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avvail-whumps · 2 months

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I’m just thinking about a vampire hunter who lost their arm. They replace it with a prosthetic one made out of silver. Imagining the pain when they grab a vampire, or pin them down by their neck while their skin burns under the silver and there’s nothing they can do because it hurts so much. Fingers desperately trying to find something other than the arm to grab onto to try and pry them off.

#fantasy whump #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #vampire hunter whumper #vampires #vampire hunters #whump writing #whump drabble #whump scenario #whump #whumpblr #whump community #writing #my writing #writing drabble #writing ideas #whump ideas #avvail whumps #generic whump drabbles

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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 2 years

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For the longest time, Whumpee was absolutely convinced Caretaker had beautiful red hair.

Every time they pictured Caretaker, that was the first thing that came to mind, even years into their captivity. Faces of other friends gradually faded as time went on, specific memories of Caretaker started to blur at the edges, but even when Whumpee's own name occasionally slipped their tongue after being only addressed with Whumper's nicknames, they never forgot Caretaker's face. Their smile, their laugh, the crinkle in their eyes, their stunning red hair -- it was always a picture perfect comfort for Whumpee to dream of.

So imagine their confusion when one day, either out of a rare bit of kindness to reward Whumpee for good behavior or because Whumper wanted to twist the emotional knife a little deeper, Whumper gifts them a picture of their beloved Caretaker. It's an older picture, naturally, as it had been many months (years, even?) since Whumpee had seen that familiar face but Caretaker looks...different. Off. It's still the same warm smile, the same soft features, but their hair isn't right.

It isn't red. It's blonde.

But that can't be right. Whumpee knows for a fact it's red, they can always see it so crystal clear in their memory when they envision Caretaker. This has to be another psychological trick by Whumper to make them think they've gone crazy, making them think they've forgotten their only source of comfort in captivity, and they won't fall victim to their tactic!

Red hair, are you sure? Whumper asks, almost as surprised as Whumpee for misremembering such an important person in their miserable life. Caretaker never had red hair, not even a box dye, it had always been a light, golden blonde. Oh, Whumpee, you're getting yourself all confused again.

No, Caretaker had red hair, Whumpee insists.

Yes, the last time you saw them, perhaps. The last time they saw Caretaker was however long ago, weeks, months, years, just before Whumper had snatched them away to this new hell. They didn't like remembering that night, frankly they didn't like remember any nights during their captivity, but even less so the night that they had to leave Caretaker's side forever. Even after all this time, with one simple trigger from Whumper, the event came flooding back to Whumpee in an electric rush.

They remembered crying out for Caretaker before the gag was shoved in their mouth, they remember the throb in their shoulders as their arms were yanked behind their back to be bound with zipties at the wrist, and they remember the wind being knocked out of their chest when they were hefted over Whumper's shoulder to be stolen away. They remember the tears that stung their eyes from the dizzying, upside down angle, they remember the disarray Caretaker's once tidy home was now in--

--and they remember Whumper stepping over Caretaker's broken body, glassy eyes staring up and past Whumpee, with a dark pool of blood spreading out from under them, soaking into their blonde strands until the locks were matted red.

#whump #whump writing #whump ideas #whump stuff #whumper #whump scenario #caretaker #whump prompt #whump drabble #whump inspiration #whumpee #haven't learned the whump tags yet so im just going off what tumblr auto generates #major character death #my writing

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whumpers-inc · 1 year

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Whump Drabble

Whumper circled the teammates like a hungry predator, a shark who smelt blood and wanted more. The fight had been brutally unequal. Whumpee had fought tooth and nail to protect the newest team member but even they couldn’t fight Whumper’s power.

And now Whumpee was back in this hell. Again. This time with the newbie trembling beside them. Whumpee fought their choking panic. They’d get out of here. They had too. They wouldn’t survive… that again.

Whumper paused in their circling, their hungry gaze on Whumpee.

Whumpee met their eyes defiantly. They wouldn’t let Whumper in their head. Not yet. Beside them, Newbie shifted, anxiously watching them both. “Quit the theatrics, what do you want?”

“Oh I haven’t decided.” Whumper purred. Their finger traced Whumpee’s chin. “Something old?” They pulled their finger away but the sensation crawled across Whumpee’s skin. lingering on their chin.

“Or something new?” The newbie beside them shuddered as Whumper cupped their chin. Whumper stared into their eyes for a second before stepping away momentarily.

“Something old?” Newbie whispered urgently. “You’re younger than- '' The words dried up in their mouth as Whumper, with a devilish smile, appeared by their side.

“Oh. They didn’t tell you?” They looked at Whumpee and tutted “Shame on you, keeping secrets from your team.” They turned back to Newbie, conspiratorial glee on their face. “They’ve been here before. Where did you think they got their scars?”

Newbie’s eyes involuntarily flickered to Whumpee’s stomach. Coarse scarring, ripped into their stomach, was still visible through the tight shirt.

Whumpee’s face darkened. “Shut up!” They lunged but the restraints caught them, jerking them back.

Whumper smiled. “Oh you’ve gotten spirited since then.” As if they’d suddenly decided, they pulled put a knife. “I think we should show the newbie how it’s done, hmm?” Their hand snaked out and grasped Whumpee’s shirt tightly. “Just like the good old days.”

