When Whumpee is scared of Caretaker
- When Caretaker comes off as super intimidating, maybe they're muscular or carry themselves with a lot of authority, so it's a struggle to help whumpee feel safe.
- The classic pet whumpee thinking caretaker is new master and trying to do what they want and avoid punishments.
- Caretaker would never hurt whumpee, but they're very strong and/or whumpee is very weak, so they both know that it would be so easy if they did.
- Caretaker rescues whumpee from whumper, and maybe fights whumper or breaks through a wall or roughly grabs and carries whumpee, so when they get home and caretaker tries to help whumpee calm down, whumpee is terrified of them.
- Caretaker moves quietly or teleports and startles whumpee by suddenly appearing.
- Caretaker is part of a dangerous species, or has a reputation as a threat on their own, and whumpee recognizes them and is hesitant to trust them.
- Caretaker takes revenge on whumper, doing the same things to them that they did to whumpee, and whumpee sees this and is terrified at what caretaker is capable of.
- Caretaker is related to whumper or looks similar to them, and whumpee logically knows they're safe, but they still feel reminded of whumper.
- Caretaker has reflexes or instincts that could hurt whumpee, for example a trained fighter reflexively attacking people who startle them, or a vampire who needs blood and might unwillingly bite whumpee.
- Caretaker is part of a group that whumpee was conditioned to fear, maybe a revolutionary group or people against what whumper is doing. They have to show whumpee that they can be trusted, and slowly deprogram them.
- Caretaker curses frequently or talks loudly and it scares whumpee.
- Caretaker is possessed, and doesn't know whether the person possessing them can be trusted around whumpee. Maybe they get possessed unexpectedly and have to deal with the aftermath and whumpee being afraid of them again.
- Caretaker accidentally hurting whumpee, like accidentally hitting them with a gesture or walking into them without looking, and whumpee thinks it's intentional.
- Caretaker cursing or muttering insults in frustration at something random, and whumpee thinking it's directed at them. Maybe caretaker doesn't know why whumpee's attitude suddenly changed and is concerned for them, but whumpee interprets it as disappointment or anger.
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Guess who just got launched off her horse!! LOL i’m fine, but here’s what that feels like for anyone to use for Whumpy Purposes:
- The “Oh Shit” moment when you recognize that you are, in fact, airborne
- The desperate attempts you will make to save yourself prove fruitless as your horse moves underneath you and away from you (what i like to call the “Yeet” moment)
- The swoop of adrenaline in your stomach when you recognize that you are indeed falling and sadly, gravity is working as intended
- There is always a moment when your body stops responding to what your brain is frantically trying to tell it. This results in dumb moments like “i’m in the dirt, why am I still holding onto the reins?” and “I should probably try to grab mane or something” as you get tossed and don’t grab the mane (this is usually when things are just happening too fast for you to keep up with. it happens)
- The initial impact, if you’ve managed to maybe slow your descent, is usually the hip/back/butt area. it is very hard to also avoid hitting your head when this happens as gravity whiplashes your top half into the ground (ow)
- The adrenaline hit when you get unseated/launched/etc will cause you to tighten all your muscles involuntarily, which means as gravity takes over you will likely pull muscles in vain attempts to stay on
- Pain usually doesn’t get felt immediately unless you landed on something wrong/ landed on an item/etc- the worst part is usually a couple hours later when you start to stiffen up
Godspeed, my fantasy writers!
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Tropes I adore
-Characters who are constantly in fight or flight mode relaxing enough to fall asleep on the couch around others, and those others draping a blanket over them.
-Touch starved characters getting group hugs from their found family.
-When something important that was once taken away is now given back, ie a photograph, a book, a freedom even.
-A character that’s always trying to be the protector or the hero finally getting to the breaking point.
-“Are you okay?”
“No, no I’m not, I’m not okay and I need help.”
-A character with self esteem issues pushing themselves to prove they’re “worthy” to belong in their group, only to burn themselves out. Then, they’re taken care of by the rest of the group, and all the feels come out.
-A good shower after escaping something awful and the character sinking to the floor with a sob, letting their feelings out where no one can see or hear them.
-Tomboy basically adopting the whumpee and having to deal with emotions and other obligations they had intentionally avoided, under the guise of being masculine/ “not like other girls”
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When the magic user overexerts themself so much that they don’t even actually realize how bad it is. One of their friends has to point out to them that there’s blood trickling from their nose, and Whumpee can only smear it with two fingers and look at the blood in dazed surprise. “Oh...” they say faintly. Then their legs turn to jello and they crumple.
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Hey, I saw your post about the Victorian era regarding whump and I really liked it :) Do you have any whump prompts for that era? Please and thank you! xx
Whumpee needing to work off their indenture to a cruel master or have it sold to someone who could be even worse. How far is too far? Will the authorities listen if they try to get help, or send them home to face punishment for attempting to soil their master’s good name?
Perhaps their contract is bought by a new master who is kind, and whumpee is paralyzed with the thought of messing up and being sent away again. Over polite and following all the strict codes of conduct even though their new master tries to be friendly and familiar with them. Leading the new master to perhaps believe they don’t like them and would be happier somewhere else?
Whumpee being insulted or demeaned for being poor, lower class, or a race/species that is looked down upon.
The coppers turning a blind eye when they are assaulted in the street. Whumpee thinks another poor person/one of their species is coming to help them but, no, they only steal the whumpee’s last coin off their battered form and run away.
Whumpee pretends to be higher class. Steals nice clothes and lies about who they are. Leading to betrayal when their love interest finds out the truth.
Characters from separate classes fall in love and the world around them tries to tear them apart in order to maintain the statuesque.
