#Glasses whump

[lumpywhump]

whumpee being capture while wearing contacts. Can they take them out without a mirror? If they can then they're left without being able to see. Is it a little fuzzy? Cause ing whumpee to be frustrated with everything they see. Are they practically blind, only navigating their enverment through gauge shapes and colors. The headaches that come with not having your glasses. Maybe whumper wants to give whumpee their sight back but neither of the know whumpee's prescription and whumper cant just take whumpee to the optometrist

[whumperofworlds]

Whumpee has glasses.

At best, it will get fogged in extreme temperatures or hurt the bridge of their nose.

At worst, it will break and cut their face.

But whumpee needs that glasses, or they are almost blind. All blurry scenes or stairs seem longer/shorter than they actually are. This makes them feel vulnerable, because it also tends to mess up with how they see when there's a light source in their vision, allowing dangers to creep up. Allowing Whumper to have the upper hand.

Or just, you know, miscalculate the distance between their feet and the coffee table, slamming their pinkie to it. (Def not inspired by anything)

^^^^^ YES TO ALL OF THIS. As a glasses wearer, I love everything about this.

We need more whumpees with glasses dammit!!!

(Hope you're okay BTW on the last part. Because ouch.)

[whump-in-the-closet]

when a living weapon whumpee only takes orders from ONE person. They’ve been conditioned to ignore everyone else’s orders. This means that after rescue, the team can barely get whumpee to drink or allow them bandage their injuries. One of the teammates manages to imitate whumpee’s handler by deepening their voice.

They stay out of whumpee’s line of sight, standing behind their hospital bed. “Drink this,” they snap, hating how they have to command this broad-shouldered ghost of a person. Without their armor, without their mask, whumpee looks like a wraith. There’s nothing behind their eyes. They play with the hospital blanket with twitching hands that have strangled and maimed.

When whumpee hears the order they stiffen to attention and take the cup offered with those still-shaking hands. But the cup slips through their fingers and lands in a puddle on the tiles.

They immediately tense up, shoulder blades flung so far back they touch. Their breathing quickens, waiting.

But nothing happens.

They give whumpee a new glass of cold water. This time, they lift the cup to whumpee’s lips and hold it steady, with one hand behind their head for support.

[whumpster-dumpster]

A whumpee with glasses who's been in captivity for years, finally seeing the free world again with a new clear, crisp prescription through lenses that aren't scratched and cracked and filthy

[jump-in-the-whump]

The air hung heavy with the smell of antiseptic and the faint hum of a ceiling fan. Whumpee was lying in the bed, barely recognizable beneath the mound of blankets. They were shivering uncontrollably, their breaths shallow and ragged, eyes fluttering between closed and barely open. A persistent fever had left them in a state of near-delirium, and every movement seemed to take immense effort.

They barely managed to lift a trembling hand towards the glass of water on the bedside table, but their fingers wouldn’t cooperate, their grip failing as the glass nearly tipped over.

Caretaker, watching with a mix of concern and tenderness, moved swiftly to the bedside. They gently took the glass from Whumpee’s weak, unsteady hands and sat down beside them. Their presence was a comforting contrast to the chaos of illness.

“Wait, let me help,” Caretaker said softly, their voice a soothing balm against the tension of the room. With careful movements, they took the glass from Whumpee’s unsteady grasp, and they placed one hand behind Whumpee’s head, gently lifting it just enough to allow them to drink.

Whumpee’s eyes were half-closed, their lips parting slightly. They managed a weak, almost inaudible, “Th-thank you…” Their voice was barely more than a whisper, the words strained and fragile.

Caretaker responded with a warm smile, though their eyes held a deep sadness. “It’s okay. Just take small sips. You need to stay hydrated.”

They watched intently, ready to steady the glass if needed as Whumpee’s eyes fluttered open again, and they took a tentative sip. Their mouth moved weakly, and they tried to swallow, but their efforts were almost too feeble to be effective.

After a few sips, Whumpee’s head fell back onto the pillow, their body sinking into the mattress as exhaustion took over once more. Caretaker set the glass down and gently adjusted the blanket, smoothing it around their shivering form.