#whump scenario #whump scene #whump drabble #whump fic #generic whump #whumper #whumpee #scars #captured #hidden scars #scar reveal-ishl

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shywhumpauthor · 1 year

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Ripples

Cw: noncon touching, captivity, implied torture, bruises, blood, petnames

Whumper hummed quietly, the faint melody drifting through the vast room like a fog as they traced their nails across Whumpee’s skin. They didn’t put enough pressure behind the touch to do anything more than brush, a light tickle that sharply contrasted the pained drags Whumpee were used to. The same nails that had so many times dug into their flesh, scratching and ripping through the fragile tissue until blood dripped. Even now, under the gentle guise, Whumpee couldn’t help but fear as the fingertips traced across their cheek, the prominent threat that lay just beyond the filtered care. Every pause in motion caused their breath to hitch, muscles going taut in anticipation for the pain that would begin.

But Whumper would just continue stroking, petting them, the soft vocalization never wavering for more than a moment.

“Why are you so tense, pet?” Whumper whispered, brushing a short lock of fringe out of Whumpee’s forehead. Their hair damp with sweat, tangled with the weeks of grime that had built without the release of a shower. If Whumpee minded the filth, they didn’t let on as they shifted their captive closer across the dirty basement floor. Their hands guiding gently as they moved Whumpee to rest their body flush against theirs, hands roaming Whumpee’s figure as they tried to carefully ease their muscles to alleviate. “I’m not going to hurt you now, you can relax.”

Whumpee wished they could believe that, but they couldn’t bring themself to fully exhale the breath lodged in their chest. They had fallen fool to that statement one too many times. A promise of safety, proven wordless in the short moments after where Whumper’s hands would tighten around their exposed throat, their thumbs pressing against old yellowing bruises.

They tried to bring themself to melt into the touch, as they had once so carelessly done. To believe the whispers of peace and comfort while shrouded in the shadows of torture. Speckled in their own blood, ribs aching with each shuddering breath, they used to be so stupid. They would allow themself to be comforted by the very being who had just hurt them, violated them, taken a knife to their skin and hacked away until there was nothing left underneath but a shell of their consciousness. It was all part of Whumper’s game, they had learned by now, a sick sort of amusement they drew from the way Whumpee would so easily trust them, even if it was just a projection of their desperation for relief.

Their eyelids weighed heavy, lashes coated in lead, dragging them down. Their teeth sank into their lip, their tongue, copper tainting their mouth as they tried to keep awake. They knew that’s what Whumper wanted, it always was. To ease them to sleep, allowing them to drop their final guard, then tear the fragile remains of what they were left with into pieces. With the exhaustion of the day, Whumpee knew it was only a matter of time. They could not fend off the soothing lure forever. They could only blink, fighting to open their eyes again after each one. For a few scattered moments, they wondered if there was even a point. Whumper could easily outlast them, hold them there until the effects of blood loss settled in, or until the last bits of pain inflicted adrenaline leeched free of their system, and Whumpee was surrendered that way. Why fight something that was so clearly inevitable?

The question sank in their mind like a stone thrown in a puddle, the desperation for an answer mimicking the ripples they bounced around Whumpee’s head like an echo. Why? Why fight any longer? They were so obviously exhausted, so definitely beat. It would be redundant at best, pitiful at worst.

Their question went without answer. Not even stray thoughts came to their rescue, to distract them as they only had the soft touch of Whumper massaging mindless circles against their scalp to respond.

Whumpee closed their eyes and their body went slack into the hold.

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cold1dead1eyes · 1 year

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12. gore

“scalpel.” a small scalpel is handed to whumper. they’re cloaked in a white lab coat, hands tucked into bright blue gloves and mouth covered by a surgical mask. their masterpiece is spread out on a stretcher in front of them.

whumper pulls the skin of whumpee’s shoulder taught with their index and middle finger. they bring the scalpel down. beep, beep, beep. the shallow sounds of whumpee’s heart monitor stays stable as the sharp touches their flesh. they don’t shift an inch, sedated as they are.

the blade cleaves cleanly through their flesh. pallid white parts under the sharp edge, gaping out slightly. whumpee’s dermis shines through for a moment, even whiter than their skin, then blood surges from the edges to fill the shallow wound.

“gauze.” whumper takes the gauze pad handed to them and pats down the wound. the blood soaks up easily into the cotton. they cut into the same spot, blade teasing gently against whumpee’s flesh and easily cleaving their wound wider.

dermis gives out to bubbles of fat. perfectly rounded and marigold yellow, they sparkle beautifully under the bright white light. more blood. it froths up from whumpee’s veins, thick and sanguine as it flows down their arm onto the cot. whumper pushes the gauze down into the wound. they hold it for a second, staunching the blood.

it’s a grizzly cut. the edges span across whumpee’s entire shoulder, carefully shaped into a gaping eye. the tips still ooze droplets of blood. whumper takes a moment to appreciate the sight; the layers of whumpee’s flesh, cold skin to white collagen to an inch of thick, glittering yellow fat. fascia peeks at the bottom of the wound. whumper knows that if they pushed their scalpel into it, the thin covering on their muscles would part to allow the blade to sink in deep. they resist the urge to carve to bone. that’s not what this is about.

another cut, mirroring the one that came before, right underneath it on whumpee’s shoulder. whumper carves a ladder of almond shaped wounds into whumpee’s arm and whumpee doesn’t even flinch. they sleep silently, breath fogging up the respirator around their mouth.

“look at you, my pretty tiger.” whumper strokes the wounds with barely-there fingertips. they spread the blood, toying with the flesh, watching it bend and bow as whumper moves their arm. it’s mesmerizing.

whumper shivers at the thought of how their scars will look. pretty, orderly, stripes running down their entire body like a predator. whumpee is whumper’s masterpiece. they’re making them into a tiger.

