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boywifesammy · 6 months

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sam's initial reaction to the bunker is actually heart-wrenching. do you guys ever think about how fucking terrifying it is that sam eventually just accepts that he's going to suffer forever? that he'll never have a home? that pain is what he DESERVES, his destiny, what he's fated for. the loneliness of sam's character genuinely HURTS me, especially when they show us over and over again that he craves humanity so badly. him running away to stanford and his short stint with amelia are just two examples but i could go on for hours about how much sam perpetually craves connection. every single time the opportunity is presented he jumps at the chance because even if it has ended in disaster every other time he so desperately wants something permanent, something that's his, to feel like he belongs anywhere.

the sole reason that sam was able to gain control over lucifer in swan song and jump into the cage was because of that little soldier man figurine in the impala. that entire episode revolved around the impala and how it was sam and dean's home their entire life. those little snippets of them carving their initials into her skeleton and how dean made sure to keep all those little personal effects every time he rebuilt her... it just tears me apart knowing what sam goes through later on. he places such deep, deep importance on the small stretches of life that he gets to experience in between the pain and loss that is the rest of it.

this is why when sam told dean that he couldn't call the bunker home because every home he's had has literally GONE UP IN FLAMES, it absolutely destroyed me, because there was so much FEAR and desperation in that scene. that 'normalcy' that sam wanted when he was younger wasn't actually about the specifics of civilian life. it was about having a home, and the peace of mind that he could unconditionally trust that the people he loved wouldn't leave or die.

but the bunker is literally warded against fucking everything. in s9 the bunker is presented as this impenetrable fortress, full of decades of lore and weaponry and information, a perfect dream hideout for a hunter. it's the first real chance at safety that sam has ever had but he absolutely cannot trust it. he tried with jess and with amelia but he's just so tired, so scared to care because its inevitable that this will also go up in flames. after everything he's lost? he can't even consider it. he's had this desperate need his entire life but he's so wary and fearful that he can't let himself hope even when the stars align perfectly.

it's terribly tragic. the silent, burning loneliness in sam's character is so well done and it talks to how much sam's been through that he's genuinely accepted that he will never get the luxury of safety or trusting anybody but himself. it really highlights how twisted up he is despite people insisting that he is the 'normal' brother.

#oc #supernatural #spn meta #sam winchester #spn 9x04 slumber party #he makes me want to cry he is just so tragic #my little man i need to swaddle him in blankets and feed him soup #anyways. yes im on s9 now and having Feelings about gadreel arc #the sam whump is so plentiful i am both ecstatic and in unimaginable pain

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thatsgonnaleaveamark · 1 year

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#whump #whumpblr #whump community #polls #i love these specific polls lol but its actually kinda hard to come up with options #dont actually know if these are specific enough that most ppl wont chose more than one lmao but whatever #its several for me but thats how i picked the options #by having an account i mean specifically made for whump or interacting with the community #ive seen one other whump themed specific poll but most of the options there were about ocs and writing #so i wanted to try making one for the part of the community im most familiar with #ive had an account for 4+ years and liked it before age 10 and watched 5+ media for one actor #i did whumptober 4 consecutive times but only completed twice #and i watch some non-english media but not a lot compared to english media #anyway hope this is fun :)

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honeycollectswhump · 7 months

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prompt:

you think i actually care about you? cute.

with pet whumpee who started to truly love whumper and believed whumper loved them too

Love and Worship

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, dehumanization, cigarette burns

There is a certain kind of satisfaction linked to spending one’s evening alone in the big hall, surrounded by nothing but gold and jewels, resting on only the softest cushions while occasionally being fed grapes by servants with shaking hands. Others may call it a dream; Mireille calls it a well-deserved daily life.

Everything is beautiful, just as it is supposed to be. The furniture is spotless, having been meticulously cleaned the second Mireille leaves the room, each gem is polished like the morning sun. The servants –about a dozen– wear only the finest clothes, which are almost as expensive and certainly prettier than anything they deserve.

But what they deserve doesn’t matter, and who cares about the message trying to be sent, when the domestics look like they were taken from the streets?

This, the big hall, the rooms, every single floor is art. They are a stage for only the finest performers, and sometimes that means having to clothe simple actors in garments more expensive than their life is worth.