Street Rat Whumpees;
Being caught while pickpocketing. How does the whumper or caretaker treat the hungry little thief?
Whumpee given a chance at a good job from Caretaker. Only to find out they have been stealing to help feed their friends. Do they forgive them or get them locked up?
Whumpee given the chance at a not good job by Whumper, but is it worth not starving or freezing to death on the streets? What will they let the whumper do to them in exchange for decent food and shelter?
Street rat found families taking care of each other no matter what.
Street rat whumpees who work for a whumper. Stealing for them, getting beaten when they don’t bring home a good take, getting arrested.
Fantasy Whump Opportunities;
Monster Whumpee used as the “fox” in a fox hunt.
Monster whumpee kept as a pet and shown off to high society.
Traveling circus of magical whumpees to be gawked at.
Other Victorian Whump Aesthetics;
Wacked with a copper’s batton.
Beaten with a riding crop.
Sketchy medical treatment. (Leaches anyone?)
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Fantasy character is riding through a forest, with pursuers hot on their trail. They’ve been evading them well, but when they round a corner they find their enemies right ahead, They try to get away, but they’re too slow and an enemy arrow catches them in the shoulder. They turn back and ride away as fast as they can, but the pain of their injury slows them down and disorients them. Eventually they get away from their pursuers, but now they’re very lost. So they keep going, on edge and in pain, as the night falls around them.
Soon it’s completely dark, and they’re exhausted. Pain and blood loss has made them lightheaded, and after a while they’re struggling to stay on their horse. It’s not long before they distantly feel themselves falling, landing painfully on their opposite side. They don’t know how long it is that they lie there, hurt and trembling and slipping in and out of consciousness.
Suddenly they feel a hand shaking them. They’re dizzy and weak and the face hovering above them keeps sliding in and out of focus, but they recognize that somebody’s there. They cry out in pain as their rescuer sits them up and eventually drags them to their feet, helping them back onto their horse. This time they can hardly stay in place, and they’re vaguely glad for the other person beside them, holding onto them as they ride.
The next time they’re fully conscious, it’s in a tiny cabin by a warm fire. Still they hurt all over, and soon recognize their rescuer sitting near them, preparing medicines and boiling water. The rescuer tells them to lie still, and removes the arrow from their shoulder as gently as they can. It’s still excruciating, and they almost pass out again. When they’re done the rescuer gently cleans the wound and dresses it, and bandages their broken ribs. They get to rest after that, in a cloud of pain and exhaustion, but it’s rest all the same. The rescuer watches over them for signs of them getting worse - they’ve tended injured travellers before and know it isn’t always over when it seems like it is.
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Tropes to die for
Best friends to lovers
Evil character becomes good
Character become brainwashed and forced to fight their friends
More about a character is revealed after their death
Misunderstood character’s backstory is revealed that explains everything
Goofy cinnamon roll is actually the baddest badass
Stoic character A has a soft spot for character B
“Mean girl” is actually cool and becomes best friends with main girl
Traitor was actually on the good side all along
Powerless character finally reveals secret powers that have been foreshadowed all along
Any epiphany or eureka moment
Former hero slowly descends into madness and darkness
Character A reveals feelings for character B when character B is extremely hurt or upset
Former enemies forgive/accept each other
Any more tropes? Please add on!
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tonight's h/c aesthetics
- hastily-torn threadbare cloth bandages, smoky campfires, the clinking of metal on metal, faded cloaks stiff with mud, dried blood on leather, tangled hair, hitched breaths, a fevered blush along their cheekbones under dust and sun-freckles
- earthenware cups, whitewashed walls, honey in tea and on gauze bandage-padding, lavender outside the open window, soft voices, long wakeful nights of memory to avoid the nightmares, coughing fits stifled in a pillow, shiny healing scars fading with time
- cold unfamiliar metallic spaceship walls, the beep and whir of life-saving machines, throbbing of engines somewhere outside of sight, a fogged-up oxygen mask, multicolored wires on leads, closed eyelids, a bright uniform coat slung over the foot of the bed and someone crying in the hallway
- rain patter on the roof, a faint wail from somewhere distant, shaky laughter, rolls of elastic wrap and sticky tape out of a friend's backpack, spell-marked weapons laid out for cleaning, hot food eaten one-handed, crooked stitches, blood from a split lip, sharing a coat against a crumbling brick wall
- a golden halo of healing magic around steady gentle hands, the cloudy stain of blood on polished armor, bruises black against skin, haunted eyes, held breath, tears blotted quickly, flags snapping in the wind, a kiss pressed to the corner of their forehead and a moment's sigh of solace
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Ayyy someone who also has their winged whumpee kidnapped!!winged kidnapping squad.Mine is kept by a king in a super fancy cage and the king always dresses the poor whumpee in the finest clothes to show them off.Its just a fun concept
Winged whumpees are just so cute! Such beautiful, exotic creatures deserve to be shown off and displayed!
- Song birds in their golden cages forced to sign for a crowd.
- Raptor whumpees used for sport hunting among high society. Stolen from their nest, trained for sport, made to wear a blindfold before hunts, a tether tied to their leg so they can’t fly away from their captor.
- Ravens who steal shiny things, making friends with a caretaker and leaving them little gifts.
- Vulture/Buzzard whumpee only fed scraps from the whumper’s table.
- The Seagull whumpee sitting on sail rigging and laughing at the pirates who try to capture them.
- Winged Whumpee size differences??? A little chickadee and an eagle. Plot twist; the little chickadee being the mean one and “mobbing” the eagle.
- Two wingeds preening each other and plucking out bent feathers after the whumper is done with them.
aaahhhhh just so much good wing whump!!! The possibilities are endless!
