“I’ll never talk” ok that’s cool. didn’t really expect you to. I’m not gonna torture you for information—I have an elaborate espionage network for that. everyone knows torture is an unreliable means of extracting information and anything obtained from it is not to be trusted. I’m not an idiot. I’ve read all the torture science. if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s the foolish notion that torture serves a practical purpose. no, my torture dungeon exists for good, clean fun. it’s all about the love of the game. strap ’em to the rack, boys!
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CW: Langdon is 15. CWs include slavery, referenced collars, referenced abuse, and dreams of murder most foul
Langdon is fifteen years old when they take the inhaler out of his hand and put a gun in it instead.
"It's okay," Brewster says, with a slight, friendly smile, patting him on the back. Brewster's older than he is by more than a decade, if only just. They look sort of the same, most of the staff does, with curly dark hair and eyes a little too big for their face.
Plus, the black leather collars, white button-ups, and plain black pants all staff wears for every waking hour. He got his first work uniform, all three pieces, at four, like everybody does.
Not all the staff looks exactly alike, though. Some of them, like Vander, have almost unsettlingly bright blue eyes, too. Runs in the master's family, which means it runs in the staff family, even though no one talks about it. Langdon's are blue. Brewster's are a color like a stormcloud in some lights. Something about both your parents having blue eye genes, but since Langdon's never been to school, all he knows about genes is what he's seen on TV when it's his night to pick a show.
Greg, his sister's husband, came to live with them from another house when he was three years old. His eyes are brown. His hair is stick-straight, lighter in color. His smile doesn't have the same sort of lilt to it.
Greg doesn't have Marcoset blood poisoning him, not like Vander - whose nerves are broken and don't feel pain, leaving him scarred and forcing Brewster to be his shadow all the time to keep him from hurting himself. Not like Langdon himself, who can barely work outside for half an hour without his inhaler close at hand. Not like Rita, who hardly ever leaves the bed, or Henry, who was born deaf and is probably going blind, too. Too much toxic blood in just about everybody.
The medic thinks he and Brewster are both the master's. Anyone who said that out loud where the master might hear would be whipped.
Personally, Langdon thinks Brewster is too happy to be Isaac Marcoset's son. Isaac Marcoset has a library of scowls and glares for any occasion, and only one or two smiles.
Brewster turns him to face the targets, breaking him from his thoughts. They're just wooden cutouts in vaguely human shapes that have had crude faces with horrible Os of surprise painted under their little dot-eyes. "We're just testing you out. Take the shots, see if you hit the targets. These two guys here, and if you hit those, those bottles I lined up on the tree trunks over there."
"I don't want to do this," Langdon says, voice low, a little airy. Even with his inhaler, his lungs fight whenever he's scared, or if he works too hard. The inhaler just holds off the worst of it. He hates the heavy weight of the handgun he's holding. Hates how good it feels. "Brewster, I-I don't want-"
"I know." Brewster keeps a hand on his shoulder, his bright smile dimming a little with sympathy. "I know, Lan. But we don't have much of a fucking choice, yeah? Boss says you learn to shoot, you learn to shoot. Van and I learned when we were like... ten or eleven. We started going on jobs around your age, so... You got a few years to wait that we didn't, right? That's some luck. Kept you safe as long as we could."
"Right." His chest hitches as he stares at the targets. Big black circle-eyes, bigger black circle-mouth. "Lucky."
His breath is thin. His lungs protest every movement he makes, but Brewster's right - there's no choice. If Isaac Marcoset wants another trigger on hand, Langdon is fifteen and that's as old as Van and Brewster were the first time they killed someone.
He aims. Brewster slides something like a heavy headphone set over his head, the noise of the birds suddenly silent. Langdon bites his lower lip.
Just like Brewster taught him. Safety off only when you're ready. No finger on the trigger til it's time.
If he thinks of Isaac Marcoset instead of the wooden target when he fires, that's his own business.
He hears, dimly, the sound of Brewster yelling but ignores it as he fires at the next target - Miss Delia and all her cruelties the image he holds this time. Then the bottles, one by one by one. The gun kicks a little but it feels good, too.
At the end, he missed more than half the bottles.
But the targets, Isaac and Delia Marcoset in his mind, have been shot right through the center.
Brewster takes the headphones off and hugs him, but Langdon can't take his eyes off the holes he just shot through the wood.
