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Let's Get You Cleaned Up

Warnings: captivity, torture, bruises, restraints, rescue, hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery

Whumpee trembled in the corner of their cage. Their face hurt and they knew the bruises of various ages that covered their body probably also covered their face. Whumper had been relentless in their beating. But didn't break any of Whumpee's bones. Didn't bleed them. Just battered and bruised Whumpee for hours on end.

Each time Whumper was done with them, Whumper shoved them back in the cage, locking their shackles to the back corner. Each time was a welcome relief from the pain. Each time Whumpee could huddle in the corner and cry by themself. Each time they were safe from Whumper.

But this time was different.

Whumpee could hear screaming and shouting from deep within the compound. Could hear the sound of fighting. Each noise grew louder and louder. Each noise had Whumpee shaking harder and harder. What if someone was coming to hurt them?

The door banged open and Whumpee flattened themself into the corner of the cage. They couldn't help the fine tremor that wracked their body.

"Whumpee?" A voice that Whumpee had hoped they would hear again called. "Whumpee, are you there?"

"Caretaker," Whumpee sobbed. They were saved. Caretaker was there. Caretaker had found them.

"Whumpee!" Caretaker said as they hurried forward. "Let's get you out of there and cleaned up."

"Caretaker," Whumpee sobbed harder. This was real. This was happening. They were saved.

Caretaker quickly broke the lock on the cage doors. They quickly unchained Whumpee. "Whumpee, Whumpee. I've got you. You're ok," Caretaker said as they took Whumpee in their arms.

"You're freezing! Let's get you a blanket." Caretaker started to rise, but Whumpee clung on harder.

"Please," Whumpee sobbed into Caretaker's chest, "don't leave. I...I can't, please."

Caretaker wrapped their arms around Whumpee tighter. "I'm not going to leave you, Whumpee. Not ever. I have you. You're safe now."

OOOOOH that's some good shit right there

Jewelry patterned like thorned vines that twist and grasp when they’re activated, restraining the wearer and piercing them, only stopping when the one controlling them wills it.

Aww, that last bit is cute

after

cw: brief description of illness-related weight loss and a near-death illness experience

“Where’s B?” A hangs their coat on the hook and kicks off their work boots, moving closer to stand by the stove.

“In bed. Wanted to rest before dinner.” C’s bent over the table, a spread of papers and documents covering the surface.

“Let me guess. They tried to do too much today and wore themselves out.”

“What do you think?” C looks up from the desk, glasses perched on their nose. “I found them dead on their feet in the kitchen, blanket wrapped around their shoulders, trying to do the dishes. Had to practically carry them upstairs.”

It’s not a suprise, but it still makes A’s heart squeeze a bit. A few weeks ago, B had caught a bad cold which turned to pneumonia. For two weeks it had been touch and go, and though B had made it through the worst of the illness had passed, it had still left B weak, gaunt, and pale.

They weren’t bedridden any more, but they tired easily. The dark bruises still painted the skin under their eyes, and they were frequently chilled by the drafty winter air. A could tell they were so much thinner than they used to be, and they shuffled around like it hurt to move.

Yet still, B pushed themselves to do things, and A hated it.

“I’ll go up and check on them, see how they are.”

“Be gentle. You know they don’t like it when you tell them what they ought not to be doing,” C warned.

“Then they ought not to do it,” B called over their shoulders as they headed upstairs.

—————

B’s just waking up when they see A gazing at them from the door, a haunted look on their face.

“Don’t look at me like that.” B shrinks into the covers like a turtle retreating to its shell as A enters the bedroom.

“Like what?” A crosses the room to stir the fire in the stove.

“Like I’ll vanish if the breeze blows too hard.”

“B, you’re hardly more than skin and bones—I think I get to be concerned.”

B reflexively wraps their arms around their midsection, trying not to wince at being able to feel each rib. For weeks, they’d been so nauseous and delirious that all they could manage was a few sips of broth at a time. They were already lean to begin with—now, they could count bones they didn’t realize they had. Everything about them felt frail, shaky, insubstantial—so incredibly weak. They could hardly stand to catch glimpses of themselves in the mirror.

B stiffens as a shiver wracks their body—they can’t seem to stop shivering these days, a side effect of having no insulation and the persistent, low-grade fever the doctor said could remain for months afterward.

“Cold?”

B tugs the blanket tighter, willing it to warm their chilled body. “I’ll manage.”