It’s a price Mireille is more than willing to pay. Money is never an issue and of course, they don’t outshine her.

Mireille leans back, letting her long black hair drape over the backrest, and takes a drag from the cigarette held loosely in her hand. She looks like a painting, like the pride and joy of a knowledgeable collector. Every single movement is deliberately elegant in a way that has been taught to her since childhood. A woman like her is worth her weight in gold.

Smoking is just another habit she picked up along the way. It’s part of a perfectly curated image, the mysterious lady, the untouchable femme fatale. A calculated show, one that Mireille cannot go without and the thought of abandoning it makes her hands shake, even though she’d rather die than admit it.

Decidedly, she stops that train of thought before any conclusions could be drawn that would be unbecoming for a lady of her calibre.

Mireille draws in a deep breath through her cigarette and blows the smoke in the air, watching it drift lazily through the hall. Right next to her, her ashtray kneels on the floor, waiting patiently.

Out of all of her purchases, he’s her favourite. He is undoubtedly beautiful, about as fine as a diamond, with golden hair and shining blue eyes. But then again, Mireille paid good money for his looks. His beauty is not a compliment, it’s the majority of his worth. She would not be satisfied with anything less than perfection.

Her adoration for her companion-decor goes further than his beauty and the entertainment he brings into her life though. There is something about this particular item that her other servants lack, whose fondness for her doesn’t go beyond an innate, natural sense of loyalty.

Her ashtray worships her. Mireille doesn’t need to hear him say it (and it’s not like he was made to speak in the first place). She can simply tell by the way he looks at her with nothing but pure reverence in his eyes. He offers himself up with eagerness and wears the burns like compliments on his skin.

It’s intoxicating.

All of her life, men and women alike have adored her, but this is a different, addicting kind of love. Without a doubt, she is the centre of his universe and Mireille would not have it any other way.

The cigarette is nearly burned to the end. After one last drag, she turns her attention towards her ashtray, pondering how she is going to leave a mark this time. There is so much to choose from, although the little round scars are beginning to pile up. It’s a game for her and a blessing for him.

“Give me your tongue, won’t you?” Mireille purrs and the ashtray complies immediately, of course. He straightens, eager to have received a command –both mindless puppet and loyal mutt–, and holds out his tongue for her. The thought of disobeying her order would never even cross his mind.

Something about the way he offers up such a vulnerable part of himself without hesitation gives Mireille a rush every single time. She presses the still-glowing cigarette end into the soft but marred flesh. It should cause a visceral reaction, even after the scar tissue must have numbed the nerve ends.

Her servants would whimper and cry in his place. They wouldn’t know what to do with themselves, shaking in anticipation and fear of the pain. Instead, her ashtray barely shudders and keeps his body rigid and still until she is done.

Only then does he lift his eyes to her face, searching for her satisfaction. Just being allowed to look at her is reward enough for her ashtray, and his eyes shimmer with devotion. When she graces him with a smile, he vibrates with excitement and joy.

She lifts her hand to his head and pets him and the ashtray all but presses into her touch, content with a job well done. That’s the difference between her servants and her ashtray. He is looking forward to getting burned by her, there is nothing in the whole wide world that he’d rather do.

“You really are enjoying this, huh? Do you actually think I care about you? That’s so cute.” Mireille smiles.

And her stupid little ashtray just melts under a touch he thinks speaks of mutual affection.

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0 let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

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reborrowing · 5 months

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snake tank (part one maybe?)

little snake lady can have a borrower. as a treat. ~2100 words cw: captivity, dehumanization, neglect, cruelty, violence, fear, pet…treatment? - I don’t want to call it pet trope because that implies sentient pets are normalized and this is weird and awful in-universe as well. not actually vore! idc if you interact from that side of tumblr, but you'll be disappointed if that's what you're hoping for

Poe

I threw myself against the glass one last, futile time as I heard the door on the far side of the study creak open. My fingers nearly brushed the lip of the prison I’d been placed in, nearly caught onto that ledge that might let me pry open the lid and make an escape. I was still in the air when I felt his eyes land on me. My fur stiffened as his heavy footsteps approached. His towering form blocked out what sunlight had filtered through the closed window as he sat at his desk.

