#strawberry-whump

[whumpshaped]

For fluff prompts, maybe some casual vulnerability from whumpee with caretaker, either when they were previously unable to or when it’s commonplace. And/or parallel play

@strawberry-whump

tw stoic whumpee breaking down, past trauma, past torture, nightmares, emotional whump

"Well, maybe I'm not fine. Maybe I'm not." Whumpee turned around, cloth still in hand. They had been wiping down the counters when Caretaker asked them how they were feeling and proceeded to press them on it after the initial response. "What now?"

Caretaker didn't seem bothered by the cynicism. "That's a start. That's something. You've been giving me nothing for the past months. I want to help you, but I can't help someone who's perfectly fine."

Whumpee nodded, like that was a reasonable thought. "Okay. So, what now?"

"Ideally, you'd tell me about your problems."

"Hm." Whumpee looked down at the cloth in their hands, contemplating. "Well, ideally. Ideally you wouldn't pester me about it. But," they went on before Caretaker could've cut in, "I know you're relentless. Don't worry. I kinda realised that after the first three weeks."

Caretaker slowly leaned back against the wall, giving them more space. They stayed quiet. No encouragement. No judgement either.

"I've been having nightmares," they blurted out. "About all the whippings and group tortures. The blood. I keep waking up with the– the smell of it in my nose. The taste of it in my mouth." They put the cloth on the counter and met Caretaker's compassionate gaze again, their own neutral and unfazed. "There you have it."

"I'm sorry you're going through that," they said gently, and Whumpee barked out a laugh.

"I'm sure you are. Now that that's settled, I think–" As Caretaker moved closer, they immediately cut themself off. Were they about to try to hug them? "Stay where you are. You hear me? Don't turn this into something– something it's not."

They didn't want it. And yet as Caretaker closed the distance between them, they couldn't will themself to move. Their embrace was tight, warm, and full of... love. They told themself they'd just let Caretaker hug it out, but before they knew it, they were clinging to them just as tight.

"I'm so sorry, Whumpee," they repeated, and this time, it opened the floodgates.

They broke down sobbing, as if they'd just been given permission for the first time in years. But who even held the permission? Whumper? Caretaker? Themself? Who was the one making them bottle it all up?

"It's never gonna get any better," they cried desperately, so grateful that Caretaker was keeping them upright. They felt like the weight of the world was sliding off their shoulders; the same weight that had kept their broken pieces so tightly compressed that they had no chance of coming apart. "I thought it would, I– I thought– I thought it'd go away–"

Caretaker held them for minutes, eventually lowering both of them to the kitchen floor, gently cradling their friend. "I know," they whispered. "I know it's hard. I know. We'll get through it."

Whumpee had their doubts. But in the haze of their breakdown, for just a couple blissfully dizzy moments, they wanted to believe that it was true.

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

[love-me-a-lotta-whump]

ストロベリーナイト・サーガ - Strawberry Night Saga - Whump List - 🇯🇵

Whumpee: Kikuta Kazuo played by Kamenashi Kazuya

Synopsis: Himekawa Reiko, the only female section chief in the First Investigative Division, leads Team Himekawa, armed with her intuition, dramatic ideas and energy, and has solved many challenging cases. Her older subordinate Kikuta Kazuo, a sergeant, is initially skeptical of her when he is transferred to the team. However, he gradually comes to realise her competence and charm, and special feelings begin to grow. (MDL)

Genre/Tags: Cop/Crime, Mystery, Romance, Nightmare, Collapsed, Captive/Hostage, Restrained, Hospitalized

Watch On: DramaCool, KissAsian

💖: I fully planned on scrapping the first part of this list and just making episode 11 an Episode Highlight but hey here we are. Why waste 1-10?