A slowly closes in on B’s bed and takes a seat on the edge, putting a hand on B’s shoulder. B hates the feeling of someone so solid, warm, vital against their own frail body—a reminder of what they’re not. “I know the doctor said not to worry.”

“I’m getting better,” B insists.

“Yes, you are. But the keyword is getting better. And it’s going to take so much longer if you don’t pace yourself.”

B flinches at the words as if A hit them. “I know what I need.”

“I don’t know if you do—“

“See, I knew this would happen.” B’s voice cracks on the words. “You can’t just let me be. You have to tell me what I’m doing wrong, when you don’t know the first thing about what it means to lose your ability to do anything.”

“Because you won’t stop.” A’s voice is tight. “You push yourself and act like nothing happened, like you didn’t almost die—“

“You think I don’t know that?” B’s voice elevates. “You think I don’t feel the effects of what it did to me?”

“You know, but you won’t give yourself the chance to—“

“To hell with what you think you know. It didn’t happen to you—it happened to me!” B jackknifes to a sitting position, unable to hold themselves back.

“And I had to watch it happen!” A’s voice raises a degree, and they shoot off the bed, pacing before whirling back to face B. “You have no idea what it was like to see you half-mad with fever, thrashing about while we held you down and tried to cool you down while you screamed, or to hold you in my arms while you shook and you sobbed because you were so cold, or to hear you fight for every breath and beg the heavens for you to take just one more, all while being terrified you wouldn’t.”

The words hit B square in the chest. They thought you would die. A’s eyes are glassy, and B doesn’t know what to say, how to respond to something like that, and they take a deep breath to center themselves—

—only to be cut off as a coughing fit wracks their frame. They cough so long they see stars, but then they feel it—the warm, solid hand they hate so much on their back, rubbing soothing circles.

They couldn’t shake off the hand if they tried.

After it ends, B slumps back into the nest of pillows, breathing hard, chest aching from the exertion. “I hate this.”

“I know.” A’s whisper is soft. And it should make B mad, A thinking they know anything, but it doesn’t.

They sit in silence for several minutes, the anger fizzling out of both of them.

“Were you really that scared?” B says, when their breath stabilizes enough to speak.

“Yes.” A’s voice is quieter still, and B can catch the glint of the unshed tears in their eyes.

They’re quiet for much longer, and A speaks again.

“I just….I see you, and I just want to make everything okay for you and I can’t,” A says, voice cracking, a tear slipping out that’s quickly wiped away with a sleeve.

“That’s not your job, A. I’m not how I used to be, and I don’t know how to go back or if I even can,” B says, staring at the ceiling. “I can barely catch my breath, I’m always freezing, I look like a skeleton, and I can’t do anything without being exhausted. And it doesn’t make it better when you’re hovering over me, telling me I can’t do things when I already know.”

“I know.” A heaves a sigh. “And I’m sorry. I made it about me and my stuff instead of caring about you and I….I haven’t handled this well. None of it.”

“No, you haven’t.” B can’t stop the snarky retort that sneaks off their lips, and A’s mouth twitches with the faintest of smiles.

“Just…please. Know that we don’t expect you to be up and at it all of a sudden. Or ever. You don’t have to push yourself for our sakes.”

B sighs. “I know. And I’m sorry, scaring you like that.”

A takes in a shaky breath, and for the first time in the dim evening light, B can see that A’s a little rougher around the edges too—sleepless shadows under their eyes, hair that’s mussed and out of place, and a thousand -yard stare that wasn’t there before B got sick.

“Are you okay, A?”

A pauses for a moment. “Sleeping has been…hard. We were up most nights with you, C and I, for a long time, and even when you started getting better…” A shakes their head, as if to clear the cobwebs. “It’s like my body’s always trying to stay alert, in case you…in case something happens.”

B can’t even make a joke about that.

“Sometimes I’ll just…sit at your door and make sure you’re still breathing.”

“Okay, that’s weird.” B chucks a pillow at A, trying to shatter the heaviness around what A just confessed. To their credit, A yelps, and when B laughs, A smiles.

“But also sweet. And a little unhinged. Maybe both.” B says, propping themselves up on their elbows. “So what do you say if we both just give ourselves some time?”

A nods. “Some time.”

“Good.” B slumps down. “Now, that conversation took all the energy reserves I was saving for dinner, so I need another nap. You planning to take one with me, or are you going to watch me in my sleep again?”

“I think I can handle a nap,” A says, allowing themselves to tip over onto the covers.

