#now broken whumpee

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

whumpee who used to be headstrong, stubborn and violent —before they were captured, tortured by whumper and later rescued by caretaker — just obeys and quietly does whatever caretaker told them to do.

caretaker was relieved by whumpee’s willingness to obey at first, even if they knew it was unlike whumpee. until they realized how whumper would punish and hurt whumpee whenever they showed a glimpse of disobedience, and that’s why whumpee submitted like a dog; they’re scared caretaker is going to hurt them if they disobey.

and now no matter how caretaker tries to get that fight back in whumpee, no matter how they try to provoke whumpee into lashing out just so whumpee can become themself again, whumpee just takes it silently and obediently, they’re just a broken, empty shell of who they used to be.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hello! The way you write so eloquently always astonishes me, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of your work. Would you be able to write some hero/villain whumpee/whumper for us? I haven’t seen any of that in a while and I LOVE it! Thanks for all the amazing writing you do, I want to mix it all up in a stew and eat it. <33

"You know, this would be easier for you if you just -" The villain aimed a sharp kick at the hero's ribs - "stayed down."

The hero doubled over to the floor again, wheezing. Dull and not so dull pain throbbed through their body. "Nah," they managed. "You enjoy it too much. Couldn't deprive you."

Before they could claw their way up onto hands and knees, yet again, the villain placed a boot on the side of their head. They didn't put any pressure. But it was there. Ready.

The hero froze.

A moment passed, two, broken only by the sound of the hero's ragged breathing.

"Look at you," the villain said softly. "You're halfway to broken in all but spirit. Isn't that enough?"

"Gonna have to break me the rest of the way if you want to get through me."

"No, darling," the villain said. "To do that I merely have to apply a little pressure."

The hero swallowed.

They felt the villain's weight shift, not hard enough to crack their skull open like an overripe melon, but certainly enough to grind their cheek into the concrete. To make them infinitely aware of the way a melon or a brain might look dribbling pulp.

Their bruised, bloodied fingers flexed on the floor. The villain hazed in their vision.

"To do that," the villain said, "all I need to do is shatter your kneecaps the rest of the way so you can't get up. However hard you try. Crack your spine, perhaps."

The hero shuddered. They wished the fear wouldn't come, but it did, like bile. Anxiety lodged in their chest.

"I could then leave you to the mercy of whoever finds you," the villain continued. "You see your will, indomitable though it may be, cares very little for the limitations of your meat sack. Is that the path we need to go down to make you understand that?"

"Screw you."

The villain laughed, without mirth. "Is that fear or recklessness talking?"

"If you can do all that, why don't you?"

"Maybe I'm enjoying myself too much."

"So what you're saying is..." The hero made a sudden grab for the villain's leg, and yanked, rolling to dislodge their positions. "I could do anything and you wouldn't finish it."

The villain landed hard on their knees. The second after that, they'd snapped both of the hero's wrists.

The hero gasped with pain. Black spots danced behind their eyelids.

The villain grabbed a fistful of the hero's hair, dragging their swaying body up in mirror before they could hit the ground.

"Or maybe my ability and willingness to hurt you does not extend to my fucking pleasure." In an instant, the villain's voice was a growl. "Stay the hell down. What is wrong with you?"

"You're the one keeping me up." The hero's voice slurred. They realised they probably shouldn't say that. Shouldn't admit to that. It was getting a little difficult to focus.

The villain's grip on their hair tightened, pulling their head back further as the villain rose to their feet once more. The hero was left contorted, peering wobbly up at them. The villain's other hand cupped their cheek. The anger faded, leaving behind only implacable waters. A leviathan submerged.

"Not looking to make it easier on me," the hero said. "Looking to make it harder for you. Sorry. Wouldn't be doing any of this for easy. May as well commit, you know?"

They weren't sure if they meant the words as conciliatory or goading, but the villain snorted. They patted the hero's cheek.

"Well, now I could accuse you of enjoying it too much," the villain said.

The hero laughed. Or maybe they just sobbed. Choking on it. On the pain on it.

It would be nice to stay down. To not get up again. To rest. To just...stop.

"You'll pass out eventually," the villain replied. Half kindness. Half cruelty. "And I'll move on. I put in contingency time for dealing with you, you're not saving anything."

"But I'm trying."

"But you're trying."

The villain pressed a kiss to the hero's head then let them unceremoniously drop the floor. They stepped back as the hero wheezed all over again, coughing up a glob of blood.

The villain rolled out their shoulders. They checked their watch. They waited.

The hero forced themselves up again.

[justbreakonme]

Caretaker cutting up whumpees food for them because it’s hard/painful for them to do it themselves

Whumpee wearing caretakers clothes because they don’t have many of their own or their old clothes don’t feel like they belong to them anymore.

Caretaker speaking up for whumpee in social settings because their anxiety is dialed up to 100 even just in a coffee shop or grocery store

Whumpee leaning on caretakers arm because sometimes it’s hard to stay upright/they’re afraid to get left behind

Caretaker offering whumpee their coat because they get colder more easily/the cold makes injuries new and old alike ache again

Whumpee and caretaker cuddling on the couch because they’ve been so touch starved for so long but caretaker is the only one they trust to be so close.

Caretaker leaning in close to hear and speak to whumpee, because they tend to whisper now, and/or loud noises spook them, especially voices

Whumpee and caretaker sharing a bed because they don’t feel safe alone anymore/it prevents nightmares

Caretaker opening doors for whumpee because it’s hard for them/their mobility aid gets in the way

Whumpee asking for caretakers opinion on everything because they only trust them/their sense of normalcy has been broken or is nonexistent

Caretaker complimenting whumpee as a way to combat their conditioning/boost their self esteem

Just, a somewhat pseudo romantic relationship between the whumpee and caretaker, made all the more complicated by any real feelings they may have.

[digital-nova]

Fainting whump prompts

Whumpee barely making it through their performance and collapsing on stage when it’s over. (Bonus points if the audience thinks it’s part of the act)

Sick/injured Caretaker forcing themself to stay awake until they’ve brought Whumpee to safety, passing out the moment they know everything is alright.

Whumpee fainting due to sickness and injuring themself in the process — they later wake up in hospital, still unwell but now also suffering with a broken arm or concussion.

