#a whumped tea

[a-whumped-tea]

"Look at this. Look at what you've done. You caused all of this by being your fucking hurtable self. I was normal before I met you, but you fucking infected me with these thoughts and impulses.

You did this to me. This is your fault. You're not the victim here, I am. You've ruined me, not the other way around.

You messed up my mind to the point of doing this, and honestly? I think you deserve this for manipulating me like that."

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

tag y’all’s problematic ships 🫶🏻

[redstainedsocks]

I gotta tell you... Being hooked up to a bunch of machinery and being gently strapped to a table (for safety) is low-key unsettling even when the people doing it are nice and explaining exactly what's going to happen, when, and why.

Without being spoken to? While being forced? With no information? In a strange place? Surrounded by enemies or hostile people?

That shit would be frightening as fuck. The lack of control. The lack of answers. Feeling less important, less human, than everyone else in the room.

So do that to your characters. If you're into medical/lab whump you're hitting all the right notes with this trope. So go HAM. Do it MORE. It's perfect.

[thekittyburger]

One of my favorite tropes has got to be a sick villain waking up on the hero's couch, initially calm with the knowledge they're comfortable and being looked after, until they try and move and find their hands cuffed above them

[whumpninja]

whumpee having to work while sick

[thejesterstears]

I take my own "Pomni gets severe motion sickness" headcanon and raise it with "Pomni gets bad vertigo episodes where being moved around at such high velocities so frequently is a unique form of hell for her"

[honeycollectswhump]

prompt:

you think i actually care about you? cute.

with pet whumpee who started to truly love whumper and believed whumper loved them too

Love and Worship

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, dehumanization, cigarette burns

There is a certain kind of satisfaction linked to spending one’s evening alone in the big hall, surrounded by nothing but gold and jewels, resting on only the softest cushions while occasionally being fed grapes by servants with shaking hands. Others may call it a dream; Mireille calls it a well-deserved daily life.

Everything is beautiful, just as it is supposed to be. The furniture is spotless, having been meticulously cleaned the second Mireille leaves the room, each gem is polished like the morning sun. The servants –about a dozen– wear only the finest clothes, which are almost as expensive and certainly prettier than anything they deserve. 

But what they deserve doesn’t matter, and who cares about the message trying to be sent, when the domestics look like they were taken from the streets? 

This, the big hall, the rooms, every single floor is art. They are a stage for only the finest performers, and sometimes that means having to clothe simple actors in garments more expensive than their life is worth.

It’s a price Mireille is more than willing to pay. Money is never an issue and of course, they don’t outshine her.

Mireille leans back, letting her long black hair drape over the backrest, and takes a drag from the cigarette held loosely in her hand. She looks like a painting, like the pride and joy of a knowledgeable collector. Every single movement is deliberately elegant in a way that has been taught to her since childhood. A woman like her is worth her weight in gold.

Smoking is just another habit she picked up along the way. It’s part of a perfectly curated image, the mysterious lady, the untouchable femme fatale. A calculated show, one that Mireille cannot go without and the thought of abandoning it makes her hands shake, even though she’d rather die than admit it.

Decidedly, she stops that train of thought before any conclusions could be drawn that would be unbecoming for a lady of her calibre. 

Mireille draws in a deep breath through her cigarette and blows the smoke in the air, watching it drift lazily through the hall. Right next to her, her ashtray kneels on the floor, waiting patiently. 

Out of all of her purchases, he’s her favourite. He is undoubtedly beautiful, about as fine as a diamond, with golden hair and shining blue eyes. But then again, Mireille paid good money for his looks. His beauty is not a compliment, it’s the majority of his worth. She would not be satisfied with anything less than perfection.

Her adoration for her companion-decor goes further than his beauty and the entertainment he brings into her life though. There is something about this particular item that her other servants lack, whose fondness for her doesn’t go beyond an innate, natural sense of loyalty.