“You’re doing great,” they said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Whumpee’s forehead. “Just rest now. I’m here.”

There was a brief, almost imperceptible smile on Whumpee’s lips, a silent expression of gratitude, then almost soon after, their eyes closed. They were still in the throes of fever, and every breath and moving was agony, but at least they weren’t alone.

[belovedwhump]

How to Make Your Glasses-Wearing Whumpee's Day Worse

Some fun options from a near-sighted glasses-wearing whump lover:

Dirty glasses! This might sound minor, but trust me! Dirty glasses, no proper means to clean them, and any attempt at cleaning them anyway just makes it worse? It may just be the straw that breaks the camel's back. BONUS POINT: Whumpee starts crying and end up staining the glasses even more!

Crying! Following the above point, crying + glasses = disaster. Crying may stain and/or fog up Whumpee's glasses - making everything a little more miserable. Also, rubbing your eyes while wearing glasses is difficult, and Whumpee may end up staining the glasses even more if they're not careful.

Being without their glasses! Now, we don't all turn into Velma when we lose our glasses, but Whumpee not having their glasses can still cause a lot of pain and issues. For example: trouble seeing, headaches, eye strain, tiredness (generally or just the eyes). Also, personally I get a lot more jumpy when I'm without my glasses. BONUS POINT: What happened to Whumpee's glasses? Did they lose them trying to escape Whumper? Did Whumper purposely take them? Did the glasses break in a fight?

Fear of breaking their glasses! Whumpee being in a constant fear of their glasses breaking. BONUS POINT: they get hit in the face and/or gets the glasses knocked off.

Glasses digging into the face! Getting hit in the face, slammed into a wall or manhandled can be extra painful if it makes the glasses dig into Whumpee's face. Also! Lying down can be painful and tricky!

Environmental effects! The air, weather and other environmental factors can make life more miserable for Whumpee; for example: staining the glasses, getting the glasses wet, making the glasses fog up, etc.

Make. It. Rain! Rain can be a real trouble for a glasses-wearing Whumpee. Wear the glasses and they will get wet/covered in droplets/stained, making it harder to see. Remove the glasses and Whumpee might have trouble seeing and/or navigating the environment.

Reflections! I have on multiple instances been blinded by the sun from behind. Once, the sun peeked in through a tiny hole in the curtains behind me and blinded me. Lights from behind can also be reflected in the glasses, meaning Whumpee can suddenly see some strange lights in the corner of their eyes - which can be very stressful for an anxious/paranoid Whumpee before they locate the source of the lights. Jumpy Whumpee becomes more jumpy!

Scratched lenses! A permanent spot or line (or even multiple) that cannot be cleaned or removed. Maybe it interferes with Whumpee's vision, maybe it's just incredibly annoying and makes a bad situation worse.

Bent frames! Impacts the shape and fit of glasses. Can cause big issues and might even make it impossible for Whumpee to wear their glasses. Maybe it happened in a fight, maybe Whumpee fell badly, maybe the glasses got knocked off Whumpee's face, maybe Whumper did it on purpose.

No prescription sunglasses! Again, might sound minor but can create bigger issues. Whumpee has three potential options. 1) Wear double glasses, with can be awkward and/or painful; 2) wear just the sunglasses, and suffer the consequences of being without their glasses (se above); or 3) Wear just their normal glasses, and suffer the consequences of not having any sunglasses. BONUS POINT 1: Whumpee has to maneuver a tricky environment in bright sunlight. BONUS POINT 2: Whumpee is sensitive to light.

[serickswrites]

Get Back In There

Warnings: captivity, restraints, gag, muzzle, cage, cruel whumper

"Please," Whumpee begged as they struggled to get away from Whumper. "I promise I'll be good. Please, you don't have to do this."

"You did this to yourself, Whumpee," Whumper said coldly as they shoved Whumpee to the ground. "You did this, not me."

Whumpee's glasses had gone skittering across the floor. They blindly scuttled away from Whumper, hands always reaching for what they hoped would be their glasses. "I didn't know, I'll be better. I promise."