When dinner time comes, it’s C who finds the pair fast asleep and curled into one another, A’s hand on B’s chest as they breathe the deep, even breaths of sleep.

whumpee tries to fight back and bite whumper’s arm—but as soon as they latch their teeth around their skin, whumper slams them into the floor and shoves their arm down painfully into whumpee’s mouth, wedging bone between their teeth and prying their jaw open to the point where the joint threatens to dislocate—

until they finally stop struggling and stay put, nice and limp and pliant with their mouth stretched open wide, their jaw and tongue still twitching around whumper’s skin.

METAL IN WHUMP >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The metal cuffs clamped around whumpee’s wrists—

The iron bit in whumpee’s mouth—

The steel bars of a cage keeping whumpee encaged, forced to get used to their new home—

The sound of a metal collar locking in place around whumpee’s neck—

The scream whumpee makes when a metal bat hits their ribcage at full swing—

The loose chains dragging behind whumpee as they walk—

The metal tracking chip that leaves a nasty scar on whumpee’s skin—

The cold iron tip of a whip ripping whumpee’s skin—

The gentle caress of the tip of a knife before it’s pushed into whumpee’s chest or held against their throat—

The horrible feeling of a barrel of a gun being held against the back of whumpee’s head, freezing them in place—

The agonizing heat of a branding iron marking whumpee once again—

The metal coils that spring from a taser with blinding white electricity pumping through them before they hit whumpee’s skin—

BUT ALSO, METAL IN CARETAKING >>>>>>>>>>>

The way whumpee panics when the needle for the IV comes into view—

The groans of pain whumpee lets out as someone else stitches up their wounds—

The clicking and clanking of surgical tools being lifted up and then put back down against a tray—

The feeling of a metal exam table against whumpee’s back—

The pain of the staples used for a quick stitch in the field—

The refreshing first sip of water after rescue from a metal bottle—

The keys to whumpee’s cuffs jingling as they’re finally unlocked—

JUST METAL IN WHUMP >>>>>>>>>

Weapon Prompt 7

Drugs

Imagine Whumpee was knocked out by some sort of chloroform from the start, they wake up with that crazy headache and they can’t focus their eyes. It is scary as hell, I’m telling you!

Then you also have paralyzing drugs that make it so hard or impossible to do something as easy as lift your head, or blink.

The terror of not being able to move you limbs and not knowing where you are is a nightmare, even the groggy feeling makes the fear climb up.

Whumper would be able to do whatever they wanted to Whumpee for hours, perhaps even more if a second dose was given. Whumpee was a helpless little doll at Whumper’s mercy.

Then you have drugs for during the torture process, in this case pleasure drugs. Ones that make you feel so high in the sky you almost don’t realize you are being tortured in the first place.

The pain is the last thing on Whumpee’s mind, they are just chasingthe pleasure feeling, before long they start to associate the pain with pleasure as Whumper slowly weens them off the drug. Whumpee now begs torture, they wanted it more than anything.

or they alternative, Whumper suddenly stops giving them the drug and they realize how much pain they are in and they are thrown into a state of shock and confusion.

That’s all I got for now, ask if y’all want a part 2…

Boop, reblog button

Ok, so we’ve seen the violently protective caretaker shtick right? Love that. What about violently protective whumpee? Specific scenario I have in my head rn:

Whumpee was someone very powerful; a powerful mage, a legendary knight, a living weapon. They were captured, whumped, then left for dead in the woods somewhere, where caretaker found them and nursed them back to health. Since then, whumpee has been living with caretaker, helping them on their farm, your standard issue domestic bliss. Caretaker isn’t a fighter by any means, they’re a kind, gentle soul who wouldn’t hurt a fly. A bit naive, even. This is whumpee’s favorite thing about them, since all whumpee knew up until meeting them was violence and harshness.

One day, Caretaker doesn’t come home, and whumpee goes absolutely feral. Full on super-detective mode tracking them down to whumper’s lair. They break in to find caretaker in a relatively minor situation (say, sitting in a cell with their hands tied). Enter whumper.

Whumpee goes eerily calm, smiles this creepy smile, looks at caretaker and says “I’ve just gotta take care of something quick. Won’t be a minute.” And then proceeds to graphically murder whumper just outside caretaker’s sight. Bonus points if caretaker is completely oblivious because whumpee never explained their past. Caretaker asks about it, insisting that they was all the details. They’re outraged that whumpee killed whumper like that, because from caretaker’s perspective, whumper hadn’t done anything warranting that. Whumpee asks if caretaker is sure they want to know, then explains what whumper did to them in an oddly calm and frank manner and finishes by saying, “You’ve been so kind to me all this time, I had to protect you.”

a lot of whump presupposes captivity, but personally i’ve been really interested in what you might call part time whump? its where whumpee and whumper both have their own life, they don’t even see each other that often, but when they do there is this unspoken contract for submission. i think the contrast between whumpee’s daily life and the nights they spend kneeling beside someone makes the cruelty feel a lot sharper. i think there’s a lot of potential here.

