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Sam’s bare feet in 12x01 (as requested by @hidingfrommychildren, @lillysilverus, and other commenters)

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unseelie whumper........ human pet................

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remember me mentioning some songs stuck in my head? yeah, i blame those for this (but this one mostly)

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A group of whumpees get purchased by a new master. This one is nowhere near as cruel as their last, but the group as a whole is still very skittish. It’s stresses their new master out to no end. I can just see them on the phone with a friend like “I can’t walk into a room without them trembling. The youngest nearly hurt herself trying to scurry away from me. What am I to do?”

OOF. If one whumpee isn’t enough to sate your needs, try a whole group! This is a fantastic idea and I love it with all my heart! 

I also love it from a worldbuilding perspective… maybe it’s common practice to buy and sell whumpees in groups. Anywhere between two and six is the norm, since they’ve already been trained together, and they’ve bonded. Productivity is better if these groups stay together. Perhaps our reluctant whumper(?) comes into an inheritance, or wins a particularly high-stakes poker game. Either way, they’ve suddenly got six differently traumatized whumpees to deal with. 

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The monster presses its claws into the whumpee’s chest, pinning them harder against the wall and making it harder to breathe. The whumpee is sure they’re going to die, watching the creature open it’s gigantic mouth with seemingly endless rows of jagged teeth. The whumpee closes their eyes and braces for pain���only to feel more of a wet slap to the face as the beast licks them.

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Whump Prompt #178

The monster has done their best to make the timid new captive feel safe. They give up their pallet, stay as far away as they can, squish themselves up as small as possible, make sure not to eat or drink until after the new resident has, generally tries not to be big or scary or threatening.

One night they’re thrown back in the cell, too battered to move. All they can do is whimper, bleed, and pray for sleep. A tiny hand slips into their paw, a blanket gently pulled over their shivering body. The monster opens their eyes to see the timid cellmate with wet rags, smiling shakily as they prepare to clean up the monster.

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The team can tell the poor caged monster isn’t doing well. They’re wheezing and whining and struggling to sleep. The seller says they’ll probably kill it soon, but the team refuses to let that happen.

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i love characters passing out as much as the next person, but i feel like greying out has Just As Much potential, and I hardly ever see it in fics!

The whumpee’s vision slowly going fuzzy as they slide down the wall, their legs giving out on them. they’re dimly aware of the panicked words of their friends, of careful hands jostling them, searching for an injury. they’re just so tired. 

“[Name]? [Name], you gotta stay with us, okay? Just a bit longer, buddy.”

Can the whumpee walk with help? Leaning on someone, with their arm slung around the caretaker’s shoulders? Do they need to be carried? Either way, they experience the transition to movement in bursts – one minute, they’re on the ground, and the next, they’re being picked up.

The whumpee losing bits of time as they fade in and out of awareness, moaning as their injuries are jostled. They just barely hear the caretaker’s frantic apologies.

Are they feverish? Do they know what’s going on? Do they know where they are, and who’s taking care of them?

“Hey, glad to see you back with us! No – you’re safe, everything is okay! We just need to let the doctors take a look at you, okay? I’ll be here the whole time.”

The caretaker or a medical professional narrating what’s happening to get the whumpee to stay with it, informing them that, okay, they’re gonna pull up your shirt, and then we’re gonna get a look at that wound. just a few more stitches, you’re doing so good.

Whumpees who fight unconsciousness with all their might. Maybe they’re worried about nightmares or visions. Maybe they’re scared that this isn’t really real. Maybe the whumper punished them for falling asleep!

Caretakers who recognize this and tell the whumpee that it’s okay, they can give in now, they don’t need to fight anymore, they’ll be right here.

OR whumpees who want nothing more than the blissful oblivion of sleep/unconsciousness, but they’re too miserable and in too much pain to even pass out. They keep slipping in and out of agonizing moments until the caretaker notices and asks if we can get some pain meds over here, please?

In general I love this trope as a filler for what happens when a character passes out and gets transported from Point A to Point B – after all, where’s the fun in whump if you’re too unconscious to feel it?

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I’m scared, Lux thinks, eyes lost in the dark. He tucks the tops of the covers against his cheek and curls up, fingers digging into the blankets. Even though the bed is soft and warm, and there’s no iron around his wrists, no concrete nearby, he feels vaguely certain that he’s powerless, that someone dangerous can hear him. Maybe if he thinks it desperately enough, the panic will be taken away. Maybe the Hunter will shush him, card through his curls and rest a hand at his temple to press into his mind and replace the fear with calm as a reward for being good.

