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Women in Whump: Fantasy Edition 1

- Maid who's disguising herself as a squire is discovered and put in a pillory as punishment.

- Elfish woman who's captured by a corrupt ruler and forced to act as her Royal Advisor.

- Poor village woman betrothed to a wealthy merchant runs away and stows away on a ship that she has no idea where it's going.

- Farm girl collapses from exhaustion after working the field all day for her sick parents.

- Noblewoman escaping a controlling/ abusive spouse who hides on a farm, having to learn how to keep to with all the chores.

- Orc woman who's captured and forced to act as a "sparring partner" for a contingent of knights.

- Halfling rogue gets caught robbing a wealthy landowners estate.

- Cursed woman who's driven from her village by an angry mob.

- Woman cursed to turn into an animal during the day being tracked by hunters, arrows whizzing past her as she begs the sun to set faster.

Non-con under the cut!

- Newly wedded queen trying not to break down as her and the king 'comsumate' their relationship, all of his advisors and nobles watching.

- Woman posing as a knight is discovered by her fellow soldiers and is gang raped.

- Dwarven woman forced to shave all her body and facial hair for a human who 'owns' her.

- Barmaid at a tavern who's sold by her boss to a group of travelling adventurers as a 'reward' for slaying a monster that was attacking the town.

- A brothel run by a sorceress who curses women to be completely obedient.

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whump prompt 196

Whumper using games of chance to decide what happens to Whumpee.

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whump that's framed by the whumper as anything but the senseless violence it truly is - whump they call training. whump they call punishment. penance. correction. purification. clinical terms that obscure what they're doing, that obscure the abuse, institutionalized or interpersonal. terms that enforce you deserve this. this is your fault. there's nothing wrong here.

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must a fictional relationship be “healthy” or “functional”? is it not enough to simply watch two made up people destroy each other, hand in unlovable hand???

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Fun lab whump game: How long can Whumpee stay awake without anesthesia or going into shock?

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The whumper didn’t know if what they were doing could be called science anymore- so many of their so called experiments where really just trying to see how loud the whumpee would scream, how much they would beg, how far they could push before the whumpee finally fainted. None of what they were doing was science anymore, but they didn’t care.

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I think it's so funny when whumper is just strange. Like their organization/other whumpers won't be like disgusted by what they do in any way that matters to helping whumpee, but they're just like "ah here comes our weird coworker who's training the teammate they caught like a pet. What a weirdo". Like everyone is still whumping and torturing they just think whumper is very weird and impractical about it.

"Whumper this is ridiculous. Why are they here."

"Because they look so darling all dressed up with their scars all displayed!"

"It's just a little unorthodox. At the lunch meeting."

No one's really going to STOP whumper. So it's no help for whumpee. But whumpee does get to hear how unsettling this behavior is even to other whumpers, aware how weird this is, with no bit of sympathy, still being seen like an object, a prisoner, or something else these lot see as below a person.

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"I do prefer remembering conversations, personally."

"I.. am not that drunk I do not think. But okay, yes. I want to talk more with you... You seem very interesting to me..."

James honestly would have preferred that the two of them didn't have any conversations - his runaway and his rebound - but he didn't think he could prevent it at this point. E was too drunk for it to matter much, she'd always been like this even if it annoyed him. Aiden on the other hand was quickly wearing thin on his frayed patience.

"You are that drunk, E. And you remember all your conversations now, don't you, Aiden? I think we both prefer it this way." He didn't feel that the threat was unwarranted.

Aiden's smirk wavered slightly at that. Warranted or not, the threat was certainly effective.

"I do, yes." He replied, more seriously than before. He took another drink of his juice. "I'm going back to bed. I guess I'll see you in the morning... sleep well."

