#caning whump

[thattripleabattery]

If I had a nickel for every time I had to headcanon that the scientist who uses a cane and has dealt with chronic pain most of his life is more likely to know his limits and know that he would be more efficient when not in agony as opposed to his lab partner situationship who’s more likely to ignore/not remember his own needs and limits to his detriment

I’d have two nickels

[spuddy-potat]

please enjoy ✨he✨

my brain would not let me rest until i drew this lmao

[weirdstrangeandawful]

If we’re going to have physically disabled whumpees making miraculous recoveries in whump then we at least need some more variety, eh?

You can keep the whumpees relearning to walk after time in a wheelchair (if you show the insane amount of work that goes into that recovery, that is) but let’s add some more:

Whumpees who need custom orthotics, pacing themselves just enough to be able to wear those fancy shoes for a night

Whumpees who use crutches discovering building enough wrist strength to use a cane (or two canes)

Whumpees with crutches moving from four-point gait to alternating gait

Whumpees in wheelchairs learning to self-propel with their feet

Whumpees who use shower chairs learning some compensatory techniques to avoid fainting for short periods of time so they can take warm showers again

Whumpees progressing from two-wheeled walker to four-wheeled rollator and going zoooom!

And lastly let’s not forget the all-important

Physically disabled whumpees who discover the freedom that is mobility aids

[dragyouthroughthewhump]

Augusnippets Day 11 : Breaking the Conditioning

I kinda like this one a lot? I can totally make a part two to this if there's interest.

CW : It as a pronoun, conditioned whumpee, living weapon whump, implied team whump

It stood there, staring out the window. The others were running back and forth, kicking some ball between them. It didn't know the rules of the game but could tell there were two teams and by the happy shouts when points were made.

It was analyzing their moves. Second needed to tighten their core. Fifth needed to stretch their legs more. Eighth needed to relax their shoulders and breathe deeper.

It continued with mental notes as it watched. Though it knew that these comments weren't to be made aloud. They would stay as notes. The group wasn't training. They weren't acting as weapons. Despite what it would call a war game, this was just only a game.

It didn't react as Caretaker walked up beside it, having heard the soft telltale footsteps of their house-shoes. It knew and cataloged each one's footsteps. Whether firm, soft, loud, short, even the cadences across the hallway and stairs. Even though the group was no longer at the compound, it had kept up its observational skills.

"You're analyzing again, aren't you, First?" Caretaker's face was in their peripheral now, their tone not accusing, just curious. It nodded, "They would not be acceptable like this. Before." Caretaker nodded, "The teams are uneven, have you considered joining them?"

"It-I. Had not considered joining. They would not act this way if I were involved." It knew that it had not made as much 'progress' as the others and usually it's presence alone made them all act in accordance with their training. It didn't know if it would ever learn to be a person.

"You're can't know that for sure, First. My recommendation is to try." It glanced back as Caretaker went back towards the kitchen, the smell of lemon flavored powder and cut citrus rinds were likely snack preparation for after the game. It disliked Caretakers 'recommendations'. It wanted orders, corrections, tasks, a mission. It wasn't supposed to think about going outside for 'fun'. It wasn't supposed to grapple with the decision to stay and watch or participate. It wanted to go back so often. To something familiar.

It blinked and glanced around as it was no longer looking at the game from behind the glass but had stalked it's way out the door in frustration. It wasn't supposed to be frustrated at all, it wasn't supposed to think or feel; but here it was letting thoughts run rampant because Caretaker wouldn't give it an order.

The others had paused their game, taking the chance to catch their breath, each set of eyes looking at First. But, their stances remained casual, no one moving to attention or straighting their posture. "It. I would like to join. If that would not be intrusive." The others glanced at each other, then Second smiled and nodded, "We needed one more to make it even. Need a brief of the rules?" It nodded and moved over to the smaller team as the rules were listed. It was surprised for so few rules, just manipulate the ball with your feet, no excessive force, keep the ball in the set perimeter, and two small sections were the targets. The game would end when they tired and the most target hits would win.

