#magic whumpee

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Magic Whumpee needing to perform a huge spell for whatever reason and it requiring a significant amount of life force. It starts to take a toll on them, starting to sway and lose their balance — yet never stopping.

Caretaker sees them continuously becoming more and more unstable. As Whumpee stumbles backwards, Caretaker reaches out to steady them, placing a hand on their shoulder and one on their arm.

Even as blood slips from their nose, Whumpee continues the spell, but nods their thanks and reassurance to their worried Caretaker.

#whump #whumpee #whump scenario #whump scene #whump prompt #whump tropes #magic whump #magic whumpee #magic exhaustion #exhaustion whump #exhausted whumpee #bloody nose #worried caretaker #unsteady #tired whumpee #whumpee x caretaker #caretaker #my writing #whump community

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee had wild and unpredictable magic- and it terrified them. The whumpee would sometimes accidentally hurt the people they cared about, so of course they sought out the only person that could possibly contain their power- the whumper. The whumper may be strict, unjust, and sometimes downright cruel, but to the whumpee, it was better than hurting their friends.

#whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #aramis stabs someone #whump prompts #magic whump #magic whumpee

[shshshquietnow]

I'm a big fan of angels and demons in whump, especially angel whumpees with demon whumpers. A demon obsessed with getting this divine perfection to break, and an angel having to stare in the face of something they've been told horror stories of since childhood.

But something I don't see used a lot is FALLEN angel whumpees, which I think have a lot to use. No one's coming for them, maybe they're weaker than before, they've been forsaken, they're maybe a bit spunkier, maybe already a little broken... they're great material to mold and mesh.

Or even fallen angel WHUMPERS, ones with nothing to lose, bitter and hurt... fallen angels walk around, showing the world with just their wings they've done something to piss off the heavens. Who WOULDNT be scared being taken caprice by one?!

#whump #quiet whispering #fantasy whump #whumper #whumpee #magic whumpee #magic whumper #angel whumpee #demon whumper #fallen angel whumpee #fallen angel whumper

[cryptidwritings]

There was something about magic that made Caretaker sick. It lingered in the air like an odorous spray, assaulting their nose and making their eyes sting.

They had asked Whumpee to refrain from using magic inside their house, choosing to take them at their word while removing the warding sigils from above the door and windows. So when they approached and the smell hit their nostrils, they realized that something must have been wrong. Very wrong.

Caretaker clamored through the front door. An invasive fog took over, with speckles of Whumpee's magic that looked like the rippling of a snakes skin, mixed with something else. One that Caretaker had never seen before; the visage of feathers dipped in blood.

They continued, checking each room carefully until they got to the last one. Their own.

The door was slightly open. A light stuttered through the crack. Caretaker took careful steps, reaching into their pouch, touching along the surface of the stones inside it for a particular pattern.

It was too quiet, or maybe their panic had cut out unnecessary information as their eyes dilated in the dimming darkness of the magic mixture.

They touched the door. Heat hit their arm and crawled up their neck, freeing their ears to small whimpers behind it; ones they recognized.

Whumpee.

Caretaker shoved the door open and ran inside. Whumpee was sitting at the foot of the bed, their knees up to their chest. Their tear-filled eyes stared straight ahead.

Caretaker followed their gaze and gasped. Whumper sat opposite them, staring at Whumpee, red-faced, as a large boa constricted around their torso and neck.

"H-lp!" They croaked.

Caretaker looked down at Whumpee. Their feathery scars protruded from the back of their shirt. They felt the rune in their pouch, one they had to use once before, but that was when Whumpee had lost control.

Despite their crying, they looked completely in control now.

And that bastard wasn't worth the effort, anyway.

#magic whumper #magic whump #magic whumpee #non magic caretaker #whumpee kills whumper #whumper turned whumpee #whump #whump community #whump writing #whumpblr #whump drabble #whump scenario

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1347

Anon asked:

Do you have any ideas on how to write a whumpee with an incredible amount of magic power within them, fighting to keep it under control and maintaining said fight?

I have a few:

Maybe they have to use a pendant/spell/potion etc to keep the magic contained. What happens if they forget/are unable to use these methods to contain their power?

Do they take on a different form? If so the transition would be pretty painful. Maybe they sprout horns, a tail, sharp teeth etc. The transformation creates open wounds and painful joints with heavy bruising and swelling.

An oldie-but-goodie trope is the whumpee using their magic when emotional. Maybe they do it out of anger/resentment/fear/panic when themselves or a loved one is threatened.

… maybe they harm a loved one when they’re unable to control their magic any more…

Does their personality change as a result of it? Do they become a different version of themselves that is more unrestrained than their normal counterpart.

Maybe after seeing the effect their wild magic has, the caretakers fight to help the whumpee keep it under control. Maybe they set aside a routine for them to carry out the necessary task to help them stay on track, but they’re also ready with painkillers/healing magic when the whumpees powers fight back a little too much.

I like the idea of the character(s) going to a place/being near a person/artefact that triggers the whumpees internal magic more, therefore making the adventure more painful for the whumpee. Maybe they try to hide it from those around them until the magic becomes too much to contain/their physical appearance begins to change.

