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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 :)

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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)!]

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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.

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#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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unforgivenn · 1 month

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WOLLEMI DAY 8- TOOK A TUMBLE

CW: Pet whump, young whumpee, coercion, trauma, minor character death, self blaming, manipulation, regret, failed escape attempt, future punishment mention, captivity, psychological distress hehe, false hope

Caleb's heart pounded with adrenaline as he sprinted through the darkened streets, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Somewhat relieved that he had a chance from getting out of Dominic's clutches as he ran towards what he hoped was actual freedom. He tried keeping his mind on positive things. Like how he had totally not drugged his owner and killed one of his guards. Even though it was in self defense. That's what he tried telling himself again and again. Trying not to pass out by seeing the man's blood on his hands.

He felt guilty. How could he do something so.. so selfish? Maybe the man had a wife at home. Hell, maybe even children! The picture of his dead body entered his mind again and he felt like vomiting out all the nauseousness in his stomach. His breath hitched trying to find anyone, anyone that could help him before Dominic's men or god forbid, Dominic himself caught him.

He continued running trying to get out the thoughts about the man out of his head. H-He shouldn't feel guilty. The man had caught Caleb mid escape and tried taking him back to Dominic. In turn, Caleb panicked and threw the thing nearest to him at his head. A vase. A fucking vase. At this point, he probably deserved to get punished by Dominic. Maybe he could just go back. Maybe they didn't notice he was gone yet.

No no. Fuck. That's stupid. They're probably on my tails right now. Lost in his thoughts, he looked ahead. The neon glow of the Police station beckoned like a like a beacon of hope in the night, promising safety and sanctuary from the horrors he had endured. He let out a small cry in happiness, tears fully streaming down his cheeks as he ran towards it.

Caleb burst through the doors of the station, relief flooded through him like a tidal wave. He stumbled forward. Surely they would see the desperation in his eyes and offer him protection from his tormentor.

"P-Please" Caleb pleaded, his voice hoarse and dry. "Y-You have to help me- He's going to kill me- I-"

The officers exchanged glances, their faces etched with sympathy as they guided Caleb to the sitting area shushing him when he mumbled incohorently.

"Take a seat, son." The officer's voice a soothing balm against Caleb's frayed nerves. "We'll do everything we can to help you. Just take a deep breath and tell us what happened."

Caleb's hands trembled as he recounted the horrors he had endured at the hands of Dominic, his words tumbling out in a rush of fear and desperation. Failing, to put all his thoughts in words. "H-He- I-" He stumbled over his words.

The officer sighed putting a calming hand on his back. "Calm down. You're going to be alright. You can tell us what happened later alright?" Caleb gave a small nod holding his head between his hands before he suddenly looked up at the officer.

"I- I killed a-a man. I'm murderer.." His breath hitched, the officer just simply shook his head.

"Try breathing. In and out. You're not a murderer son. I believe that was simply because of the situation that you were forced to." Caleb felt somewhat relieved at his words, maybe.. no he would definately be okay now. Dominic can't hurt him here.

After only a few minutes, the door to the station creaked open making Caleb's head snap towards the source of the sound.

"Oh kitty.. Looks like you've got yourself in quite the predicament." Dominic's voice dripped with both amusement and disappointment.

Caleb's breath caught in his throat, failing to form words. He took a step back until his back hit at one of the officer's chest. "P-Please h-he- Y-You have to help me-" The color drained from his face as they greeted Dominic with smiles, pushing Caleb towards him.

"No!! No please! H-He'll hurt me! No!" Caleb was thrown towards Dominic who just held him as if he was nothing but a mere ragdoll. Caleb's heart sank like a stone as he choked on a sob—Dominic's influence extended even into the hallowed halls of law enforcement.

Caleb couldn't do anything but sob. So he did that. He sobbed as Dominic dragged him back to the car. As the guards threw him in the basement. As Dominic came towards him to punish him for causing him trouble. Because he knew that he could never get away from him. In that moment, the hope drained from his eyes, leaving behind only the resignation to his fate. The plan definately took a tumble.

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sp0o0kylights · 10 months

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Okay so this is killing me but you have a fic summary in ur pinned post but no link and I’m begging for it. Unless you haven’t written it yet idk but it’s very important that I get it please 😭

“Whumpverse: Eddie finds a drunk and bloody Steve Harrington in a bathtub at Tina’s party three days after Starcourt. He incorrectly comes to the conclusion Steve is in an abusive BDSM relationship”

Ahhh yes, my other brainchild that I ignore all the time. I feel like the joke title for that one was F*ck Around F*nd Out lol.