"I grow tired of your incessant mewling," Whumper growled as they grabbed Whumpee by the hair, yanking Whumpee up. Whumpee squealed with pain. "Just shut up already."

Whumper pulled something over Whumpee's face. Whumpee struggled as the straps pulled tight across the sides of their head, their mouth forced shut by whatever Whumper had pulled over their face.

"I've had dogs that are better behaved than you, Whumpee." Whumper said as they pulled out a screw driver. "Maybe this muzzle will teach you to behave."

Whumpee sobbed as they could feel Whumper tightening the muzzle on their head. They could hear them working to screw the straps on as tight as they would go. But Whumpee could no longer open their mouth to beg. They could barely fight back.

Whumper shoved Whumpee forward once more. "Get back in there," they said as they pointed at the cage they had been keeping Whumpee in for the last day. "Don't make me tell you twice."

Whumpee gazed up at Whumper, their face blurred and fuzzy. Whumpee couldn't go back in the cage. They couldn't do any of it. They just wanted to go home.

"Get!" Whumper grabbed Whumpee by the collar and shoved. "You won't like what I do to dogs who don't listen."

Whumpee scrambled forward. They couldn't face Whumper's anger. They didn't want the pain. And so they cowered in the corner of the cage as Whumper shut the door. "I'm going to let you sit and think about your actions. Maybe a few days in here will do you good."

And before Whumpee could whine in protest, Whumper flipped the lights off and left the room. Whumpee sobbed as they sat, alone in the dark, unable to open their mouth wide enough to scream.

[delicatewhumps]

caretaker giving whumpee their glasses.

is whumpee injured or dying on the ground? have their glasses been knocked off in a fight, or a fall? are their teeth smeared with blood as they say to caretaker “i want to see you”?

is whumpee blearily waking up in the hospital? are their glasses neatly folded on the bedside table? do they grope for them, or just blink at the lights, confused?

is whumpee healed or healing but with mobility issues in their arms? do they struggle to raise their hands to their face, or do they lack dexterity in their fingers?

[whump-queen]

I don’t even think Whumper remembers that Whumpee had glasses before they were captured. They just think their stupid pet can’t read. and always flinches half a second too late.

[whumblr]

Shattering

Crossed out - Continued from ch.9 - Prologue

-

“Nothing to clean this time, sir?” Lucas bit when he was dismissed from Nero’s office after a relatively quiet evening. Yeah. He was still sour about having to clean up his own blood that Nero punched out of him last time.

Nero, unfortunately, was always sour.

He didn’t even deign to give him an answer. A hint of exasperation crossed his expression and he replied in his own way. He reached for the glass of water on his desk and threw it with all his force at Lucas.

It flew just past his face and Lucas flinched back hard. “Whoa!”

He turned just in time, throwing his arms in front of his face to avoid a second assail of splintered glass as it shattered against the door.

Dumbfounded, he looked at Nero, to the thousand pieces on the floor and back, mouth slightly agape, shock pumping through his veins.

“There is, actually,” Nero merely said, calm as if that outburst never happened.

Lucas reared up for an ‘are you out of your fucking mind?!’ but before he could even open his mouth, Nero glared up at him, instantly shutting down any back talk.

“Clean that up,” he said, maintaining eye contact. “Before I’ll make you kneel on the shards for the rest of the evening.”

His fight left him in a laboured exhale, his shoulders relaxing. “I’ll… be right back. Sir,” he said haltingly. He carefully stepped around the glass, splinters crackling under his feet. Moments later – now knowing where to collect cleaning materials – he returned and sank to the ground, scraping glass into a dustpan.

Nero watched him over his folded hands. “If I hear so much as a crunch under my boot later…”

Yeah, yeah, Lucas forced back, you’d smash my face in the remains, yeah I know. “Yes, sir,” he replied instead, dutifully, only the barest hint of resentment in his voice. He crept over the floor, reaching with the brush to the far corners catching every splinter of glass that skittered away, careful not to place a knee or rest a hand on the floor.

As he stood the glass jingled against the plastic dustpan and he shot Nero a glance that spelled, ‘satisfied?!’.

Nero merely replied with a curt nod up. Dismissed.