#whump #writing #prompts #angst #magic whump #magic whumpee #magic #ideas

[redd956]

Whump Prompt List: NMA Edition

Based off of my NMA worldbuilding line

AKA Whump that @demondamage would like. AKA: nonhuman whumpees, experiment whump, medical whump, lab whump

CW: Violence, Hospital Whump, Experiment Whump, Nonhuman whumpees, Death Mention, Needles

Draining whumpee's blood in order to centrifuge a special resource from it

Hooking whumpee up to an IV that contains some form of sedative, paralytic, or similar formula inside of it

A physically powerful whumpee needing to be held down by a group, as a sedative is forcefully entered into their system

Whumpee watching their blood exit their veins through a tube, knowing theirs nothing they can do, slowly realizing that they're taking too much

Whumpee getting their blood drained, not knowing if their captors are going to stop before it's too late, or if they plan to get rid of whumpee this way after all

Filing down whumpee's sharp teeth, their pointed claws, sawing off their horns, tying down their tail. Whatever needs to be done to keep the nonhuman whumpee from having an advantage.

Whumpee being kept sedated or out of it, until they are needed for their magic

Muzzled and/or restrained whumpee lashing out at the doctors analyzing

Whumpee's every nonhuman aspect being analyzed, their privacy completely invaded, as doctors poke and prod, crooning over their find

A group of whumpees are captures, and they all fear the worse. However after one is found to be more rare than the others, they quickly discover that for one of them, it's going to be much much worse.

Multiple whumpees getting separated based off of the research that needs to be conducted on them

A limp whumpee, kept down for research, needing to be moved or treated as a comatose patient since the doctors dealing with them are too scared of their abilities

Testing to see what whumpee reacts painfully too, how they heal from the different things tested on them, watching them slowly grow terrified of the scientist opening their door

Taking a marker to whumpee's skin and going to town, preparing for the next set of plans

Forcing whumpee to use their magic or nonhuman abilities far past their limit

Whumpee growing more and more tired as they loose their magic/blood, watching the world darken and the noise of life muffle

Doctors taunting and teasing a heavily restrained whumpee. Whumpee, who is normally such a dangerous creature, can do nothing as they pull on their tail or forcibly spread out their wings

Hands latching onto whumpee's face, moving their head into the position they need to

Whumpee waking to the feeling of fingers prodding for the perfect injection spot

Strapping whumpee down to a table, the doctor admiring their work, thinking they'd never see a nonhuman of this type to work on

Whumpee being returned to a cell full of other nonhuman whumpees after a finish experiment, being plopped down unceremoniously in front of the others, before the doctor looks up to pick the next one

Tattooing whumpee to know what experiment group they belong to

Holding an oxygen mask to whumpee's face, watching as the mist of a sedative kicks in

#nma worldbuilding line #whump #lab whump #cw violence #whump prompt list #experiment whump #scientist whumper #doctor whumper #medical whump #hospital whump #nonhuman whumpee #nonhuman whumpees #cw whump #cw death mention #death mention #whump prompts #whump prompt #magic whumpee #needle whump #whump sedation #sedation whump #whump ideas

[pigeonwhumps]

Battle

Taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Angstpril: alt prompt 1: troubled mind

Inspired by these two prompts by @hurtmyfavsthanks and an anon ask she received. I saw the more recent one and just wrote this straight up within a couple of hours, unable to resist it.

1k

CWs: living weapon, outcast whumpee, magical whumpee, low self-esteem, betrayal kinda, mentions of battle and casualties, mentioned past discrimination

Whumpee doesn't remember much of the battle.

It went by in a haze. They remember red, people falling, screams, unsure which side they were on. They remember the glee, the euphoria, of using their magic. The high of it all.

Now they're starting to come down from that high, and they can see the fear in people's eyes. The injuries, the casualties. Vaguely, they wonder who caused them. Was it them again?

Hands cup their face, gentle, calloused. The only ones that will ever touch them anymore.

Caretaker's.

"Hey. Look at me, now. Not the camp. Me." Whumpee looks up hesitantly, into their loving, warm eyes. One day they'll change. One day... one day they'll harden. Fear, hatred. From all the people they've hurt, on all sides. One day it'll be too much. They're afraid of the day they'll see that, of what will happen then.

But it hasn't happened yet.

Caretaker wipes their cheek softly. "It's okay. Come on, rest. Lay your head down. You're done for today. Close your eyes and rest."

Whumpee crawls into Caretaker's lap. They vaguely register being carried, head being lifted until it meets Caretaker's neck. Whumpee nuzzles into it.

"Shh. You did so well. You're doing so well, Whumpee. I'm proud of you."

Whumpee doesn't want to be. They want to grow flowers. But this is what their magic likes, this is what their king likes, this is what makes Caretaker say those words of praise in just that voice, so they can't stop.

(They ignore the small voice in their head that says that they have no idea what Caretaker's reaction to flowers would be. This is exhilarating, even if they feel an ever-growing bubble of shame at the endless, ruthless violence.)

Caretaker runs a hand through their hair, combing out the knots from the day's work, using a little water to clean the worst of the blood. Whumpee has been through this so many times that they know what to expect without even a glance. He won't hurt them with those eyes. They know his expression, his feelings, and they curl their arms and legs closer around him.

He's so warm.

"S'okay buddy. I'm here."

"Hmm."

Whumpee closes their eyes. It's so... so... they don't think they can sleep yet but they find themself drifting on the exhaustion the magical high always brings.

_

The next morning is... the next morning. As it always is with a new squad, it is very different to the first one.

And as it always is, Whumpee feels a sharp stab of hurt.

The soldiers know who they are, what they are. Have done since the very beginning .They've worked with Whumpee on the preparations, the journey here, for weeks. They know them. Sat around the campfire, shared meals, joked and talked and laughed. They'd been wished good luck yesterday morning, hair ruffled, smiles and reassurances in abundance. Soldier had even fixed their horse's saddle after the straps started to break. Now...