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My life is nothing. Giving the future to those who want to see it…is everything.
|Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV| for @pan2fel
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It's pretty scary when a whumpee is howling with pain, but how about a whumpee who can't feel pain at all/ doesn't express it when they're in pain?
Person A- 'Right, the exit will be down the third corridor on the lef- OH MY GOD YOU'VE BEEN SHOT!'
Person B- 'yeah, I felt it earlier, I think we have ten minutes before I pass out. Is that the right corridor? What's the time?'
Or an overly optimistic childish whumpee, with a reluctant caretaker dealing with aftermath, and they both get very serious very fast, no pretense.
Person A- it's probably just a scratch. Now sit still. This probably won't take long, but any fidgeting might-*sees huge stab wound* WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!
Person B- It's alright. Please don't freak out
Person A- DON'T FREAK OUT?
Person B- I'm fine, really, it's fine
Person A- WHY AREN'T YOU SCREAMING? DOESN'T IT HURT?
Person B- yes and no. Can you please just patch it up? I don't want to pass out.
Person A- *grabs everything from the kit*
Person B- No, we won't need painkillers
Person A- How are you staying so CALM? *lifts B's top to reveal lots of old scars*
Person B- practice makes perfect. Now- *passes out*
This works much better if there is a whole team to freak out over whumpee hiding/not experiencing pain, bringing on guilt, confusion, protectiveness, anger at all the secrecy and optimistic pretense, etc
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Killan Josta: The Rabbit
Listen. Exactly one conversation with @wildfaewhump and this boy found himself nearly fully formed, and he wanted his backstory and who am I to deny an OC who technically doesn’t exist their moment?
Exists in the same world as @wildfaewhump‘s Iesin and Talvos, and this is in no way relevant and should definitely not fill you with hope for his future. He is a sad boy. No hope for him.
CW: Suicidal ideation (of the ‘would be better than this’ variety, is brief, happens twice), debt slavery, beating and violent abuse, kicking, blood, death threats, emotional and financial manipulation, referenced purposeful malnourishment
“Where d’you think you’re gonna go, Matti?”
Killan’s thin shoulders hunched up somewhere near his chin and he drew his knees up to his chest. He could see a bit of red soaking into the rough woven cloth in his pants where he’d hit the ground and scraped hard along a bit of tree root sticking up out of the dirt.
Under the hollow created by the lifted root, he could just see the glitter of an eye, some kind of bitty rabbit or chipmunk or other tiny prey animal hiding.
He wished he had somewhere to hide, too.
Show me how to escape, he thought to the creature. Teach me how to run or fly fast and far enough next time. Are there really woodgods like my mother used to say? Are there really monsters who sometimes save people like in the stories?
“Hey. Matti.” Ren snapped his fingers before Killan’s face.
“My name’s not Matti,” He said in a half-whisper, then flinched instinctively against the blow he knew was coming.
He threw his hands up just in time to take the brunt of Ren’s heavy-handed slap meant for his face.
“Your name’s what I say ‘tis,” Ren snarled down at him. He leaned over Killan like a great big tree giving off shade and Killan shrunk even more under the baleful look in his eyes. The other hunters and sometime bandits that worked with Ren had settled in a circle around the two of them, four more. Beron, Vanya, Tinch, and Pylko were all as broad and terrifying as Ren ever was, but they deferred to Ren - which made Ren, the holder of Killan’s debt and the one he was starting to think might never let it be paid, the scariest of them all.
“If I say you’re Matthias and call you Matti, that’s what you are. Isn’t that right?” The hand was threatening again, held high in the air and Killan kept his arms up to protect himself, curling them over his dirty brownish hair. They took baths once a week, the group did, and Killan always got last turn at the bathwater and he never felt clean unless he dipped into the river when sent to get water and took the time to scrub himself and took his punishment for dawdling when he returned.
Except this time, he’d tried not returning.
They hunted him down anyway, rubbed his head in the dirt to punish him for putting on airs of cleanliness, and worse was coming. He knew worse was coming. There was a sick pit of fear in his stomach marrying with the hunger that chased him through days and nights. He was worked too hard for little in return, but if he ate too much...
“Y-yes, Ren,” Killan tried from behind the dubious security of his own thin wrists and arms. “I-I’m Matti if you want, ‘til I pay off the money. When… when will I-”
“Not for you to know, debt-slave.” That wasn’t Ren but Beron, who aimed a kick to his side he wasn’t ready for, a crack into his ribs that sent Killan sprawling sidelong into the dirt with a cry.
Once that dam was opened, all their violence burst forth, and it was all he could do to curl into a ball and take the kicks from their good leather shoes. All five of them had their go, laughing and having fun with him, just like always.
Each cry, every whimper or whine, was a mark added to his debt. Ren counted cries as more he owed them for the inconvenience of having to hear ‘Matti’ be a weak little mess who couldn’t even take a hit like a man.
He counted all the food that Killan ate on a little list, marked the wine he drank from the wineskins on occasion, too. Killan owed him for the little tin cup and plate they let him keep, owed him the nights they made stew and let him have a spoon, owed him for the clothes on his back that had gone worn and threadbare, for the needle and thread Killan used to mend every bit torn open by their fists and their boots.
He owed them for the second set of clothes they’d gotten him so he might be clean, just for a day, now and then when he did the washing.
He owed and owed and owed.
He’d been thankful when they saved him. He was still thankful, but part of him had started wishing they had just let the other ones throw him in the river in town after they stole all his coins, just let them toss him like a pebble with weights tied to his feet force him down.
It would probably hurt less to be dead, at least. It would hurt less than this.
But… but there were beautiful days, too.