“you’re going to be so beautiful.” whumper whispers into whumpee’s ear. their lips touch their cold flesh. gloves slick with drying blood, whumper turns around and drops their tools onto the tray.

“don’t give them painkillers when they wake up. i want them to feel it.”

prompt from @whumpay

#gore #whump #whump drabble #whump writing #whump prompt #nameless whump #noncon body modification #pet whumpee #whumper #human experimentation #graphic violence #blood #medical whump #i got WAY too into this #i mean… gore IS my specialty #this is about my whumpee fangs #but i love the idea as a general concept too #whumpay2023 #whumpay

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bloodsweatandpotato · 2 years

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Day 25

Duct tape

Fandom: Original work

Characters: Generic Whumpee

Tw: Implied dehumanization/experiment whump

Summary: Whumpee gets gagged and tied up with duct tape. They do their best to not lose their mind in the tile room on the cold floor with tape all over them and a number as their new name.

Five-two-seven. 527. Fifty-two-and-seven. Five-hundred-twenty-seven.

No matter how Whumpee rolled it around in their mind, they hated the sound. If they were going to be reduced to a number (a horrible, cold, dehumanizing number), they could at least have gotten a cool one, like 666, or 17, or 69, or 0-800-KILLMENOW.

They almost laughed at that though, before the duct tape stopped them and they instead became suddenly concerned for their mental state.

They hadn’t even been left alone for too long. The artificial lights were bright and buzzing, and there were no windows in the room Whumpee had been thrown into. However, based on the tingling numbness (but not yet full on pain) in their arms, and the lack of ravenous hunger, Whumpee hadn’t been in the room for longer than five hours at most.

They sniffed again.

Their nose had stopped bleeding, but the bloody clot and lingering inflammation made breathing through their nose a great deal harder.

Now, this normally wouldn’t be anything more than a mild annoyance, but at the moment, with duct tape secure around their head and no way to get air through their mouth, Whumpee found this issue quite pressing.

They threw their head back in an attempt to coax air into their half-open nostrils.

It knocked against the tile, not hard enough to bring true pain, but hard enough to let out a dull thud.

Whumpee was almost tempted to do it again, just to hear the sound.

The silence was the worst.

Buzzing fluorescent lights above them, staining their vision red if they dared to close their eyes.

That was the only sound.

That and their ever-present heartbeat.

Their heartbeat that had slowed since their first capture.

The adrenaline had fled a good while ago, and with it, Whumpee’s rapid pulse. It left them feeling drained and fuzzy, trembling against their tape bindings (which already were horribly uncomfortable) in a way that chafed their skin.

They had been snatched up from their home, stripped down to their boxers, taped up, dumped in this room, told their number, and left alone.

Absolutely great.

They gave one last struggle against the duct tape, wishing their captors had been stupid enough to tape their hands in front of them.

At least then they would have been able to break the tape (not without discomfort, mind you, but it would work) and have a fighting chance. They never should have gotten into this mess, should have let the shady activity well enough alone, should have turned a blind eye towards the strings of disappearances.

Instead, here they were, bound and gagged and slightly cold and absolutely done with this.

They gave an almost-laugh, a puff of air in their cheeks with nowhere to go.

What a nice day to lose their mind in a tiled room.

#whumptober2022 #whump #no.25 #duct tape #whump art #whump writing #whump drabble #blood tw #generic whumpee #oc #writing #art #defiant whumpee #lab whump #stress position #okay I’m actually super proud of this drawing and the pose hehe

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t0rture-me · 2 years

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Cat and Mouse - BTHB

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Conditioning requested by @whumpsday

Characters: Danny, Ciaran (OCs, Cat and Mouse)

knife = requested

bandaid = this prompt!

smiley = done!

[TW pet whump, conditioning, abuse/general violence, vampire whumper, creepy whumper, nonconsensual touch (nonsexual), nonconsensual kissing (nonsexual)]

"Pet~" Ciaran called from the other room, "Come over here."

Danny scrambled up from where he'd been sitting in front of the TV with Marcus, quickly walking to the source of his voice.

"Come sit here, darling." He cooed, watching Danny walk into the room. Danny immediately complied, kneeling on the floor in front of the vampire. Ciaran smirked to himself, training humans without persuasion really had turned out to be fun. And he seemed quite good at it, he thought to himself, mentally patting himself on the back. "Things got much nicer for you once you started behaving, eh, mouse?"

"Y-yes, Master." Danny answered blankly. A voice in the back of his head reminded him that he never really fought back to begin with, but he shoved that thought away. It was easier to just agree with him. It was always easier to just do whatever he wanted.

"Do you remember what I told you when you first got here? I never really kept up with reminding you of those things, but I want to see if you remember even though it's been a few months."

Danny furrowed his brow, wracking his brain for the answer he was looking for. So many things had happened in those first few days, he wasn't really sure if he remembered any of it or if those were just far-gone nightmares.

"Oh, you stupid little thing." Ciaran tsked when Danny had taken too long to answer. "Forgetting your lessons so quickly?"

"N-no!" Danny gasped, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "N-no, I'm s-s-sorry. I kn-know it I-I j-just-"

"Hush, pet." He warned. "It's ok that you've forgotten. That just means I need to teach you again, right?"

