the-metalhead-chick

[the-metalhead-chick]

Requiring whumpee to cooperate

(some of my favorite most awful tropes)

Content: whipping, punishment, noncon nudity, humiliation

Forcing them to put themselves in vulnerable positions--"lay on the table."

"You remember the punishment room? You get one more chance."

"open your palms." (Whumpee is lying on a table with their hands tied behind their back.) "Or else this whipping will break your fingers. It's up to you, really."

"I want you to count. Say 'thank you sir' after each one."

"Kneel." (Does whumpee thump to the ground immediately, desperately, do they slowly, begrudgingly do it with a glare, and get a slap for it?)

Forcing whumpee to ask to be punished

"Strip." Whumper orders. Whumpee stares at whumper's demand. "I said strip. Or I'll do it. And I won't be delicate."

"That's fifteen lashes. Turn around and face the wall."

[the-metalhead-chick]

Scare your whumpee

(some conditioned/pet whump ideas here)

Choke them until their eyes widen and pupils dilate with panic

Snap your whip over their head just to watch them flinch

Tell them you're going to stop at 5 lashes. Listen to them beg and wail when you don't

Give them contradictory orders and watch them struggle to decide what to do

Like order them not to speak, then say "I didn't hear a 'yes sir'!" And watch their mouth open and close in terror

Give them ambiguous looks so they have no idea if you're pissed or not, what is awaiting them later?

Fake emotional explosions--yell and then get really close and watch them flinch and stutter and apologize

Give them hope. Tell them you won't punish them this time, if they can just keep from pissing you off for 10 minutes. Watch them walk on eggshells.

Tell them to convince you why you shouldn't hurt them

Quiz them on their actions. Who knows, maybe they'll admit to something you can punish them for! And meanwhile you get to watch them tremble in terror about whatever they think they did wrong.

Punish them for showing emotion. watch them struggle to contain their fear.

[the-metalhead-chick]

Whumpee being manhandled into restraints:

Shoved up against a wall and handcuffed.

Pinned to the floor and handcuffed.

Fighting for each limb as they’re forced down on a table, slowly secured by leather restraints.

Overwhelmed by multiple Whumpers, each one working to subdue them.

Yanked back by their hair so a collar or rope can easily be fitted around their throat.

Pinned while in combat (double points for being caged against a wall or trapped in a chokehold)

Improvised restraints like belts, sheets, or clothing when Whumpee won’t be still enough to retrieve proper ones.

Manhandled in a hospital bed, held down for the duration of a procedure.

Injected with a chemical restraint, a sedative or numbing agent that quickly bleeds the fight out of them.

Struggling as a muzzle is wrestled over their head and secured.

A blow to the head that knocks Whumpee out or makes them too dizzy to fight anyone off.

[the-metalhead-chick]

Thinking about defiant whumpee being held down while a muzzle is forcibly strapped over there face

[the-metalhead-chick]

Thinking heavily today about public humiliation:

Being paraded in front of a crowd—dragged behind a horse maybe, pulled along by a length of rope around their wrists

Whumper forcing Whumpee to walk behind them on a leash

Whumpee’s hair being forcibly cut or shaved

Forced to walk barefoot, or without any clothes at all

Public trials or executions

Public mock executions, where Whumpee can see for themself that no one will help them. The crowd cheers for their death.

Being whipped, caned, birched, or belted

Being restrained in a way that leaves them vulnerable to the whims of a crowd—the stocks, the post, a stress position, or simply being held down by a few guards

Public demotion or exile

Forced to complete humiliating tasks as a form of entertainment or punishment

Forced to kneel or bow to/beside Whumper

[the-metalhead-chick]

“Who’s going to safe you?”

[the-metalhead-chick]

The white-knuckle grip of a character grounding themself whilst enduring the throes of extreme pain; clutching the bedframe- tangled sheets- a companion's hand- the arms of a chair- loam of the forest floor- hem of a jacket- handful of carpet- fingers clenched tight as a vise and tendons straining.

[the-metalhead-chick]

Oh Oh Oh! You know what I wanna see?