There were days when Killan walked beside the horses just so he could fall back a little and look around at the sun dappling through the trees along the path, or other days when they kept camp instead of moving on when Killan could race himself to the river for water, or dive into a deep forest pool and get himself clean, blessed blissful clean, and sun himself naked on a rock until he was dry, feeling like one of the wild beasts who could have come and gone as he pleased.
There were days when they were nice to him, cuffed him lightly instead of harsh, pulled him to sit with them around the fire to tell their old stories of fae stealing babies away until Killan shivered and went pale and they laughed, but it was good-natured laughing. Not mean, not really. Not the way they usually were.
There were days during his watch with Beron where Beron would show him how to make tiny little animals out of wood, carving this way or that until he made a tiny fox, a wolf, one time a bird that whistled if you blew into its beak.
They didn’t mark his debt up some days, when they were happy with him, and he could sing their drinking songs by heart and get rewarded with a grin and a clap to the back.
So there were good days, too, and he leaped desperately from good day to good day like a squirrel jumping between trees.
But after a few bad days, he’d had enough, and thought he could run even though they were hunters and bandits.
He’d been wrong.
“Y’know what this means, Matti,” Ren said heavily, as though Killan were a grand disappointment. “Don’t you?”
Killan’s whole body ached, and all he could do was groan on his side on the forest floor, feeling old leaves soft beneath him, smashed into his hair, dirt and mossy green smeared along his face. He throbbed with pain every place their boots had gotten him, and hated his own thin leather shoes cut badly and bought cheap that sometimes wore his skin raw and bloody along the sides of his feet.
He’d get boots when he earned them, he was told.
What else could he do to be worth good boots? What more was there that Killan had not already done?
“I-I’m sorry, Ren, I d-d-don’t-”
“It means we’ve got to tie you behind my horse again,” Ren said. The others clicked their tongues against their teeth, disappointed sounds. Killan slowly pushed himself up, hissing through his teeth at the flare of pain just about everywhere.
“You… you d-don’t, I didn’t-”
“No, we do. If you’re going to try and steal your debt from me, Matti, then you’re going to have to be kept close. Where would you be if I hadn’t saved you, Matti, huh?”
Killan looked back down at the ground. “Dead, Ren.”
“That’s right. You’d be dead if it weren’t for us taking pity on you. And what do you think it tells me when you try to run off and steal my bread?”
Killan’s chin jerked up at that, jaw set in a faded hint of stubbornness. “I baked the bread!”
Ren backhanded him, sending him back down to the dirt, like he lived there. Like he belonged in the decaying leaves where mushrooms sometimes came up in the spring and Killan would pick them by the basketful to cook in oil for dinner, back home, back before. “It’s my bread whether you bake it or not. Stealing bread’s a crime, ain’t it?”
Killan wiped at his mouth with his arm, spat into the dirt and ignored the blood in it. “Yes, Ren.”
“Right. And runnin’ from a debt is a crime, too. You’re lucky we caught you first - show your face in a town and they’d lock you up ‘til I came for you, wouldn’t they?”
Not if they didn’t know I was a debt-slave.
Killan wisely kept that to himself.
“Should’ve let him run,” Beron said, ruffling Killan’s hair as he cringed away from the unwanted touch. “Let the fae eat him.”
“They don’t come down from their stupid mountains,” Vanya drawled.
“Sure they do,” Beron said, but offered no detail or proof. “Where else would they get humans to eat?” He was the one who told the best stories about fae, stealing babies from mothers and taking the children in a village as thralls and leading them away with song, making men kill themselves in front of their horrified true love. They were spooky stories that left the hair on Killan’s arms standing up but kept him leaning forward towards the fire, waiting for more.
Killan liked Beron’s stories, even if he didn’t like Beron.
Even if Beron always kicked him hardest.
“Hey.” Ren hit him across the face again to get his attention, and Killan’s teeth came down too hard on his lower lip, a burst of salt-sweet coppery taste against his tongue as his lip busted and he coughed, gagging at the overwhelming taste. “You listening, Matti?”
My name's not-
“Yes, Ren,” Killan muttered, trying to speak around his lip, so it came out more like Yeh, -ehn. “I-... listenin’.”
“Good. Next time I catch you running from me, I’m going to tie half a raw deer to your back and have Beron use his fae whistle to call one down to tear you apart. And if a fae doesn’t make quick work of your scrawny arse, trust that everything else that smells it on you will.”
Killan shuddered. Beron’s stories made the fae monstrous, rows of sharp teeth and feathers that could cut like a blade, big claws on their hands instead of proper fingers. It wouldn’t be a good death, but at least it would be one. “Unner-... unnerstan’, Ren.”
“Good. And I don’t want any of your mopery no more, either. All you do is mope around actin’ like you don’t have a perfectly good lot in life compared to your bones restin’ in the river where we found you. I’ll take a happier face from here on out and anything less will make it worse for you. Now get on your feet.”
Killan swallowed blood, felt his stomach spin and lurch and threaten to make him bring up his meager breakfast all over the forest floor. He nodded and pushed himself to his feet, falling into line with the men who owned him as they headed back to camp, the occasional smack or kick or curse urging him on even as he limped and dragged one foot a little behind the other.
Ren owned his life until his debt was repaid, but the debt was higher with every breath he took, and he was starting to understand that Ren would never let him go.
He spat blood on the ground as he limped, and wondered if maybe a fae would eat him, if ever he could find one and politely ask it to.
Killan tried to take a breath and winced at the sharp spike of pain from his side. “I th-think you cracked my rib,” he mumbled to Beron, who had come up on his right. The tall, older man glanced sideways at him and shifted, elbowing him sharply right in the side.
Beron, who was sometimes the nicest of them all, right now grinned at Killan’s answering hoarse whimper.
