#torture whumper who can't have their fun now?

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

whump prompt 194

Whumpee getting sick while in Whumper's possession.

[whumpluv]

✶ ‧₊˚ㅤ. . . introduction !

hey, i'm jude! i'm nineteen and use he/him pronouns. i'm autistic and torturing fictional characters is one of my special interests. i've been into whump for a long time, but this is my first time actually getting involved in the community.

✶ ‧₊˚ㅤ. . . tastes && preferences !

‧₊ ๑ favorite whump things: public humiliation, being held underwater, forced to beg, threats of rape/non-con (but with no intention of actually following through), sleep deprivation, all hurt and no comfort, defiant whumpee + whumper who is going to have so much fun breaking them. there's probably more, but i can't think of them right now.

‧₊ ๑ least favorite things: vomiting. i have pretty bad emetophobia irl, can't handle seeing puke, but i can usually handle reading about a character puking if it's not detailed. i think that's my only least favorite whump thing that i can still (usually) read about.

‧₊ ๑ absolute no-gos: actual rape/non-con, nails or teeth being ripped out, super young whumpees (i do have some underage whumpee ocs, but they're all at least teenagers. i cannot handle little kids being hurt). uhh ... i think that's it, actually.

[serickswrites]

Faster

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, knife, forced to choose, forced to watch, self sacrifice

"Isn't this just wonderful," Whumper said as they circled Caretaker and Whumpee. They had been pursuing Caretaker and Whumpee for days and now they had caught their quarry.

Whumpee put themself in front of Caretaker. They would do anything to protect Caretaker. "You're a monster." They could feel Caretaker quiver with fear behind them. They had to keep Caretaker safe, no matter what.

Whumper twirled a knife in their hand. "That may be true. Doesn't mean I can't have fun." They stopped circling. "Tell you what, I'll let you pick who I hurt and how I hurt them, Whumpee. The other gets to go free. I won't go after them. I won't hurt them at all. I--"

"Me. I choose me. Do whatever you want to me," Whumpee said before Caretaker could say anything. They had to protect Caretaker.

"No!" Caretaker said quickly. They tried to step around Whumpee, but Whumpee put their arm out.

"Let Caretaker go."

Whumper grinned. "Ok! I like this idea! Run little mouse," Whumper said to Caretaker. "Run and don't look back."

Caretaker didn't move. Whumpee's heart pounded, the only thing betraying their fear. "Go, Caretaker, I won't be far behind."

"Lies don't serve you, Whumpee. You won't be walking out of here." Whumper twirled the knife again.

"I just need to be faster than you," Whumpee spat. They just had to get away from Whumper. Get the knife and get away.

"We'll see about that," Whumper said and they hurled the knife at Whumpee.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

[a-crumb-of-whump]

60 Whump Dialogue

Content: Torture, dehumanisation, pet whump, [implied] whumper-turned-whumpee, [implied] whumpee-turned-whumper, [implied] caretaker-turned-whumpee, sacrifice, death wish, [mentioned] death, [implied] non-con, bad caretaker.

Whumper

"You are nothing but a toy. A toy to play with and mould and break as I please."

"Go ahead. Cry and scream. It only makes this all the more fun."

"Maybe if you're good, I'll only shatter one of your ankles. Hm?"

"Look at the screen. Fucking look at it. I want you to witness this."

"You wouldn't risk your life for anyone? Perhaps we need to put this to the test."

"What makes you think I'll let you go so easily?"

"How dare you speak to me like that?"

"Have your fun while you can because I'm going to kill you the moment I get out of these."

"I'm going to find what breaks you, Whumpee. That I can promise."

"My life was so much easier before I took you. I regret it with every fibre of my fucking being."

"I wonder how loud you'd scream if I just..."

"Smile for the camera!"

"A good little pet cleans Its master's shoes with Its tongue, I'll have you know."

"I am not someone you want to mess with, Whumpee. Do as I say."

"Look who decided to crawl their way back into their master's arms. I told you you'd be back."

"I think you'd like adorable with some piercings, don't you agree?"

"Stay still."

"Maybe I'll keep you as my personal canvas from now on."

"Have fun hanging there!"

"I purchased some stuff for you. After all, every good pet deserves some enrichment."

Whumpee

"I just wanna go home."

"You can't leave me here! Please!"

"I never lost hope. I always knew- I... I knew you'd come for me eventually."

"You'd think after so long of having me here, you'd get better at tying me up."

"Please don't leave me down here again. I'll take whatever you wanna do to me, just- just let me come with you."

"You thought I wouldn't be back? I'm not finished with you yet. Not until you pay for what you did."

"You- you promised!"

"Not again..."

"You thought I was here to rescue you? That's the funniest thing I've heard all week."

"Am I gonna die?"

"Ju-ust kill me already!"

"I'm not moaning! It fucking hurts!"

"When Caretaker finds you, they'll- they'll kill you. I promise you that."

"What happened? Holding someone captive not as fun as you thought it'd be?"

"P-please... please, no more."

"You can do what you want to me, but I'm sure as hell not making this easier for you."

"Sometimes I imagined it was you, to- to help me get through it."

"Where am I?"

"Please, the restraints hurt. Can't you use something softer or- or at the very least loosen it?"

"Look at what they did to me! Look at the person I've become!"

Caretaker

"I never stopped searching for you."

"Let's go home, okay?"

"Yes, you're a burden, but you're one that I've chosen to carry."

"Where the hell are they?"

"Let me go! I need to find them!"

"May I touch you?"

"Breathe, Whumpee, please breathe."

"If I ever see you sniffing around here again, I'll make you regret it."

"I'm not going to punish you."

"I'm trying to help you, but that won't happen if you continue to treat me like this."

"Are you serious? You're just going to let them back into your life after what they did to you?"

"You sacrificed me so you wouldn't have to go back! How could you do that to me?"

"Please put the knife down, Whumpee."

"Why do I like seeing them cry? What is wrong with me?"

"I can't promise that I won't ever hurt you, but I can promise that It's never deliberate."

"Would you like me to make you some food?"

"Perhaps someone does need to punish you for you to understand. Nothing else seems to work."

"I hired someone to come and install a dimmable light in your bedroom so you don't have to sleep in the dark."

"You know what? I'd go through it all again if it meant you were safe."

"Whumper was right. They are a pathetic little thing. I think that's why they're so endearing."

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #51: Locked In

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, torture, begging, multiple whumpers, sadistic whumpers, claustrophobia, trapped in small container, burns (lots!), death wish / suicidal ideation, starvation, weight loss due to starvation, brief mention of being mocked for weight loss, brief mention of vivisection/gore

i know i said #51 would be present arc big plot thing but i just got hit with inspo for this so that'll be #52. i just needed to grab kane and shake him around a little like my own personal stress ball.

-

Kane used to pace his cell sometimes, back in the early days. There wasn't much else to do. But he'd grown far too tired in the months or years since, crumbling to his knees from exhaustion after only a minute or two of circling now that he was caged in this starved, failing body.

So he just sat in the corner. His corner, the one in the back that was furthest from the stairs. He sat huddled in a little ball, like he had any ability to protect himself from whatever anyone wanted to do to him, and waited for the next one.

Kane sometimes fantasized that they would just stop coming down one day, leave him here alone. That he would be allowed to heal in peace, the only pain left the inescapable hunger, and he could live out the rest of his nights in peace. Even if he was trapped and starving and alone, it would be so much better than this.

But sure enough, he eventually heard hunters approaching, as they always did. He pressed himself back against the wall, following the useless instinct that told him to protect himself, to put as much distance as he could between him and danger, even if it was just a centimeter more.

THUNK.

Kane let out a gasp at the sound, heavy metal on concrete stairs. The most dreaded thing he could possibly hear, a telltale sign of the board. The board didn't always mean the sun, but it always meant something awful. If he was lucky, he'd just be cut open, silver dragging and burning through vulnerable innards that were never supposed to be seen at all.

If he was lucky, that was. And Kane was almost never lucky.

As the sound of the hunters dragging the thing down the stairs drew closer, Kane realized this wasn't the board. He'd lost almost everything in this place, but not his keen hearing. This was different. It sounded different. Heavier.

A new board, maybe? But the hunters already complained about the weight of the board, occasionally mocking him for how little he added to it as there grew to be less and less of him, skin sticking to bone. Why would they make it heavier?

"This thing's way too fucking heavy," one complained distantly.

Thunk.

"I can't believe you actually made this," another laughed.

Thunk.

"Well, we got that new batch of silver, gotta make some use of it. Not like we can't just melt it down again later to make something useful out of it. Might as well have a little fun first."

Thunk.

Three of them then, at least. Kane hated it when there were so many. They tended to egg each other on. If there was just one, a single hunter might concede to his begging and stop early, or go softer on him. But few of the hunters who hadn't left yet would dare to do so in front of their peers.