Leaving the estate for the first time in his life, taking off his collar and wearing other clothes, making choices for himself... It could all be as easy as two shots, aimed right.
"... Can I keep practicing?" His voice is hoarse. His lungs catch but he ignores the way his head goes light.
"I knew you'd like it once you tried," Brewster says cheerfully. "Let me reload for you, show you how to do it. You did fucking awesome, little man. You're going to be as good a shot as me one day, I can already tell."
Langdon thinks of red spreading over Miss Delia's stupid pristine tablecloth, she and her husband slumped over the table while Langdon walks away. Gets in a car, maybe. Goes somewhere, anywhere else.
"I hope so," He says softly, and gives Brewster a smile. "Show me how to reload."
@whumperless-whump-event - day 1
↳ near drowning / "i thought i was going to die"
Waiting for dawn's early light / Stranded, petrified / Waiting for the end / Down by the beach side / Where death greets you / Like a long lost friend / There is no help left to send / And if I go, does the world keeps spinning without me? / If it does, then I don't want to know / And as time slows, just give me to the ocean / Still my heart says so / Here comes the tide / Wait for a lifeline / Again / The Bay - Stereo Honey
Hiii, could I interest you in an idea circling around in my head, basically villain is abandoned by their team and captured by the heroes, villains power is very rare or useful so the heroes take villain and use them either as a sort of living weapon or pet for the team. Does villains team try and rescue them or do they leave them, if they do rescue them what’s the state of villain, does someone on the hero team see what’s happening to villain and help them or does no one care for villains safety and well being? There’s a lot I’ve been thinking of with this and if this sounds interesting I would love to see your take on it, if this isn’t your cup of tea I understand!
Have a great day or night!
Mmmmm consider me interested! My take is that you should write this and I should read this! But…I’ll, uh, volunteer my thoughts though since this yummy morsel is already here.
CW for non-graphic blood, cutting, muzzles, shock collar, dehumanization
If you wanted it even whumpier, you could have Villain’s power be activated by pain, or even blood? Or stress and fear? Some examples:
Villain can generate shields under duress. They need to actually feel like they’re gonna die to use it, so the heroes push them to the very front line of combat.
Villain is some kind of warlock that gains power from a demon or something, so the heroes are cutting Villain mid-battle. More blood = more power.
Oooh or the reverse, where pain keeps Villain from using their power except for the heroes’ gain. Like a telepath that has a microchip pain inducer (sorry I cannot think of the name of the thing) so Villain won’t read heroes’ minds but it can be deactivated once they need Villain. This is horribly unethical btw if they actually have an ability neutralizer.
A shock collar works too, especially for the pet angle. Ooooh and depending on what Villain’s ability is, a muzzle. Like if they have voice or mouth-centered powers, and Villain has to wear a muzzle pretty much 24/7 around the heroes except for the 30 minutes a week they get to fight and and
Heroes are laughing and eating snacks in the conference room and Villain has to just sit on the floor in the corner with their collar and muzzle on and they’re hungry and the muzzle is chafing and then they hear the heroes laughing at them.
Also the heroes releasing any muzzle/restraints and shoving Villain out towards the fight: “Fight, dog!” You can either have a defiant whumpee that gets shocked until obedient or just this shaking form that looks like they want to be as far away as possible.
Ahhh sorry it’s long and all over the place but you got me thinking a lot too lol
Okay I’m a fan of both Villain’s friends and a hero are not okay with this.
I imagine it like the villain squad is trying desperately to get their teammate back and can’t succeed against the heroes. Double angst points because Villain is forced to use their power against their own friends.
And one of the heroes finds Villain afterwards sobbing and struggling to breathe with the muzzle on, and they realize how wrong they’ve been—like maybe it was a joke at first but now it’s too real and there’s a person they’ve been abusing and they have to help.
Cue Hero taking off Villain’s muzzles/restraints/collar, holding them while they cry and reassuring them that they’ll help. Or just letting them free right there, if they can.
Yeah that was like 3 cups of my tea, thank you! I still think you should write it, but if there was a part from this you want me to write, you can always ask :)
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For the summer months I am offering waist-up/half-body sketch commissions for a reduced price, so if you've ever considered getting some art of your special little guy (and it would be financially responsible to do so) now's an excellent time to consider it!
Pretty much anything goes for my commission art, that includes nsfwhump themes and plenty of other fun whump topics! For full rules you can check out my Main Commission Post!
