#impaled

[cloudattack]

These are my old arts btw. Created an account here before but deactivated it and now I'm in here again. Lol. Found these in the net. Does not guarantee I'll have this exact same style again tho.

[whumpmyworld]

@whumpgifathon || Day 22: There is No “I” in Team Team Member Whump | Forced to Watch | Search and Rescue 911 - 6x18

[theactioneer]

Death Run (Michael J. Murphy, 1987)

[withinthelines]

Poppy Playtime Chapter 5 (SPOILER)

This may get redrawn, eventually.

[madmarsii]

Party Animal pt. 4

This work is inspired by this series by @jumpywhumpywriter.

Whumpuary 2026 | 13. “Hold still.” Possession. Impaled.

CW: forced nudity, non-con bondage/rope restraints, cloth gag, needles, possessive hero, villain whumpee

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He was everywhere. He filled every corner of her mind. Wherever she looked, she saw him. His broken form, bruises painted on his skin, blisters scattered across his body. Even now, drinking latte in her favorite coffee shop, she imagined his swollen head resting on her thighs-   

God, what was wrong with her?

She shook her head and sipped her coffee, savoring the bittersweet taste.

Villain was the definition of evil. She shouldn’t feel… this. Whatever it was.

But the whites of his teeth fleshing so close to her skin, the savage look in his eyes… A chill ran down her spine. She felt like a tamer of beasts who had been sent to a cage with tiger. It was thrilling. And utterly stupid.

She paid and got another coffee to go, for Superhero. Little gift to exchange for time with Villain. But she didn’t rush back home, no. She took her time, wandering past the shops, eyeing the displayed products. Nothing really caught her interest, until she passed the pet shop—she stepped back a few paces—and there, behind the window, was a set of collars. They were all different sizes and different materials and it was all too easy to imagine Villain in every one of them. Clawing his fingers at the too-tight leather strap. Gasping for air at the new oppressive sensation-

This needs to stop.

She knew people grieved differently and she lost too many in too short time, but this crossed every line. It couldn’t continue.

She decided to hurry—she didn’t want the coffee to get cold (and she definitely wouldn’t ask Superhero to see Villain again).

Villain was tied to a table. It was a remarkable handiwork—all the precise knots holding his body firm; not allowing him much movement besides insignificant twitch of a muscle.

Well, this didn’t go according to the plan.

Hero’s eyes travelled over his body. He was naked again. Stretched. His legs spread. The table ended at his shoulder blades, leaving his head unsupported and Hero reveled in how he switched between trying to keep his head up and letting it fall down, exposing his neck in such a vulnerable position. It would be so easy to just trace his windpipe with her fingers… and squeeze.

No. No. No.

She turned her head and looked out of the window. She’d never guessed when she returned to Superhero’s place, they’d have him in the kitchen. Like this. She hoped, at least, they would disinfect the place properly afterwards.

Superhero sighed: “You should be careful with the food, Bunny. He’s getting feisty.”

“And you should be careful with the starvation, if you want him to live.”

Superhero grinned. “Fair.” They sipped their coffee and then set the cup aside, next to Villain. “So. Where were we?”

A small metal box lay on the counter opposite them. Superhero rummaged inside it with their fingers, sending a sinister clinking sound through the room. There was something sharp. And it smelled of antiseptic.

Hero watched them pull a needle out­—huge one and glass-like. It shimmered in the light as if exited to bite deep into someone’s flesh. It sent shivers down her spine.

“Did he try to run?” she asked and hated how small her voice sounded. She didn’t want Superhero to get the wrong idea—she was not pitying Villain.

“Oh no. But he was getting smart with his mouth. It’s better to smother it right away than let it flare up into something bigger.”

“I said I’m sorry! Please!” begged Villain. “I promise I will be good. I will be good!”

Superhero rolled their eyes, impatiently tapping the needle on his thigh. “Bunny, would you mind shoving something in his mouth?”