"W-wait, I- It's that I'm n-nothing, right? I-'m nothing b-but prey, I-I'm less than pr-prey, I'm n-nothing." Danny babbled, hoping he found the right answer from his foggy memories. He looked up at the vampire with naively hopeful eyes. "Th-that's it, right?"

A sharp smack knocked him off of his knees to the ground. He took a shuddering breath, his hand cupping his stinging cheek.

"Don't interrupt me, mouse." Honey-sweet venom dripped from Ciaran's voice. Danny was right, Ciaran knew as much, but it was just so fun to toy with him. "Now, you may be right, but that wasn't all of it."

He pressed a shoe down on Danny's shoulder, not hard, but enough. He could feel his delicious shaking under his foot. Yeah, he had picked a good one.

"I'm s-sorry, s-s-sorry." He gasped out. Mistake. The foot on his shoulder lashed out for his chin. The bittersweet copper taste of blood filled his mouth. Was apologizing bad, he wondered? No, no, speaking in general got him in trouble. Keep your mouth shut, idiot, he scolded himself.

Had he actually done anything wrong? No, of course not. But that was one of the many things that Ciaran loved to teach poor Danny.

"You will not disobey. That was another one, don't you remember? Tsk tsk, interrupting your master twice now, what a bad little mouse."

Danny wanted to plead with him, to beg forgiveness, but the only noise coming from the small man on the ground was shaking breaths and trapped whimpers. He kept his eyes trained to the ground, it was all he could do.

"And you're wasting my precious food, dripping blood from your mouth like that. You may be a stupid pet but you're still delicious, so-" Danny felt himself get lifted by the scruff of the shirt he'd been kindly granted. Ciaran effortlessly slid him into his lap, pulling him forward into an uncomfortable kiss.

Ciaran's tongue invaded his mouth, lapping up the small pools of blood gathering in Danny's cheeks. He whimpered and whined and squirmed, but didn't dare pull away or try to push the vampire off of him. This was unpleasant, it was violating and awful. But he wasn't being hurt. He just had to remind himself of that. It was awful, but it didn't hurt.

"Can't let any of you go to waste, pet." Ciaran cooed, finally breaking the kiss. "Did that give you time to think about what other lessons you've forgotten?"

Danny nearly started weeping. Yes, he remembered now. He remembered why Ciaran would do something like that. He would never be attracted to a human, he knew that. No, it was a show of dominance, of power.

"Y-you-" Danny started, his voice cracking. "Y- M-my m-masters c-c-an do wh-whatev-v-v-ver they w-want t-t-to me, and I'm p-p-powerl-less to st-stop them."

"Very good, my little mouse." Ciaran hummed, shoving Danny unceremoniously from his lap. "Run along now."

Danny wasted no time. The second he was permitted to leave, he scurried straight to the basement. He didn't want to watch a movie with Marcus so much anymore.

Taglist - @whumpsday @pumpkin-spice-whump @ramadiiiisme @octopus-reactivated @wolfeyedwitch @whumpiguess @thecyrulik @whumpeedeedoo @morning-star-whump @interdimensional-chaos @annablogsposts @oddsconvert @melancholy-in-the-morning @paranoiaxagent @melennui @darlingwhump @no-terms-and-conditions-apply @whumpycries

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generic-whumperz · 7 months

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Not much has been revealed yet about The Aid's backstory, but you mentioned in your intro that he chose to sell himself into domestic slavery due to a family tragedy, which is deliciously intriguing. Can you tell us anything else non-spoilery about his background and his life before? Bonus: Does he have a name? Did he have one?

Omg, thank you so much for the ask and interest in this little story of mine! 🥹

I’m so glad you found that bit about an undisclosed family tragedy deliciously intriguing, that’s exactly what I was going for!

Yes I can elaborate ! So I don’t know how much of his previous life he remembers yet or how much I will explore his past since he basically has trauma brain and had blocked a lot of his past out. That, and well, his “before life” was basically when he was just a kid and teen. But before all the drama and misfortunes, he came from a really good solid family, with married parents, an older sister, and a younger brother. He had a good childhood and was a very happy, well-taken care of kid.

(More background about his life before below)

School: He was a straight-A student, had a solid friend group and was a nerd. He never had to try really hard, things came to him naturally and he was one of those infuriating people that never had to study for a test and just had a knack for remembering information. He was also a theater nerd and loved working on props and setting the scene. He also strikes me as someone that was in some school clubs and helped put together fundraisers for underfunded school programs. He was in sports and did track & field, basically he’s like a “cool nerd” type because he kinda rubbed shoulders with everyone.

Social life: I don’t know much about D&D, but he gives me the feeling that he was his friend group’s DM and hosted all the games at his house or did thematically coordinated outdoor sessions (he may have even LARP’ed too close to the sun 👀 was that a thinly veiled hint that partially led to the tragedy he blamed himself for?)

His nerdiness does spill over in his adult life in the form of his love for board games that he likes to play with Madame Sullivan, or his interest in trivia games or trivia game shows.

He’s a very neat and tidy person and loved to put up seasonal decorations and set the ambiance in Madame Sullivan’s home. He loved to play host when Madame Sullivan had over guests and he was known for his hors d’oeuvres and deserts. He’s used to be being well-liked and appreciated, it also doubles as his character flaw since he’s constantly seeking approval from those around him and thrives off of external validation.

I would consider him more of an introvert than an extrovert, but he is very extroverted and enjoys company. But he also doesn’t have a problem with being alone since he always finds away to make himself “busy”- in whatever way that may be.