Now, they won't come within arms length of them. Soldier ladles out breakfast to the rest, leaving an empty bowl several feet from Whumpee, not looking them in the eye as he leaves them to fetch their own. He flinches along with several others as they approach the campfire, more whose hands jerk towards their swords. As if they're going to attack. As if they're so out of control that they'd attack their own side on purpose.

They reluctantly let go of Caretaker's hand so he can fetch their breakfast and the healing potion alone. At least he looks them in the eye. At least he sits with them, and talks, and touches them. Helps convince them to take the potion, even though it's bitter and rancid and no-one will improve it for the likes of them, and they won't need it once the adrenaline and euphoria of tomorrow's battle kicks in.

The kindness is only for now. It will change, sooner or later.

Nobody helps the pair of them take down their tent, or pack their saddlebags, and the Sergeant looks about to stop Whumpee from replacing the emergency set of daggers they carry in their boots at all times. A gift from Caretaker.

It's like they have the plague. Or the Devil's Touch, as their old villagers used to say.

They're pretty much alone in the clearing now, the rest of the squad staying as far away as they can without letting Whumpee out of their sight. Just in case they explode or something.

Without a word, Whumpee settles down on the ground beside the smoldering fire, Caretaker sitting on the log behind them. It's a sharply cold morning, dew dampening their breeches, but their leather armour keeps them surprisingly warm.

Caretaker braids their hair quickly and simply, just enough to keep it out of their face. Battlefields aren't the place for complicated hairstyles. Which is a shame, because Caretaker takes pride in that skill, and Whumpee delights in being allowed to display the results.

Whumpee dries their face with the cloth Caretaker hands them wordlessly. They need to get it together. It's not like it's the end of the world or anything. They try to summon the ease by which they sometimes prepare, the eagerness instead of dread that comes with a lot of battles.

It doesn't come. Today is a day for dread, then, and there's nothing they can do about it but pray for a miracle. And a break in the hatred and fear, the violence with which everyone rejects them.

They can't help thinking, though, that the amount of damage they've done, it's no wonder people want them locked away. They are a weapon, after all.

Yes. Definitely one of the bad days.

Caretaker's their handler. They try not to think about it but it's true. He's the only one who might see it, might offer them a brief reprieve. So they summon up all their courage.

"Please..."

Caretaker finishes the braid and kisses their temple. "I'm so sorry, Whumpee. I really am. But you need to do this. We need to do this. The kingdom needs you."

Whumpee nods. They don't blame Caretaker, not really. They need to win this war. And Whumpee needs to use their magic.

But gods do they wish they could stop.

#whump #whump writing #living weapon whumpee #living weapon #outcast whumpee #magic whump #magic whumpee #battle #caretaker and whumpee #whumpee and caretaker #soft caretaker #hes trying his best #so is whumpee #i am apparently incapable of making a living weapon who enjoys their job outside of the actual battle #i did try but whumpee wouldnt let me #they just want to grow flowers and have their hair done instead #angstpril2024 #writing #alt1 #troubled mind

[whumpandthewild]

superpowered whumpee who is both touch-starved as fuck, and can't stand any type of touch because their powers make even the slightest ones hurt. at the same time. good shit

#whump #whump prompt #superpower whump #hero whump #villain whump #whump writing #touch starved whump #whump trope #magic whump #magic whumpee

[chaotic-orphan]

The Heretic (4)

It has a name! Previously june of doom day 9~

Read part one here

Continued from here

*~*~*~*~*

Shaw woke with a groan, his head too heavy for his neck to support it. He wanted to open his eyes, but as soon as he did his eyelids shut and Shaw groaned again. The dim lighting igniting a fire of a headache in his brain. He just wanted to sleep again. The fight with Olen had taken a lot out of him and his mind was miles away.

Wait…

His fight with Olen.

Shaw’s eyes snapped open again as he jerked forward in the chair. The clack of chains pulling taut. Shaw didn’t get very far and he cursed… or he would have if not for the fucking gag between his teeth, locking his tongue to the bottom of his mouth.

Shaw’s eyes went wide, glancing down his nose trying to see what it was but even he couldn’t see past his own nose.

Fuck. He needed to get out of here… wherever here was, probably Olen’s villain lair or something stupid like that. Shaw pulled his hands forward again. Both his wrists were locked in different sets of handcuffs keeping his hands apart. Olen probably didn’t know that Shaw couldn’t activate his runes without his voice which… well, fucking sucked because the bastard had covered all his bases with Shaw.

But if Shaw was here… then… Shaw’s heart sank into his stomach. Hero. Nobody was protecting Hero! Superhero could do whatever he wanted, Olen could have already caused a scene and killed them while Shaw was unconscious.

Shaw didn’t care. He started making as much noise as he could, screaming Olen’s name or something that vaguely resembled Olen’s name into his gag. After a solid minute of causing a fuss, Shaw was panting for breath. The gag not helping his breathing situation, as he sucked in air through his nose with a painful grunt. His ribs hurt.

Everything hurt.

God, Olen really didn’t pull his punches.

“Tch.”

Shaw looked up to see Olen standing at the top of the concrete staircase — directly in front of Shaw’s chair —silhouetted inside the doorframe, cigarette in hand. Olen turned his head to face the hall and said: “hey. The brat’s awake.” Before he descended the steps towards Shaw.

“Olen! You bastard let me go,” Shaw said, or tried to say, the gag muffling his words beyond recognition.

Olen waved his hand, batting Shaw’s mumbling away. “I can’t understand you with that thing in your mouth. Save your breath.”

Shaw had so many things he wanted to say. He wanted to ask. He had to know.

Where’s Hero?

Are they safe?

Did you hurt them yet?