Every commission helps this lizard out a lot, bugs and fruits and enclosure bedding isn't cheap! Sharing also helps me out, but there's never any pressure! Okay thanks you guys! 🦎
The princess touched the tattoo-like markings on the knight's wrist, and for a moment, was at a loss.
All her life, the knowledge attached to certain items simply presented itself to her by virtue of physical contact. Even barely brushing against an object, especially one with the weight of history, was enough.
But what was happening to the knight was different. The knight wasn't an object; he was a person. The princess had never received visions from touching another person before.
She'd never tried, but why would she want to? It was bad enough learning things she didn't want to know about a jeweler by virtue of owning a tiara he had made. That day in the storm had been the first time she intentionally picked up something and desired information from it.
And the knight's sword, always by his side, serving him in many a duel and battle, protecting him and his liege for years, had been all too happy to oblige.
The knight was not an object, no.
But he was being used as one.
Perhaps the princess could use that.
The runes on the knight's wrists were the starting point. The part most directly affected by the sorcerer. The sorcerer who had forged a connection with the knight against the latter's will.
A bridge.
The princess pictured the sorcerer in their red robes, face hidden in the shadows beneath the hood.
It was dark in the vault, the lantern finally going out, but the princess saw---or perhaps imagined---a faint glow stemming from the runes on the knight's skin and in the frost on the floor.
It mattered not. She closed her eyes and envisioned a glowing thread between the knight and the sorcerer. It was white like the stars, one end clutched in the sorcerer's unseen hand, the other tied around the knight's throat.
In her mind's eye, the princess reached out and grasped the thread.
And suddenly the sorcerer was no longer imaginary.
"---so close!" They snapped, voice echoing strangely. "So close, and now you whimper on the ground like an insolent child throwing a tantrum."
The knight didn't answer, but the princess suspected they'd been having the same argument the entire time he'd been inside the vault.
"You're supposed to be honorable. You agreed to my proposition, and yet you cower when the end is in sight?"
The knight shuddered, the markings suddenly growing cold to the touch. "This is honor," he hissed through gritted teeth.
The sorcerer laughed. "Your loyalty truly runs deep. But they cannot save you. Only I can do that, and I require the relic---"
"That's enough," the princess said.
The sorcerer flinched, and the princess felt their attention shift from the knight to her, as if sensing her intrusion upon the connection for the first time.
"What are you doing here?" They demanded, and like that day in the storm, their voice quavered slightly. The princess had thought she imagined it, or that it was from fury at being interrupted.
But now, she realized, it wasn't anger.
It was fear.
"I am here," the princess said, "to take back what you have stolen."
The sorcerer scoffed. "You hope to undo what has been done? Even I cannot, and I was the one who cast the spell!"
"Perhaps, but you can dispel your connection, can you not?"
The sorcerer hesitated.
In that moment, the princess saw the truth in her theory, even if they refused to speak it.
The knight straightened. "Answer the lady's question!"
"I will answer how I see fit."
"They can't lie," the princess whispered, almost to herself. "They do not want us to know the truth. So why not lie? No, they must talk around it, hint with cryptic half-truths, or not speak at all. But never a lie."
"Reading about my order, have you?" The sorcerer chuckled softly, the sound devoid of true mirth. "Then know I speak the truth: I will not let him go. Not until I have what I desire."
An image popped into the princess's head, a memory that was not her own: a round object, small enough to fit in her palm, the exterior made of silver and encrusted with jewels.
The princess flinched and instinctively let go of the knight's wrist. Her perception of the connection vanished, and with it the sorcerer's presence.
But the image of the object remained. The princess slowly wiped her hands on her shawl, as if that would cleanse her of the intrusion. She should have expected something like that; she had opened herself up to another's mind, after all. But it didn't stop the memory from seeming tainted.
She opened her eyes. The vault was still shrouded in darkness, but the runes on the floor still glowed with an inner light, bathing her, the knight, and her brother in a soft, cold glow.
The prince watched her with wide eyes. "What happened?"
The princess gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile and got to her feet. Her eyes fell on the broken mirror on the ground, the edge still crimson with the knight's blood.
Silver.
Silver in the mirror.
Silver in the object---the reliquary, it had to be---that the sorcerer sought.
A pure metal.
A valuable metal.
The princess' own tiara was silver, as were many pieces of jewelry passed down for generations in her family.
