#morally gray caretaker

[hurtfortea]

AI Whump

An AI whumpee who feels things differently/thinks differently from the way humans do and so the things that traumatize them or hurt their feelings are different. Maybe things that humans would see as a negative experience, they enjoy.

(I.e. they don’t mind complete isolation, it will never leave negative affects, but not being able to work constantly does stress them out, so being unused would cause trauma.)

The typical: whumper says and does whatever they want to AI whumpee, because they “can’t feel.” I.e. taking their anger out on whumpee.

Whumper simply misuses whumpee, perhaps they don't know how to properly clean or handle them.

Whumper locks them away because they fear AI whumpee.

Caretaker being the kind of person who gives personalities to most unalive things and so is kind to whumpee just because.

Caretaker who is kind because they fear AI whumpee, even though whumpee could never do anything to them.

Caretaker who is a collector and treats AI whumpee not like a person, but still with respect and care, as one might any unalive thing they cared about.

[whumpberry-cookie]

could we please have some emeto prompts where caretaker comforts whumpee? its the hot trendy prompt, everyone is doing it!! jump on the trend pal! -🎤🎩 Dapper Mic Anon

Ohhh, like the emetophobia!

For a moment I was wondering "...who on Earth is Emeto?"

Emeto comfort prompts!

But kinda ANGST at the same time. I'm sorry, apparently every comfort prompt I try to write turns out to be angsty. But I tried my best.

(Cw: Sickfic around vomiting. So bodily fluids. Also attemted murder, poison, internal injuires, revenge, forced medicine, morally gray caretaker)

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

Whumpee suddenly vomits, and doesn't even have time to grab any bag, so they stain the sheets. And is soo... soo ashamed that Caretaker sees them like that. But instead of disgust or irritation, Caretaker is so relieved and happy. Because that means Whumpee's body is fighting with the sickness and they will get better soon.

Caretaker treats sick Whumpee. (kind of field medicine doctor?) As soon as they enter the room they decide it needs to be aired, because the smell of puke must be unbereable for the patient. But there's deadly cold outside and all patient beds are already occupied. So Caretaker gently picks Whumpee up and carries them in their arms. Maybe Whumpee vomits with blood and stains Caretaker's apron red. Caretaker lies Whumpee down in Caretaker's own room. (W:) "I'm sorry..." (C:) "It happens. That's what the apron is for after all"

A beggar Whumpee is endlessly grateful for getting a whole loaf of bread from some generous stranger. Until their stomach starts horribly hurting. While they vomit, their gullet burns like fire. And then they see there's blood and pieces of sharp glass in the fluid. Other starnger find them like that, takes them inside their house and treats the internal wounds as well as they can. "How did the first stranger look like? Describe them to me," asks stranger Caretaker. Whumpee does. Caretaker silently leaves the house and comes back some hours later. When asked where they were, Caretaker replies with a mysterious smile, "I just fed someone with their own recipe"

Whumpee got poisoned, so Caretake has to force the vomiting-provoking medicine into them. It's heartbreaking to see Whumpee so pale, wet from the tears, saliva and sweat. So exhausted. They can't even sleep. They vomit the whole night. Caretaker just sits there and holds the bucket for them, sometimes pushes Whumpee's hair from their forehead. (W:) "Please, make it stop already" (C:) "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Whumpee, but I can't until you clean your stomach" Whumpee cries in helplessness. Caretaker hugs them tight. "It will be over soon. I promise"

(C:) "Whumpee. I work as a tanatopraktor for almost five years. Do you really think the pukes are the worst thing I had all over me?" (W:) "....Will you tell me what was the worst?" (C:) "Will you puke again if I tell you?" (W:) "...Probably" (C:) "Then I'll leave it to your imagination"

_________________________

Thank you so much for the ask, Dapper Mic Anon!

I had no idea that's the trend now! Thank you for letting me know! Maybe I should make research in community more often...?

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Febuwhump 21: Shackled

Caretaker's jaw went slack as they looked up at Whumpee. Their leader, their teammate, the strongest person they knew... The person their selfish heart loved more than anything or anyone else...

Whumpee hung from an altar, shackles of iron pinning them up as the blood from their stab wounds pooled on the floor. Their head lulled to the side, and for a moment, Caretaker feared they were gone.

*No. I would've known if their heart stopped beating.*

They rushed the Whumpee's side, pressing their ear to Whumpee's chest. *Thump... Thump...* They smiled through tears of relief, cradling Whumpee's face in their hand before stepping back as B and C lowered them, A working on breaking the shackles.

Whumpee sagged on the floor, groaning quietly as they looked up through half-alive eyes. Their hand grazed Caretaker's cheek, shaking and cold. A weak smile touched their lips as they thumbed away Caretaker's tears, whispering their name.

Caretaker pressed their forehead against theirs. "I'm here now. Whumper will never hurt you again."