Are they… are they still alive?

All questions died on Shaw’s tongue when he saw the second silhouetted figure in the door frame at the top of the stairs.

Superhero.

Shaw’s eyes shot to Olen in accusation, not pleading, more like hurt and betrayed than anything else. Shaw pulled forward in his restraints, cursing under his gag as Superhero came closer towards him. Shaw couldn’t just sit calm and take it, not with Superhero here— he had to do something. Even if it was only struggling futilely against his restraints.

Superhero stared dispassionately down at Shaw, stopping in front of him. Shaw swallowed, glaring back.

“God, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Superhero said reaching down. Shaw jerked his head back out of reach but Superhero caught his jaw all the same, squeezing the pulse points on Shaw’s throat as he tilted his head up. “You’re still useless at fighting.”

As if to prove his point Superhero pressed his finger into Shaw’s cheek until Shaw cried out, cursing Superhero behind the gag.

Superhero’s face didn’t change from the disgusted look he wore when he first saw Shaw, unemotional and inhuman. Superhero let go of Shaw’s jaw and stepped back, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“As much as I love not hearing him talk, we need information from him,” said Superhero casually.

“Are you sure about that?” Olen asked, exhaling smoke into the air.

Superhero’s shark like stare was as dispassionate as ever when he ordered: “remove the gag, Olen.”

Olen obeyed quietly. It felt wrong. Back in their academy days you followed an order from Superhero with yes, sir. Olen moving without the mark of respect was strange. Almost eerie.

Maybe Olen had changed as much as Shaw did.

The moment Olen removed the gag Shaw spit at Superhero. He only had a fraction of a second to enjoy it before his head was whipped to the side, his cheek stinging. Shaw hissed, bringing his head back to face Superhero. He met Superhero’s gaze with hatred fuelled eyes and then his head snapped to the side again, this time Shaw biting back a groan.

His jaw hurt enough from the gag, he didn’t need Superhero’s knuckles aggravating it more.

“You fucking piece of shit,” Shaw said, his voice coming out too high, raspy and croaking. He faced Superhero again, glare a little less fiery, a little more cautious.

“Nice to see you too, Shaw.”

Shaw met Superhero’s eyes, raising an eyebrow at the civility. Superhero inclined his head. “In bruises. Nice to see you covered in bruises.”

Shaw huffed a breath out his nose, then started muttering a spell under his breath. He barely got three words out before Superhero’s hand was on his throat, slamming his head back against the chair. Shaw gasped but no air could enter his lungs with Superhero crushing his windpipe.

His lethal eyes burned with a cold fury down at Shaw. When Superhero spoke his voice was low, dangerous, sending ice down Shaw’s spine. “Try and use your dirty spells again, Shaw, and I’ll knock you out cold. Just so I can wake you and make you watch as I murder Hero in front of you, are we clear?”

Superhero let Shaw’s neck go enough so he could answer. “Yes—” Shaw choked out with a slight wheeze.

Superhero’s eyebrow raised a fraction. It was the only warning Shaw had before Superhero’s hand was on his throat again, face far too close to Shaw’s, eyes far too terrifying and it felt like Shaw was a teenager again under Superhero’s command.

“Come on Shaw,” Superhero chided lightly, his voice like the edge of a dagger. “I know I taught you your manners, or have you forgotten and need a reminder hmm? Tell you what, because I’m generous, I’ll give you one last chance.”

This time, Superhero only removed his hand slightly from Shaw’s throat, leaving his hand there lingering like a promise.

Shaw sucked in a breath, unable to look down or away from Superhero. Shame curled up in his chest like a cat trying to soak up heat— Shaw told himself he’d never bow to Superhero again and yet…

“Yes… sir,” Shaw whispered.

Superhero’s smile was anything but kind. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Olen, did you catch that?”

Shaw didn’t know what Olen did behind him, but he knows he didn’t reply. Maybe a shrug or a gesture or something, but to Shaw it felt like insignificant.

“Me either. Louder, so we can all hear.”

“Yes sir,” Shaw croaked, forcing his voice to be louder, even as his vocal chords screamed at him for pushing them too much after being choked.

Superhero’s lips twitched as he lightly slapped Shaw’s cheek. “Good boy. Look at you, you haven’t forgotten your manners at all. You just needed a little encouragement.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Shaw asked, not caring that his voice was weak as he spoke. Superhero straightened again, allowing Shaw a little extra breathing room that he was grateful for. At least putting some distance between him and the devil himself.

Olen walked around the chair into Shaw’s view, leaning against the wall beside the stairs. His cigarette was gone and he just crossed his arms over his chest, eyes fixed on Shaw. Shaw could see the tension in his shoulders from here, which means Superhero must’ve been pissed when Olen told him he couldn’t kill Hero.

Shaw almost smiled at the thought of pissing Superhero off.

Almost.

“Since when are you a Heretic, Shaw?” Superhero asked, drawing Shaw’s attention back to him. The question kind of stunned him. Superhero tilted his head to the side.

As in… he wanted an answer.

Shaw swallowed before he spoke, licking his dry lips that were chapped from the gag. “I was born a heretic.”

The answer got him a swift slap across the face. Shaw grit his teeth but thankfully it wasn’t hard enough to turn his head, so small victories.

Superhero’s smile was wan. “When did you pick up your practice again? Did Hero know?”

Shaw tried not to give it away. He tried not to react. He didn’t succeed, because the mere mention of Hero’s name and possible threat and danger caused to them by Shaw well… his cuffs clacking against the chair said everything Shaw didn’t want to.

Superhero let out a scoff. “Of course they did. No matter, I’ll make sure they learn the error of their ways.”

