#casual whump

[otherworldly-whump]

Casual whump and my favorite syndromes

Following up from some recent reblogs and since im back on my shit again. and by shit i mean, my soap box about causal whump dynamics, Stockholm and Lima syndrome, my love of remembering that both whumpers and whumpees are real people again. Give me whumpeers that take advantage of having a captive audience.

Whumpers who get bored or lonely when they have down time, or who realize they want someone to play a game with instead of playing alone when their resting. Give me whumpers who force their whumpee to learn how to play their favorite video games so they have someone to play with. Maybe they teach them just enough so they can push them around in game, or maybe they train them to be exactly what they need, a perfect teammate for hard content. Whumpers that teach them card games and board games because fuck does it suck to have a pile of the around the house and no one to indulge with! Whumpers who force their whumpees to watch their favorite shows, so they have someone to watch them with. Force them to learn everything about it so they have someone to ramble at about the newest episodes, someone on call to debate lore and theory with. Whumpers who teach their whumpee how to listen and ask the right questions, so when they get to excited about something and want someone to share with, they realize they dont have to wait, they can just go ramble and whumpee! Whumpers who keep their captive audience close so they always have someone to info-dump to! who during downtime or rest days just casually shares their favorite topics because why not! They're there, there still someone to share with, even if you don't see them as people their perfect listeners. And its just nice to have someone to share with on short notice whenever you need.

And hell, whumpees that are absolutely thrilled by this. It give enrichment, social interaction, putting whumper in a good mood means better days, or more affection or soft moments to rest. It means less time alone or understimmed or without an outlit. Sure its a bit weird or a bit fucked up in context but? why not embrace the short moments of reprieve or the chance to improve how whumpeer sees you and improving your treatment just a bit.

[generic-whumper]

I’ve somehow convinced the family that I’m doing some kind of work at the kitchen table when I’m really just writing whump scenarios next to my mom who is actually working (while I’m on vacation). 

[auroragehenna]

"Torture, watching stuff, singing"

X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*

✨Introductionary post✨

Adam

He's incredibly curious. And doesn't hesitiate to use torture to get the information he currently wants. He loves to play with people's minds and to control their pain. A bit like a puppet master. He and Lyra are the same age. He's a charismanic I'd say. And when he met and got to know Lyra...

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About the series

The series stars with Lyra's recapture and it will mostly follow her second captivity. With that being said I wil also write scenes that give insight into her first capitvity, the time before that and the time between then and now. A bit all around, you'll get plenty of informations and insight on them and their fascinating dynamic.

Adam and Lyra met one day in a group therapy session. They quickly noticed they had a ton in common and became collegues. Their friendship deepened eventuall. And during that time Lyra didn't really realize how toxic it was. How little the mockery gradually got worse, and how much effect the little mind games had on her until it was too late to get out. Until Adam wanted even more fun...

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Lyra

Lyra is a young adult (over legal age by now). She identifies as an enby (She/him pronouns). Lyra is a very passionate and entusiastic person. She lived her whole life so far basically just going from trauma to trauma but she's surviving. And defiant and recourseful as hell. Her decade-long special interests in psychology and torture made her instantly vibe with Adam. Even if innocently at first. Finally somebody to ramble witht that didn't instantly call her crazy or get scared. She's also a huge adrenaline junky, the perks of ADHD. Let's see what becomes of her, shall we?

Picrewwws:

✨Bonus:✨

(That's just her with some random designed person bc it shows her beautifully when her masks slips for a few seconds)

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud

[undercover-horn-blog]

Caretaking that is casual. Caretaking that's domestic.

You're sick, but it's just a cold. You're exhausted and sleepy, but it's nothing too serious either, so there's no need to worry.

So you're on the couch, sipping tea, trying to read, ending up just lying there, huddled under your blanket, drowsy and halfway to sleep.

Meanwhile, your partner is sitting next to you, also reading. Or playing a video game while you are watching, blinking tiredly but happy to be entertained in this way.

Or it's your friends. They're chatting, talking about their days. Watching a film. All reading. Studying. Playing cards.

And you're just sort of... there. They ignore your sniffling, don't mind when you blow your nose. They don't think you're gross or annoying. Occasionally, somebody might walk by and absent-mindedly pet your head. Squeeze your shoulder. Without even really looking at you.

"You okay?", somebody says, half-amused, when you sneeze forcefully.

"Fine", you mumble, closing your eyes again.

"You want tea?", somebody asks, but it's just an afterthought. They were already on their way to get tea for themselves.

"You warm enough? Want my jumper?", somebody offers. But it's only because they just took it off since they felt too warm.

