I am a writer and artist, working in both fanfics and original works. I primarily do whump and hurt/comfort. (Without the whump, you can't get the good comfort, amiright?) I will always give my characters a happy ending; it just might take quite a while to get there.
I am a big fan of hero/villain whump, emotional whump, pet whump/BBU (mostly because of the focus on healing, but I have a soft spot for the "caretaker is the new master" misunderstanding trope), and supernatural whumpees. I don't like unhappy endings, gore, bug/parasite horror, or major character death.
I don't have side blogs, and will inevitably go on fandom rampages every so often. These may include but are not limited to: Danny Phantom (and many crossovers with it), Supernatural, and Avatar: The Last Airbender. You may be sucked into new fandoms via my reblogs. I probably should apologize, but... eh. Join me on the dark side.
I finally made a sideblog for my fandom content! This will likely not be a perfect separation, as I consider my fandom writing to still be whump (see Hunters and Halfas, my SuperPhantom writing, for example), but should cut down significantly on the amount of random stuff showing up on this blog! If you wanna see what my current fandom obsession is, head over to @lunar-fandom-eclipse!
I explicitly DENY CONSENT for my works to be used in AI generation.
Art commissions are open closed!
Find me on Ao3
Whump writing masterlist
My BTHB card
Please feel free to ask me about my current or former projects, or just say hi! I love hearing from you all.
And, if you feel like it, I have a Ko-fi where you can buy me a hot chocolate. (I don't actually drink coffee...)
I have received all manner of threat, up to and beyond “I will play a flute carved from your femur,” and yet this is the first time I’ve felt truly threatened
there’s a post on tumblr about like. if you could do something to bring people a little relief, why wouldn’t you do it? which has unironically informed my practice as a nursing student and patient care tech
The magic of childhood is that you were constantly encountering new things. The best way to feel that way again is to fill your life with new experiences.
The magic of childhood is that you were constantly encountering new things. The best way to feel that way again is to fill your life with new experiences.
Hero gets interviewed about Villain on the anniversary Villain’s death.
////
“He was a very charming man.” Hero rubbed his thumb over the chair arm. “I imagine very few people would come to know him and not think of him fondly in one way or another.”
“But things between you and him were different, weren’t they?” The interviewer leaned back in his seat. “You’ve at been at odds with him since you were rookies. We were all surprised when you suddenly turned around and helped clear his name. How does a ten year rivalry like that dissolve overnight?”
“I learned the truth, Johnny. My feelings didn’t change the facts and I wasn’t going to lie down and let the world tear him apart.” Hero sighed and leaned his temple into his hand before looking back up. “And I never hated him, you know. I couldn’t.”
As the crowd quieted, Hero straightened in his seat, raking a hand through his hair. The studio lights seemed to burn the side of his face as he turned away and stared at Villain’s memorial picture on the projector.
Tight in the throat, he faced the interviewer once more.
“Villain died believing the world hated him.” He swallowed. “If only he had known how…how much he’s loved now.”
As Hero’s breath quivered, the interviewer glanced toward the sides, silently motioning for a break, but Hero shook his head.
“In truth, I came here because of some recent speculation on the internet.” Hero reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded paper. He kept it closed and carefully set it on his knee. “When the accords were written, the relationship between Villain and Ms. Fiero was strictly professional and none of the legal agreements were manipulated by romantic sentiments. The letters found in Villain’s apartment were not from Ms. Fiero.”
Hero’s hand trembled over the paper.
“They were written by me.”
The audience devolved into sound and flashing light, but Hero remained tall, staring down the main camera.
“Villain never got to read them.” Hero cleared his throat. “And no one else knew. I didn’t want to disrupt the trial and would’ve gladly taken these sentiments to my grave, but I will not stand for any slander against Villain or Ms. Fiero.”
“I cared for Villain, deeply, but that does not detract from his innocence or my part in championing the movement for his acquittal. The evidence remains clear.” Hero crumpled the letter against his leg. “I meant every word and I am not ashamed of my love for him.”
“And I hope you can extend your care to him as well, in the anniversary of his death. His story is important and should be heard.”
Once the interview ended, the curtains closed, turning the screen crimson.
The faun was terrified, limp on the ground as the orc stood over him, boot on his back.
"Stay down," the orc snarled, and he nodded frantically. His knife was long abandoned— he hadn't even managed to land a scratch on him before the hulking beast had flipped him to the ground, face-down in the dirt, and kicked the weapon far from his hands.