FEBUWHUMP 2023 IS HERE!

the prompts this year were chosen through a suggestion poll and subsequent vote, where over 350 people voted for their favourites. the top 28 make up the core prompts, and a mixture of the next most popular and this blog’s personal favourites have become the alternatives!

i’m so excited to see what you all create with these prompts, and hope they’re inspiring enough to trigger a whole month’s worth of creativity for you! if you have any questions, make sure to check out the blog’s FAQ, or check out the previously asked questions on the blog before sending one of your own!

please note: this year, notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form that will be released closer to the end of febuwhump.

full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:

Keep reading

[echo-goes-mmm]

Mob Boss Whumper with a pet Whumpee; a pretty little thing they slap around for fun

And then Mob Boss Caretaker finds out that Whumper is infringing on their territory...

Caretaker takes Whumper out, and every mafiso knows it.

Because Whumpee is sitting pretty on Caretaker's lap now, and looking much happier for it

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Numéro 23, Part 2

Part 1

Well, based on this, here's a (I'm so damn sorry you have every right to sue me) a very late part 2 to this snippet.

TW: Mentioned bone fracture, mentioned murder, restraints, alcohol drinking

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you," a smooth voice called out from the corridor, the sound of footsteps gradually becoming louder as the villain walked into the room.

Their eyes darted over to Hero, their gaze almost patronisingly disapproving as Hero struggled to break out of their handcuffs, with their fractured leg allowing for very limited movement.

The hero resisted the urge to roll their eyes and stopped what they were doing, trying to sit up, glaring at the villain as though they could incinerate them with simply their eyes.

The criminal simply ignored any attempts at threatening displays from their nemesis, settling down on an armchair in front of their bed. They were dressed in a dark teal sweater and a pair of loose-fitting jeans, an outfit that the hero had seen them wear countless times before in college, but this time its casualness was so awfully jarring, simply because it was just so damn difficult to imagine that they were the murderous assassin they were hunting down.

It didn't matter. Didn't matter how much the crime-fighter despised it, the kill count was there on that file they'd seen yesterday. The three oppressive digits staring at them with as much certainty as the deaths their vis-a-vis had caused.

"How are you feeling right now?" the villain asked in the same velvety tone, snapping them out of their reverie.

"What do you want?" the hero huffed out, raising a skeptical eyebrow and clenching their jaw.

"You didn't answer my question." It was a warning, not a statement, and the hero noticed the way the villain's shoulders tensed subtly, except they payed it no heed.

"Let me rephrase that. Why didn't you kill me?" The hero made absolutely no effort to sugarcoat the venom in their tone. If they didn't kill them when they should have, then they wouldn't just throw that away now.

A ghost of a smile graced the villain's lips, fading away just as quickly as it came to be. They let out a sigh of defeat, turning the full weight of their steely gaze on the hero. "Because you don't deserve to die," they answered simply, the edge of finality to their tone highlighted by them clasping their hands together.

The hero let out a disbelieving snort. "Oh, so your three-digit kill count is a testament to how you should be made the absolute authority on who gets to live and who doesn't."

"Not exactly, Hero. But have you bothered to look at my targets before throwing those accusations my way?" they challenged, raising an eyebrow, "or do you just follow the agency like a blind-folded bull through everything?"

"I know the agency's full of crap. I wasn't born yesterday. Still, I have a hard time believing you killed those people simply out of the goodness of your own heart."

The way the crime-fighter took in the room in which they were placed wasn't lost on the villain; they knew the hero could tell they were somewhat well-off. "So my job pays well. Is it a sin to reap what I sow?" The villain was growing visibly impatient, their jaw clenched, their lips pressed together in a thin, hard line.

"Let's cut the crap, shall we?" the hero bit out tersely, flashing the villain a fake grin.

"I'd like nothing more," they answered back, their voice just like steel, silk-smooth and yet terribly cold. And yet they had the audacity to have a genuinely hurt look in their eyes, as if the hero was the one to betray them.

"You didn't kill me."

"I saved your life," they corrected, getting up to go into the kitchen and coming back with what was probably a ridiculously expensive bottle of alcohol and pouring themselves some in a glass as they sat down again.

"Which means I owe you for this. But it doesn't mean I suddenly believe you're a saint."

The villain didn't say anything, simply responding by pouring themselves more wine and giving the hero a pointed look. It didn't take that long though for their gaze to soften as they set their now empty glass down on a small table and walked over to stand at the foot of the hero's bed. They frowned at their enemy's wary gaze, at the visible tension in their shoulders, at every sign of mistrust the hero's body failed to hide.

"I'm not the kind of person you think I am," they attested their voice barely above a whisper as they crossed the distance between them, pressing down onto the mattress with both of their hands and looking straight into the hero's eyes.

"Who I thought you were. You've made that perfectly clear," Hero replied, their harsh words rendered almost ineffective due to their shaky voice.

"Our time in college together, these moments, they weren't fake. We don't have to give them up," they attested gently, their hands mere inches from the hero's own, slender fingers skirting over the handcuffs. "I saved you because I care about you."

They half-expected a snide remark, but the hero let out a measured breath and something in their gaze changed, almost imperceptible, but the villain noticed everything. "Whatever was between us. . .was that friendship-"

"Or love? I know there was friendship, I know there could be love, but this is a two-way street. I won't force your hand. Not on this," they stage-whispered, close enough till they were practically breathing each other's air.

