#starved whumpee

[fakegingerrights]

I have ✨ideas✨ so yall are getting a prompt list today. Fluff /angst mostly whump. Written with @renon4224 and @endo-bunny in mind for inspo but can be used for anyone:

TW: Starvation, emetophobia, torture, body horror, cannibalism, forced cannibalism, etc.

Whumpee who is used to being strong, being capable, reduced to a skeleton who can barely move due to starvation.

Whumper punishing a starved whumpee by forcing them to eat after days or weeks of next to nothing, their old favorite foods and laughing as they can’t keep it down.

Eating in front of a whumpee who hasn’t eaten in days

Punishing whumpee for being sick when they are allowed to eat because their stomachs can’t handle it.

Caretaker trying to get whumpee to eat and whumpee vomiting it back up, having seizures and heart failure and wildly swinging blood sugar that comes with refeeding syndrome.

Whumper making whumpee exercise, knowing they can’t complete the sets and adding more on for every failure/fainting spell/break they need.

^ building off of that, whumper makes whumpee do challenging or potentially dangerous workouts like bench presses and free bar squats and refuses to help when Whumpee is nearly crushed by the bar. Bonus points if it’s a weight they know they can handle/what would have been a warmup for them before.

Feeding! Tube! Placement!

Whumper getting tired of whumpee refusing food because it’s always poisoned/spoiled/out of sheer defiance and forcing the tube through their nose and securing it with a lock so they can’t pull it out. Bonus points if they keep giving them poisoned/spoiled food through the tube or otherwise putting things through it that aren’t meant to be.

Rescued whumpee in the hospital tearing the tube out every chance they get even though they can’t keep down solid food.

Caretakers having to learn how to place the tubes while Whumpee fights them the whole time.

Caretakers who don’t know how to react to skeletal whumpees. Do they insist they’re beautiful no matter what? Do they admit they find the concave stomach, the sharp ribs and the bloated knot of internal organs just above their hips grotesque?

S/O or FWB caretakers lying and saying they’re attracted to them no matter what but refusing intimacy ‘until they’ve recovered’ because they’re repulsed at the idea of sex with someone so jarringly fragile, so broken and unrecognizable as human.

Whumpees who were previously insecure about their weight not wanting to gain anything back because of that fear despite hating how they currently look as a starved wisp of a person.

Previously chubby whumpees who lose weight down to skeletons and have a bunch of loose skin.

Whumpers who take sick pleasure in cutting off, piercing with needles or even jewelry, pinching and stretching, or suspending whumpees by the loose skin.

Whumpers who want to starve whumpees unsatisfied by how slow they’re losing mass, wrapping chickenwire or another mesh tightly around whumpee and shaving whatever flesh pushes out against the metal off with a knife or razor.

Whumpees who are used as a meat source for a cannibal/inhuman whumper who cuts off bits at a time to eat while whumpee is still alive.

Whumpers who try to feed whumpee either mutilated pieces of other whumpees or even pieces that have been cut off of themselves.

Sorry for how heavy some of these are but they’ve been in my head for a while, had to scream into the void. Slightly fluffier shit:

Needing new wardrobes to fit them constantly as their weight seesaws in recovery. Caretaker trying to make it fun like a fashion show every time.

S/O!caretakers who insist that their love for whumpee hasn’t changed, that they don’t blame them for struggling to gain weight or losing it in the first place.

Caretakers trying their best to make as painless as possible, giving whumpee water to help them place the tube and stroking their hair the entire time whenever they have to change it. “It’s ok. Shhh, it’s in. Take a minute to breathe, there you go. It’s ok.”

Whumpees who have permanent damage from their experiences needing a tube for the rest of their life, either one in the nose or directly into what’s left of their stomach/intestines. Trying to make the best of it, picking out fun stickers to hold it in place and learning to manage it on their own.

Blankets and oversized sweaters for warmth, all the cuddles as caretaker praises them for what little solid food they’ve eaten that day.

Kisses along the boney edges of ribs, along the knuckles of cold, thin hands, on too sharp collarbones and down the bumps of the spine. Soft reassurances that they’ll soften with time, that the regained weight is a good thing.

Whumpees retiring after the torment they went through and gaining back more than they lost in a healthy layer of fat. Bonus points if they were alway on the cut defined muscular side before from being a living weapon to carewhumpers/sleezy superiors.