Career: He chose his slavery position based on his natural talents and his already chosen career field which was going to be something in medical/ nursing or social services/ non-profit outreach. He knew he wanted to help people, so that’s why he chose the Domestic In-Home Care Aid position. He isn’t big and tough nor does he have a desire for romantic intimacy or serving as a personal companion for to someone who would probably want more than he would be will to give, so he felt that he really only had one option anyway.

Character traits in the story: So obviously he had a very nice and fluffy life and even got lucky with his first posting and developed a familial relationship with his master. Bad things aren’t supposed to happen to people like him- only they do.

We have a good sense of who he used to be, but he starts to loose himself even before he sells himself, but he is desperately holding on to his former self while in service under Madame Sullivan. Which I would like to point out is the child-version of himself. His young adult years are obviously very strange, but in a way he gets to prolong his youth because he’s living with a maternal figure and doesn’t have to deal with any really adult-life things. He’s kinda infantilized himself in a way (he later realizes this and sees how problematic he was, but also he was dealing with trauma and was young so we can’t hold it against him) which stunted his own personal growth, but he also uses this as a method of self-sabotage because he doesn’t think he deserves to live a free, happy life.

This story is about a lot of things, but his character journey is at the heart of it. He has to grow up, face and make peace with his past, heal his inner child, confront his current tormenter, survive and recover, (and escape?!) and decide who he is- not what he is to other people. I guess in a way, it’s a fucked up coming of age story and maybe even a cautionary tale. And with undertones of commentary on the patriarchy and failed capitalist society that turns humans into commodities, of course.

Name: Yes he has a name! Ironically I kinda tease at the idea of him having a name or not in the next part (that I still haven’t finished and posted💀), but I think it will be awhile before we learn his real name. Wyatt just calls him “Mutt” or “Aid,” or whatever rude/derogatory term he can think of on the spot.

#whump stuff #The Aid #Generic Writez #whump drabble #whump oc #oc background #oc backstory #whump writing #whump blog

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avvail-whumps · 5 months

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ok so i just saw the prompt that you reblogged on your other account and.. i was wondering if you ever had the time would you write something about a hypnotized whumpee?

content warnings: intimate whumper, hypnosis, conditioned whumpee, non-con touching (not explicit), mentioned non-con (not explicit)

“Aren’t they just so pretty?”

The caretaker says nothings. It’s obvious by the grim expression on their face that they don’t particularly want to encourage the whumper’s behaviour.

The last time they had seen the whumpee, they had been kicking and screaming. Putting up a fuss any chance they got, making life as difficult as they could for their captor. They had this fire in their eyes that didn’t seem to be dying out any time soon.

But now?

They’d almost been surprised by the quietness of the house. The whumper would usually have them restrained in some way, and they’d be writhing and kicking up a fuss, making lots of angry noises.

Instead, they observed their quiet, stiff form on the sofa. There was something eerie about their eyes; blank, unfocused, hardly even blinking. Even when the whumper carded a hand through their head, there wasn’t even a flicker of emotion on their face.

The caretaker was in awe at how complacent they were being.

“What did you do?” They find themselves asking absentmindedly, unable to tear their eyes away. Because they are genuinely shocked.

The whumper hums softly under their breath, scraping the hair away from the whumpee’s forehead. They’re devoid of usual cuts and bruises - the caretaker wonders how long they’ve been like this.

“I tried a new method,” the whumper answers vaguely, steely eyes staring into theirs. “This way, I can’t get bored.”

The caretaker doesn’t realise their confusion flickers in their expression, but the whumper notices it, as observant as they are. They gently run a finger under the whumpee’s chin, who still has that blank, half lidded gaze. Like a China doll.

“If I want them to be an eager little thing that serves to please me, then I can make it happen with just one word,” they hum, snapping their fingers in front of the whumpee’s face, as if to prove a point. They don’t even blink. “I like it when they put a fight, too, but too much noise, and I can simply admire them like this.”

They tilt the whumpee’s head back, just enough to admire their slack expression. “Isn’t it perfect?”

The caretaker’s mind swims. “So, you hypnotized them?”

A cruel smile appears on their face, squeezing the whumpee’s shoulders.

“Yes,” they answer. “Yes, I did.”

They slowly nod. That explained the sudden change, but seeing the whumpee like this, so dazed and so relaxed, they can’t help but shudder. There’s something really eerie about it. That the whumper holds their mind in their palm of their hand, triggered only by simple words.

“Was it hard?” They find themselves asking. The whumper smiles.

“They’re a stubborn thing,” they chuckle, tilting their head. “You know that. But I can programme them to do whatever you or I want.” Their voice drops dangerously. “You can take them to the spare room, if you really want.”

The caretaker immediately cringes, and they shake their head. They feel more disgust towards the whumper than ever before, and they don’t want to imagine what the poor whumpee’s been through already. If they remember it...

“No, thank you,” they grumble. The blank stare is unnerving them. “I’ll pass.”

The whumper chuckles, still running their fingers through the whumpee’s hair. They stop to observe their face, before a crooked smirk spreads across their lips. They tap their nose gently, cupping their cheeks as though they would with a lover. The whumpee does nothing back.

“Your loss.”

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whump-for-comfort · 2 years

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Inspired by @whumpyourenemy ‘s hidden injury dialogue post [X]

I originally wrote this with some new OC’s I want to post about on this blog, but I haven’t figured out their personalities yet, so I switched this drabble to generic characters. Please enjoy!