You're literally just... there. Like a pet. Still part of it even though you can't do much. And you're so happy to simply be around them, feel included. Know you are cared for even though the illness is not that bad. Know you are loved without having to do anything for it.

[toxicanonymity]

what if everyone simply wrote blurbs for their favorite manspreading gifs and pics and tagged them #manspreading olympics?

[whumpwordsoftheday]

“Hey you, get over here…no drop the whip, this isn’t a punishment, I just need you to scramble some eggs.”

[thatsgonnaleaveamark]

this or that - whump tropes (42)

[ghost-whump]

Roulette

CW: guns, russian roulette-type game, kidnapping (implied), (let me know if I missed anything!)

Shink.

Into the chamber.

Whirrr.

Spinning around.

…Click.

Into place.

“How many rounds do you think it’ll take?” Whumper smiles, “Till you die, that is. You’ll become concussed rather quickly.”

Whumpee kept their head down. They watched Whumper load each blank in one by one, torturously gentle with each cartridge. “I don’t— I don’t know.”

“Maybe just the first one, if I fire too close. Depending on the distance, it could be a few shots before you even pass out.” Whumper spun the chamber again, absentmindedly fiddling with the revolvers hammer. They spoke casually, as if discussing the weather.

Perched on the table with their legs crossed, Whumper picked up another box of bullets, flipping it over to read the back. “Blanks are really interesting bullets, you know? A lot of people think they’re harmless because they’re not real bullets, but no one knows how dangerous they actually are!”

Whumpee trembled, their handcuffs making a horrible rattling sound from behind their back.

“Sorry, I totally got off track! Anyway, you’ll go deaf nearly immediately,” Whumper continued, putting the box back down, “I wouldn’t expect your hearing to heal. For argument’s sake, obviously. You won’t have the chance, after all.”

They stood, casually stretching their arms above their head. The gun was tossed carelessly from hand to hand, then positioned steadily — point blank at Whumpee’s temple.

Pulling the hammer back, “So, I’m guessing three shots — how about you?”

General Tag: @morning-star-whump

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“Yes.” | “Kneel.” | Best of Three | Correspondence | Appraisal | Collapse | Cupcake | Foggy | Cracking | Just Breathe | Urge | Trim | Stupid | Upkeep | Old Defeat | Watching | Simple Loyalty | Overreaction | Set Up for Failure | Burning | Healed Wrong | Haunted | Boxes Buried | Heavy Blow | Loneliness

“So, what’s your story, Cupcake?”

The captive is quiet a moment, then shrugs up a scar-thick shoulder. Clumps of fluffy hair are scattered across his tank top and in his lap. Simon slides his fingers back against that scalp to work out another lock of frizzy hair and set the scissors sawing calmly through it, dropping more swathes of bleach-ruined dead ends and leaving thick, shiny, healthy brown hair.

Cupcake blandly watches his white hair scatter over his jeans and flutter to the floor. Without the weight and fray of it, the brown hair is starting to shrink up into curls. Every time that soft hair brushes his face, a fury-frantic hand jerks up to brush it away.

“You have to have a story. Your file says you’re stubborn, but, well…” Pointedly, the man ruffles through the mop of hair, and white fluff falls loose. Cupcake’s hands briefly cinch into fists.

“Dunno,” He grumbles, fidgeting with the straw in the glass of water he was given, in case the haircut took longer than expected.

The scissors are set down with a soft click on the floor, and the spray bottle is picked up. Major tenses, annoyed, as more conditioner water is spritzed over him to tame his mane. Calm hands work through the hair to dampen it down, and the brush runs through to make sure it reaches all the way through. Every tangle that is found earns a hiss.

“Could tell me how you got these.” A slick finger taps on his right shoulder, hard to sense through the thick scarring. “Maybe you got stuck in a burning building? Or… somebody set you on fire?”

“Ran outta hot dogs at the family fucking cookout, decided to just hop on in,” Grumbles Cupcake. He’s too wrapped up in his sarcastic annoyance to register his mistake until his hair is gripped tight - not painful, but secure - and his head forced back. Startled brown eyes lock onto Simon’s, his back forced into an arch against the man’s knees.

“Language,” Simon reminds mildly, and then guides Cupcake back into his comfortable sitting position, back to Simon’s legs, to continue the haircut. He ought to break the tension, after the scolding, so Cupcake doesn’t have to be awkwardly quiet and grumpy. The reminder was nothing personal. “...So you don’t want to talk about the burns. Rather talk about your hair? It’s nice. Thick and curly. Why do you keep it all fried and big?”

