Hi, I’m Ila (ee-la)! I’m twenty three, I go by they/them pronouns, and I’ve really liked whump since as far back as I can remember. I’m a writer and an artist!
Some of my favourite tropes (but not all of them):
Psychological torment / conditioning
captivity
a whumpee being forced to hurt another whumpee / forced to watch
the aftermath / rehabilitation
I have a few pieces and storylines of my own in the works that I’m very excited about. I’ll update them here as I write them.
My works under the cut!
Collarbones.
Collarbones follows Nico and Callum, the two wards of a sadistic doctor who’s ‘teaching’ them medicine through having them practice on each other, as one starts to accept it and the other learns to fight back.
Includes: medical whump, psychological whump, and the ‘forced to watch’ trope (although here, it’s much more ‘forced to participate’).
Content warnings for: injuries, descriptions of hospital settings and practices, blood, manipulation and the like.
Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five
The Long Way Home.
It had just been a game. A stupid, stupid dare they'd pulled. It wasn't meant to get this far.
They were all supposed to make it home.
A group of friends make a stupid bet. Somewhere, things go sideways. The illusion shatters, and someone is lost to the clutches of WRU.
The rest of them pick up the pieces.
Content warnings for: BBU/BBU Adjacent, pet whump, physical violence, manipulation, conditioning.
Teaser // Part One
Bite Marks
Arlowe has teeth, and he knows how to fucking bite.
After the death of the man who tortured him all his life, Arlowe Veck is left with nothing and nowhere to go. Haunted and desperate, he knows nothing but violence, so he fights. It's dangerous, and he gets hurt, but it pays. It's somewhere to be. There, he meets Artie Alwood. They save each other, and slowly, he learns how to live.
Includes: Post-escape! Some flashbacks, violence, defiant/angree whumpee, slow recovery arc.
Content warnings for: violence, blood, injuries, anything else that comes up will be tagged in individual parts.
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cw: abuse/manipulation, noncon touch, vague fear of noncon, Hunter's terrible self worth, painful punishment
Masterlist // takes place the day before this
×~×~×
Vic hovered behind Hunter as he honed his focus on the map on the table, heavy hands settling onto his shoulders and squeezing. The paper in front of him was a mess of a grid. Lines and words and symbols trying to tell him the shape of a building. If he wasn't trying to see past it, maybe he could've made sense of it all, but Vic wanted more than sense.
Can your implant show us which route will be clear tomorrow?
Hunter didn't think so. His head throbbed with the misplacing shapes, with the memories of last night. Vic's hands twisting his shirt, pressing him in place, cuffing his hands and telling him "now wait" as chlorine burned his nose and green leeched past closed eyes.
He would've waited.
He could've fought Sahota, probably. Could've got him to fuck off, but he didn't. His legs carried him away even though his brain knew he was being stupid.
It was what Vic wanted. What happened if Vic knew he'd walked away so easily? If giving up made Vic change his mind?
He saw what it meant for Sahota the next day. Oil slick. A deeper pattern than Sahota gave Hunter when they first met, Vic choking the life out of him.
Had he meant to kill him? No, it would've just been to scare him, to remind him it was Vic in charge. Sahota shouldn't have interfered.
Sahota shouldn't have saved Hunter.
No, fuck that, he hadn't saved him. It wasn't like Vic was planning to choke Hunter out, that was just what Sahota got for breaking the rules. If he hadn't butted in, Hunter would be fine. He'd just... It probably would've hurt, but he'd be fine. He could take it, couldn't Sahota get that? He was so fucking good at taking it.
It wasn't like Sahota's stupid sacrifice did anything anyway.
Here he was.
If Vic wanted something from him, he could take it whenever he wanted.
"See anything?"
Hunter shook his head, breath catching when he tried to speak in a way that didn't betray his memories. "N-no. It's like... Fuck, the implant just thinks it's paper. That's all it sees. Lines on paper."
Vic hummed, green growing duller in disappointment, and even though it wasn't Hunter's fucking fault what the implant did or didn't detect, his chest tightened.
"I can figure it out on the spot," he said. "It doesn't matter what I see now."
"I believe you. You'll do good." Squeeze. "It would've been a valuable skill. Perhaps it can be trained."
Perhaps. But what if it couldn't? If Vic wanted something Hunter couldn't give?
It wasn't his fault. It was just his body, it was just... Him.
"Let's move on to something else."
Vines dipped in and out of his ribcage, twisting around the bones in a way that almost felt painful as he watched Vic cross the room. He didn't...
He had to.
Hunter squeezed his eyes shut against his throbbing skull and tried to breathe deeper. Fuck his lungs, fuck his stupid body, this was fine. Being afraid--- no, nervous, just nervous, it was just new---wouldn't change anything. He wanted this. This was his choice.
But when he looked up, Vic was only holding out a few objects. A bright pink marker, a pencil, a stapler. A neutral green wafting up from the hands that held them.
"We'll warm up with some location drills. Wait outside while I hide these. Let's see if you can find them all in under three minutes."
Hunter left the room with a nod, hating the relief that rose in him. It was only a minute or two before Vic came to get him, pointing him to the center of the room.
"You already saw them," he said, his arms crossed. "Pencil, stapler, highlighter. In that order. Three minutes."
Pencil, stapler, highlighter. Hunter muttered the list under his breath. In order. It was three things, not that hard to remember.
