It's Me. I'm The Whumpee Again. I Dislocated My Shoulder When I Was 8, I Got Hit By A Car. There Were

It's me. I'm the whumpee again. I dislocated my shoulder when I was 8, I got hit by a car. There were a couple of other injuries, had to wear a back brace for a while, but the shoulder was the worst one. My dad had to hold my other arm down and the paramedic had to sit on my legs because I kept trying to squirm away. It HURT.

My fiancee dislocated my shoulder again a couple of years ago, and I did the exact same thing Sam did. Slammed my shoulder into the wall to shove it back into place. My fiancee looked like she was ready to rip my head off. She's CNA certified and I was an EMT at the time. I'm well aware how stupid that was, but healthcare is expensive and I don't have that money.

Dislocated joints are actually very fun whump concepts. Think about it:

First you have the initial injury. Be it a dislocated shoulder, hip, knee, all potential locations are dehibilitating, losing the use of that arm or being unable to walk, etc.

Also that every time the whumpee tries to move the dislocated limb they risk making it worse and intensify the pain.

Then... then you have treatment. Forcing a dislocated joint back into place is NOT FUN. Not for the whumpee, not for the caretaker. And if someone inexperienced tries and messes it up... oh boy oh boy we making it worse!

And of course you have all the issues that might come about after the joint is fixed, such as strained muscles, sprained ligaments and tendons, nerve damage, vascular (blood vessel) issues, stiff joints/osteoarthritis... the list goes on.

Anyway thinking about this bc someone I know irl dislocated both their knees on separate occasions, (and it took like four medical professionals to put it back in place). Also I remembered a scene in Mom's Night Out (2014) where Sam dislocates his shoulder and instead of letting a medical professional set it he slammed. His shoulder. Into a wall. And shoved it back in place. In the storming emergency room. In front of the receptionist. I cringe every time.

Damn

"It didn’t have to be this way."

Scream | Double Cross | Made to Watch @juneofdoom Day 2

cw: violence, beating, living weapon whumpee, implied captivity, see above

“You dumb, stupid girl,” Handler said, razor-sharp with disdain. This one always had a nasty look on his face, and he wasn’t particularly fond of her. Probably because mouthing off to him and his dumb lackeys had become muscle memory by now. “You just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?”

She crossed her arms. It didn’t matter how many people were watching her— Handler and another handler, some of their lackeys and some of their minutemen, and Asset. The bodyguard that had been assigned to her. They always had this whole entourage with them, and these days she preferred it when it was just her and Asset. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it? Beat me, drug me, do whatever the fuck else you do to control the rest of them?” She laughed in his face. ”Try me. I know it’s all empty threats.”

Asset gave her a hardened look. One of warning. It was hard to think about how he was included in them— how he already had years and years of being beaten, drugged, so conditioned into place. Into being one of their best.

She probably shouldn’t have ignored that look.

“I don’t need to make empty threats,” Handler assured her, so dry and unconcerned that it made her want to turn into a spitfire, spewing flame and vitriol, a maelstrom too violent to contain even with all these fucking men around. “That’s what you don’t understand. Control is an easy thing.” He pulled out one of those fucking batons, so sleek and easy to extend. It slipped right into place. “Asset.”

She steeled her shoulders as Asset stepped forward. Her heart pounded and pounded anyways, a betrayal to her big stupid ego and all the false confidence that got her into this. What was Handler going to do, really? Force her own bodyguard to beat the shit out of her? Yeah, right.

“I don't need to touch you to make you suffer,” Handler continued. “You’ve already made it too easy for me.”

Asset gave a preemptive grimace. He saw it coming way before she did.

The baton cracked off of Asset’s face in one violent swing. Handler struck again and Asset stumbled back, shielding an arm across his head, but it didn’t matter. The baton struck him across the ribs next, and then his back, and then his face again. Again, and again.

She cried out. “No! Stop! What the fuck are you doing?!”

Asset desperately tried to stay on his feet, but then it was an onslaught. Three, four more batons extended, and suddenly all those damn minutemen were going at it. Strike after strike, each one more merciless than the next, metal cracking against muscle and bone until there were welts and blood.

It didn’t matter if Asset fought back, briefly, overwhelmed by violent instinct and blocking with a forearm, grappling a baton, swinging— only for one hard hit to land right up between his shoulders and send him crashing to the ground.

“Stop!” She screamed. It didn’t matter if she rushed forward, blind with desperation, caught in arms too strong even as she fought and kicked. “Get off him! This has nothing to do with him!”