Which meant the orc owned him now. His one chance at freedom— gone.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please—" his whimpers cut off with a cry as someone else kicked him in the ribs. He knew that boot, it was his master. His old master now, he supposed. The sharp tip of her boot dug between his ribs and a shuddering cry escaped him. A snap of her fingers and he fell silent, trembling.
It was nauseating, how much control she had over him.
"And who, exactly, are you?" The orc snarled. The faun felt the weight on his back shift as the man above him moved. He braced for the crushing weight he expected, but it didn't come. If anything, the pressure lessened, slightly. He tried to take a deep breath while he still could.
"Oh, I'm just here to apologize for my pet's behavior."
She told me to, he wanted to cry, but he kept silent. He knew better than to talk back.
"Who gives their pet a knife?" The orc sounded almost amused.
"He stole it, little thief. I was planning on loaning him to one of the whip-weavers for a while, teach him some manners. But honestly, I'm bored of him."
She clearly expected a response, but the orc stayed silent. The silence dragged out for a few very uncomfortable moments.
"…So if you want to take him, as recompense, he's all yours. Keep him, eat him, sell him to the weavers—" she dug her boot further into his ribs and he cried out, "— I couldn't care less."
He knew she meant it. No question about it. She'd grown bored of him and no longer cared what happened to him. And now she was giving him away to an orc that she'd told him to attack. He allowed his mind to drift back to the forests of his home— the soft ferns, the smell of moss, the sounds of rustling leaves. He'd hoped that one day he'd see it again, but that tiny sliver of hope was ground into the dust beneath him.
Then the boot in his ribs was gone. He didn't dare look up as she walked away. Just listened as her footsteps disappeared into the crowd. And he was being lifted from the dirt. The orc was picking him up. Dusted him off— he could crush the faun so easily if he wanted. He hadn't yet. Toying with him, then, but why?
He shuddered at the feeling of a leash clipping onto his collar. The hand lingered at his neck. He took a deep breath— his collar loosened.
He didn't know it could do that.
"Stay close. Don't make me carry you."
He nodded quickly and followed at heel. As it turned out, he wasn't nearly as clumsy without someone yanking on his neck the whole time. It was almost possible to imagine that they were simply going for a walk.
A walk into the woods.
The feeling of moss under his hooves, of ferns brushing against his legs— he wanted to drop to his knees, to soak it all in. But he kept his gaze trained on his new master. It was a test, to see if he would try to run. He wouldn't— couldn't— leashed as he was.
They walked deep into the forest together. Here, in his natural habitat, he almost began to relax. His ears, long weighed down with heavy rings, began to twitch in response to sounds.
Then they stopped at a camp-site that was clearly well used. The orc sat on a log, so the faun knelt next to him in the soft dirt.
The orc broke the silence, of course. "Name's Atlas. What's yours?"
"Teddy, sir."
"Teddy," he repeated, without a hint of mockery in his voice. "Why'd you try to stab me, Teddy?"
"I was instructed to, sir." He braced for a reaction, a punishment, but one didn't come. Instead, the orc, Atlas, sighed.
"Figured."
"…Sir?"
"Folks there like to try to upset me— everybody's always looking for a show."
Teddy didn't understand, so he stayed quiet and watched as Atlas started a fire.
"I'm gonna unclip this tether. Trying to escape in these woods would be foolish— they're crawling with hunters. We'll camp here tonight and head home tomorrow."
"Home, sir?"
"Unless your home's nearby? But I'm guessing it isn't, and even if it was, I know you wouldn't lead a stranger in, and you wouldn't be safe without an escort."
He shook his head. He wouldn't reveal his clan's location— he figured he was dead anyway.
But a question still remained. "You're not gonna… you know…"
Atlas shook his head. "No, kid. Not gonna eat you." Then he unclipped the leash and turned his full attention to the fire he was building.
It was one thing to know that orcs were fire resistant. It was another to watch one stick his hands into the flames to adjust the coals. Teddy decided to watch as he worked, taking the opportunity to observe his new master.
His face seemed so much softer, here in the fading light. The firelight reflected strangely off the green of his skin and the gold of his earrings— he had so many earrings, but they didn't seem to weigh him down like Teddy's did. His dark hair was cut into a shaggy mohawk, though it seemed to be growing out a bit. The orc shed his chains, his jacket, his armor, until he was down to an undershirt and long pants.