Non-human Caretaker panicking when Whumpee faints in their arms, believing that they’re dead.

Caretaker only realising that Whumpee is sick/injured when they find them passed out in their room.

Whumpee who collapses after escaping Whumper and wakes up back in captivity. (Bonus points for a: “See? You’re too weak to survive by yourself.”)

Whumpee fading in and out of consciousness during The Whump™️, fainting every time they’re awake long enough the understand what’s happening.

Servant Whumpee fainting while completing their daily tasks, only to wake up much later when Whumper comes home — will they believe Whumpee’s excuse for the unfinished chores?

Whumper who ramps up the brutality of their torturing when Whumpee passes out from the pain, giving them a long-lasting fear of fainting around others.

Incredibly squeamish Caretaker who can’t keep themself from fainting long enough to tend to Whumpee’s wounds.

[whumporama]

Whumpees who feel rage inside, rage about what's done to them, about who did this to them, how they had no right, how this shouldn't have happened, how something has been taken and they can't get it back. They feel rage about their rage, about how this... anger, this monster, inside them has been created, and how they can't get it out.

They find Whumper. They fight them, and beat them. And as they're beating Whumper who has gone down (maybe they're already dead, maybe not) they break down. They started out angry and snarling, but now they're just crying and sobbing, until they scream, letting out all their rage.

It's Whumper's fault, it's all Whumper's fault, and now here they are, bloody, violent, and broken.

So they stop, and just sob. They're not angry anymore. Just empty.

So, so empty.

[hurtwithallthecomfort]

I’m such a sucker for whumpees reuniting with people who knew them from before the whump whilst in the midst of recovery. Might be one of my favourite tropes tbh.

Whumpees who changed their name after escaping visably recoiling when they hear someone call them that.

Maybe they don’t want anything to do with their old friends. They left that life behind for a reason. All they’ll do is remind Whumpee of the past, something they’ve been trying to leave behind.

It’s worse if Whumper was a mutual ‘friend’. Especially if these old friends didn’t even know something had happened to Whumpee. Whumper had made up some poor excuse, saying they left for a job, or had gone missing under unknown circumstances.

Their old friends are extremely emotional, having seen Whumpee for the first time in so long, only for the previously cheerful and expressionate Whumpee to just stare blankly in response.

They try to have a conversation with Whumpee but they’re horrified at how much Whumpee has changed. The old Whumpee was sweet, and always polite, yet now they cuss every other word and hardly have anything nice to say.

Or, maybe Whumpee used to be rebellious and freespirited. Now, they’re mild and obedient, a literal shell of their old self.

Whumpee’s old friends jump in to protect them from some threat, believing their usually fragile friend would still need help, only for Whumpee to jump in and defend themself, since they had to learn how to.

Someone who knew the old Whumpee breaking down after seeing how much their dear friend changed, asking them what happened, though Whumpee can’t bring themself to answer.

That person feeling like somehow, deep down, they truly failed Whumpee. If they had just been there, they could have done something. They should have done something.

Caretaker noticing how uncomfortable Whumpee is and trying to remove them from the situation. Their old friends are furious, they’ve been kept away from Whumpee for so long, and now they just have to leave, without any answers?

Bonus points if Whumpee and the old friends weren’t on good terms before they disappeared. Friends who had one final falling out, siblings with a strained relatiomship, lovers who had broken up, etc etc.

[whump-bunny]

Whumper overestimates how much torture Whumpee can take. The once-defiant Whumpee is broken and catatonic, not speaking or reacting to anything anymore. And Whumper isn't happy about it. Though they loathe to admit it, they liked Whumpee's defiance. It was entertaining. Whumpee was entertaining. With them not speaking anymore, Whumper realizes that they miss the sound of Whumpee's voice. The snarky little comments, the sarcastic jokes, the curses screamed in rage.

Now Whumper is desperate to get the old Whumpee back. They're being extra "nice," giving Whumpee medical treatment and food, anything to make them go back to how they were before. Anything to fix their favorite toy.

Because like it or not, Whumper doesn't have anyone else.

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #11 - One Small Step

Previous / Masterlist

CW: whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper, vampire caretaker, reference to vampire whumper, previous abuse torture & captivity, bloodbag whumpee, recovery & rescue, mention of death, paranoia, drugs/medication, medical examination, loss of speech, loss of autonomy, disability/immobility, broken bones (please let me know if I've missed any!)

---

Declan doesn’t remember eating his last few meals. He doesn’t remember much of the past few days at all. It’s all a blur; flashes of movement, dull throbs of pain, voices murmuring through the fog. But the meals must have happened. The tray always comes and goes like clockwork: like the sun rising and setting, like the door creaking open and closed.

It’s always the human - Lucas. Thankfully.

Declan drifts in and out during those visits, but there are moments when he surfaces just long enough to see him. Lucas, perched on the edge of the bed, voice soft and steady. As if he’s afraid to startle a wild animal. While he coaxes spoonful's of food past cracked lips, he talks to Declan. Not at him, not down to him - but to him. Man to man. Even if Declan can’t talk back. Even when he’s away with the fairies.

It’s one of the only things that still makes him feel like a person, and not just a body rotting in a bed.

Lucas never rushes him. He doesn’t flinch when Declan chokes, nor sigh when food dribbles down his chin. He just wipes it away with care, not pity - trying to return a small piece of the dignity the world stole from him.

Declan hasn’t seen much of his new master lately. Not that he wants to. August has become more shadow than vampire - slipping in and out of the room, barely there, never lingering. The doctor (or whatever the hell the bloodsucker pretends to be) only skulks in once a day at best now. Always at odd hours, when the light outside is waning.

He moves with faux concern and hollow pity that boils Declan’s blood. Declan doesn’t need or want August’s pity. He needs humanity. Pity does nothing for him now but remind him how far he’s fallen.

The vampire is eerily quiet during his visits. He doesn’t quite meet Declan’s eyes the way he used to. He goes about his business in that maddeningly clinical silence: adjusting IV lines, checking vitals, swapping out fluid bags to keep Declan from crashing, tweaking the pain meds that dull the edge but never truly take it away.

There’s always this careful composure about him, like he’s trying to be harmless. Maybe the guilt is finally eating August alive. As it should. He thinks a downcast gaze and soft voice will make up for what he is.