Suicidal Whumpees

(This has nothing to do with my own issues shut up)

Particularly, a Defiant Suicidal Whumpee

A Whumpee who gets captured, who gets beaten black and blue, tortured with everything Whumper can throw at them, but still spits in their face at the end of the session

A Whumpee who taunts and mocks their captors at every turn, regardless of how much worse it makes things for themself

A Whumpee who acts as the biggest thorn in Whumper’s side because they won’t back down, they won’t submit, they won’t just give up like Whumper wants

A Whumpee who does all of this because they don’t care, who, when threatened with death, looks Whumper dead in the eye and says “bring it”, who’ll get the barrel of a gun pointed at their head and just lean forwards and tell Whumper to pull the trigger with a smile on their face

A Whumpee who takes everything Whumper does to hurt them and still throws insults back at them, because deep down they’re hoping if they piss Whumper off enough, if they push them too far, Whumper might actually kill them and it will all end

A Defiant Whumpee who spits in Whumper’s face and prays that this time it’ll finally be the straw the broke the camels back and they’ll be free

[the-metalhead-chick]

Resources For Writing Sketchy Topics

Medicine

A Study In Physical Injury

Comas

Medical Facts And Tips For Your Writing Needs

Broken Bones

Burns

Unconsciousness & Head Trauma

Blood Loss

Stab Wounds

Pain & Shock

All About Mechanical Injuries (Injuries Caused By Violence)

Writing Specific Characters

Portraying a kleptomaniac.

Playing a character with cancer.

How to portray a power driven character.

Playing the manipulative character.

Portraying a character with borderline personality disorder.

Playing a character with Orthorexia Nervosa.

Writing a character who lost someone important.

Playing the bullies.

Portraying the drug dealer.

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How to portray a sociopath.

How to write characters with PTSD.

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How to write a mute character.

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How to portray someone with dyslexia.

How to portray a character with bipolar disorder.

Portraying a character with severe depression.

How to play a serial killer.

Writing insane characters.

Playing a character under the influence of marijuana.

Tips on writing a drug addict.

How to write a character with HPD.

Writing a character with Nymphomania.

Writing a character with schizophrenia.

Writing a character with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Writing a character with depression.

Writing a character who suffers from night terrors.

Writing a character with paranoid personality disorder.

How to play a victim of rape.

How to play a mentally ill/insane character.

Writing a character who self-harms.

Writing a character who is high on amphetamines.

How to play the stalker.

How to portray a character high on cocaine.

Playing a character with ADHD.

How to play a sexual assault victim.

Writing a compulsive gambler.

Playing a character who is faking a disorder.

Playing a prisoner.

Portraying an emotionally detached character.

How to play a character with social anxiety.

Portraying a character who is high.

Portraying characters who have secrets.

Portraying a recovering alcoholic.

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How to play someone creepy.

Portraying sexually/emotionally abused characters.

Playing a character under the influence of drugs.

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[the-metalhead-chick]

I cant get the picture of defiant whumpee being beaten by a group of people (maybe 2 or 3) who Whumper ordered them to.

Cue the splatters of blood. The sound of a fist connecting to skin with a hard thud soon followed by a weak and rasped cry.

Bonus points for at the end Whumpee’s eyes meeting with Whumper’s whos sat back on their chair, a cigarette lazily sitting between Whumper’s two fingers.

Whumper soaks in how utterly pathetic Whumpee looks, a beaten mess on the floor, looking up at them.

A beautiful sight if you ask me.

[the-metalhead-chick]

commission for @relapseinjudgement 

thank you again for commissioning! <3

[the-metalhead-chick]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 6 - Drowning (Alt-Prompt No. 4)

They can easily pull the rope tighter, submerging his head, pulling him below the surface again. It's a game to them. See who can pull him down how fast (because he fights back). See who can keep the beast down the longest, without having him pass out or drown.

[the-metalhead-chick]

Grieving, violent, vengeful whumpees. Tired, angry, world weary victims. Let that drop of hope taste like blood on their tongue. Let their freedom burn in their chest.

Let them heal enough to realize they're the victim, let them decide they'll never be the victim again.

And then let their whumper feel fear.

[the-metalhead-chick]

Penumbra: Undue

cw: whipping, blood n stuff, implied death wish

previous ///// masterlist

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Everything seemed so far away. The sharp briny smell of the sea, the shouts above him, the cold air that wrapped around his bare flesh, squeezing out the heat of his core. The distance was almost a comfort; a barrier between him and the pain of awareness.

