whumper is more likely to be exasperated by an openly defiant whumpee #but if the whumpee is really subtle and insidious #the whumper might not know what to do #or even that it's happening

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sunnynwanda · 9 months

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The Darkside: Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Warning: mentions of physical torture and trauma, a somewhat grafic description of rape in the 2nd chapter, blood, broken bones, healing and aftercare for Villain cause I love them.

The motorcycle comes to a halt in front of an abandoned cabin. There are no lights in the windows, as far as Hero can see, which makes it even more plausible that Villain is here. They turn the keys, stop the engine and take off their helmet as they walk to the door. They pin the lock and step into the silent darkness of the cabin. Hero stops, searching for signs of human presence, but senses nothing. They take a few hesitant steps, glancing into the kitchen, then moving toward what looks like the living room. They hear laboured breathing to their right and turn just in time to dodge the dagger aimed at their shoulder.

“It’s me,“ they offer. A silhouette behind the sofa's back shifts to get a better look at them. “Villain, it’s me.”

“Why are you here?” Villain's voice is barely audible. Hero suspects they haven’t had time to treat any of their wounds. Villain brings another dagger up, pressing it to their own throat. “I’ll die but won’t be taken back, Hero.“

“I’ll die but won’t let them take you,” Hero claims, unwavering. They cannot blame Villain for not trusting them after what their mentor and colleagues had done. After everything that Villain had to endure because Hero was too slow. “I swear.”

Villain does not reply, but they do drop the dagger down. With a relieved sigh, Hero crosses the room, walking around the sofa and dropping their bag to the floor. They crouch in front of the fireplace and light a fire, then scan the room, fetching a blanket upon locating it.

“Shh, don’t move too much.” They place their palm on Villain’s chest, pushing them back on the sofa. “What do you need? Water?”

Villain nods, wordless from exhaustion and concern. “Why are you here?” They repeat after Hero returns with a large glass of water and a jar. “And what is that?”

“Honey,” Hero’s hands are shaky, they attempt to ignore it for now. “It’ll give you some strength before I can get some food in the morning.”

Villain takes the spoon with their right hand, the left safely tucked away under the blanket. Hero shudders, remembering the state of it, what was done to it. They reach for their bag, pulling out their first aid kit. Something they learned to use to heal themselves while in training. Villain had no need of knowing that.

Villain scoots away the moment they notice forceps. “No, no, no, please, no...” Hero looks up, not yet understanding what’s gotten into them. They stop Villain from jumping off the sofa and follow their frightened gaze, locked onto the instrument.

“No, God! This is not... I want to treat your wounds, Vil.” They explain, putting everything aside and holding their hand in their own. “I would never hurt you.”

They can see the panic subsiding in Villain’s eyes, but the fear is still there, ever-present in the back of their mind. “I don’t have to use those, okay?” The enthusiasm with which Villain nods shatters Hero’s heart into the tiniest pieces. “Let me have a look at your hand first, alright?”

They are still hesitant, eyeing the forceps with utmost hatred when Hero puts those away into the kit. “I can heal, remember?” Hero prompts, pulling their jacket off and discarding it onto the floor. They push the hem of their shirt aside. “I got this when you threw the giant doughnut at me.”

“You didn’t have it the next day,” Villain attempts to smile, opening the cut on their lip. “Shit.”

“Hey, stop with that!” They stop Villain’s sleeve mid-way to their face. With a sigh, Hero moves closer to them, taking Villain’s face into their hands. “Lean back and just trust me.”

They allow their fingers to move gently over Villain’s lip, wiping the crusted blood and then using their power to heal the cut in mere minutes. Villain looks shocked but remains silent when Hero’s fingers move up to their cheekbones, then forehead, ghosting over every bruise on their face. Once they are done, Hero shifts, pulling the blanket off and revealing Villain’s mangled hand pressed to their stomach for protection. Hero shudders, sounds of flesh and bones crushing under repeated hammer strikes fill their ears.

“It’s...” Villain starts, but is unable to finish. They blink back tears that sting their eyes and take a sharp breath when Hero lifts their hand onto their lap. “Fuck.”

“Sorry, love,” Hero says as they attempt to straighten their crooked fingers. They disinfect the wound - the entire hand from the wrist down. Villain hisses, teeth digging into their lower lip. “Hey, I just healed that! Don’t you dare damage it again!”

They chuckle at the stunned expression on Villain’s face, happy for the distraction as they snap their phalanges into place. It’s rough and painful, but they know it will heal right. There is no time for surgical precision. Villain inhales sharply but does not pull their hand back, watching Hero tear their hand apart and then work their magic to fix it.

Twenty minutes later, Hero looks up with a small smile. “Done.” They shake their head when Villain waves at them, delighted at their fingers moving freely.