More locks fall, snipped off. His head is already feeling lighter. Simon keeps running his fingers through the growing portion of trimmed hair, maybe five inches long, and he clearly appreciates how soft it is. Like the difference between hay and… something really fucking soft. Major shudders and wedges a fist between his thigh and calf.

“Hate it,” Is all he says in answer.

Simon saws through another clump of hair and lets the white fall. “You hate the curls? But you’ll look so much better.” The haircut is almost done, now. The brush slides through again, finding so much less resistance, to pull together the last handful of long, tough waves. The scissors work their way through, and with a triumphant sigh, Simon drops the last rebellious clump.

“There.” His hands ruffle through. Cupcake’s shoulders are hunched forward, his back littered with fluff. “Turn around, let me see.”

Slowly, Cupcake sets his hands to the floor and shuffles around, still cross-legged. He is curled forward and glaring at the floor.

“Come on, look up. I don’t want to have to yank you around. We’re done, anyway.”

The frustratingly reasonable tone sets his arms flexing, and Cupcake looks up. Choppy but charming brown locks frame his face, so soft from only having grown out in his time here. The conditioner that Simon’s provided, and that Major’s obviously felt an obligation to use, out of fear of some unspoken rule - has done its job. He looks like a different person. The darker hair brings out the color in his eyes, the shape of his bushy brows. Simon leans in closer, ignoring Cupcake’s clear apprehension, to squint at the very faintest freckles across his cheeks. They weren’t visible at all when his hair was white and wild.

“You look so different.” Simon brushes stray hairs from those ridged shoulders, from valleys and peaks of scarring. Cupcake doesn’t so much as tense, just watches him with barely disguised loathing. It is so harmless, considering that he was pulled from a lazy nap to come get this haircut. A nap in his comfortable bed, in his room that even has a lock on the door.

“Didn’t want it,” Says Cupcake, in a tone that is heavier and more serious than his host’s. Resigned, but still leaden with how he feels.

“I did go to the trouble of doing it. Took the time before I have to make dinner.”

No severe punishments have come, yet. No broken bones, no threats of being killed. But Cupcake seems to very keenly remember his training, anyway. Remembers that Simon has killed before, and that getting a replacement wouldn’t be hard. So he swallows, and looks away from the bed of discarded hair surrounding him, focusing instead of Simon’s nice leather shoes. “...Thanks.”

taglist: @morning-star-whump , @lthrboy, @apokolyps, @paperprinxe ,

@vampiresprite , @wollemi-whump , @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

[puredaydreaming]

whump enjoyers when their fav gets hurt yet again:

[wickjump]

grrr cross whump… grrrr making him suffer… grrrr giving him extreme amounts of injury and blood soaking his bones… grrr…

[comfort-questing]

15. "I did good, right?"

the doctors' orders were to keep them calm, and not bring up anything upsetting; so she took a moment to steel herself at the door, and make sure that as little of the day as possible showed in her reflection in the hallway window.

she had to take another moment to organize herself once she stepped into the room, because she hadn't expected them to look so fragile there in the bed. in sleep, the familiar lines of fear and tension relaxed in their face, the mussed bright hair falling loose and softening the edges. their bandaged arm was outside the covers, fingers limp, and the bruise on their forehead had begun to fade a little.

she sat down on the chair next to the bed, squinting in the slanted sunlight through the window, and hugged her knees to her in sudden disquiet.

they didn't wake immediately, though they stirred a little as she sat down, but not long after their eyelids fluttered open. "you're here, then."

"yeah."

"it worked, didn't it? the - the plan. we got them back, didn't we?" their voice was shaky, uncertain. "I - I can't remember much, at the end."

getting shot four times and passing out from blood loss a quarter-hour later would do that, she figured. she shrugged, with careful ambiguity.

"it's all right. you just think about getting better now. we were so worried - "

their eyes found hers with sudden intensity, their mouth twisting. "but it worked, didn't it. please tell me. is everyone all right, are Nara and Jon - I - I did good, right?"

they were trying to sit up, fumbling to get their good arm underneath them; she leaned forward, quickly, bold in her worry. they folded back at her slight pressure, which was probably the most frightening thing of all yet.

"everyone's all right," she said. the words were ashy in her mouth. "just waiting on you now."

for a long moment they paused, then let their breath out in a sigh. "oh - I'm - so glad. I was - scared."

she nodded, and tried to smile. their hand was unsteady in her grasp.

"just - get better soon, all right?"

[russet-writing]

Whumpee kneeling at Whumper’s side. Whumper reaching down and petting their hair, maybe looping their hand under their chin and pulling them close to rest against their thigh— Especially when Whumper is having a conversation with someone else and just does it to remind Whumpee of their place or maybe even make a show of owning them to whoever they’re talking to.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

alone at last // Wildefire Masterlist

can't say if this scene is an AU or not, because I'm still tinkering with where the story goes, but I really wanted to draw it.