WARNING: POSSIBLE SPOILERS BELOW

1.01 : sparring ::: angry ::: concerned for someone, fought

1.02-1.03 : none

1.04 : (semi comical: hair grabbed)

1.05-1.07 : none

1.08 : emotional ::: concerned for someone

1.09 : none

1.10 : having a nightmare, writhing in his sleep, woken up ::: shaking, concern for him

1.11 : (23:19- hit on the back of the head, collapsed, struggling, hit again) ::: (23:42- loved one learns he’s being held hostage) ::: (28:53- hostage, handcuffed, bloody head/face, heavy breathing, out of it, heavily lidded eyes) ::: (29:12- heavy breathing, wincing, weakly struggled in his cuffs) ::: (30:19- loved one sees him hostage, handcuffed, bloody head/face, heavy breathing, out of it, heavily lidded eyes, wincing, at gunpoint, threatened, fought, exhausted) ::: (39:28- helped to walk, weak, concern for him) ::: (41:01- in the hospital, bandaged face, arm in a sling, revealed that his collarbone was broken, wincing, groaning, emotional) ::: (44:04- looked after while in the hospital)

———+———

MORE WHUMP LISTS >>> {x}

[strawberry-whump]

Whumpees who get angry. Whumpees who are fight rather than flight/freeze/fawn/flop. Whumpees who aren't good victims. Just. Angry whumpees.

[lilacthebooklover]

i'm sorry everyone but i'm still not over the latest crk update </3

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🔪 for Chris!

🔪 Awake surgery

CW: Referenced hand whump, blood, sadism, reluctant whumper, facility whump, BBU

"You have got to be joking." The doctor dried his hands off on the single-use towel he held, watching through the one-way window as the trainee inside sat, shaking his head at a nurse who was speaking to him in a low voice. He shook it less like he was saying no and more like he was simply denying that she was speaking at all. "Him again? What the fuck is Petrus doing to this kid? It's only been, what, four days since I got him out of the clinic in the first place!"

"I mean, you know what he does to him, he's one of the little sluts." The handler rolls his eyes. "Petrus fucks him stupid, not that any of them have brains to begin with. But this time 223499 dropped a glass during his Mixology class. Can't pin it this one on Petrus, it's all on 499 being a little bitch again. His Mixology instructor says he's a clumsy little shit."

"Great. Okay." Dr. Ross has a headache already. He hates this place, hates the crude, aggressive handlers and the way they talk about - and to - the trainees. He hates sewing the injured trainees up only to see them again, with new wounds needing dressed and new terror in their eyes. He hates everything about this job except the paycheck.

He can't wait to get another job and get the hell out of here.

The Facility gets to him - it works its way down under his skin, seeing the haunted, nervous way the trainees looked around all the time, trying to guess where pain would come from next. Trying to curry favor, to avoid the torture constantly forced on them anyway. He's been seeing their frightened faces and hearing them beg in his dreams far too often. "So he's here because..."

"It's a deep cut." The handler shrugs. "He needs stitches."

Dr. Ross looks back at the trainee. 223499 is holding perfectly still while the nurse turns his hand over. His palm is a mess of blood, darker than the new-penny shine of his hair. The trainee's stained fingers twitch nervously.

He's just a kid.

The same kid who'd automatically gone to his knees just a week ago, ready to do whatever he was commanded to, thoughtless obedience making the doctor's stomach turn.

He has to get out of here.

Dr. Ross swallows, feeling like there's a lump in his throat he just can't quite get rid of it. "Fine. I'll prep something to numb his hand, we'll give him a little bit of-"

"Nah." The handler shrugs, looking bored. "His primary's got a note on his file, didn't you see it? No painkillers for three weeks. Not even topical."

Dr. Ross watches 223499 flinch away from the nurse, who slaps him, making him cry out. The sound is muffled through the one-way window. As is the apology the boy provides immediately, stammering through it, only to be slapped again. This time, he doesn't cry out. He only cringes back, hunching into himself, and keeps his eyes down.

It makes Dr. Ross feel sick.

