#uncomfortable whumpee

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Matador 1x08 | Tony’s Broken Rib

[whumblr]

You've heard of: singing silly songs to your pet

Now get ready for: defiant whumpees singing silly songs about how their whumper is an asshole Bonus: Whumper is listening behind the corner.

[blooming-bruises]

Caretakers that don't refuse to call Whumpee a dog or thing when Whumpee freaks out about being called a person or by a name (their name?).

Caretakers that let Whumpee sleep on the floor. Maybe adding a blanket to make it a little softer, but not forcing Whumpee to sleep in a bed.

Caretakers that let Whumpee continue to wear a collar until they're ready.

Caretakers that fight the battles for Whumpee to believe they deserve good things within the framework of their conditioning before challenging the conditioning itself ,,,

[whumpcloud]

consider: god of life whumper torturing poor mortal whumpee in unimaginable ways to test the limits of mortal life and of their own power and god of death caretaker treating mortal whumpee with care and reverence as they understand how important a life is and would not wish to damage a living being or take a life before its time

[womenwhump]

Michiko & Hatchin

[crabofthewoods]

my love for helpless whumpees vs. my deep-rooted fear and embarrassment of helplessness

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Medical whump idea: the Whumper using a cervical collar and/or spine board to immobilize a whumpee (especially if they use it incorrectly >:3)

[befuddled-calico-whump]

One Warning

for Angstpril, Day 27: Til Death Do Us Part (alt)

cw: alcohol/intoxication, stress position, noncon strip, noncon touch, manipulative whumper, fear/anticipation of and referenced noncon

previous ///// masterlist ///// next

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Alexei's head was still spinning when he reached Titanium HQ. Not a new occurrence. Grabbing a drink or two after a mission had been normal before the Tower; nowadays it was practically a ritual.

Or in this case, a drink or six. Or seven. Maybe eight. He'd lost count. Lex would pay with a headache the next morning, and normally it would be worth it for the dreamless sleep and numbed thoughts, but tonight Spyglass had ruined his shaky grasp on tranquility.

Pestered him with talk of being good, of fighting back against Uriah, until he was ranting about his year in prison. The last thing he wanted to talk about, the last thing he wanted anyone to fucking hear about, but in the moment, he couldn't stop himself.

Lex tried to forget it on the way home, and it had all but trickled out of his thoughts as he trudged through the hall to his room.

Ball, call, doll, fall, he thought sleepily. As soon as he hit the bed, he'd be out like a light, and tomorrow the memory would be all the fuzzier.

But he could see light coming from under his bedroom door. And before he even reached out to push it open, he knew Uriah would be waiting for him on the other side.

"You ran into Spyglass." It wasn't a question. Uriah was reclining on Lex's bed, a narrow, stiff thing that looked sleek and futuristic but wasn't the least bit comfortable. His room was peppered with similar furnishings; the modern, fashionable stuff rich people liked to use in decorating. No carpet on the shiny wooden floor. No windows.

Lex stayed in the doorway, giving a sharp nod of acknowledgement. He really, really didn't want to do this right now. But what choice did he have?

"You didn't call me," Uriah continued.

"You never said that was part of my job. M' I supposed to notify you every time I see someone jaywalking too?" He made an effort to enunciate, to stand up straight, but the wry look that crossed Uriah's face told him it wasn't enough.

"Drunk again, Alexei?"

He didn't bother denying it. "Got a problem with that? I finished your fucking mission."

The other man shook his head, pushing himself up off the mattress. "Liquor always seems to sharpen your tongue. I'm not sure I like that," he said as he crossed the room. By now Lex knew not to try to shrink back when Uriah reached up to take a fistful of his jacket, pulling him closer until their faces were almost touching.

"Why didn't you tell me about Spyglass?"

"Y'figured it out on your own just fine. What, you need me to hold your fucking h—"

Uriah slapped him. Nothing hard, it barely stung, but it wasn't meant to hurt. It was just another way for Fox to remind him who was in charge here.

Glaring silently at the other man, Lex toyed with the idea of killing him. Right here, right now. He could do it. Might even be able to set the building on fire before they shocked him and beat the shit out of him and dragged him back to the Tower…

He inhaled a little too sharply at that thought, and he could've sworn Uriah flinched at the sound.

Ah. He knows it too.

"You said the rogue team was off the table," Lex said, dropping his voice to a low growl in an effort to seize onto the other man's momentary fear.