Pencil. He tried to picture it. Lead and wood. He used to chew on the erasers in class. Pencil.
A little trail of shimmering discs spun out towards the wall, and Hunter followed it, blinking away a new wave of ache that was starting behind his eyes. Pencil. It was wedged between the wall and the bookshelf, and he pried it loose, holding it up for Vic to see.
"Good boy."
Even after last night, even after knowing exactly what those words could mean, Hunter couldn't help the feeling that welled inside him. Hearing Vic say that felt good. It felt safe.
He set the pencil on Vic's desk. Okay, now the marker--- no, fuck, stapler. The discs still glittered their way to the pencil, even as he tried to wave them away. He still hadn't learned to shut off a trail. They lingered until they were done, stinging his eyes all the way through.
He tried to ignore them, focusing on the image of the stapler. Black plastic cover, thick rows of metal teeth inside, lining up to bite. After a moment, a new trail of shapes appeared, smaller discs, spikes jutting out of them. One of the drawers.
Hunter stepped forward to open it, snatching the stapler and again holding up his find for Vic.
"One minute," was the only response he got.
Alright, get on it. Marker, marker.
His head hurt. Shapes from the other two still danced around the room, too bright to look at even as they faded, making it harder to find the right trail.
Marker, fuck, marker.
A third trail faded in slow, low to the ground and again directing him towards the wall.
Hunter lowered himself onto his stomach, squinting at the shimmering line. Marker... Under the shelf? If he squinted he could see it. The flash of pink in the shadows.
"That's three."
Hunter froze as Vic dropped to a knee beside him.
"You're getting faster, but you still need practice. Good thing we'll have all the time in the world after this mission."
Rough-skinned hands slipped under his shirt before Hunter could voice his agreement, his promise to try harder. They palmed his lower back before hiking the fabric up, air on his skin.
"You like pain, don't you?"
Did he? "I... I don't know."
"You're very good with it. I think it's admirable."
A burst of petals split his vision a second before the shock of cold metal on his back, a click, the sharp fangs of a staple burrowing into his flesh.
Hunter flinched, hissing, but Vic's palm grew heavier, pressing him into the floor.
"Shhh, that's what I meant. You have so much control over yourself. You take it and keep going." The chlorine smell was back in full force, heavy, settling over Hunter with a strength that almost stung his skin.
Petals, click, teeth, another staple punching into his back.
Vic's thumb ran over the new wound, pulling at the metal there, and Hunter choked back a whimper.
He takes it and keeps going.
"Good boy, just like that." His thumb grazed Hunter's boxers, just barely nudging beneath the hem. "Do you want another one?"
It felt like a trap. Vic wanted a yes. A no would rebel against the picture Vic had of him, the picture of the person he wanted to stay, the person he wanted close, who he had some sort of affection for.
"Yes," Hunter said in a small voice, and petals drifted past him once again. Vic gave him two more, eight stinging punctures lining his lower back, Vic's crotch hot against his thigh. Hunter wished he didn't feel it, didn't feel anything. Everything around him piled up in his head to overwhelm him. The stupid glittering shapes, the throbbing in his head and new sharp pains in his back, Vic's hands, Vic's presence. He squeezed both eyes shut as his handler pulled away, cheek pressed into the floor, pressure everywhere.
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nonhuman whumpee having species specific tells that people don’t even realize are signs of distress; whumper who recognizes the tells and totally ignores them
My toxic fandom take is that I think that it's awful how much we can talk to creators and get answers from them word of god style. We should be out here in a godless place rooting for scraps of lore in the media like truffle pigs out in the fields
Arm locks don't work if the victim doesn't have any fight training. They just turn into arm breaks and sprains because the victim doesn't know to stop resisting.
A trained victim that knows exactly what aggressor is doing and is forced to roll with it or get broken
A trained victim that lets their wrist be broken for a chance at escape
A survivor that has been hurt so many times by their abuser that they know when it's about to happen and they freeze up just in time
An abuser that takes advantage of this to control the victim's movements, until finally, all it takes is a touch in the right spot and the victim freezes.
A victim that has been broken so many times in that wrist that it hurts when whumper touches it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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a magic whump thing I'm obsessed w lately: powers malfunctioning so whumpee can't turn them off.
everywhere they go, they trail magic. people around them babble their secrets and truths compulsively. lightbulbs burst or candles light themselves. a friend asks what perfume whumpee's wearing because the scent of greenery and ozone lingers in the air around them. they're holding themself back as much as they can, stopping the people around them from catching the brunt of it, but flowers grow under their feet and there's no keeping their powers a secret, not now.
they're exhausted—they aren't meant to function this way, with their magic a parasite eating away at their energy, a wild beast bucking inside their chest. even as their friends react with delight as beautiful things bloom in whumpee's wake, whumpee can feel something worse on the way with each new surge of magic that wells up from within them
I don’t want to go to bed I want to think about my oc’s. I want to write about my oc’s. I want to talk about my oc’s. I want to draw my oc’s. Bedtime is but a cruel obstacle between me and my joys in life.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
A reminder that darker fiction has a right to exist and explore themes that people are uncomfortable with. Yes, even if it's romanticized. Yes, even if you personally don't like it.
Authors have always written about things that they don't agree with morally, and I hope to god they always will, despite how shitty people treat them for doing that now.