"... fine," He says, realizing the silence is drawing out too long. "I'll get him sewn up. He can go back to his room once it's done. Tell Petrus to leave him alone for one night, at least?"

The handler snorts with dry humor. "Yeah, good luck on that. But I'll tell him you said so. You want me to help you strap him down?"

Dr. Ross doesn't let himself look at the trainee again. "Yeah. Come in and strap him down while I prep."

"You got it, Doc." The handler gives him a lazy salute.

The kid doesn't fight being strapped down, but it doesn't matter. Once the work begins, the kid's back arches, he screams and thrashes wordlessly, then... even worse, he makes noises after like he's dying, low moaning sounds that seem barely human. He's shuddering, whispering apologies when all he'd done was drop a glass and try to clean it up too fast.

Dr. Ross goes home that night with the trainee's screaming in his ears. He hears the sounds the kid makes once the needle goes into his skin all weekend in his nightmares.

On Monday, he emails his resignation, effective immediately.

He's smart enough to have a one-way ticket booked for a country WRU isn't operating in before anyone reads it.

[whumpookies]

Day 8 I've got soul, but I'm no soldier;

prompt: outnumbered.

[whump-it-like-its-hot]

Today I present to you Whumpees that get injured but don’t realize it/don’t think it’s bad until a while later, when they accidentally touch the injury in an unfortunate way or move the injured limb wrong and they just fucking crumble

[befuddled-calico-whump]

AMOW Winter Whumperland

@amonthofwhump Day 5: Turned into a Decoration

Strawberry Boy returns for the holidays. Hope he's brought inside soon. Forecast calls for snow ;-;

[polarisbibliotheque]

Sorry, I saw one post and a half of yours and I'm already a fan.

I still have to scroll down your blog to see more about you, but I saw that two-post-long answer you made for an anon ask (btw, you have such poetic vibes :D your style made me smile, seriously) and I couldn't holf myself to ask:

Hm, have you ever heard of... I mean, "whump"?

If yes, what are your thouhts on it?

(you don't need to answer this, specially if it makes you unconfortable in any ways or anything else XD)

However, I hope you have a wonderful day/noon/afternoon/evening/night(?) !

Hello hello!! First things first, sorry for taking SO LONG to answer, I had a ton of health issues the last couple of months >.<

Secondly, thank you SO MUCH for being so kind!! I saw all your reblogs of that huge answer for such a tiny thing I did and thank you. I'm really happy you like my style too, that makes me smile!

Now now, about your question on whump, I'm gonna be very honest, I had to Google it to make sure we're on the same page HAHAHAHAHAHA

Jokes aside, I know it's sort of a term for hurt/comfort fanfiction - but it's not really clear to me if it's a kink thing or not.

Because you see, if you're talking about hurt and comfort, I mean, that's basically what I write HAHAHAHA writing for the Devil May Cry fandom, inevitably someone will be hurt/tortured/mentally abused somehow.

Or impaled. A lot.

(I mean, that's all this bitch has done for the past 5 games)

And also there's the whole thing with Vergil, his twin brother, being kept as a slave in Hell for 20(?) years and coming back after dragging his crumbling body out of there to find out he has a son and being the peak of cluelessness in the Universe - and me being adamant he deserves love after all that.

So I guess everything I write has a LOT of hurt - and I even put some serious warnings before the fics, 'cause everyone is traumatized in this household - but despite of that, they still can find love, happiness and somewhat soothe all that pain and trauma.

(dramatic, real, horrible, but stil comforting xD)

As a kink, though, I don't enjoy it - and I also don't enjoy putting characters I love through pain and suffering just because. That's why I have a love/hate relationship with horror media: I LOVE horror, but I HATE exploitation.

Movies that have just people being abused, hurt, dismembered and all that kind of horrible stuff happening just because without a real reason to be on the plot - meaning, torture porn - just make my blood boil. And there's a lot of that in horror.