It was disarming.
And then he was holding out a bowl of… stew? "Sir?"
"Eat. Rest. We have a long journey tomorrow."
Perhaps he was a fool. He knew he was— trusting someone he'd attacked just a few hours ago. Atlas could be taking him anywhere, perhaps he just didn't like his meat bruised, or he was just extending his freshness, or fattening him up.
But the stew was warm and his stomach empty, so he took it gratefully. And when the orc offered him a bedroll, he took that as well and curled up to sleep.
haven't seen much about musician whumpee, so hear me out: singer whumpee who lost their voice hours before an important performance and desperately tried to restore it through any means available. enter a frustrated manager who blamed the singer for being "careless with their health" and told the singer to pull themselves together or risk damaging their hard earned reputation. the singer broke down in the dressing room, with tears ruining their makeup and sobs worsening their hoarse voice.
bonus point if whumpee's vocal problem didn't come from a sore throat, but because whumpee got into a fight earlier in the day and whumper strangled them so hard they nearly blacked out.
oh this is brilliant. the whump reveal here is particularly tasty because it has to happen. whumpee can't pretend that nothing's wrong, because they can't sing. they can hardly talk. not to mention the fact that they're still shaking and terrified from the attack.
are their bruises? do they have enough makeup to cover them? does the manager's reaction change when they find out the truth?
(could whumper actually be the manager? maybe whumpee was already planning on pulling out of the performance. their manager couldn't make them do it, but they didn't think whumpee had a good enough excuse, so they choked whumpee out to give them something real to complain about.)
and how do whumpee's bandmates react? do they confront whumpee outright, or just exchange quiet glances with each other because they're not sure what else to do? something's wrong, but whumpee isn't talking, and when they do, they're sure as shit not being honest.
whumpee has to cancel the performance. obviously. they can't go out like that, with a wrecked voice and tears still on their face. but cancelling makes people try reeeeeeeally hard to find out why. how long before something gets out?
As a trained opera singer, this happens way too much. I personally have really bad allergies, so I always need to cough. It makes doing stuff frustrating. Whilst in my lessons, I can almost never sing to my full potential because I can’t breathe properly (or because there’s a bunch of phlegm in my throat). It’s especially bad if I ate something before. Apple? Throat & mouth is itchy. Chocolate? Phlegm and itchy throat. Watermelon? Now you sound like you’ve been smoking 6 packs a day since you were 11. SHT sucks.
It’s usually why I’m in a choir lol. You can cover it easier. But the thing about being able to sing properly in a room full of high schoolers who have no fucking clue what they’re doing is that you’re neutrally the loudest one there. At least for me, though I also have no control over how loud I am half the time.
Imagine a whumpee with asthma who needs their inhaler after every song. Imagine a disabled whumpee who needs crutches in order to stand. Imagine a whumpee with tonsil issues who constantly has to force their voice due to bronchitis, pharyngitis, etc. imagine a tone deaf whumpee that gets slapped every time they get the wrong note. Imagine a whumpee who has to redo a line over and over and over because they just can’t get the rhythm down. Imagine a whimper at a high school level, forced to sit in a choir with all their peers, listening to them fail over and over and always talk and being envious of them. Their life isn’t revolved around music. Their life isn’t revolved around this.
Imagine a whumpee forced into state, then country, then to get disqualified because they were found doing something they shouldn’t have been. Imagine a whumpee successfully climbing their way to the top, to finally be free of the bone-crushing pressure of winning, only to be dragged to another competition the next day. Imagine a whumpee being thrown music to learn for said competition and only having a few hours. Imagine whumpee being forced back to school the next day, after the weekend, after long, long plane trips, just for people to bombard them with congratulations and signatures.
Imagine whumper suddenly sitting in their choir, smiling at them from the corner of the room. Imagine whumper sitting outside their practice room and hearing their mistakes. Imagine whumper being there, haunting them, every time they turned a corner.
Bonus points if whumper is abusive/hurting them at home.
What would caretaker do? What would caretaker do when they discover how stressed whumpee is? What would they do when whumpee never texted them like they said they would? What would caretaker do when they walk down to whumpee’s house uninvited, just wanting to see them again, only to hear whumpee’s broken, hoarse voice forcing out notes that don’t even sound human anymore?