And whatever they had, it was silver, and it was for him. Kane whimpered, wrapping his arms around his head as wave after wave of terror rocked through him.

The sound of the stairs stopped, the delicious, horrifying smell of humans coming closer and closer. The thing, the silver thing meant for him, dragged leadenly across the floor.

Kane's heart practically stopped in his chest as the hunters finally came into view.

It was a box.

The box was small, much smaller than the board. While the board required him to stretch out and locked his wrists and ankles to the corners, exposing every inch of him, fitting inside this would require him to curl up as tightly as he could.

As small as it was, it was clearly very dense, requiring all three hunters to carry it downstairs. And though humans were physically weak as a rule, these men were clearly strong for their species. Kane was weaker than a human now. There was no way he would be getting out of this.

The box's silver gleamed menacingly, two small holes in the side of the lid and just below it giving Kane pause. Their purpose was clear: they were for a padlock to be threaded through, sealing the lid to the box with its contents trapped inside. And he was under no delusions as to what the contents would be.

Tears sprung to his eyes as he stared at the horrible thing, terror sending tremors through him. He wouldn't be able to beg himself out of this, not when they'd spent effort making this just for him. He was going in there.

One of the hunters laughed. "Look, it's shaking with excitement."

The one who'd claimed making the thing unlocked the door. "Look, leech, we got you a present. Say thank you." He waved for the others to drag it inside,

Kane just stared at him for a moment, until his fear-addled mind caught up with the order. "Thank you, sir," he choked out.

The two hunters holding the box snickered as they dropped it down in his cell, though its maker only grinned.

"Please." Kane's voice came out high-pitched and warbly as his tears started to fall, staring up at the hunter in front of him with big, watery eyes, "Please don't make me go in there, sir, please. I'll be good, I- I'm trying to be good, please!"

He felt like he was scrambling at a cliff wall, unable to get back up to where he could be okay, where he could be a person again. A person who could make choices, choose to be better than he was the day before. Kane wanted to be better. He was ready to be better. He had learned his lesson long ago.

But he wasn't allowed to change. He'd run out of chances, and now he was stuck down here, no matter how hard he tried.

The hunter crouched, eye-level with him, and grabbed him by the hair. Not pulling just yet, but his grip was firm. "Yeah, you'll be good, won't you, parasite? Tell you what. If you're real good and get in the box all on your own, we'll only keep you in there for a little bit. But if you make us shove you in there and give us a hard time about it, that'll be your new home."

The hunter turned Kane's head to face the box. "Every time we're done having our fun with you, you'll go back in the box. And when someone wants to play with you, you'll come out. And when they're done, you'll go right back in, and you'll stay nice and snug in there until someone else is ready to take their turn. Like a toy. Is that what you want?"

Kane was fully panicking by now, bright-red eyes boring into the hunter with unbridled horror.

The only respite he had left was the time he had to himself between the hunters' visits. To have his cell replaced with this- the torture would never stop. It would be all the time, twenty-four hours a day every day for his entire life, a burning that never left. He imagined being taken in from a day in the sun, and instead of being allowed to painfully recover on the floor, being stuffed into a silver box instead, grilling into already-fresh burns covering his whole body.

"NO!" he cried, clasping his hands together desperately as the other two hunters tried to hold in their tittering. "I'll do anything! Please, sir, anything, please don't! Please don't do that to me, please don't make it my n-new home, I'll be good, please!" He sobbed brokenly, unable to contain his despair.

The hunter let go of his hair and gestured to the box. "Then get in."

One of the others flipped the lid up. The inside was just as silver as the outside, not that he'd expected different.

Kane wanted to curl up in a ball and stay in his corner. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to hide. He wanted to grab a stake off the one hunter who was still wearing his gear and kill himself, though he'd never be fast enough to be successful.

But none of those things were possible. He had no choices.

"Yes, sir." Kane forced himself to his feet and walked over to it. Purposefully, without hesitation. He didn't want to be accused of stalling. The only virtue he had worth anything here was his obedience, and he would hold onto it for dear life.

The inside beckoned him, every surface ready to kiss his skin with fresh burns that would plague him for the next month, as his starved body struggled to heal.

He touched the inside of the lid with the tip of his finger, yanking it back with a whimper as it seared, just as he knew it would.

If Kane was going to do this horrible thing, fit his whole body inside, he would need a plan. It wasn't hard to think of, and not logistically difficult to execute: he needed to protect his face and the soles of his feet. The former to retain his senses, and the latter so he could walk when ordered about.

He couldn't wait any more without being considered disobedient. The three hunters watched him with amusement, but they would soon turn to prodding if he continued to stare at it.

Kane lowered himself toward the box, touching he knee to the box's center. He wailed as he laid it down, his skin sizzling under the touch of silver. He held all his weight on that knee for just a moment as he maneuvered his other leg inside, placing it beside the first so he knelt on the silver. Tears rolled freely down his face as his shins pressed against the torturous metal, his skin frying underneath him, the tips of his toes just barely kept from touching the side.

The next part was quick. He ducked down, curling into himself, his arms between his face and the box's floor while his back would face the lid. He didn't touch the backs of his arms to the bottom, not yet, not while there was still space for him to hover. The top of his head did press against the side, his malnourished, patchy hair thankfully offering minor protection from the silver surrounding him on all sides: it did burn, but not nearly as bad as his agonized legs.

All but one.

He sobbed as he burned, the feeling of silver searing against his shins unbearable. "I d-did it, sir."

"Fuck me, I didn't think it'd actually go for it," one of the hunters commented.

"That's our vamp. We've got you all trained up, huh?" asked the hunter who gave the order.

"Yes, sir," Kane sniffled, the smell of burning flesh beginning to permeate the air.

He couldn't see, facing the box's floor, but the sound he heard had limited possibilities: it had to be one of them picking up the lid.

"Don't move," the hunter told him.

Watching his tears patter to the silver floor, Kane wanted to beg again. He wanted to plead for someone, anyone to help him. He was trying his best. He just wanted it to stop.

But he was already getting the good option out of the two presented to him. "Yes, sir."

The hunter placed the lid over him, more silver pressing against his back and squeezing him between it and the floor. His arms were forced to the bottom of the box, where they came alight with pain as well, stuck in the burning darkness.

Kane screamed, unable to help himself as he started to struggle, desperate to get away from the thing that was hurting him so much. But he could barely move, let alone put up any real fight. Any direction he tried to move himself in just made it worse. Hunkering himself down made his shins and forearms weep against the silver, trying to push up made his back singe, and he could never move enough in any direction to alleviate the constant, agonizing feeling of being consumed by fire.

"I don't think it likes it in there," one of the hunters sneered.

Kane heard one of them pat the lid, unharmed by the silver burning him alive. "It'll get used to it. Let's give it some time to get comfortable."

A click rung out, the dreaded sound of a padlock locking firmly shut.

He was stuck inside until someone saw fit to- "Please let me out!" he bawled, desperate. "Please, sir, I can't, it hurts, please don't leave me in here!"

One of them chuckled. "Just relax. You'll get used to it. You're right where you're supposed to be. You're lucky we're not making it your new home after all."

Kane wept as he heard the hunters walk away, leaving him alone in his torment.

-

taglist in reblog! part 3 of the AU i've been posting will be coming tomorrow :) i was gonna write it tonight but i just got so inspired for this and wrote it all in 1 sitting over the past 3 hours lol

oh and have some drabbles i've posted since #50!

canon:

Playing With Food

Blowtorch

AU:

No Escape

Bellamy Saves Kane 2

and some awesome fanfics that got posted!!

Home Sweet Home? by @whumpwritings

The Final Apology by @clickerflight

[silencedvoices]

June of Doom Day 8

“This is your last chance.” | Drowning | Chair | Prisoner Trade |

Content: drowning, intimate whumper, restraints, defiant whumpee, torture

"This is your last chance Whumpee."

Whumpee struggled against Whumper who was holding them above a tub of water by their wet hair. Water dripped down Whumpee's face as they gasped for breath.

"You can give me the information I need right now or we can keep going at this. I have all the time in the world."

"I'll n-never tell you anythi-"

Whumper pushed their head back under so fast that Whumpee didn't even have time to hold their breath. They coughed and sputtered while uselessly fighting against Whumper's grip. Their efforts were useless, immobilized by the tight handcuffs keeping their hands behind them.

Just when they thought they weren't going to make it, that Whumper was actually going to kill them, they were yanked out of the water. They took in all the air they could get before they were pulled under again. This time they didn't have as much fight left and quickly felt the world go black.

Whumpee awoke lying on the cell floor coughing. They turned over and slowly sat themselves against the wall. They tried to steady their breathing, hair and clothes still damp from earlier that day. Just as they started to relax, the door unlocked.