“Don’t fucking touch them!” Shaw all but growled. Superhero’s humourless smile stretched into a teasing grin.

“Or what? What will you do, Shaw? Threatening me from your position… I don’t know if it’s brave or stupid.”

“Why do you even want to kill Hero?” Shaw demanded hotly. “They’ve only ever followed your orders. Done as you asked!”

Superhero rolled his eyes. “Is this the part where I reveal all my evil plans to you, Shaw? Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

Shaw’s eyes went from Superhero to Olen’s, then back again, squinting a little. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“I don’t think it would say a lot coming from you. If we want to talk about stupidity, at least I’m not handcuffed to a chair,” Superhero replied smoothly.

Shaw grit his teeth, pulling slightly on the handcuffs, more to do something than actually trying to escape.

“When did you find your faith again, Shaw?” Superhero asked. Shaw looked down, away from Superhero’s harsh gaze. He could feel the hatred in the room emanating from his captors. Heresy wasn’t something that would win you popularity among normal people.

“Recently enough.”

“How recent?”

Shaw click his tongue against his teeth, shrugging. “I don’t know. The last couple of months?”

“What is the church planning?”

Shaw stared at Superhero, brows knitting together. “I’m not back in the church.”

Superhero blinked, expression unreadable. Shaw looked from Superhero to Olen, eyes a bit desperate. Though, with the look on Olen’s face, Shaw knew he was searching for a friendly face in vain. His glare returned to his eyes as he turned back to Superhero.

“I’m not with the church, Superhero. I told you about what they do, what they did to me. I would never—”

Superhero didn’t say anything. Just stared down impassively. Shaw scoffed, reclining back into his seat with a shrug. “Faith and religion are two different things, Superhero.”

“Fine. Then who helped you find your faith again?”

“What does it matter!” Shaw yelled. Superhero punched him again, his knuckles cracking against Shaw’s cheek and Shaw cursed as pain flamed hot across his face. He didn’t turn his head to face Superhero again. Instead, stupidly, naively, his eyes met Olen’s in a desperate plea.

“It matters because I say so. You had so much potential, now look at you. Wasting it. Squandering all of our hard work with your filthy, blood drunk love of ambivalent gods. Pathetic.”

“Honestly? Their magic is pretty handy. So is their blood, but I guess Olen could tell you all about that. After all, it did stop you in your plan to kill Hero,” said Shaw with a shit eating grin as he turned back to face Superhero. “At least I have something while you godless, carnal fucks just languish here useless.”

Superhero blinked, entirely unimpressed. “You forget your beloved Hero is one of those carnal fucks.”

“No, Hero’s different. They’re good. You know, like what heroes are meant to be.”

“The strong survive, Shaw.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shaw snapped. Superhero let out a sigh, as he started walking in a slow circle around Shaw’s chair.

“There’s a reason that Hero’s goodness is the exception and not the rule, but you already knew that didn’t you? It’s why you waited there in the alleyway. How can a hero who needs protection survive in a world like this?”

“Hero doesn’t need protection—”

“You seem to think they do. Their naivety of how good the world is and how good people inherently are, well…” Superhero said with a smug smile as he came to stand in front of Shaw again. “Let’s just say, it will kill them before I get the chance to.”

Superhero’s words hung in the air thick and dense. He didn’t elaborate further, and after a minute or so the words took on a life of their own and started crawling under Shaw’s skin.

“As long as I’m alive I won’t let anything happen to them,” Shaw told Superhero. He twisted his wrists in the cuffs, hoping that he could rub his wrist hard enough to draw blood from the metal.

Superhero stared at him for a long, drawn out moment. Then he turned his back on Shaw to face Olen. “He’s not going to tell us anything right now. Gag him and we’ll try again in a few days.”

“Wait!” Shaw cried. Shit shit shit. If they gag him he won’t be able to get out of here but then— he doesn’t even know what they want from him?! He pulled at the cuffs harshly, praying that he’d bleed. Come on! He has to stall them longer. “What? You want to know how I got my faith back? I’m telling the truth, it doesn’t just go away.”

Superhero glanced at Shaw over his shoulder. “It doesn’t just come back either, Shaw. Who encouraged you to practice heresy again?”

Shaw set his jaw, his eyes burning as he stared into Superhero’s dispassionate eyes. “You’re protecting someone,” Superhero told him, his voice light and airy. “Friend, family, preacher? Doesn’t matter. You’re not going to give them up today.”

“Why does the heresy even bother you? You’re Superhero the city loves you!”

“As long as the black church still operates from the shadows and has their secret heretics practicing their magic, they will always be a threat Shaw. You know this. Isn’t that why we worked so hard to beat it out of you in the first place?”

“No you tortured me! There was no hard work on your part,” Shaw hissed.

Superhero’s eyes glinted cruelly. “I mean, you didn’t restrain yourself. There was some work on my part. Or did the whippings leave such a fleeting memory? We can start them again if you need a refresher.”

Shaw glared up at Superhero, lips curling back in hatred. “My people are peaceful, Superhero. Most of us are peaceful. Of course there’s some bad people but you can’t kill us all for a few bad people!”

“Who’s going to stop me, Shaw? You?”

“You can’t just go on a witch hunt and eradicate us all! That’s— that’s,” Shaw’s breath hitched as he felt blood slide down his wrist onto his thumb. Yes! Fuck. “That’s madness, Superhero.”

Superhero shrugged. “I guess I’m a little mad then.” That was the end of the conversation. Superhero turned and nodded at Olen before walking to the staircase. Olen had just pushed off the wall when Shaw clicked his fingers and quickly muttered the spell under his breath.