She looked around. There was a washcloth slung on the faucet and she grabbed it and rolled it-

“Please, no,” shook Villain his head, but when Hero approached, he pressed his lips tight and turned his head. Hero didn’t really know what to do. She could grab his hair and twist his neck to the point of pain. She could cover his nose and make him struggle for air. But she didn’t have this inside… this kind of violence. It was all good in her imaginations, but now…

“Open, pet,” ordered Superhero with cold voice, tracing the sharp tip of the needle along his inner thigh. The blisters there ruptured and spilled clear liquid. “Open. Or I’ll go get the ring gag and we’ll see how many of these,” they brought the needle closer to his eyes, “we can stick in your tongue at once.”

Tears appeared in Villain eyes, but he let his head fall and opened his mouth. Hero stuffed the cloth in, pressing it deep, until not one piece stuck out. Villain gagged a little at the end, but didn’t try to spit it out, didn’t try to fight.

Superhero smiled, their face as bright as always. “You see how kind we are? You won’t bite your tongue like this. Now, hold still.”

He was shaking again. His big scared eyes followed Superhero’s every movement, his chest heaving with panicked breaths, as they drew the needle closer to his skin—and then the sharp tip drove through his flesh. Villain arched his back. He let out a cry, but the gag muffled it, leaving only a dull sound. The moment the needle was inside, sliding beneath his skin along the length from his pelvis up to his ribs, he tried to wrench himself free of the ropes.

They didn’t budge an inch.

His frustration was palpable. His pain sweet, delicious.

She watched his body give a fight already lost, uselessly trashing in the ropes… before he gave in.

Now you understand what it’s like to go this mad and be unable to do anything about it. Now you understand how people felt when you happened to them.

Villain closed his eyes. He tried to say something. Probably “I’m sorry.” Not that Superhero cared. They spun second needle between their fingers and then slowly sank it in his ankle. Pushing it deeper and deeper, slicing his ligaments, letting it appear on the other side.

Villain screamed. Rent the ropes. Trashed his head around. It looked like he wanted to hit something with it, hard enough to cause concussion—anything to allow himself the luxury of unconsciousness.

“Stop it now, pet,” Superhero frowned. “Have you forgotten what I taught you about accepting punishments?”

Villain shouted something into his gag, and Superhero chuckled, one hand pressed to their lips. “Oh, right. You can’t talk.” They picked up a third needle, and Hero saw terror wash over Villain. His eyes gleamed with tears as he shook his head in a pleading no.

“You’re supposed to be grateful for every punishment, because I’m allowing you to become better.” They set the needle beneath his chin, the sharp tip aimed into his mouth, toward his tongue. “But I’m starting to feel like you don’t want to be better. My lovely Hero came back from you yesterday completely shaken. Care to tell me what you did to her? Or should I ask her instead?”

Hero’s stomach dropped, her palms slick with sweat. Villain watched her with desperate, unblinking eyes, and Superhero was smiling.

Wrong. Everything felt wrong.

Hero took a step back. “He didn’t do anything to me.” Her voice sounded thin, even to her own ears. A strange shiver slid down her spine, as if she could still feel his breath against her skin, the ghost of his sharp teeth hovering far too close to her fingers. “We just talked.”

Superhero answered with a disinterested hmm. No hesitation. They drove the needle in.

Villain screamed.

The sound ripped through the room, raw and animal, and Hero’s knees nearly buckled beneath her. She pressed herself against the fridge. She wanted to stop this and she wanted to hear more. Rage and stupid, stupid compassion fighting within her.

“Now listen, pet.” Superhero stepped close to Villain’s face and idly threaded their fingers through his hair. From a distance, the gesture might have looked almost affectionate, if not for the ropes and the needles and blood. “If you ever hurt Bunny—if you ever make her sad, or uncomfortable, or displeased—I will reorganize your bowels. Do you understand?”

Villain nodded violently, tears streaking down his face. Yes. Yes!

Superhero straightened and turned to Hero. “You can take him back to his cage. Or you can play with him more. But be careful.” Their tone was friendly as always. “If he gets his dirty hands on one of the needles, he will try to kill you. Don’t forget who he is.”

Then their gaze flicked back to Villain, smile growing, sharp and so unlike them. “Don’t get any more funny ideas, okay?”

Superhero left without ceremony, the door closing with a soft, final click, leaving the girl alone with the monster. Hero—unlike the maidens in the stories—was not afraid. She put herself together fast and studied him. With one sharp, practiced movement, she pulled the needle from beneath his chin. Villain groaned around the cloth stuffed in his mouth, the sound low and broken.