It won’t. Nothing could ever make up for what August is putting Declan through.

Declan’s ears prick at the bedroom door groaning open, followed by the jarring squeak of patent leather shoes. His stomach knots so sharply it nearly makes him double over the side of the bed and vomit. Every muscle braces without his permission. Before his eyes even dart to the door, he already knows who is there… or what is there. The chill in the air always slips in with it. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Declan. I hope I haven’t woken you?” 

Oh, he’s sorry. Of course he is. Always so sorry, always so gentle. Declan half wishes August would hurry up and get it over with. Drop the act, stop dancing around, and sink his fangs into Declan’s throat. That would be mercy. Not this cruel charade of safety and freedom they keep peddling. At least then, Declan would know his place, and the rules he’d be bound to obey. Afterall, he knows how to be a good little blood bag. Vince made sure of that.

The leech comes closer, too close for comfort. He drags the chair out from its place at the window and settles by Declan’s bedside. Declan weakly jerks sideways in the bed, every movement igniting pain as he forces his wasted frame as far as the mattress will allow. 

Declan watches, wide-eyed and unblinking. He tracks any and every miniscule movement, from the twitch of a finger to the flare of a nostril. His heart slams against his ribs hard enough to hurt. This is the most attention he has had from the monster in days. So why now? What does August want from him now?

“How are you feeling? Are - Are you comfortable? You seem a little more alert today,” August notes, those beady-red eyes sweeping over him. “That’s good. That’s positive! You’re making steady progress.”

Declan doesn’t blink, doesn’t dare breathe. He’s trapped in the cold grip of fear. Fight is a far away thought. Flight? Impossible. So he freezes. Muscles locked, breath caught. Goggle-eyed and pupils blown to the size of the moon.

August sinks in his seat, fingers raking through his hair as a worn sigh escapes. His gaze lingers on Declan, something like concern flickering in his eyes, but Declan doesn’t believe it. Not even for a fraction of a second. He can’t feel it, and he sure as hell can’t trust it.

“I suppose it’s best if I just get on with it? ‘Rip the band-aid off,’ as Lucas says…”, August muses, rubbing the back of his neck.

Finally.

Relief floods Declan, but then devastation hits him just as fast. This is it. What Declan has been dreading and yet exactly what he’s been waiting for, since the second he was revived. August is going to drink him down to the marrow, wring him dry like a rag. Finish what Vince started. He’s not the human Lucas led him to believe he could be again, but the prey he was always meant to be. He squeezes his bloodshot eyes shut, tears pressing free and rolling down his gaunt cheeks. 

Declan knew it was all a matter of time, the truth would come out sooner or later. At least he can say he never fell for their lies or bought into their make-believe world. How could he? In what world would a vampire have business nursing food back from the dead? It was never out of altruism or empathy. It was always for greed and sustenance. 

His arm - the twig-like arm with cannulas still sticking out - viciously trembles as he lifts it, offering it outstretched to August. God help him, he can’t stop the tears spilling, hot and fast. But isn’t this exactly what he’s been asking for? For the vampire to make this make sense? To use Declan as he was always meant to be used? 

No. He’s never wanted any of this. All he’s ever hoped for, begged for, clung to - was survival. Declan isn’t offering his blood out of the goodness of his heart or out of freedom of choice…it’s surrender. It’s all he can do to accept the fate he can’t outrun. If only they had left him for dead. Let mother nature do her work. They didn’t save him, no matter how tightly they cling to that lie. They snatched Declan from the peace of a grave and forced his soul back into the cage of his broken body. 

Declan holds his breath hostage, bracing for the all too-familiar pain of the bite. The pierce of razor-sharp fangs, the dizzying sensation of blood whooshing from his veins, the rush of weakness that comes with it. His body tenses, every nerve wound tight as a wire. When fingers brush his arm, Declan jumps, a choked cry slipping free before he can gulp it down. 

But…there’s no bite. If anything, August’s touch is hesitant and featherlight.

Declan opens his eyes, brows twitched in confusion and blinking through the burn of tears. August isn’t pouncing on him with hunger, tearing him apart like a wild animal. He’s gently guiding Declan’s arm away, and back down. The vampire is so careful, like Declan’s made of glass and with one wrong move, will splinter in his palms.

None of this makes a lick of sense. It’s a nightmare Declan can’t wake up from.

“No-” the vampire’s voice cracks, feigning hurt, “Please don’t. Never that, Declan. I swear, I’ll never ask that of you. Not now, not ever. I’ll say it a thousand times more. Ten thousand times more. For forever. If that’s what you need.”

Declan’s brain is going to implode. It can’t make sense of this insanity. A vampire turning down blood? A lion sparing a zebra? The way August looks at Declan like he’s a small, helpless animal, but not prey snared in a trap?  It should be a relief. It should be comforting. But all Declan feels is deep confusion and disorientation, like the floor’s been pulled out from underneath him. 

He wants to believe it. God, some fractured part of Declan aches to believe August. It would be every prayer answered at once. He can’t. The damage runs far too deep, and the pain is all he has left to rely on. In his gut, a voice screams at him; don’t you dare fall in its trap.

“I - I was only going to ask if I could assess your range of motion today. Only if you’re okay with that, Declan. Just a few simple tests to see how your body’s healing.”

Declan frowns, his face etched with deep suspicion. ‘Assess’? ‘Test’? Like he’s some guinea pig in August’s mad experiment? 

“I’d like to determine where we should begin with your physical rehabilitation,” August clarifies. “What your body can handle, what it’s forgotten, what it can relearn. It will let us see where we need to work on building you back up.”

Ah. Of course. It all falls into place. Build him back up to break him back down again. That’s been the vampire’s motive all along.  It’s no fun breaking something that’s already broken, is it? No-one wants to play with broken toys. Declan remembers Vince telling him that terror sweetened his blood. Adrenaline made it somehow richer. It clicks. This leech only wants to bring the light back to his eyes, so he can watch as he snuffs it out all over again. As if Declan hasn’t endured enough cruelty for a million lifetimes. 

“I’m sure you don’t want to stay bedridden forever.”