Cerus knew what was waiting for him when the men came to drag him and his unlikely defender away.

Tansy, their name was Tansy. 

He didn't doubt the old man's words for an instant, by now accepting any punishment as an inevitability, and thought surely this would be the end. This would be his final torture, his final misery made worse by the soldier who'd suffer it beside him.

And aside from that small detail, aside from the guilt that would now weigh upon him along with everything else, Cerus had made peace with the finality.

He let himself be taken away, his consciousness hovering between sleeping and waking in a peaceful gray blur. It was only waiting now, wondering how many lashes he'd be dealt before the darkness pulled him under. This was a small village; the people didn't have the means or magic to save him, not this time. 

In the square, surrounded by the villagers, calloused hands kept him on his knees, thick fingers digging into bony shoulders. Cerus kept his head down even as the sound around him shifted, murmurs quieting as the ringleader of these people began to speak words Cerus didn't bother to comprehend. He already knew how it ended.

Cobblestone pulled at the skin of his knees as the men holding him started forward, a sharp, tiny pain he could ignore.

But then there was a shout, and the movement stopped short. Murmurs rose in the crowd as the voice carried on, clear and sharp, something almost accusatory lying beneath the words.

Tansy. Tansy was shouting, but why?

Cerus tried to focus on the words that were being said, only barely managing to catch the ringleader's question.

"Captain's Right?"

And then he understood.

Something cut through the haze of gray acceptance, sparking clarity. Something that wasn't fear, or despair, but a feeling he couldn't quite place. Cerus forced his eyes open, saw the blurred outline of the soldier—Tansy—freely baring their wrists. He watched the rope circle their arms and lift them, pulling the skin of their back taut.

Maybe it was fear. Fear and sadness and anger, not for him but for this poor, stupid soldier who for some forsaken reason thought he was worth saving.

His heart went to his throat at the first crack of the whip, but this time, Cerus was not its intended target. The noise it drew from the soldier was strained, as if they were trying their hardest to keep silent.

On the second strike, they managed to hold back their cry.

By the seventh, they didn't.

Cerus was no stranger to screams and cries and gasps of pain. Lately, they'd all been brought to existence by his own tongue. Somehow this was worse, twisting his stomach. No one should be screaming like that, not on his behalf. No one should suffer for him.

His world operated on cause and effect. If a village tried to riot and rebel against the crown, it would fall. If a ruler ruined his own lands and turned the hearts of the people against him, the rebel numbers would grow, and the cycle would continue. Push and pull until a victor was decided, and then the losing side was at their mercy. That all made sense.

Being flogged for daring to show kindness did not.

At another cry from the soldier, from Tansy, Cerus forced his head up, pried his eyes open, took in the scarlet stripes that now crossed their back. Warm brown skin that had once been smooth was now cut and tattered and marred. Even with healing, that sort of thing didn't just fade into the flesh. Tansy would forever bear the scars. Even after they'd come to their senses and decided he wasn't worth it after all, they'd never be rid of the marks Cerus had left them with.

He flinched as the whip was brought down again, crossing a dozen already-bleeding marks. How many had it been? How many were there to be in all?

A chill ran through him, deeper than the cold air around him, as he considered there might not be a set ending. What if the strokes were determined to keep falling until the soldier themselves fell? Until they could take no more? He'd seen it happen before, felt it happen.

The arm of the man holding the whip pulled back again, readying another strike, and Cerus felt his breath catch.

"Stop," he found himself saying, but the word was barely audible even to his own ears. "Stop!" he said, louder this time.

In response, one of the men holding him in place gave him a shove forward, and Cerus fell onto his hands, crumpling at the pain that spiked through them.

The man was quick to haul him back upright, giving him a shake.

"Shut up."

Weeks ago, days even, that would've been enough to silence Cerus. A word and a push were a gentle warning that someone was displeased with him; he'd taken far worse for far less, and the basest instincts within him were screaming for him to take the correction and obey and avoid further pain.

But this time, he wasn't speaking out for himself. For the first time in his life, this wasn't for himself.

He no longer held any power. He couldn't give an order, or even make a threat. All he had was the knowledge that there was someone else these people would rather see hurt.