Intimacy for the first time afterwards, full of gentle kisses and unrushed tenderness. Maybe whumpee requests the lights off so their S/O doesn’t have to see them this way or with clothes on.

S/O telling them that they’re still themselves and that will never not be beautiful to them.

Little celebrations every time that number on the scale tips upwards.

(If you made it all the way to the end of this monster post congratulations. Have a sticker. Feel free to send me one of these with a character and I’ll see about writing it. Naruto is my current hyperfixation so those might get done quicker FYI.)

[whump-queen]

In Relief and Reverie

continuation from this

Tags: vampire whump, creepy/intimate whumper, prettyboy vampire whumpee, starvation, worship and withdrawl ~ my usual nonsense

The vampire’s knees were starting to go numb.

He had no idea how long he’d been made to kneel there, at his owner's feet.

Aris didn’t move from where he’d been placed--the heavy rings of steel locked around his neck and his wrists weighed him down and tethered him to them.

Rowe leaned back in their seat, slowly wrapping one hand around the chain on the vampire’s collar. There was a tug on the chain, forcing a sharp exhale from Aris' throat as he was forced to lean in.

Rowe smiled.

The vampire’s eyes stayed locked to the floor, perhaps not willing to give Rowe the satisfaction. But Rowe was fine with that. They knew how to get the mutt’s attention. 

Rowe reached for their pocket, grinning wider. Fingers found what they were looking for; they slid a small shining object from the dark folds of fabric and flicked it open with practiced ease.

Sure enough, those red eyes darted up the moment he heard it—that all too familiar metallic shing that seemed to echo in the otherwise silent room. 

It was the scalpel. 

Again. 

Aris flinched back, expecting the pain, before he saw his owner bring it to their own skin and his eyes went wide.

Rowe snickered and aligned the blade, smug eyes never leaving the vampire for long; they began to carefully drag the blade through the skin on their own shoulder. It slid painfully slowly through the uppermost layers of skin, and Aris’ held his breath–it was so silent he swore he could hear his master’s skin ripping.

He knew nothing cloud prepare him for what was about to happen.

The moment the first bead of blood hit the air, his eyes shot alarmingly wide—irises glowing a bright, hungry red. 

He was panting; his fangs extended to full length without him even realizing. He bit back a whine and exhaled sharply through gritted teeth—his breath was coming in hot and fast—his chest was heaving with desperation—he instantly lunged forward when—

Rowe’s foot moved just slightly, the toe of their boot pressing forward to firmly meet the vampire’s sternum.

The vampire froze instantly. His eyes snapped up to his owner—wide and terrified, yet still alight with that deep hungry red, shining like glowing tail lights.

Rowe just sat there, looking casual as ever. The sole of their boot pressed more firmly into Aris’ chest, pushing him back a bit, and allowing absolutely no room to move forward. It wasn’t a rough gesture, but the message was clear enough.

“Move one more inch without permission and this boot will be buried in your mouth.”

Rowe could feel Aris shudder at the threat– poorly hidden.

“I should whip your back to shreds for what you just did.”

The vampire cringed at the whine that escaped his own lips. He wanted to sink into the floor. He sounded utterly pathetic.

Rowe couldn't help but crack a smile, a low, pleased hum buzzing just behind their teeth.

“You’re lucky you make for such a nice view.”

Rowe sat back, getting comfortable, vowing themselves to enjoy this.

“Today I’m feeling… generous. I might give you a chance to prove you can control yourself before I decide just how badly you’ve fucked up.” 

They leaned casually against the armrest of the chair with their chin resting on their hand. An amused hum slipped past their lips; their features twisted into a narrow-eyed smile as the vampire desperately tried—and failed—to compose himself over and over. 

Rowe let the blood drip freely.

...

It was a losing game, really.

Aris knew it was.

He knew it had been weeks now.

Weeks since he had last been allowed to feed.

But the blood was right there—fresh, delicious, hot, red, human blood—god, his owner had the best blood he had ever tasted—and it was trickling down their collarbone right in front of him and—

He didn’t deserve it.

He had lunged.

Was this all just a trick?

Was he not going to be hurt for this?

He’d rather just get it over with, so he could stop waiting around and suffocating in whatever terrifying limbo this was. 