Thinking about whumpers and whumpees and the intimacy of stabbing. The inherent intimacy of the act.

Whumpers who lean into whumpees as they drive the knife in... The slight resistance then give somewhere soft and vulnerable... Does the whumper whisper something into whumpee's ear? Are they silent? Do they take note of the way whumpee's breath hitches, or the warmth of their body heat radiating from where the hilt of the knife kisses the skin? Do they savor the blood leaking out onto their knuckles and between their fingers, or does it disgust them?

Do they hold whumpee close in mock comfort as they wait for them to pass out from pain/shock/blood loss? Do they hold them, hand fisted in their hair, for the express purpose of keeping them upright only to drop them, let them collapse at their feet?

Do they yank the knife out? Tighten their grip and hold it there to savor the feeling? Do they twist the blade? Bring the knife up and stab them again?

Whumpee trembling as they try to process what just happened, their brain not able to make sense of the pain just yet. Doubling over with a low gut-punched groan or barely there whimper when they do.

Classic

Whumper sneaking up on Whumpee before placing a hand over Whumpee's mouth and dragging them away.

That's it. That's the whump prompt.

😭👍 right in the emotions GOD this is great writing. Although I did at first think Whumpee and Caretaker were still in capitivy and Whumpee had died while tied to a chair

I Can't Stand Seeing You Like This

Warnings: grief, mcd referenced

"I can't stand seeing you like this," Caretaker said as they sat down in the chair opposite of Whumpee. "It's really not ok."

Caretaker pulled the blanket their friend had given around them tighter. "You really didn't prepare me for what things would be like. What it would feel like. I can't stand it!" They scrubbed their face, wiping the tears away before Whumpee could notice.

"Of course I'm mad at you. Who wouldn't be mad? You would be so pissed at me if the tables were turned. I'm so mad that I barely want to look at you."

Caretaker looked away for a moment, blinking back the tears. They sighed. Everyone had told them they needed to be honest about how they were feeling. They needed to acknowledge their feelings. "But mostly, Whumpee, I am so sad. I am so heartbroken that you didn't warn me. That I didn't realize what could happen. That I," their voice broke as they began to sob," that I didn't get a chance to say goodbye."

Caretaker reached out to brush Whumpee's grave stone. "I didn't get a chance to say goodbye because you said it would all be alright. Well this isn't alright. Nothing is alright, Whumpee. You left me behind! How could you!"

Caretaker stayed like that for a while. They weren't sure how long they sat there sobbing over Whumpee's grave. They wiped their face. "I'm not ready to forgive you yet, Whumpee. You could have told me what might happen. You could have warned me. You didn't let me prepare. Or help! But," they let out a big sigh, "I know you were trying to protect me. And I can't fault you for that."

They stood up, folding their chair carefully. "I just wish you were back, Whumpee. So that I could hug you, kiss you, and never let you go."

Old teammates!

Whumpers who may have betrayed their old team, who gladly hinder them, fight them, even rough them up a bit, but who clearly have issues with the way their new boss, the bigger badder Whumper, handles things now.

- It starts innocent enough. Their old team held at gunpoint, sneering remarks. "I could never have got this far if I sticked with you guys."

- But things soon start to escalate, leaving Whumper to doubt where they even stand.

- Leading to the beautiful: "Don't tell me you are still sentimental about your old team? Prove your loyalty to me."

- The Whumper who visibly flinches and hesitates when they get the order to kill / hurt their old team members.

- They pull Whumpee up by the front of their shirt, fist pulled back but they're wildly hesitant.

- Whumpee either whispers something to help them, "It's okay, do it." Or they snarl in anger, "Go on then, you coward! You always wanted to!"

- Of course everything takes too long or the Whumpee(s) do not take him seriously and so Bigger Badder Whumper has to step in to get answers.

- The Whumper who winces when badder Whumper doesn't hold back in the slightest. When Whumpee cries out in genuine anguish and badder Whumper has no inclination to stop at all until he gets what he wants.

- Bonus if it's the youngest or smallest member of the team, who Whumper never even had beef with.