No. You don’t want me to stay bedridden. Declan’s no fool, he can read between the lines. August wants Declan to be effortless. He doesn’t want the burden and mess that comes along as part of the deal with his new bloodbag. If Declan gets back on his feet, it will be a breeze from there on out. No complications and no need to pretend to ‘care’. Just a supply to feed from and nothing more - nothing for August to worry about beyond the next meal.

“This will help. We can help. We’ll take it slow, gentle, but we will get you back on your feet,”  August insists, as if willing the words to be true. 

A bitter laugh threatens to rise in Declan’s chest. The idea that August wants to help is so damn laughable it makes his insides twist. None of this is for Declan - it’s all for August’s own convenience. It’s manipulation wrapped in the promise of freedom.

But still... what if? 

The desire to move itches beneath Declan’s skin. He could be more than this shell lying in a bed, idly watching the world pass him by and waiting to be used and abused. What if there’s a chance he could regain his strength? Stand? Walk again? 

Declan nods his approval and August’s face lights up. Good. Let August think his plan is working, and the promise of healing is enough to win him over. Declan will get steadier and stronger, until the trembling stops and the fog lifts. Not because the leech wants him functional, not because he was told to, but because he needs to. Declan will be the one to drag himself out of this pit and no one else. 

He’ll fight his way back, not for August - but for his mum, his dad, Lacey, and finally, for himself.

August rises, knees cracking as he stands. “I’ll need to move the blanket. Is that alright?” he asks, already lowering his hands to pluck it away but waiting for an answer. Declan performs an uncertain nod, even as his skin breaks out in hives. There’s nothing that can prepare him for this vulnerability - to leave himself exposed to the vampire. This blanket has been his one line of defence, albeit a futile barrier between them. And now it’s being whisked from his hands.

August peels the blanket away, exposing Declan’s thin and trembling body to the cold air. Both of them gawk down at his body in horror. It’s a roadmap of all he’s survived. Bruises in every shade that don’t want to fade. Joints swollen and stiff, muscles withered away from disuse. Deep, jagged scars slashed all over. Skin shriveled over bone.

He sees it in August’s face. The moment of pause. The way his jaw tightens. Declan doesn’t need a mirror - he can see the damage written in the vampire’s unease.

“Alright,” August says after an unsteady breath. “We’ll begin small, okay? I’m going to ask you to lift your arms, one at a time.”

Declan’s mind is already spiraling, trepidation creeping in. He can’t help the way his body recoils when the vampire leans the slightest bit closer. Every instinct screams at him to pull away. Where there’s a vampire, there’s always pain. When August reaches out to touch his arm again, that instinct overpowers every ounce of his will. Declan lurches back, flinching like he’s been struck. 

“Hey, hey-” August gasps, pausing mid-reach to hold his hands up surrender style, “I’m so sorry - I didn’t mean to startle you. I can… I can bring Lucas in, if it would help? Would that help you feel more at ease?”

Declan doesn’t want to admit how much the thought of seeing Lucas brings him comfort. For all he knows, Lucas is in on this cruel facade, or at the very least - deep under the vampire’s enthrallment. But it does comfort Declan. More than anything. More than these gentle touches and soft voices, all the apologies and promises he knows August has no plan to keep. Lucas brings the humanity and compassion to the table. He is the only one who could ever begin to understand Declan in ways August never will.

Declan nods ‘yes’, and this time eagerly. 

"Okay. Give me one moment”.  August shuffles to the door but not without casting a regretful glance back at Declan. A few hushed words exchange outside, then Lucas is there with him. And suddenly the room is warm again. Declan can breathe again. As little as he can afford to lend his trust, he trusts that Lucas will protect him. 

Lucas comes and perches on the edge of Declan’s bed, as he usually does. He pats Declan reassuringly on the shoulder, and it’s not lost on him how he doesn’t jump out of his skin at the slightest touch. Not with Lucas. Being this close to him doesn’t feel as suffocating as it does with the vampire. 

“It’s alright, mate. I’m here. You’re safe and sound. Promise”, Lucas vows.

Mate. Is Declan really that desperate for connection that his heart flutters at that word alone? And from a stranger? Despair and isolation is all he has known for a decade. Is it so terribly wrong to want someone to rely on? To believe that someone might be there to catch him when he falls, or as it seems, pick him up from where he’s fallen? 

August crouches slightly, bringing himself level with the bed. “Are you ready to start?”. Declan swallows hard, but nods his permission. “Let’s start with your right arm. Just see where you can raise it to. I’ll help you, but don’t push past any pain or discomfort, okay? Let me know if or when it hurts”. He offers a hand, palm up, open and waiting. Declan doesn’t take it. It just hangs between them. He glares at the vampire’s palm like it will burn him. Instinctively, he edges closer to Lucas, creating more distance between himself and August.

Lucas watches their silent standoff. “Declan? Declan? Do you want to hold my hand?”. He opens his hand, resting it gently on the bed between them. “Only if it helps,” he says, and then adds, with a lopsided cheeky smile, “Mine’s warm. Bit of a novelty, I reckon.”

And then - just barely - Declan’s lips twitch. A small, worn-out smile tugs at the corners. He lets out the smallest breath of a laugh, but it’s mostly just air and exhaustion. He thinks of the touch he’s grown used to; so cold and cruel. Those vicious words and callous hands that have been hellbent on melting his mind and breaking his will.

Slowly, Declan’s fingers unfurl. When his hand finally makes contact with Lucas’s, the world around him seems to pause. This is what he’s been craving. Breath and life, heart and soul. Lucas’s hands are warm - like touch should be. Not ice-cold like the vampire’s when they snatch him by the arm, or squeeze his throat. Declan’s eyes flutter closed, trying to hold onto this feeling. His fingers weakly grip Lucas’s hand, though he can’t make any words form, or voice the desperate longing in his chest. But it doesn’t matter. He knows Lucas doesn’t need him to speak. Lucas understands. It feels like a lifeline.

“You’ve got this. I’ve got you. It’s all gonna be okay,” Lucas reassures, “and please - trust me when I say you can trust August. We’re on your side, both of us are. ”

Now that can’t be true. Lucas can’t be on his side and August’s side at the same time. He’s either with him, or against him. Humans or vampires. There’s no inbetween, there can’t be.  If Lucas were truly on Declan’s side, he would have helped him escape by now. He’d be home, nursed in the comfort of his own bed, with his loved ones by his bedside and not this parasite. The dam breaks, the doubt seeps back in. His fingers twitch loose in Lucas’ hand. Not quite letting go, but not gripping for dear life anymore.