Her ashtray worships her. Mireille doesn’t need to hear him say it (and it’s not like he was made to speak in the first place). She can simply tell by the way he looks at her with nothing but pure reverence in his eyes. He offers himself up with eagerness and wears the burns like compliments on his skin. 

It’s intoxicating. 

All of her life, men and women alike have adored her, but this is a different, addicting kind of love. Without a doubt, she is the centre of his universe and Mireille would not have it any other way.

The cigarette is nearly burned to the end. After one last drag, she turns her attention towards her ashtray, pondering how she is going to leave a mark this time. There is so much to choose from, although the little round scars are beginning to pile up. It’s a game for her and a blessing for him. 

“Give me your tongue, won’t you?” Mireille purrs and the ashtray complies immediately, of course. He straightens, eager to have received a command –both mindless puppet and loyal mutt–, and holds out his tongue for her. The thought of disobeying her order would never even cross his mind. 

Something about the way he offers up such a vulnerable part of himself without hesitation gives Mireille a rush every single time. She presses the still-glowing cigarette end into the soft but marred flesh. It should cause a visceral reaction, even after the scar tissue must have numbed the nerve ends.

Her servants would whimper and cry in his place. They wouldn’t know what to do with themselves, shaking in anticipation and fear of the pain. Instead, her ashtray barely shudders and keeps his body rigid and still until she is done.

Only then does he lift his eyes to her face, searching for her satisfaction. Just being allowed to look at her is reward enough for her ashtray, and his eyes shimmer with devotion. When she graces him with a smile, he vibrates with excitement and joy. 

She lifts her hand to his head and pets him and the ashtray all but presses into her touch, content with a job well done. That’s the difference between her servants and her ashtray. He is looking forward to getting burned by her, there is nothing in the whole wide world that he’d rather do.

“You really are enjoying this, huh? Do you actually think I care about you? That’s so cute.” Mireille smiles.

And her stupid little ashtray just melts under a touch he thinks speaks of mutual affection.

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0 let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

[feelingpoorly]

I’ve had a bad migraine for the past three days that is just not responding to my usual meds, like at all

I’ve had this happen occasionally before, I usually get prescribed steroids or told to go to the hospital but I don’t like doing those things, so I try out a ton of natural remedies instead until I find one that eventually works

One of the most successful of those was GINGER TEA

So like, ginger tea? Good for characters with poorly tummies. That’s what we all know and love it for. But apparently it’s also good for migraines

But has anyone ever told you, it takes like absolute trash? When I tell you, this shit is BURNING MY MOUTH. And my THROAT. I feel like I’m drinking spicey sand

And that just for me thinking. If a character was drinking this because of stomach issues, this has to be the LEAST fucking pleasant thing to drink when you already feel sick. Hell, it’s making me feel sick drinking it now and my stomach is fine

[pyrepostings]

whumpee who's only given soft water to drink/bathe with.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Serving Tea

A writing exchange for @laffy-taffy-creations! Hope you like it! Also, big thanks to @creweemmaeec11 for helping me write this!

The prompt was as follows:

Set up: Whumpee who is currently staying with Caretaker after being rescued from a place they were used as a servant, every month Whumpee has a breakdown about 'not being used like they're meant to be' (thanks to brainwashing) and each month Caretaker promises to try but never does because they can't imagine ever asking anything of Whumpee.

Prompt: "Master/Mistress, you say this every time... *Let me do something for you*..."

----------------------------

“Whumpee, what’s wrong?” Caretaker asked.

Whumpee tried to maintain their composure, but they let out a choked sob anyway. They stood in front of Caretaker with their head down, unable to look them in they eye. Caretaker got up out of their armchair and approached Whumpee, concern etched into their features. They wanted to hug them, but they refrained, knowing Whumpee wouldn’t know how to receive it.

“You s-still won’t use me like I’m meant to be!” Whumpee cried.

Caretaker bit their lip.

“I promise I’ll try-”

“You say that every time!” Whumpee blurted, then gasped.