"I know. Those three digits on that file make it almost unthinkable to trust me. But that's all you know. All you've been told. Aren't you the one who said to me that you'd never build an idea on someone based on a single fact? That you need the full picture?" they urged, their eyes widening not looking at anywhere besides straight into the hero's chestnut brown gaze.

Straight into the line of fire.

Hero wished, more than anything, with the same desperation as a sinner's prayer for atonement, that the villain couldn't take note of their chest rising and falling rapidly with their erratic breaths, of how their blood roared in their ears, of how badly they wished to tear their gaze away from their enemy's face.

"Let's look at the situation at hand here," the hero replied, and they caught the villain's soft, quiet laugh at the statement; at the familiarity established by the number of times the hero had used it. They still didn't comment. "I'm injured and at your mercy, so there's not much of a choice here."

At that, the villain let out an inelegant snort. It wasn't the first time they'd heard it, but it wasn't the first time it had seemed disconcerting to them, never matched the villain or their graceful nature. "Don't downplay your abilities, darling. You'll figure something out if you need to."

An involuntary shiver snaked down the crime-fighter's spine, leaving a strange tingling in their nerves that almost seemed to find its way through the muscles of their shoulders and most of their back at how perfect the pet name sounded in the criminal's voice, even if there was a chance it was sardonic. "With a broken leg?"

"A small obstacle." The villain's smile was subtle, but it could've blinded the hero, dagger-sharp and yet strangely gentle at the edges, their eyes crinkling at the corners.

It wasn't the first time they'd seen the villain genuinely smile, but this kind of smile, almost feline in nature, was a new experience. But again, it wasn't like ruminating on their enemy's various and ever-changing facial expressions was a new interest of theirs.

"But I actually want to earn your trust," they countered, something in their demeanour sobering up as the playful, razor-edged glint in their eyes softened into something warmer. They unlocked the handcuffs with a key in their pocket, inching closer again to them to place a gentle kiss that seemed to last longer than it really did to their forehead, alcohol and honey mixing together with the fresh scent of the villain's conditioner and wafting into the hero's nose without the courtesy of a warning. They spent a good few moments rubbing some feeling into the hero's wrists with their fingers, the warmth and the gentle touch melting the discomfort away quicker than they'd thought. It felt as though they were apologising for causing the pain in the first place.

"I'll make us breakfast," they said, pulling away from the hero and smiling, a much more tender expression than the Cheshire cat grin they were previously wearing.

The hero simply nodded their agreement, hoping their face hadn't betrayed the sudden disappointment that ran through them like poison at the cold left behind on their skin, on their forehead and their wrists, at how the villain's scent still lingered in the air around them even as they walked out.

They hated how they even managed to feel any kind of dismay, how for a moment, they'd let themselves get lost in the soothing touch and all its comfort, as though villain's kill count and the ruthlessness with which they fought had sobered them up forcefully, like a heavy vase had shattered abruptly, destroying a pin-drop silence. But right now, they just had to follow through with this and keep a clear head so that their conflicting emotions didn't destroy everything for them.

Life is a game of both chance and skill, all of the factors affecting its course on a dice of infinite sides. The mind wishes to believe it can override the heart and never fail, but moving mountains is easier when the heart remains living, breathing flesh and not stone-hard and burnt blackened. We are not as powerless as we like to believe; a lie despair of our own fashioning tries to sell us. Because wisdom was never having all the answers, but having the courage to find them.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi@those-damn-snippets @whatiswhumpblog

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[suddencolds]

the urge to write morally gray f/f enemies to lovers h/c...

[hannahbarberra162]

Note: As you can tell, graphic design is my greatest passion. I'll try to make this fancier at some point. For now, sorry, this is what you get. I mainly hang on Ao3, which I am adept at using because it looks like it was made in 2004 and never updated (compliment).

I don't have an upload schedule, I post what and when I can. I love interacting with everyone, leave me an ask or comment if you'd like.

Ace never dies.

Open for drabble and HC requests :3

Master List

One (and Two) Shots

Sir Crocodile and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day and on Ao3 (Croc x secretary reader, fluff and smut) and in French

Squace of Hearts, part 2 (Ace x childhood friend reader, angst and fluff)

Who the Deuce? (Ace x Deuce, angst and fluff)

Once in a Blue Moon (Were panther Zoro x reader, angst and fluff, smut)

Best in Show (Law x GN!Reader, all fluff no smut, Halloween special)

Snow Fall (Alpha!Izo x Omega!Reader)

Part 1

Princess Treatment (Benn Beckman x OC, Rivals to Lovers, Slow Burn)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

A Negative Outcome, (WBP / Marco & reader, not romantic, dark, kidnapping)

But then starting in part 2 (Thatch / Reader, whump, caretaking, morally gray Marco) part 3

Emperor's Prize (ABO, Alpha Shanks x Omega Reader, angst, hurt / comfort, yandere, WIP)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The Crocodile's Gambit (Croc x Reader, no Y/N, fluff and angst, WIP)

The Crocodile's Gambit Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Heat Transfer (Yandere WBP x NagaReader) No Y/N, angst, fluff, pet-ification, WIP

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Not My Monkey (Reverse Trope, Isekai reader, platonic strawhats, Reader x Jinbei)

on Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Under the Microscope (Yandere Sabo x F!Reader) no Y/N, WIP

On Ao3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

hOrnithology for Beginners (18+ / MDNI) Marco X Reader (no Y/N) mostly silly fluff, a little angst, complete

On Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Can't Fix Fix A Broken Heart (18+ / MDNI) - 18+ / MDNI - DARK- Yandere Whitebeard Pirates (Marco x Thatch x Ace x Reader), complete, mind the tags.