So he could just suffer and make it better.

Aris knew.

He knew.

He had lunged. He was so sorry.

God, he’d take the beating gratefully if it meant an end to this—to the twisting poisonous feeling that squeezed around his insides.

It was torture, to not know where he stood.

Maybe if Aris took it well, he’d be allowed to beg, to plead and apologize over and over, as many times as Rowe allowed.

But it was a losing game, wasn’t it? 

A game against his own hunger, his instincts, his desperation—against that smell.

And then he understood.

This was his punishment.

To be made to wait.

To be made to fail.

To be locked in an unwinnable battle against the part of his mind that was screaming at him to lunge, to bite, to gnash his teeth like a wild animal, to clamp his jaws around anything he could reach.

It was right there. It was right there— in front of his face.

Rowe held him there for what seemed like ages, watching him with a pleased smirk—pressing the sole of their boot into his chest and swirling around the trickling blood on their own shoulder until the vampire was fucking drooling and whining, ensnared by the smell wafting through the room and the screaming voices in his own head.

At last, Rowe was sure that the vampire had reached his breaking point, that he would say or do anything if it got him out of this. They relished in his pitiful expression when Aris raised his gaze—the defeat in his teary eyes—and God he was pleading—

“Please— it’s been so long since… since you fed me.”

Rowe snickered, uncrossing their legs for a better view.

Perfect.

“Beg properly, pretty thing, and maybe I won’t make your punishment worse.”

The vampire bit straight through his lip trying to stop the low pained whine that slipped out through gritted teeth when he heard them say it. 

’Beg.’

“Please — you— you can’t make me do this—”

“What do you think, another three weeks? Or should we do four? You know I can starve you as long as I want to. It's not like you’ll die.”

Aris choked on his words, his throat closed up at every attempt, and nothing came out but a pitiful, terrified whimper.

Oh, he loathed it. A prouder version of himself might have held out, just to spare himself the shame. But it had been weeks. It had been weeks and god—it was the smell of them.

It was the sound of Rowe’s heart beating.

The way he could feel the blood pulsing through his owner’s veins—it was driving him beyond insane—he could barely think at all—

Fuck it.

His voice cracked and he felt the tears spill over.

That was no time for pride.

A icy pang of dread accompanied the realization that he had never been allowed to beg for forgiveness like this. Not for something this bad.

He only had one chance.

What if he got it wrong?

What if Rowe changed their mind—and—

please, I don’t know what you—

I—I don’t—

I don’t know how to please you.

He gazed desperately at the cut on Rowe’s shoulder through teary, glistening eyes.

Please—this has to work.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor, all the way down to Rowe’s shoes.

When that boot didn’t immediately rise up to crack across his face, he allowed himself to exhale, brushing his lips just barely against the cool leather.

The steel toe.

Kissing the thing that could slam into his face at any moment, that could shatter his entire jaw in a second, if Rowe so chose it. He was desperate.

He could only pray that this would please them.

His voice was a shaky whisper against the freshly shined leather—

”Please—please, please, please-”

Slowly but firmly, Rowe's boot hooked under his chin, forcing his head up to face them.

“Almost there, sweetheart.” A sickly sweet smile spread across their face. They could feel him shaking through the leather.

‘God, you're so gorgeous like this.’

“Please what... Come on, pet, tell me what you want.”

Rowe looped the chain that connected to his collar around in their palm once more, and Aris nearly choked when the metal tightened around his throat.

But he stayed down.

He knew better.

“Don’t be shy now, pretty. Tell me what you need.”

Every time Rowe opened their mouth, Aris felt another pang of humiliation hit his chest. He wanted to curl in on himself and cry.

But he knew better, and he pressed his lips once more against the leather of Rowe’s shoes, trailing slow kisses from the steel tip to the laces.

Though the thought of blood never faded from his mind, he started to drift into the task without realizing it.

His head felt fuzzy and so... heavy.

He heard Rowe give a pleased hum from somewhere above him, and felt his mind slowly melting into a foggy, desperate sludge—disorienting waves wrapped around his chest and his head until he was open-mouthed and tonguing at the laces and whining again.

Each breath was laced with an edge of something from deep within his chest. Something that had long since wound itself around his mind--a slow, slithering python that had now found its moment strike.