I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m sorry.

He’s alone in the room, his shoulders aching, his stomach feeling hollow from hunger, his head throbbing - just the old chronic aches, just hungry from skipping dinner thanks to nerves, just a headache, nothing more - but it all adds up to being as near to certain as he can be, that he’s going to be hurt.

It’s 4am, and he’s all alone, so the fears can roam free from his head and spread in the air of the room to crush in on him slowly, heavily.

But then - then, there’s a palm between his shoulder blades, massaging into his back gently, steadily. A weight settles back onto the bed and makes his side warm, the covers shifting to pair his crumpled-up body with another. Emory wraps around Lux, cuddling against him, not letting him feel cold and alone.

“Sad things in your head, Curls?” Emory hums quietly, arms wrapping around Lux’s middle over his T-shirt. Lux pushes himself back to be flush up against his boyfriend’s chest. He wants to feel all the comfort he can right now.

“Scared,” The warlock answers, voice hushed. “I’m scared.”

His boyfriend finds Lux’s hands, and then his wrists. Lux tenses, stops breathing, until Emory’s thumbs start rubbing circles right where those wrists join with the bottoms of palms; a sensitive, scarred spot. When there’s no touch there, Lux can imagine cold metal binding them. When Emory’s warm fingers massage feeling into the skin there, he’s tethered to the present.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Lux shakes his head, shoulders hunched up. “No, just… what if this isn’t real, what if I’m there, he’d do that, he would make me think I’m s-safe…”

“You are safe, been that way for a long while. It’s hard to know what’s real, ‘specially this late, mind playing tricks on you in the dark.” Emory kisses Lux on the cheek, then at the corner of his jaw. “But this is real. You’re okay. You’re safe, Curls, warm and safe.”

“H-hold me tighter? Please?” Lux sounds terrified that Emory’s going to dissolve into mist and drift away, a figment of his imagination.

Emory murmurs, “Okay, Curls,” and hugs him tighter, one leg bending at the knee and coming up to rest over Lux’s hip, a weight at  Lux’s back and a little on top of him, but not enough to keep him stuck where he is. Just enough to keep him together until morning comes, and with light and ambient sounds of life around, brings some shred of confidence in Lux that this is real, this is safe, and he’s going to be okay.

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The whumpee being forced to look their whumper in the eyes as they’re tortured, so they can enjoy how ‘pretty’ every little flinch and quiver is within them, how ‘cute’ it is when their eyes widen, glassing over with tears, and their pupils constrict… So their every emotion is laid bare to their captor, as those emotions (like the whumpee themselves) are ‘theirs to enjoy’.

If they’re ever rescued the whumpee keeps their head down and their gaze to the floor; any attempt to make eye contact results in an immediate, visceral terror, expecting the same pain they felt so many times before.

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“Anh— wait! Wait, s-stop, please! We’re friends. We’re— why are you doing this? We’re friends!”

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Dehumanisation

One of the things I like the most in whump is recovery after the dehumanisation.

The whumper used degrading names like mutt, bitch, dog, pet, etc., used collars/shock collars, muzzle, etc. The whumpee starts out with defiance but slowly starts to believe them.

The whumpee being conditioned to address everyone using ���Sir’. The whumper used to punish them severely if they didn't use the word 'Sir’. They address their friends/team using 'Sir’ despite countless reassurances that they are safe, they do not need to use the word 'Sir’ anymore because they are utterly terrified of the punishment.

The whumper making the whumpee believe that their team is not looking for them because it has been months and they still haven’t rescued the whumpee. 

The whumpee was forced to say 'Thank you, sir’ after every beating/torture session.

When the team rescues the whumpee, they just lie there, trembling with fear, curling in on themselves, flinching from any touch and noise and whimpering. After they heal physically, they still can’t look anyone in the eye because they were not allowed to do so.

The caretaker gives the whumpee food and water, but they don’t even touch the food. When the whumper first provided them with food and they immediately started eating it, the whumper took away the food and water and punished the whumpee mercilessly. They then denied the whumpee food and water for a few more days because how dare they touch the food without permission?