I like when things are more psychological and actually have a REASON to be there. So, in my writing, I'll never torture a character just for the pleasure of doing so and for the pleasure of the reader, I need a point out of it.

For instance, on my cyberpunk-style story, both main characters have gone through a terrible experience together and lost someone who was really dear to them. Both of them went through a lot of physical pain, lost some limbs and needed to install cyberprosthesis, and lost everything they had worked for til that point in their lives.

Horrible, yes. But they had to go through it so I could start the story: because of all of this, the guy made an anarchist/terrorist group and just wants to burn down the city along with the people in power who allowed all that to happen to him, while the woman becomes the best killer for hire so she can get enough money to live and, eventually, retire.

All that physical and psychological pain is a very important plot point and I can't take it away from the story, or else there's no story to begin with. Meanwhile, every time I'm writing I'm thinking "how can I make this as unpleasant as I can so the reader can understand the crushing feeling of all of this?" hahahahaha

That's why I'm not into pain kink - I respect everyone who is, but I can't do it, I feel no pleasure from it.

That's my opinion, I think. For pleasure's sake, I don't like it, but for plot, I really like it. I think it has a hopeful note to it - that even after the storm, the days will shine bright again, you just have to go on. That's what I enjoy from writing things like this, the hope.

Who would've known, I'm not 100% a bitter bitch hahaha

Reading my personal original stories, I think all of them have a painful background and many unpleasant scenes. But I like it, because it's human nature and how life is: bad things will happen, we can just try to make the good ones count even more :)

I hope that was a good answer to your question hahahaha

Thank you once again, and I hope you have a lovely week ahead!! Feel free to spend some time around and ask things if you'd like! ^^

[spookyboywhump]

Strawberry ice cream: bad horrible terrible get it away from me

Vanilla ice cream with strawberry syrup and chunks of strawberry on it: literal heaven

[strawberry-whump]

Post-captivity whumpees with medical trauma — not from anything Whumper did, but because of the non-consensual medical procedures they went through after being rescued

[ashintheairlikesnow]

hey hey hey I have had a hell of a day (Actually Hell) because I did too many fun things (a problem apparently) and then also we put up the christmas tree leading to the inevitable christmas tree installation arguments (they pop up every year like clockwork!)

anyway i have been overstimulated and stressed (just want to emphasize that there is NO pressure here whatsoever! id like to avoid any semblance of that actually and I know you're already working on 12 days so take your time) and it would be very cathartic to see chris dealing with similar issues (the Wonderful guy. we are pretty similar.) thanks a lot for reading this, even if you don't write anything !

Sorry this took so long, Anon! I swear I've been trying to get this written for literally almost two months now

CW: Some references to Chris's past, overstimulation, anxiety

"Hey, where did Chris go?" Laken blinks and looks around, but the living room of the house they rent - filled with laughing, happy people - shows no sign of Chris's telltale lavender hair with its new-penny copper roots.

One of Brit's friends just shrugs at them and gestures, vaguely, in the direction of the kitchen. "Dunno. He wandered off a while ago, maybe that way?"

"Oh, okay. Huh." Laken steps back, the circle of laughing people closing up tight as soon as they do. Their dark eyes scan the room, but there's no sign of him.

He'd been doing great - all but holding court, one of the most popular people at the party. He's sort of famous, since the Olympics, and people had been peppering him with questions and compliments, crowding around wanting nothing more than to be friends with the ex-pet who stood up to the bad guys on live TV. They'd seen him dancing, too, the music loud enough to nearly make the walls shake. The easy, unselfconscious dancing they loved in him the most.

He'd seemed to be enjoying himself, at the time, but...

Where has he gone?

They weave around people, stopping to pick up an ornament that has fallen off the tree. The scent of pine is subtle and ever-present, and they carefully work the ornament's little loop back over a branch, ruefully watching a couple of pine needles come loose and drift down. The damn thing is already starting to turn a little brown around its edges, thanks to Laken's roommate having insisted on buying it literally the day before Thanksgiving.