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Cw: drugged whumpee

Quick thought…

Whumpee who comes to rely on the drugs. Who once had hated their autonomy stripped from them by the chemicals, hated that their limbs betrayed them, their desire to run ignored. They hated how their brain slowed, and their thoughts turned useless and brittle. But then it became all they had. That dulling of the endless misery of being Whumper’s possession - regardless of what whumper did to them, isolation, humiliation, torture - had become their life raft. They floated over the ache.

But Whumper knows this. And they think, maybe it’s time for a little rehab. So without the drug…

Everything is intense, in the most terrifying way. Every touch, every sound a thousand needles. It makes their skin crawl. It’s like a film has been ripped off. Their skin had been flayed to reveal their nerves. The dust that had settled on their brain has been wiped clean.

Not to mention the symptoms of withdrawal. The fevers, the nightmares, the shaking. Whumpee turns to pleading. They cry so sweetly now, give in so easily. Everything they say, every time they plead and mourn their predicament… it’s all so sincere, so tantalizingly lucid.

It was fun, those times when Whumper had a rag doll to play with. The exhausted whines and garbled threats leaking out from Whumpee’s slow-moving lips were entertaining. The fuzziness in their eyes so charming.

But Whumper enjoys seeing this new version of Whumpee. This third version. How many more can they collect?

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"Oh God. You're not — you're not going to do that while I'm conscious, are you? Do you at least have painkillers?"

"I've got a bottle of wine and you can bite down on this to keep from screaming."

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There’s something about the moment when the up-till-then defiant protagonist—now bound, gagged, and defeated—accepts their fate.

The antagonist stands over them, crowing gleefully over their victory. Hissing lies or taunts into their ear. Reminding them of how woefully they’ve failed.

There’s something about the moment you see the shift in the protagonist’s eyes.

The moment their head dips, hangs low.

Defeated.

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Living Weapon Whumpee having a bad day after one of the missions and finding the team they're assigned to sitting around and playing cards. Whumpee getting down on their knees next to one of the team members and hesitantly resting their head against the team member's thigh. Whumpee silently begging to be pet like a dog or at least just allowed to say here because they just haven't positive, non-painful human contact in years and they're just... cold.

Bonus points if they choose the member of the team that hates them the worst because that's the one they feel the biggest need to please.

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We all know about magical fatigue as a whump trope for magical overuse. Now I raise you: Magical euphoria.

Magic that feels good to use. It leaves the user dizzy and lightheaded, a giddy energy rushing through their entire body. It's enough to leave the most stoic whumpee giggling madly, to make the most obedient soldier go rogue. It's a power that ultimately, inevitably, controls its user.

Mages aren’t trusted to act on their own. They can’t be, not when each spell costs them their sanity. Not when, in a daze of manic joy, they’re just as liable to destroy the enemy as their allies.

And so they need a handler.

Imagine Caretaker in this situation. Forced to watch Whumpee throw themselves into madness, to turn themselves into an unthinking weapon under the demand of some uncaring general. Having to put aside their affection for Whumpee as a person, and analyze them as a tool.

It’s Caretaker who decides when Whumpee is still fit for battle. It’s caretaker who has to look into their dazed and distant eyes, blood dripping into a too wide smile, and decide if Whumpee has anything else to give.

It’s Caretaker who decides when they’re too far gone, when Whumpee needs to stop. And if Whumpee can’t, it’s Caretaker’s job to make them stop. Even if that means using force, even if it means hurting them, because letting them run wild isn’t an option.

And when the battle’s over, when Whumpee is either led or dragged away to the medical wing, Caretaker’s the only one brave enough to tend to their injuries. They wrap bleeding, scorched fingers without a word, the only sound being Whumpee babbling, mad ramblings. Caretaker knows they won’t remember any of this. They still talk to Whumpee anyway, soft, comforting words they hope will bring Whumpee back faster.

And when whumpee’s eyes finally clear, when their body sags with exhaustion they’re just now able to feel, Caretaker feels nothing but grief, because it’ll start all over again tomorrow.