"Whenever you’re ready, Declan. Try to lift your arm slowly now, straight up towards the ceiling, as far as feels comfortable”, August instructs.

Declan grits his teeth and tries. It feels like dragging dead weight. His shoulder aches in protest, muscles fluttering and resisting the motion. The joint feels stiff and foreign. Through a surge of determination, he stretches his arm overhead, even as it trembles from the strain.

"Good job! You’re doing well!" August praises, though it lands wrong and comes off patronising. Like he’s talking to a pet. "No sharp pain shooting down your arm? No numbness?"August checks, watching carefully.

Declan shakes his head, his jaw clenched so tight it’s a wonder his teeth don’t crack. Of course it hurts. Everything always hurts. But it's nothing new. Nothing he can't handle. Pain is baseline now.

August lightly supports Declan’s forearm, guiding the movement back down with a steadier hand. “Let’s try again, together this time. Follow my lead.”

They repeat the motion with each arm - once, twice, three times - August feeling for resistance, gauging Declan’s strength and coordination with each attempt.  Sweat beads along Declan’s brow, and his body shakes with effort, but he doesn’t quit. August bends and straightens Declan’s elbows, then moves to his wrists, turning his palms up and down, checking the stiff joints. Finally, he tests each finger, guiding them to flex and extend. 

Next, August shifts his support, one hand braced at Declan’s lower back, while the other slides around his waist to help lift him up in the bed slightly. “Alright, we’re going to sit up now. I’ve got you, you can lean on me for support.”

The weakness in his spine and slowness in his muscles make the simple act of lifting his chest feel like a monumental task, leaving August to compensate and haul him upwards. Sitting upright doesn’t feel nearly as unbearable as it once did. It’s almost... comfortable? No, not comfortable - he’s so used to agony, anything but feels like bliss. But not excruciating, either. His chest expands with air that doesn’t feel quite as suffocating as before. He’s not sure how long he’s been here in his new prison - days, weeks, maybe more? But he knows he’s not the same as when he first arrived. 

“Lean forward for me?”

He doesn’t really wait for Declan’s approval this time; August is already slowly guiding him through the motion. Declan’s back arches unwillingly, pulling at scarred, stiffened muscles. A flash of sharp pain tears through his abdomen, and he gasps out involuntarily.

August stops immediately, easing him back.

Declan feels more fragile with each passing second. Energy drains out of him like water through a sieve. Every inch of movement feels like an assault - joints grinding, muscles shrieking and bones threatening to shatter. His body is a wreck. But at least, it’s a wreck that still moves, even if only just. 

“May I examine your legs now, Declan?”  August asks. 

Declan steels himself, forcing his body to turn and attempting to swing his legs off the side of the bed. Every movement is sluggish, like wading through mud. His arms tremble under the weight of his own body. There’s not an ounce of strength left in them, no leverage to lift or balance himself. He falters, shoulders slumping, and before he can tip sideways, Lucas is there on one side, August on the other. Together, they maneuver him into place. Humiliation flushes Declan’s cheeks. 

“Can you try to bend your knee?” August asks, his voice soft as his hands guide Declan’s leg into a half-bent position. His muscles refuse to cooperate. It takes everything in him to move his leg at all, and when August applies the lightest pressure to coax it further, Declan’s body refuses. His muscles spasm without warning, shaking under the stress of such simple movements. His knees threaten to lock out, his feet twitch weakly. 

“I know,” August murmurs apologetically, sensing his resistance. “I know. I’m so sorry, I know this is a lot. You’re doing really well.”

There’s no trace of impatience or irritation but Declan knows it’s coming. The moment when his body completely fails him, when his weakness shows itself too plainly. And that’s when August will... what? Discard him? Hurt him? He doesn’t know. August hasn’t hurt him… yet. 

Declan’s breath hitches as August continues, carefully working his leg a little further with gentle manipulation. Every push is met with the same resistance, his muscles tremble in frustration, barely yielding. The ache in his thigh intensifies ten-fold.

“Just a little more, Declan. I know it’s hard,” August encourages, moving to the other leg to repeat.

But he doesn’t know. August couldn’t know. How could August ever begin to understand what Declan is going through, what his kind has put Declan through? What does he know about waking up in a body that barely feels like yours, about dragging yourself through the wreckage someone else left you in?

And with each movement, Declan feels bottomless frustration. He wants to push through it all, wants to prove to himself that he’s still capable, still him. But with every bend, every stretch, the body that was once his home feels so distant.

"Okay," August says, adjusting Declan’s posture with a steady hand at his back. "We’re nearly done. Now we’re going to try something a little harder, I’m afraid. I’m going to help you stand - just for a few seconds, to test your balance."

Stand?! Declan’s pulse spikes, panic flashing through him. He desperately shakes his head, eyes wide, pleading ‘please no’. There’s no way. Not yet.  His legs feel like jelly. He’ll collapse like a tonne of bricks. He looks to Lucas in search for an ally, for someone to defend him and put a stop to this madness.

Lucas steps up and moves to stand in front of Declan, gently taking his shaking hands. “I’ve got you. We won’t let you fall. We’ll do it together. Lean into me as much as you need. Even if you can only use your legs a little - I’ve got the rest.”

Slowly, painfully, with Lucas bearing more of his weight than Declan cares to admit, his body shifts. Every muscle screams in agonised protest. Before his feet even touch the floor, both Lucas and August are on him, hands steadying and lifting. It takes all three of them, working in sync, just to get him upright.

His feet find the ground. His knees buckle beneath him. His core shakes, chest heaving. But somehow, impossibly, he’s vertical. Assisted, swaying, gasping for breath…but miraculously, standing up. 

Then it happens. 

The second Declan tries to bear any weight on his right foot, white-hot pain shoots up his leg like a live wire. His body instantly crumples, the ankle twisting uselessly beneath him. A strangled noise; half gasp, half growl - tears from his throat as he collapses. August moves fast, dipping to catch him under his arms before he hits the ground hard.