- They whisper to Whumpee, their former leader, to please just tell him what he wants to know!

- With Whumpee baring bloodied teeth, snarling out a "Fuck you" for all to hear.

- Worse, Whumper leaves the room. Because "I can't watch this!" And Whumpee's only hope leaves them alone with the worst person in the room.

Whumpee was rescued after months or years by Caretaker. Their first thought is how excited they are to be reunited with their friend group again. They fantasized about it during their capture. However, when they get back, everything is . . . different. The group split up and is tense with drama. Whumpee feels like their whole world shattered. Not only were they held captive for so long, but their support system had vanished and they didn't want to pick sides. It's only more stress to their already traumatized self.

Febuwhump day 16:Semi-conscious

For the third time in just as many minutes, Whumpee reasoned that they should probably sit down. 

They’d felt weird all day. A headache pounded behind their eyes, so loud that it began to drown out the outside world. Their limbs shook at any effort. They felt hot. They felt cold.

They’d just wanted a grilled cheese, something to get their blood sugar up. But now the ground was moving beneath them, the pounding in their head bloating everything out, and–

“Hey…” They groaned, reaching out for something to hold onto. 

And then they were blinking up at the ceiling. 

They stared for a long moment, reeling. They’d been…doing something before. They felt numb, limbs too heavy to move. The cool tile on their back felt nice.

“Are you–Whumpee!” Someone made a noise, and suddenly a figure filled Whumpee’s vision. They blinked, attempting to focus their eyes.

“I heard a crash and—what happened?! Your hand–” Whumpee felt their head being lifted, placed on something softer and warmer. The face–Caretaker–got closer.

They looked worried. Their brow was knitted, eyes wide. Something in Whumpee said that was a bad thing. 

“ ‘m fine…” They mumbled, trying to sit up. But their limbs felt…weird. All jumbled and uncoordinated. It took them a moment to realize just how tired they were. It came to them in waves, numbing the feeling of hands on them, the pain on the back of their head. They blinked, long and slow. “…get up..?”

Something shook them, suddenly jolting Whumpee back into their body. “No, don’t fall asleep! I’m–I’m going to call–” Whumpee felt Caretaker shift. When had they gotten there?

They tried to stay awake, because Caretaker looked scared when they’d asked them to. They listened as Caretaker spoke to someone, simply letting the noise flow over them without trying to decipher it. They barely noticed when their eyes closed. 

Something burned against their hand, cold and wet and unpleasant. They groaned, but couldn’t pull away.

“Sorry, sorry! You burnt your hand on the stove, it needs ice.” It was Caretaker again. Idly, Whumpee wondered where the person Caretaker was speaking to went. “You need to stay awake for me, just a little longer, okay?”

“..Hmm…” They didn’t want to. They felt bad and they were tired, weren’t they supposed to rest? But they could hear the worry in Caretaker’s voice. They didn’t want to worry them.

Whumpee forced their eyes open. 

Febuwhump day 8: Panic

I love it when Caretaker panics. I love it when Caretaker isn’t some medic or soldier, but just a normal person who cares deeply for Whumpee. And so when they see the person they care about, maybe the person they love, bleeding and broken at their feet, they panic.

The moment of shock as they stand frozen, struggling for a moment to understand what’s happening. The patterns of blood , the shaking and groaning of injury is so foreign from Caretaker’s everyday life that, for a long moment, they can barely comprehend what’s happening.

And then their brain kicks in, and their brain screams at them to act.

It’s that desire that allows them to move. To try to put pressure on the wound. To rush for their phone and call for help. To shriek out ‘what happened?!’ even when, at that moment, how Whumpee got hurt is far less important than the fact that they are hurt. 

But they’re no doctor, they’re not trained for this. And all the love and concern in the world won’t make up for a lack of knowledge. And it’s when Caretaker’s lack knowledge runs out that they truly panic.

The moments between discovering a seriously injured Whumpee and getting help must be agonizing. Caretaker just has to wait, watching the person they care for suffer in front of them. Knowing that there’s nothing else they can do, knowing that help is on the way but feeling like it’s taking far too long. I love the shaking, anxious hands, both wanting desperately to touch Whumpee but being too afraid of hurting them further. The rambling stream of reassurances meant to comfort both of them.

Or when Caretaker is being given instruction on the phone, overwhelmed by trying desperately to follow the direction of the medic on the line. The apologizes every time Whumper whimpers or groans, and the terror when they stop responding at all. It’s about how Caretaker wants to break down, wants to scream and cry and beg Whumpee to say something, for the medic to get there faster, but they don’t. Because they need to keep it together, because they’re the only thing stopping Whumpee from falling apart. 