"Finally up, eh? You passed out on me. Had to end the fun early."

Whumpee scoffed. It definitely wasn't their idea of fun.

Whumper leaned against the wall with their arms crossed, "I have a little present for you." Oh gosh. That could never be good. "I feel like I haven't been going hard enough on you. You're still a little more comfortable here than I'd like."

Whumpee glared, "What do you mean not hard enough? You literally just drowned me until I passed out!"

"Ah, that's exactly what I mean. You're still talking back. You'd think with all that I've done, you wouldn't even think to, but that's just not the case for you, is it? You're so overcomplicated."

"Well, you can't expect me to just take you torturing me without talking back. It's your fault I'm like this anyways."

"I know. That's why I'm going to give you to my friend."

"What?"

"It's just for a few days. They are really good at what they do, even better than me. They'll hopefully straighten you out."

Just a few days. Whumpee could handle that. They should be glad to be away from their torturer, but Whumpee knew Whumper's friends were even more ruthless than Whumper which almost seemed impossible. They could handle it though. They had all this time. They wouldn't break now.

Whumpee was taken by surprise as Whumper pulled out wrist and ankle cuffs.

"What's that for?"

"To make sure you don't escape during transportation. Wouldn't want you to run away before we start. That'd really dampen my reputation."

Whumpee usually wasn't kept cuffed unless on rare occasion like when Whumper drowned them. They stumbled along as Whumper led them through parts of the base they'd never been before. Eventually, they found themselves outside. The sun hit them and they almost melted at it's warmth. They hadn't felt the sun in so, so long. Maybe this wouldn't be that bad. At least they finally got some fresh air even if Whumper's friend was apparently going to break them in or something.

Whumper waved to a friendly looking guy standing just outside of the base.

"Whumpee, this is my friend. Friend, this is Whumpee."

Whumpee almost laughed. There was no way this guy could hurt them, let alone a fly. Whumper was really making a mistake here.

"Nice to meet you Whumpee. I've heard a lot about you. I can't wait for our time together."

Whumpee simply nodded. They stayed strong as they were led into a car and driven away by Whumper's friend. This was going to be a nice break they thought. Boy, were they wrong.

Just a few days later they were begging to go back to Whumper. When the time came, they were dumped unceremoniously at Whumper's door. They nearly cried as Whumper picked them up and carried them to the medbay.

Everything hurt so bad. They were covered in blood and bruises. All they wanted was just a tiny break from the pain.

"Oh, you poor thing. I told you they were harsh. If you would've just listened in the first place this wouldn't have had to happen."

Whumpee cried as Whumper tended to their wounds.

"Shh, I know it hurts but we can't have you getting an infection." Whumper cupped their hand to Whumpee's face. "I know this was hard on you, but it needed to be done. Now you can be nice and good for me."

Whumpee continued to cry as Whumper comforted them. It felt so wrong. They shouldn't let the one who hurt them so much even be near them, but here they were. They were so desperate for even a second of relief that they pushed those thoughts aside. It was okay to need a break. They would take Whumper's comfort for a little bit then everything would go back to normal, right?

[a-wumper-on-the-internet]

An Introduction to my Whump Ocs: The Lord's Favorite

Ethan Everest-Mann is, quite literally, an everyman. He works at an office job, drinks black coffee, and is rapidly approaching his 40th birthday. He likes dressing in business casual, watches the news, and has minimal free time. He's, in literally every sense of the word, boring. The most boring, normal person alive - and he's perfectly fine with that.

But for some reason, out of all the people in the universe, the One Who Watches, Lord with One Thousand Eyes, The Great Devourer, Collector of Worlds, The Bringer of Endings, Keeper of Time and Space, Ro'tharoth, has decided that Ethan is, in fact, his favorite mortal in all the worlds. He adores watching him, loves seeing what he does and says, and has made a human form just to talk to him! Ethan is his blorbo, the bestest human ever (in his opinion), and he'll happily spend all his time watching him when he's not bringing ends to worlds and extinguishing stars.

However, he's getting a bit bored with the usual things that Ethan is doing. And what does one do when canon is boring?

You put your blorbo in Situations. You make AUs. You write angst.

So Ethan is plunged into a variety of Situations - everything from being kidnaped and sacrificed by cult, to being falsely accused of murder and forced to run from the law, to dying stranded in space. He doesn't know when the world will change - usually it's after he dies a horrific and gruesome death, but it continually does, and he can't even die to have the nightmare end. He's the plaything of a cosmic god he can't even comprehend, let alone understand, and his sanity is fraying just as much as his body is mutilated.

Meanwhile, Ro'tharoth is having the time of his life! His favorite mortal is now doing so many new and interesting things, and it's so much fun to watch him try. Using that mortal form, he even gets to help in the stories - take care of his favorite character, heal him up, talk to him - it's all fantastic. He's sure that Ethan is having fun too, because he always resets the world after the really scary stuff, and he tries to comfort him after every new au through their human form, or letting him talk to them after they die.

Ethan, is, in fact, not having fun.

It's the relationship of a whumper and their whumpee on a cosmic scale, of knowing you're a character designed to recieve torture and pain for someone else's entertainment or catharsis, and how that would feel. They have a really fun dynamic, and I can't wait to share more - their arcs are really cool, and I love them so much.

[clickerflight]

Voltober 31. Oubliette - Fallen Part 14

Author's notes: I hope I'm not sliding into Ivan/Gale/Alpha-2 being completely brainwashed too fast, but ah well. I think it's a decent pace and it's been surprisingly fun! I can't wait for Kolt to see him again.

Challenge Masterlist - Part 30

Fallen Masterlist - Part 13

Content: living weapon whumpee, lady scientist whumper, creepy whumper, intimate whumper, brainwashed, mentions of torture

@voltober

Forgotten | Brainwashed | Suppressed Memories

Alpha-2 was obedient. He was quick to follow orders and he was loyal.

Well, loyal to Dr. LeAnne. He was not emotionless. He would still kill Dr. Anderson the moment the option became available to him. The man had not gone back on his word, dragging Alpha-2 out of bed every other night to play with him for hours, using different syringes full of unknown chemicals to elicit pains that brought Alpha-2 right to the edge of his sanity before using vials that brought on such pleasure it pushed him to the other end of the scale.

Still, he had persevered, and he had not broken. It had been pretty easy. All he had to do was imagine Dr. LeAnne’s gentle hands and her promise that she would let him kill Dr. Anderson when the time came. He could wait. He was patient.

Now, Dr. LeAnne stood with him, smiling to herself. She was clearly pleased, and that caused any tension in Alpha-2’s mind to relax. If she was happy, he was happy. If she was happy, he would be rewarded. He loved making her happy.

“You have made it through your training very well, my dear,” she said warmly. “I am so proud of you. Are you ready for your last test?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, almost eagerly. Usually, emotion of any kind in his tone was not appreciated, but she grinned eagerly herself. That was why she was the superior master to Dr. Anderson. She understood him and loved him, and that was all it took to make him want to give her the world.

“Good. Now, how have you been feeling? I know that the first part of training was hard on you. Has that confusion caused you any additional problems?”

He gave his head a firm shake. “No, Ma’am.” And that was true. What was there to be confused about? His job was to obey Dr. LeAnne. Everything else came second to whatever she wanted, whatever he had been before she had taken the reigns of his life. He was grateful to her for that, too. He used to be so confused all of the time, he was fairly certain. Always second guessing himself and the decisions he could no longer remember. This was so much easier. And it was made all the better because she knew exactly what he wanted in return. He could see it in her eyes when she looked at Dr. Anderson, reaffirming the promise to him that the scientist would die horribly at his hands.

“Good,” she chirped. “Let us begin.”

She turned to face him, holding out her tablet for him to look at. There was a face there that was familiar to him from his training. “Phoenix, leader of the Dragon Gang. Enemy.”

“Good,” she cooed.

She swiped to the next picture.

“Lynx, second hand to Phoenix. Below is pictured his team. All enemies.”

“Good. Would you capture them alive, or dead?”

“Whatever my handler desires.”

Dr. LeAnne cooed. “They grow up so fast,” she commented to a guard who rolled his eyes at her antics.

She paused, giving Alpha-2 a stern look. “I want you to tell me the first thing that comes to mind when you see this next image, understand?”

Alpha-2 nodded and she lifted her tablet again.

On the screen was a man with black and grey hair, a stern set to his mouth and eyes.

“Familiar,” he said automatically, then flinched, remembering the on and off nights of pain at Dr. Anderson’s hands.

Dr. LeAnne tilted her head. “He should be. He is your number 1 enemy. Why did you flinch like that, darling?”

Daringly, Alpha-2 glanced around to see if Dr. Anderson was anywhere nearby. “Previously, a handler did not appreciate that specific answer in regards to something else and punished this weapon. This weapon apologizes. It will not happen again.”