“Easy, easy! Don’t try to move, Declan!” August frets, voice full of urgency, “Lucas, I think - I think it’s his ankle. Help me lift him back up, slow.”

Declan can barely breathe, each ragged inhale a struggle. The busted ankle pulses and throbs with fresh agony. Failure overwhelms him as Lucas and August haul him back onto the bed. The reality of it sinks in deeper - he’s not where he thought he’d be, not even close. He’s trapped in this broken body. He’ll never be whole again. He’ll never make it home. 

August doesn’t let go immediately. He keeps one steadying hand on Declan’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. That’s why we test these things. Now we know.”

Declan squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself not to react, not to show how much it feels like he’s drowning. He used to stand without thought. Walk without hesitation. Run like the wind to catch the bus when he was late for his university lectures. He can barely remember what it feels like to be alive in his own body.

August kneels by the bed again, rolling up the loose fabric at Declan’s ankle. His fingers gently press against Declan’s foot, careful not to aggravate any injury. He seems to know exactly what he’s looking for. Feeling for crooked bones, how the scar tissue has thickened in places and how his ankle is slightly tilted. August’s fingers trace the uneven contours of poorly knitted bone. Even through gentle pressure, Declan winces and whimpers. 

His foot is too stiff, the tendons too tight. When August shifts his grip, Declan's ankle fights against him.

"Did you break your ankle quite a while back, Declan?" August questions. Declan doesn’t look at him. Only nods solemnly.

"It's not just weak," August mutters, half to himself, still feeling pressure points. "It’s completely misaligned. This was never treated. It hasn’t healed correctly-”

But Declan doesn’t hear the rest. He’s already gone. Dragged under by the memory that claws him down without warning.

Suddenly, he’s back down in that basement. The stench of mildew and iron infests his nostrils. He hears it again - the wet, splintering crack of bone shattering under his own impossible force, the sound that never really left him. All-consuming pain rips through him. His screams choked off by the cloth stuffed in his mouth, his wrists shredded raw against chains that wouldn’t give, no matter how hard he fought. The terror and the helplessness - it never left him.

Declan blinks hard, dragging himself back to the present. August is glaring into his soul. His brows are drawn tight, and his eyes are wide with a kind of dawning horror? Like pieces are falling into place, and he doesn’t like the shape they’re making.

“...Did…Did you? Declan, was it an accident? Before? Or…Or was it…was it him?”

The word lands hard. It’s not what August said, but how he said it. Spat it out like poison, like he won’t even dare speak his name. It seems so personal? Declan’s never heard that from him before. Contempt. Hatred, even. For Vince? What reason could he possibly have to hate Vince? Do they have history?

A tear slips down Declan’s cheek, the memory won’t stop playing over and over in his head. He quickly dabs his wet cheek with his sleeve.

“H-....H-im,” Declan croaks, his voice strained and Adam's apple fluttering.

August’s expression changes in stages. First, horror. Then it morphs to anger. He turns his face away for a second, breathing through it. When he looks back at Declan, the storm is still there although buried beneath a mask of calm. His posture straightens. His voice, when it comes, is quieter. Measured. But there’s a tension in it, a tightness in his throat that he can’t hide. 

“This injury, this kind of misalignment - over time, it ruins your balance, wears on the joint, builds pressure in the soft tissue. That will explain why it’s still so painful. Why it gave out on you. It can be corrected. But not easily. The bone would have to be re-broken, reset, and then bound and supported properly-”

August pauses. Declan’s eyes are already glassy with panic. He flinches at the word re-break. He already doesn’t trust August as far as he could throw him - less than that. He fears every word that leaves the vampire’s mouth, every slight movement could be the next time pain comes disguised as help.

And now August is standing there, calmly suggesting they break his already broken bone. Never. Never in a million years would he let August touch him like that. Let him hurt him under the guise of healing. Let him have that kind of power over him. Not again.

“But we won’t even think about touching it until you say so,” August continues, “And even if you never feel ready for that, that’s okay too. I just want you to know that it is an option. Down the line. Until then, we need to work around it - strengthen everything else. Protect it as best we can."

“I know it’s a lot to take in, mate,”  Lucas chimes in, “And we know how shit-scary this all is for you. But August is right. We’re not gonna force you into anything. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. We’ll find ways to work with what you’ve got for now.”

Declan collapses, mentally and physically spent, the last of his strength seeping away.  He slumps back against the pillows. His entire body hums with exertion and exhaustion, as if he’s run a marathon while barely moving at all. The wreckage of his mind and body just feels neverending.

"We'll figure it out," August says simply. "One small step at a time."

“D- D - o…ne?” Declan rasps, voice scratching his throat on the way out. 

August nods, a small reassuring smile on his face. “All done. Thank you, Declan. Truly. I know how utterly exhausting and testing that must have been for you. But I have a clearer picture to work with now. We can begin working on some exercises together to build your strength and mobility. It’ll take time, but we’ll move at your pace. And we’ll get there.”

---

Declan will work with them. Not because they’ve earnt his trust, and certainly not because he wants to work with them. But because he has no choice. His survival demands and depends on it. He’ll bite down the pain, suffer whatever humiliation and put up with the vampire’s constant prodding and poking. He’ll let them test his limits, and then push him past them - if it means getting him closer to normality.

Because when he can walk, he’ll run - and he’ll never look back.

Shattered taglist (please let me know if you would like to be added! <3)

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[holidayinhell]

Whumper leaned against the counter, sliding a small box across the surface.

“You know Whumpee, I always thought you were gonna be a screamer.”

He fished a glove from the box, latex smacking against his skin as it slid onto his hands. His eyes flicked to the figure in the corner.

In the corner of the room, Whumpee crouched against the wall, a limp, shivering heap of bare skin and bone. There was no shape to him anymore, just a mess of limbs folded tight, trying to disappear into the concrete. 

He’d told himself he could endure this. That he had enough strength left to fight. But now he was just cold and broken.

Whumper smirked at the sight, stifling a laugh. It was pathetic. Whumpee looked pitiful—scrawny, naked, and hunched over like some half-dead thing.

“You’re so quiet tonight…” Whumper crossed into the light, casting a shadow over the smaller man.

Whumpee didn’t respond. His arms wrapped tightly around his legs, trying to hold onto what little warmth he could.