“No, it doesn’t,” Handler agreed, standing back as his entourage took over the beating. “This is about you. This is your punishment. A reminder about actions and consequences.”

Asset grunted and cursed, trying in vain to shield himself curled up on the ground until a hard kick to the ribs had him sprawling onto his back. The batons landed again and again. At some point he stopped even defending himself, going slack all at once.

She kicked and flailed and screamed again. “Asset!”

“You’re just as simple as the rest. Forming attachments that make you weak,” Handler said, and he sounded so damn pleased. This was certainly playing out nicely for him. “Even worse for you to form attachments with things that don’t even belong to you.”

One of the men grabbed Asset by the collar and jostled him hard. Like he needed to wake up before the beating could continue. Asset’s eyes fluttered, dazed and already so swollen, a hand weakly grasping at the man’s as he sputtered out blood and saliva and a breathy broken, ”Fff-f’cker…”

The man yanked him right into his fist. Droplets of blood scattered once, then twice. He had to stop to shake Asset around again, and a horrible sound left him as he came to— like a groan and a whimper all twisted up in one broken jagged breath, like the next one would be too hard to come. His gaze wasn’t even tracking anymore, hazy and half-lidded, hands fumbling and slipping aside.

Another strike. And another.

“Stop,” she begged, everything blurred between tears. ”Asset.”

They had forced her onto her knees now, forced her to sit there and watch. Like some waking nightmare. Handler leaned in close and spoke gently. “It didn’t have to be this way, but I want you to remember this moment. This is what control feels like.”

Asset couldn’t even be roused. The man gave him a good shake and he just lolled, all deadweight, his head hanging back. The man let go and he hit the tile in one ugly heap. Blood smeared all over his face, blood slipping from his lips. So limp and lifeless.

“Powerlessness, cruel and swift. Doesn’t it seem effective?”

She sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

Yep. I can say with 100% certainty too that if I can do something about it, I absolutely will. Had to deal with a stalking situation for my baby sister (she was 9 at the time) a boy older than me comes asking for her. Told him to fuck off. He didn't. Not until I stepped outside with my pistol, made sure he could see me cock it, and he left a dust trail down the road. I was 15 at the time.

If I can do something about it, I will

A brilliant way to hurt older sibling characters is by messing with their younger siblings. I say this an eldest child - it is awful when there’s nothing you can do to help your little sibs. It feels helpless and infuriating. Doesn’t matter if you’re facing severe weather or someone is physically hurt or if it’s psychological. It sucks when you can’t help your little sibs.

Whumpees in traps

1. A hole in the ground

CW: gunshot wound, tranquillizing/needles, slightly intimate whumper

Whumpee stumbles through the underbrush, away from the shouting men and barking dogs. One arm, bloody with a fresh wound, is cradled to their chest by the other, making their escape a hip-swaying, unsteady affair. They can barely see in the cool blue light of dusk. The trees both aid their cover and disrupt their path. And then, the whole forest shifts up and away, and darkness surrounds whumpee before they feel the hard earth come up to meet them.

Dazed, they attempt to roll onto their back, but they only get so far before a wall stops them. Their legs try to kick out and earth crumbles there too, but doesn’t give — unlike their ankle, which feels tender and brittle. A halo of light shines above, not very far — but when whumpee gets to their feet, leaning on the sides of the hole for support, they find it’s too far for their current state. An arm’s usefulness lost to a captor’s gun, a body weakened by stress and captivity, an ankle sprained in the fall. The trap is a crude, unsophisticated thing, but obviously man-made. For wolves, or snakes, or maybe hobs. Not made for a whumpee, though now it may as well have been.

The barking starts up once more, close by. The shouts then, and bits of dirt rain down as a nose snuffles at the edge of the hole, encroaching on Whumpee’s fading light. The dog marks it’s prey with more barks. Whumpee cowers below, turning into the shadows and trying to make themselves invisible. Hopefully a whumper will fall in, and somehow become incapacitated, and whumpee can climb atop them to get out… but no. The whumpers see the trap.

“They’re here! Get a rope!” one shouts. “There’s no escape, whumpee. You come with us or you die down there.”

But when the rope is thrown in, whumpee refuses to cooperate.

“Take the damn rope, Whumpee.”

But Whumpee is frozen.

“Whumpers, hold the line. I’ll bring them up.”

The whumper scales the drop, wary of Whumpee’s attack when their back is turned. There’s barely enough room for both of them. Whumpee can only curl themselves away, as if they might melt into the dirt or sink beneath it. Whumper grabs the back of Whumpee’s neck, then their arm — the one with the bullet. Whumpee screams. Whumper lets go of their arm with a curse.