“You quit that, now. You know you aren’t getting out. Unless you’d like to try speaking with me again?”

I turned to face him rather than wait for him to spin the jar I was sitting in. I slunk to the floor, drawing up my knees as if they could shield me from his . He looked annoyed this time, rather than intrigued. I shook my head and stared at my hands. It wasn’t as if I would want him to dump me into his cold hands even if he wasn’t upset. I was bruised enough.

“I don’t have anything else to say. Sir,” I said.

He rolled his eyes.

“There's no one else!" I insisted. “It’s just me, the others ran away months ago, I’m the only one left.”

It wasn’t the truth, though by now it was close. The Copper family had moved out after Mellie reported that the master of the house was now collecting dangerous, exotic pets in his showroom. It was just the most stubborn of us left, or the most foolish.

“What to do with you, then?” the master of the house hummed.

He tapped a finger on the glass thoughtfully, right behind my head, in case I needed the reminder that my skull was no larger than the tip of his finger. I grimaced and looked back up at his face, where his wide lips twisted into a grotesque smirk. I closed my eyes as they curled back and revealed his teeth. My stomach twisted as he kept talking.

“My …friends tell me your kind is more trouble than you’re worth. But perhaps I could get some entertainment out of you?”

“Let me go, please. I’ll leave. I won’t bother you again,” I begged.

“Oh, but I do believe you owe me, little thief. How long have you been squatting here, hm?”

I slumped and curled in on myself. I had thought maybe, just maybe, if this guy cared for a zoo of strange animals, he might have a thread of compassion hiding in his oversized heartstrings. I’d—god, I had bet my life on it, hadn’t I? And now I was going to pay up.

Entertainment.

Hecate

A hand lifted away the log that I’d been curled up under.

I flinched awkwardly at the sudden light, then rolled to face the front of my enclosure. The man liked it when I “looked” at him. I couldn’t tell if he knew I was blind or not. All my eyes told me was that there was a large, blurry shadow standing over the tank. It could’ve been a tree, for all my eyes could understand.

I knew it was him though. I could sense his blazing warmth through other means. More importantly, I could smell him.

The hands. The nice hands. The man. Hugh Morton.

I smelled something else, too, something new. Another person, maybe? I listened intently for another heartbeat, another guest. I didn’t want to be shown off right now. I wanted to go back to sleep.

His hand reached back down to ruffle my hair, then run a rough finger across my scales. He rumbled something about feeding and I slumped back down to crawl back to bed. I wasn't hungry enough to want to fight and for all the good these hands did, they never killed my meals for me like the last ones did.

"Don't be so fussy, Hecate, I’m giving you a treat,” he chided. The ground shook as he flicked a finger against the glass wall. “You must get bored lying around in there all night.”

I huffed and and backed into a better position, against the side of one of my ceramic caves. I was still nursing a bite on my flank from my last dinner.

I licked the air as Hugh slid open one half of the wall. I frowned. The prey was not a creature I knew. Hugh’s hands dangled a warm shadow by a long tail, then flicked it into the soil and the prey squeaked as it landed. It didn’t smell like a rat or any other rodent I’d encountered before. It did smell afraid.

It already understood it was being hunted. I didn’t like that. Scared meals fought back. I had scars to prove it.

Hugh scoffed in annoyance as the creature scrambled towards the opening in the glass. He knocked it back into the enclosure several times while I waited for a chance to strike.

“Don't make me break your legs," Hugh sighed.

The creature stopped moving. Strange. Its little heart was hot and hammering. Was it trained? Why would anyone take the time to train food?

Maybe it was afraid of Hugh’s voice.

I took advantage of its stillness and lunged. It turned to run in the split-second before we collided. It slammed into one of my open arms. I fumbled as it flailed, then got myself curled around it anyway.

It felt strange against my scales. Not furry. Not naked. Synthetic. Was it wrapped? Humans wrapped their food, but not mine. They used those crinkling papers. This was wrapped in something soft.

Was it clothed?