Whumpee withdrew into themselves, frightened that they had interrupted their master. When they spoke again, it was much quieter.

“Let me do something for you, Master…”

Caretaker’s face fell. Whumpee sounded so… desperate. The last thing they wanted to do was feed into their conditioning, but…

“Okay, Whumpee, can you- can you bring me a… can you bring me a cup of tea?”

Whumpee blinked, looking up. Their face brightened as they nodded quickly. They practically ran to the kitchen to make Caretaker’s tea. Caretaker sighed, settling back into their armchair and burying their face in their hands.

Whumpee returned a few minutes later with a cup of tea in their hands. They handed it to Caretaker.

“Thank you, Whumpee,” Caretaker said quietly, “there’s something else I’d like you to do for me…”

“Of course, Master! Anything.”

“One, like I’ve been telling you, you can call me Caretaker, I’m not your master,” Caretaker said, “two, I want you to bring me another cup, empty this time.”

“Empty? O-of course, Mas- Caretaker, I’ll be right back.”

Whumpee left and returned with an empty teacup. Caretaker took it and poured half of their tea into it. Whumpee tilted their head, puzzled. Caretaker handed the second cup back to Whumpee.

“I don’t understand, M- Caretaker,” Whumpee said.

“It’s for you to drink,” Caretaker explained.

“Oh, Caretaker, I couldn’t-”

“Answer this for me, and be honest, do you not like tea?”

“Oh, I love it, but-”

“Would you not enjoy drinking it?”

“I would enjoy it-”

“Then that’s all there is to it,” Caretaker said with a soft smile, “that’s your tea, and you should drink it. Just like you have your room, and your freedom to do what you want. You don’t need permission from me, and you don’t have to do everything for me.”

Whumpee looked quite conflicted. It was as if Caretaker was speaking a foreign language to them. Hesitantly, they took a sip of the tea. They looked to Caretaker for reassurance.

“It’s alright,” Caretaker said, “no one’s going to punish you. Sit down.”

Caretaker gestured to the other armchair. Whumpee looked horrified.

“Whumpee, this is your home too, you can sit where you want.”

Whumpee gulped, and very gingerly sat down in the soft seat. When nothing bad happened, Whumpee relaxed just a tiny bit.

“There, see?” Caretaker said, “I know it’s hard, but you’ll get used to it, I promise.”

Whumpee nodded, then took another sip of tea. Caretaker held back the urge to cheer.

“Good job,” Caretaker said instead, “it’s good, isn’t it?”

Whumpee nodded with a small smile, taking another sip of their tea. This was the most progress they had made in months. One day, they’d be fully recovered, and wouldn’t feel the need to ask permission for anything or become subservient to a master. Caretaker eagerly awaited that day.

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Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm

[a-whumped-tea]

Whumpers who kidnap a normal person with the intention of "fake torture interrogation".

The whumpers know for a fact that Whumpee isn't a part of any illegal activity, but they're going to treat them as if they were anyway. 

They torture Whumpee, asking them questions about a fake rival gang or other “important things” that Whumpee doesn’t know about.

They keep going, just to see how long it takes for Wumpee to start lying and giving bullshit answers to get a break from the pain. 

Once that goal is achieved, the whumpers start pretending like some of Whumpee's lies and bullshit mean something. 

For example, Whumpee gives an address for a warehouse and the whumpers act as if that is the actual location of a warehouse that this fake gang owns. 

But of course, some of the “information” the whumpers have to call bullshit, and Whumpee gets hurt more. Slowly sort of gaslighting the whumpee into questioning themself, because "clearly" they know things about this gang they've never heard of, but they don't know how they know these things.

[mj-iza-writer]

Caretaker heard the coughing, he knew that cough.

The cough Whumpee would desperately hide from him, but couldn't, especially when they gasped for breath after every coughing fit they had.

Caretaker grabbed his kettle and started to fix his tea.

Whumpee came down fully dressed and ready for the day.