But Uriah was already back to his smarmy, composed self. "Hm, perhaps I wasn't clear enough. I won't send you after them, but I still expect you to report any sightings. They are a slippery bunch."

Lex clenched his jaw as Uriah reached for him again, this time smoothing the front of his jacket. "Noted."

"Excellent. Now why don't you take this off? You look uncomfortable."

He knew it wasn't a suggestion. Metal fingers fumbled for the zipper, and he dropped the jacket, making a point to ball it up and throw it into the corner as hard as he could. He left his tank top on, and Uriah didn't say anything about that. Not yet.

"Before I let you sleep, I have one more thing I'd like to discuss. Come have a seat."

As he followed Fox to the bed, a dozen worst-case scenarios flashed through his head, a growing sense of unease momentarily sobering him up, but making the twisting in his stomach that much worse. He sat at the foot of the bed, as far from the other man as possible.

"What were you and Spyglass discussing?" Uriah asked. "I was only able to pick up one half of the conversation."

Lex tried to recall what he'd said, if there was any way he could twist the topic into something that wouldn't give up any of the woman's plans to Uriah, assuming he didn't already know them. He shrugged.

"I was a few drinks in. Kinda fuzzy."

"I see. Then I suppose I'll have to remind you. It sounded like she was asking for your help."

(Kelp, whelp, yelp.) Lex swallowed. "Maybe."

"Well fortunately for you, you turned her down spectacularly," Uriah said. "If the conversation ended there, I'd be in here to reward you for your loyalty."

The mention of loyalty was enough to spike Lex's nausea, but worse than that was what came before. The 'if'.

"But you warned her when you left, Alexei," Uriah continued. "You told her I was listening. You told her to run. And while I can forgive the mistake of not reporting her in the first place, I can't overlook a deliberate sabotage."

He wouldn't go. He'd go down fighting, he'd take Uriah with him, he'd burn Titanium down and let it collapse over him. He wouldn't go back. He couldn't go back.

Lex could barely hear the last few words over the blood rushing in his ears. His mouth had gone dry. It wasn't enough, was it? One warning wasn't enough for Uriah to send him back, was it?

He flinched as Uriah laid a hand on his shoulder, barely able to restrain himself from grabbing the appendage and crushing it.

"You're trembling, Alexei. Are you so afraid of discipline?"

(Flayed, braid, delayed). He didn't dare to look up. "Don't send me back," he whispered. "I-it won't happen again. I'll follow orders."

Uriah chuckled. "Send you back? No. You're still of use to me, and besides, I like you."

The stomach-turning slickness of his tone was nothing compared to the wave of relief that washed over Lex. It took a lot to not slump forward and hold his head in his hands.

"But this kind of incident can't go unpunished," Uriah continued. "Stand up."

Lex did. The sudden wave of fear had sharpened his wits, but his body was still sluggish and swaying, and his head spun as he got to his feet.

"Strip," Uriah said, and he fought through his discomfort as he obeyed, pulling his tank top over his head, fumbling with buttons and zippers until his pants fell, and stepping out of his boots. Better to not dwell on it. To not think at all. Not give Uriah a reason to do anything else.

"I said, strip."

A moment's hesitation, and then Lex was removing his boxers as well, tossing them with the rest of his clothes, then just standing there. Too aware of Uriah's eyes on him, too proud to try and cover himself, no matter how much his skin was crawling.

"Come here." Uriah patted the mattress beside him. This time, the hesitation lasted longer, and when Lex finally began to take small steps towards the bed, he had to resist the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

There was a small jingling noise as Uriah thrust a hand into his pocket, retrieving a heavy pair of handcuffs. He gestured with his head. "Up to the headboard. Hands behind your back."

Lex bit down on the inside of his cheek, seeking anything to distract himself. It's fine, it's fine, it's not the Tower, it could be worse, it was worse there—

Uriah locked one cuff on. Lex couldn't feel it, but he could hear the clash of metal on metal.

"If you fight me, I'll make this worse," Uriah said, and Lex almost laughed. How many times had he heard that one?

The other man stood on the bed, pulling Lex's arms back and upwards, until his own weight was a strain on his shoulders.

He heard the click of the other cuff locking, but it was a distant sound. He was too focused on the wrinkles on the bedsheets, scattered across the mattress like cracks on cloth.

But the unwanted touch he was bracing himself for never came. Uriah's weight left the bed, and for a moment he just stood beside it, looking Lex over.