I hesitated in my confusion and the prey bit back. Something long and sharp stabbed in between two ventral scales. I flinched, hissing, and the prey slipped away. It left the sharp thing behind, but it didn’t bleed. I put a hand on the sharp thing and realized it wasn’t a tooth. It had some kind of handle. Plastic. The point was metal. Some kind of tiny knife? I swayed uncertainly and let the little creature run.

What was he feeding me?

Poe

It had never occurred to me that there might be peoples other than humans and my own kind living in this world. I wish I had the time to found out.

The caged creature I had been placed with was, as most things were, comparatively massive. Its front was that of a vaguely humanoid woman, small, but still at least twice the size of my own top half. Her eyes were vacant and unfocussed. She was pale, fat, and lined with scars that told me she had much more experience than myself in fighting.

The bulk of her body was what truly scared me. She was a python that trailed lazily across the near half of the terrarium. She was coiled, so I could only guess at her true length, but her girth was easy to make out. I regularly crawled through tunnels narrower than this snake, making it all too easy to understand what would happen to me. That the master of the house had returned my thumbtack seemed like a joke. I had no prayer here. This would be a cruel combination of all the worst deaths I'd been taught to fear—caught, crushed, and consumed.

Entertainment!

I wanted to refuse him the satisfaction. I let myself lie down and cry as the master of the house threw me back into the dirt with an unambiguous threat. I might as well. No one else would know to mourn me for weeks, even months.

It would turn out that my inborn will to survive was stronger than my desire to spite the host I'd lived under for so many years. I rolled out of the way, only a split second two late, as the snake woman pounced. She caught me in the crook of her elbow then shoved me into a wall of scaled muscle. The python whipped around me before I could take a breath. I barely had the space to think, never mind resist. It was sheer luck that wedged my thumbtack between two plates of her underbelly.

And it was enough. She spasmed and let go of me.

I fell forward into the dirt, coughing to refill my aching lungs. I don’t think she had left any part of me unbruised, though didn’t waste time taking inventory of my injuries.

“Hey, don’t let it get away now, girl, get up!"

I scowled up at the master of the house as I pushed onto my feet. There was nowhere for me to get away to, not while he was leering over the open door.

I didn't understand him.

I didn't understand how a thinking creature such as himself, with all his power and all his resources, would resort to blood sport for entertainment. The study I'd spent my life beneath had a beautiful library. Page after page told of the world's endless mysteries, of beauty and majesty and life for him to go out and pursue. And he would choose to spend his time watching some monster eat me alive.

I saw the snake-woman moving out of the corner of my eye. My stomach twisted at the utter silence of her movement over the dirt even before she started sliding towards me, and then it was like a switch went off in my head. Gone was higher thought, blown away by the sheer force of the ancient instinct to run.

The terrarium was full and well-decorated, with plenty of greenery both faux and alive as well as several dark spaces to hide. I doubted any would shelter me, this place had been built for her.

I had nowhere to go and I ran and I ran and I hit the glass and I ran and there was a branch so I climbed it and I reached the ceiling and there was more glass and I turned around and there she was crawling after me and I jumped and her hand brushed my leg and I kicked and she fell around me like an avalanche and it was over.

Her long body surrounded me and as soon as I moved, she struck. Walls of scales encased me again and this time, no tack would save me. Everything went dark.

Several seconds passed. She loosed her grip. I heard the master’s muffled voice droning through her flank. I took a breath and shuddered. Long minutes of silence passed and the knot she’d wrapped me in fell away.

I admit I didn’t know much about snakes, but she didn’t seem to be very good at this.

I sprung to my feet, desperate to get at least a few inches between us again, but her hand wrapped around my face. She grabbed the back of my shirt’s neckline with her other hand and I thrashed as she pulled me off the ground.

Slowly, her palm pulled away from my face. She rubbed two fingers over my eyes, traced the curve of my nose, and drew a thumb across my lips. I bit down as hard as I could. She barely flinched, just wiped a little blood off on the side of my face.

“Beb?” she croaked.

Her blank eyes narrowed in concentration as her tongue flicked out of her mouth and brushed against my nose. Tasting me. Her lips twitched. I felt cold.

“No, please! Please, please, please, kill me first, please,” I cried.

She tilted her head to the side. Her tongue flickered twice more and both times I flinched. She babbled something in a tortured voice.