“You’re not holdin’ out on me, are ya?”

Bootsteps clapped against the concrete floor. Slow, unhurried. Each one rang hollow-- a countdown to the inevitable. Of course, Whumper was in no rush. He allowed the silence to stretch.

Whumpee kept his eyes down, burying his chin into his chest.

Then—pain. A gloved hand tangled deep in his hair.

“You know, being quiet won’t make it hurt less.”

He yanked hard, fisting a knot of Whumpee’s chocolate brown curls. The rubber gloves snapped tight around the strands, dragging scalp and skin with them. Whumpee gasped through clenched teeth.

“Aw. Poor Whumpee.” He mocked. “Did that hurt?”

No response. Whumpee stared blankly ahead, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“C’mon. Are you scared?”

Slowly, Whumpee turned his head just enough to meet his captor’s eyes. His stare was dull—but cold, steady. He wasn’t completely broken yet.

“Christ you’re no fun.” Whumper dropped the man’s head with a shove. “Get on your knees.”

Whumpee didn’t want to, fuck he didn’t want to-- but his body betrayed him, yielding to Whumper’s will like it had been trained to do. 

He shifted onto his bruised knees, grimacing as they dug into the gritty concrete. The pain was sharp, but he bit down and took it. There’d be worse soon enough.

“Good. Looks like some part of you remembers who’s in charge.”

Turning back, Whumper retrieved an instrument from the metal tray on the countertop. The tools clinked faintly as he selected one, holding it up to the light. “I was gonna be nice to you. Make this quick and clean.” He chuckled under his breath. “Heh. But now… it’s like you’re begging me to make you scream.”

Whumpee balled his fists. If he was going to die here, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Whumper get the better of him.

He spat on the ground by Whumper’s shoes.

“You’ll never hear me scream, fucker.” Whumpee snarled.

Whumper sighed—long and slow. The scalpel glinted under the harsh overhead light as he turned it between his fingers.

“That sounds like a challenge,” he murmured.

He crouched behind Whumpee, moving with casual confidence. One arm slung around Whumpee’s shoulders. His other hand brought the scalpel up in front of Whumpee’s chest, letting the blade hover just close enough to feel the heat of his skin.

The cold edge teased his collarbone as Whumper leaned in, his breath warm and deliberate against Whumpee’s neck.

“No one can hear you scream down here,” he whispered, voice low and intimate. “So it doesn’t matter one way or another.”

The scalpel kissed the side of Whumpee’s neck—

A shallow drag. A hiss of pain.

Whumpee flinched, breath catching in his throat.

Whumper smiled against his ear.

“Scream if you want to.”

((more whump))

[thriftyshark530]

I often see the trope of caretaker begging to take whumpees place during whumpers torture, but hardly do I see whumper take caretaker up on that offer.

The cold chill that shivers down caretakers spine as whumper turns around with a sickening grin. The grin growing ear to ear as whumper notices the eyes of caretaker widening, and the deep gulp they take as whumper approaches.

"I'll just have to take you up on that offer. Afterall, this other one's broken" whumper lazily motions back towards whumpee before stopping in front of caretaker.

Caretaker hated it all. The blood dripping from whumpers hands, whumpees blood. The way whumper talks about whumpee like a pet. The way caretaker had to yell over whumpees screams for what felt like hours just to get whumpers attention. The fact that they can't do anything about someone hurting whumpee, their whumpee. Caretaker's focus is abruptly broken with a punch, one that immediately draws blood from their mouth. Whumper continues hammering into caretaker for a few moments before being interrupted by mumbling from whumpees side of the room.

When caretaker recovers they look up at whumper, who's now looking back over at whumpee. Caretaker follows whumpers gaze to the far corner of the room, and sees whumpee desperately trying to to peel themselves off the floor.

"s...st-op, p..please" whumpee mumbles out. Barely able to speak above a whisper through their busted lips and purple face.

"it's ok, whumpee, this is what I want." Caretaker whispers, giving a bloody smile to whumpee as they continue to watch whumpee slowly push off the floor.

"yes, yes. And more importantly, this is what I want." Whumper growls as they let go of caretaker and quickly storm off to whumpees corner again. Just as whumpee gets on their knees, whumper puts them back down with a punch. "Such a worthless fucking pet, can't even be good for me anymore, can you? You really are broken" whumper sneers. Whumper ignores the desperate pleading from caretaker as they grab whumpees hair and begin to slam their head into the wall over and over. "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST BE FUCKING GOOD FOR ONCE" whumper roars between slams, only stopping when the wall is covered in whumpees blood and whumpee is completely unconscious.

Caretaker can no longer see the sight through their blurry vision as tears begin pouring from their eyes. Caretaker drops their head, their pleads for whumper to stop turning into mumbles and whimpers as they begin sobbing to themselves.

"now, where were we?" Whumper chimes in as they again approach and stop in front of caretaker. Forcefully grabbing a handful of caretakers hair before making caretaker look up into their eyes. "Really? Tears?" Whumper mocks, their devilish grin from earlier returning to their face. "Y'know, my whumpee was so much better for me before you came here trying to save them. Now, well... You see how they started acting. But now I have you, and we're going to be a dynamic duo, you and me."

"I....I-" caretakers lip begins to quiver, before narrowing their gaze into whumpers eyes. "I am going to kill you, for everything you've done." Caretaker growls.

"aw, cute. Is that a threat?" Whumper teases as they begin to chuckle.

"no, it's not a threat. It's a fucking promise. And after I'm done with you, I'm gonna burn everything you've built to the fucking ground. And for the record, whumpee is fucking mine, not your little pet project" caretaker whispers, tears still falling as they stare into whumpers eyes with pure defiance.

"hm, well as I always say, a promise is a promise. And boy, do I love when someone keeps their promises" whumper chuckles before slamming a fist into caretakers face.

