Art By @elgrajaz Of My Oc Trouble And A Slightly Bruised New Chew Toy. Wanna See How The Playdate Goes?

Art by @elgrajaz of my oc Trouble and a slightly bruised new chew toy. Wanna see how the playdate goes? Ch 16 of Overcome is up on ao3.

“N...no.” Piers lifted his head, but the effort it took to keep it raised was obvious. His eyes opened, but stayed unfocused.

“Better.” Troubled smiled. “Should we start small, since you’re still coming around?” He cupped Piers cheek to steady him, then leaned in for a kiss. For a moment, there was nothing. Then the lips against his responded, meeting and then yielding while Trouble drank in a small, muffled moan from Piers. He gave his captive’s lower lip a gentle bite as he reached between them, smoothing a palm down the front of his boxers.

“Unh.” Piers breathed in sharply and tried to draw his knees up.

“You like that?” Trouble purred, sitting down on Piers’ thighs to pin his legs down. He kept petting the bulge between the other man’s legs, enjoying the way his breathing quickened. Trouble started kissing him again, humming happily between Piers’ moans while an erection grew under his teasing fingers. “Good boy,” he mumbled. “Normally I don’t go for smokers, but the taste suits how you kiss. I kinda like it.”

“W...whuh?”

“Maybe I won’t kill you.”

“Whas...s’happening?”

“Shhh. Easy, Meat. I know what I’m doing.” Trouble stole another kiss, then started working Piers’ boxers down. “Just relax and let it happen.”

“Nno. Get...get off--”

“You’re ready for me.” Trouble yanked hard until they could both see Piers’ swollen erection, dark against the pale skin of his abdomen. He smirked as he wrapped a loose first around it and pumped. “Mmm, so smooth.”

“Aah, fuck--” Piers tried to yank his arms free, then to buck Trouble off. “Stop it!”

“I don’t think you really mean that.” Trouble gave another pump and grinned when the erection twitched in his hand. “Come on, Meat, you know you’ll like it.”

Nancy takes the scene a little too far ✨

I can hardly stand and turn before I vomit, painting the rug. The taste is bitter, greenery gone sour and rotten, choking in the back of my throat. It brings me to my knees. My body is raw. My mouth is thick with bile.

The sudden grinding slide of his wooden chair as he stands up makes me sick again. Dizzy. He crosses around the table to where I am. I can just see his shoes as he looks down on me. I turn, pressing my cheek to the rug, curling over my knees, clutching my stomach. I hope the fucking thing stains. I can’t see his gross fucking smirk, but I hear it in his words.

“Oh, sweetheart, are you not feeling well?”

Piece of shit. What did he lace it with? Why the fuck did I ever trust--?

I can’t lift my head. Even if I could, how could I bring myself to look at him. he crouches down to look at me, brushing sweat slickened hair from the nape of my neck, from my forehead. My stomach twists at the tenderness, and my mouth sours with bile.

Fucking pig. Fucking bastard.

“Let me help you clean up, baby.”

He cups under my arms, as if to lift me. I jerk back, away from him, rocking back, clutching my abdomen, my chest, where my heart flutters.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

It sounds like a sob. His fingers sink into my hair, pulling my head back. Not as painful as the writhing of my guts. The prick. And his dirty fucking tricks.

“You poor thing,” he says. “I’m going to keep you. Just like I promised.”

I can’t pull back when he grips me by my shoulders, dragging me back.

“Come on, sweetheart. Shower time.”

I protest, weakly, a soft groan as I tip back against him, as my feet drag against the floor. his attempts to draw me upright results in me stumbling over the threshold of the bathroom, and I tear away, falling to my knees to vomit into the toilet.

I moan, and sob.

“What the fuck…did you do?”

He pulls my hair back from my face as I cough and spit, shivering and clammy. My head is pounding. It’s so fucking cold. I can’t stop fucking shaking, even as he shushes and coos over me. I quiver against him as he drags me against him, onto my feet, stuffing me into his massive, tiled shower, careful not to let me fall. I sink against the floor, and he lets me, fully clothed, curled into myself. Warm water sprays across my body, soaking my clothes, making me feel heavier. Like I’m drowning. Soaked and heavy.

He turns me, a blur of hands and the scoff of breath, a little laugh or something, unraveling my crushed limbs. He cradles my face in his hands against the stream of spray. I can just see his sweet smile through my bleary vision. Water beads against his face, dampening his hair, his clothes.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you’re like this.” Weak, he means. Helpless. Pathetic. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m going to take such good care of you.”

I bat his hand away, dropping back against the stone under me.

“Fuck you.”