---

The mission was over at last. It had been a quick one, but to Whumpee it seemed like it had taken an eternity. In reality, it had only taken about ten minutes for them and Caretaker to systematically take out the ten bad guys that had set up camp in the rundown warehouse.

But time had been running in slow motion as soon as they felt the blade slash across their ribs.

“What a haul!” Caretaker laughed as they kicked aside a corpse that resembled a bloodied pulp more than a man. “Seriously, these guys have been a serious pain in the neck for a while. I’m glad we’ve got them out of the way now.”

“uh-huh.” Whumpee agreed weekly as their vision clouded with threatening unconsciousness.

Caretaker paused in surveying their kills upon hearing the weakness in Whumpee’s voice. They glanced up, and their eyes widened minutely.

“Whose blood is that?” They asked with a gesture at Whumpee’s midriff. Whumpee didn’t look to where Caretkaer was indicating. They didn’t think they could stomach what they might find.

Whumpee didn’t want to admit it was their blood. They knew they weren’t as strong as the rest of the team, and they were tired of being the one to drag everyone else down. They couldn’t buckle at injuries - they needed to be tougher, to be able to shrug off injuries like they weren’t even there. Like the rest of the team always did.

They shrugged, and immediately regretted it as pain flared anew at their side.

Caretaker’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re hurt.” They said. When Whumpee didn’t respond, they sighed. “You are. Do you even know how pale you are right now?”

“It’s nothing.” Whumpee insisted weakly. “Just a scratch.”

“Walk then. Come on, walk towards me. I bet you can't even take a step.” Caretaker challenged.

“I can too.” Whumpee retorted stubbornly, and raised their foot.

The agony wasn’t even restricted to their torso that time. Flaming hot pain tore at their entire body, and they couldn’t help the startled shout that left their throat.

Caretaker was at their side in an instant. They placed their hands on their shoulders and attempted to straighten Whumpee up so they could see the wound.

“How bad is it?” They demanded. When Whumpee made a noncommittal noise in response, Caretakers’s hands tightened their grip on Whumpee’s shoulders.

“Take off your shirt.” They said. Whumpee glared at him. “And don’t give me that look.”

There was no arguing with Caretaker. Whumpee gritted their teeth and slowly worked their vest over their head. When they gasped in pain, Caretaker began to help without prompting.

Caretaker began to consider the wound carefully, and Whumpee finally looked down.

Blood stained the majority of their torso, the blood smeared upward by the pull of their shirt. They couldn’t make out the wound itself for the blood bubbling up, but it oozed steadily. It wasn’t the gushing Whumpee had expected to see, and they felt themselves sigh with relief.

“You’ll live.” Caretaker concluded, but the worry lines that creased their forehead didn’t disappear. “It looks fairly nasty, though. We should get you to Medic.”

Whumpee nodded their agreement, as their eyes began to droop with fatigue. It was useless to pretend anymore.

Before they could open their mouth to apologise for the trouble, Caretaker had their arm at the back of Whumpee’s knees and had scooped them into their arms. Whumpee yelped as the movement irritated their injuries.

“Sorry.” Caretaker said, the irritation from earlier no where to be found. “It’s just quicker this way.”

Whumpee nodded against their chest, and their forehead dropped to Caretaker’s shoulder.

“And don’t apologise.” Caretaker continued as they exited the warehouse and into the humid night. They were the only ones around, Caretaker’s heavy footsteps free to echo off the walls. “You’re not holding us back.”

Whumpee’s brow furrowed. “How did you-“

“You get a look on your face.” Caretaker shrugged. “You shouldn’t let it get to you. It takes time and practice to do what we do. And you’re picking up skills very quickly. Honestly, I’m actually impressed.”

Whumpee turned their face to hide in Caretaker’s shoulder.

“Huh.” They said.

Caretaker chuckled. “Don’t fall asleep on me.” They said.

Whumpee nodded. “I’ll try my best.”

#mine #text #my writing #drabble #whump drabble #hidden injury #prompt fill #whumpee x caretaker #whump #whump community #whump writing #generic characters #bridal carry

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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 1 year

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Alright no more bummer anons send me some good g/t whump shit

#i am working one two (2) g/t fics currently #one of which is specifically whumpy #the other is a christmas fic that will prob just stay on the g/t blog #and then also i had an idea for a general whump drabble #just taking a break from the maj universe so im not confined to those tropes

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cryptidwritings · 2 years

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"Trust Me, You Don't Want to Do That."

@themerrywhumpofmay Day 14 - Ransom, Fire Poker, Bleeding [masterlist]

CW: bleeding, multiple whumpers, restraints

"Gah! ha... ha..." Whumpee huffed. They squeezed their eyes shut, waiting for the pain to recede from their hand that was cuffed to the table in front of them. Their ankles were restrained to the chair by a piece of poorly welded metal, cutting into their skin with every movement, dangerously close to their achilles.

Their suit was torn from being grabbed and thrown into multiple vehicle's trunks. Only when the bag was ripped from their head did they finally see their captors.

Three criminals, armed to the teeth. Their leader; short with cunning eyes, held the fire poker in their hand with the blazing fire behind them.

"No word from your company yet," they stated, "what do you think it'll take for them to understand how serious we are?" They lifted the fire poker, the tip blazing red, "a finger? A hand?" the poker followed their words, before being lifted straight to Whumpee's face.

They tried to lean back.

"How about an eye?" Whumper asked, a sinister smile lighting up their face, playing with their eyes as if they were imagining scooping one out themselves.