Country Mouse, City Mouse (18+ / MDNI) - Sunshine X Grumpy with Mihawk, fluff, complete

On Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Struck Twice By Lightning (18+ / MDNI) - Second Chance Romance with Shanks, Complete for now

On Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Drabble Collection

[elephant-in-the-pride-parade]

OP your tags! ❤❤❤ I love @voyagerihardlyknowher's baby names tooo!!

And now I find myself curious about Harry P()tter baby name theory. This is the kind of crack fic question that will keep me up at night: For whatever your favorite Voyager ship is: What would be the baby name equivalent of Albus Severus?

Whenever I read a babyfic I'm so insanely picky about the baby names they use. If they name their kids all after other people I'm like They Would Not Do That This Is Not Harry P()tter. And then if they pick a new name not used in the canon I'm like hmm that seems fake they don't have a relationship to that name. So really what I'm saying is I'm mean and you can't win.

[hellobitchlet]

Finally started the war dance quest. And... I get that Yunli is multiple things that many hsr fans dislike (a girl + a minor), and I don't want to go on a "you can't stand morally gray women" speech when most ppl who say that defend Sparkle's racism or pretend that Jade is a good person, but the hate that Yunli has been getting is completely out of hand.

If the anger is really about how she's treating Yanqing, then where does that anger go when his own teacher (and probably dad) is apologizing to her grandpa about Yanqing's almost completely calm behavior instead of defending him?

Honestly, I dislike Jing Yuan pressuring Yanqing into working with Yunli, and him and Huaiyan not even trying to get Yunli to give his sword back much more than I could ever dislike Yunli's attitude. And that's because Yunli is obviously supposed to be an asshole, and is succeeding perfectly! Meanwhile, Jing Yuan and Huaiyan are obviously supposed to be wise adults who know what they're doing, and yet are acting equally careless about Yanqing's feelings.

Trust me, if I felt like you were supposed to see Yanqing as in the wrong and Yunli as in the right, I wouldn't like her either! But that's not what's happening. What IS happening is that the full grown adults who are supposed to be good caretakers and teachers towards them are instead not bothering to get Yunli to give his property back, a feat so easy that the uninvolved Feixiao convinced her to do it unintentionally in 10 seconds, and then pressured them and another unrelated bystander to treat the situation as a friendly rivalry. All while acting like their dislike towards each other is equal.

[maxdibert]

Lily Evans and the Tragedy of Poor Character Writing: How She Could Have Been Interesting but Was Reduced to the Moral Compass for the Men in Her Life

The way Lily is used as a moral instrument for the male characters prevents her from standing on her own as a character with individual depth, aspirations, and personal struggles. While we see hints that she has agency and a personality beyond her relationships, these moments are fleeting and sacrificed in favor of reinforcing the men’s journeys. This lack of consistent development reduces her to what feminist criticism calls the “moral arbiter” or the “redeeming woman” trope, where a female character exists mainly to define or “purify” a male character’s storyline. This phenomenon is particularly evident with Lily, whose interactions serve to validate or critique the men in her orbit but rarely to explore her own motivations, desires, or struggles.

Lily’s relationships with Severus, James, and Sirius reveal moral contradictions that could have added complexity if they were properly addressed. For example, her friendship with Severus is cut off for reasons that appear, on the surface, morally justified—but she doesn’t seem to apply this same standard to James or Sirius, despite their bullying and violence toward others. Her reaction to Mulciber’s behavior is harsh and unforgiving, yet her forgiveness of Sirius’ behavior (he comites attending to murder) as they get older suggests a double standard that’s never examined. These decisions could have made her a compelling, morally gray character; instead, they’re brushed aside to uphold her as a “good person,” an infallible figure who’s somehow always in the right. This sanitizing approach dismisses her potential for growth, change, and inner conflict, flattening her character to fit the role of a flawless moral validator.

Her relationship with James, too, suffers from this one-dimensional portrayal. The narrative pushes the idea that James becomes a better person because of Lily’s acceptance, implying that he is redeemed not through personal introspection or growth but by “winning” her approval. This reinforcement of the idea that men can be “fixed” or redeemed by a woman’s acceptance or love is problematic because it perpetuates the notion that women exist to reform men, placing responsibility on women to serve as emotional caretakers or moral rehabilitators. This is a trope rooted in misogyny, as it frames female characters as moral tools rather than individuals with their own agency.