“You can spit it out.”

Villain obeyed, though not easily. The gag clung stubbornly, his mouth painfully dry, and it took a moment of fumbling, desperate effort before he managed to force the cloth free. It dropped to the floor, darkened and slick with blood. The needle must have pierced through the thick muscle at the bottom of his mouth; through his tongue, maybe even grazing the roof of his palate. He swallowed hard, breath hitching, as if afraid to test what still worked.

Hero moved to the needle at his side. It looked scary, moving with his every breath, but the wound was shallow, and pulling it out didn’t leave much damage in its wake.

She put the sharp instruments away, remembering her friend’s words, and turned her attention to the ropes. It would have been faster to cut them with a knife, but she didn’t want to wield a weapon anywhere near a killer of his caliber.

She worked patiently until Villain was free—almost. The ropes still bound his forearms together behind his back, biting into his flesh, forcing his arms tight against his body.

“May I sit?” His voice was weak, and for the first time Hero felt all her precautions slipping into absurdity. What could he possibly do in this state?

“You may.”

Villain moved slowly. With his hands tight, the motion was clumsy, but once sitting, his eyes went immediately to his ankle. “Shit.” The needle was still there, driven deep, the glass vanishing into bruised skin. All his muscles were tensed, as if trying to keep it from moving. “Shit, shit.”

“Well… you could have had your bowels reorganized.”

Only then did he look back up at Hero and she swore that something, at that moment, happened between them. A memory passed. Understanding shared. His teeth on her skin. The shiver that ran through her body and left something behind, something that was festering, growing inside her. His feral eyes, beast long forgotten that finally bared its fangs.

The moment passed, swift and unreal. Villain bowed his head. “Thank you. For not telling Superhero I tried to bite you.”

Hero hummed at that.

She was disappointed—she wanted to explore… this thing. Understand what was happening, why she couldn’t think about anything else but him.

“What will I get in return? For not telling?”

Villain’s head shot up, confusion in his expression slowly morphing into fear. “I… don’t have anything.”

“Hmm… Is that so?”

Villain stared at her for a long moment, as though afraid that acknowledging it might make this conversation real. But he couldn’t run forever.

“I only have- You want my body,” he breathed slowly, half question, half realization. She saw the desperation seep into his being as he shook his head. “There is nothing more to give.”

Hero stepped closer and placed her hands at his neck, thumbs brushing gently over his tense muscles. It still baffled her—she could touch her nightmare like this and he allowed it.

“I want you to belong to me.” She didn’t know what it meant or why she wanted it, but God, she did. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, wiping the blood away, tilting his chin up.

“What do you say?”

Broken laugh escaped him, thin and breathless. “Do I have a choice?”

“We always have choices, dear.”

The same way you chose to kill Sparrow and Blue. Chose to burn my mother.

Her hands fell down, waiting. She forced herself to stay still, to breathe evenly, but she was shaking inside.

Yes. Say yes.

Villain bit his lip, pain and hesitation flickering across his face, then nodded slowly. “I am yours.”

Her heart started racing. She took hold of the needle buried deep in his ankle, and pulled it free in one smooth motion.

He was hers—and the weight of it hit her all at once.

God… What have I done?

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Previous ⇺ Masterlist ⇻ Next

Guess who’s little obsessed?

Tag list: @stars-hide-our-fires

PS: I meant Hero, not you Stars.

(I’m sorry I should stop trying to be funny)

@whumpuary

[whumpisgoodwhumpislife]

New type of restraints for vampires just dropped...

[macknus]

Febuwhump: Day Three

Prompt: Pinned Down

Febuwhump Masterpost

Whumpee ran. Sprinted through Whumper’s camp, feeling the cold, packed damp earth slapping beneath his feet was disgustingly wonderful. A feeling he didn’t think he’d ever miss, no… but here he was, breathless from the run, already exhausted from weeks of being captured and subdued, beaten and grounded and starved. His lungs screamed at him to stop, his muscles clenching as if he was ten sets into a workout, but Whumpee continued running.