"Trust me," Whumpee looked past the point of the iron, "You don't want to do that. They'll give you anything you want, but if you permanently injure me they'll come after you."

Whumper squinted their eyes, considering the words before lowering the molten metal. They turned, putting it back in the flames, mixing the burning wood and coal around. The fire burned brighter, and Whumpee relaxed a bit, gritting their teeth as another wave of pain shot up their arm.

"You know," Whumper said, looking into the fire, "I'm starting to think they won't call. In fact, I'm convinced that no one cares where you are."

Whumpee grit their teeth, "they'll call," they insisted again.

The leader turned back, abandoning the poker, and crossed their arms over their chest as they stared Whumpee down.

One of the other two stepped up and unlocked the shackles around Whumpee's ankles before pulling the chair from underneath them and shoving them forward onto the table. They landed awkwardly, pushing themselves off

Whumpee watched as the three criminals surrounded them; each with a smile, stretching their limbs, rubbing their hands... It was true. They were worth nothing. All of their millions; gone. Gone to the next in line. Gone to someone more worthy of it than them.

All they had was their suit that was now torn to shit.

"Three days of silence would make any other bastard think," the leader said, glaring at Whumpee, "but you're as dumb as you are worthless. So we'll get our money's worth another way. Get 'em out of here."

"No," Whumpee said as the other two grabbed their shoulders, pulling their body away from the table and undoing the cuffs, "w-wait! They'll call! I-"

The leader grabbed the metal from the fire and walked towards Whumpee, bringing it back and striking them in the leg. They fell, held up by the rough hands holding their hands behind their back; aggravating the previous injury caused by that same metal rod.

"You'll earn the amount we should have got," The leader said, holding Whumpee's face in one hand and bringing the poker dangerously close with the other, "and don't worry, I'll tell everyone who pays for you not to do any permanent damage to that face of yours."

#the merry whump of may #trust me you don't want to do that #whump drabble #i'm feeling a little burnt out so this isn't the quality i generally like to publish but aw well #writeblr #originalfiction

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honeycollectswhump · 1 year

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Haiii wanted to say that whumper's title piece was really good !!!!!!!!

thank you so much!! it really means a lot to me <3

#fun fact: all of the whump pieces i've written so far are a about two of my ocs #just took their names out to make it more general since i'm not sure i'll ever post their whole story #there are more drabbles written that i have not yet posted :))#honey talks #asks #anon

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bloodsweatandpotato · 2 years

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Day 21

“You’re safe now.”

Fandom: Original work

Characters: Generic whumpee, generic caretaker

Tw: mentions of torture and captivity

Summary: Whumpee is safe from Whumper now, but he still needs to heal. (Or: That moment when your injured and traumatized bestie still trusts you enough to hold your hand even though he’s currently terrified of physical contact.)

They didn’t speak.

They hadn’t for a while.

Caretaker just sat, hand flat on the ground between them and Whumpee, a clear invitation, but hopefully a non threatening one.

They had known Whumpee for long enough that they could see the way their friend flinched whenever Caretaker moved too quickly, got too close.

So they just sat.

Next to Whumpee.

Waiting.

They didn’t dare break the silence, feeling as if the world would crumble around them if they did. As if any movement, any sound would break the tentative peace, snatch Whumpee away from them again.

Creataker would hunt down Whumper and kill him with their bare hands if that was what it took to make Whumpee feel safe again, but for now, there was nothing to do but sit. Nothing to do but sit in silence and wait for their friend to make the first move. Their friend, covered in bruises and cuts oozing blood and rope burns around their wrists, ankles, neck. Their friend, who sat tense and curled like a wounded animal.

So Caretaker said nothing.

Whumpee hadn’t yet said anything either, had remained silent since that first broken whimper of Caretaker’s name when they had found him.

But that was alright.

Caretaker was willing to wait.

They kept their hand limp on the ground.

Whumpee didn’t look up, but Caretaker felt a shift in the air.

Whumpee’s hand twitched, moved, and settled on the ground next to Caretaker’s. He tentatively bumped his hand against Caretaker’s, and they in turn lifted their hand to gently cover Whumpee’s.

Their fingers curled around his.

He squeezed back, grip more strong and sure than any movement since he had been rescued.

And though they still didn’t make eye contact, or speak, or move, the silent message was clear.

Caretaker’s hand on Whumpee’s. ‘You’re safe now.’

And his hand holding their’s. ‘I know.’

#whumptober2022 #whump #no.21 #you’re safe now #blood tw #bruises tw #generic whumpee #oc #whump writing #whump drabble #whump art #art #writing

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t0rture-me · 1 year

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here's a new little unnamed thing! idk if i'll continue with this, but i just had the idea for a bit of the dialogue and wanted to run with it, so here's the results of that!

TW: guns, threats, held at gunpoint, brief mention of stalkery behavior, implied abduction and captivity, multiple whumpers, nonbinary whumpee (Indigo, they/them), nonbinary whumper (Lee, he/him)

"Hey, uh, we just moved in across the street! Thought we'd come over and introduce ourselves."

He was handsome, Indigo would give him that. And charming for sure. They both were. Indigo was not the type to just invite strangers into their home, neighbors or not, but before they could stop themself to think, all three of them were sat chatting in their kitchen. The chided themself silently, one small voice scolding them, telling them that they were being overly cautious, paranoid. But there was another voice, too. This one told them that this was a huge mistake. Just opening the door had been a mistake.