“That’s another mark,” Ren said from up at the front, and Killan made another hopeless sound that only brought Beron’s smile wider.
“Don’t worry, cracked ribs heal fast enough,” Beron said, suddenly jovial and friendly, clapping Killan on the back just to watch him stumble and hiss through his teeth to hold back the sounds as he got his balance back. “I’ll cook tonight, lad. You can lie down early.”
Unsettled by the sudden switch from cruelty to kindness, Killan looked up, only to stumble over a tree root he would’ve seen if his eyes had still been down, falling to his hands and knees on the forest floor, palms scraping dirt and the just-closed cuts across his knee opening up to bleed again.
Killan sniffed back the heat that was building behind his eyes and set his jaw as he forced himself back to his feet, trying to ignore Beron’s booming laughter at his back as he hurried to catch up to Ren.
By the time the leader looked back at him, he had set an empty but vaguely cheerful expression on his face, despite the bloodied lower lip, despite the bruising already starting up across his face on both sides, despite cracked rib and hurting back and aching legs.
Ren didn’t want to see him being sad about his lot in life anymore, and Killan was so tired of getting hurt. Lying wasn’t all that hard. It would be easy enough to lie, with the right reasons, and if I look right they won’t hurt me so much seemed as good a reason to smile as any.
He set himself to look as happy as he could, and hoped that Beron had really meant it about letting him get into his bedroll early.
Ahead of them, the sun came down in dappled yellow through the canopies of the tallest trees, and Killan fixed his eyes on the sight, forced the slightest smile to stretch his split lip until he winced.
The smile wasn’t really all that hard to force, if he was honest with himself. He might be hurt, and bloody, and dirty and downtrodden, but… but you could live for the forest, if you really wanted to, not just live off of it.
Killan could’ve been happy in the woods forever, on his own. In the deeper woods like this he could almost swear the air felt like magic.
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Whumpee can see spirits/ghosts. While held captive, they are haunted by the spirits of the people the whumper has killed.
Ooooo, maybe the spirits eventually try to help them out/give them tips to endure the torture.
“Whumper likes to dislocate bones when they’re frustrated,” one spirit says. “That means you’re doing well, you aren’t breaking. Keep holding on.”
“They might give you food if you call them [respectful title],” another spirit says. “It’ll be bread or crackers if you say it enough times.”
The softer spirits keep the company and comfort them as they cry. “You’re so strong,” a parental spirit soothes. “What they did to you today…that’s what killed me. You’re much stronger than I could be.”
Eventually Whumpee gets so used to the spirits’ presence that when their friends come to rescue them, Whumpee thinks they’re spirits too.
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When Jaskier said he was prepared for this, he didn’t lie. Geralt just... isn’t. And won’t ever be.
Never was his exceptional hearing this much of a blessing and a curse.
(Okay, we actually went in this direction, I can’t believe I really drew this. Also some love for @abluescarfonwaston who provided parts of the dialouge about Geralt being nothing more than a guard dog.)
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whump prompt #26
An immortal whumpee who's immortality does not include accelerated healing. Their body just keeps going, long after the damage should have killed them. They will fully heal from anything in time, but getting there is neither a quick nor pleasant journey.
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guardian angel whump
The idea of a guardian angel who is stuck to protect one person gives me a lot of fun dynamics...
Angel who will do anything, anything, anything for their human
Angels who would get horribly injured for their human
Angels who would take their human’s place
Angels who would commit crimes and kill others for their human
Angels who do things their human would never want to be done
Hhumans who are terrified or horrified by how much the angel will do
Humans who want to fight with the angel
Humans who feel stifled by their angel and just want to get away
Angels trying desperately to look after self-destructive humans
Angels being sent away by their human and being miserable or even sick
Whumpers taking advantage of the angel’s sacrificial streak
Angels having to work for the whumper with their human held hostage
Angels falling from grace in order to protect their human
Abusive dynamics under the cut. TW: gaslighting, threat of self harm, manipulation.
Angels who guilt their charge into doing exactly what the angel says
Angels who cry and blame and sulk when their human gets hurt even accidentally
Angels who never allow their human privacy, demanding to always be there for them
Angels who protect their human ‘from themself’ by taking over their lives
Angels who manufacture dangerous situations just so they can save their human from them
Angels who tell their human you need me, look what happens when I’m not here, don’t ever forget I can leave you
Humans who get themselves in trouble to see the guardian angel swoop in and prove they matter to someone
Humans who drain the angel dry of energy because it’s fine, this angel exists for me
Humans who tell their angel they have no purpose but to help them
Humans who threaten to hurt themselves if their angel leaves or does something they don’t want
Humans who could force their angel to fall if they chose to
Humans who play hurt or sick to force their angel to stay
Humans who whump their angel because you need me, look what happens when you upset me, don’t ever forget you can’t leave me
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Been thinking about a Whumper who keeps various whumpees. They’re called The Puppeteer. They’re your regular mind controlling Whumper, but with the little twist that their magic expands to warping their body as well. Just imagine a Whumper who has a delirium of being a doctor and so practices human limits and performs general anatomy studies, on the begging for mercy strapped down to a table whumpee. Pleads falling on deaf ears and getting abruptly interrupted to switch to screaming. Just imagine that once the Whumper is done and whumpee’s body is about to give, Whumper pulls them right back to normal. Completely healed, As if nothing happened. Over and over and over again. Not fully wiping their mind because it’s important they’re conscious of their reactions. Only resetting them when needed.
So when whumpee can’t take it anymore and shatters, and The Puppeteer has no use for them anymore, they wipe their memories and let them go back to whatever life they had before. Always with an specific order they won’t understand why they comply to, to send their friend The Puppeter, a letter telling them how well they’re doing.