A displeased frown settled on Dr. LeAnne’s lips, churning up fear in Alpha-2’s stomach. “A handler? Not me, certainly. Dr. Anderson?”

Alpha-2 swallowed. “This weapon was told not to discuss Dr. Anderson’s night time activities when it comes to this weapon.” There was a small swell of victory in his stomach. Holding to the promise Dr. Anderson had forced out of him, but clearly outlining that something had been wrong. He had been trying to find a way to let Dr. LeAnne know something was going on for two weeks now.

“Tell me, Alpha-2,” she said, seething, “What the other handler has been doing. This is a direct order.”

“Ma’am, Dr. Anderson has been disrupting this weapon’s sleep to take him to test drugs and torture mechanics on,” Alpha-2 said with relish. “He has been mistreating this weapon. This weapon was unable to tell you due to direct demands, ma’am.”

Maybe the second ma’am wasn’t necessary, but Dr. LeAnne liked it when he deferred to her at every possible moment.

He could hear her back teeth grinding as she hissed, “Drugs!? TORTURE!? What kind of drugs?”

“As far as this weapon can guess, everything as was deemed safe. Everything from extreme pleasure to extreme pain. Truth serums, venom, large quantities of pure healing elixirs, and everything in between. If this weapon is allowed to say so, it has been extremely unpleasant.”

Dr. LeAnne was literally stomping around, she was so angry. The guards tensing up as they worried she would be taking her vast anger out on them.

She finally came to a stop, her eyes glittering with malice. “Alpha-2. Come with me to the ready room.”

He simply nodded and followed. As the guards followed too, she turned and held up a finger. “Ah, not you. You will go on leave for a week, and if what has been said here today gets back to Dr. Anderson, I will unleash my pet here on you, hmmm? Understand?”

The guards nodded quickly and turned to leave silently.

In the ready room, Dr. LeAnne sat on the table and gestured for him to sit in the chair in front of her.

He did so eagerly, waiting patiently until she put her hands in his hair and pulled his head into her lap, stroking his lengthening curls and rubbing little circles into his neck. “You’re a very good weapon,” she crooned. “My weapon, and this has gone on long enough, I think. I am so sorry he hurts you, my dearest one. So so sorry.”

He hummed softly, something she graciously allowed as her fingers dipped down to his shoulders, rubbing the muscles there. Each touch felt like a firework going off under his skin, reminding him that she had been the only one to ever touch him kindly.

There was a vague feeling that that wasn’t quite true, but it was chased away by her breath on his ear as she bent down to whisper to him.

“The next time you see Dr. Anderson, I want you to pretend to break. Pretend to be his. Get him alone somehow. And kill him. Kill him however you see fit. Let me know if you need anything to enjoy yourself as you do it. I will cover it all up for you, my sweet toy. My good weapon. My beloved dog.”

She tugged at one of his curls and his breathing hitched. He loved that she decided to grow his hair out. He loved how it felt when she played with it and took care of it.

“This weapon will need keys. To the shackles,” he breathed.

“It is done,” she replied. “Will you need any implements to exact your revenge.”

“No. He will supply them.”

“Good. I will work out the details for covering all of this up. Do it at night, when he pulls you out of your room, alright? That will give me time to plant some interesting things for the higher ups to look at when they come looking into why their favorite lab boy has died.”

Alpha-2 shivered as she kissed the shell of his ear before she sat up again, pushing him off of her lap and back into the chair.

He sat up straight, attentive as she pulled out her tablet, the face of that strange man still on it.

“Back to this, my weapon. This is your enemy. You are training so hard now to face him. He will be your first truly difficult mission. We will work up to him, but it will be your job to capture him alive and mostly unharmed. A very difficult task.”

He nodded firmly. Difficult indeed. He was only just getting started in his true physical training, but he was learning it was harder keeping a target alive for capture rather than just killing them. He hoped Dr. LeAnne would continue to be gracious as he worked out how to do deliver was she wanted from him in that aspect as well.

“Do you know his name?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

“This weapon does not, ma’am.”

“This is the super villain Kolt. His blood it what we have been using to make you better. Stronger. But we only have so much stored, so we need him back so we can finish forging you into the perfect weapon.”

“May this weapon ask a question?”

“Yes.”

“Was he this weapon’s enemy before…. Before you?”

Dr. LeAnne smiled a smiled that made his heart flutter in his chest. “Yes, dear weapon. He has been you enemy always. He destroyed you. He left you beaten and broken where I found you. And I felt so bad, I had to build you up again, remember?”

There was a faint memory of looking up at her from the ground, a scratchy carpet in his face. That had to be it. He nodded.

“Good. And I will help you remove your enemy and use him to make you stronger. Then you will help me.”

“This weapon would help you either way, ma’am,” he replied freely, and she smiled.

“I know, sweetness, but I want to give and not just take, after all.”

She got a very serious look on her face and leaned forward. “Now, I need you to really listen to me, Alpha-2. Your enemy, Kolt, he will try and tell you that you were friends. He will try and use your memory against you. It had to be removed because it hurt you so bad, understand. And he knows that.”

Alpha-2 nodded seriously. That was incredibly cruel. To try and convince him that they were friends, when Kolt was the reason he could no longer remember. This was all making perfect sense, falling into place like puzzle pieces in his mind.

“You will not speak with him. If you must, simply refuse what he tells you, and ignore him. You may even pretend to be deaf, if you would like. Do not give him any reaction, it’s what he wants. He will say anything to slip you up.”

“This weapon will not listen. This weapon will not fail you,” Alpha-2 said with such conviction, he was almost afraid he would be reprimanded for it.

Still, Dr. LeAnne graciously allowed it and even grinned. “Good. You are my perfect weapon. All we need now is for you to finish your physical training, manifest some powers, and we will rule this world. I will always take care of you, and you me. That is our pact, remember?”

He nodded. “This weapon remembers.”

“Good. Now, we need to finish your little test. I will list things and you will tell me the first thing you remember.”

The rest of the test was easy. She said names that Alpha-2 had no recollection of, and objects that meant nothing to him. The only thing he stumbled on, for some reason, was pickles.

“Chocolate,” he said without thinking. He frowned, realizing what a strange thing that was to say.

Dr. LeAnne didn’t really seem to notice. “Oh, has my weapon been craving chocolate? Don’t worry, my sweet. I will bring you chocolate once you have killed Dr. Anderson for me, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am. This… Your weapon would sincerely enjoy that.”

Dr. LeAnne gasped with delight upon hearing that. “Yes, my weapon! Oh, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

She leaned forward, cupping a hand to his cheek and kissing him gently on the forehead. He smiled to himself as she leaned back, looking back down at her tablet.

“I believe that is all, my dear. You have done very well for me today. Remember, if you think of anything else you may need to deal with Dr. Anderson, all you have to do is ask.”

“This weapon will keep that in mind, ma’am.”

“Perfect. Take the rest of your day off, Alpha-2. Get some real rest.”

He nodded and stood up, taking his leave as she looked back down at her tablet. He felt very warm inside. He would get to kill Dr. Anderson. He would get to finally have his revenge, and then Dr. LeAnne would have him all to herself. It was better than anything else he could ever imagine.

He was almost too excited to sleep. However, he had been given an order, so he obeyed it as soon as he laid in his cot and closed his eyes.

Fallen Part 15 - Coming soon!

Crestlen taglist: @looptheloup @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @snakebites-and-ink @starsick1979 @galaxyofwhump 

@scatteriskity

[letstalkwhump]

Let's Talk Whump

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host today. 

Today’s I’m talking whump with the amazing @lonesome–hunter!

(this blog and the recommended pieces contain NSFW and are 18+)

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump! Would you mind sharing a little about yourself?

Howdy! My name is Sarah but everyone usually calls me Lonesome. I'm an elder here in the community lol. I love thrifting, smoking pot, birdwatching and Disney World (I live so close to it). My favorite colors alternate between black, various greens and burnt orange. I truly love all animals. There's no way I could pick just one. I am particularly fond of moths, owls, elephants and exotic birds. 

I'm a big stoner goth aunt and I love connecting with people. So feel free to come talk to me anytime!

What does whump mean to you? 

It's absolutely an outlet for me. When I was a kid I couldn't figure out why I liked seeing people tied up in people's basements in movies and on TV so much but it never left my mind. Those feelings are there, the excitement. When I started writing in fifth grade I realized I could produce those feelings by writing the stories myself.

And trauma dumping through fictional people is almost therapy lol.

And how did you find the whump community? What made you want to join? 

During the first season of Supernatural I got on live journal and found other SPN communities. Then I fell down a rabbit hole that led me to whump. I finally had a word and a whole bunch of people who felt the same way which felt validating after being told I'm weird from teachers and family members.