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PREV ASK ANON HERE

I absolutely adore the idea of them being so completely unaware and dazed that they’re just happy to be there dearly. the only discomfort they’d be aware of is how cold they are in comparison to their temperature controlled tank. whumpee’s emaciated body would not be able to control their own temperature, and also factoring in the minimal clothes they’re wearing, leaves a whumpee with chattering teeth and no sense of what’s wrong.

also the act of caring for a god as a sense of devotion?? I’m kicking my feet and giggling I love it sm. I’d imagine as well in any scenario when whumpee is being manhandled they’re responsive to any stimulus, being that they’ve been deprived of anything but water for months, so any brush of the skin that whumper allowed would be responded to by a startle, groan, twitch, etc which in diff situation w diff whumper’s can yield different reactions. disgust, adoration, a sick sense of satisfaction, etc.

oooooohhgh and the aftermath. chefs kiss.

you’re right so so right ohmygod. whumpee would almost rather have been tortured or physically hurt to be able to say they “survived something” rather than just been completely and totally dehumanized to the point of complete and utter unawareness and shut down of higher cognitive functions. IM EATING IT UPPP.

Anyways,,whumper probably talked to them through the tank like someone would talk to a pet goldfish.

-🪣 anon (cause i dump all my ideas on ppl)

Oh my lord, the imagery. I just can’t help but imagine when Caretaker first finds Whumpee. They expect a cell, chains and bars. Instead, they find Whumpee suspended in a glass tube, body submerged in fluid. Their body limp, hair flowing like a halo around their head. They look like a sleeping god. They look like a trophy. It makes Caretaker sick.

Just… Whumpee is worshiped like a god, but contained like a monster. Contained so totally and then displayed like a prized possession. I know you see the vision.

And you’re so right! Sticking with the ‘worshiper’ Whumper cause we’re both vibing with it, I just imagine Whumper finding deep satisfaction in getting such an unguarded, vulnerable response from their ‘god’ with a simple touch. They’re the only one allowed to touch them. It only helps to strengthen Whumper’s posessiveness, their confidence that they’re the one worthy of protecting Whumpee and harnessing their power.

Also! Also! I really like your point of Whumpee only being aware enough to feel their discomfort. Their awareness has been successfully restricted to their immediate senses, because Whumper has taken control of all their other needs. I love the fact that in that state, Whumpee would seek that simple comfort from anyone, body instinctually leaning into any source of warmth. Is it Caretaker, gripping them with shaking hands, horrified of what was done to them? Is it Whumper, smiling down at Whumpee, gliding a hand through their dripping hair?

Plus, you’re totally onto something with the ‘talking to Whumpee like a goldfish’ thing! Cooing unwanted comforts as Whumpee is dragged under the drug’s effects for the first time. Smiling as Whumpee’s limp body twitches underneath their gentle touch. Giving updates on their work to Whumpee’s peaceful, sleeping form.

Whumpee never responds. They can’t. For as much as Whumper worships Whumpee, they’re not particularly interested in Whumpee’s opinions.

And the recovery!! I feel like it’d be so, so horrible for Whumpee, because it shares one key element with their captivity: helplessness. Even now they’re trapped, confined to a hospital bed with a body too weak for even the most simple of activities. They’re being dotted on again, bombarded by countless pitying looks.

Whumpee wants to brush them away, insist on standing on their own feet, and walk out of the hospital. But their hands shake when they try to bring a glass to their lips, their legs crumble beneath them when they try to stand unaided. Their complaints and frustrations have nothing behind them, and it only earns them more pity.

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3d printed start gate

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Whumpay (Attack!)

Panic or heart attack implied. You be the judge.

Characters: actual psychopath/ serial killer Whumper, simp Whumpee CWs: restraints, electrocution, male whump, eyeballs (?), murder, it's pretty dark, you have been warned!!

“Push your ankles against the legs of the chair.” He unrolled a length of duct tape. 