This also counts for Febuwhump Day 11: Broken Fingers
CW: boiling frog metaphor situation, restraints, broken bones, blood, hand and finger whump
Masterlist
---
It started, like so many things with Slipknot did, with an innocent comment.
"Your powers have grown," Slipknot praised Bailey. "You've gotten so much stronger in the last several months."
Bailey grinned. "I couldn't have done it without your help."
Slipknot accepted the compliment with a nod and a smile. "Your fine control could use some work, though."
—
It became part of their training, after that. Slipknot still pushed them to do more, but they also pushed them to do less. To do smaller, more delicate work with their powers.
It was rough going at first. Bailey was used to ignoring their powers and trying to use them as little as possible. Suddenly, their friend wanted them to do exercises for motor skills. They couldn't get a grip on anything smaller than a tennis ball. They broke items when they used too much strength. They knocked things over like a clumsy toddler.
Slowly, their fine control grew. They got the sense of where the edges of their powers were by knocking things over, just as they'd learned where the edges of their body were by running into things. They picked up smaller and smaller objects. They figured out how much strength to use to pick up items—an apple, an egg, a balloon— without breaking them.
Bailey finally felt confident in their abilities when they managed to successfully braid a length of paracord into a bracelet. They came to their next practice session wearing it, and demonstrated how far they'd come.
Slipknot beamed at them and rested a hand on their shoulder.
"I think you're ready to take your training up a notch."
—
"Tied behind my back?" Bailey asked, looking at the rope in their friend's hands with trepidation.
"Just loosely," Slipknot reassured them. "With quick-release knots, like I said. The ends will be in your hands. You can undo it at any time, for any reason. It's more as a reminder than anything else. I want you to see how far you can go during the day without using your hands at all."
"I don't know…"
Slipknot's earnest expression changed to one of sadness and resignation. "You don't have to. It's your choice. I just… I think this would be really good for you, little poppet. Your powers have grown as you've gotten more comfortable with them. This will help you with that. What better way to familiarize yourself with your powers than by relying on them?"
Bailey hesitantly agreed.
They only made it a few hours, the first day. Slipknot brought it up again the next week; Bailey managed to last longer. Gradually, it became easier to rely on their powers, and they stopped needing to rely on their hands.
"I want to do something different this time," Slipknot said, after Bailey had successfully made it through a day with their hands tied behind their back. "How would you feel about changing up the knots?"
"What do you mean?"
Slipknot smiled. "You've done so well, but you're still not trusting yourself. As long as you have the option to free your hands at any moment, you'll never really be sure about your progress. This way, there's no easy out. You'll know just how far you've come."
It made sense, and their friend had taught them so much. They agreed.
—
"You were sloppy out there today," Slipknot said. Their shoulders were perfectly even, but their jaw was clenched.
Bailey pulled off their mask and finger-combed their sweaty hair out of their face. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't cut it with things like this, Poppet!" Slipknot retorted. They started to pace the room. "Not when it comes to the heroes." Derision practically dripped from the last word.
"I know! I'm sorry!" Bailey repeated. To their dismay, they found themself having to blink back tears.
Slipknot turned back to them in concern. "Oh, Poppet. Come here." They held out their arms.
Bailey eagerly entered their friend's embrace. Their voice was wobbly when they continued. "I'm sorry. I thought I had it, but I just… I don't know. I'm sorry."
Slipknot shushed them. "You don't need to apologize any more. If anything, this is on me for sending you out too soon. We'll just have to do more training."
Bailey obviously wasn't comfortable enough relying on their powers in a combat situation, if that day's mission was any indication. They needed more practice.
The next time Bailey joined the group for training, Slipknot tied their hands. The knots were tight enough that their fingers were numb by the time training was over.
—
"That was entirely unacceptable," Slipknot said while carrying Bailey to the healer.
"Sorry," Bailey managed, cradling their broken arm. They couldn't look away from the unnatural bend in it, or the dark patch where blood had soaked their suit.
"I don't want your apologies. I want you to do better," Slipknot said venomously. "I know I trained you better than this. Start acting like it."
They left Bailey with Healer. They left Healer with instructions to use his powers to prevent infection, but leave Bailey's broken arm to heal on its own.
The knots Slipknot used to tie their unbroken arm to their cast were different than the usual ones, but no less tight.
—
"STOP!" Bailey yelled from where they'd fallen, flinging up an arm to protect their head.
"Hold," Slipknot said, tone calm but firm.
The gathered villains listened and stepped back from Bailey where they'd fallen during training.