Superhero turned back, rage and murder in his eyes as Olen lunged for Shaw. Shaw grinned at them both, his skin glowing the strange silver and then he was gone.

He collapsed back into his bedroom in his apartment, stumbling back against the bed before lying down on top of it. He felt nausea climb up his throat but he wrestled it down with a groan. He pulled his hands in front of him, staring at his bloodied wrist. His hands were shaking, his body exhausted, his mind spent. He should really have a shower and clean himself up, but instead he kicked off his shoes and curled into a ball on his bed.

Hero’s alive.

He can rest.

#the heretic #heresy #hero villain writing #hero villain snippet #hero villain story #hero #villain #writing #hero/villain universe #hero/villain drabble #hero/villain #hero x villain #villain x hero #magic #religion #magic religion #bad superhero #whump writing #emotional whump #whump #superhero whumper #villain whumpee #magic whumpee #villain captured #heroes and villains #hero turned villain #past whumper

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Make the Fire Burn

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

Kira had gone through a phase, during her apprenticeship, where all she read were swooning, brainless romance novels. Her days, after all, were spent filling her mind with magic, learning symbols and their combinations. The silly stories of beautiful women and handsome men were the only things she’d found that held off the worst of the headaches. 

She had traded the precious few copper coins she had to spare for these tales, damsels in distress or troubled lovely lads with torn bodices and breeches rescued by the strong prince or princess, knights in gleaming armor sweeping them off their feet. The blood that must have stained them during the floridly described battles against wicked villains was never mentioned but implied, somehow deliciously implied. She’d stayed up too late many times reading by candlelight and magic the way these heroines would come undone and then… well, she would usually stop reading before the final chapter.

She often lost interest before the books could make it to the happily ever afters. The final cooing happiness was so much less important, to her, than the breathless ways they got there.  

Now, though, Kira was beginning to realize the books - many of which featured captivity, thrilling references to bonds both real and magical - had left out one very important truth. Perhaps the most important descriptor of them all.

None of them had ever made it clear how deeply, achingly, excruciatingly boring being held captive would be. 

This room, with its portraits of the dead who had suffered her fate before her staring down at her from the walls, was a very pretty cage, but it wasn’t a very entertaining one. The servants brought her meals but refused to answer her questions, only giving her sad smiles. Occasionally she woke up in horror to find herself wearing different clothing than she had gone to sleep in. At least there had been no more breakfasting at the dining table - melting the silver in her hands despite having had her magical tools taken from her had apparently made an impression on the loathsome Lord Wentworth.

That, she had to admit, was a little satisfying.

Still, she hadn’t been able to make it happen again, and so she was trapped here in this room torn between hours of lying on the bed and staring sightlessly at the ceiling and frantic attempts to discover some sort of secret here she could use to free herself.

So far… no such luck.

She had found some dust-covered books shoved between the back of the bed and the wall, but they appeared to simply be old primers for some long-dead child learning to read. The pages, scrawled in childish loops and swirls, had nearly crumbled under her fingertips. 

In the wardrobe there were out-of-date dresses, ribbons for her hair, even shoes that didn’t fit. She had… eventually tried on the shoes. It was something to do, it used up at least a few seconds of her otherwise eventless existence.

No wonder the damsels in her romances had been so desperately grateful to their dashing rescuers. She’d rip her bodice off herself just to have someone to talk to.

She wasn’t even entirely sure how long she’d been trapped here. It had to have been a month, right? The full moon had come and gone, waned day by day back to a sliver of itself lit like silver, with the rest only barely implied in the shadowy sky.

The sliver was widening again, working itself back to fullness. Perhaps six weeks, then, and had no one come looking for her? Did Kiraya Losna’s life matter so little, in the scheme of things, that not even her landlady had come looking for her when rent was due and she was gone? Had they sold off her clothes and books to make back a little bit of what she owed, or simply tossed it all in the gutter with the trash, to be torn apart for any hint of value by strangers?

Her heart twisted if she thought about it too long.

Her diaries might make an entertaining night’s read for some scoundrel who wanted to amuse himself with the pain of a girl who must learn on her own how to make herself a woman, when her body wasn’t correct without some help. The life of a girl with too much magic but no mother must make for quite the tale, indeed, for someone who did not care about the real person behind the pen-marks on the pages.

Would whoever had found her diaries in the refuse laugh over her joy when she had unlocked the secrets to the spell that made her reflection match her inside and out? Would they mock her dreams, even if they’d been fulfilled?

It didn’t matter. Not really.

She was never getting those diaries back. Hells, she was never even going to leave this place, and she knew it. She would be held here, and then die here, and have no choice in how it happened. Guilford Wentworth had declared her the betrothed to himself - or his son, she still didn’t quite understand - and her fate was to be the tame magician-wife for a lord whose demands would be great. And still, another would have to be taken to bear him children, which Kira could never do. 

So even in her captivity, she would damn someone else to the same fate. She felt very like the siren, in that way - trapped as a way to trap others in her same prison, this labyrinthian hell. If only she could have spoken to him again, she might have felt less lonely, more able to bear the boredom.

Some nights, at least, her restless attempts to sleep were broken by the siren’s mournful song winding up through the walls, a mourner’s wail of wordless melody, but he didn’t try to talk to her again, or even to control her.

He was trapped in his own lovely prison.

Although, honestly, at least he could have a swim in his.

Kira had resigned herself to her third read-through of the only genuine book she’d found in this room - hidden under some lovely scarves in the wardrobe, it was a story about pirates that absolutely had been written by someone who had never so much as seen a ship or an ocean and was more or less simply inventing how it might work as they wrote. It was absolutely worthless, and yet it was the only thing she thought might be keeping her sane here.