[ssaintsofviolence]

whumpee hating mirrors because they can't stand to look at their reflection. they can't stand their own eyes, once super vibrant and now dulled no matter how much they try to think that now everything's okay. whumpee who smiles to themselves infront of said mirror, trying to trick their own body into thinking they're fine, or just testing if they can even smile anymore. bonus points if whumpee's face was heavily scarred or looked smilar to someome they loved (a sibling? a parent? a twin?) and they now think of themselves as if they had ruined the image of said someome by being broken and carrying even the slightest similarity on their features

[whumptember]

2024 Prompt List

ask box | rules | tags and posting

Main Prompts

1. "Don't leave me." chains | failed escape attempt | abandoned building

2. "I can't do this alone." dried blood | begging for help | caretaker's front door

3. "You're my last chance." rusted metal | enemies teaming up | returning home

4. "Don't make me go back." white knuckles | used as bait | ballroom

5. "You've hurt them for the last time." slamming door | rescue | whumper's basement

6. "I never want to see your face here again." torn mask | reluctant villain | hero's headquarters

7. "Let me take care of you!" damp rag | whumpee turned caretaker | bathroom

8. "You'll never see me again." packed bag | secrets revealed | doorway

9. "What did they do to you?" bloodied clothes | homecoming | hospital reunion

10. "I need your help." breaking voice | secret intentions | villain's base

11. "One last favor, then I"ll leave you alone." knife | sacrificing themself | sacred ground

12. "Why did you do it?" new gravestone | confronting whumper | cemetery

13. "I never looked back, and I regret it every day." cracked foundation | city in ruin | middle of the road

14. "You changed my life. not for the better. Now I get to return the favor." blindfold | payback | abandoned warehouse

15. "I'm never going to let you go." silk ribbon | intimate whumper | whumper's bed

16. "What happened to you?" new clothes | recapture | whumpee's old room

17. "This wasn't the deal!" torn contract | betrayed | in the middle of the woods

18. "You're never going to see them again." letter on whumpee's pillow | disappeared in the night | caretaker's apartment

19. "Take me instead!" cloth gag | caretaker turned whumpee | getaway car

20. "I'm always going to be with you." worn letter | mourning | caretaker's bed

21. "I'm not okay." bruised skin | begging for help | hero's doorstep

22. "We have to go back and save them! They'd do the same for us!" drag marks | taken hostage | battleground

23. "You're nothing without me." invisible restraints | hero whumper | basement

24. "Change my mind, tell me why I'm wrong and I'll turn back and undo everything I've done." split lip | hero in the wrong | edge of a roof

25. "Stop it! You're going to kill them!" blood spattered wall | ambush | villain's home

26. "Let them go." blindfold and gag | ransom demand | undisclosed location

27. "Don't forget about me, alright?" packed bag | leaving home | secret destination

28. "I was supposed to save the world." shackled ankles | accidental villain | jail cell

29. "You're a child, go home now and I won't come after you. But if you stay and fight, I won't hold back." hand-made mask | villain mentor | bank vault

30. "What did I say about breaking the rules?" ruler stick | young whumpee | on their knees

Alternate Prompts

1. "You lied to them." 2. Broken wrist 3. "I've done things I can't even think about anymore." 4. Whispered apology 5. "You're coming back, right?" 6. Curled into a ball 7. "You make me feel like I can forget all the bad things." 8. Chained to a car 9. "This is just the beginning." 10. Villain whumpee 11. "Oh, come on, you can take more than that!" 12. Begging 13. "Don't make me."

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Content: Recovery, past torture, PTSD/trauma, chronic pain.

"I want you to ask for something," Caretaker gently requested. "Anything at all. Ask, and it's yours."

"I don't know what to ask for," Whumpee whispered. "Everything I had- everything I was, was something Whumper gave me. That's all I know."

Caretaker sighed from their spot on the floor. Their arms were draped across Whumpee's lap, their side pressed into the couch that they were sitting on. "Okay. Let's work with that, then. Did Whumper ever do anything for you that you enjoyed? Do you have any... not-so-bad memories while you were there?"

There was some silence, only broken by the occasional sniffle as Whumpee attempted to think back. They could feel Caretaker's warm gaze focused solely on them, waiting ever so patiently for a response.

"Sometimes... sometimes, if they pushed me past my body's limit, they'd lie me down and massage my joints until the pain wasn't so bad. I liked that." They were embarrassed to be telling Caretaker anything. It was hard to get the words out without their breath catching or their mind stumbling over certain syllables. "Everything always hurts now. I want... I just want some relief."

"You're asking for a massage?"

Whumpee tilted their head further down and nodded. "Yes."

"I can do that." They felt Caretaker intertwine their hands together in an effort to reassure them. "There. Your first request since you got back. That's good, right?"

Caretaker was smiling when Whumpee finally glanced back up at them again. It helped their own muscles to relax just a little, feeling less as though they were preparing for an attack at any moment. "You'll really do it?"

"Of course." Caretaker gave them a friendly pat on the leg as they stood up. "How about we grab some food and then you can show me what hurts, yeah?"

Unable to help themself, Whumpee gave a teary nod and smiled. "Okay."

[defire]

Clairvoyant whumpee

Content: whipping, threats

Whumpee that has visions of the future. Whumper tests them by tying a blindfold on. Then asking whumpee, "what am I about to do to you?"

"... you're going whip me, sir..." "I am?" Whumper laughs. "I am now."

If whumpee refuses to use their clairvoyance for lotto cards, they're punished.

"it doesn't --it doesn't work like that!" --whumpee, sweating bullets as they watch the broken bottle in angry whumper's hand getting closer to their neck. "Please--im serious. I'm serious man."

Whumpee who stops short mid-sentence as they read something absolutely revolting in whumper's mind and just give them a disgusted look

"what? Continue." Whumper waves at them. Whumpee sighs. "No thanks. I know how this ends anyway."

[justasnailman]

whump prompt!! Live stream

they grabbed whumpee's jaw painfully, forcing them to meet their eyes before smiling in the sinister way that chilled whumpee to their core.

"Just like we rehearsed." Whumper grinned as whumpee tried desperately to hold in a sob. They took a deep breath. "Look at the camera."

Whumpee, utterly broken, lifts their bruised and bloodied face to the camera.

"Good. Now, tell everyone what I've done to you." Whumper purred, caressing the others jaw. "Tell then how pathetic you've been."

[bilightningwhumper]

Had a thought of someone (Caretaker or Whumper or some bystander) watching a Whumpee just slowly crumbling on the inside before it finally comes out in a tearful broken "I- I want to go home now" before they just fall apart.

That always gets me in shows, but dang seeing it in writing is powerful when done right.