And when he felt the weight of Rowe’s other boot rest heavily on the back of his neck, he groaned.

It was bliss.

It was forgiveness.

It was a relief to be good.

To obey.

To have pleased them.

It was a relief dwarfed only by an imagined end to his hunger, but a relief he would take nonetheless.

Aris remained there, lips and tongue pressed to his owner’s shoe, worshiping in relief and in reverie, for as long as Rowe decided to keep him there.

—

Update 11/23: I did a rewrite of this I think its much better now <33

general taglist: @whumpshaped  @whumpsday @emmettnet   @a-whump-sideblog  @whump-it-like-its-hot  @wolfeyedwitch  @whumper-soot  @unorganisedalienrubbish  @hidden-dreamland @whumpedydump @lonesome--hunter @ashh-ed @whump-in-the-closet @oriantthegiant @banditosong @anonymustyou @feralwhump @jieunie-23 @whumpasaurus101 @morning-star-whump @whmp @captain-bo-bob-bobby @the-beasts-have-arrived @spooky-scary-vampires @burningkittypoet @veyroswin @painsandconfusion @skittles-the-whumpee @demondamage

[abhainnwhump]

Whumpee hates spicy food. Even average taco seasoning is too much for them and they need to cool it off quickly. Whumper only feeds them spicy foods, so they either have to suffer through the pain and stomach aches or go hungry. Whumpee can't tell which is more painful.

[whump-blog]

Prompt 49

Whumper has been a terrible person, mercilessly destroying and crushing the lives of those who stood in the way of his beloved nation to which he was blindly loyal. Yet his loyalty did him no good when those he had always served betrayed and turned against him.

Now all Whumper can do is escape from his own kind.

Curious is the fate when Whumper, exhausted, wounded and starving after weeks of being hunted, ends up in the hands of those he had once harmed.

More is his surprise when these people decide to save his life and give him a second chance.

Loyalty is not a big enough word to describe the things Whumper will be willing to do for his saviours and the gratitude he feels for them.

[whumpstuff1]

Giving poisoned meals to a starved whumpee in order to make them afraid of the food they desperately crave to the point of rejecting it even if it hasn't been tampered with.

[distracted-obsessions]

Living Weapon Whumpee having a bad day after one of the missions and finding the team they're assigned to sitting around and playing cards. Whumpee getting down on their knees next to one of the team members and hesitantly resting their head against the team member's thigh. Whumpee silently begging to be pet like a dog or at least just allowed to say here because they just haven't positive, non-painful human contact in years and they're just... cold.

Bonus points if they choose the member of the team that hates them the worst because that's the one they feel the biggest need to please.

[eight-littlenightmares]

overly intimate whumpers who touch and hold their whumpees.

whumpees who a: have been there so long and are so touch-starved that they eventually just lean into it, or b: have been there as long as they can remember and think that’s what love is

caretakers who are horrified when they find out the reason whumpee braces themself when they’re hugged

caretakers being heartbroken at how touch-starved whumpee is, the way they’d do anything to be held

[martyr-inthedark]

There's just something so cathartic about a Whumpee who collapses into someone's arms, clinging to them as if this is their last chance at comfort.

I love a Whumpee who are just so worn down that all they can do is lay in someone's lap, sobbing at the warmth, even if it is just Whumper's lap.

A Whumpee whose chin fits perfectly in the crook of Caretaker's neck as they struggle to stay upright on shaking legs is exactly where it's at.

Perhaps Whumpee needs a weighted blanket or one of those heatable stuffed animals to sleep without nightmares.

[whumper-cars]

A Whumpee who is so touch starved that they start crying from relief when Caretaker combs a gentle hand through their hair. The first hug sends them bawling.

Feel free to add onto any of my prompts!

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Whumpee who has been hurt and torment and abused to the point where they flinch from even a sideways glance. Being in the same room as Caretaker is hard. Being close, being touched is impossible.

But that’s all they want.

Whumpee craves a hug so much they can barely stand it. They wrap themself in blankets, cuddle with pillows, try everything they can think of.

But the idea of caretaker touching them is so intimidating.

So they start slow. Scooting closer on the couch. Gently leaning their shoulder against Caretaker’s knees. Heart beating wildly, not able to look up at them.

Resting their head on Caretakers’s calf, lap way to scary to try yet.