"Oh, where are you going?", Caretaker faked a smile, "or should I ask where you think you're going?"

"Oh um, I had plans with you", Whumpee looked up pleadfully.

"Yes, and you still do, but the original plans are going to be rescheduled", Caretaker pulled the kettle off the stove as the hum got louder.

Whumpee looked up sadly, "Wh-what do you mean?", Whumpee talked with a rough voice, trying to hide a cough in their throat.

"Whumpee you've been hacking all night", Caretaker rolled his eyes, "and I know you're trying to cover it up, but you can't hide that."

Whumpee looked down.

"You need to rest today. Please go put on your pajamas or something comfortable", Caretaker poured two cups of hot water, "then come back down for tea."

Whumpee finally let their cough out, "I'm sorry Caretaker", they started to turn.

"Nothing to be sorry for, I'm sure you didn't ask to be sick", Caretaker smiled, "we can plan our day again when we aren't sick."

Whumpee nodded, then went up to get changed.

Caretaker set up the tea and smiled as Whumpee entered the room.

"Okay, this should help a little, I'll start breakfast and get some medicine in you", Caretaker watched Whumpee take a few sips of the tea, "I'll have you rest though out today, so you can do whatever, as long as you're resting. You need to sleep as well, so don't feel bad if you get tired" Caretaker hid a smile as he took a drink.

After breakfast Whumpee sat on the couch with a book. It wasn't long after they started to feel drowsy.

Caretaker came in to check on them.

"Hey I'm feeling really tired all of a sudden", Whumpee looked at Caretaker with droopy eyes, "did you accidentally give me something that would make me tired."

"It wasn't accidental. Your tea was my cold and flu sleepy tea", Caretaker smiled, "I heard you coughing all night, and that means you weren't sleeping. I know you enjoy going long periods without sleep, but you need to get better."

Whumpee's jaw dropped, "Caretaker, you drugged me."

"I guess you could say that", Caretaker grinned, "don't worry, I have your favorite meal planned for lunch to make up for it."

Whumpee shook their head but couldn't hide a smile, Caretaker was lucky they trusted him.

Caretaker helped Whumpee lay down and covered them up.

"I... can't... believe... how good... that..stuff works", Whumpee struggled to keep their eyes open.

Caretaker knelt down, "yes, it definitely works very well", Caretaker smiled and played with Whumpee hair, "do you want to hear about lunch?"

Whumpee weakly nodded to tired to talk now.

"I just ordered groceries and medicine to be delivered. I bought Rye bread and mozzarella cheese. I also bought tomatoe soup. So I'm making your favorite, grilled cheese and a side of soup because you like to dip. I'll also put some shredded cheese in the soup to make it even better", Caretaker started to whisper as Whumpee's blinking grew slower and slower.

Whumpee opened their eyes a final time and grinned at Caretaker.

"Go ahead and get some rest", Caretaker reached for the book Whumpee was cuddling, and made sure to bookmark it. He watched Whumpee's eyes close one last time.

Caretaker played with Whumpee's hair for a few more minutes before getting up.

Whumpee's breathing had settled now, they were already heavily sleeping.

Caretaker smiled as they sat down across from them, "get well soon Whumpee."

Brought to you by me not feeling well the last few days. Funny story I was drinking Cold and Flu PM (night time) tea at work, and I would get super drowsy. I thought they just used more calming leaves to help you relax, but no, that stuff knocks you out. I was at work floating on clouds. I'm getting better though, so that's nice. I hope you enjoyed the story. -MJ

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Okay do you remember those assignments in history classes where you learned about something absolutely horrific (like a tsunami or the dust bowl or the revolutionary war) and then you had to write a diary entry pretending you had lived through it, and/or write a piece of fiction about someone who lived through it? Because I feel like this encouraged my whump interests.

[whumblr]

So I really liked the Duct Tape piece for Home is Where the Hurt Is, and I was wondering if you would be open to maybe doing another drabble with burns? I just think that Zayne would have fun with that. Of course, feel free to ignore this. Your writing is amazing! Especially Home is Where the Hurt Is, I just keep re-reading it over and over again.