“Please,” I begged. “If you can even understand me, please, just kill me before you eat me. I don’t want to suffer.”

She frowned and hissed several times. My blood trembled through my veins. She slowly shaped her tongue around some word I did not know. She patted my head and sighed, then set me gently on the dirt beside her and slithered away.

Hecate

The prey had the face of a person.

The little thing was clever enough to talk, but not smart enough to understand me. They were small like a hatchling. They ran on legs like a bird.

They screamed and cried so I let the little one have some space, whatever they were.

I hoped they would come back to me. They were very warm. Like the sun, but in a person. Like food. Like Hugh.

Like this lovely little cave in the back of the tank. I curled up and burrowed into myself for a cozy rest.

I hoped they wouldn’t try to kill me.

#should I post this at a normaller hour? probably. and yet.#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #g/t whump #snake tank #oc: poe #oc: hecate #you can tell the owner guy's not important because he doesn't get a tag lol #anyway I think I'm failing at least one class this term yay yay. I have an essay due tomorrow. I finished this instead.#amwt

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whumprince · 6 months

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Whumpee post-rescue suffering from several panic attacks, at some point they're having an identity crises in front of a mirror. And, in a burst of rage and despair, they broke it and use some of the glass shards to slice their own face as much as they can. They can only see fragments of their own bloody face in the parted mirror. They dont cry, because after what happened to them they cant. They just stare with wide eyes the face that they cant recongnize aymore. They barelly feel the pain due to adrenaline.

From another room, Caretaker hear the glass shattering sound and quickly goes to check if theres anything wrong. Whumpee was kidnapped in their own house and since Caretaker and the others rescued them, they promised to stay together and make sure whumpee was safe. They would let no one hurt whumpee ever again.

But if the person whos hurting them is themselfs?

When Caretaker finds whumpee, head down in the bathroom sink with a vivid thick crimson liquid dripping from it, they almost dont have a first reaction. Short moment of shock, and then Whumpee notices their friend is looking at them, the eye contact breaks the trance and suddenly Caretaker is with a towel holding to whumpee's face, demanding, not as an authority but as a very worried presence, that whumpee hold it to top the bleeding.

Caretaker takes them to the hospital as fast as they can but even fast whumped endd up losibg too much blood and needing to stay the night so they get proper treatment. And of course caretaker dont leave their side till they're sure their friend is ok.

#whump #angst #whump prompts #whump tag #whumpee #whump writing #whumprince writing #caretaker #whump ideas #i have this scenaeio in my head for some specific ocs in a investigation/plice au where Wumpee is a forensic investigstor #who was kidnapped and tortured by the drug cartel theyre investigsting #and caretaker is the police commander who lead the operation to rescue them and make sure theyre takig care of themselfs (they arent)#anyways i wantedto write somwthingsimpler than that #tw blood #tw self harm

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inkwell-and-dagger · 13 days

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I really like the concept of a character breaking the fourth wall (?) and interacting with their creator. They've gained consciousness and they know that their actions have been written beforehand, that as much as they don't want to admit it, they'll never be in control of their "life".. unless they do something about their creator. Whether the world they've come to know crumbles with the downfall or death of the creator, or perhaps they're trapped in a loop prior to the event, or even none of those; the only control they have is over their own creator

#idk i was listening to & by tally hall and that just. popped into my head ig #anyway i may. i may do something with my sona with this #whump #whump prompts #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumper turned whumpee #whumpee turned whumper #whump writing #oc writing #vellichor's prompts

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cepheusgalaxy · 2 months

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Thinking about power balances/imbalances and how younger people are supposed to comform to older people and older people are the ones supposed to be responsible

So I give you, Younger Caretaker who is more experienced and Older Whumpee who has less experience and is less able to do things At All and is all like "i should be doing this for you", to which Caretaker replies, "I'm literally the most fit for this job, just do as I say and let me do it"

#like yea experience/ability/skill =/= age #whump prompts #idk i was always mad i was supposed to comform to the older people while they are not exaclty fit for the job #*looks at my art teacher who did not teach me A Thing*#(i dont mean to pry but like. once she gave us an assignment about perspective and she gave such a shitty explanation #that I had to teach my classmates #but anyways #whump ideas #whump prompt #whump scenario #oc ideas #i mean maybe