A small crazed smile on his lips as he felt the wind on his face, rushing through his damp hair that Whumper kept tied back. The first thing Whumpee did when he got free was take that blasted bobbin from his hair and let his shoulder length raven birds nest free. He felt… oh gods, he felt alive.

He cleared the camp paths, rushing out of the alleyways packed with tents like buildings on either side and when he emerged onto the field that their camp was on he finally— after weeks that felt like years, stretched his white, feathered wings and continued to run.

Damn the ache in his back from spreading them.

Damn the stiffness of his limbs as he stretched them out to their full wingspan. He felt whole again now that they were no longer chained to his back at awkward angles.

He swallowed the cheers, the hollers, the whoops that threatened to spill out of his mouth from the relief, but he wasn’t out for the woods yet. He still had to clear Whumper’s camp before he risked making any more noise than is necessary.

He beat his wings after the stiffness faded to mere pins and needles. He was skinner than before, even if they were a little out of practice, they would hold him in the skies until he was free. They had never failed him before. And with the cool night air on his cheeks, the sable night sky calling to him, the stars winking, beckoning him to the heavens, Whumpee beat his wings, once, twice, then he was up.

He faltered a bit as he tried to steady himself in the air, a single, breath denying moment of a stumble as he fell through the air. But his wings caught and he wasn’t out for flying— he was—

He was FLYING!

He didn’t care as hot tears rolled down his cheeks, whipped away by the wind as he soared high above his prison, Whumper’s vile camp.

He was— he was actually going to be free…

And then he flew straight into a wall. Whumpee blinked, stunned as his body slammed against it— but it was just open air. Open sky.

“No,” he muttered, slamming his hand against it and a ripple whirled against the invisible barrier. The same barriers that Whumper’s sadistic Right Hand could weave. “No! No, NO!”

He pushed and clawed against the barrier and glanced up. He tried to fly above its edge, the impenetrable wall meeting a ceiling and he cursed.

“No! No! No! Come on,” he cried, pushing with all his strength against the barrier. There had to be a weak spot. There had to be.

“Do you know what the real kicker is?” A cold voice asked from below. Whumpee froze physically, while his insides raged against a storm. His heartbeat hammered against his chest, sweat forming on his brow, his chest, his back from the exertion. Whumpee trembled as he tilted his head down to see Whumper directly below him. Whumper met Whumpee’s gaze with a cruel smile as he stepped past the barrier that kept Whumpee trapped within the confines of the camp. “It only works on you, darling. It helps to keep your pesky friends out, and your defiant, ungrateful self in. Exactly how I want you.”

Whumpee snarled. “I’m not coming down. I’m not letting you chain me up again.”

Whumper stepped back into the barrier, all humour gone from his sharp, angular face, but his eyes glinted with a dark promise. “Good thing I don’t need your permission then, isn’t it?”

With a click of his fingers a spear appeared in his hand and Whumpee paled. Whumper tossed the spear in his hand, getting the weight of it in his fingers as he assessed Whumpee above.

“You can either come down here, now, or I’ll bring you down, boy.”

Whumpee glanced around the camp, but there was nobody else out of bed. Only Whumper. He could fly to the opposite end, avoid his attacks and then what? He couldn’t leave! Spelled to remain—

Before Whumpee could finish the thought he felt the whistle of the spear through the air and he rolled, barely dodging the blow in time. The spear ran straight through the barrier like a mocking taunt, but Whumpee couldn’t focus on that as Whumper summoned another spear into his hand.

“This one won’t miss. One last chance, Whumpee,” Whumper sang. His voice like gravel, echoing shards of ice through Whumpee’s ears and sending shivers down his spine. Whumpee knew how good Whumper’s aim was, and he didn’t want his wings to be speared which is exactly what Whumper would do.

Whumpee hung his head, wings beating against the air to keep him up. “Okay,” he said, hands balling into fists at his sides. “Okay,” he said again and let the air catch his wings as he descended.

It was pathetic really. Whumpee had a chance at freedom, at escape, and all it took for his defiance to smoulder was Whumper. Not an army. Not an onslaught of Whumper’s bloodthirsty soldiers, just… just him. With a spear.