"Poppet," Slipknot said quietly, "why are your hands free?"
Bailey felt their heart sink as they realized what they'd just done. They'd been practicing, alone, using the same paracord they had been so proud to show their friend once upon a time. They practiced tying and untying knots using just their powers, until they could do it without even looking.
"Because I distinctly remember tying them before practice started," they continued.
"I'm sorry," Bailey said. They hadn't meant to fuck up the training session. They just couldn't take another hit like that one, and didn't have anything else to use to block.
They lowered their hand from where it was still stupidly hanging in the air above them, and wiped at the blood from their split lip. "I just—"
"Do you think you know how to train your powers better than I do?" Slipknot asked.
They shook their head and did their best to ignore how the world spun from the motion. "No, Slipknot. I didn't—"
Their mentor cut them off again. "Didn't what. Didn't think? That's clear enough."
The gathered villains snickered in the background.
"Didn't mean to interrupt training," Bailey said.
Slipknot hummed in disapproval. "Well. It's too late for that sentiment now, isn't it. You've already done it."
"I'm sorry," Bailey said again. "I can— can you re-tie them? So we can get back to training?"
They sighed in disappointment. "No, little poppet. You've proven that won't be enough, any more."
Bailey really didn't like the sound of that.
"Hold them while I get supplies," Slipknot said to the others.
Two villains grabbed Bailey's shoulders and held them in place.
—
Afterwards, Slipknot carried them to the medbay. They rubbed Bailey's back and brushed away their tears as Healer set and splinted all ten fingers.
"I'm sorry this was necessary, little poppet," they said gently. "But you left me no choice. I can't trust you to stick to your training program on your own any more. I had to do something more drastic. If you'd just done as you were told, we could have avoided this."
They kissed Bailey's temple and stood. "You have the rest of the day off. Be down for training tomorrow morning."
As predicted it took a lot longer to get back as they need ed d to travel further on foot before they could find a taxi going the right direction.
Before they even opened the door they could hear their mom snapping curses one after the other
Masterlist | Previous
Corva shouldered her way past Aloka and shoved the door open with magic ready at her fingertips. Whatever new disaster was happening at the Leer family home, she would be ready for it.
This also counts for Febuwhump Day 11: Broken Fingers
CW: boiling frog metaphor situation, restraints, broken bones, blood, hand and finger whump
Masterlist
---
It started, like so many things with Slipknot did, with an innocent comment.
"Your powers have grown," Slipknot praised Bailey. "You've gotten so much stronger in the last several months."
Bailey grinned. "I couldn't have done it without your help."
Slipknot accepted the compliment with a nod and a smile. "Your fine control could use some work, though."
—
It became part of their training, after that. Slipknot still pushed them to do more, but they also pushed them to do less. To do smaller, more delicate work with their powers.
It was rough going at first. Bailey was used to ignoring their powers and trying to use them as little as possible. Suddenly, their friend wanted them to do exercises for motor skills. They couldn't get a grip on anything smaller than a tennis ball. They broke items when they used too much strength. They knocked things over like a clumsy toddler.
Slowly, their fine control grew. They got the sense of where the edges of their powers were by knocking things over, just as they'd learned where the edges of their body were by running into things. They picked up smaller and smaller objects. They figured out how much strength to use to pick up items—an apple, an egg, a balloon— without breaking them.
Bailey finally felt confident in their abilities when they managed to successfully braid a length of paracord into a bracelet. They came to their next practice session wearing it, and demonstrated how far they'd come.
Slipknot beamed at them and rested a hand on their shoulder.
"I think you're ready to take your training up a notch."
—
"Tied behind my back?" Bailey asked, looking at the rope in their friend's hands with trepidation.
"Just loosely," Slipknot reassured them. "With quick-release knots, like I said. The ends will be in your hands. You can undo it at any time, for any reason. It's more as a reminder than anything else. I want you to see how far you can go during the day without using your hands at all."
"I don't know…"
Slipknot's earnest expression changed to one of sadness and resignation. "You don't have to. It's your choice. I just… I think this would be really good for you, little poppet. Your powers have grown as you've gotten more comfortable with them. This will help you with that. What better way to familiarize yourself with your powers than by relying on them?"
Bailey hesitantly agreed.
They only made it a few hours, the first day. Slipknot brought it up again the next week; Bailey managed to last longer. Gradually, it became easier to rely on their powers, and they stopped needing to rely on their hands.