After the team breaks a disgraced Uriah out of prison, they end up on the run again. Through an unfortunate turn of events, Uriah and Alexei end up stranded together, and Lex soon finds that while it feels good in the moment, trying to take physical vengeance against Uriah just makes him feel like shit.

Wildefire Tag List:

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , and @turn-the-tables-on-them and @whumpwillow some Uriah whump lol

[whomeidontknowthem]

Eyes on me – an interactive whump story. Part 3.

Previous part. Masterpost. Next part.

Content warning: institutionalized slavery, imprisonment, dehumanizing language, it/its for an unhuman whumpee, pet whump, whipping, physical abuse, withholding of food, training

The trip back was less exciting that Lord Teelo hoped it’d be. His new property was kept in a cage at all times, usually covered from the view and the elements with the thick dark fabric. Whenever it wasn’t, it tried its hardest to avoid any interaction, turning away from the servants coming by or the lord himself. The only person it didn’t ignore completely was the servant from the auction house, the one that showed the lord around. When Lord Teelo had mentioned needing someone who knew how to handle the beast, the boy had been summoned. It’d been his job to feed it and manage it, he’d said, proudly. The short negotiations had him packing his bags, ready to move in the morning. 

In hindsight, Lord Teelo was even gladder to have invited him over. Looking at his own servant’s hand, covered in thick blood after he tried to feed the creature himself, he was very happy to have someone experienced around.

The auction boy worked with confidence. He got the creature’s attention before entering, he talked to it – phrases simple, like talking to a child. It seemed to understand some of it, “food” best of all but also “head up” when he needed to remove the muzzle and “settle” when it moved too much. Once, Lord Teelo even saw him scratch behind its ear. Whether the creature enjoyed it or just tolerated him for food was beyond his knowledge. 

When the lord himself walked to the cage, rattling a piece of metal as the servant always did, the creature moved its head enough to look at him, made that expression where it almost bared its upper teeth but not quite, and moved around to present its back to the lord. 

He didn’t try to interact with it after that, not at the road at least, not with all the eyes and ears. To talk and receive no response was below his dignity. He’d teach it to pay attention to him, to always keep its eyes on him, to listen to his every word – but when he was in comfort of his home, with all the tools he could need at his disposal. He could wait. 

He spent the idle time on the road reading or having idle conversation with the servant whose name he still couldn’t remember.

“It’s rather a picky eater,” the boy explained at some point. “It prefers meat, but seemed fine with some porridges.”

“It can be difficult,” he told him after the other servant tried feeding it. “It doesn’t like people it doesn’t know. It’s going to get used to you in no time, of course, my lord, but I advise you be careful…”

“We’ve been training it to not bite, but it seems this lesson doesn’t want to stick,” he said.

Lord Teelo watched the ordered punishment from the front row. Two guard forced it into position, helped by the chains already limiting its movements. The servant himself took a whip one would use on a horse and slowly, methodically hit it on the bare back. It bared its teeth and growled in the beginning, trying to shake off the guards and escape, then staring right at the lord with unblinking eyes. By the end, it hid its face in its too-human hands and whimpered pitifully. 

“No biting,” the servant told it, and Lord Teelo ordered to leave it without a meal for the day to drive the point home. 

Next evening, it drank and ate greedily, and didn’t try biting anymore. 

They arrived to his summer house in the middle of the sixth day, and Lord Teelo was pleased to learn the accommodations he’d ordered were already in place, the small sturdy metal cage installed by the wall, far enough to be out of the way. He took his time: took a long hot bath with maids rubbing the tension of a long road out of his body and had a hearty meal, chasing away his right hand when she mentioned work. 

Only when he felt refreshed did he come on a slow stroll through the back garden and to the stables. 

The servant wasn’t there yet. The guard stationed to watch over the creature flinched away from the cage as he heard his lord approach and failed to school the guilt out of his face. Lord Teelo took a note of it, of the guard’s face – young, well-kept in all but messy ginger hair, – but let it slide. 

“How’s it doing?” he inquired instead. 

“It didn’t move much since the arrival, my lord,” the guard replied readily. 

“Didn’t bother you?” 

“Not at all, my lord.”

Lord Teelo hummed and sent the guard for the servant and a few other hands, just to be safe. Left alone, he rattled the metal across metal. The creature’s ears twitched but it refused to acknowledge it. The lord picked up a crop from the stables, the bigger, thicker one. He tried it across the side of the cage, satisfied with the sound. The thing flinched but didn’t look up, hiding its face under its hand. It would have looked cute if Lord Teelo wasn’t so irritated with the lack of respect. 