Cerus jerked forward, shaking his guard's hand from his shoulders and landing hard on his elbows.

"Stop!" he cried through gritted teeth, somehow finding the strength to scramble out of reach as his guard reached for him with a curse.

"Stop," he continued, "What have they done wrong?"

His guard caught him easily, hauling him up, wrapping an arm around his throat.

"What have they done?" Cerus shouted through it, though the pressure on his windpipe choked the sound. "They have done nothing—"

The arm tightened, and he clawed at it with weak fingers that still throbbed with every heartbeat.

But as his words stopped, so did the whip, its wielder turning to face him. And even as Cerus's lungs began to burn from lack of air, resolve flowing out of him like spilt oil, something that was almost like hope bloomed in his chest.

His vision began to darken at the edges as the man stalked toward him, anger plain on his face. Behind him, the soldier leaned heavily on their wrists, the wounds on their back rippling with every gasping breath.

"Let him go," the man said, and the arm at his throat went slack. Cerus landed on his side, choking on air. The whip-wielder planted a heavy boot on his chest, pinning him there.

"Who are you," the man rolled Cerus onto his back with the toe of his boot, "to say what is right or wrong?"

No one, he was no one. Cerus said nothing, staring past the man, taking in air while he still had the privilege.

"As I thought," the man huffed, stepping back. "Hold your tongue, Shadow, or their sacrifice will have been for nothing." And with that, he turned to face Tansy once more.

No, no, no—

"Enough." A voice cut through the now-murmuring crowd, sharper than the crack of the whip. Cerus didn't try and see who it belonged to, but it was not lost on him the way the people suddenly fell silent and reverent; the way the crowd parted without a word.

A tall woman clad in layers of deep blue cloth stepped into the square, her eyes on the bloodied soldier at its center. She was flanked by another woman, shrunken and gray, and beside her came the general who'd shattered his hands all those months ago. Cerus did not know the faces of the other two, but still he knew who they were.

Those who had replaced him as the leader of Feyadel. The High Council.

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tag list:

@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles @honeycollectswhump @chiswhumpcorner @whatwhumpcomments , @dont-look-me-in-the-eye , @turn-the-tables-on-them , @pigeonwhumps , @itsmyworld23 , @andromeda-liske , @starlit-hopes-and-dreams , @haro-whumps , @kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpedydump , @mannerofwhump

[the-metalhead-chick]

In his day, they didn't have doctors, they had priests. Instead of sterile rooms and surgical tables, they had consecrated pools and talismans.

They still had brands. Brands whips and rope that Alejo was all too familiar with.

"I can get us out of here, you just have to let me." The voice, HIS voice, whispered in his head, begging. If it was begging, it was losing.

"No."

"You don't need to kill me- I can save both of us! We can live together, share this body."

"No." Alejo hadn't doubted for a moment that it was lying to him, and it knew he knew. Sharing one mind they knew everything about one another.

"Why are you letting them TORTURE US LIKE THIS? Don't you feel the pain? The holy water burns BOTH of us does it not?"

It did burn, it burned more than the flames that had stolen his life did. When the thick horns had been pried from his head he had screamed in agony with the other voice. But the priest had told him, since they came off and did not kill him, he was defeating this demon, prying it from his soul.

He just needed to survive a little longer. Gritting his teeth, he replied to the voice one last time.

"No. It does not burn me, it burns you. And you will be gone soon enough."

----

For @figuwhump day 7!! Kinda a quicky-- but the pose was a bitch so it took a while v-v the bastard who chose this image was a fucking asshole and imma fight him

Also Alejo had a rough transition to angelhood-- and he does feel sympathy for some of Kotarou's subjects.