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whumpy-wyrms · 2 months

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Dew and Anton!!!! :)

i drew this to replace the images in the masterlist cuz my art has improved sooo much since then and i thought it was time for a change! i will probably end up changing the background but im sooo eepy rn and wanted to be done with it tonight :) also Anton’s new weird green eyes may or may not have something to do with his lore 🧪🧪🧪🧪 im not gonna snitch on my guy tho

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snakebites-and-ink · 2 months

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Positions - Part 1

Yes, I skipped chapter 8 for now because it was giving me trouble. It was basically a filler chapter so it’s fine to skip and come back to later. All you really need to know is Asher went on another casual outing with some coworkers, so he’s been having some somewhat-positive interactions that aren’t just work.

I was gonna add more leadup at the beginning of the scene, but…I got a little stuck. So I’m just gonna drop you right into it. You’ll figure out what’s going on, it’s pretty straightforward if you have any familiarity with the BBU.

CW: BBU, pet whump, bullying

“Position 12.”

The command was all too familiar, even though it was coming from someone who had no right to give it. Asher’s training was so ingrained into him that he started to move into position automatically. His knees bent and he started to slightly lower himself towards the ground before he caught himself and straightened.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

Asher shot him an angry frown. “You’re not my owner.”

“Maybe not, but I’m not a pet and you are.” The man smirked.

“You don’t have the authority to give me orders like that without my master’s permission,” Asher asserted.

“Then why did you start getting into position?”

“That was out of habit, not obedience.”

“‘Not obedience?’ Sounds like someone isn’t a very good pet.” The man stepped closer and placed a threatening hand on Asher’s shoulder, then shoved him down. “Position 8.”

Asher’s knees hit the floor as the shove sent him towards the ground faster than he could react, but before he actually assumed the position, he twisted and stood back up. He glared at the other man.

“You really should do as you’re told, Asher.” He stepped closer and flicked the metal tag dangling from Asher’s collar.

Asher took a step back but resisted the ever-present automatic urge to placate. That was often the best strategy, but in this case it would just encourage this kind of behavior, which had already gone on long enough. “You really should mind your own business. I already told you, you don’t have the authority for this.”

“Come on, pet, don’t you want to be good?”

That was unfair. Asher scowled at him. “I am good. Just not for anyone like you.”

Asher tried to walk away, only to have his path blocked. He stopped, wary of being pushed towards the floor again, or possibly even risking worse violence.

“Let me go. Please.” The please just slipped out automatically, but it drew an almost vindicated smirk from the other man.

That didn’t last long, though. The drama had drawn the attention of a few other people, a couple of whom were properly within earshot by now. One of them stepped closer and grabbed onto the guy’s arm before he could make another move. “Just let him go, seriously. You’re being a jerk.”

Asher watched quietly, with a hint of nervousness. His attacker looked angry but didn’t seem to have a retort. Probably because his “justification” for what he was doing would just make him sound like the jerk he was accused of being.

“Come on, aren’t you both supposed to be working?” Another chimed in.

“Yeah. You should get back to work,” the jerk said, looking at Asher, perhaps in an attempt to take back control of the situation. Asher didn’t say anything back; he would be more than happy to do so, but he worried that agreement would make the guy feel like he’d won Asher’s obedience. Let him feel like he had the last word, but not vindicate his perceived entitlement to Asher’s submission. That was probably the safest way to deescalate this.

The man was turned and gently led away before he could get worked up over the lack of response. Asher watched them leave, giving a small, thankful smile to his rescuers when one glanced back.

Once he was alone again, Asher let out a long, shuddering breath. Trying to breathe out the tension and fear still buzzing within him. He ran a hand over his collar. He was a good pet. He was okay.

#Asher gets a defiant whumpee moment 🎉#I am not entirely fond of how this turned out but eh. posting anyways and maybe I'll revise it later.#I think it was because I avoided naming all the side characters that it turned out sounding a little weird in places #pet whump #box boy universe #BBU #whump #whump writing #original fic #writing #fiction #oc #my writing #my posts #Asher #Asher series

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