He smirks. A laugh. Soft. Sweet. And then he pats my cheek, stinging a little against my skin, brushing my hair back again.

“Poor thing. Why don’t you stay here and cool down while I clean up, hmm?”

He presses a kiss to my forehead and my mouth sours. I cant even fucking pull away. Bastard.

“Be back in just a sec.”

He pulls the curtain closed with another little laugh, turning the light off, closing the door, dropping me into darkness.

Hours. Or minutes. The water pelting my skin. There isn’t anything left in me to vomit. And yet, I still feel so goddamn sick. I sob quietly. I don’t want him to hear me. Please. Fuck. Let me go home. Please. I don’t want to be here. Like I’ve swallowed razors. Fuck. Its agonizing. What the fuck did he do to me?

Footsteps. The door. The snap of a light switch, and the curtain drawn back, almost blinding me with a flood of light.

“Feeling better, baby?”

I stay silent. I could scream. Or sob. But I glance at him. It’s almost enough to remember how much I had loved him.

And I nod. I fucking nod. And he smirks.

“Good boy.” @whumpcember

Alright, so I love a Whumper that slowly and methodically breaks a Whumpee, as much as the next person.

But also... Angry Whumper who quite literally uses Whumpee as a punching bag. Short, (not) sweet, and straight to the point.

Maybe it's a once off thing, where a usually calmer Whumper, absolutely loses their cool due to whatever external factor(s), and takes that out on Whumpee. Slamming the door open to Whumpee's room, their enraged expression turning into a smile that stretches a little too wide as they approach.

Maybe Whumper has anger issues and regularly pays visits to their favorite little punching bag. Maybe that's the only reason why Whumper got Whumpee; just to use as a stress ball. Maybe Whumpee is something a little more; an unfortunate pet perhaps. Or maybe Whumper doesn't even care, their main goal was to torture Whumpee for whatever reason(s), and if they can take care of some stress while they're at it, then that's just a win-win scenario for Whumper.

Maybe one time Whumper releases Whumpee from their binds during a session. Whumper takes a step back, arms opening in an inviting gesture as they say, "Fight me. C'mon, I know you must want to, after everything I've put you through. Now's your time to get revenge, don't be shy."

And maybe Whumpee's wanting to use this opportunity to their advantage to try and escape, or maybe they're just a defiant little shit that's eager to get some payback. They land a solid blow either way.

...Only to regret it shortly after when Whumper's sadistic smile somehow grows even wider, and they proceed to beat Whumpee into a bloody pulp.

Ref Recs for Whump Writers

Violence: A Writer’s Guide:  This is not about writing technique. It is an introduction to the world of violence. To the parts that people don’t understand. The parts that books and movies get wrong. Not just the mechanics, but how people who live in a violent world think and feel about what they do and what they see done.

Hurting Your Characters: HURTING YOUR CHARACTERS discusses the immediate effect of trauma on the body, its physiologic response, including the types of nerve fibers and the sensations they convey, and how injuries feel to the character. This book also presents a simplified overview of the expected recovery times for the injuries discussed in young, otherwise healthy individuals.

Body Trauma: A writer’s guide to wounds and injuries. Body Trauma explains what happens to body organs and bones maimed by accident or intent and the small window of opportunity for emergency treatment. Research what happens in a hospital operating room and the personnel who initiate treatment. Use these facts to bring added realism to your stories and novels.

10 B.S. Medical Tropes that Need to Die TODAY…and What to Do Instead: Written by a paramedic and writer with a decade of experience, 10 BS Medical Tropes covers exactly that: clichéd and inaccurate tropes that not only ruin books, they have the potential to hurt real people in the real world. 

Maim Your Characters: How Injuries Work in Fiction: Increase Realism. Raise the Stakes. Tell Better Stories. Maim Your Characters is the definitive guide to using wounds and injuries to their greatest effect in your story. Learn not only the six critical parts of an injury plot, but more importantly, how to make sure that the injury you’re inflicting matters. 

Blood on the Page: This handy resource is a must-have guide for writers whose characters live on the edge of danger. If you like easy-to-follow tools, expert opinions from someone with firsthand knowledge, and you don’t mind a bit of fictional bodily harm, then you’ll love Samantha Keel’s invaluable handbook

Cree translation for "from the river to the sea, Palestine will be Free:

Sîpîhk ohci kihcikamîhk isi, Palestine ê-wî-tipêyimisocik

ᓰᐲᕽ ᐅᐦᒋ ᑭᐦᒋᑲᒦᕽ ᐃᓯ, ᐸᐪᐁᐢᑎᓀ ᐁᐑᑎᐯᔨᒥᓱᒋᐠ