And the times when Whumpee is seriously hurt? When they’re losing consciousness from blood loss, when they’re choking on their own blood, when they’re dying and Caretaker can’t do anything but wait? I love those moments. When all they know how to do is beg Whumpee to stay alive, clinging to them as if holding them tight enough will keep them breathing. 

Febuwhump day 20: Knife wound

It felt like a punch in the gut. A pressure at their side, somehow simultaneously cold and burning. Instinctively, Whumpee pulled away, clutching at their wound. It was only when they felt the wet warmth against their hand, looked down to see the red blooming over their shirt, that they registered the pain. 

Whumpee wasn’t sure if they or Caretaker screamed when they fell backwards, hitting the forest floor with a gasp. Whumpee could only curl inward, hiding the wound away as nasua rolled over them. Their attacker simply stood there, watching them with indifference. What looked like a hunter’s knife was clutched in their hand, dripping blood.

Caretaker moved faster than Whumpee could register, blocking their view of their attacker. Caretaker stood before Whumpee, voice filled with a protective fury Whumpee’d never heard before. “I don’t know who sent you, but if you don’t leave us alone I-”

Their attacker cut them off. “You’ll what? We’re miles from civilization, I popped your tires hours ago, and I know you only have a basic medical kit. You kill me and Whumpee dies. A few bandages aren’t gonna stop internal bleeding,” They sounded almost bored, like this was little more than an inconvenience for them. “I’m taking your friend with me. I don’t care if you come or not.”

Whumpee’s heart pounded in their ears, the world growing dimmer with each pump. They wanted to call out, to put space between Caretaker and their attacker, but they were paralyzed with pain. They felt themself shaking despite the hot summer air.

Hours, or maybe seconds later, Caretaker responded. “Let’s go then.”

Oop- if you decide to do a continuation of this I can't wait

Counting on fingers

It takes practice to mold someone into your liking.

Quiet, Sunday evening. Whumpee sat on the bar stool, watching Caretaker cutting ingredients for dinner. Onions, carrots and potatoes. They weren't focusing so much. They were daydreaming, eyes stared into a distance when they heard a small yelp coming from Caretaker. 

Oh.

Whumpee turned their head to them, eyes flickered at the small cut on their finger. Something stirred inside Whumpee as they approached them, looking at the wound curiously. 

"Let me help you."

Whumpee said, observing Caretaker's finger before they washed it with water. They took a small cloth and pressed it against the cut to stop the bleeding when Caretaker suddenly hissed in pain and Whumpee felt shiver down their spine.

They wanted to hear that sound again.

Whumpee pressed the cloth a little harder, eyeing Caretaker cautiously. They held back a smile as they soaked in Caretaker's hurt expression. 

"Shh, it's okay. I just need to stop the bleeding."

Whumpee said soothingly. They pushed a bit harder on the cut, more than necessary this time making Caretaker flinched.

"Ouch! Ouch! Stop!"

But they didn't stop. Whumpee was too absorbed in their own world, in Caretaker's cute gasp and yelp. Maybe if they put a little more pressure Caretaker would s—

"Whumpee!"

Whumpee snapped out of their thoughts. They glanced down at the wound, blinking their eyes a few times when they saw more blood dripping out from Caretaker's skin.

"Oh…s-sorry. I'm sorry, Caretaker."

They weren't actually sorry and they cursed themselves silently for it. Caretaker sighed, frowning when they saw Whumpee's gaze locked on their wound. Almost feels like they wanted to do something with it...

"I will go treat myself in my room."

Whumpee nodded, watching Caretaker disappear from the kitchen door. They relaxed their muscles that were trembling from excitement. Softly, Whumpee chuckled,

"Yeah…sure."

~

@nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @risk606 @heyyitsworld

Hi. I know I'm not an official whump blog, but I figure I'd be ok to give some recommendations. I have some fandoms that have canon whump, and then obviously whump fics. They range from different sources of media (book, film, show, etc. not a huge comic reader though)

I see you like Supernatural, so a good similar show that has a bunch of whump is BBC's Merlin. It's literally almost every episode someone's getting hurt or sick, people die, etc. It's a medieval setting, but with magic. It's great.

Idk if you like anime, but basically any anime that is not strictly for fan service will have at least one fight per episode. Especially shonen animes, like My Hero Academia and Demon Slayer. Broken bones, stabs/cuts, and gore galore. Tokyo Ghoul is a good example of just brutal torture.