"I hope this gives you plenty of time to think about where your loyalties lie," he said, patting Lex's bare thigh. It seemed more condescending than anything else; an odd thing to feel relieved over.

Now that the threat had passed, Lex was becoming aware of the building tension in his shoulders. The only way to ease it completely would be to stand up on the mattress, and even then he'd be forced to duck his head to avoid hitting the ceiling.

"I hope you never forget again," Uriah said as he stepped out, pulling the door after him. "You're mine, Alexei. Goodnight."

It was only a few minutes before his residual arms started to go numb. This punishment would be hell for the night, and he'd probably need to see the company healer for his shoulders in the morning, but he'd take it over others.

Over so many others.

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@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing

[whumpitisthen]

hi i’m the anon from earlier :) and i just wanna say thanks for answering my ask you explained exactly how i feel sooo perfectly. like i’ve always felt this way (wanting to be an irl whumpee) my whole life and i never knew what it meant? cuz i didn’t think it could possibly be a kink because whump is absolutely not sexual to me either. but then i learned that not all kinks are sexual and realized whump is probably a non sexual kink for me too. and finding all this out and that there’s more people like me out there feels so extremely validating because i’ve always felt so alone

anyway to answer ur question, i love carewhumpers soo much. like yesss kidnap me and keep me captive but also be nice to me sometimes and take care of me :) but never let me go no matter how much i beg

referring to this ask

You are valid and i love you i will keep you and probably hurt you but its out of love and i will never let you go kissing you on your head

[whump-it-like-its-hot]

Anyway. My last post for some reason did t post so I’m gonna post it again and rewrite (lmao it was just like ‘summer whump here we Go’ and me going off in the tags) anyway I won’t even bother to proofread this have fun <333

SUMMER WHUMPE NYOOM

- Sunburns

- Heat exhaustion

- Heatstroke

- Sunstroke (which I believe to know is something different from heatstroke and heat exhaustion)

- Whumpee going swimming and severely underestimating the freezing temperatures of the lake despite the otherwise high temperatures

- Going swimming in a lake or otherwise unclean water with wounds which causes them to get infected

- Headaches from dehydration/sun

- Light sensitive Whumpees <3

- Stepping into something underwater

- Falling onto something underwater

- Falling into the water and onto something like the ground or whatever because they couldn’t see it coming because of. the water

- Sudden temperature drops after sunset, which leave Whumpee freezing because it was so warm earlier, they didn’t bother to bring a jacket

- getting pushed falling off a boat

- bugs. need I say more

- (to the point above. Just imagine whumpee who’s scared of bugs, or getting bitten by something that makes them sick or something, or just the plain discomfort of having 74572959220 mosquito bites)

- Whumpee falling asleep in the sun. A classic

- Falling off a tree they were trying to climb

- I also noted down train whump

- Because. Trains can be ultra packed here when holidays start. So imagine claustrophobic whumpee in a horribly packed train <3

- Or simply an overheating train because the AC failed

- generally being stuck in a train and no one knows why or when or if they will keep going

- allergies. Another classic

- scar reveals because it’s too hot for long clothes <3

[chaoticdreamers-world]

for some reason, whumpee gets the jumpseat on the 15-hour flight, just as they were already coming down with a cold.

[whump-in-the-closet]

give me whumpees with scars they can't hide. Not by a scarf, long sleeves, or even a mask. Give me whumpees whose hair has gone white with stress, give me whumpees whose hands shake and are always unsteady, give me whumpees with amputated limbs and scars that split their features. Uncomfortable scars. They aren't aesthetic they aren't pretty they just are. And then let them deal with hushed "oh god"s and the stares and the whispered conversations behind their backs. Let the recovery break them in ways not even the torture could.

[digital-nova]

Winged whump prompts

plucking out ‘ugly’ feathers and replacing them with synthetic ones.

adorning the wings with heavy, gold jewellery that weighs them down.

feathers that can’t grow back.

wings hurting to open properly because they’ve been uncomfortably restrained for so long.

painting the feathers. a small, intimate task that requires time and patience, from both whumpee and the artist.

wings being held up by chains/ropes, on display for anyone to marvel at.

breaking wings as punishment.

wings being removed entirely to go on display in a gallery/museum. are they known to be real? or does someone take credit for creating them as an art piece?

in a medical setting, wings requiring their own set of restraints to keep whumpee from moving.

wings being the only part of whumpee that is valued and cared for. without them, they are worthless.

whumpee forgetting how to fly after being in captivity.

alternatively: not being able to because of how damaged their wings are.

feathers starting to fall out because of how terrible whumpee’s condition is.