The next evening he didn’t bother with niceties as he entered the office. “What’s on the agenda for this ev—"

Nero barely pointed a finger to his lips and Lucas instantly fell silent.

He watched as Nero languidly pushed himself from his chair. Heard the leather creak, the tires squeak against the floor, the groan of wood when Nero leaned on the desk as he walked around it. Slow footsteps, heavy thumps, a squeal of rubber against the floor, and as he approached, he took a final step almost as in slow motion. And Lucas heard a very feint crushing sound under his boot.

He froze up. Swallowed.

Nero noticed. “That means I don’t have to explain. Good.” He stepped back, pressed a finger to the floor and straightened up again, brushing his finger almost right under Lucas nose. A tiny glass crystal perched on his fingertip.

The tension in the room was palpable. In fact, Lucas was sure it radiated from his rigid frame. Not a word was spoken and he was sure the thundering of his heart could be heard loud and clear. He knew what this meant. But hope still had a tight grasp on him and he didn’t dare shatter the tension, because speaking out didn’t have the most amazing results lately.

Nero moved slowly, eyes on Lucas’, and reached out and picked up the empty vase on the filing cabinet next to them. Probably prepared this afternoon because Lucas had no memory of any decorations brightening this gloomy room.

He let the glass fall. Lucas closed his eyes in resignation at the following crash.

The shards pooled under him, larger than the ones from yesterday where the force behind Nero’s throw had pretty much obliterated everything larger than a pebble. Now, sharp pieces poked up, ready to dig into the skin of anyone careless enough to slice a finger along the edges.

“Get on your knees.” Nero rested his hand on his belt, near the baton.

“You can’t—” Lucas started in a feeble voice but fell silent when the hand casually slid over to rest on the handle of the baton. This was going to happen. And if Nero were to strike him, he’d crash down right into the glass. Maybe, if he was cautious and lowered slowly, his trousers would take the brunt.

“You seem very sure about what I can and can’t do.”

“Yeah, I have this little reference guide. It’s called the law.”

The bit of fire flared up but instantly quashed out again as he looked at the pointy spikes under him.

He took a step back, attempting to do as he was told and sink to his knees, just not, you know, right there. But Nero grabbed him by the collar, held him firmly where he was and simply said, “No.”

Lucas swallowed again. Then bent his knees and slowly, right under Nero’s expectant gaze, lowered himself down. Very carefully he rested his knees on the pieces and gradually let more weight shift forward. He winced, but luckily the glass didn’t fully pierce skin. All he felt was an uncomfortable pressure – that would probably turn worse and worse if Nero kept him here until ten again – and light pricks against his skin as the glass dug through the heavy cotton of his trousers.

Larger shards snapped under the weight, smaller pieces merely crunched uncomfortably under bone, and luckily the splinters couldn’t get through the rough cotton to nestle into sensitive skin. His shoulders firmly lodged high up into his neck, as if he would somehow weigh more and put more pressure on the glass if he were to lower them. But he slowly started to relax. There was no blood, merely a few tiny pinpricks in his trousers and while it hurt, it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought.

He could do this. As long as he stayed still and was careful.

The challenge in his eyes must’ve been visible as he glared up.

All of a sudden, Nero took a firm step towards Lucas and in one swift movement pulled his baton from his belt, aimed a backhanded strike straight at his face and—

Lucas recoiled hard. “No!” He threw his hands up, scooted back on his knees. Cried out as the glass dug harder into his knees as he braced himself. A brush of air that signaled the force of Nero’s blow swiped at his cheekbone. But the blow didn’t land.

His eyes squeezed shut in anticipation, in pain, and he slowly peeked out when he wasn’t blasted away. The baton hovered right in front of his face. A shivery exhale of relief hesitantly brushed over his lips. But the relief was a short one as a sharp pain stabbed into his knees.

Nero merely put the baton back on his belt, walked back to his seat, and slid the piece of paper to the front of his desk. “You know the drill.”