God, they are so cute, so pure. Hero cannot comprehend how deranged one must be to inflict such torment on them. Without a word, they hook their palm under Villain’s knee, bringing their leg up to examine the damaged foot. Villain shifts, leaning on the couch and watching Hero peel off their impromptu bandage.

“A T-shirt?“ Villain shrugs. It’s not like they had a bunch of supplies at hand. Hero knows Villain spent whatever time they had in the city to go meet them. Warn them. It takes a moment to compose themselves and start talking because the fabric is stuck to their skin, and it’s about to get painful again. “That’s a pity. I liked that one on you.”

Villain chuckles at the attempt at distraction while Hero’s fingers gently soak the fabric before tugging at it. They bite the inside of their cheek to suppress an anguished moan. Their vision is blurring.

“I’m so sorry.” Hero’s expression is pained, and that provides comfort to Villain. They needed to know there was someone who didn’t take pleasure in their suffering. They tug again, finally ripping it off their skin. “Sorry. This was the last one, I promise.”

Villain nods, blinking to refocus their eyes. They notice their foot is bleeding when Hero starts breathing frantically. Their hands hover just above the wound, almost touching the skin to rush the process. They stop, from time to time, to fix the positions of some bones or make sure they don’t lose functionality. After what feels like an hour, Hero leans back with a satisfied groan. “Can you move your toes?”

Villain wiggles their toes, and Hero can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of their mouth. This idiot.

“Good. Now take off your shirt.” Villain does not move for a good minute, staring at them with a mixture of emotions that range from surprise to something Hero is better off not discovering. “I need to check your shoulder.”

“It’s not that bad,” they start, pulling the collar tight around their neck, but Hero’s gaze oozes determination.

“One touch sent you flying across the street, Vil,“ Hero reasons. They can see the hesitation colouring Villain’s features but do not budge. “Let me take a look.“

This time, Hero asks gently, and that’s what breaks Villain. They exhale, looking away to hide the glint of tears in their eyes as they unbutton their shirt and pull it off one shoulder, revealing the bite wound. A large deep purple bruise surrounds the area, and the skin around the torn tissues is red and swollen.

“Shit, it’s infected.” Hero knows there’s a tremble in their voice but cannot bring themselves to care about that right now. They are thankful Villain doesn’t question it.

When Hero finishes treating Villain’s shoulder, the sky is dark grey on the horizon. Both are exhausted and sleepy, but a question keeps eating at Hero’s heart. They know Villain did not expect to see them again when they came to warn. They wouldn't allow Hero to see what was done to them otherwise. Yet, as much as they knew Villain hated the idea of them knowing, Hero had to ask. They had to, despite knowing very well the answer would be a resounding no.

“Vil, can I...” Hero stops mid-sentence, looking down at their hands covered in Villain’s blood. They wish it was Superhero’s. Elbow deep. Villain shifts in the corner, using a pillow to prop themselves up. Hero takes a deep breath, then another, attempting to steady their heartbeat. “Can you allow me to...“

That is when it dawns on Villain what Hero’s question implies. What they are asking permission for. What remaining wound of theirs they are referring to.

“No!” Their voice sounds fragile. They sit up, using their legs to push themselves further away from where Hero is seated. They dreaded this moment, this topic from the second Hero walked in. “No fucking way. No.”

“Vil, you know I would never... I want to help.” It takes everything in Hero to keep a sob from escaping. Unable to handle the terror behind Villain’s eyes, they cover their face with trembling hands, dissociating from the horridness of the situation.

“I know.” Villain is silent for a long moment, waiting for their words to sink in. I know you won’t hurt me. I know you would probably murder Superhero for this. But I can’t. “But no.”

Hero remains irresponsive, so they continue. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t need help.” They lean forward, placing a hand on Hero’s shoulder. Their muscles feel tense enough to crumble under Villain’s touch. “Trust me on this one.”

Hero nods, still not taking their hands away from their face. It takes them several minutes to collect themselves, pulling the pieces of their broken self into a person-shaped pile. They look up, offering Villain a small smile, then drape the blanket over their nemesis. “Get some sleep. I’m gonna go grab some food.”

“You’ll come back?“ It sounds more like a request than a question. Villain’s eyes are closed when Hero reaches the door, their breathing uneven.

“No matter what.” With the doors locked, Hero hops onto their motorcycle, pulls a black mask over their face and departs. Once again, they have three hours till the sun is up. Until then, they need to reach the city, complete their mission and return to Villain. No matter what.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

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vidawhump · 2 months

Text

Dear Valentine

Masterpost

CW/TW: Captivity whump, winged whumpee, idk this one’s just fluffy

“Elias, don’t be like that. Just come down and eat your breakfast.”

Elias refused to respond to his captor, continuing to gaze out the window. The cities were right there. And just beyond that, the forests. His home, his family, his freedom, were right at his fingertips. So close, yet so far away. His life was taken away by Cassidy, and no matter how much she might romanticize the exhibitions, he hated it all. He tucked himself away in his wings, desperately trying to ignore Cassidy.