Asking to hold Caretaker’s hand, twice when they couldn’t go through with it the first time. Feeling Caretaker gently rub their thumb up and down.

They can get better. A little smile.

[whumpwillow]

something about a whumpee who’s suffered for years and years and never known a gentle touch in all that time…until they meet caretaker, and the way they treat whumpee leaves their body with an almost physical ache

[hurt-and-comfort-me-please]

Whumpees who are never touched

There's a million ways to torture a person without ever laying a hand on them.

Whumpees slowly losing their minds in a solid white room, rubbing their own blood on the walls just to see something.

Whumpees who can't sleep because they're too full of caffeine from the drugged food.

Whumpees who have to listen as their loved ones are tortured.

Whumpees who are locked up and abandoned to starve.

Whumpees who are denied medical care after an accident, suffering the pain of broken bones without assistance.

Whumpees who haven't felt the touch of another person in forever, at this point even a punch would be welcome.

Whumpees who are stuck in quarantine, only ever able to see others through the thick glass walls.

Whumpees who are completely touch averse, even the gentlest brush of fingers against their hand makes their skin crawl.

Whumpees who were turned into monsters, and nobody is brave enough to get close.

Can you guys tell I really like emotional whump?

[whump-queen]

Kane & Raiza Ep 1 Part 1: Grateful

Read Next 》 || Masterlist ||

This is part of a long series written with @whumpsday’s Kane and my Raiza (picrew/info here). I have probably over 100 pages of these two so lmk if you like it and I’ll post more!

Bonus Comic for this chapter!!

Content: vampire whumpee, blood, starvation, broken/conditioned whumpee, sadistic/cruel whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, beatdown, drgradation & self degradation, pet whump, humiliation, all that good shit.  Words: 1.2k

✧─ ༻✦༺ ─✧

Raiza descended the basement stairs that day holding a length of chain, a smile and a dark glint in his eyes. He'd not yet reached the bottom of the stairs before his voice rang out low and stern, leaving not an inch for hesitation.

“Pet. Come."

Kane bolted upright and scrambled toward Raiza, kneeling at the bottom of the stairs.

"Yes, sir." 

He eyed the chain nervously, wondering if he'd be beaten with it or strapped down for something worse. Surely his master knew he was obedient enough to not need to be restrained for anything lighter than being whipped with a chain, so he hoped it was the former.

“Did I displease you in some way, sir? I'm sorry."

“Oh, quite the contrary, sweet thing."

Raiza smiled down at how perfect his pet looked, how obedient, how desperate to obey—the little thing he kept locked up in his basement, scrambling to drop his knees to the cold concrete, begging to know if he'd been displeasing, apologizing before he'd even done anything—

"Today's your lucky day." 

Raiza had his pet desperate to cave to his every whim, and Kane was beautiful. 

"Today, I'm going to feed you.

Kane's face lit up, beaming up at Raiza. Some of the tension bled out of him as everything clicked into place. He wasn't going to be hurt at all, the chain was just to make sure he didn't hurt Raiza again.

"Thank you so much, Master! I'm honored that I've earned such a thing. Please let me know what to do to make sure it's... safe for you."

“Good. About that. Head down. Hands behind your back." 

Kane snapped to obey and Raiza wound the chains around Kane's thin wrists, wrapping them tightly up to his elbows to squeeze his shoulders joints together just painfully, before snapping a heavy metal padlock around either end, binding Kane tightly there with links of unforgiving metal that dug into his flesh.

“And you should be grateful. You know you don't deserve this, but I got sick and tired of watching you faint and break my things every time you performed the most basic chores."

Kane whined softly in pain as his shoulders pulled taut behind him, but his eyes betrayed nothing but joy.

Food. I'm getting food.

If he were truly the dog his master wanted him to be, his tail would surely be wagging right now. 

"Thank you, Master! I'm so, so grateful. I know it's far more than I deserve. Thank you for feeding me anyway."

He looked up at Raiza with adoration.

Raiza couldn't help but smirk a bit at the way his pet mirrored his language, how fucking grateful he was, how quick he was to agree with anything Raiza said.

Perfect. He's just so fucking broken. 

Raiza pulled Kane's collar around his neck so that the ring hung from the back rather than the front, and snapped another length of chain to the ring of the collar. He yanked back on the chain, dragging Kane backwards until he reached a wall, and pulled the chain taught before locking it to a hook high up on the wall.