Laken doesn't even celebrate Christmas, not since they stopped going to Mass on Christmas Eve years and years ago. Still, in a house they rent with three others, they're the only one who doesn't at least pay lip service to the holiday.

And even if they don't give a fuck about Christmas, they do like having an excuse to throw a party.

The tinsel wrapped in spirals around, over, and below the ornaments glitters in the light, and the look makes them think of Chris, and how his eyes have always looked just the same, to them, when they're out at night and the moon hits the green of his irises just right.

Their search leads them to Ben, contentedly sitting on the couch, a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, quietly reading something there while the party is in full swing around him. He glances up and then instinctively, immediately, uses a finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Hey, Laken. What's up?"

"Is Akio not coming tonight?"

"Oh... no." Ben blushes - it's adorable, and Laken can't help the smile playing around their lips. "He's got some kind of meeting with the gymnastics team, or his coaches? Or... something like that. He said sorry, though."

"Nah, no problem. But, hey, so. Uh, have you seen Chris, like within the last ten minutes or so??"

Someone puts Christmas music on and Laken shudders as they hear that damn 80s pop song start up again. If they have to hear that fucking song one more time...

"Nope. Not in a while." Ben shrugs, taking a drink. Whatever he has in that cup is pinkish-red and probably far more alcoholic than it tastes. Laken's roommate had insisted on a signature cocktail. "You could check outside? Sometimes when there's a lot of people, to Chris it's... too much."

Laken nods, still scanning the crowd, but their stomach knots a little with the first hit of real anxiety. Ben is right, Chris can get overwhelmed by too much noise and movement, but also he's been drinking tonight - they saw the same red punch in a cup in his hands earlier - and he has a tendency to get... hazy, when he drinks. Flirty in ways that aren't natural to him. Willing to let people hug him that he doesn't like, unable to bring himself to stop them. Sometimes his stammer smooths out, which makes people who don't know him feel more comfortable and people who do know him nervous. He starts tipping his head to the side in a way that makes the sweep of his growing-out hair hide the scar on his forehead, biting his lower lip when he smiles. It makes Laken feel a little sick to see it happen and realize Chris doesn't even notice when he's doing it.

The last thing they need is to have to come up with an explanation for Chris losing track of himself again, or why he's eating olives off the charcuterie board Brit brought knowing damn well he'll just go to the bathroom and get sick all over the place again, or... fuck, what if somebody hits on him and he's too drunk to stop it?

That hasn't happened since college, but...

They pull their phone out, uneasily checking for a text, but there's nothing. If he went outside, he'd text, right? He does, he always does. Texts can be easier and Chris is always a little nervous about being outside alone.

He insisted on coming tonight, said he was feeling good lately, but-... what if-...

They flinch when fingers touch their arm, only to see Ben must have stood up when they weren't looking. He slips his own phone into his jacket pocket and looks Laken over more closely. "Hey. It's okay, he's probably fine. You know he gets weird when parties are really going. It's like a light switch, enough to too much, I totally get it. It's why I'm on the couch fucking around on Kindle instead of, you know... talking to people." Ben says it like talking to people is literal hell, and... okay, Laken can see how that might be the case. "He probably just needed to get away from it and wandered off."

"Uh, yeah. I know." Laken rubs at the back of their neck, fingers moving through the soft, shorn undercut beneath their longer black waves. "I'm sure that's it. Just... you know, sometimes he... when he gets nervous..."

"I got you." They adore Ben, sometimes, for how often they don't have to finish the sentences they don't want to say. He knows what words haven't yet spilled, unwilling. Sometimes he acts like he belongs to us, not like he loves us. Sometimes I can't trust him to find his way back on his own. Sometimes I feel like Jake, and I hate feeling like Jake.