“C’mon, starling, it’s Valentine’s Day! Everyone is here to-“

“I’m not a starling. The starlings were my friends. …Don’t talk about them.”

Elias would normally bite back and start a fight with Cassidy, but he was burnt out. He would bite her in the ass tomorrow, but not today. Cassidy sighed in frustration, and Elias heard a light tap on the table below the windowsill.

“Be stage-ready by noon. Eat your food. And…” A pause. Cassidy never hesitates. “Happy Valentine’s Day. Love you.” With that, she left the room, long brown hair rippling behind her like the rivers back home. It shut with a sharp click.

Hell no. What was that? Her voice carried mild traces of… sympathy? Empathy? No. She has Elias trapped here. She’s using him. Soon. He’ll be out soon.

Elias swung out from the windowsill, angling his wings to soften the fall. Neglecting the tray of berries that Cassidy had left for him, he brought his attention to the concerningly large pile next to it. It consisted of what seemed to be hundreds of Valentine's cards, envelopes, and assorted candy hearts. And a letter opener. Of course, Cassidy wanted him to open them all. Maybe when he finished, he could shred the papers and make a mess of his room. That’s sure to piss her off.

Idly shuffling through the stacks of magentas, pinks, purples, and assorted “romantic” colors, Elias stopped at a deep maroon envelope. Unlike the others with their cheesy hearts, cupids, and pitiful declarations of love, this one had barely any details. It was dented in the corners as if it was beaten up during delivery. The outside was entirely bare, save for a matte black wax stamp, sealing it all shut. In the middle of the stamp was a crow with outspread wings. Elias’ breath caught in his throat. There was only one person who could’ve sent this.

He stumbled to fly back up to the windowsill, where the sunrise dripped in soft pinks and purples behind the cityscape. Feathers fluttering behind him, Elias scrambled his way onto the ledge with the envelope and letter opener in hand. He barely managed to open the envelope before pulling out a hastily folded loose-leaf notebook paper. Most of the paper had unrelated notes and to-do lists hastily scribbled into the corners. Between a due date reminder from months before and a dried coffee stain, were a small cluster of hearts in spotty red pen. He couldn't help but cry when he saw the familiar handwriting.

Dear Valentine

It’s been a minute, hasn’t it? Molly misses you. She’s walking all over my paper as I write this. You might see tiny bites on the paper because she literally won’t leave me alone. She knows that she can get away with anything, I swear.

New Years passed me by. I went on a walk just before midnight to stargaze under our favorite tree. And I swear, before the fireworks covered everything up, right when the clocks struck midnight, the stars glowed just a little brighter. I think between everything that’s going on, that might be a good sign. :)

The forests are quiet without you. I miss your rambunctious energy firing up the whole flock, and the way you know you were born to be a leader. The kids are asking where you went, and I can only keep up the excuse of a spontaneous solo migration for so long. I miss finding your fluffy feathers in absolutely everything I own, and the way you would make a nest of blankets on my bed and hide out in my room when you got sick. Molly likes playing with the feathers that are still lying around. She’s collecting them in a fuzzy pile in her corner. Molly wants you to come home. It’ll happen soon.

Recently, I’ve only worn your hoodies and sweaters, the ones with holes in the back for your wings. Physically, it’s colder, but it makes me feel that much closer to you. The bed is lonely without you. I miss the way I would wake up to your primary feathers all up in my face, you sprawled out all over the bad and hoarding all the blankets. If I pile up the blankets next to me with your feathers, and if I close my eyes, for just a minute, I can pretend you’re still here with me.

You’ll be out soon. I promise I’ll help you escape. I have a plan, and I know you’ll catch on fast.

Eden <3

And taped to the last page were wilted rose petals. There was a rose bush just outside his window. Elias pressed up against the window and peered down at the small bush, which was mysteriously missing a few roses. Eden was here. Eden knows exactly where he is and has a plan to get him out.

Elias felt his heart flutter, reminiscing on memories he and Eden shared. Not even the forests know what the nature of their relationship is. Romantic, platonic, does it even matter? Elias and Eden are the light of each other’s lives, so why try to label their dynamic?

Elias took a deep breath, looking out his window. The pink had slowly bled into a cloudy blue. Gripping the paper to his chest, the future was looking a little brighter for Elias.

He should probably get to opening all the other cards. Happy Valentine’s Day, indeed.

#elias oc #cassidy oc #eden oc #molly oc #featherbound art #my writing #featherbound #captivity whump #whump #elias and eden are so perfect for each other y'all don't even understand #too bad Cassidy took too much interest in Elias and kidnapped him lol #I have so much to say about Eden somebody ask me about him he is my little lovely #happy valentines day y’all 👍

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