Raiza retrieved a metal bowl, one that might be used for a dog, and set it on the ground, just out of Kane's reach. He flicked a blade out of his pocket and presesd it to his own forearm, just enough for a few beads of blood to press out from beneath the blade.

“You want to be fed pet? Then beg for it properly like the fucking dog you are."

Kane lunged forward at the smell of fresh blood, retching as he choked himself on the collar. It took a few moments for Kane to wrestle himself back enough to breathe, but once he'd caught his breath, he started pleading.

"Please, Master, please— I need it, I'm so hungry, please—I'll do anything, please feed me!" 

He thought about what Raiza had said.

Beg for it properly like the fucking dog you are.

He opened his mouth and extended his tongue out between words like a begging dog, hoping to god this would please his master.

"Please, sir. I'm so hungry."

His eyes shone with tears.

Raiza’s eyes widened at Kane’s open mouth, the way he displayed his tongue— “Aready panting like a little puppy, are you? Pretty, begging, whining little thing.”

Raiza continued musing as he dug the knife down into his own arm, fresh red blood begun to coagulate around the blade and pour out from that chosen spot on his skin. He would let some drip down into the bowl, he was sure he would—at some point—but for now, the way his pet looked, all desperate and begging so sweetly, it made him want to toy with the vampire just a bit more. 

He raised his bleeding arm above Kane’s head, sure that Kane wouldn't be able to lunge far enough to bite him with his neck chained back as it was.

“Cmon then, little pup, stick out your pretty pink tongue for me.”

Kane saw Raiza approaching and knew he had to be good, but thankfully, he was restrained enough that he didn't need to worry about controlling himself. 

He strained upward until he could barely breathe, obediently sticking his tongue out with a pathetic whine of need. His eyes were locked on the delicious blood his body craved so badly. 

God that sound — it went straight to Raiza’s head—

“Beautiful. Pathetic. That’s exactly how I want you to sound for me.”

And Raiza was holding his bleeding arm over Kane’s head now, thick, wet drops were spilling down onto the floor in front of where his pet knelt-- Onto his face, running down Kane’s neck. Raiza let a few drops fall into his pet’s open mouth, onto his tongue that stretched out, desperate with need. Raiza could've teased him like this forever and he'd be happy.

Raiza smirked again, beside himself, “What a nice little show you’re putting on for me.”

Kane swallowed the drops of blood gratefully. "Thank you, Master!"

He moved his tongue, trying to wipe the rest off his face and neck, but he couldn't reach—a desperate, strangled sound escaped him as the blood that lay just out of reach drove him mad. He pulled uselessly at the chains that bound his arms tight. 

He could reach the blood on the floor, he realized.

He lowered himself down, licking the blood from the floor hungrily before bobbing back up and sticking his tongue back out. He whined again, even more desperate now that he'd had a taste.

Raiza’s eyes narrowed instantly. He snaps—

Oh, That won’t do. 

He kicked Kane in the chest hard, sending his back and his head cracking back against the wall behind him.

“Did I fucking say you could move, leech?”

Another kick, harder this time.

“Did I? Huh???”

Another kick.

“You didn’t even ask. Fucking unbelievable.” 

But Raize didn't let up. He just kept kicking Kane again and again.

“I give you blood. I feed you, and you already think you can just do whatever you want? Have I really fucking spoiled you already?” 

Kane sobbed and fell to the floor under the force of the kicks, not struggling at all as Raiza delivered blow after blow to his brittle body. 

"I'm s-sorry, Master, I'm so sorry! I was just s-so hungry, I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry." His voice broke. "I'll be good, please, sir! I'm n-not spoiled, I'll be good, I promise! I'm so sorry."

Raiza laughed, a sharp, cold laugh that echoes around the concrete walls of the basement.

“Of course you weren't thinking! What should I expect from a stupid pet.”

He stomps down on Kane's head, pressing it against the floor. 

 "You've really got nothing going on in that empty head of yours, huh. You wanna act like a rabid fucking animal? Fine.”

“Then I’ll treat you like one.”