And for a book series, you might like Rangers Apprentice. First book the main characters mentor character almost gets fridged. And then the main character sets the thing that almost kills his mentor on fire.

That only covers some of the tropes I've seen on here, but I'm sure Ao3 is rife with content with your favorite tropes. Good luck

hello whump friend! what are some whump tropes you enjoy? are there any shows/movies/stories with whump you like? welcome to whumpblr!

Hi thank you for the welcome! I have a bunch of tropes I like.

Defiant whumpee

Gang whump

Punishment

Whippings

Stick beatings

Captive

Sadistic self-controlled whumper

Noncon/rape

Captive whump

Stress positions

Torture

"Behave"

Leader/fighter captured because they're strong in some way

Forced to walk/kneel at gunpoint

Forced respect ("master", "sir")

Forced Absolute obedience

Choking

Humiliation

Child abuse

Restraints

Belts

I can't think of any whump fiction I like beyond Supernatural. I did write a gang whump book I need beta readers for so I'm hoping to find a few people here that would be interested. Maybe I'll post about that at some point.

Anybody have recommendations for whump fiction (I like asian films but none are coming to mind right now.)

Weapon Prompt 5

Whip

Could be a bullwhip, the type that leaves the festering scars and feels like fire in a weapons.

Imagine a previously defiant Whumpee breaking after just one or two hits

Imagine having to count each whip or else the punishment will start again. If you miss one, all the previous count for nothing out of the 50.

Imagine the after care, if Whumpee has a good caretaker they will gingerly apply cream and ailments to the wound trying the ease Whumpee’s pain.

More likely than not, they don’t. So Whumper could allow the wounds to heal and then reopen them with a knife, pour alcohol into the wounds or even add a ridiculous amount of salt into it. This inflaming the wound sight.

They could even see the wounds back up with the salt still in them, making a horrible scar. Once this is done they could always whip Whumpee again in the exact same places and start the process over again.

Perhaps Whumper does this to immobilize them, whipping Whumpee’s feet after a fail escape attempt so they will have to be carried bridal still everywhere or better yet crawl.

Whumper could use this as a way to mark whumpee, shilling initials, sign or symbols over whimper’s back or chest so they know who they belong too.

The possibilities are endless when it comes to whump.

At Least It can't Get Any Worse

Warnings: explosion, collapse, head injury, crush injury, blood

"At least," Team Leader panted as they strained to lift the metal beam off themself, "it can't get any worse."

Smallest Teammate stared at Team Leader in horror. "What do you mean it can't get any worse? The building exploded and came down on top of us. You've hit your head and are pinned beneath a ceiling beam. The rest of the team probably thinks we are dead!"

Team Leader stopped trying to move the beam. They gave Smallest Teammate a wan smile. Smallest Teammate flinched at the sight of Team Leader's blood coated teeth. "That's my point," Team Leader continued, "this is pretty bad, Smallest Teammate. It won't get any worse than this."

Smallest Teammate leaned against another fallen beam. Somehow they had managed to only get a few cuts and bruises, while Team Leader took the majority of the injuries. "How bad is it, Team Leader?"

"Not too bad," Team Leader lied quickly. They didn't want to worry Smallest Teammate. The truth was their head injury was the least of their problems. Just a cut above their eye that bled heavily. The real problem was they were pretty sure the beam had crushed their pelvis. Even if they managed to get the beam off, Team Leader knew there was no way they would be able to walk out of the rubble.

Smallest Teammate nodded. "Still, I think I should try to find us a way out of here. Will you be ok if I look around a bit?"

Team Leader nodded. "Don't worry, Smallest Teammate, I'm not going anywhere. If you find a way out, just go. Get the others. They can help us get the beam off."

Smallest Teammate nodded and rose carefully. "I'll be back soon. Quick as I can. I promise!" And they quickly disappeared into the gloom.

Team Leader lay back and let out a sob. Their body hurt. It was hard to breathe around the pain. At least they got Smallest Teammate out. At least Smallest Teammate would be ok. That was all that mattered.

Just having thoughts of the process of tying up a whumpee.

Wrapping rope around their wrists and ankles, maybe even tying their body. Maybe even shove a gag in their mouth if they get too mouthy.

And is Whumpee struggling against their captors as they tie them up? Do they sit there and glare at them as they're being tied up? Or are they scared as they're bound?