Whumpee’s smile dropped. He wrinkled his eyebrows, puzzled, and stared open-eyed at the larger man skeptically. “More?”

“It’s for the thrashing.” He reasoned. “Like I said, you need to be completely still if you’re gonna get high.”

“This is really weird.” Whumpee dismissed. But if this is what it took, fine. He’d go along with it.

Whumper wrapped the tape around his legs and ankles, securing them to the legs of the narrow wooden chair.

Now that his ankles were tethered down in addition to his wrists, Whumpee couldn’t move anything but his head.

“Good, good. You’re a trooper. Getting excited yet?”

“Not really.” Whumpee said flatly. In truth, being tied to a chair had excited him, but certainly not in the way Whumper was inquiring about.

“C’mon. It’ll feel really good once it gets going.” Whumper cracked a smile “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

The scholar crossed the room to the couch that was heavy with clutter; books, equipment, and garbage it looked to be. The entire basement had a stinking, foul odor, Whumpee wondered if it was coming from the junk piled high on the sofa.

Whumpee rolling wrists and ankles to loosen the tape securing him to the chair, but they were wrapped snugly in their duct tape cocoons.

“God damn this is uncomfortable. Argghhh! My nose itches and I can’t scratch it.” 

Whumper disregarded Whumpee’s objections. The man grabbed a silver and black case resting on the cluttered couch, popped the latches open and removed a camcorder box. He unfurled a roll of canvas containing a tripod. 

Apprehension settled over Whumpee as he watched from his chair, his anxiety mounting with every passing second. A rancid smell in the air made him recoil. “Can you smell that? It kinda stinks down here.”

I should really stop complaining, Whumpee thought to himself. He didn’t want to annoy Whumper, much less offend him. He considered himself lucky that Whumper had even chosen him, of all people, to assist with his thesis project. 

Thankfully, it seemed Whumper didn’t hear him. He was entirely focused on assembling his recording gear.

Whumpee felt a pit in his stomach. Whether he was being annoying or not, he reminded himself that he had to make his boundaries clear before they did this thing.

“Hey. Hey. Whumper!” he yelled to get Whumper’s attention for the first time. “Remember what I told you, I’m gonna to tap out after twenty minutes. Hard stop then, okay?” Whumpee said emphatically. “Got it?”

“Yeah, sure. Got it.”

Whumper silently loaded a roll of film into the camera, snapping the plastic compartment closed with a click. He pressed the power button and framed Whumpee in the center of the video screen.

“...and now,” Whumper hit the red recording button. “We are officially ready to begin.”

Whumpee’s breathing increased. He had anxiously awaited this moment since he agreed to it days ago. Whumper had been so happy he volunteered to help with his project, he reminded himself that this was a small sacrifice for the greater good, this was the first step towards forging a real friendship. And if he played his cards right, maybe something even more.

He steeled himself and summoned every last ounce of courage from the depths of his being.

“Oh shit, I forgot. Safety first.” Whumper retrieved the object he’d been fingering in his pocket. A short leather strap. “I have to put this in your mouth--”

“What is th--!” Whumpee tried to interject.

“--so you don’t bite your tongue.” 

Whumper already grabbed a handful of Whumpee’s hair and tilted his head back before he could protest. The bound man jerked his head back and instinctively pursed his lips closed. Whumper attempted to push the strap past his lips but they were closed tight.

“Wha — STOP! Stop it!” gasped Whumpee, breath ragged and nerves shaken by the sudden assault. “Fuck. What the hell was that??!”

Shit. Too heavy handed. Impatience always got the best of Whumper.

“Heh, sorry, sorry. ‘M sorry.”

“Sorry?! That was fucked!!”

“I’ll be nice this time. Promise. Here. Now bite.”

Whumpee looked at the man incredulously and sighed, but bit down on the gag obediently. He had to stay in Whumper’s good graces, he’d come all this way. Plus he really didn’t want to bite his fucking tongue off.