✧─ ༻✦༺ ─✧

I made a comic for this scene!!

read next >>

General whump taglist: @whumpshaped @whumpsday  @emmettnet @a-whump-sideblog @whump-it-like-its-hot @wolfeyedwitch @whumper-soot @unorganisedalienrubbish @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @hidden-dreamland @whumpedydump @lonesome--hunter @ashh-ed @whump-in-the-closet @shannon-foraker @oriantthegiant @banditosong @anonymustyou @feralwhump @jieunie-23

Lmk if you’d like to be added or removed from any taglist

bonus tagging @lumpsbumpsandwhumps cuz you wanted some creepy/sadistic whumper shit hope this scratches the itch babe <3

[abhainnwhump]

Could you do some prompts about hands? Not necessarily inflicting damage ON them, but what the hands themselves do in whumpy scenarios? Like - spasms after receiving a shock, fingers curling into the shirt of a caretaker/rescuer, slick with blood when trying to keep pressure on a wound... just - HANDS. I love hands......

(not that way >.>)

(No shame, anon, no shame)

(Content warnings: Implied death, starvation, humiliation, Caretaker turned Whumpee, implied pet whump, creepy Whumper, whump aftermath, some fluff)

Whumpee's fingers trembling on a gun as they're being forced to shoot someone they love. They can feel Whumper's hot breath on their back, waiting for them to do it.

Whumpee biting their fingernails as a nervous habit, it's the only thing keeping them calm in such a situation.

Whumper's holding the handle of a whip as they crack it, making Whumpee cower and hide.

Whumpee tugging their shirt collar where their collar used to be. They shouldn't miss it, but they do.

Hands coated in sweat from fear, stress, or work. Whumper, Whumpee, or Caretaker could do this.

Whumpee/Caretaker staring at their blood coated hands, shaking and tearing up. Who's blood it is is up to you.

Whumper licking Whumpee's blood of their hands.

Whumpee's sweat-covered hands failing to open the lock on their cage/collar. Whumper could catch them at any moment.

Putting hands under warm water for the first time in who knows how long.

Whumpee gripping Caretaker's shirt as they carry them out of the cell they were kept in, scared to let go.

Whumpee/Caretaker being forced to kiss Whumper's knuckles. In a nicer way, Caretaker kissing Whumpee's knuckles to make them feel better after an injury.

Whumpee desperately grabbing food before Whumper takes it away again.

Someone running their hands through Whumpee's hair. Context changes wildly if it's Caretaker or Whumper.

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim AU: Slow Cooked

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, torture, burns, body horror / gore, isolation, touch starvation, rescue, caretaking

just some whump that wouldn't leave my head. i'm on an AU kick. 2 pieces in a day!! woo!!! also posted a catharsis chapter earlier :D

-

It was day one-thousand one-hundred and thirty-three since they’d left Kane in the sun.

Unlike in his cell, it was easy to count the days out here. Impossible not to, unless he lost count amid the endless pain. He couldn’t see, hadn’t opened his eyes in years, but fire licked at his toes once more, slowly working its way up.

Kane did not scream. The last time he’d screamed, a hunter had wrapped a cord around his throat and threatened to leave it there forever if he made another sound, leaving his lungs perpetually empty. That was day 14.

He had air. As his already burnt-beyond-recognition body lit up once more under the unforgiving heat of the sun, Kane reminded himself he could breathe. It was the only thing he had left.

It hurt. It hurt, hurt, hurt, always. There was no end to it, not even at night, when his wholly maimed form was given far too little time to even start to heal. There was only agony at night and more agony in the day.

He missed his cell. He would do anything to go back to his cell, in the blessed dark.

The morning sun rose enough to reach his face, his entire body once again swallowed as he burned alive.

Please. Please make it stop. Please, somebody help me! I’ll do anything. I just need it to stop. Mercy.

Every day, the same wish, unanswered. Kane was left to his unbearable existence, forgotten.

-

Somebody touched him. It was the first time Kane had been touched in over three years.

It was a light touch, just the graze of what he thought to be a hand to his jawline. Not enough to make it hurt more than it already did. Whoever it was said something, but he couldn’t make it out. Melted flesh had filled his ears for quite some time.

Kane did not move. He didn’t think he was capable of moving, anymore. But he had to do something. Maybe if he did, they’d let him inside, just for a little. Just for a few days. He would do anything to be allowed inside for a few days, even if they tortured him.

Please, I need help, please help me! Make it stop!