Thanks so much <3 Here's to Zayne having fun 🤝

-

Smoke break

“Didn’t you want to know more about that arson case the other day?”

The glee in Zayne’s voice hinted at something more than just sharing information and Jay’s guard instantly went up.

“I’m suddenly really okay with never fully understanding that case,” he said.

“Don’t be like that. Here, I’ll share the process with you.”

“No, really, I’m good—” But a hand clamped around his wrist and pulled him in close to Zayne. A pointed glance to the floor and he took a deep breath, taking the hint, to sink to his knees. Zayne followed, pulling up the footstool and settling over Jay, hand still wrapped around his wrist.

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket.

“You smoke?” Jay nervously deflected, stalling. He pretty much knew what was coming, but hey, he could still pray that he was wrong.

“Nah, I mean, in me teens, yeah, but not anymore.”

He tucked the cigarette between his lips and reached into his other pocket, fishing out a lighter.

Prayers unanswered, Jay tensed up.

Zayne flicked the lighter open – drawing a light flinch from Jay – and lit the cigarette. He fully inhaled, his own little way of stalling and making sure he had Jay’s full attention, then slowly blew out the smoke in Jay’s face.

Jay turned his head, coughing, not fully able to twist away with Zayne holding him. And with him still coughing, he was caught off-guard when Zayne suddenly pulled him in, stretching his arm out.

“See,” Zayne muttered, cigarette dangling between his lips bouncing on every word, and he reached out to Jay’s wrist to fiddle with the cuff button, “our mutual prick is very keen that no evidence is left behind.” He pulled the cuff up to Jay’s elbow, exposing his forearm, keeping Jay in place as the guy yanked at the tight grip on his wrist.

Jay nervously followed his moves, but found his attention kept being drawn to the cigarette, flickering in the corner of Zayne’s mouth.

“So I can’t just light anything on fire, police would be able to tell.” Zayne continued. He blew out another few curls of smoke through his nose, and caught the cigarette in-between two fingers, twirling it slowly so he held it upside down between index finger and thumb as he lowered it towards Jay’s forearm.

Muscles flexed under the heat.

“Don’t,” Jay whispered.

“How’s the burn on your side?”

“Still healing. Just… don’t.”

Zayne hummed, teasing the smouldering ash up and down, deciding on a spot. “The trick is to not be too hasty,” he finally said, and firmly pressed the cigarette out against Jay’s skin just under his elbow.

Jay hissed, clenched his teeth together and groaned his pain as he threw his head back.

Zayne didn’t pull away yet. “Gotta take it slow,” he continued, twisting the butt before he finally removed it. A dark red circle remained. “You know, check things out first. See what the employees smoke outside during their breaks and buy the same pack. Got to match up, yeah.”

He shifted closer towards Jay, pulling him in by the wrist, his other hand brushing his collar aside, undoing one button.

“Then you find a good spot…” Fingers tucked under the neck of his t-shirt, exploring the skin underneath, softly prodding. “And you create… circumstances. Patch of dry leaves, dead potted plant, some garbage, whatever works.”

Jay didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He just allowed Zayne’s teasing, pretty sure he’d be able to feel his heart hammering under the thumb that rested against his throat.

“After that,” Zayne reached into his pocket and took out three more cigarettes. “You just dispose of the evidence.”

“Maybe… you’ll still need some? You know, for next time?” Jay tried.

“Hmm, that suggestion would make you the instigator of arson, Jaydear. Can’t involve you in all this.” He pinched another cigarette in-between his lips, lit it, and tucked his fingers under Jay’s shirt, lightly pulling the neck down and exposing his clavicle.

“What you can do is help me get rid of this evidence.”