Just. The process of binding a whumpee ❤️

GODDAMN THAT WAS GOOD

So first off, I love your work. Second off, can you do a snipplet where there's a place (like a pub or something) where villian of all types hang out but then the heroes find it and a fight breaks out, but one villian just watches them with amusment from their seat while sipping their drink? I'm sorry if it's too specific.

It took a while for the hero to realize the scrutiny. Mostly, because everyone’s eyes had been on them from the second they stepped into the accursed building.

The stare was different though. 

Different enough to distract them between one blow and the next as they caught it, gleaming at them from above a glass of red wine. The villain lounged in the corner of the room; distinct in stillness and in their amusement. 

Nobody else seemed to find this funny. 

The villain raised a brow and tipped their drink in the hero’s direction, before taking another sip. 

It was a mistake to look for so long. The next punch caught them in the stomach where they normally would have been focused enough to dodge. The hero doubled over, coughing and outnumbered, and took the opportunity to spit in their attacker’s face. The recoil gave them the chance to wriggle free, to kick, to smash their elbow back into somebody’s throat. 

It was impossible not to be aware of the watching though, now they’d noted it once. Every punch they took, every blow they gave, and those eyes continued to feast. 

The hero won - if it could be called that. 

The pub was still, the clink of glasses and chatter replaced by wheezing and harsh breaths as its patrons lay scattered and groaning on the floor. 

The hero glanced up from their own position woozy on the floor, to that corner. Their vision hazed in and out. Their ears rang. They could taste blood in their mouth.

“That was pretty good,” the villain said. “You’re lucky it was a quiet night.” 

“Lucky. Yeah, that’s exactly what I feel right now.” It came out thick with their split lip. “Didn’t realize it was going to be that hard to get a goddamn drink.” 

The villain’s mouth twitched with something like a smile. They drained their glass before rising slowly, sauntering across the bodies.

The hero tensed, pretty certain that they couldn’t do another fight right now, but fully prepared to try. Each breath hurt and rattled through their ribs. They shoved themselves up off their knees. 

The villain swept right past them to the bar, taking the liberty of lining up some shots. “On me,” the villain said. 

“You’re not going to try and bash my skull in too?”

“That wouldn’t be anywhere near as entertaining.”

The hero winced at the thought and snorted at the words. They eyed the shots suspiciously, but had to admit it was tempting. If only to numb the current throbbing pain in their body. “Scared you’d lose?”

The villain held one out, dangled insouciant between their fingertips. Waiting. Expectant.

This was a terrible idea. Even if that bottle wasn’t poison. 

The villain shrugged and knocked it back instead when they didn’t move, grimacing at the burn. 

The hero snatched up the next one, even if they’d been hoping for a cider. “Cheers.” 

The villain smiled and clinked the glasses together over the sound of their fellows stirring.

The two knocked back the drinks. 

The villain seized the hero’s jacket, viper-fast, and yanked them close. The amusement gleamed in their eyes still, along a fresh danger. “As much as the bruised look suits you,” they said, smoothing down the hero’s rumpled clothes to some semblance of propriety. “I suggest you don’t come back here.”

“But then when will I ever see you again?” They tossed it like the punches from earlier, deliberately purring, chin jutting up in defiance. “You didn’t even give me your number to go with the drink. Or a name.” 

“You’re new in town, huh.” 

“Which part of me cheerfully walking in here gave it away?” 

The villain laughed. “Well, tip for the tourist,” they said, letting go. “If I want to see you again, it will happen. Now…” they patted the hero’s chest a final time. “Walk out before I see if you look as pretty crawling.” 

The hero stepped back, heart hammering. The hairs on the back of their neck stood on end for no good reason. They flashed a smile. “Thanks for the drink.”

They felt the stare on their back all the way out. 

They got rather used to it after that.

not a pr0mpt

Impending punishment

Preferably done in silence while maintaining eye contact. The classics.

- Cracking knuckles

- Rolling up sleeves

- Slipping on brass knuckles

- Putting on latex gloves

- Removing leather gloves (finger by finger)

- Putting bullets in a revolver, one by one

- Letting a bat/cane/rod fall into the palm of their hand

- Piercing a bottle with a syringe (and holding it up, flicking it and squirting some of the dubious liquid)

- Flicking a knife open

- Pulling Caretaker's head back by their hair revealing their throat

Whumpee, limp, beaten, and half conscious bound up on the hard floor. Whumper kneeling down in front of them and grabbing whumpee's chin, pulling their face up to look at them without resistance as whumpee's head lolls and their eyes fail to fully focus.