During the pandemic I reconnected with it when I was in a dark place and really got into what everyone was doing. I thought "maybe I can do this". The rest is history.

Do you think your view on whump changed since you joined in terms of trope enjoyment or consumption style?

My view on whump has always been the same really. No one is hurting anyone and with proper warnings we can write the darker stuff some of us really enjoy.

I can't really say there are any I changed my mind over. Any trope can be good if it sucks you in with the writing. 

And your favourite whump tropes because it’s guaranteed there’ll be more than one!

 Ooh wee here we goooo lol. I dig dehumanization, whipping, sadistic whumpers, noncon, water torture, stress positions, begging. So many.

Time to share your awesome writing. Do you have a favourite piece you've written? 

So my first main series “The Devil’s Highway” has been my baby for three plus years and I’m excited to rework it now that I have more tools at my disposal. That being said, I really am proud of what I did with “Bury Me Beneath The Weeping Willow Tree”. It features some heavy TWs so be mindful of that but that almost stopped me from wanting to do it. Would showing Big Boy and Darlin’s graphic murder be too far? Probably lol. But I really dug deep in and got emotional writing it honestly. And it shows Ezra that this weird love Josiah has for me won’t protect him like he thinks it will. It didn’t work for Big Boy. Those two guys are secretly my favorite and I’m most excited about reworking that particular story.

Your imagery is deliciously brutal and creepy. I’m obsessed with it, it’s that good! Do you have a writing routine or is it more when inspiration strikes?

Definitely a night owl. I can’t focus until it’s dark out. Gotta have water and a little sweet drink to keep me focused. I tend to write when something strikes, lately it’s been extremely dry for me creatively but I’m trying to stretch my legs again and get back into it.

And do you find that it’s easier to write some things over others?

I can write the hell out of dreams, surrealism and atmosphere. That’s always been my favorite thing to do writing wise. Also death fics are fun lol.

Dialogue is my least favorite and it probably shows but can’t get better without practice.

Is there anything you're working on at the moment?

Been working on the rework of The Devil’s Highway, started a fun little prompt series about a bunch of masked men and I have another forced to fight series with slow burn romance than I’ve ever done before.

Do you have a joke or pun you would like to share to spread some smiles today?

I wish I could remember the dad joke my customer told me last night that sent me into a coughing fit but I have another one for you.

"What do you call a factory that makes okay products?" "A satisfactory."

That got a laugh out of me! Is there any writing advice you’d like to share?

Just have fun. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself and just write for yourself.

And tag your stuff!

Shout out to your favourite writing/whump blogs, bffs or people who've inspired you. We're hyping everyone one up here!!!

Oh man there's so many I could be here all day but these folks have truly helped me so much over the years and I would die for them lol

@knivestothroats, @galaxywhump, @girlsjustwannadrawwhump, @evermetnotforgotten, @redstainedsocks, @coldresolve, @whumpshaped, @whumpfigure, @ephemeral-phosphorescence, @whump-me-all-night-long, 

Anything you'd like to add?

Save Florida from Facists!

So good to have you here today, @lonesome--hunter! 

And to all you folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

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

For the OC meet and greet, I'm going to give you one hell of a challenge >:)

TW | cancer mention, abusive parent mention, past child abuse, brief mention of self harm and suicidal ideation, noncon body modification

I want to know how your characters would handle Luca. They're very small (all of 5'0" and 95lbs on a good day) and are one of the most terrifying whumpers in my cast. White-blond hair, chillingly pale blue eyes. Even though they're pushing 30, they constantly get mistaken as a child by strangers. Their pretty, doll-like features don't help.

They come from my Liliholm and Page universe (superhero whump to anyone unfamiliar), and have the ability to heal almost any wound they themself inflict on another person. Those same powers will heal their own wounds whether they want them to or not. The kicker? All the pain they would go through for their body to heal that wound themself—all those months of aching and misery—still have to be felt in the matter of seconds it takes them to heal. They themself are nigh indestructible. Their employer uses them as a torturer. Not for information, but as punishment for political and social adversaries that step too far out of line. They are very, very good at their job, and very well feared by the people in their circle.

They're abrasive, bitter, and aggressive in just about every sense of the word. They currently only have three people in the world they care about: their partner in crime, Garcia; their "handler", Leon Molinaro, who is responsible for making sure they don't maim anyone their employer wouldn't approve of; and their horribly abusive mother who they're trying to keep alive through her chemo treatments. They can't stand to be touched by anyone, and are VIOLENTLY sex-repulsed. Even the people in their life that they give a shit about are kept at arm's length and then some.

Beneath that surface, you've got someone who has been abused their entire life, is being manipulated by their father-figure employer into believing he actually cares about them, and who has been unsuccessfully suicidal for decades. There's also a particularly nasty little rumor about them—that Luca is actually a eunuch. How that might have happened is anyone's guess, but if it's true, it certainly wasn't voluntary.

In their home universe, the only one brave enough to truly adopt them is Leon. Would anyone in your universe take them on?

Hmmmmm look. Am I on a Hilton kick? Yes I am but ironically enough it’s Hilton’s world that has my healing character (Parker is floating around somewhere). Griffin, Hilton’s Carewhumper, could most likely keep them in line. He’s an undercover agent.

Griffin can read people’s body language and expressions so well it’s practically impossible to lie to him. He also had a shit family so it’s not a world unknown to him.

There’s also Trevor, who is Griffin’s boss (the one griffin is trying to take down). The thing with Trevor is that his touch is addictive. Makes anyone he interacts literally crave his presence and attention. I’m super curious how they would work out if Luca is touch adverse and heals. Would it work? It would not be fun for anyone involved the first time.

Yeah Griffin is Luca’s best bet. He’d likely the be the one with enough personal experience to be able to ignore the agression and get pushed away. He’d have to keep Luca and Hilton COMPLETELY SEPARATED though because holy shit that would be bad. They would hate each other to the bone. Even when they’re older, Hilton “adopts” Parker, my healing OC, and would do everything in his power to keep them away from Luca from fear Parker would end up even more traumatized then they already are. Idk if Luca would even want to interact with them, but Hilton would literally attack if they tried and now there’s a whole new mess lol.

Other than that? I have a weird gut feeling Luca and Tool would get along okay. Can’t put my finger on it but I just feel like they’d find common ground and weirdly get along.

Luca would tear Brody to fucking shreds lmao.

[whumppmuhw]

morally conflicted whumper

contains: moral issues, electric chair/electrocution, torture devices mention, restraints, torture mention, interrogation mention, death wish, implied death threat, lady whump

so basically what if whumper didn't like whump (but had to do it anyways. I'm emotionally whumping the whumper)

yeah I don't have a name for the other character so X it is

...

"Whumper! Good to see you!" X grinned as they set down the device they were working on. Their cheerful face was in direct contrast to Whumper's disheartened frown and cheerless body language.

"Yeah, good to see you too." He was sincere, and both of them knew it, but it had a grumpy, dismissive tone.

"Why the sad face? Are things not going well for Whumpee?"

"She doesn't like it here, and wishes daily that she could get out. She says that things are unfair, and that this never should have happened to her. Every time she looks in the mirror, she sees a shell of who she used to be. She's depressed, but can't do anything about it."

X had known their friend for a long time, and knew when something was going on. Whumper was never direct about his problems, and would rather avoid talking about them entirely, but his expressions and mannerisms would always give it away. "You're not talking about Whumpee," they accused.

"Mhm."

"How's she really doing? More importantly, how are you doing?"

Whumper decided to focus on the first question, and skip the second altogether. "Fine, I guess. Your electric chair is very effective, and I've been able to get a lot of information out of her."

X didn't show their prideful grin, though they loved hearing good things about their torture devices. "What's her day-to-day like?"

"She sleeps on the floor, no blanket, no nothing, in a cell with her ankle chained to the wall. She gets meals twice a day, and water every waking hour. Mostly I use the electric chair on her, she can't stand being electrocuted, but occasionally I'll use other things on her to mix it up."

Whumper sighed, and X didn't reply, allowing Whumper to continue.

"Don't tell anyone this, but I hate seeing her like that. I hate the way they make me treat her. I hate the way they treat me." He was pacing in a circle now, on a roll. "I don't want to be mean to her. I hate the sound of her screams. Every time she's defiant, I want to take her side, but I can't, so I hit her just to make her shut up. I don't like that either, but I don't want to face the problems. And the bad part is, she'll only ever remember me as the bad guy. I wish they never would have given me this job. You would do much better at it than I am. Hell, anyone would."

"A lot of the others seem to enjoy it. They say stepping into the role of interrogator and torturer can be really cathartic."

"Well, I'm not the others, am I?"

"No, and I get where you're coming from. The role isn't for everyone."