Feminist theory critiques this kind of portrayal, arguing that it reduces women’s roles to secondary functions in the narrative. Lily becomes a kind of “reward” for James’s perceived growth, not a fully realized partner with her own arc. This approach reflects Rowling’s broader struggle with female characterization, where women often lack agency beyond their relationships with men and are rarely allowed the depth, autonomy, or moral ambiguity afforded to male characters. By framing Lily as a moral gauge for Severus, James, and even Harry, Rowling removes her complexity and potential flaws, opting instead to present her as an idealized figure who serves primarily to validate the men around her.

The inconsistencies in Lily’s portrayal have led to her being a divisive character for many fans. She’s often disliked not necessarily for her actions but for the incoherent, contradictory ways she’s written, and this is ultimately a failure of Rowling’s character development. Instead of being an empowered, nuanced figure with her own voice and flaws, Lily is molded to fit the needs of the male characters’ narratives, leaving her motivations unclear and her personality inconsistent. This reflects Rowling’s problematic handling of female characters throughout the series, where women are often defined by their relationships and reduced to supporting roles. Lily, as one of the most significant female figures in the story, suffers from this treatment, and it’s a major reason why her character often comes across as both underdeveloped and unrelatable. The narrative’s inconsistent treatment of her is not a flaw of the character but a symptom of Rowling’s broader issues with writing female characters, who frequently lack the autonomy, depth, and agency that would make them compelling and relatable in their own right.

And yes, I’ll admit it—Lily Evans really annoys me, but it’s precisely because of everything I’ve discussed here. She’s been reduced to this saintly figure, this ultimate epitome of “good” motherhood and femininity in the narrative, and it’s frustrating because her complexities and contradictions are glossed over or ignored. Lily isn’t allowed to be fully human; instead, she’s turned into a symbol, an idealized version of what a woman should be, stripped of the depth and nuances that would make her an interesting character.

Instead of exploring her flaws, her contradictions, or the ways she fails to live up to the moral standards she seemingly sets for others, Rowling chose to simplify her into a narrative tool. Lily’s personal contradictions—her selective morality, her double standards, her often unquestioned choices—are brushed aside because they don’t serve the image of “perfect womanhood” the story wants to project. Rather than treating her as a fully realized person with her own journey, she’s treated like an object, a measure of how “good” or “redeemed” the men around her are.

It’s this reduction that bothers me the most. In focusing on Lily’s role as the moral benchmark for others, especially the men she interacts with, Rowling denies her the chance to be anything more than a tool for measuring their worth. She doesn’t get to make mistakes and grow; instead, she’s held up as an unattainable ideal, and that’s not just boring—it’s damaging. It perpetuates the idea that women are there to serve as moral compasses for men, to help shape their actions and destinies, while never being given the chance to explore their own complexities or motivations.

This lack of depth doesn’t just harm Lily as a character; it harms the story as a whole. The other characters’ arcs are all defined by how they relate to her, which only highlights how little she’s allowed to define herself outside of them. Lily could have been so much more than just the woman who inspires James to be better or the woman whose approval validates their actions. She could have been a flawed, messy, deeply human character. But instead, she’s been turned into a one-dimensional ideal, and that’s why I find her so frustrating—not because of who she is, but because of how the narrative chose to treat her.

[whumpty-dumpty]

"The average whumper"

I was reading through the #whump poll tag and noticed some of the options were chosen by an overwhelming majority of the whump community.

So from that data I constructed the average whumper as per the whump community!😄:

The average whumper...:

...is between 21-30 years old

...is aro/ ace

...is neurodivergent

...lives in North America

...likes cheese

...is Imagening whump scenarios before sleep (and plays the whumpee in this scenarios)

...'s favourite (whump)colour is red

...starts liking whump before the age of ten

...'s favourite media to consume whump in is fanfiction

...doesn't reveal their fondness for whump to family/ friends

The average whumper's favourite kind of whump...:

...is hurt/ comfort

...is physical whump

The average whumper's favourite kind of whumpee...:

...is human

...is strong/ confident

...defiant

...is morally gray

...gets stabbed in the stomach

...has scars on their back

...has a bloody nose

The average whumper's favourite caretaker...:

...is male

...says "it's okay, I got you!"

...is good

The average whumper's favourite tropes are...:

...knifes (in all variations and sizes apparently)

...feeling the forehead for fever

...hidden injuries

...broken ribs

...bleeding

...infected wound

...bloody knuckles

...changing bandages

...beatings

...whimpering

...old scars

...severe fever

...stabbings

The average whumper's least favourite tropes are...:

...no follow up/ care after injury

...painless magical healing

...death

Let me know, if you can find yourself in this description!😁

Most surprising find from my "research": The whump community reeeeally loves stabbings And knifes. (not that I wouldn't; of couse I do). But if there's a knife mentioned in a poll, it WILL have the most votes!)😄

[whumpberry-cookie]

Whumpee and Caretaker used to be close friends before Whumpee got kidnapped. They managed to run away from their oppressor, but after the trauma they experienced, they simply weren't the same person as before.

For some reasons, maybe because Whumpee couldn't bare affection, their friendship with Caretaker felt appart.