"I want to do something different this time," Slipknot said, after Bailey had successfully made it through a day with their hands tied behind their back. "How would you feel about changing up the knots?"
"What do you mean?"
Slipknot smiled. "You've done so well, but you're still not trusting yourself. As long as you have the option to free your hands at any moment, you'll never really be sure about your progress. This way, there's no easy out. You'll know just how far you've come."
It made sense, and their friend had taught them so much. They agreed.
—
"You were sloppy out there today," Slipknot said. Their shoulders were perfectly even, but their jaw was clenched.
Bailey pulled off their mask and finger-combed their sweaty hair out of their face. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't cut it with things like this, Poppet!" Slipknot retorted. They started to pace the room. "Not when it comes to the heroes." Derision practically dripped from the last word.
"I know! I'm sorry!" Bailey repeated. To their dismay, they found themself having to blink back tears.
Slipknot turned back to them in concern. "Oh, Poppet. Come here." They held out their arms.
Bailey eagerly entered their friend's embrace. Their voice was wobbly when they continued. "I'm sorry. I thought I had it, but I just… I don't know. I'm sorry."
Slipknot shushed them. "You don't need to apologize any more. If anything, this is on me for sending you out too soon. We'll just have to do more training."
Bailey obviously wasn't comfortable enough relying on their powers in a combat situation, if that day's mission was any indication. They needed more practice.
The next time Bailey joined the group for training, Slipknot tied their hands. The knots were tight enough that their fingers were numb by the time training was over.
—
"That was entirely unacceptable," Slipknot said while carrying Bailey to the healer.
"Sorry," Bailey managed, cradling their broken arm. They couldn't look away from the unnatural bend in it, or the dark patch where blood had soaked their suit.
"I don't want your apologies. I want you to do better," Slipknot said venomously. "I know I trained you better than this. Start acting like it."
They left Bailey with Healer. They left Healer with instructions to use his powers to prevent infection, but leave Bailey's broken arm to heal on its own.
The knots Slipknot used to tie their unbroken arm to their cast were different than the usual ones, but no less tight.
—
"STOP!" Bailey yelled from where they'd fallen, flinging up an arm to protect their head.
"Hold," Slipknot said, tone calm but firm.
The gathered villains listened and stepped back from Bailey where they'd fallen during training.
"Poppet," Slipknot said quietly, "why are your hands free?"
Bailey felt their heart sink as they realized what they'd just done. They'd been practicing, alone, using the same paracord they had been so proud to show their friend once upon a time. They practiced tying and untying knots using just their powers, until they could do it without even looking.
"Because I distinctly remember tying them before practice started," they continued.
"I'm sorry," Bailey said. They hadn't meant to fuck up the training session. They just couldn't take another hit like that one, and didn't have anything else to use to block.
They lowered their hand from where it was still stupidly hanging in the air above them, and wiped at the blood from their split lip. "I just—"
"Do you think you know how to train your powers better than I do?" Slipknot asked.
They shook their head and did their best to ignore how the world spun from the motion. "No, Slipknot. I didn't—"
Their mentor cut them off again. "Didn't what. Didn't think? That's clear enough."
The gathered villains snickered in the background.
"Didn't mean to interrupt training," Bailey said.
Slipknot hummed in disapproval. "Well. It's too late for that sentiment now, isn't it. You've already done it."
"I'm sorry," Bailey said again. "I can— can you re-tie them? So we can get back to training?"
They sighed in disappointment. "No, little poppet. You've proven that won't be enough, any more."
Bailey really didn't like the sound of that.
"Hold them while I get supplies," Slipknot said to the others.
Two villains grabbed Bailey's shoulders and held them in place.
—
Afterwards, Slipknot carried them to the medbay. They rubbed Bailey's back and brushed away their tears as Healer set and splinted all ten fingers.
"I'm sorry this was necessary, little poppet," they said gently. "But you left me no choice. I can't trust you to stick to your training program on your own any more. I had to do something more drastic. If you'd just done as you were told, we could have avoided this."
They kissed Bailey's temple and stood. "You have the rest of the day off. Be down for training tomorrow morning."
"see you the same time tomorrow." is probably one of the most sluttiest things a whumper can say after hurting whumpee in the most agonizing, mind-breaking way possible
Bailey panted, biting their cheek to keep from crying out. Slipknot was saying something to the others, but Bailey couldn't focus enough to make out the words. Their mind had no room left for anything that wasn't pain.