"What would you do if they called you to do it?"

"I'd have to take it, you know that, but...I don't know. Maybe it'd be fun."

"Bunch of sickos," Whumper muttered under his breath.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. I doesn't matter."

Still, X could see the pent up anger boiling under the surface. "What are you gonna do?"

"I want to leave here."

"They'd kill you."

"Yeah, so what."

"I'd miss you."

Whumper made eye contact with X, and the two thought about what life was like before they came here. Days spent together, laughing and living carefree, before they got wrapped up in this hell. X was having a much better time adjusting than Whumper, and even found their job enjoyable - designing and creating machines meant to break anybody in myriad ways. All Whumper longed for was his old life, something he'd never have again.

"Tell you what," X proposed. "You've almost got everything you need out of Whumpee, right? Once you're done with her, I'll request you come work here with me. I can't say it'll ease your moral qualms entirely, but they'll likely never call you to do it again. And if they do, I'll ask to take your place."

"That'd...be better," and Whumper smiled a small smile, which quickly turned to a frown. "You'd...want to take my place?"

"I'd have a better time with it than you would, yeah."

"You enjoy hurting people?"

"I make all of these devices, don't I?" X sighed, and Whumper almost seemed offended. "Listen, Whumper, things aren't like the way they used to be. I-"

"No," Whumper cut off. "No, you-you used to be good, but you're just like them- I can't, I can't believe you..." He turned to leave, shaking his head, voice wavering.

"Where are you going?" X yelled, but they weren't acknowledged. All they could hope for was that Whumper would do anything that lead him to a fate worse than Whumpee.

[what-if-i-just-did]

Guilt & Revenge: Blood Trail

Whumptober, Day 19: Blood Trail

Guilt & Revenge Masterlist

Yeah I know I missed day 18- I'm gonna work on it in between and try to make sure I get it done before the end of the month. This one was fun to write though :) I can't believe it's less than two weeks until the end of whumptober!! Hope you enjoy, lmk to be added to the taglist!

TWs: captivity, blood, torture (forced to walk after having the soles of your feet cut), crying, hunger, derealisation/dissasociation, begging, carewhumper, and mentions of stabbing, torture as punishment, implied multiple whumpers, and whumpee believes he deserves it

Amber bit back the combination of scream and groan that pulled itself up his throat when he’d stood on his feet. It felt like he was standing on knives. Mercedes had cut the bottom of his feet, repeatedly. The stale air had stung against the relatively deep cuts, but the pressure that standing put on them felt infinitely worse. Vaguely, he recalled some story about some sort of curse or something where the girl would feel like she was walking on knives. He didn’t remember and it didn’t matter. It felt like being stabbed multiple times in the feet when he put his full weight on them- which was, admittedly, not much.

“Walk.” Mercedes said, emotionlessly.

Amber gritted his teeth. He could do this. Holding his breath, he took a step. And another one. A hiccup, or maybe a dry sob, disrupted his breath-holding, and he sharply gasped. “Mercedes. Please.”

He’d reached the wall on the other side of the cell. He was breathing heavily. Turning, he saw the streaks of blood on the floor, and started to freak out. “That’s too much blood! Please, please let me stop, I need to look at my feet, I need- I need- bandages? Mercedes, please, bandages, please please, please I need to stop, please- “

“If you behave, and keep walking, I’ll let you have bandages when you’re done, okay? Here, I’ll set a timer.” Mercedes fished out her phone. She spoke in such a comforting and soft way that did nothing for the pain that Amber was feeling, and it made him want to cry. Desperation engulfed him as he set a few more steps, hyper-aware of the blood trail behind and in front of him, and the blood smeared on his feet, and his spiraling mind.

Dry sobs wracked his thin, fragile frame as he forced himself to continue setting one foot in front of another, walking from wall to wall in his tiny cell.

The blood felt sticky between his toes as it started to dry. Somehow, of all things, he picked up on that sensation, and it sent a new wave of desperate begging tumbling out of his mouth. The pain in his feet was anything but negligible, and yet it was the last thing Amber was focused on. His mind was absent and yet overwhelmingly present, and he didn’t know what was fucking going on but also it was the least of his concerns. The floor where he was walking, wall-to-wall, left to right, had become sticky and red, and he dreaded thinking about how he would have to clean it up. He probably needed bandages. How much blood was he losing? 

His mind grasped at anything it could, anything to avoid thinking presently about his current situation. It was avoidance in a way that took a magnifying glass to the thing you’re avoiding.

“Please”

“Two more minutes, you’re doing great.”

“Fuck, please, Mercedes…”

“Two more minutes.”

Just as Amber was thinking his legs might give out before that, Mercedes’ phone went off, loudly. He let his legs collapse, and barely cared about the fact that his pants now have blood smears from where he’d fallen on the floor. 

“Hello?”

What?

Oh. He’d assumed it was the timer, that Mercedes had somehow miscalculated how much time he had left. When she picked up, he realized she’d actually been called by someone.

The thought crossed his mind briefly. There was someone on the other side of that line. Someone who didn’t know he was here- wherever here was. He could shout, call out for help. Mercedes would hang up quickly and punish him, surely. She’d lie to whoever’d called her, make up an excuse. It wasn’t worth it.

He deserved to be here, anyways. It had only been a thought. He felt guilty anyways.

Only when Mercedes called for him did he realize he’d zoned out and missed the rest of the conversation.

“I need to go now. You can have bandages… or you can have food. Either or. Your choice.”

What!!! No! He’d been obedient, he’d listened, he made himself walk, he… He needed to choose before she’d leave without giving him either. He felt stuck. 

Food or bandages. 

He hadn’t eaten in a few days, probably. 

But the blood… 

He could use his clothes, maybe. 

Maybe Hugo would get pissed at him for getting the clothes dirty.

His stomach rumbled.

He wanted to cry.

“F- food.”

Mercedes brought him a bowl of plain yogurt, an apple, and an opened can of cold beans. She left in a rush, and Amber absentmindedly wondered what the phone call had been about. She’d left him with the tray and plate and can and fork. They’d never done that before. In the beginning, he might have tried to use it for something. He couldn’t fathom what. Numbly, he ate the food as the tears that had been in his eyes for hours dropped, slowly, across his face. Steadily, his mind returned to his body, and his senses dulled again. He scooted himself and his food away from the blood on the floor, and briefly despaired the lack of bandages to cover his still-bleeding feet. This injury would be a bane on his already miserable existence for at least a month, near as he could tell time. He stared at the blood trail across the white tiles. It almost looked pretty. 

As he heard the sound of the speedboat leaving, he realized Mercedes had forgotten the light on. That was odd. 

He ate his meal silently and gratefully, pointedly ignoring the pulsing of pain in his feet.

[whumpfish]

Let's talk scars!

I see so many posts about unprompted scar kissing/touching by caretakers and like. Not to be contrary but pretty much all of my whumpees would anything between sidle away and not be comfortable around that person for a While to straight up deck a person for that.

Avedis is the latter. She'll lightly swat someone touching her battle scars deliberately without her permission, but touch her Seward scars and you're getting a right hook to the face. The only person she lets have contact with those is Sasha, in a medical setting, and even he got hit the first time. And he's avoided them when at all possible ever since, because they're friends and that means respecting boundaries, not softly and gently stepping over them because you just care so much.

Molly honestly would be freaked out and wonder why such a "caretaker" would be so attracted to something she didn't want to be given and had to suffer to end up with. Why is this person attracted to my pain? she would wonder. Why do they find the artefacts of my torture so specifically adorable? And she would never trust or feel comfortable around that person again. She has a lot of scars, and a lot of friends and the occasional partner. She's fairly physically affectionate and doesn't have her sister's Fight response to her scars from that particular whumper being touched because touch is bound to happen at some point with how she shows affection, but she would not think highly of anyone who singled them out for attention.

Sasha is probably the softest whumpee (though he hates being called that, thanks Dmitry) I have, and that would freak him the fuck out. Unprompted pairing of affection with marks of pain is a Dmitry thing. He thought it was sweet when they were dating as teenagers, now he recognizes it as a display of ownership and a tool of manipulation. Maybe, maybe from a partner, with permission, but out of the blue? Especially in response to him being in distress? Nope. Nope, taking the nope train to Fuckthatville. Uh-uh.

Pityr has let little kids touch his scars because they are tiny and curious, and if they want to touch, then they're not afraid of him, and it's rare for people to not be afraid of him. He will draw a knife on anyone over the age of 10 touching them. He will kick away anyone trying to kiss them, then draw a knife and maybe use it. Moira never even thought of attempting that kind of thing with him (or any of her rescuees,) and she was basically his mom for decades.