It glanced at the others and nodded to start the game again, a small bit of hope that it's presence wouldn't change the dynamic. The difficult part was refraining from using combat when it ran up to Third, who had the ball. It paused slightly as it adjusted to just using it's feet and Third grinned at the opening, taking the chance to run pass further down the field.

It immediately turned and went to grab Third's shirt. At the last moment it left it's fingers open, realizing that the action wouldn't be considered fun. Instead, it ran faster to catch up. It felt uncoordinated as it tried to kick out for the ball, only for it to be sent down the field towards Fourth.

Third smiled, "That wasn't proper footwork at all. Perhaps you can have fun." First flushed a few shades of red and glanced over. "Perhaps, I can. With all of you."

[just-here-for-the-whump]

Murdoch Mysteries 1x11 Bad Medicine

[whumpypepsigal]

Slowly, his limp pronounced but his back straight, Kaz made his way down the final flight of stairs, leaning heavily on the banister. When he reached the bottom, the remaining crowd parted.

Haskell’s grizzled face was red with fear and indignation. “You’ll never last, boy. Takes more than what you got to get past Pekka Rollins.”

Kaz snatched his cane from Per Haskell’s hand.

“You have two minutes to get out of my house, old man. This city’s price is blood,” said Kaz, “and I’m happy to pay with yours.

Excerpt From Crooked Kingdom, Leigh Bardugo

[serickswrites]

hello, I'm so happy you're back! I hope you're doing okay now

can I request something about a whumper who is always unsatisfied?

whumpee cleans the house? not clean enough

whumpee follows every command and behaves? not obedient enough.

whumpee messes up and apologizes? not sorry enough.

it's never enough, so whumpee gets tired with all of this and snaps, relishing a moment of dreadful eye contact with a much angrier whumper ready to punish them, they don't even have time to apologize

Hello, Anon! I'm glad to be back (while I can) since things are a little complicated right now. But writing is such a good outlet for me that I'm trying to be more committed since it makes me feel better when I do write.

I can absolutely write this request for you. I hope you don't mind, but this definitely feels like a good pet whump scenario in my brain. I hope that's ok!

Warnings: pet whump, emotional abuse, degradation, physical violence, caning, cruel whumper

The Pet hurried to finish cleaning the kitchen. They had spent the last hour ensuring it was spotless before the Master arrived home. They wanted the Master to be pleased. Things were much better when the Master was pleased.

The Pet knelt in the entryway, waiting for the Master to arrive. They had their arms outstretched ready to receive the Master's coat and bag.

"What is this," the Master said as they dumped their coat and bag into the Pet's waiting arms. "Can't you do anything right?"

"Master?" the Pet didn't understand.

"You're supposed to have my drink ready!" The Master said coldly as they walked into the kitchen.

The Pet quickly jumped up and put the Master's belongings in the coat closet and hurried to the kitchen. They had prepared the Master's drink. Usually the Master didn't want their drink as soon as they walked in the door. "My mistake, Master. Won't happen again, Master."

"And this place is filthy! What have you been doing all day? I should be able to see my face in this pot!" The Master threw the decorative pot at the Pet.

The Pet ducked. "Apologies, Master. Won't happen again, Master."

"You are absolutely useless!" The Master raised their voice further. "You are a waste of space. An absolute waste of money. A disgrace to the shop I bought you from! Kneel to receive punishment!"

The Pet dropped to their knees in front of the Master. "Yes, Master. As you wish, Master."

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU! YOU AREN'T DOING AS I SAY! WHERE IS MY DRINK YOU PIECE OF SHIT?"

The Pet flinched as the Master raised their fist. The Pet didn't know what they were supposed to do. The Master said kneel, so they knelt. The Master said get their drink, so they got the Master's drink. What else could they do? "Master?"