“Comfy?”

Whumpee firmly shook his head no.

“Well you look like a million bucks. Ya ready?”

Whumpee’s sigh was muffled by the strap of leather trapped between his teeth. He was completely immoble and incredibly uncomfortable, with absolutely no control of his body beyond his mouth and head. To add to his discomfort, a looming putrid odor hung in the stale basement air and the anticipation of being electrocuted made him nauseous.

His cheeks burned and he prayed Whumper didn’t notice him blushing. Whumpee reminded himself: he was going to be fine, Whumper wouldn’t hurt him, and he was lucky to even be there.

“I’ll start with the calf.” Whumper commented, touching the cattle prod to Whumpee’s leg. His breath audibly quickened.

“Easy. Shh. Relax.”

ZAP

It felt like all of the air, light, and sound had been sucked from the room and replaced with searing pain.

“Mmmmmmph!” His leg jerked upwards involuntarily, if he wasn’t tied to the chair he’d have kneed himself in the jaw. A biting soreness ran from his toes to his hip even after Whumper pulled the cattle prod away.

It was intense, the most blinding agony Whumpee had ever experienced. But now that it was over, Whumpee felt strangely... good?

Whumpee spat the strap from his mouth, and the saliva-coated leather fell on Whumper’s shoulder. The slimy gag slid down the taller man’s shirt like a snail leaving a path of slime, and plopped to the ground unceremoniously.

“Oh shit!!” Whumpee cackled as Whumper rose to stand. “My bad, my bad.” He felt delirious, but amid the chaos of his mind there was a course of energy that left him invigorated. He giggled at the trail of saliva that glistened against the larger man’s black sweater.

Whumper glared at the discarded leather gag on the floor. His eyes shot back to the human filth sitting in front of him. He exhaled slowly. A tempest of rage brewed beneath his calm.

“There is some kind of weird pleasure, I guess.” Whumpee offered, “I see what you mean. But it hurts like frikin’ hell.” Whumpee started laughing again and turned to Whumper. “I wonder what pervs actually use this to get off. Maybe we should think of a safe word.” He giggled.

What, like this was supposed to be some fucking sexual exercise? 

The very concept made Whumper want to gag.

Playtime was over. 

His vision went red. It was time to end this fucker.

Whumper retrieved the roll of tape and wrapped it around Whumpee’s mouth, circling his head once, twice, three times.

The man under him struggled to fight against his motions, bobbing his head and trying to bite at him as he layered his face in duct tape. But the ambush happened quickly, and Whumpee was powerless to stop him.

Whumper felt like all the duct tape in the world couldn’t silence the miserable brat.

The large man rolled the dial on the cattle prod to maximum voltage out of curiosity. Holding the device against Whumpee’s skin, he administered white-hot pain directly into his forearm. The small man heaved in his narrow wooden chair and nearly fell backwards.

Whumpee screamed. He screamed so much that his yells bled into one another. If his mouth were free it would have been the loudest he’d ever shrieked, but under his adhesive gag he could never eke out more than a muffled MMMmph!

Whumper pushed the device deep into the flesh of his arm, stabbing the prongs into him with so much force it nearly drew blood. Whumpee thrashed wildly, the excruciating electric shock traveled up his arm all the way into the deep veins of his neck.

“Mmm. Mmm-mmph!!” Whumpee hummed into the tape that sealed his lips. He awkwardly blinked to get the moisture out of his eyelashes, which were heavy with tears. It was all he could do at this point: blink.This was the only thing he could control in the entire world right now.

“What was that? Use your words, Whumpee.” He grinned wickedly. “You’re crying now? We’ve barely warmed up!”

Whumper took his captive’s chin in his cold hand and tilted it back to get a good look at his face. Tears rolled down Whumpee’s cheeks rapidly and his breathing was rugged and quick. He averted his eyes from the larger man’s intense, hungry stare.   