Leigh would be offended at the "I love you in spite of this" of it all. As far as s/he's concerned, if you have to qualify it, it isn't love or care in the first place. Leigh values respect above everything when it comes to meaningful relationships, I mean hell, s/he knows Pityr's basically a serial killer and they're not friends anyway, they're friends because Leigh respects that part of him. If anything s/he has stuck by him because of it, not in spite of it. S/he also respects his trauma. Leigh often ends up caretaker to Pityr and the only time s/he touches him without permission is when he's unconscious and can't give it and needs to be moved.

Valor, bless his heart, is a card carrying member of the Straight Up Deck People Club. He whumpees like an injured predator. Probably due to the whole being a dragon thing. Neither of the girls would girls would take kindly to it, either. Not react quite that severely, but definitely be a bit dubious. Lily would mostly just demand an explanation, and Donna... honestly make fun of the person bc she has that dry sense of humor, too, but it would still be strange.

Even the canon characters from my fandoms with major scarring would not respond well to that.

I am begging y'all to think critically about how you write your aftercare. This is another one of those things where all the focus is on how much the caretaker adores and cares for the whumpee in spite of the ugly evidence of their trauma, and no thought is given to how somebody--especially somebody who is recently traumatized resulting in those scars--would realistically respond to being on the receiving end of such I'm sorry but frankly bizarre attentions. When you put all that emphasis on someone being loved anyway, it just underscores and reinforces the notion that this behavior is exceptional and special, and anyone else would recoil in horror. And again, the whumpee has no agency in this scenario. They are just a vessel for the caretaker's love and acceptance. 99.9% of the time, we don't see the whumpee's reaction at all. They just don't enter into it.

This is not a critique of "light whump," so please do not take it that way. I love light whump, I've written and read my fair share of it. It's great. It's also not what I'm talking about here. Light whump is what it says on the tin - whump lite. And just like more intense whump, it's principally about the subject and the object of the whump, not an optional side character trope. Even environmental whump is subject/object focused, because it requires you to at minimum identify and give some detail of the cause of whumpee's pain/injury.

This is the whump genre. If the object of the whump gets zero creative consideration relative to the person ostensibly assisting in their recovery, that is an issue, and not a minor one. Now, if you understand all this but that is your Thing and you wish to write it, have at... but I would respectfully suggest you reevaluate what genre you're writing for, and whether you might need to instead be in the hurt/comfort tag, where the caretaker can be the sole character of substance and still fall within the parameters of the genre. Just naming a character Whumpee doesn't make something whump if "Whumpee" is just a set piece.

[pigeonwhumps]

CWs: kidnapping, imprisonment, emeto, electrocution, mentioned non-con drugging, mentioned/implied torture, implied starvation, public whump

"Go on darling. Mingle. Have fun."

Whumper shoves Whumpee towards the centre of the ballroom, and she stumbles, just about able to keep her balance. She takes a glass of champagne from a server who won't look her in the eye and scowls down at it.

This is the... what? Tenth party she's been to with Whumper? Twentieth? It's not like she's going to get any help here. It's obvious what's going on, her sleeveless dress reveals the bruises, burns, and cuts decorating her body, and her face is a mess, but no-one will do anything. They never do.

She remembers her first party. She'd been so sure someone would notice the injuries and help, but no. Nothing. She'd been so stupidly naive back then. Not any longer. She knows now that no-one cares. No-one ever cares.

She wishes she hadn't gone with Whumper, all that time ago. But he'd offered her food and a place to sleep, and she had nowhere else to go.

And in a way he was telling the truth. The place to sleep just happened to be his basement, or drugged upstairs if he feels like playing with her there. And he does feed her, occasionally.

She misses the taste of food that isn't watery gruel.

Whumpee steps towards a group of partygoers, intending to put in a few jabs about them being heartless bastards who wouldn't save someone dying right in front of them, but they fall silent, averting their eyes. As they always do.

Whumpee doesn't get it. They're clearly uncomfortable around her. If they don't want her here, why not get her out and be done with it? Then they wouldn't have to be uncomfortable anymore.

Money talks, she guesses.

A heavy hand lands on her shoulder and she jumps, turning to see Whumper beside her. He smiles, sickly sweet, and murmurs in her ear, "Go on. Drink. And make sure you swallow it all. Don't want to waste anything from our generous host now, do we?"

Whumpee shoots him a glare she'll pay for later and swallows the champagne in one gulp. She tries to back away from the group, knowing what's coming, but Whumper's grip is like mucilage, and almost immediately her mouth tingles and she feels a gurgling in her near-empty stomach. She bends over and spews her guts over the nearest guest.

"I'm sorry, sir, I–"

Whumper has finally let her go and she's halfway across the ballroom when all her nerves light up and she collapses to the floor.

When it finally stops and her vision clears, she sees Whumper bent over her, glee dancing in his eyes under a mask of concern.

"Oh, my dear, are you okay? Another one of your fits, is it?"

Whumpee forces herself to nod. "I'm fine. I'll just go and sort myself out, sir." She pushes herself upright and stumbles out of the room, limbs still twitching with residual shocks.

She makes it to the toilets before collapsing to her knees in a stall, dry-retching over the toilet bowl. God. She's absolutely fucked when they get back to Whumper's. And she hates every single person here. Would a kind smile be too much to give? Money-obsessed assholes.

"Hello?" Whumpee jumps at the voice, but stays silent. Whoever it is can't be looking for her. "I was in the ballroom and I saw you come this way. Are you alright?"

"Whoever you're looking for, they're not here," says Whumpee, sharper than she means to. Probably this person's friend broke a nail or something, that's the kind of problems rich people have. "You should go back to the party. Go and enjoy yourself with all those other rich fuckers who don't give a damn about anything except themselves and their riches."

"Actually, it's you I was looking for. I wanted to know if you were okay, after that seizure. I know they can be a bit disorienting, and–"

"Oh, is that what we're calling them now?" Whumpee definitely means the venom this time. "What, is admitting what Whumper's doing too much for you? You'll accept his payoff but you can't even acknowledge me? Fuck you."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on. You're one of Whumper's guests, or maybe the host's staff. Either way. Everyone here knows what he does to me. Stop laughing in my face."

The person sighs. "Whumpee. That is your name, right?"

"Yes," replies Whumpee shortly. She's not sure she wants it anymore though, but like hell she's telling this stranger that.

"Well, Whumpee, to be honest, I don't know Whumper or anyone else here. I just found a discarded invitation on the pavement and figured it was a good opportunity to get free food. I don't know anything about a payoff or what's going on. Why don't you tell me?"

Whumpee's silent for a minute. Are they telling the truth? If they are, then... well, they probably won't help, but it'll at least be a break from the monotony. And if they're not, it'll still be a change, to actually talk to someone who isn't Whumper or his closest friends.

"Whumper's like a pitcher plant. He lures you in with the promise of sweet things, food and a place to sleep and all that, and by the time you realise the danger it's too late to escape."

The other person doesn't speak for a while, and Whumpee wonders if they've gone. If the truth freaked them out too much. But no, there's no sound of movement.

"Oh. I'm so sorry. I didn't realise. I just thought... well, I assumed Whumper was telling the truth. I've never actually seen my own seizures before. Not that I have many big ones anyway. Can I help you?"

"I... you want to help me?" Her voice comes out weak. Unsteady. She hates it.

"Yes. I'm not an utter bastard, give me some credit at least."

"I... I want to leave. I can't, I know I can't, he'll just find me again, but I can't take much more. Will you help me leave? One way or another."

"I was hoping you'd say that. You'll have to open the door then."

Whumpee stands and then hesitates. What if this person's looking for someone to torture themself? Or they might deliver her right back to Whumper, report that she's trying to escape.

Well. At least it'll be a fresh hell, a new thing to be punished for. It's been so long since she attempted escape.

"What's your name?" she asks, hand resting on the door.

"Caretaker."

Whumpee pushes the door open, feeling a kernel of hope she really shouldn't. "Hi."

"You look terrible. I thought it was just the lighting."

"Thanks," she says dryly. "That makes me feel loads better."

Caretaker ignores this. "What did you mean when you said you can't leave?"

Whumpee holds out her hands, showing the elaborately-crafted jewellery that in any other circumstance she might find attractive. "Shock bracelet, tracking bracelet. Both welded on. Can't go anywhere without Whumper knowing."

"We'll see about that." Caretaker rummages in their handbag and pulls out a sheet of aluminium foil. At Whumpee's frown they shrug. "I said I was here to steal food, didn't I? I needed something to wrap it in. Now hold still."

Whumpee freezes at the command, staying statue-like as Caretaker wraps both bracelets. "There. That should scramble the signals until we can find a way to remove them safely. Do you have anything to change into so the cameras don't recognise you leaving?" Whumpee doesn't respond. No-one's said she can, she's not about to get punished yet. Caretaker snaps their fingers. "Hey. Whumpee. Can you talk? Um– you can talk. Breathe."