The Puppeteer reads those letters to their captives when they’re in insufferable pain. Just so they hold to the possibility of a future where there’s no pain. To reach it, they just have to be strong enough to pull through this one last experiment. Unaware of how many times Whumper has read them letters.
However. The Puppeteer has friends that adore their work. People who work alongside him to improve the whumpee’s resistance, appearance, etc. So sometimes, the Puppeteer will give them a whumpee of their preference. Maybe because they’re inhumanly strong now, or have exotic new parts of their bodies worth to parade, or simply gift the tamest Whumpee who can take any punishment because they’re incapable of feeling pain anymore.
The only requirement to take a whumpee with you, is to make them a doll that resembles the whumpee. Each doll, and they have hundreds now, has its own drawer. Used for the letters that whumpee will write for them. Always starting with how much they miss their time with them.
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Alright winged whumpers, I know you’re out there. With eagle wings, Griffins may be the magical creatures for you.
If you want color symbolism, these creatures have it all: their wings can vary from angelic white to earthy brown to black as night.
But what truly makes Griffin wings special is that they should not be able to hold the weight of the Griffin’s body for a long length of time.
That makes for some mighty good stress positions.
Pin a Griffin up by its eagle wings and its lion body will have to scramble with all its considerable strength to keep its weight off them before the bones in their wings will crack inwards and with pain unimaginable, the whole creature will fall.
There are muzzles that work with domestic birds, but with a hook on the end of its beak, eagle will tear most of these appendages apart.
What would be much more terrifying would be a hood, like those used in falconry.
Eagles hunt by sight. It’s their most advanced sense. Take that away and suddenly they’re disoriented, terrified, and blind in ways they didn’t know was possible.
Secondly, think of the sounds!
Personally, I find birds screeching in pain to be particularly heart-breaking.
But Griffins are also magical. That means yours might be capable of human speech and, if so, that’s going to be happening telepathically.
Imagine bird screeches joining with human screams to form one inescapable cacophony of pain that the whumper lives off and the Griffin can’t escape.
Lion paws are HUGE. That means they’re also great things to mutilate in traps or chain to stone or metal walls.
Griffins use their powerful back legs to leap into the air and take off. If you lamed one, it might struggle to fly at all.
That’s not even getting into declawing.
Domestic cats that are declawed experience constant pain. Plus they can no longer hunt, climb, or survive in the wild.
Declaw a Griffin and you’ve forced it to become a pet, a slave, a limping helpless version of the vicious predator it once was.
Finally, lion fur, even not a full pelt, is highly sought after.
Imagine drugging a Griffin and shaving it to sell its coat.
Not only is this going to cause incredibly emotional whump and the Griffin version of dehumanization, your Griffin whumpee is now going to tremble with cold. That fur was a part of them and you violated them in one of the most intimate ways possible.
In myth and legend, Griffins are known as guardians of gold and riches.
Perhaps that’s what the whumper is really after.
Imagine the Griffin seeing what it has spent its whole life protecting being dragged off my men it knows will use that treasure for evil.
Or get creative...
What if it’s not treasure the Griffin is guarding? What if it’s a person? Can the Griffin bear to hear their screams? What if it’s knowledge? Can the Griffin translate an ancient text for the whumper, knowing its power, but also knowing the horrible things that will happen to the Griffin if they refuse?
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Varen: The River
“You want to do what?”
Varen quailed at The Ringmaster’s tone, at the man’s eyes narrowed at him over the rim of his glasses. His mouth opened, half ready to apologize for bothering the man and excuse himself as quickly as possible. But then he remembered why he had come here. Remembered he was asking this as part of his job. He was doing his job.
“Take-take the Mer to-to the river, sir,” he repeated, fingers worrying the bottom edge of his coat. “It-its skin is dry, its scales are dimming, its eyes are glassy and I believe some fresh water will help it be more attractive for the customers, sir.” For the customers. For the circus. For the money. Not for the creature’s own comfort, never for that. “It has been struggling with the exposure ever since the tank broke, sir, and-
“And who’s fault is that?”
Varen’s throat cracked as his voice died. The scabbed remains of the reminder it was his fault still itched and burned below his shirt.
“It-it was mine, sir,” Varen managed, trying to keep his voice steady and his eyes on the man despite how much he wanted to lower his eyes, crumble and beg for forgiveness. That would be pitiful. And it was already too late. He’d already paid for that mistake and could only hope the man wouldn’t continue to make him pay, even though it continued to inconvenience him.
The Ringmaster sighed heavily, his attention returning to the ledger as he lifted a hand and waved him away. “Very well, just don’t let it delay your other duties.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Varen said with a bow before he turned on his heel and hurried out of the man’s tent.
The early golden rays of morning sun burned away the low fog that had settled over the field the circus had occupied as Varen made his way back to the train. Some of the crew was awake, mulling about with steaming mugs of coffee, but none paid the Ringmaster’s little assistant any mind as he slipped through the thin alleys between tents, avoiding the fairway for that exact reason.
He made his way to the tracks rimming the edge of the camp, to the colorfully painted traincars stood waiting for their departure in a few days time. In another hour, the creatures trapped inside those cars would all be impatiently expecting their breakfast, but for now, he beelined to the fourth from the end, grabbing the rail to pull himself up with only a slight wince from the tightness of his back.
The car was cold and dark as he pushed open the door, stirring up dust in the beam of light. In the cage to the side, the creature stirred with dry scrape of scales, pushing his arms below him to sit up.