-

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8 @itsmyworld98 @scribbelle

[thejesterstears]

Gonna be self-indulgent with a little whump content here and ramble off some sickness-related Pomni headcanons I've been rotating in my brain since about when I first watched the pilot (once you get to know me it will become apparent how much I love whump).

Disclaimer that these are just my headcanons and not anything I am trying to push as canon! These headcanons also operate under the idea that sickness does exist within the circus in the form of computer viruses/corrupted code that manifests as human-like illnesses in the circus members, and also bearing in mind that they do still experience pain.

Sick Pomni Headcanons:

In her old life, she would rarely ever call in sick, even if it meant dragging herself through the work day looking like death warmed over and powering through it with hot tea and round-the-clock medication--less out of dedication to her work so much as a nagging feeling that she would be letting people down if she didn't come in to do her job as well as fear of failing herself. She has worked herself to the point of fainting more than once due to her own stubbornness. This is the same attitude she's carried with her into the Digital Circus, even though it isn't a "job," just because she doesn't want anyone to feel the need to pick up her slack or to worry about her (and, yes, has reached a point of fainting here too).

She is what can only be described as a horrible sick person to take care of, in that she struggles to accept help because she feels she should be able to take care of herself and feels uncomfortable making anyone else concerned about her or paying excess attention to her--even when she's reluctantly accepting help, she hesitates to ask for more than the bare minimum of care, regardless of anything else she may want or need. She only fully relents when she's feeling so miserable that she literally can't work up any energy to fend for herself. For the most part, she'll just hole up in her room and sleep for hours at a time until she recovers.

Of everyone in the circus, Ragatha is the one who would take care of Pomni the most whenever she's under the weather, out of her own genuine concern and care--something that surprises Pomni at first, so used to fending for herself in her old life that it actually overwhelms her a little to have Ragatha check in on her frequently and offer to bring her extra blankets or warm drinks or cold compresses. She resists offers of help at first, feeling guilty for making anyone worry about her when she doesn't feel she deserves it, but eventually reaches a point where she feels more comfortable accepting care from the friends she's learned to trust in the circus--and if she's being honest with herself, she might feel a little clingy (emotionally, at least) when she gets accustomed to the company where she isn't so quick to turn it away, or might actually ask for it herself.

Due to her tendency to become nauseous easily, she does not like to eat when she's sick as much as she can help it--not needing to eat for nourishment is one of the few perks to her new digital life when she doesn't feel well (though if, say, Ragatha were to gently encourage her to eat something for the sake of maintaining some normalcy, she wouldn't say no to some soup or warm tea).

She is unfortunately prone to stress fevers and migraines that'll knock her down for a good several hours whenever they happen.

(Semi-connected because it's medical-related but I also personally hc that she suffers from bad vertigo episodes/motion sickness and has endometriosis, both of which regularly make her feel completely miserable)

[federaliszt]

food in hurt/comfort

underrated part of whump for me is when someone cooks a favorite home cooked meal for whumpee. obviously there's a lot of sheer comfort from the meal itself, but there's also the thoughtfulness of the caretaker or caretakers, the preparation and effort that went into it, the pure love and care that is almost as palpable as the scent of the food cooking in the air.

if you want to dial up the tension, then you can give whumpee a reason why they can't eat it, and then add to the burden by making it impossible for them to express why they can't eat it. maybe their stomach is in knots from an illness or an injury they're trying to hide. maybe they're badly hungover but they don't want anyone to know. maybe they've just experienced dire food scarcity, and it's messing with their thoughts about whether they deserve to eat it or not. maybe they've got an eating disorder. maybe the last time they ate this particular dish was right before a big fight they had with a partner or a loved one, a fight they still feel ashamed about how they behaved in, and so even the scent reminds them of the bad unresolved feelings still gnawing at them under the surface. maybe they're grieving a sudden loss and even nibbling at any kind of food makes them feel sick to their stomach

whumpee experiencing those twin desires to eat to their heart's content and accept the love they're being offered while simultaneously needing to protect their deepest secrets and act unaffected or indifferent = 💯