The Master grabbed the cane they kept in the kitchen cabinet and swatted the Pet across the arm. They kicked the Pet so their back and butt were exposed. "YOU." Swat. "ARE." Swat. "A." Swat. "WASTE." Swat. "OF." Swat. "SPACE." Swat.

The Pet tried not to scream or cry as the Master caned them. The Master didn't like when the Pet screamed or cried. "I....I....I am, M-M-Master," the Pet gasped as the Master hit them harder.

"Good," the Master sneered as they raised their arm once more, "you finally got something right."

[ennead-of-whump]

there’s just something so perfect about this idk

[weirdstrangeandawful]

Cane users... I have a question: ...how?

I use forearm crutches and I finally decided to get a cane. It's currently like 12 cm too long so my friend and I are going to cut it but I am struggling to figure out how to use it. Am I putting too much weight on it? It is so unstable and (sort of as perdicted) my wrists hurt trying to stabilise it even though I've only had it half a day and I've only used it for walking around my flat. I thought it would be more convenient than a crutch in my really tiny flat and it is but I don't know how to use this thing.

I initially thought I wouldn't ever be able to use a cane because of my joint instability and maybe I'm right?

[ironwhumper359]

The Tenets of Growth: Part 4

Atonement

First: The Path of Cultivation Prev: Flowering || Next: Replanting

CW: torture, restraints, hung by wrists, stress position, beating/caning, religious themes, religion used to justify torture, multiple whumpers.

Word count: 1900~

Author's Note: Putting the author's note at the top this time because this is it lads, this chapter actually contains actual, physical whump. Not referenced whump, not whump that's alluded to happening, this is an actual scene with two whumpers physically hurting a whumpee. Hooray! As much as I love the character and world building I'm doing, I do also love writing whump for whump's sake, and from here on out the amount of whump in this story is going way up, so if you saw the previous parts of this story and thought "hm, not whumpy enough for my tastes" then I'd ask you to check this chapter and the next chapter out and reconsider, because we're getting into it in earnest now! Anway, I'll stop rambling and let you enjoy the show <3

---

The guards came for the thief early in the morning. They yanked him to his feet, clapped iron cuffs around his wrists and ankles, and threw a bag over his head before hauling him out of the prison. 

The transport was a confused blur full of manhandling, jostling, and painful jabs, and by the time they reached their destination, the thief had nearly gone slack in the guard's grip. He let himself be dragged through he didn't know how many hallways and corridors, until finally coming to a halt.

He heard someone knock, followed by the sound of a squeaky hinge, then he was shoved so suddenly that he fell forward, catching himself awkwardly on his hands and knees. 

“Ah, excellent. His papers, please?” said a woman’s voice, followed by a rustling as the guards complied with her request. “Thank you. You may go.” 

The guards’ footsteps receded, but before the thief could even catch his breath, a new pair of hands grabbed him by the arms and tugged him to his feet. His arms were pushed above his head, and he heard the rattle of chains before the hands retreated. He tugged experimentally, and found that the cuffs on his wrists had been attached to something above him, forcing him to keep his arms raised. 

“Very good,” said the woman’s voice. “I must see to other preparations now. Inform me when he is ready for Replanting.” 

More footsteps, then the squeak of the hinge again, followed by the clang of the door shutting. The thief swallowed, doing his best not to think about what the other prisoners had said. 

“Some folks say they get killed…used as sacrifices in rituals and the like.”

That had to be nothing but a rumor, he simply couldn’t believe that the Order was performing secret human sacrifices. Perivyta was a harvest goddess, for goodness sake. But why else would they chain him in a dungeon like a slaughtered pig? Was there some other ritual they performed that required a live victim?  

“I don't know what happens in those Nurseries of theirs, but mark my words, boy. It's nothing good.”

“Lift him,” said a low voice, interrupting his thoughts. 

The thief barely had time to wonder what “lift him” meant before the sound of a crank turning filled the room and his wrists were raised higher above his head. With each rotation of the crank, his arms were pulled higher and higher, until his bare feet were scrambling against the stone floor for any purchase he could get to relieve the pressure on his wrists and shoulders. 