Varen took a coil of rope from a hook on the wall before he crouched outside the cage. The mer, in turn, looked at him with blinking grey eyes set against pale, almost translucent skin, lips tinged with purple and blue, though not from the cold, tilted down in a frown. Because the assistant had no food, or water, and it was much too early for him to be brought out for his place in the sideshow. The creature’s eyes skimmed over the rope thrown over his shoulder before his head tipped sideways in silent questioning.
“We’re going out,” Varen said as he unclipped his keys from his belt, claws clinking against the metal as he sorted through them to find the one for the mer’s cage.
The creature pulled back as the door creaked open, staring at the offered hand as if those dark claws were tipped with poison.
“Out?” Varen tried again. “River? Um, water.” And he took his hand, three fingers up and touched his chin, as he’d seen the creature do when he tried to ask for more than Varen could offer.
The mer perked up at that, eyes darting to the door and the assistant, before he held out his arms, letting Varen take him up. He was careful with his claws, making sure they didn’t scrape against the mer’s thin skin as he took him under the arms and dragged the dead weight of his tail across the hay and the threshold of the cage. Arms looped around his neck as the creature tried to hold up some of his own weight, heavy tail folding over the assistant’s arm.
“I’ve got you,” Varen said as he felt the other’s own claws, more like sharp, human fingernails, digging into the fabric on the back his coat, dragging over the still-healing cuts.
This one hardly ever fought him when he was brought out, anymore. At one time, Varen had regularly nursed swipes from his claws and bruises from the tail, but the creature was not made for land and struggling seemed to hurt him more than it ever had the assistant. Maybe he could say it was resignation to the entrapment. Or perhaps the creature knew better than to bite the hand that fed him, literally. Either way, now the mer only tipped his head against Varen’s shoulder, exhaled breaths that fluttered the gills on his neck ghosting against the assistant’s skin.
The creature’s head lifted when Varen climbed down the train from the opposite stairs, carrying him over the small swell of land that bordered the rail. His boots slipped on the wet grassy hill, earning a tense from the creature and an imperceptible wince from him as the creature’s webbed grip dug into the back of his neck to hold on tighter.
“I wont drop you,” Varen reassured him, though he was never sure how much he understood when the assistant spoke to him. Maybe he understood enough, as the grip loosened again, his elbow bracing on Varen’s shoulder as he sat up, or maybe it was the sound of flowing water that caused that reaction.
“See?” he said as he crested the top of the hill, revealing a shallow river that paralleled the tracks, water rippling under the sunlight. “Water.”
The mer’s tail flicked impatiently in his hold as he carefully worked them down the opposite side of the grassy hill. The pale eyes stayed locked on the water as they neared and his body nearly twisting out of his grip and making Varen drop him as he went to set him down by the bank. His webbed hands locked into the grass, dragging his body towards the water, tail rolling to propel him closer, just a few more inches and -
“Woah! Hold on!” Varen’s hand latched onto the thinnest part of his tail just before the fluke, stopping him from reaching the edge of the bank. The tail twisted in his grip, trying to flick him off and Varen climbed over it, pinning him down to the grass and earning a low noise rippling from the mer’s gills.
“Do you want in the water or not?” Varen asked as he shucked the coil of rope off his shoulder and held it up, indicating it was the only ticket into getting what he wanted. The creature hesitated, the scales peppered over collarbones and shoulders rising and falling with a sigh before he looked away, eyes casting up in an expression Varen took as annoyed agreement.
“I’ll try to make it comfortable,” he said as he turned around, holding the creature’s tail down between his knees. The rope looped three times around the thinnest part, kept from sliding off by the fluke that spread in a fan of translucent silver from the end.
When he turned back and climbed off, the creature flopped his tail, scowling in distaste as the rope tightened and dug against the scales. Varen couldn’t help the small grin in return at his annoyance and turned his face away to hide it as he made towards the closest tree. Before he could reach it, the extra coils of rope started to slide from his hands.
“Wait!” Varen turned back, looping the rope around his hand and was just in time to see the mer slip off the bank and into the water. His tail flashed as it flicked up out of the swallow depth, catching the light and spraying the water with a rainbow of reflections. Varen didn’t have any time to enjoy the beauty though, as the rope went taut, yanking him forward.
“No, no, no-” He dropped, digging his heels into the ground and leaning back to leverage his weight against the pull. But the slick grass gave no purchase, sliding him closer and closer to the edge of the bank, the rope dragging and burning against his hand.
His foot braced on a rock near the bank, stopping his slide and he yanked back, earning the mer’s head popping out of the water a few meters away. His tail lifted and smacked the surface, splashing Varen in return, seemingly not realizing he’d almost dragged the assistant into the drink.
In the sun, the silver scales shifted with blue, green, and pink. The pale skin shifting with even more transparency when it was wet, colorless hair plastered to his face. Even the old tank of dull, murky water couldn’t properly display the creature’s natural beauty. For a moment, Varen couldn’t help but think of adding more lights or lanterns to the creature’s sideshow tent to help showcase the colors hidden within the silver. But he knew it would never be the same without the sun shining off his scales, the reflection against the water, and the smile on the creature’s face.
Varen pulled the rope again, trying to indicate for him to come back. The mer only kicked stubbornly in return, dragging the assistant a foot closer to the bank instead. The tail was only useless on land, after all, and Varen had misjudged the creature’s strength in his element. He couldn’t have pulled him back if he tried.
They both seemed to realize this at the same time. As the mer’s eyes traveled the length of the tether to where it was wrapped around Varen’s hand, then looked and blinked at him as if to judge his strength. In the moment of hesitation, Varen turned, grabbing for the closest tree to leverage himself against. His claws just scrapped the bark when he was yanked back, landing on his stomach with an oof and the ground slid way, bank crumbling below him and the water coming up to meet him.