[whumpbug]

this is probably an overdone trope but a personal fave of mine: whumpees with concussions

whether it’s from an explosion/accident or just a plain ol bonk on the kitchen counter. they’re my JAM

when the whumpee wakes up they’re confused and nauseous and disoriented and out of it. they’re not quite sure where they are or what happened but they do know there are gentle hands guiding them to sitting and muffled voices speaking to them

when the whumpee can’t vocalize anything except for ‘’my head hurts” because it does and they feel the unexplainable urge to tell the people around them that, maybe in hopes that someone will do something to ease the pain

whumpee being so exhausted but they aren’t allowed to sleep because it’s dangerous until they can get proper medical attention so caretaker (very reluctantly) has to keep resorting to increasingly uncomfortable ways to keep them awake (ex: slapping, pinching, shouting, shaking), which leaves whumpee whimpering and crying softly

when whumpee finally does get to sleep, it isn’t even that restful because caretaker has to wake them up every four hours and when they do they are greeted with the pitiful whines and groans of whumpees who just wants to rest

feel free to add to this (please do actually) but this has been in my brain and i needed desperately to share it with u all ദ്ദി´▽`)

[justwhumptypethings]

realistic ptsd in whump from someone who has (undiagnosed) ptsd

tw: flashbacks, mention of sh, whumpee in denial

whumpee who can trigger a flashback in themselves just by thinking about it, sometimes entirely unprompted

after that happens whumpee feels like this can’t be a flashback and they can’t be triggered bc there was nothing that triggered it they just thought about it

whumpee’s flashbacks and the subsequent panic attacks aren’t loud and noticeable, to the outside perspective it looks like their just staring off and breathing really slowly

flashbacks aren’t as much hallucinating that you’re back in the whump as it is just feeling the sensations you felt

like literally ANY mention of it makes whumpee freeze up, this works especially well if they aren’t dealing with their whump and are instead like. ignoring it and hoping it miraculously goes away

whumpee who’s body physically reacts to it whenever they try to talk about it, breaking out in goosebumps and shivers

whumpee who’s ptsd makes it virtually impossible for them to make progress in recovery

whumpee who has a lot of trouble grounding themselves out of their flashbacks and asking for help during their flashback bc it doesn’t look like you’d expect a flashback to look, they aren’t crying curled up in a ball or anything, but they can’t think or breathe

maybe whumpee ends up taking up sh to ground, digging their fingers into their palms or scratching at their arm or biting at the inside of their cheek

whumpee who’s caretaker doesn’t even realize they’re having flashbacks or trauma responses because they don’t look how they expect them to

somwtimes things trigger them or make them anxious that wouldn’t have before and it doesn’t actually necessarily put them back into the whump but instead just make them deeply uncomfortable. for ex if your whumpee was kept in a cage now they are claustrophobic about hugs. but it doesn’t necessarily remind them distinctly of the whump, like they aren’t like ‘oh I’m claustrophobic because I was kept in a cage’ it’s more ‘why is this freaking me out?? I’ve never been claustrophobic before’ and it’s not obvious it’s happening bc of the whump

whumpee in denial that anything is actually happening to them. it can’t be ptsd. why not? it cant

[oliversrarebooks]

examination whump

sterile clinic with a stiff medical bed, shiny metal instruments and white walls

or perhaps a metal slab with restraints in a grungy secret lab filled with bizarre machines and bubbling chemicals

whumpee so nervous about being vulnerable and exposed and touched and prodded

whumpee so out of it that they only experience the examination in bits and pieces as they drift in and out

cold stethoscope on the whumpee's chest as they're asked to take a deep breath

groggy eyes moving slowly as they follow a penlight

shivering in a thin hospital gown

or forced to remove all of their clothes before being examined

impersonal, clinical touches as the whumpee's head and neck is examined

palpating the whumpee's abdomen

uncomfortable blood pressure cuffs

the soft beeping of machines

"it'll just be a little pinch. you can look away if you need to."

whumpee staring at the ceiling trying not to cry as their wounds are examined and prodded

non-human whumpee surrounded by human whumpers examining their non-human features and talking in a language they don't understand

waking up confused on an examination table, scientists looming over the whumpee with strange instruments