They broke the contact completly and never saw eachother again. Until some years later, Whumpee receives the message from their old friend:

"He's dead"

[maxphilippa]

i don't like fanon oj.

i like it when oj is so stressed he may or may not act like a prick to others that aren't close to him. it makes sense. but he tries to regulate it.

i like oj because he's so convinced that he is a good person and that he did nothing wrong, that his whole way of thinking changes once bomb tells him that what he did hurted him and he tries so much to make up for it, but truth is that he doesn't know how to work with complicated emotions.

i like oj because he knows how to take the lead and how to organize people and what they're going to do. he's competent and tries to make things good for everyone, although they may not always have the best result for every single object.

i like oj when he's overwhelmed by work and can't even take a moment for himself. i like oj, because, maybe, he admittedly knows that he isn't a good person at all, but that he can TRY to be, that he can be better than how he was before.

i like oj because he genuinely doesn't care about people on an significant way unless they became close to him.

i like oj because even if he so obviously loves those guys, he's still learning about them.

i like oj because he's genuinely just some guy going through it.

i like oj because he holds slight grudges at times (balloon, bomb). even big ones (mephone4). or doesn't even care about the person who wronged him (taco).

i like oj when he's being himself. he's not perfect. he's not exactly a caretaker who is awesome, but he is a friend that tries a lot in order to make sure others are okay.

and i think that the fandom should start seeing him as a guy that is Not Perfect by any means, that he can be kind of an asshole at times (towards anyone), but that he tries. the hotel shaped him into a more mature person. he's neither white or black on morality. he's gray.

[defire]

So I made a whump book awhile ago and I really want some people to read it to help me decide if it's worth publishing on amazon (I need feedback/beta readers).

Here's a snippet of it in case you're interested.

Oldman put a hand on her chest and stepped past her, closer to Ghost.

"At your last place," He said in a lower tone. "Did they beat you?"

He nodded toward Ghost's splinted arm.

Ghost shrugged slightly.

"Did your dad do that?"

Ghost glared, lifting his chin.

"Yeah. So?"

Asshole was gonna kill him anyway. Goddamn Shivers.

Essentially it's about an autistic boy soldier who is trying to find a place (or gang) where he belongs, and ends up being a much-rumored figure called the Ghost.

It's set in a post-apocalyptic Seattle with gang wars going on with him as a key player... And later, as a key bartering chip.

Whump tropes: gang whump, defiant whumpee, living weapon, punishment, beatings, angry whumper, forced respect, self-controlled whumper, hurting existing injuries, humiliation, strong whumpee, hurt/comfort, respectful caretaker

Content warnings include: child abuse, gang violence, graphic violence, attempted (failed) SA of a minor, morally gray protagonist, young teen protagonist

Message me if you're interested in providing feedback and I'll send you a beta copy.

[jemappellezay]

I'm on my Cobie Smulders hyperfixation and I really think my top 3 characters that she played could easily be seen as an alternate universe variant of each other.

Hear me out.

(tw: mentions of abuse and death)

While we don't know the full background of Major Susan Turner (Jack Reacher: Never Go Back (2016)), we know that both Maria Hill (Marvel Cinematic Universe (2012-2023)) and Dex Parios (Stumptown (2019)) were both born into dysfunctional families and those three ended up in the military one way or another. The roles we saw were the result of twists and turns that happened during that time.

We all know MCU sucks when it comes to backstory, but (comic) canonically, Maria Hill's mother died giving birth to her and she grew up in an abusive household with her father. She joined the Marine Corps later in life.

Maria Hill was the outcome if they were offered a "better" option—an out. She joined SHIELD and due to her determination and skill, she quickly climbed up the ranks to the point where she became the second in command (even director at some point in the comics).

Dex Parios, undoubtedly, was the most "unserious" character compared to the other two. Though, she was more like Maria than we realized. Her growing-up life was somewhat alright compared to Maria's, but she did have to see the love of her life betrothed to another. Just like Maria, she became a marine—a damn good one.

However, unlike Maria, Dex was never offered a "better option". She had to see the very same man that broke her heart killed in front of her and for years, she blamed herself for it. She never had a "better option" because her mother then left her little brother alone, making her the sole caretaker of him. Dex was never offered a "better option" so for years, she had to hop between one job to another, trying to stay afloat, and was left to cope with her trauma by herself. Only years later, she finally found what worked for her: helping people by becoming a private investigator.

Compared to the other two that I listed, we know a lot less about Major Susan Turner, but I think we can make some guesses from what we saw. Another difference was that she joined the Army rather than the Marines, and she never got out. She didn't really need to (at first, at least).

The life in the army was treating her well. She was a well-respected commanding officer. She was damn good at her job. That being said, she never let her job get in the way of her values and despite all the conspiracy and shits they tried to throw at her, she ended up back in her job due to her resilience. Major Susan Turner is what they would've been if they stayed in the military.

In conclusion, idk if my writings did justice to explain it, but they were more similar than we (I) realized. They were all resilient, determined, stubborn af and didn't know when to quit. They were good people (some is more morally gray than the other) who used their very similar skills to help other people in the way they knew. I love them all, and I love Cobie for bringing them to me and doing justice to their characters.

Thanks for reading my word vomit.