Whumpee’s feet had barely touched the ground before Whumper tackled him to the ground. Whumpee’s head hit off the barrier with an oomph as his shoulders took the brunt of the blow to the cold, hard earth below.

Whumper straddled Whumpee’s waist, a cold smile on his thin lips. “You know how much I love your wings, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed, running his fingers over the feathers that made Whumpee squirm. He didn’t want the sensitive spots to be touched, especially by Whumper. That was something that he and his mate would share if he— if he ever got out of here.

But Whumper knew that. Knew how intimate a gesture touching Whumpee’s wings was and did it anyway.

“Which is why I’m so proud you didn’t make me put a hole through them,” he continued, touching an especially sensitive spot that made Whumpee whimper under Whumper. “But you still need to be punished. Right Hand suggested I clip your wings.”

Whumpee’s eyes went wide through his terror, shaking his head as Whumper smiled down his horrible smile at Whumpee. “Don’t worry, darling, I told her I won’t do that. I want you to still be able to fly… but your punishment remains.”

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s wrist and yanked his hand down until it was parallel to the ground. Whumpee struggled, trying to pull against Whumper’s strength, but his grip was strong, sure. Fed. Whumper wasn’t starved like Whumpee. Whumpee’s resistance was futile and they both knew it.

“Now, since your hands are the actual offenders, getting you out of your chains, I think this will be a fitting punishment.”

Whumper didn’t wait a beat before slamming the spear through Whumpee’s palm and burying it into the ground below. Whumpee screamed and thrashed under Whumper, begging, pleading for him to take it out, take it out, I’m sorry.

Whumper clicked his fingers and another spear appeared. Whumpee kicked and tried to worm his way out from under Whumper but every small movement aggravated his impaled hand and he cried out.

“You got cooped up, little bird, it’s okay,” Whumper cooed. “You wanted to be outside, you should’ve just asked, boy.”

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s free hand. “No! No! Please, Whumper! Please!”

“See? With those manners, I’d give you anything, darling.”

Then he impaled Whumpee’s other palm into the ground, effectively pinning him to ground, arms stretched out wide to his sides. Whumpee screamed as fire raced through his blood, no longer struggling but every breath, every tremor threatened to move his limbs and he wanted to be sick. The stench of dirt and cold and metal from his blood filled his senses which roared like a beast inside him.

Whumper’s smile dropped from his face as he stared down at Whumpee. He stroked a hand down Whumpee’s wing and Whumpee couldn’t stop the knee jerk reaction that tore against his hand and he screamed again.

“Now boy, you’re outside. Just as you wanted. A nice night below the stars might do you some good.”

Whumpee trembled as Whumper’s heat pulled away from him as the bastard stood. His mind only processing Whumper’s words after he walked towards the streets line with tents.

“Wait! You- you can’t leave me here!” Whumpee yelled after him, panic seizing his throat. “Whumper!”

Whumper didn’t answer, just kept walking further and further away. “Whumper! WHUMPER!”

“WHUMPER!”

There was no response. Whumpee stared up at the stars winking down at him, beckoning him to the sky and he sobbed.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Fairysong ch. 6

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |

Taglist: @whumpinthepot @princessquinnella @oldspruceinn

Author's Notes: thanks so much to everyone who has read so far!

Content Warnings: tiny whump, fairy whump, g/t, lady whump, royal whump, captivity, interrogation, torture, exhaustion, caretaking, healing, aftermath of impalement

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Owynn continues to tend to the princess in the days following her ordeal. He may enter once a day, during his shift, to give her food and make sure she is healing. These orders don't include treating her wounds or letting her rest outside the confines of the box, but Owynn tells himself these things are necessary in order for her to heal. Though she hasn't spoken, the fairy seems to understand that if the other humans find out, these small comforts will be taken from her. And so it is their secret.

"Are you feeling better?" He asks at the end of each visit, before he has to return her to the box.

For the first few days, the princess only nods, weary resignation in her expression.

Finally one day she sits up from the fabric on her own, arms wrapped loosely around her chest and stomach, wincing as moving pulls at her healing skin Then she looks at him, her eyes clearer than they have been in some time.

"Just a little longer?" she asks.