Many such pieces that now resided in the vault after the princess refused to wear them.
"Wait here," the princess whispered.
"What are you---" The prince began, but she was already gone, taking off at a brisk walk deeper into the vault.
Redemption by amnesia - the villain forgetting their crimes. They begin living a normal life, or possibly even forge a new path of virtue. They don’t even understand why the heroes keep so close to them, why everyone gives them dirty looks. Or maybe they were told their past and have to live with a guilt they can’t quite fully feel.
Redemption by empathetic experience - maybe the villain was young when they started down the wrong path. They learned the worst from evil mentors/parents, and it isn’t until they have an experience that shatters their paradigm that they realize they can/should be different. Usually these experiences humanize the people around the villain, and villain, feeling empathy, decides to change.
Redemption by de-aging - the villain reverting back to a younger age. Even if they remember what they’ve done, the heroes would likely refuse to kill them. And the younger they are, the less likely they’d face any punishment.
Redemption by whump - the villain facing unbalanced retribution. Their torture is too much for the heroes to bear. “They don’t deserve this.” The villain being taken care of in a way that changes their whole relationship with the heroes. They can’t go back to living the way they did before.
Redemption by “death” - the villain being sentenced to death and actually dying. By some means, magical or scientific, they come back to life. They technically satisfied the sentence and can carry on living, however that may go. Or it was done in secret, and they get a second chance living in anonymity.
Redemption by common enemy - “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” The villain and hero team up to stop a bigger, worse threat. Even though villain has done terrible things in the past, the hero can’t kill or hurt them now, not right after they helped.
Redemption by family - nothing is more humanizing than a villain that cares about their family (and vice versa), and the hero can’t let villain die while their child is watching. Also looks like a brother, a mother stepping in when villain needs them most. Advocating for them, believing in them when no one else would.
So we have a new mod @natk2002 who has graciously volunteered to maintain the Whumpapedia!
Major cleanups have been underway and a new link has been created.
Please continue to use the submission links that are in the pinned message on the top of this blog. We appreciate all the kind messages and questions asking about the blog and spreadsheet!
We are looking forward to adding your favorite whumpy scenes to the list! <3
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”Word of advice,” he had said. One of the first things they said to each other. “He gets rid of you if you stop fighting.”
His voice was hoarse. It was always hoarse, right up until the end.
You didn’t think much of it at the time. Of course you wouldn’t stop fighting. What he was doing to you — to both of you — was wrong. There’s no way in hell you were going to just lay down and accept it.
Then weeks went by. Months, probably. Maybe years. It was hard to tell. And it never let up. And you watched him get quieter and quieter. Watched him struggle less and less each time he was taken away.
You tried talking to him. Reminding him how unfair this was. Stoking his fire. You think it helped, for a time. But he began to always give the same reply. “I’m just so tired.”
It was lonely now, without him. You tried not to dwell on it. Tried not to think about how the pep talks you were giving yourself are the same ones you used to give him. Tried to focus on staying alive.
You’re vaguely aware that you used to be determined to stay alive until you were rescued. Or until you had a chance to escape. You haven’t thought that way in a while. You’re not sure when you started trying to stay alive long enough to warn the next one.
the hottest thing a guy can be is barely conscious on the floor while someone lifts his head up by the hair so that you can see his glazed out eyes and the blood running down his face
the hottest thing a guy can be is barely conscious on the floor while someone lifts his head up by the hair so that you can see his glazed out eyes and the blood running down his face
wanna see a whumpee whose just someone’s fucked up little experiment-lab-rat-thing and like. whumper tinkering around in the workshop section of the basement, inventing various cruel torture devices while their poor captive is chained to the floor across the room and when whumper finishes a prototype they turn to their restrained helpless little victim with a big smile on their face and hold up some ugly mess of metal and leather straps and their poor victim just starts instantly begging and fucking crying cuz they have no idea what that thing is but they don’t wanna find out and they’re fucking terrified and shaking and begging whumper not to use it on them like their life depends on it
I like this idea even more when the whumper is like….bad at what they do. Like all of their experiments fail. And it either doesn’t matter to them because the fun of hurting whumpee matters more, OR they get mad at whumpee and blame them for the experiments failing even though it’s not their fault
quarterly reminder that if i reblog something ai-generated it is 110% and always an accident and for the love of god please tell me so i can delete it from my blog
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