The first one introduced himself as Michael. He was tall, with deep, dark eyes and sharp features. His voice floated through the air like a birdsong. Combined with his curly, honey-blond hair, he reminded Indigo of an angel.

Michael introduced the other as Lee. He was quiet, soft-spoken. His eyes were soft and gentle, a soft gleam shining behind them. Everything about him was soft. Hell, if Indigo wasn't getting over a breakup, they'd probably pounce the poor boy's bones.

They chatted for what felt like hours. Indigo, at one point, got up to make tea for all of them, but once they returned, it was back to chatting. They couldn’t figure out what it was, but something about them just broke down their walls in a way that they had no chance of anticipating.

The problem with broken walls is that they no longer keep out any danger.

"So then, this has been a great chat, but let's cut to the chase." Michael smiled, that light, charming smile. "Who would you rather belong to?"

Indigo sputtered on their tea. Certainly they had misheard.

"Sorry?" They asked, laughing nervously and setting their mug down. "Maybe my tea's gone bad."

"Oh, ha, nah your tea is fine. We checked the expiration dates of your things the last time we came over." Michael hummed, setting his own mug down in turn. "I said, who would you rather belong to?"

"It's not a hard question, is it, love?" Lee followed. Indigo stood from their seat, almost frantically grabbing all three mugs and quickly setting them in the sink.

"Last time you-? You're freaking me out. I think it's time for you to see yourselves out." Indigo turned back to face them. Then, they froze. Michael was holding a gun. Had he had that the whole time? How had Indigo not realized?

"You're going to have to choose one way or another." Lee said lightly. "We're just trying to make it easier on you." He smiled that same, soft smile at them, standing slowly.

"Get out. Right now." Indigo took a step back, still eyeing the gun. "This isn't funny. Get out."

"You know we're not gonna do that, Indigo." Michael smiled. In an instant Indigo was running. Where they had been sitting, Michael and Lee were given easy access to block any exits. Michael stayed in his seat, he just so 'happened' to block the back door. (Though maybe he'd planned it that way. Indigo couldn't tell.) And when Lee stood before, it gave him a perfect opportunity to move to block the front.

Think, think. Ok, exits are blocked, so... Up it is?

They ran towards Lee, but not at the front door. As they neared him, they swung themself around the stairway, speeding to the upper floor before Lee could grab them. Indigo could hear him following closely, Michael behind both of them.

Luckily, Indigo was fast. Fast enough to get into their bedroom and lock the door behind them and fast enough then to run into the connected bathroom, locking that door just the same.

They huffed, sliding to the floor in an attempt to catch their breath after barricading the door with whatever they could find. They jumped at the sound of the two slamming through the door into the bedroom.

"You've blocked yourself in, Indigo. Did you forget that there aren't any windows in there?" They heard Michael say through the door. Fuck. He was right. "We can wait all night, so just save us all the time and effort and come on out."

They stayed silent, though let out a quick shriek when someone slammed against the door.

"Make this easier for yourself now, sweetheart." Lee said, knocking carefully on the door. "If you come out now, we won't have to punish you."

"Punish? I- What?? You can't do this!" Indigo yelled. "We're in the suburbs, dipshit, the neighbors will hear the gunshots and call the cops. They'll hear me yelling!"

"Naughty, naughty. Such bad words, Indigo, maybe we'll cut out your tongue to teach you a lesson." Michael sighed. "Remember, whatever happens now is your fault."

Indigo shrieked again as one of them slammed against the door.

"You fucking psychopaths! Leave me the fuck alone!" They cried, now frantically searching around their bathroom for some sort of weapon. All they could find was a small pair of scissors that they use to trim their hair, holding it protectively out in front of them as the door continued to shake.

Finally the moment they feared came to fruition when the door cracked violently open. Lee panted, looming in the doorway, with Michael slightly behind him, now directly pointing the gun at Indigo.

"And what do you think you're going to accomplish with those, dear?" Michael grinned, pulling the hammer of the gun. Indigo felt their blood run cold as they sat on the tacky green tile floor of their bathroom. Were they about to die on this floor? The green taken over by red as they bleed out?

"They'll hear." Indigo repeated shakily, clutching the scissors like a shield.

That didn't matter much. Indigo heard a whoosh and a thunk from behind, distracted and turning to see what the noise was only to see a fresh bullet hole in the wall. The shock alone caused them to drop their makeshift weapon and scramble further from the two people boxing them in.

Indigo fearfully looked back at the gun in Michael's hand, only now looking long enough to see the silencer on the end of it.

"I have some money." They stammered. "It's not a lot, but- but just take it and go and I won't tell anyone alright? Just take it and go."

"We're not after money, dear. You could give us literally everything you have and it wouldn't be enough." Michael finally took a step into the bathroom. "If we were looking for money, we'd just sell you like most of the others we've picked up. No, Indigo, we want you."

"We were planning to wait until night to take you," Lee explains, "Though Michael got a little excited and let out the surprise a bit early. No worries though, that just gives us some more time to get to know each other before we make our moves."

Indigo's mind was reeling. This had to be a nightmare, right? Michael took a few more steps into the room, kicking the scissors away as he stepped closer to his target. Indigo watched their only weapon slide away across the floor. Shit, they hadn't even realized they had dropped it.

They looked up at Michael who was looming over them now, then to Lee, still standing by the door. Yeah, this was a nightmare. It had to be. All they could do now was hope they woke up soon.

tags uwu @whumpsday

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