The whumpee doesn’t know what to do now that they are free because the whumper kept them on a strict timetable. Having nothing to do, they follow the caretaker around everywhere. There is a time when the caretaker is very stressed due to some reason. The whumpee is following them around like usual when suddenly the caretaker snaps and yells, “Can you quit following me around like a fucking dog for one goddamned second?” The whumpee panics and immediately scrambles back towards the nearest corner they find and sink down. They raise their hands in a defence position expecting to be punished. The caretaker stays shocked for a moment before realising their mistake and running towards the whumpee, apologies already forming on their tongue, but the whumpee just pushes themselves further back into the wall and starts sobbing, muttering heart-breaking pleas and apologies and promises to be good. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, sir…please, I’m so sorry…Please, please don’t punish me…I swear I’ll be-I swear I’ll be good! I swear! Please- just please…sir, please…I’m so sorry…” The caretaker’s heart is breaking into a million little pieces as they fight the burning in their eyes.

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dump your horribly injured whumpee, unable to move, in an alley or a warehouse or i don’t know, a literal dumpster.

now leave them there all night to take little gasping agonized breaths, whimper softly and desperately, hoarsely cry out for help that isn’t coming.

when they’re finally found, the caregiver feels ill at the realization of how many hours they’ve been alone and in excruciating pain.

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“What do you think?”

The whumper’s bodyguard looked over, surprised to be addressed by his boss.

��About what?” They asked uncertainly, eyes glancing to the body laying quivering on the ground. Soft noises of pain escaped whumpee, who teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, bloody and broken.

“About them,” whumper said, walking around the half-conscious captive.

The bodyguard looked down, expression blank and impassive. They had learned to filter out the screams, instead choosing to stare at the wall, waiting for them to be done.

“I don’t… I don’t think anything of them,” the bodygaurd replied hesitantly, watching as whumper pulled whumpee into their lap. The captive whimpered softly, curling reflexively against their captor’s chest.

“Yes, but really, what do you think?” Whumper persisted, stroking a hand through whumpee’s hair. The captive shuddered, half aware of who was touching them.

“I don’t know… what they’ve done to deserve this…” The bodyguard shifted as they spoke, uncertain what whumper wanted them to say.

“Deserve it?” Whumper smiled, dragging the knife down whumpee’s back. The captive keened weakly, clutching tighter to their chest. “Absolutely nothing.” They retracted the knife, one second, before drawing it down again, carving deeply into the whumpee’s frail form. “But that’s the delightful part, isn’t it?” The whumpee woke with a cry, eyes going wide as they pushed weakly against their captor’s chest.

The bodyguard shuddered slightly, staring back at the wall as the screams started anew.

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Your periodic reminder that in people who have been subject to threats and punishment for having emotional responses or ‘inappropriate’ facial expressions, panic attacks look different.

They may look like the person has become calmer and less involved, dismissive, even. Some people become intensely subservient and silent. Some become catatonic.

Panic doesn’t always involve screaming, crying, and obvious signs of distress. It involves an extreme form of the person’s fear response – which can be altered by circumstance, ability, and what they’ve learnt to fear.

Which is to say, it’s not your place to decide someone isn’t having a panic attack, when they’ve told you that’s what’s happening.

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They needed the knife.

They gripped the 10-inch butcher knife in trembling fingers. Their bruised face reflected in the surface. Their own blood was still crusted on the edge. It was the same one that had been used on them, so many times.

“Hey,”

Their head snapped up, their grip on the knife tightening. Their rescuer crouched beside them, holding a blanket. “Can I cover you up?”

Their eyes darted to the side. To the body laying a few feet away, waiting for it to move. It was going to move. They couldn’t be dead. They stared but it never twitched. Their eyes flashed back to their rescuer and they nodded once. The blanket draped around their shoulders, covering them and the damage.

“Can I have that?” Their rescuer was reaching for the knife. No. No. They needed it. They shook their head, a panicked whimper escaping them. They started to pull away, the blanket sliding off. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, you can keep it. Keep it, just be careful.”

They gripped the knife harder, knuckles white, and nodded their head. They could keep it. They needed it. “I’m going to pick you up now. Get you out of here…”

They clutched the knife to their chest as their rescuers arms wrapped around them, picking them up.

“Are you sure you want to hold onto that?”

“I need it.” They croaked in reply, voice sore from screaming. After all this time being defensless… They needed a knife in their hands.

(Inspired by @captivity-whump)