Lucas bared his teeth in a grimace. His eyes watered and he slowly pulled himself back upright on his knees. This time he did feel a wetness seep into his trouser leg and a sharp pressure that didn’t let up. With each micro movement he felt the shards stab deeper into his skin. Every wince only made things worse. And if that wasn’t enough, he could already feel the familiar numbness creep up.

His previous strategy of shifting his legs as much as possible was no option this time. He was sitting in a pool of glass and he could already see long shards precariously close waiting to snap under his weight and bury into his legs. Leaning forward on hands and knees was definitely out of the question. Keep his hands off the floor at all times.

The static in his legs mingled with dull throbbing pressure of dozens of unyielding crystals poking against unyielding bone.

“Pick up the pieces around you—no. Stay like that. When you’re done, then you can get up,” Nero said after half an hour in an unexpected display of mercy.

Or, well, was it?

In his eagerness Lucas bent forward and not only stabbed his knees even further, but also sliced his finger open when he picked up a shard and winced at the same time. It jingled back against the hard floor and he took a deep breath. His legs were already so numb, if he wasn’t careful he’d fall right into the broken pieces. Easy does it, slowly does it.

He carefully picked up the larger pieces first, gathered them into the unbroken base, and looked at Nero when all that remained were the pieces smaller than the tip of his finger. Nero shook his head.

A frustrated growl seeped into his exhale. He wiped the blood away, before he’d have to clean that off the floor too, and pressed his fingers into the tiny shards, picking them up one by one.

It still took him half an hour. Only his muffled grunts and small clinking noises of the crystals falling on glass broke the silence. He skidded across the floor, the pieces under his knees following right along or finding fresh undented patches of skin to bruise as he inched back and forth to reach the pieces further away from him.

Only when mere splinters remained, Nero nodded and allowed him to get up. To get the dustpan again.

Straightening his knees felt like all muscles snapped like those crackle sticks and he couldn’t help a hiss. His trousers weren’t soaked but there were distinctive red stains welling up from the inside out.

He resisted the urge to rest his hands on his thighs and bent forward, stretching his muscles. There were probably still sharp pieces stuck in the fabric. At least he didn’t have to do this on bare feet in his boxers. So to make sure Nero didn’t have a reason to make him walk on fresh glass tomorrow, he swiped the entire floor extra well.

He didn’t look to Nero for approvement, just kept working in silence, prolonging his own torture with squats and strains. And when he was finally done, the word of mercy was delivered in an unimpressed baritone:

“Dismissed.”

-

Continued here

Tag list: @gala1981 @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @andithewhumper @tippytappytyping

@suspicious-whumping-egg @cherrychupachup @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @withdrawingramen

@light-me-on-pyre @treasureguardingdragon @notactuallyluska @fortunately-cool-penguin

[brightshaw-shipper]

Dr. Bright hasn't celebrated his birthday since his former husband Simon Glass died in 2048 (it's 2130 now). Simon used to celebrate his birthday with cake and presents and lots of kisses, and after he died, birthdays were just too painful to celebrate without him.

Literally the first August 9th after Dr. Shaw joined the Foundation, Bright walks out of his room in the morning to an emphatic "Happy birthday, Jack!" and a surprise tackle-hug. And all the memories come rushing back, and he starts to cry.

"What's wrong?" Dr. Shaw asks. "Are you okay?"

And Dr. Bright's conflicted on whether he should tell him, but something makes him spill it all out, and Dr. Shaw suggests visiting his grave, so they go do that, leaving a piece of cake and a bouquet of flowers.

At the end of the day, the two snuggle under a blanket on the couch and watch Goncharov together, and for once in almost a century, Jack's celebrated his birthday with someone he loves.

[belovedwhump]

Beloved Whump Prompt #10

Near-sighted Whumpee trying to find Caretaker in a crowd without their glasses, but Whumpee can't tell if the blurry face is actually Caretaker?

Bonus: Caretaker and Whumper have roughly the same height, shape and colors - is that blurry shape Caretaker or Whumper??

[capturedpain]

Guardian eps 11

This isn't whump but sometimes a cute guy waking up disoriented still gets the whumperflies going if you know what I mean. Especially when it's a "I'm not cold" "I don't need rest" "I'm fine. It's just a small cut" kinda guy.