The fridged water closed around him, over his head, soaking into his clothes as his arm thrashed out to find some hold. Slick river stones gave no purchase to hands or boots and he twisted, becoming tangled in the rope as his knees sunk into the mud and finally, his head broke above the surface with a breathless, shivering gasp.
Just as quickly, the rope went taut again, twisting against his leg where it had tangled and taking his knee out from below him and he landed face-first back into the river. His other hand shot to catch himself, water rushing into his mouth, threatening the entrance of his lungs as he shoved back against the rocks at the bottom and came up again, coughing roughly to replace water with air.
His vision blurred with the choking and the water and Varen twisted, trying to find the creature as he realized the rope had gone slack. Part of it floated in the water in front of him and he wrapped another loop of the rope around his hand as he tried to get his feet below him so he could stand.
The flash of warning silver came too late, as fingers wrapped around his leg, yanking it from below him again. He went back down, elbows striking the surface first and then the rocks at the bottom of the stream. Cold, slick fingers grappled with the hand that held the end of the rope, weight pressed down on his body, holding him under and Varen thrashed, feeling his horns and the back of his head strike against rocks as bubbles escaped from his mouth, taking with them precious air.
Mud and silt stirred up clouded his vision of flashing silver and the creature’s fluke slammed against his chest, driving the rest of his air from his lungs. The creature held all the advantage below the water, and his fighting was reduced to clumsy thrashing, body weighed down by his clothes, growing weaker and weaker as darkness edged in his vision. But still, his hand held firm, knowing to lose the creature would be a fate worse than drowning in the fridged stream.
The murky river grew darker and colder and Varen felt himself sinking deeper and deeper despite the rocks that scraped against the wounds on his back. Just as the darkness closed, a grip closed onto the fabric of his coat, pulling him up with a rush against the water. His head broke the surface, gasping, coughing, body struggling, trying to back-peddle in the water to escape. The creature reached towards him and Varen’s hands flew up, assuming he was going to shove him under once more but instead the mer only worbled and retreated.
Varen stumbled and crawled back to the shore before it could grab him again, hands clawing at the mud and the roots to drag himself up the bank. He collapsed on his stomach as soon as he escaped the water and coughed against the grass. A splash behind him made him spin, claws latching into the ground for leverage. The mer had his elbows braced on the bank, top half of his body pulled from the water, silver hair plastered around his skin as he reached for Varen’s leg.
On instinct his heel shot out, slamming against the creature’s hand to kick him away. The mer keened as he sunk back, clutching the hand to his bare chest and disappeared below the embankment.
Varen braced again even as he gasped for breath, waiting for the rope to go taunt, waiting to be dragged back under to the cold and the darkness, held down until the last breath of air slipped from his lungs and his hand finally went loose enough for the creature to have its freedom. Or maybe it would just drag his body along the bottom until it found a rock sharp enough to separate them. Or maybe- his thoughts were interrupted by another harsh, wet coughing fit and he collapsed on his back as soon as it was over, ignoring the pain found there in favor of the new, aching, rattling pain that clawed at his lungs from the inside out.
But the pull never came. The return to that cold, wet abyss never arrived.
When he finally looked up again, the creature dipped down behind the bank in response, only his pale, blinking eyes visible above the line of grass and colorless eyebrows drawn down as if worried. As if guilty about the fact it had almost drown him.
Varen laid back again, lifting a hand to wipe water from his face and eyes. The shift of grass beside him made his eyes snap open and find the creature looming over him, hands reaching to down and pressing hard against his chest. Varen coughed again and winced, his hand snapping out to grab his wrist and the creature flinched, but didn’t pull away.
“No,” he said quickly, knowing it understood that at least. “Does-n, doesn’t work, like that,” Varen managed between gasps and released the creature’s wrist, eyes glancing towards its other hand to ensure he hadn’t broken it with his kick. “You’ve seen that?” he asked, despite the eyes that looked at him wide and uncomprehending.
“Some-some sailor? After they drown?” He didn’t know why he kept talking, when the creature didn’t understand him, almost tried to kill him. But he hadn't and Varen wasn't sure why.
The mer only tipped his head, a hand closing in a fist over his chest as he circled it over his chest. It was easy enough to understand, he was sorry.
“Why?” Varen asked, unable to stop himself. He should want to kill the assistant who helped keep him captive. All the other creatures did. Or at least, not be sorry for hurting him. A few more seconds and he could have slipped that rope from his hand and been free. Free from him. From the cage. From the gawking spectators. From the Ringmaster.
If the mer understood, he didn’t reply. He only frowned worriedly, lifting a hand to pet down Varen’s head. A motion he recognized from when the creature had been sick and Varen had done the same. Now he was sick, and the mer was trying to comfort him. He couldn’t remember the last time, human or creature, had ever touched him so gently.
Varen sat up sharply, making the creature flinch away, startled. He stood, starting to brush off his trousers before he realized it was useless. He was soaked through, his trousers ripped on one side and caked with mud on both, his sleeves stained with the clay from the shore he was sure would take hours to scrub out. He groaned, lifting a hand to pushing sopping hair out of his face and the motion drew a tinge from his back, informing him the scabs had probably been torn open and aggravated from his struggles.
“We should be going,” he said as he cast a worried glance up the hill, hoping it had been enough to block the sound of the splashing and keeping anyone from coming to investigate.
The mer understood by context, or perhaps the glance back the way they had come, and only lifted his hands, letting himself be lifted once more. His face tucked down against Varen’s neck as he was carried, perhaps knowing his behavior meant a treat like this would not come again soon. Perhaps worried he would face some punishment for almost drowning his caretaker. But the creature’s thin arms gave his shouldes a little squeeze, and Varen couldn’t help but wonder, if it was something more.
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