“Enough,” the low voice finally said, and the cranking stopped, leaving him precariously balanced on the tips of his toes. “Remove his clothing.”

“What?!” the thief cried out. “Hey! Stop!” 

He jerked wildly as a pair of hands began pulling on his trousers, but he froze when he felt something cold and sharp press into his neck. Once he stilled, his trousers and shirt were briskly stripped away, leaving him in only his underthings. The blade withdrew from his neck, and he shivered, from cold or fear, he wasn’t sure. 

"Remove the hood."

He blinked at the sudden flood of light as the bag was pulled roughly from his head, then quickly looked around, trying to get a read on his surroundings.

The room was fairly small, with wooden walls and a stone floor, and he was suspended from the ceiling in the very center. Two people stood in front of him; one was shorter and wore a simple robe of undyed linen tied with a red sash, while the taller man wore a robe dyed fully red, tied with a sash that matched. Both had the hoods of their robe pulled up, and their sleeves were tucked into the ends of thick leather gloves. This alone made for an unsettling silhouette, but what were particularly nerve wracking were the cloth masks covering the bottom halves of their faces, leaving only their eyes visible. 

 “What’s going on?” he asked, hoping that his voice didn’t betray his fear. “What are you going to do to me?” 

Neither responded, but the shorter one in the uncolored robe glanced briefly to the taller one in red. 

So, there was a hierarchy between the two.

As if to confirm his suspicions, the man in red nodded to the other, who stepped behind the thief and out of sight. The man in red tilted his head back, lifted his hands up, and spoke.

“To walk the path of Perivyta is to embrace Her will and grow in Her light. When we forsake Her ways, we forfeit our place at Her Table of Plenty.” 

The man lowered his hands and looked the thief in the face. 

“What rot has manifested in your life that has brought you here to me?” 

“I- what? What are you talking about?” 

The man did not reply, and looked over the thief’s shoulder. Before he could turn to see what the man was looking at, he heard the sound of the crank again and found himself being hoisted higher, until he was dangling nearly a foot off the ground.

“What rot has manifested in your life that has brought you here to me?” the man repeated. 

“Nothing!” the thief exclaimed. “I don’t know what you mean!” 

The man just shook his head. 

There was a *thunk* from behind, and the thief craned his head, trying to look at where the sound came from. The assistant had dragged over a crate, and the thief watched in morbid curiosity as they reached inside and pulled out a set of iron spheres connected by a chain.

“Listen,” he began. “I don’t-” 

His words were cut short by the assistant, who draped the chain connecting the spheres over the cuffs between his ankles. The weight couldn’t have been much more than five pounds, but it was enough to put noticeable strain on his already aching shoulders. 

“Every time you lie,” the man in red said calmly. “The weight will increase.” 

“But I’m telling the truth!” the thief insisted. The assistant added another pair of weights, and he grunted as the pressure on his shoulders intensified.

“I will ask until you answer,” the man said. “What. Rot. Has manifested in your life.” 

“I don’t know!” The thief groaned as the assistant placed more weights. “I don’t know what you mean, what do you mean?” 

“When rot enters our lives, we forget Perivyta’s way,” the man said. “We turn from her path of light and lead lives that bring only suffering, to ourselves as well as others. What rot has manifested-” 

“Theft!” he cried, understanding at last what the man wanted from him. “Theft, I- I stole from people. Broke into their houses.” 

“How many lives did you allow your rot to poison?” 

“I…don’t know,” the thief said. The assistant added even more weights, and he choked back a cry of pain.

“How many lives did you allow your rot to poison?” 

“I, I broke into three houses,” he said.  “I don’t know how many people- agh!” 

“Still you continue to lie,” the man said, shaking his head. “Or perhaps you are merely a fool.” 

“I don’t know!” the thief insisted. “It was three houses, I don’t know how many people lived there- no!” 