Words die in their throat.

Ben squeezes their arm, gently. "Let's split up and search around. I'll go outside, you go around the house, okay? We verify how he is, then whichever one finds him tells the other. Sound good?" Ben smiles, and Laken relaxes a little, finding a smile for him in return.

"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Ben."

"No problem." Ben has always understood Chris, thanks to his little brother being similar in some ways. He understands Laken's worry, too, because better than anyone else here - he knows how Chris sometimes gets lost in his past, especially if he's drinking, worse the maybe twice Laken's ever seen him try an edible or a pill.

What if he got drunk and someone offered him something and he took it? Drunk Chris sometimes isn't a Chris who can easily turn down anything he's offered.

This party was a stupid idea.

Laken takes a deep breath and squares their shoulders.

Chris is not a child.

He is a goddamn grown man and Laken is not his keeper. They're not his parent and they're not a babysitter. They're definitely not his fucking... owner or whatever the bastards that hurt him would have called it. They're his partner. He can handle himself, better than they could if they'd lived his life, and they need to trust him to either know his limits and to get away if he can't say no, or to come to them if he wants to ask for help. Otherwise, they're not any better than the bullshit he's been buried in for longer than he's known them.

Ben goes to check outside, slipping silently out the sliding door onto the back porch where a small crowd has congregated in a cloud of skunky smoke, while Laken heads upstairs, peeking their head in to room after room with no sign of him anywhere. They see some movement under a pile of coats, but that's... definitely not Chris, based on the very female voices who yell at them to give them some fucking privacy, please.

"Sorry, Brit," Laken calls, closing the door tightly. "And, um, Leigh. Just looking for Chris-"

"Well, he isn't in here or we'd have kicked him out already," Brit says, cranky but without any real anger in her voice. Laken doesn't recognize the redhead whose eyes pop up from beneath the pile of coats next to her. "Check a different room."

"Yeah, I will. Uh... keep having fun, I guess-"

"That's the plan! Now leave, please!"

The door latches as they close it, and they exhale. There's one room left, at the end of the hall, and they can hear a familiar murmuring from behind the door when they press their ear up against it.

Laken knocks, rapping gently with their knuckles, and turns the knob when they hear no answer - but no demand to stay out either. The murmuring goes silent. They sigh, and the door swings open, light cutting across the carpet until it reveals their wayward boyfriend.

No one has claimed this bedroom yet, so it's bare and empty except for a couple unpacked cardboard boxes, Brit's exercise bike by the window, a couple of her yoga mats, a laundry basket with a few folded towels, and a bare mattress the last housemate had left behind on the floor when they moved out.

Laken's lips press together, eyes scanning the room. Chris's phone is on the mattress, along with an empty beer bottle, but Chris isn't. "Chris? Cariño?"

A muffled rustling makes them jump, heart in their throat, and then they realize the sound came from the closet, where the folding doors are closed. Laken pulls them open to reveal Chris curled up, knees nearly to his chin, an open bottle clutched in one hand, his chewy necklace in the other. He'd chosen the bat one tonight, and his hand is closed around it in such a tight fist Laken can tell his knuckles are white even in the dark.

Chris doesn't look at them. He's swaying, rocking forward and back, his eyes focused on something far, far away from them. There's red lines on his left wrist, where he's dug his nails in, scratching not quite deep enough to draw blood, but close. Laken takes a deep breath, shifting into a crouch.

"Talk to me, Chris."

"No." The answer is flat, and they watch his thumb rub over the little nub of the silicone bat's nose, the points of its tiny ears. "No, no, no. No."

At least he's saying it out loud.

That alone makes the knot of anxiety in their chest start to loosen. If he can say no, he isn't gone, maybe just... standing a little farther back, inside his own head, than the surface.

"Okay. Okay, that's fine. No talking, that's fine. Are you okay, baby?" Laken keeps their voice just above a whisper and lays their hand on the wood trim that frames this shitty excuse for a closet, the floor creaking under them. "You... kind of vanished on me, there."