I have a lot of bits and pieces of that one written, but I made the decision to focus on the soulmate AU I've got running on A03 (and now Adopt a Jock and the BB fic lol) because it's gonna be another one with super long chapters and I'm having enough fun attempting to wrangle the fifth chapter of the Soulmate AU (it's become its own damn novel at this point but so help me that fic will only be six chapters if I have to FORCE it to be six chapters!) So what I have linked under it is what's been posted thus far, and nothings on A03.

Once the Soulmate AU's finished, it's gonna be my next Big Fucker in terms of fics, so it'll get there! Not sure when, but it will get there!

#Its another one where Hellfire lowkey adopts Steve #But its less of that and more focus on a lot of emotional and general upside down fuckery happening #That said I have a blurnb about Gareth's mom being super into multiple crafts and making him a corroded coffin collar #but he felt it was too dog like and Eddie ended up with it and long story short Steve loses a bet with the guys when Eddie isnt there #and ends up having to wear the collar for a week as the official corroded coffin groupie #and Eddie Loses His Shit seeing Steve in a collar #the other boys just think its funny but that aint where Eddies minds at lmao #its very whumpy lol #hence whumpverse LMAO

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hellhoundlair · 1 year

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erm hiiii one of the first spn fics i read was an older one hosted on someones blogspot and im trying to find it again

it was a wincest angel!sam thing where sam had been brought back from cage and is different in that he has giant black angel wings, he cant eat or drink, he cant speak or understand english anymore and seemingly has no memory of anything. and dean is helping him with basic tasks, attempting to nurse sam back to health and get him back on track. and it ended with sam plowing dean in the grotty panic room bed im p sure. if ANYONE knows this fic pls let me know <3

#i wish i didnt read it in private browser bc i was paranoid abt someone looking thru my browser history and finding it lol #bc now *i* am the one looking thru my browser history 2 try and find it :(#the blog was annoying to read on btw im p sure it was red text on a black background and i think the fic was from about 2011ish #i dont think sam was a proper angel in this fic btw i think his wings were just a biproduct of the amount of grace in him or something #it was super whumpy too

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befuddled-calico-whump · 5 months

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"I've heard this show is really good!" (I heard it has whump)

"Oh, a friend recommended this to me." (I heard it has whump)

"This has been circulating around my socials, let's check it out!" (I heard it has whump)

"I read about this somewhere, and I wanted to watch it ever since." (I heard it has whump)

"I've already seen this once, but it was really good. I'll watch it again with you!" (It had whump. Whump was good.)

#a guide #this is /hj #we all consume non whumpy media too but i meannn #whump meta #whump meme #whump community

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clairelsonao3 · 1 year

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Since I've been on Tumblr for about a month now, I've decided it was time to compile a list — for anyone who's curious — of things you'll find in my writing, and things I look for in others' writing. And here it is, subject to change, of course.

My things:

Types of whump:

I'll give just about anything a try once, but I largely gravitate toward:

Prison/captivity whump

Slavery

Pet whump (BBU not so much, though)

Historical whump, with or without fantasy elements

Modern/contemporary whump

Any corollaries of the above.

Alongside the whump:

All the hurt followed by all the comfort. A short whump story doesn’t necessarily have to contain comfort for me to read it, but if I’m going to get invested in something longer, it usually does.

NSFW, including sexy/spicy scenes, sexual references, and sexually suggestive dialogue (always earned and plot- and character-appropriate, never porn without plot).

Romance. The more forbidden and/or seemingly impossible the better. I'll read any type of pairing, but I write M/F almost exclusively. Romance-related tropes I like include enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, medium and slow burn, mutual pining, forced proximity, (un)resolved sexual tension, flirtatious banter, etc. etc.

Mystery/thriller elements. Probably my favorite genre other than romance. In fact, I would say if I were to describe my ideal fictional story, it would have whump, romance, and mystery in almost equal measure.

Implements and techniques:

Shackles and restraints of pretty much every type, size, and description. This includes both old-timey, rusty shackles/manacles or newfangled law enforcement-style handcuffs/chains, etc.

Collars and leashes, although I usually don't write about them because I just find them too complicated to figure out (not literally, but you know what I mean). I tend to like collars as accessories/symbols of subjugation rather than performing a function, such as shocking the whumpee or controlling their behavior somehow.

In general, whumpees forced to wear accessories, clothing, or other outward symbols of their subjugation/servitude/inferiority.

Chains of every size and kind, attaching whumpees to walls, ceilings, floors, each other, etc.

Physical and emotional torture of all kinds; really, I'm not particular, but it's preferably done while fucking with the whumpee psychologically and preying upon their deepest fears, traumas, and insecurities.

Hands and especially injuries to the hands. Hands are my favorite body parts, so it totally makes sense that I enjoy seeing them maimed and disfigured, right?