His shoulders were screaming with agony; every additional weight threatened to pop his arms out of their sockets completely. Tears welled unbidden in his eyes, and the man in red stepped closer to him. 

“The Goddess knows the truth of your heart,” he said. “You cannot hide your wandering from her, and you cannot atone until you admit fully to what you have done. How many lives did you allow your rot to poison?”

“I- ten,” the thief gasped. “I robbed ten houses, please, I don’t know how many people were there but I robbed ten houses, please, please…” 

“Repeat these words: I submit to Perivyta’s will, that she may welcome me once more to Her Table.” 

“I- I submit to Perivyta’s will,” he repeated helplessly. “That she may welcome me once more to Her Table, Please, no more, I’m sorry, please…”

The man in red nodded to the assistant, and after a moment the chain holding the thief up suddenly went slack, dropping him back to the floor. His feet had gone numb and he landed hard on his knees, but the sob he let out was one more of relief than of pain.

The assistant quickly gathered up the weights, returning them to their crate. The man in red lifted his hands above his head again and turned his face up towards the ceiling.

“The Goddess has heard your confession,” he said. “We prune away our rot in life, so that in death we might rightfully join with Her and be fruitful in Her eyes.”

He lowered his hands, then nodded to his assistant. 

“Position him.” 

The assistant began to turn the crank again, and the thief’s eyes widened as his arms were pulled back over his head.

“Wait, wait!” he exclaimed. 

He tried to scramble to his feet, but a gloved hand pressed between his shoulder blades, forcing him to stay on his knees. 

“I confessed!” he pleaded, looking up at the man in red with wide eyes. “It was ten, I robbed all ten houses! I confessed!” 

“You did,” the man in red agreed. “And now you atone.” 

The man held out his hand, and the assistant appeared, placing a long, thin cane in the man’s grip. 

“Turn him,” the man commanded.

“No, stop, just wait, please-”

His begging fell on deaf ears, and the assistant grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around so that he was facing the opposite wall. His breath caught in his throat, and he stared in horrified disbelief at what was now visible to him. 

The wall was neatly lined with dozens of tools: blades, pliers, shears, chains, whips, coils of rope, and other things he couldn’t even name. This wasn’t a cell, as he’d first assumed. 

This was a torture chamber.

“In Perivyta’s name, I restore you to Her favor,” the man in red said, and the thief braced himself.

The first strike across his back was harder than he’d thought it’d be, and he let out a strangled cry. 

“One,” said a small voice, the first time the thief had heard the assistant speak. 

The cane connected again and the thief’s body jerked. 

“Two.”

Again and again, the cane cracked across his back, and again and again he spasmed with pain. The assistant counted quietly for each strike, and the thief tried to focus on their voice, on counting the tools on the wall, on anything other than the white hot pain exploding across his back. 

After the sixth blow, there was a pause, and for a moment he thought it was over, but then the man spoke again. 

“Repeat these words: I give thanks to Perivyta for this Pruning, that I may walk Her Path of Light anew.”

“Please,” the thief whispered, tears streaming down his face. 

“If you do not, then we will begin again.” 

“I…I give thanks to Perivyta for this P-pruning….that I may walk Her Path of Light anew.” 

The cane struck, and he screamed. 

---

Prev: Flowering || Next: Replanting

Tenets of Growth Masterlist

[just-here-for-the-whump]

Magnum P.I. 3x12 Of Sound Mind

[volfoss]

It is genuinely so frustrating how fandoms sees a disabled character and then make content of them w no research of their condition

[weirdstrangeandawful]

Finally decided to get a cane to get around my flat… My flat is TINY. It is like five steps across if that. This sort of feels like giving up to be honest. I am going to save so few spoons as a result of this but the fact that that tiny amount of spoons is appreciable is… not a fun thought. I always thought I wouldn’t be able to use a cane because of my lack of wrist stability and I still don’t think I could for more than a few steps but the number of days where I am unable to even get to the microwave to hear food is terrifying so I have to do something.