Chris's eyes flick to them and then away again. "Loud," He manages, and he sounds like he's forcing the word out between gritted teeth. Maybe he is. "Too, too, too... too loud. Too much, too... many."

"I guess Ben called it." Laken sighs, pulling out their phone and sending Ben a quick text that they found Chris and everything's fine. they get a thumbs-up in reply almost immediately. Ben must have been as anxious as they are, if he was just watching for their text to come in. "Do you want me to call Jake to come get you, or..."

"No!" He snaps it, and Laken tries not to wince. He's just struggling with the noise of the party, they tell themself, he's not actually angry. Chris almost never gets angry, and even then it's only at himself. Which... is worse, somehow. "No. Just... Quiet, it's... it's it's quiet."

"Right. Do you want me to stay with you? Be quiet with you?"

He shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything else. His mouth moves, but no further sounds come out.

"Chris, did..." They want to ask, did someone say something to you? Sometimes people said things, referenced pets or something in a way that set him off. But even if someone had... he probably wouldn't tell them, at least not now, not when every word seemed to have to filter through layer after layer of self-protection in his mind. "Never mind. Is there anything I can do for you? Water, or..."

He shakes his head. "No. Just. Um. Quiet... quiet, now. Please?"

"Yeah." Laken leans over and presses a kiss to his hair. He tips his head against their lips and they exhale in relief. "I love you, Chris. Come back if you can, but if you can't, that's okay, too. Just don't hurt yourself, okay? Things should start winding down in a couple hours." They take the little plastic bat and push it against the hand that's still scratching at his shoulder, until he takes hold of it again, pressing it against his mouth and running it back and forth, back and forth.

Chris is quiet, but as they open the door to head back into the hallway, they hear a quiet, "Love, love you," from Chris, barely audible.

They smile as they close the door. Down the hall, the sounds of the party hit them like a brick, beckoning them back to the noise and the cheer and the awful fucking Christmas music still blaring at top volume. Someone yells something out and the whole damn crowd cheers, making Laken wince at it feels nearly deafening.

Maybe Chris has the right idea.

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Forced Vacation- Part 2

Part 1

Hero stirred to a cool sensation going up and down their arm. They groaned weakly as their eyes fluttered open to a shady umbrella overhead. They felt a soft surface underneath them and heard the lapping of ocean waves nearby. Then they remembered their situation. Hero sat bolt upright, but they were yanked back down.

“Hold it! You’re not going out in the sun until I’m finished!”

Hero’s head jerked to the side.

“Villain!? What the heck are you doing!?”

Villain got another helping of sunscreen out of the bottle and applied it to Hero’s other arm.

“Hooking you up to my doomsday device,” Villain said, “…what does it look like, darling?”

Hero opened their mouth, closed it, opened it again, then closed it fruitlessly. Villain chuckled, then sat them up. They started to apply more of the citrus-scented stuff to Hero’s back.

Hero blinked in confusion. They looked down at their body and saw that their suit had been replaced with swimwear. Their cheeks turned red at the thought of someone undressing them.

“Oh relax,” Villain said, “I didn’t peek.”

That made Hero feel a little bit better, but only a little bit. In a few minutes, Villain was finished. Hero went to stand up again, but Villain stopped them.

“Hero! It has to sink in for at least fifteen minutes!” Villain protested.

Hero huffed, then begrudgingly sat back down. Villain smiled.

“Good,” they said, “I hope you’re not so jumpy because you’re planning on escaping, my dear Hero.”

Hero opened their mouth to speak.

“Because if you were,” Villain continued, “you’d have a pretty hard time getting off this beach, let alone the island. I have security measures everywhere. And I know you don’t plan to swim all the way back to the city; that would be insane even for you.”