At some point, she blinked out of her stupor and realized she could hear the sound of horses’ hooves, the rattling of carriage wheels. Kira shot to her feet, the book dropping to the floor immediately and thankfully forgotten. She raced to the window, curving her fingers around the cold iron bars, listening.

She couldn’t see much from here, but-... yes, that was definitely a carriage. Had someone come to look for her, finally? Had someone realized she was still here?

Had someone noticed she was gone?

There were voices she didn’t recognize, pitched just too low for her to hear. Men’s voices, maybe one woman. She pushed her face between the bars, listening as hard as she could. Babbage was definitely one of the voices, and Wentworth, but she didn’t know the others. Wentworth and Babbage seemed perfectly chatty and friendly, setting Kira’s teeth on edge, but there was something to the other voices that didn’t sound the same.

The voices faded and were replaced by the stablehands moving the carriage horses to the stables, she assumed, and she slumped against the window, staring down at the topiary maze that led to a small fish pond below. Her heart had briefly raced - now it shuddered back to its usual slow beat. Even her heart could not find a reason to either fear or hope in this endless repeating nothing.

How long she stayed like that, she didn’t know. Her brain and body seemed simply to… pull away from the larger world around them. She was here and not-here, despair and absolutely nothingness warring within her. 

She had been an idiot to feel even that single bright spot of hope.

She had gone back to pick up the pirate book when there was a knock at the door. It wasn’t time for any of the meals brought to her, nor was it early enough to be the washbasin needing refilled. Kira swallowed, slowly standing up straight. She kept her eyes on the door as she slowly backed up, until she bumped into the wall and nearly knocked down one of the portraits that watched her sleep.

She said nothing.

They would come in or not - she knew by now it had nothing to do with whether she wanted it to happen. At least she would be awake this time. She lifted her chin, crossed her arms in front of her, and tried for all the world to look like she could do anything at all if they decided to drag her down to the siren and rob her of her mind right here and right now.

The door swung open, and there stood a man she had never seen before, but she knew immediately just looking at him that he was Guilford Wentworth the Fifth, here in the flesh. He had the same sort of look to his face, but so much younger, with a thick head of hair and wider eyes he must have gotten from his mother. He was tall and lanky where his father’s waistline had thickened over time. The family look was there, yes, but the young man was clearly his own person, too.

The lord himself stood behind his son, with a hand on his shoulder. “Here she is,” Lord Wentworth said, his voice thick slime as he gestured, stepping inside and pulling the younger Wentworth with him. “Your bride.”

Kira lifted her chin just a little more, so she had to look down her nose at the two of them. “We will see about that.” She kept her posture loose, unbothered, even as she felt her fingernails dig into her skin and her heart start to race. “I have my own thoughts on that,” Kira said, voice flat. “And you are…?”

The younger man swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly as he shifted, working himself out from under his father’s hand. He turned cold eyes on her. “Guilford Wentworth the Fifth,” He said, hostile and sharp. Only when the lord shoved at his back did he stumble forwards, brushing imaginary wrinkles from his waistcoat and pants before reaching out for her hand, bending forward at the waist with a straight spine.

He intended to kiss the back of her hand.

“Absolutely not,” She said, and did not move an inch.

The young man dropped his hand, one lip curling in a sneer. “Rude.”

“Oh, I am ever so, especially when held against my will. You’ll find my impolite instincts much harder to suppress without the siren to silence me.”

The young man snorted. “You find yourself terribly clever, don’t you?”

“Maybe. Could anyone think more of themselves than your father? Doubtful. Now, is there anything I can call you besides your father’s son?” She asked, tipping her head to one side. Her hair fell slightly against her cheek - she hadn’t bothered putting it up in at least a week and it hung in a riot of tangles down past her shoulders. She tried not to feel the Lord Wentworth’s eyes as they moved over her, and focused instead on the clearer, cleaner feel of his son’s dismay and hostility. “You must go by something, and I assume only the one man allows himself to be known as the lofty lordship here.”

To her surprise, she caught a slight twitch at the corner of the young lord’s mouth, as if he very nearly smiled before he got himself back under control. He had to duck his head just a little so that his father didn’t see it. “Ford,” He offered her, voice softening - just a little. “I go by Ford, where I live in the Colonies.”

He offered his hand again.

“Ford, then,” She acknowledged, hesitantly. This time, she allowed him to take her hand, felt his warm, dry lips press against her knuckles. She wiped her hand on her dress when she took it back, and watched his mouth twist again at the sight. “I am Kiraya Losna.”

“I know,” Ford said, and his eyes flickered towards the looming, smug presence of his father and then back to her. There was something to the look on his face she struggled to read. “I have been… told about you.”

“In preparation for our wedding, I imagine,” She said, dryly, and then turned abruptly away to look outside again. “For the sake of honesty, I should say I don’t intend to go through with it.”

“It won’t matter,” He answered, and she glanced back at him, eyebrows furrowing a little. He didn’t sound smug, like his father, but instead a little… battered. Perhaps he had witnessed rebellions before, or at least their aftermath. She wondered if he had ever rebelled, himself. “I will be… kind to you, Miss Losna, if I can-”

“I think that’s enough,” Lord Wentworth said, and clapped his hands together, just once. Ford flinched at the crack of palm on palm, even though Wentworth was all the way across the room. Her chest went cold as she saw how he hunched over himself, and then just as suddenly straightened his spine and set his shoulders back, jaw locked at a harsh angle. “Come, Ford. You and your sister need to see to your rooms, unpack your things… get settled in. The twins will be here within the week, as well, after all-”

“The twins?” Ford’s head shot up, and he turned on his heel, moving back to his father with a sudden burst of energy and speed. “The twins are away at school, Father, why-”

“For the wedding,” Guilford said, smooth as a snake’s belly soundless along the ground. “I thought you were fond of them, Ford. Was I mistaken…?”