A small, raspy whine escaped the back of his throat, muffled further by his sealed-shut lips. It was all he could manage.

The hand retreated.

If Kane was capable of crying, he would. If Kane’s tear ducts hadn’t melted away under the sun years ago, he’d never have stopped.

Please. Please. Somebody. Help me.

His heart cried out, yearning for the touch to return. Even if they never helped, even if they hurt him. He just needed to feel for one moment like he wasn’t alone.

He keened again, a quiet thing, though he tried. Wordless begging to not be left.

The hand returned to his cheek, and he quieted once more. If the agony never stopped, at least he had this. The ability to breathe, and one gentle touch.

Without warning, something pierced his chest, and his cursed consciousness was blissfully lost.

-

Kane did not wake outside.

His arms and legs were no longer spread into the corners of the board, ensuring every vulnerable inch of his front was exposed to the sun. The board no longer touched his back, in fact. Instead, he laid on something soft. The sun did not shine.

Either it was nighttime, or he’d been allowed inside.

It was almost unthinkable that he’d be allowed to rest on something soft and let inside. Surely, it had to be nighttime.

Despite his relative freedom–he could still feel a shackle on one ankle, not silver, but nothing else–he was far too mangled to move around. He simply laid there, trying to bask in the wonder of the soft thing.

“Kane?” a voice asked, hours later. He could hear it, he realized. His ears were cleared.

He knew that voice. That was the human’s voice. Jim’s voice.

The fragile hope that he might be allowed to remain on the soft thing vanished.

“Are you awake?” Jim asked. “I saw you… twitching and stuff.”

He would cry if he could. He was crying, he realized, tears falling down his burnt-up cheeks.

“It’s okay, don’t be scared. I mean, that’s–that’s a tall order, yeah. You’re not going out there again. You’re gonna be okay.”

That gentle hand returned, to his hair this time. There wasn’t much of it left, he was reasonably sure. Jim stroked what was there, his touch feather-light, like he was afraid Kane would break into pieces.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. It’s over,” Jim promised. His voice shook like he might be crying, too.

Kane wanted to believe it so, so badly. It was everything he’d ever wanted, for someone to help. Finally, finally, for the pain to end. It hadn’t even ended yet, his body was a horrific mess of seared skin, but it had been promised. No one had ever promised to help before.

He couldn’t be dreaming. It never hurt this badly in dreams, his only refuge.

“Can you open your mouth?” Jim prompted.

No. He couldn’t. He tried, just to prove it, and…

His lips popped open, revealing a perfectly-preserved, unburnt mouth.

How long had he been out? Days? Had he not been touched by the sun for days?

“You’re doing great,” Jim encouraged. “I know you’re hurting pretty bad right now. So, um, I just…”

“Here, I’ve got it.” A different voice, female, unfamiliar. Before Kane could even worry about who she was, a lid opened with a pop, and the smell of blood filled the air.

Kane did manage more than a whine, then. A desperate howl of need.

The blood poured into his mouth, cold and refreshing and salty and sweet. There was so much of it. He drank and drank and drank until there was no more. He was actually sated for once.

“That’ll help him heal faster?” Jim asked.

“Yeah. Should do the trick.”

“...Do you think he’ll be mad at me?”

Mad? How could he possibly be mad? Jim took him away from the sun. Jim let him inside. Jim gave him blood. He was going to be allowed to heal!

“I think he’ll just be happy to be out of the sun,” the other voiced his thoughts.

There was a creak on the soft think–a bed? A couch?--as someone sat next to him. “Three years ago, the hunters told me they had you,” Jim said.

Three years. That was the end of it, then? Kane had paid his price, he wouldn’t have to do it anymore? It felt too good to be true.

“I told them to kill you,” he continued. “I was scared. I thought you would be like… before. I thought you would come after me. I didn’t know what they were doing, and they told me they’d done it. I thought you were dead. I never wanted you to suffer, not like this.”

Did that mean no more? It was truly over?

“No m-more?” Kane rasped out, his voice struggling to find itself after so long.

“No more.” That gentle touch returned to his hair, and for the first time in years, there was hope.

-

taglist in reblogs

[whumpberry-cookie]

The character who never initiates phisical affection and is very reserved with their words.

But if someone else hugs them or pets their cheek, they just silently lean into it.