Hero scanned the beach. Various henchmen dotted the sand dunes, waiting in case they decided to try something. So they were stuck here.

“How long?” Hero grumbled.

“You still have about thirteen minutes-”

“No.” Hero shook their head, “how long are you keeping me here?”

Villain cracked an annoyingly attractive grin.

“As long as it takes, Hero. As long as it takes.”

That wasn’t an answer! Hero went to say so, but Villain shoved a straw in their mouth.

“Strawberry daquiri,” Villain explained, “go on.”

Hero eyed it suspiciously.

“Virgin- no alcohol.”

Hero still didn’t drink.

“Oh for the love of-” Villain took a small sip from the drink, “-there. Happy?”

Satisfied, Hero started to sip on the daquiri. It was so sweet and refreshing, they relaxed on the spot.

…

Hero dried their hair with a fluffy towel. The beach had been tolerable. Okay, it had been really fun, but they weren’t about to admit it. They had been escorted to Villain’s fancy villa at the heart of the island and had been left to shower and change. Hero had done both, and was now dressed in a loose, flowy outfit that swished in the breeze.

“Had fun, my little mermaid?” Villain smiled, leaning on the doorframe.

Hero whirled around.

“It was… it wasn’t torture,” Hero conceded.

“I would hope not, considering I had to practically drag you out of the water for lunch.”

Villain had left the beach completely soaked, but not because they had been playing in the water too. Hero may have splashed them a few times… they were completely dry now, though, and wearing a crisp button-up and shorts. Hero giggled thinking about the beach.

“Come on,” Villain nodded to the door, “you’re going to love what Chef made.”

Hero’s urge to fight was fading evermore into the back of their mind. They joined Villain and followed them to the patio where various foods and delicacies waited.

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Series Tags: @whump-bunny @kawaii-cakes @fangedcinnamonroll

[cowboy-anon]

Uno reverse ice cream vibe check for Lee! Technically a milkshake lol but I DEFINITELY get like sweet strawberry vibes for you but also some dark chocolate (‘cause good whumpy thoughts >:) )

Ice-cream scoop pngs

source

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1354

Whumptober #3: "I warned you."

“I warned you.”

“Yup.”

“And you still went and did it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And now you’re on medical leave for a minimum of six weeks.”

“Mmhmm.”

There’s a pause.

“Oh, just say it.” Says the whumpee.

“I told you so.” The caretaker says, smugly.

“Feel better?” The whumpee asks, defiantly pulling the blanket up over their battered body, though it snags on the metal rods keeping their leg bones in place. Taking pity, the caretaker adjusts the blanket, satisfied in the fact they managed to get in an ‘I told you so’, no matter how heroic the whumpee was in their act.

“Much.” Says the caretaker. “Do you want anymore morphine?”

“I want to go home.” The whumpee pouts.

“And I want a friend who has a little more self-preservation, but it looks like neither of us will have what we want. Now, what flavor of jello do you want?”

“... strawberry.”

[whumpshaped]

13. Favorite physical whump trope? <- @strawberry-whump

OOOO OH NO THERES SO MANY GOOD ONES.... okay let me think..... oh wait yeah i know. slamming whumpee against the wall and pinning them there by their throat. top tier, i am correct, i dont accept criticism

some honourable mentions:

snapping someone's bones like a twig by a whumper who's just so much stronger (specifically if it's like. whumper grabs whumpee's wrist an squeezes until it shatters.)

dragging someone around by the hair (dragging them across rooms, just yanking their head up to force eye contact when theyre too hurt to lift their head on their own anymore)

any and all manhandling. sign me up.

when uh. when. when whumper grabs and twists whumpee's arm behind their back. its a classic i know but it hurts so much if they push far enough. bonus points if whumpee is also pressed up against a wall or the floor. ESPECIALLY THE FLOOR. with whumper's knee on their back too.. hhghhnnhgh IM SO NORMAL ABT THIS I AM I PROMISE