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

31st Story, Part 2

TW: Blood, implied past captivity and torture, stitches, wound description, angst, corrupt system, issues regarding figure (brief), bruises, angst, knife, touch starvation

Part 1

Guess who's back with a hella long piece. vacay from college for some time with semester 1 over, woo! enjoyyy 💙

“So how did you sleep?” the vigilante asked as she walked downstairs to find the villain sitting cross-legged on her couch. 

“Well,” he answered evenly, emotionlessness overtaking his tone as usual. It wasn't a complete lie; he'd slept better than he had in a long time, but his eyes had wrenched open a little after sunrise, even though he wasn't a morning person. He couldn't relax too much into this life, the knife he took shoved into the pocket of his sweatpants, but she didn't need to know that. 

“I'll make us breakfast,” she announced.

“I'll help you out,” he offered, even though he knew she could probably infer what his motives were. He still wasn't taking any chances anyway. 

She nodded curtly in response, leading him to the kitchen. And he'd almost wished someone had warned him about the whiplash of doing something so outlandishly casual with your enemy, as he watched her make a sandwich and soon enough followed suit, still hyper aware of the knives and the boiling water in the kettle. 

And of course, nothing was lost on Vigilante, even if she probably wasn’t half as nervous as he was, the half-frantic, wild animal wrapped in the poorly fitting garment of someone calm and collected. “Are you always this tense?” she questioned as she sat down at the table and he sat opposite from her.

“Just hungry,” he shot back smoothly, a seasoned liar. Sure, he technically was half-starved, trying to eat slowly just so he wouldn’t retch, but if that was the case, he would’ve relaxed when he ate.  

The vigilante said nothing as she took a bite of her sandwich, but her disbelieving eyebrow raise needed no further additions. 

The villain’s grip tightened on his mug as he worried his frayed bottom lip between his teeth,”What do you want? If you’re going to question every micro-gesture of mine, then why’d you bring me here?” His voice was hoarse with exhaustion, probably from all the screaming he couldn’t muffle, not that he cared.

“I get it,” the vigilante said placatingly, even though it was clear she was somewhat irritated. She wasn’t a goddamn bleeding heart just oozing compassion and patience, not that he expected any different. “You’re afraid of getting hurt.” 

“I am not afraid of crap, Vigilante.” It came out softer than he’d intended, almost as though he was the one trying to calm the situation, a new trait of people-pleasing a new and heavily despised survival skill he’d recently acquired. 

The vigilante wanted to argue, but she also knew that from the day she’d walked into his cell and pulled him out, that she’d been walking on thin ice. That the man in front of her wasn’t his normal, unflappable self that could dish out a lot worse than whatever she dared to throw at him, so for the rest of this tense, awkward breakfast, they both remained quiet. 

It had taken them about two hours of trepidation spent in the opposite ends of the living room for Vigilante to break the silence. “So, about the plan,” she started.

“Yeah?” he asked, now turning to face her. 

“We can’t fight her by traditional means. We don’t have the time to amass an army big enough to rival my sister’s own. The main thing we need to do is find some way to desecrate that shining image of hers,” she explained. 

The villain let out a low hum as though he was contemplating something, but the slight shift in the nature of his gaze indicated he’s noticed something. “Knocking your sister off of her pedestal is surely going to gain you some traction,” he noted. 

“I don’t care much for the spotlight,” she countered. 

“I know. But you seem to care about making sure your sister doesn’t have everything. Still, that isn’t the issue anyway.”

And again, he was right. There is something so utterly sickening of being born in someone’s shadow, of having all your power from someone else’s name. Vigilante was only formidable in people’s eyes because it was required of Superhero’s sister. Again, she’d never claimed to be dramatically selfless.

Still, she took note of how the villain made no effort at eye contact, his eyes trained on the pattern of her wooden coffee table, but she refrained from commenting. “Right. The general idea is, if the adoring public find out what she does to the people in her custo-”

The villain, in his most daring act of the day, had let out a sardonic snort. “Oh, save it. I don’t think you realise that how people like me are treated doesn’t really irk anyone. Because that’s how the world works, it’s easier like that. I’m not the most notorious, but it’s safe to say I’m ‘famous’ enough,” he made air quotations with his fingers, “People usually want to know about the trial, when it comes to people they’ve heard of, but no one gave a damn. No one cared to know I never really got a trial in the first place. Because they were just relieved that the Big Bad Guy was off the streets. Locked up somewhere. It doesn’t matter that my record says I’m guilty of crap I’ve never done. Because technically, I’ve committed my fair share of my crimes, what’s more to the pile? Hell, if it keeps me locked away for all eternity, then why not?” 

This time, the villain’s gaze was steely, his teeth gnashed together and his tone harsh, and yet before she’d even commented, the villain was quick to force the muscles of his face to work on pulling it into a blank expression, his hand going to his pocket. 

Where, unbeknownst to Vigilante, the knife from yesterday was. .  .

It took her a moment to register his words and realise he was right. The likes of Villain wouldn’t garner the sympathy of the same people that cheered when they were locked up, at every suffocating press conference where her sister’s airy voice seemed to ring in her ears. 