“Time to come clean, Whumpee. I know you’ve been stalking me all years. The way you’ve injected yourself in the background of my life--” A remorseful tear ran down Whumpee’s cheek.

 “--what, you didn’t think I noticed? It’s not like you were subtle about it. You’re like a fly and shit, your presence is a constant annoying buzz in my ear. So I thought, what’s the best way to kill an insect?”

“Do you know, Whumpee?”

Whumpee groaned.

“Zap ‘em.”

Whumper retrieved a box cutter from his pocket. “Don’t get too excited.” He warned, pressing the blade from its plastic sheath. The knife found the neckline of Whumpee’s shirt where it traveled down his torso, digging into his flesh in places. Whumpee sliced the shirt into jagged strips and let them fall to the ground, one by one. 

Whumper took a moment to admire the pearls of blood that seeped from the shallow gashes he made on Whumpee’s bare torso. He stepped back to ensure everything was in frame of the camera’s viewfinder.

“You only have yourself to blame for this one, Whumpee. I mean who the hell volunteers to get electrocuted?” The scholar grinned wickedly.

He thought they were supposed to be friends, he thought he was helping him with his project…

“I’ve never even been to college. Didn’t even graduate high school, not that I needed to. Did you know that, Whumpee?” Whumper rounded the corner so he was out of Whumpee’s sight, not that he could see much through his watery vision. “I was pretty convincing though, wasn’t I? You didn’t make it easy on me, with you stalking me for so long.” Whumper came back, holding a heavy metal object and thick rubbery wires. “I appreciated the challenge at first.”

He sat the car battery on the floor at Whumpee’s feet.

“But now it’s annoying. So I came up with this solution.” Whumper retrieved a box of cigarettes from his pocket and placed one between his teeth.

“I had to do a little practice with Big Bertha over here.” He said with the unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. Whumper tapped the car battery with his foot. 

“Winston was fucking old as hell-- you remember old man Winston right? The fucker up the street with the dog that bit me that one time?”

Whumper raised his eyebrows at his captive, silently demanding a response. Whumpee didn’t realize. He nodded his head, sniffling.

“One little zap and boom, he was gone. You wouldn’t believe it.” He shook his head. “Must’ve been like two, maybe three minutes? I don’t know. It was disappointing.” Whumper lit his cigarette.

“But his eyes did shoot out of his face, which was pretty funny.”

Whumpee squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. His muffled cries intensified, he shook his head violently. Snot ran down his tape-covered chin and he was screaming bloody murder into the sticky adhesive that silenced him.

Whumper’s fingers grazed his hot wet cheek.

“I kept one of his eyes. And you know what I did with the other?” A sinister grin crept across his face.

“Fed it to his dog.”

Whumpee was reduced to a puddle of wailing mucus.

“All that to say that the old man actually did teach me a little something about electricity. So I went to the library-- like a real goddamn scholar-- and I did a little research on how to control this shit. Check it out: this is an alternator and this one is a voltage regulator.” He presented the two small devices. 

“You want to know why I went to all this trouble?” He took a drag and exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Because, Whumpee, I don’t wanna just zap you like a mosquito. I want a real show.”

“And you’re going to give me one hell of a show, too, because this gear was fuckin’ expensive.” He glanced at the bifold doors to the closet. “At least Winston picked up the tab.” 

Whumper crouched down to assemble the parts of his machine, leaving Whumpee helplessly taped to the chair, awaiting his impending doom. Tears welled in his eyes and he was silently thankful that they blurred his vision almost entirely, at least he wouldn’t have to watch as his life was literally fried out of him. All he could see through the haze in his eyes was the steady, rhythmic pulsing of the camera’s red recording light.

Whumper rose to his feet, his full focus fixed on Whumpee, who shivered in place.

“Now then,” he declared, ashing his cigarette. “Let’s get started for real this time.”