“They’re injured! Get me something to calm them,” Whumper calls to the others. “You’re a lotta trouble, you know that? They shouldn’t have used a gun on you though. Dammit…”

Whumpee is almost pressed against Whumper’s legs by the proximity in the small space. Whumper pulls Whumpee out of their huddled crouch, a little more gently than before. They fend off Whumpee’s hand as they make feeble, fumbling attempts to push them away. Then Whumpee is only sagging against the wall before Whumper, too tired to fight. Whumper puts an arm around their waist to keep them upright.

“Please,” Whumpee begs. “Whatever they’re paying you, it c-can’t be enough to-“

“Damn right it ain’t enough. Whumpers! Get me some light. And where’s that sedative?”

A case is tossed into the hole, and a shaky light illuminates the two figures in the dirt. Whumper catches the packet, bracing it against their chest to unzip it and grabs a syringe. They pull the cap off with their teeth, expertly handling the dose and keeping Whumpee still at the same time.

“No, no— just leave me here! You don’t need me! You can just leave me here please—“ Whumpee struggles in vain as Whumper uses the side of their palm to turn their chin. With the same hand, they bring the needle to sink into the flesh between Whumpee’s neck and shoulder.

“Just lemme— let— jrss,” Whumpee blinks, eyes wide and unfocused before they roll away in a haze, “jus let— ff-mmh…” Whumpee’s head slumps, and their body goes slack.

“That’s it, sleepy time…” Whumper mutters, shifting Whumpee’s weight closer to their body.

“Christ, you went fast. Ok. We’re good, boys! Bringing ‘em up!”

Goddamn-

Masochist whumpee who messes up simple tasks to get hurt by their master. When whumper notices this they get very angry and decide to show whumpee what real pain feels like

CW: torture, masochism, sadism, emotional and physical abuse

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single bulb casting eerie shadows on the walls. Whumpee stood trembling, their fingers fumbling, either in excitement or fear over the broken vase pieces scattered on the floor.

They knew the routine by now, the cycle of mistakes and punishments that had become their twisted solace. They longed for the sharp sting of their master's wrath, the only connection they had left in this world.

Whumper entered the room, their eyes narrowing as they took in the scene. "Again?" They hissed, the word dripping with venom. "You can't even handle a simple task like this?"

Whumpee's heart raced, a mixture of fear and anticipation swirling in their chest. "I'm sorry, Master," they whispered, their voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to..."

Whumper's hand shot out, grabbing Whumpee by the collar and lifting them off the ground. "Don't lie to me!" they roared, shaking Whumpee violently. "You did this on purpose, didn't you? You want me to hurt you, don't you?"

Whumpee's eyes filled with tears, their breath coming in ragged gasps. "Please, Master... I... I just..."

Whumper's grip tightened, their eyes blazing with fury. "You think this is pain? You think you know what real pain feels like?" They threw Whumpee to the ground, their voice low and menacing. "I'll show you what pain really is."

Whumpee curled into a ball, their body trembling as they awaited the inevitable. Whumper disappeared into the shadows, returning moments later with a thin, cruel-looking whip. They cracked it in the air, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

"Get up," Whumper ordered, their voice cold and devoid of emotion. "Stand up and face me."

Whumpee struggled to their feet, their legs shaking uncontrollably. They met Whumper's gaze, a mixture of fear and desperate longing in their eyes. "Please, Master... I..."

"Silence!" Whumper snapped, raising the whip high. "You want pain? I'll give you pain."

The first strike landed with a sickening crack, the force of it sending Whumpee crashing to the ground. They screamed, the sound raw and guttural, echoing off the walls. Whumper didn't stop, the whip lashing out again and again, each blow more brutal than the last.

"Is this what you wanted?" Whumper snarled, their voice growing more frenzied with each strike. "Is this what you needed?"

Whumpee's screams turned to sobs, their body convulsing with each hit. They could feel their skin tearing, the blood flowing freely down their back. The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that consumed every inch of their being.

Whumper finally stopped, their chest heaving with exertion. They looked down at Whumpee, a twisted smile playing on their lips. "Now you know what real pain feels like," they said softly, their voice almost gentle. "Now you understand."

Whumpee lay on the ground, their body broken and bloodied, their mind a haze of pain and confusion. They had wanted this, hadn't they? They had needed this. But now, as the darkness closed in around them, they weren't so sure. The only thing they knew for certain was that they were completely, utterly alone.