Art tag: @whump-tr0pes @whump-queen @whumpsday @whumpinthepot @kixngiggles @onlywhumpcomments @project-xiii @quietly-by-myself @ka1imba @suspicious-whumping-egg @cyborg0109 @whatwhumpcomments @whumpcomica @i-eat-worlds @regrets-realization-acceptance @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @burntcoffeewhump @lonesome--hunter @scribbelle @oddsconvert

[the-metalhead-chick]

trope: humiliation character: royal whumpee

Oh nooo, I watched too many Game of Thrones and HOTD to think up of something original, I think this trope is such an already explored area that risks to borderlines RPF... BUT I'LL TRY LETS SEE

CW : ITS F ING LONG | Humiliation(Obviously) | Torture | Degrading | Furniture Whump

A royal Whumpee was one of the youngest heir to a failed crown that has fallen to an armed rebellion by a new dynasty. It's not like Whumpee was directly responsible for how the last monarch managed the realm or how the system failed the people, but Whumper has planned the rebellion well, awful rumors that made the commoners scared with Whumpee already spread long before any violence broke out. Abandoned and alone, Whumpee becomes the target of contempt and hatred at every turn.

Another thing is that by the time the smoke of war clears, they're the last surviving symbol of the previous royal line, and the next guy in NEED the kingdom to know they're not in charge anymore. Mere floggings or degrading parades would not suffice. The message must transcend borders, reaching neighboring kingdoms and former allies, acknowledging that the last ruling dynasty is DONE. And Whumper know just how to make a scene that crosses borders.

Caretaker is a diplomat sent by one of the kingdom's former allied state. Whumper had finally opened communication to their realm, and its their job to attend the court to re-establish connections. They have heard that the Whumpee is still alive(which is a good news, as Whumpee shares a bloodline connection with Caretaker's own monarch) What they didn't expect is that they would be standing beside Whumper in the negotiation room with other envoys, completely silent and broken, wearing robe that bears the symbol of their house.

As Whumper welcomed all of the foreign guest, a guard callously strips away Whumpee's robe, revealing a body marred by hundreds of bruises, cuts, and burn mark. They forced them to crawl as Whumper used them as a chair throughout the talk. Throughout ALL talks, in the duration of Caretaker's stay. Caretaker's home kingdom is desperate to keep Whumpee alive, and Whumper knows it. It is a simple matter to injure Whumpee every time the any former allies brought up terms that Whumper didn't like, sometimes forcing Whumpee to beg, bring the envoys their pens or lick their boots, or maybe flog them until the disagreeing party concede.

Other envoys are appalled but find themselves trapped by the exigencies of forging strategic alliances and securing crucial trade agreements. Caretaker had to juggle between appeasing whumper and other diplomats, strategizing and compromising here and there to keep the discussions brief to keep spare Whumpee from prolonged negotiations, becoming Whumper's unwilling political advantage. Just as planned.

[I'M SO FUCKING SORRY I CANT WRITE AND IT ENDED UP INTO A POLITICAL FANTASY I COMMITED A CRIME]

Haha its not a crime don’t worry 😂 and a trope can never be explored too much. Have you explored it to the depth that you are satisfied? No? Then it’s not too much ✌🏻 also this is such a tasty scenario omg, what with whumper using whumpee as a bargaining chip in the negotiations with caretaker

[the-metalhead-chick]

For the prompt game: An arrogant royal gets overthrown by rebels and ends up in the dungeons. At first he's shaken but still defiant and still certain his supporters will save him. Days pass, then weeks and fear creeps into the royal's heart. He's weak, powerless, and no one cares enough to save him. The only reason he's been left alive this long is so a public execution can be arranged once the new government is in order.

They're going to kill him. He's going to die. He, god, he doesn't want to die.

One day, a former servant of his visits the dungeon. He'd fired them for petty reasons despite their tearful pleas that their family would starve. Now they were a member of the rebel leader's inner circle. The royal's heart drops.

The servant speaks coldly, face hardened with resentment. The royal stays quiet, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity despite his terror, but cringes when the servant snaps at the insult. There's a pause and for a moment the royal sees pity in the servant's eyes.

A few weeks ago the royal would've seen pity as a insult but now, alone and deprived of human compassion, it's the only hope he has. It breaks him. Whatever arrogance he has left crumbles against his desperation to live. Swallowing his pride, he lets himself cry in front of his captors for the first time and begins to beg. They don't need to kill him, he can- he'll abdicate, please. They could enslave him, or, or leave him to rot or- please, anything, he'll do anything, just let him live, please he wants to live.

Oh this is delicious!! Thank you for sending this in, I love it when the arrogant whumpees at their lowest point are confronted with people they’ve wronged in their past…I just think they’re neat