Poisoning Method Of Choice? (Injection, Ingestion, Inhalation, Etc)

“how’s the writing going?” i’m glad you asked! my room has never been cleaner and i’ve decided to take up baking

Current aesthetic of my brain is a whumpee who seems powerful and dangerous to outsiders, but in reality is under the thumb of someone who both treats them cruelly and controls their every move 💖

Groping is just better when it's humiliating and disrespectful and hedonistic. Pushing you against a wall and covering your mouth while I grab at your chest. Forcefully spinning you around and bending you over so I can get a better grip on your ass. Pulling your hair to force your head back so I can wrap my hand around your neck. Slapping you across the face while I explore the inside of your thighs. Invading your personal space, stripping you of your dignity and autonomy, until you're my dumb, needy grope slut, begging me to use you.

your writing does not have to be good. your author’s note does not have to go on its knees for a hundred words before each chapter repenting. you only have to let the soft gremlin of your brain write what it wants.

bring back tumblr ask culture let me. bother you with questions and statements

Injury Prompt #1031

Loss of consciousness

OMG

whumpee being kept as just a blood source~

it’s just so much more dehumanizing, getting tossed around and kept restrained and covered in bruises and bite marks all the time, always on the precipice of deleriousness from the constant blood loss. weak and angry and desperate but too drained of blood and energy to do anything but snarl and struggle weakly against the ropes that keeps their hands behind them

‘Don’t move.’

Whumpee’s brows furrow as they stand in front of the wooden structure nailed to the wall. What’s whumper going to do this time?

‘Back against the wood.’

Whumpee takes a careful step backwards, hoping, if they press hard enough against it, they’ll just disappear.

‘Each time you flinch it’s another lash.’ And with that, whumper drew their knife from their pocket, and threw it.

Whumptober #3

Trope of the day: impaled

_

“Oh fuck …” Whumpee looks at his shaky, blood smeared hand and his breath catches in his throat as caretaker’s hands work on his body.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. At least … kinda,” the older mumbles as he helps whumpee move his legs to lay more comfortably. Whumpee knows that this is a lie, but he doesn’t comment it. Even if he wanted to, his mouth doesn’t even open.

That doesn’t stop him from whimpering when caretaker moves his shirt up, brushing against the knife still sticking in his abdomen. “Fuck, I know it hurts, I’m sorry.” The words ring in his ears, as he manages to give him a little nod. He knows he doesn’t want to hurt him. He never does and that makes caretaker special … at least in his sad example of a life.

His hands move unconsciously, fingers brushing against the object in his body, which makes him panic a bit. Gone. He wants it gone. In his pain-filled delirium, whumpee tries to take the knife out, but caretaker quickly grabs his hand, holding it in his own.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me, whumpee. That’s good. Good. We have to leave it in, otherwise you’ll bleed out before the fucking ambulance has the chance to come pick you up. Yes, I know it hurts, and I’m so sorry, but you have to wait just a little bit longer,” caretaker explains and his thumb circles over whumpee’s pale hand and he gives it a quick kiss. “Hold onto my hand, squeeze it, if it helps, but keep your fingers from that knife.”

Whumpee holds onto caretaker like a lifeline.

a wonderful ao3 author note