Whumper wasn’t done. They dragged Whumpee by their hair to the basement, each step down the creaky stairs echoing with dread. The basement was a chamber of horrors, tools of torment meticulously arranged on the walls. Whumpee’s eyes widened in terror as they were shoved against a cold, metal table. Their wrists and ankles were strapped down with cruel efficiency.

"Now," Whumper said, their voice a chilling whisper, "let’s see how much you can really take."

They reached for a set of sharp hooks, dangling them in front of Whumpee's wide, terrified eyes. "no..." Whumpee pleaded, their voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

Ignoring the pleas, Whumper pressed the first hook into Whumpee’s flesh, just below their ribcage. The hook dug in with a sickening squelch, and the guttural scream that escaped Whumpee was animalistic to say the least.

"Shh," Whumper cooed mockingly, twisting the hook slightly. "This is just the beginning."

Whumper moved with practiced precision, embedding more hooks into Whumpee's skin, each one drawing fresh screams and rivers of blood. Whumpee's body was a canvas of suffering, each hook a cruel reminder of their tormentor's power.

"Oh but whumpee.. Do you not enjoy this..?" Whumper cooed making whumpee shake their head so fast, that their ears started ringing. Or maybe that was because of the blood loss. They weren't so sure now.

"Why do you do this, whumpee?" The whumper's voice cut through the haze of pain, his words a cruel taunt. "Why do you crave this suffering?"

Whumpee could only whimper in response, their mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—fear, desire, and a twisted gratitude that they couldn't comprehend. The pain was relentless, a symphony of torment orchestrated by their own hand.

"Answer me!" The whumper's voice boomed, shaking them from their stupor. "Or do you need more?"

"I... I don't know!" Whumpee gasped, tears mingling with the sweat and blood on their face. "I just... I need..."

"You need me to show you what real pain feels like," the whumper finished, their voice low and chilling.

As Whumpee's screams subsided into weak, shuddering sobs, Whumper pulled out a thin, serrated knife. "You've been such a disappointment," they murmured, tracing the blade along Whumpee's thigh. "Maybe this will teach you to do better."

They carved slowly, deliberately, the knife slicing through flesh with a sickening ease. Blood pooled around Whumpee’s legs, the metallic scent mingling with the damp, musty air of the basement. Whumpee's cries grew weaker, their body wracked with uncontrollable shivers.

Whumper stepped back, surveying their handiwork with a satisfied grin. "You see," they said softly, "this is what pain really feels like."

Whumpee's vision blurred, their mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. The pain was a consuming fire, burning away any coherent thought. All that remained was a raw, unfiltered agony that left them broken and hollow.

As the darkness closed in, Whumpee’s last thought was a fleeting wish for an end to the torment, a desperate hope that they would never wake to face their master’s wrath again.

forever thinking about recapture

whumpee getting grabbed on their way home and dragged into a car thats hauntingly familiar

whumpee getting chloroformed again while a familiar voice is telling them to relax

or alternatively "did you really think i'd let you run?"

whumpee realising their home has been broken into and finding a threatening message somewhere. even just a found you scribbled on the wall

whumpee attacked while they're fumbling with the key to get inside, then promptly shoved inside the apartment and being tied up in their own bedroom

whumpee approached in a public setting, frozen in fear and unable to alert anyone because they know whumper has the ability to cause a bloodbath and they don't want to get innocent civilians involved

whumpee approached in a public setting and whumper showing them a photo of a tied up caretaker in a room that has served as whumpee's prison for months. "how about a trade?"

whumpee waking up in a familiar cell, having panic attack after panic attack, sobbing and screaming their throat raw because this can't be happening again

whumpee going docile and quiet as soon as they realise what's happening, their conditioning kicking in to protect them

"i'm so glad you still remember me"

"you haven't forgotten your manners, have you?"

"i heard you went to therapy, hm? i hope they haven't stuffed your head full of too many lies"

whumper bringing out their most common torture instrument. "for old times' sake"

caretaker realising that whumpee didn't send them their daily text, the one they agreed on specifically so they'd know whumpee was okay

whumpee not picking up the phone for the third time

whumper picking up whumpee's phone. "oh, thank goodness whumpee, i thought-" "i'm awfully sorry, they're a bit preoccupied at the moment." caretaker can hear whumpee's muffled cries and screams in the background

caretaker arriving home and finding the apartment ransacked and empty

caretaker finding a letter from whumper. "thanks for watching them while i was dealing with the police <3"

caretaker finding a stack of photos of whumpee being subdued in their own apartment