Cages and cells, preferably with actual bars and solid steel everything, the harder, more brutal, utilitarian, and uncomfortable the better.

Some types of involuntary body modification.

Tropes and motifs:

Humiliation and degradation of most kinds, whether it's physical, verbal, or emotional (but see the exception below under squicks).

Dehumanization, and even better, REhumanization. Breaking down is good, but building back up is better. Someone who has been thoroughly and consistently dehumanized suddenly or gradually coming to be viewed as a person by others (or by themselves)

Whumpees who compliantly allow themselves to be placed in cuffs or shackles, either because they're just too tired and/or broken or if it's part of a grand master plan to fight back later.

Whumpee being forced to watch another whumpee being tortured.

Whumpee being forced to do menial/humiliating chores and/or hard physical labor (bonus if they're in chains at the same time). This is such an underused trope and I don't understand why because it's a fantastic one! If anyone were to write a story heavily featuring this and tag me in it I would love you forever.

Interesting power dynamics, even ones that shift back and forth within the course of a scene.

Struggles and differences related to social class, money, and wealth.

Character traits:

Male and female whumpees. I'll read and write both, but the way I handle them is sometimes different.

Defiant whumpees. Whumpees can break down as far as it's possible to break, but if there isn't that spark of life or defiance left in there (or even a chance of it coming back) I won’t be particularly interested.

Male and female whumpers.

Creepy/intimate whumpers, whumpers who are just plain assholes, or whumpers who are sympathetic/morally gray/have interesting motivations/backstories. I'm pretty open when it comes to whumpers, actually.

Caretakers who are or become romantic partners.

Carewhumpers and bad caretakers, to a certain extent. This is a new thing for me that I'm exploring and I'm still puzzling out how I feel and how I handle it. Stay tuned.

Other random things:

Humor, wit, and banter, even in extremely dark situations.

Nerdy, oblique references to things I'm passionate about, especially music, theatre, and literature.

Not (really) my things:

These are things I'll generally shy away from, but aren't enough to make me stop reading something I otherwise like:

Hard BDSM. I have and do feature some light bondage and d/s in some of my work, but it's rarely the focus.

Excessive focus on rape/noncon and/or recovery from it. I'll definitely read about rape/noncon as long as it's not portrayed as romantic or positive in any way, but I find myself generally reluctant to portray onscreen noncon, especially of female characters. Noncon in backstories, though, absolutely.

Gags, blindfolds, hoods, and anything that covers most of the face. I do have a thing for muzzles, however, especially when you can see the whumpee's entire face through it. (My characters are pretty, I want to see them!)

Whumpees gagged and bound head to toe with rope, and other heavy bondage-type stuff.

The more ridiculous aspects of the BBU (drugging, memory erasure, sex slaves called "romantics," boys literally shipped in boxes, etc.).

Excessive gore/body horror, especially evisceration and similar.

Vampires/werewolves/angels/fairies/monsters/nonhumans, including superheroes/villains (I'll never say never, but in general, I prefer good old humans)

Pure sexual slavery, when that's the slave's one and only function. (See above).

Totally passive whumpees who are just swept along by the narrative and/or are completely dependent on others for help/rescue.

Conditioned whumpees who never become unconditioned, or slaves portrayed as happy or content that way (again, see above).

Whumpees who stutter, speak robotically and/or in the third person, or behave as if they have the mental age of a preschooler.

Unhappy endings to longer works, although I'm fine with short pieces with ambiguous/unresolved endings or no endings.

Squicks:

Honestly, not many.

Noncon, abuse, and/or toxicity portrayed as romantic. (In general, this stuff is fine). It's the big one because it shows up in a LOT of slavefic, which is my preferred genre of whump. I think many people have the idea that all slavefic glorifies and/or romanticizes abusive master/slave relationships, and that's simply not the case. And harassment and censorship aren't cool, especially when you haven't read the story in question. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

A/B/O dynamics and/or mpreg.

Forced cross-dressing, feminization, or any similar humiliation tactic related to gender.

Humiliation tactics involving exchange of bodily fluids (see above). (Not including NSFW).

Anything foot-related. As much as I love hands and doing things to hands, feet are the opposite. (But ankles are okay, otherwise, we couldn't have shackles!)

Some of the more out-there sexual kinks, which I'll spare you from having to see described here. You can probably guess what they are.

Onscreen harm to very young children and/or animals (threatened harm or as backstory is ok)

If something doesn't appear on this list anywhere (or even if it does), you can probably assume I'm at least open to it!

And of course, obligatory promo for my current WIP, Good Slaves Never Break the Rules, where — if you happen to share any of my things — you can find most if not all of them.

#whump intro #whumpy things #whump community #writeblr intro #writeblr #something else i spent way too much time on

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