Her little hands shake; she occupies them by running her fingers through the ends of her hair. Its golden color is duller, as is the green of her eyes and the tone of her skin. She seems drained of all warmth, just as she has been drained of her magic. She is constantly trembling, a rag always drawn around her like a cloak like it can protect her body from further harm. Owynn never removes it from her, but he has no doubt it won't stop anyone else.

"Very well," he agrees.

Relief softens the princess's worn expression. She quietly thanks him.

Since he will be staying a bit longer, Owynn brings over a chair from the corner and sits in it beside the table. The fairy drops back with a sigh into the pile of cloth beneath her and closes her eyes.

"May I ask a question?"

"That is a question," she replies.

"A different question."

The princess sighs, this time with a tinge of wry amusement. "You can do whatever you want. I am powerless here."

"I just want to know your name."

She frowns, but does not move or look his way. "Are you stupid?"

"I - what?" Owynn sputters, thrown off by such a direct statement. "I am a knight," he protests, "and a well studied one at that."

He stands, intending only to prove his point by holding up a book he has along with him, but as soon as his shadow falls over the fairy her eyes open wide with fear.

"W-wait," she pleads, drawing the rag tight around her small form. "I did not mean it, please don't hurt me."

Owynn puts his hands up in surrender and sits down as quickly as he stood. She watches him, huddled and trembling.

"I will not hurt you," he says. He has said it a dozen times. He will say it a hundred more. It is true, as long as his orders do not require otherwise, and then...then, he can't be sure what he will do. He hopes to never find out.

The fright has stolen away whatever brief strength the princess found. She remains lying down, wearing a wary expression.

"I cannot tell you my name," she says. "It would be my ruin."

Owynn does feel a bit stupid, then. He knew it, but was not thinking.

"Not your true name," he assures her. "I mean, what may I call you?"

She chews her bottom lip, considering this. "Myrie," she answers quietly. "It is...you would call it a nickname, I suppose."

He is surprised to get an answer at all, let alone one so intimate as a nickname. He expected she would want to be called by her title, or with some other formal address. "Myrie," he echoes. It is sweet, pleasant to say and hear. "I have always wanted to meet a fairy, Myrie," he says. "I only wish it were not...this way."

"I used to wish to meet a human," she confesses in return. She brings her hands out from under the blankets, looking forlornly at the raw pink skin of her healing palms.

Owynn folds his arms over the back of the chair and rests his chin on them. "We aren't all cruel," he says. "But I'm sure that is little consolation."

Myrie's mouth twitches a little, like she might smile. "Not all fairies are good," she replies.

"But you are?"

The question makes her frown. "Am I not?"

Owynn shrugs. "If you are a threat to us, if you are evil, then the things they have done to you are..." He can't bring himself to say right or even justified, so he settles for, "understandable."

The princess continues looking mildly insulted, but she takes a moment to think over his words. Then, she slowly rises to her feet in a way that might be graceful if not for the flinch of pain when she puts pressure on her feet. It is the first time she has stood since before needles tore through both of them, rendering her more helpless even now that she's free. Standing must hurt a great deal, let alone walking. She does anyway, hobbling closer to his face.

"What do you think?" she asks. "Am I evil?"

Owynn's face heats under her unwavering gaze. Myrie has an air of royalty about her, even now, dressed in rags, weakened and scarred. But it isn't her nobility that gives him his answer. It is the shadows under her eyes, her trembling legs, the way her shoulders sag, the rasp still in her voice from screaming. Not an ethereal being beyond his comprehension but a living, breathing, mortal being capable of pains he can understand. Struggling to be strong, even when she feels anything but. It is the noblest quality Owynn can imagine. In another world, he could see himself swearing fealty to a leader like her without question.

"No," he says quietly. "I don't think you are. But maybe I am stupid."

To his surprise, Myrie glances down sheepishly. "I really didn't mean that."

"I know."

The princess sways on her feet; Owynn quickly places his hand beside her for her to lean on before her legs give out. She droops into the half-circle of his palm, allowing him to pick her up and return her to the pile of cloth.

"Get some rest," he whispers. He'll wait until she is asleep to return her to the box. It's easier that way.

And besides...he has a feeling she won't be left to heal much longer.