“Eyes on me,” he said. There was no reaction – the creature couldn’t understand him, of course. He couldn’t quite reach it through the bars, not enough to hit it properly, at the very least. 

He waited for the guards to arrive patiently, watching the clouds move across the sky. The evening was getting cold. He regretted not wearing a warmer cloak. When he searched for it, he could see the creature shivering. “Maybe I should leave you here until you learn to mind me,” he said conversationally. It was an empty threat: it’s not like the thing even knew what it just did wrong. No, a punishment like this wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

When the guards hauled its chains, it jerked, suddenly tense and aware, and Lord Teelo wondered if it had been trying to sleep before. Its eyes were wide and unblinking, it barely resisted when they dragged it out and onto the paved path. The red-headed guard seemed to barely contain his smile as he pressed it down before the lord in a sort of a bow. The creature looked up, still shivering. 

Lord Teelo reached out even as it growled and tried to back away, running fingers through the short coarse fur and behind the ears. The muzzle kept its teeth away from his skin. “Welcome home,” the lord told it even if it had no hope of understanding. And, to the guards, “Bring it inside.”

It didn’t resist, not the way it had back at the auction house. Tired after the journey, the lord assumed, watching it crawl after the guards until they reached the door. The creature hesitated before it, digging its paws in until Lord Teelo tried out the crop. It gasped and jerked away as a dark, purple line appeared across its back, and finally followed.

It didn’t dare to hesitate before the door to his rooms, at least, and only tried to pull on its chain when it was attached to its cage in a way that left it barely any freedom. It sat, then, back to the wall and its new home it hadn’t yet been forced into, eyes darting from the guards to the lord and settling at the familiar servant. 

“It must be hungry,” Lord Teelo mused. “Do you want food, you poor thing?”

Its ears perked up but it only shifted backwards, baring the fangs through the muzzle. The lord smiled, “No? You’re not encouraging me to take care of you, really.”

It shifted again and looked at the servant, as if it was on his mercy, not the lord’s. 

Updates every 7-10 days (depending on how much time I have and how obvious the poll result is)

@isikedmyself878, @fraugustends, @otterfrost, @fuchstastisch, @3-2-whump, @the-lone-youth, @will-o-the-wips, @catnykit

Tell me to be tagged in the new parts!

[mellowwhumps]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 8: Migraine | Light & Sound Sensitivity | “I can close the curtains…”

OCs: Verrill, Nivae/Twelve

@whumperless-whump-event

——————

He’d been living with the possibility of being overwhelmed by sound for his whole life, naturally born with the talent to etch anything heard onto the crevices of his mind. Even so, rarely was it ever so bad.

His head spins. He can barely think properly: the pain bombarding his mind and pounding repeatedly at its crevices, the spots in his vision making it difficult for him to rely on his sight any longer. It’s much too bright for his liking, though a couple hours earlier he would have more than preferred going out and enjoying the afternoon sights. 

He closes his eyes, covers his ears and waits for it all to be over. 

Preferably sooner than later.

Abruptly, the lights in his house turn off. It almost never occurred to him that there was someone else in his house, only recently having invited the almost-ghost present as a guest in his living room. He opens his eyes to check and immediately shuts them, still too bright for his liking. 

Nivae, observant as always, notices his reaction. “Not enough? I can close the curtains…” They breach the length of the room before Verrill gets the strength to object, sliding the curtains together and blanketing the room in darkness.

“Y…you won’t be able to see without light.” Verrill finally keeps his eyes open, heaving a too-big sigh of relief. Even his own voice makes his head throb like it’s going to break open. He’s thankful Nivae’s voice isn’t too jarring or loud, something peaceful amidst the chaos rampaging his senses.

“Used to it, remember?” Nivae tilts his head, nearly unnoticeable with the lack of any source of illumination. Right. He’d forgotten where they came from, not that he wanted to remember. It’s already past that, anyways. He should be the one taking care of them, not the other way round. They shouldn’t need to care so much about him.

“Does it still hurt?” They ask once more, waiting by his side like something much too eager to help.

“Mmmhm.”

The other begins playing with a strand of hair, clearly a nervous habit. Verrill hastily fixes his sentence, realising his mistake, “I mean! Pain’s better now. You’re helping, no need to worry at all. It’s been a whole morning, it should be over soon…”

“Oh. Okay.” They settle down by his side, leaning against him. The weight by his shoulder is something easier to focus on than anything in his vision, and slowly, he drifts into dreamless sleep, his breaths acting as a guide. In, out and over.