But how else was she supposed to rouse some sort of public outcry against her sister? She needed the key, the concept, the idea, and from that she could form a plan. It was why she thought of asking the villain in the first place. 

“Then what should we do to get people to notice?” 

The villain’s pale hand made its way out of his pocket, his expression still nearly unreadable. “Your sister’s clever. She’s almost untraceable, and uncovering her shady past would be difficult. Or actually, more difficult than having her do something terrible now.” 

“So you’re saying we somehow force her to commit some sort of terrible crime?” 

“Force is the wrong word. It wouldn’t be a choice she wouldn’t make on her own accord. And that’s our selling point. No one needs to make her pull underhanded crap because she’ll take that choice anyway. And from then, whatever it is you want to reveal is actually going to have a basis.” 

The villain straightened his posture, pulling his now slightly loose fitting hoodie down so straighten a wrinkle only for it to come down with a strange difficulty, like it was stuck to his skin, the man letting out a soft hiss. 

“You alright?” she asked. 

“Fine,” he answered curtly, getting up. He knew exactly why his jacket had stuck to his form in the first place, and he really didn’t need Vigilante’s supposed concern. There’s a lot worse he’d seen in his life, in those three months alone than some old scratch reopening. Walking into his room, he shrugged his hoodie off in front of the mirror only to notice that the stupid scratch was in an area he could barely reach, deeper and uglier than he thought, blood running down it in crimson rivulets, exposed tissue that was barely healing showing too. He didn’t know where the gauze was, or how he’d even manage treating the wound. And somehow, his past vanity, or rather basic awareness of his appearance that he now called vanity hadn’t completely faded away considering he noticed bone and skin where muscle used to be and the ridiculous amount of bruises adorning his figure in various shades of dusty purples and browns; every sign of how his captors had turned him into a punching bag for all their sadistic cravings. 

“Villain?” 

Hell no. He didn’t want anyone in this room with him while he looked like this, frantic again and wishing he could rip his hair from its roots. He almost didn’t care that he was still bleeding and it hurt to shift even slightly, or that his wound felt warm to the touch and was probably infected. He sat there on the bed, gripping onto the sheets like they were the only thing tethering him to the world around him. “Just,” he faltered. As much as the villain hated it, he couldn’t do crap right now without her help. He bit his lip again and exhaled slowly. “Come in.” 

She cursed softly when she looked at the wound, the scarlet already snaking down his lower back now. It didn’t take her long to come back with a whole lot of first aid equipment. “This’ll hurt,” she said slowly. 

All she got was a low grunt in response as she pressed antiseptic-soaked gauze to his back, and even though he barely let out a noise, didn’t move out of the way, his shoulders still tensed up under the pain. 

Involuntarily, she stroked a hand through his hair, a reflexive action even though the vigilante wasn’t particularly touchy, especially with her enemy turned ally of convenience. He turned to stare at her, looking nothing short of surprised, but not irritated or afraid. He turned around again as she stitched up his wound and tended to his other scratches, surprised how well he was holding out. The villain barely flinched through the process, but again the man had always been surprisingly enduring.

The villain seriously didn’t remember the last time anyone had tended to his injuries, even before getting captured. He’s sure someone did, during the times he couldn’t do it himself, but no one had ever run a hand through his hair when he’d tensed up or anything of the sort. He despised the fact that it hadn’t irritated him, instead he was left there dumbfounded, half-wishing she would do it again and half-grateful she refrained from it, from making him feel so bloody exposed like that. This entire ordeal, how strangely gentle the vigilante had been with him, how he slowly relaxed even though the idea of being this vulnerable, this close to one of his enemies terrified him.

The villain didn’t like to feel things that weren’t dry, controlled anger or smugness or absolutely nothing. So he didn’t, pretended he couldn’t until he believed it. 

Every lie dies in the end, no?

The vigilante had got up to hand him a new t-shirt that he slowly pulled on, minding his wounds but still refusing any help with it. “Thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly. 

“Y-you thank people?” she asked, half out of genuine surprise and half to lighten the mood. 

The villain didn’t smile, but his lip twitched up ever so slightly with a half-smirk, “I’m a villain, but I’m not a complete tactless bastard.” 

“I guess you could say that, and you’re welcome. I’ll just go clean up. Put your jacket in the basket over there.” The vigilante looked down at her bloodstained hands, and the villain gave her a curt nod. 

He was lucky she hadn’t taken the jacket herself, or noticed the knife somehow, and he could still keep it. It felt even scummier after right now, when she could’ve just let him bleed out, or made it worse since she was this close to him. He didn’t even know what she would try the second he was no longer useful. 

Carefully, he lowered his form onto the bed, letting out a soft groan. This was the strangest stage of his life yet, he presumed. 

So many times, life is about choosing the worst option, the choice you’d swore to never make, about condemning yourself to being at the mercy of the unknown. People will scream at you to avoid the lion’s den, but sometimes it is the only shelter from a raging storm ready to destroy you into nothing. And yet, maybe there is wisdom in the most foolish decisions, and safety in the most dangerous risks. Because even if you’re riddled with deep wounds and scars, even those can heal under care, even in the most unexpected places.

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