They yelped in surprise as the bindings holding them up by their wrists suddenly loosened, dropping them to the floor. They landed in a puddle.
That's going to be a pain to clean up. I never was any good at getting blood out of my clothes.
Slipknot walked over and removed the cuffs with a sigh.
"I'm disappointed, Poppet," they said. "I expected better from you."
Bailey had to swallow down a mouthful of blood before they could say anything in response. "Sorry."
Slipknot clicked their tongue. "'Sorry' isn't good enough. I taught you better than this. If you want to make it up to me, try to be less of an embarrassment next time."
Bailey nodded dumbly.
"Clean this up," Slipknot commanded. "The floor as well as the tools. I'll be back in a bit to make sure you did a thorough enough job. Don't even think about leaving this room before then."
"Yes, sir."
"And remember. Training is at the same time again tomorrow."
shittt I would normally feel bad for bailey and continue reading with a sadistic smile but 'I was Inspired. Have some pain.' made me laugh out loud so hard that my sister started demanding to see "the funny meme on your phone" but the problem is that she had no idea what I was reading- sooo now I'm the evil sister for not letting her see the joke lol
what i thought we had distanced ourselves from was the reduction of women to vaginas and wombs and the ability to bear children. i thought we had progressed past ‘dresses are for women and pants are for men.’ i thought we progressed past the idea that someone is less of a woman if she does not adhere strictly to beauty standards. i thought we progressed past the idea that naturally being comfortable adhering to highly feminine standards is vulgar. but i (sarcastically) guess no one could have predicted that trans-exclusive feminism would be the downfall of all the progress we’ve made
“We’re in danger of losing what the entire second wave of feminism, what the entire second wave of women’s liberation was built on, and that was ‘Biology is not destiny’. ‘One is not born a woman,’ Simone de Beauvoir said, ‘one becomes one’. Now there’s some place where transsexual women and other women intersect. Biological determinism has been used for centuries as a weapon against women, in order to justify a second-class and oppressed status. How on Earth, then, are you going to pick up the weapon of biological determinism and use it to liberate yourself? It’s a reactionary tool.”
— Quote by Leslie Feinberg, from TransSisters: The Journal of Transsexual Feminism, issue 7, volume 1. 1995.
Grief has kept Hero hidden from the world for far too long. Determined to reclaim her life, she accepts an invitation to a friend’s party—but she isn’t prepared for the night’s main attraction: the man who took everything from her. Bloodied. And wearing a leash.
Contains: villain whumpee, hero whumpers, used as a party entertainment, nsfw
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7 – comming soon
This series is inspired by the amazing work of @jumpywhumpywriter: Emaciated Villain Used as Entertainment at a Hero's Party.
Do you need to read it to understand my story? No. You should, though—it's an excellent story.
...I forgot to reblog this, oops. Went to do it within the first few hours it was posted and totally got distracted before I finished the task (that happens to me a lot XD)
But, PARTY ANIMAL JUST GOT A MASTERLIST UPGRADE??? 😱
I am LOVING IT!! Y'ALL SHOULD CHECK THIS FANFIC OUT AT ONCE IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY!
we gotta get back to torrent distribution, i just watched someone eat eight grand in bandwidth charges because they ran a direct-download piracy site with local file hosting through cloudflare. torrents were invented literally for this exact reason
i have a file or folder on my pc that i want to share with other people. let's call it gayshit.mp3
unfortunately gayshit.mp3 is 750mb and im not paying for discord nitro so i need another way to send it
i put it into qbittorrent and it makes a torrent file. this is essentially a very small file that points to gayshit.mp3 so other computers can find it. kinda like a treasure map
i send this tiny file to my friend, who loads it into qbittorrent. their computer takes a moment to find mine over the vast expanse of cyberspace and then (as long as my pc is running and the file is still where it should be), it gets copied from my hard drive to theirs
this is the cool part: if somebody else loads that tiny file, they can download it from both of us. if i'm offline but my friend is on, the third person can still get it. this also means that if two people have separate halves of the file, they can download the other half from each other. as long as some combination of people have the pieces between them, they can all have the whole thing.
crucially this does not require a server!!! you can just upload the file to a few people and as long as they keep it, it's still accessible. as long as somebody, somewhere is still connected, it's available forever. the only way it goes away is if everybody disconnects from it.