Whumpee takes a deep breath and clenches her fists. Godfuckingdammit, she thought that command only worked with Whumper. Now Caretaker's going to think she's too much trouble and she'll be stuck with Whumper forever and she's got her hopes up for nothing and–

"Whumpee?"

She jumps. "Hmm? Oh. Er, no. I can't take this dress off myself anyway. How do you know how to dampen GPS signals?"

Caretaker shrugs off their long suit jacket and holds it out. "You're short, this should cover most of your dress. And unless you can run in those shoes you'll need to take them off."

Whumpee removes her far too tall heels and puts on the jacket. Oh, it's soft. How is it soft? And it's the first thing she's worn in god knows how long that she can take off without help. "You didn't answer my question."

"Ever known a neurodivergent kid with a hyperfixation?"

"Yeah. Me."

"Then you know what it's like."

She nods. Makes sense. Maybe... maybe that's why their jacket is so soft. Sensory things.

"Good thing I don't need to visit the cloakroom. Shall we go?"

"Please."

Caretaker leads the way out of the toilets and down gaudily decorated empty corridors. Whumpee doesn't know where they're going but it's not towards the ballroom, so she follows. It's not like she can do anything else.

"Look drunk and lean on me," murmurs Caretaker as they approach the foyer.

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

"No."

"Fair enough. But just do this, okay? If you want out anyway."

Whumpee grits her teeth and leans against Caretaker's side, making sure to be in a position where she can still move away if she needs to.

Then Caretaker puts an arm around her, ostensibly supporting her, and she gulps, heartrate speeding up. She's trapped.

"Just a few minutes," they murmur in her ear, before waving to the doormen.

"My friend had a bit too much champagne, we're leaving early. See you next time."

Whumpee glances back as they pass. One of the doorman's eyes are narrowed suspiciously.

"That is not how posh people act. They don't talk to the staff. They're suspicious."

"Better hurry then." They walk briskly down the long, winding drive (or as briskly as possible, Whumpee's getting dizzier), but as they turn a corner they see the electronic gates shutting.

"Fuckfuckfuck, run!" yells Caretaker, grabbing Whumpee's hand and pulling her along. They cut across the lawn, grass wet and cold under Whumpee's feet, and she slips over a few times but gets back up, keeps going. They have to get out before the gates close. They're shutting slowly, so slowly, but still too fast, the two of them seem to be creeping closer, inch by fucking inch, and as soon as they get close Caretaker shoves Whumpee through the tiny gap, diving out behind her.

They both hit the ground hard, Whumpee's knees slamming into the gravel, knocking the wind out of her. Caretaker takes a few seconds before pulling her up.

"Come on. This is still too close. Bus stop, now."

And they run again. The night bus pulls in just as they reach the stop and they tumble on board. Whumpee can't pay and Caretaker doesn't stop, but no-one cares. No-one pays attention to the mud and scrapes and bruises, to Whumpee's ill-fitting jacket. It's a night bus, no-one ever really cares on those.

They collapse onto the back seats, panting hard.

And then Whumpee starts to giggle. She can't stop it. The bus stinks of fried chicken mixed with petrol fumes, it's been so long since she's smelt it. It smells like freedom.

They made it. She's out. Whatever happens now, whatever Caretaker decides to do with her, it won't be with Whumper, and that's good enough for her.

Caretaker smiles at her.

"Not quite like a pitcher plant, was he?"

Whumpee shivers. She really hopes not.

Whumpee whose an open secret. Whumper is rich, and that buys a good deal of favors.

Whumpee who looks around a crowded ballroom, bloodied and bruised and broken, just for everyone to avert their eyes and keep talking.

Whumper can let them roam free among party guests, assured that no one was going to help them. That doesn’t stop whumpee from trying though.

They go from guest to guest, trying to find a weakness, a scrap of humanity buried deep beneath the callousness that too much money causes.

Do they find one? Or do they give up hope and return to Whumper, tears in their eyes and resentment in their heart?

[stoic-whumpee]

Prompt I find criminally underrated/can't find usually: Whumpee fighting back, and succeeding. Be it in the middle of torture, middle of a huge fight or maybe even just as they're about to be rescued. Whumpee fights back, seconds before they were beaten to a pulp but they muster all they have left and the moment whumper turns around (or even better, when Whumper is facing them straight forward) whumpee lunges and fights like there's no tomorrow, they kick punch bite strike they do everything and anything until Whumper is just as hurt as they are, until they are above Whumper.

Whether or not they manage to stay up after the fight i just want to see victorious whumpees who finally have the chance to win, who finally get to see the person who hurt them be dethroned of that position of power they had.

- Plant anon :D

Hello! Nice seeing you back :D That is a very fun scenario indeed.

A Whumpee with a mindset of "I might not be able to win, but you're losing this fight". They will fight with everything they get, because if they are going down they are taking Whumper down with them. The Final Stand that will be Whumpee's triumph, even if they have to give everything for it. Somehow this reminds me of Hiccup in How to Train your Dragon 1, when he fought the big dragon who was controlling all the other dragons.

But also

Whumpee who fights Whumper for one last time so that their teammates can escape and successfully incapacitates Whumper. They knew they are on the verge of passing out, and they are okay with that because they have done what they wanted to do. Before they close their eyes, however, hands catches them as their teammates take them back to safety.

Whumpee who manages to fight Whumper off and inflicts serious injuries on Whumper. They have to be restrained by a small army of guards, but they smirk up at Whumper even as they are forced down on their knees and tied up. For all they care, they knock off Whumper's perfect appearance and show that Whumper can be defeated.

Whumpee who makes God bleed. Whumpee who sends the message that if a god can bleed, they can die. Who risks their life fighting Whumper to help slowly topple their regime of power, built over fear.

Maybe Whumpee was made specifically to fight Whumper, and now they refuse to be another failed machine in the process, so they give everything they have because failure or not, they are as good as dead.

[yet-another-heathen]

Can you give me prompts for body control whump?

similiar to mind control but the whumpee is awake, can see and talk, just can't move.

TW | graphic mentions of self-harm, broken trust, mentions of mild gore

I actually have an unpublished arc of Liliholm and Page that deals with body control as a power! It's such a delicious trope.

For body control that acts similar to paralysis, the whumper could torture them with almost surgical precision. Who needs anesthesia if you can keep your patient perfectly still while you work? And this way you get to hear every bloody scream and plea, and get to watch them feel every moment of it unhindered. (Just don't kill your whumpee by sending them too deep into medical shock)

Whumpee might be able to see and talk...but only if whumper doesn't extend that control to their tongue and eyelids too. It's a more potent threat than you'd think.

Breath control. Your whumpee's lungs burning for air and vision going dark, unable to do a thing as whumper keeps their ribs frozen in a forced exhale. Hyperventilation is also a fun way to get them to pass out.

For body control that allows the whumper to move their body, the options open up significantly:

Whumpee refusing to leave their cell? Well, that's an easy fix. And if whumper is being mean about it, they can make whumpee crawl, too.

And kneel. And sit, and stand.

Hell, make them bark if you want. What is the one thing whumper could make them do that would make your whumpee feel most humiliated? How many humiliating things does whumper make them do before they find that one perfect thing?

Make them offer a hand to a whumper knowing full well that that scalpel/cigarette/needle is about to go straight into their palm.

"I said open. Your. Mouth."

Making whumpee's body do something that seems mundane and harmless...until they've done it three thousand times on that same spot. Rotating their hands in their handcuffs until the metal has cut deep into bone. Scratching a spot on their leg until it becomes a bloody hole. Hell, even combing their hair over and over and over until patches are falling out would be absolute hell.

Human. Bodies. Are. Not. Meant. To. Sit. Still. There is a reason that people are almost constantly shifting their weight to the other foot, adjusting their hair, fidgeting, repositioning their tongues, and doing dozens of other things we don't even notice—not to mention changes in breathing, blinking rates, and expression. Our tissue NEEDS that. Now imagine taking free movement away from whumpee for hours.

(And as always, it can be fun to get a bit NSFW with it.)

But you see, the most wonderful thing about body control whump is that, if the whumper is able to convincingly puppet whumpee around, then whumpee might not be the only one affected.

Tell me about their friends who see whumpee, someone they've trusted for years, break every ounce of trust they've ever had in them in one day. Show me a whumpee made to do horrible things to the people they love—things that are beyond their ability to repair once they gain back control.

Let the consequences of body control have long-term echoes. Broken friendships, lost jobs, even having to slowly and painfully rebuild trust over something that they never would have done of their own free will.

Do the people around them believe them when they say they were being controlled? How do they cope with the inevitable little seed of doubt, and where later in the story does this doubt resurface?

And as always, please tag me in anything this inspires you to create!! I can't wait to read it