“No, not mistaken, just-... I wouldn’t-... want to interrupt their studies, is all-”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. In any case, Miss Losna, you’ll be joining us this evening, won’t you?”

Kira’s eyes moved from one to the other. “I… suppose that’s… your prerogative, Lord Wentworth,” She managed, her voice seemingly speaking with perfect polite without her consent. “I will… see you at dinner, I suppose, Ford.”

“Right.” Ford rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. As he walked out the door, he slunk past his father, his steps hurrying him past the man as quickly as he could go. “At dinner, Miss Losna.”

He was gone. 

Guilford lingered in the doorway, looking back at Kira, his eyes moving over her body in a way that held entirely too much possession. It made her want to show up to dine with a bag on her head, draped in the comforter until no piece of her could be seen at all. Not that she thought it would make any difference. He would lust over what was beneath whether he could see it or not. 

She wondered if she could melt his bones with the wild magic that had worked on the silver, if he hurt her badly enough. If she only could become angry enough. It was only with effort she kept her voice calm and seemingly careless. “Will you be sending Nadette to help me prepare, Lord Wentworth? These dresses here were made for a woman with servants, I cannot do them up myself.”

He smiled at her, and it brought no warmth to his expression whatsoever. Only seemed to freeze her further. “A lovely image to hand to me, my dear.” 

“I am not your dear,” Kira sneered, leaning back against the wall, her hands pressed against its gentle texture, her palms somehow freezing and burning right to the tips of her fingers. Her heart raced within her, trying to run from the confines of her imprisoned body. “And I will never be your anything. I will not be your son’s, either. No matter how he must hate you.”

Wentworth paused, framed by the door, and chuckled, shaking his head. “You will, Miss Losna, be the loving wife to my son at the end of the next month. You will adore him wholly and utterly. And the both of you will adore me just the same.”

She pressed her palms back harder. The feeling of the wall made them ache but it was the only thing that kept her voice steady. “And his feelings on this marriage? He didn’t seem to agree-”

“What does that matter?” Wentworth blinked, as if surprised by the question. “My children do as I bid them, Miss Losna. They always have, and they always will. Or they cease to have a reason to be alive. Much like you.”

He closed the door and left her there.

The key turned in the lock.

She could hear him humming a jaunty tune until his voice faded entirely, and she was - once again - alone in her gilded prison cell. 

Kira stepped away from the wall, panic making her nerves spark and muscles jump under her skin, with no way to run, nothing to run away to. She took one step, and then another. Somewhere down below, the siren began his song again. There was no magic in it. He was only crying, in the way of his kind, and his despair echoed hers.

Kira ran, flinging herself onto the bed and burying herself beneath the heavy covers, pulling her pillow over her face with its lavender scent and screaming into it until her throat was raw. Her lungs burned for air and her throat ached, but still she kept screaming. 

At some point, screams became heaving sobs, hot tears that soaked into her hair, her pillow, and seemed to boil their way down her cheeks. 

She wept until there were no tears left. Then, she lay in silence and simply waited for the next step in what felt like an inexorable slide off a cliff into the darkness below. The siren's song rose higher and higher, slipping underneath her skin.

Sleep, He must have sung to her. Sleep now and dream of better things.

She drifted off, and knew only that his voice felt not like chains, now, but like a hand on her head, arms around her, the way her mother had once held her after nightmares.

If only this had been one.

If only she were able to wake up from this.

Where she had been standing, two handprints had burned black into the wall. Magic smoked, sparked embers, and then faded to soot unseen.

-

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee

#bones in the ocean #original writing #fantasy writing #original fantasy #fiction writing #my writing #writing #whump #captivity #reluctant whumper #magic whump #magic whumpee #captured #captive

[whumpy-daydreams]

Powerless

Masterlist

Previous Next

CW: experimented on, cattle prod/electrocuted

Rowena didn't resist as she was strapped down to the table. Didn't brace herself for the sting of the needle, the hot feeling that spread across her body like the tide rising, the pain that would eventually come.

"Create a flame." Dr Mason was indifferent as always. When Rowena failed to do so electricity sparked across her side. Fire flickered along her fingers, and the doctor gave a sound of approval.

She tried to maintain the flames but it was harder than usual. Another burst of electricity had her gritting her teeth. A flame flickered and died.

The cattle prod almost punctured her thigh, electricity coursing through her in waves of needles. Rowena screamed. But no fire appeared.

Again and again her muscles spasmed until she couldn't breathe, mouth frozen in silent agony.

"Enough," Dr Mason said. "I want to see if the drug works, not kill her." She typed something, distracted by her research before realising everyone else in the room was waiting for instructions. "In ten minutes stimulate her again, provided her heartrate's gone down a bit."

Hours of pain later Rowena couldn't move. She'd given up counting down the minutes after the first hour and all she could do now was wait for the next round of pain to begin. Every ten minutes there was another round, halted only to let her recover before starting again.

Her body was covered in burns from the electricity, bleeding in a few places from where the prongs had broken skin. The doctor had said she didn't want her dead - but that didn't seem like mercy.

When the prongs of the cattle prod stabbed into her calf again Rowena didn't scream. She'd been drifting in and out of consciousness for a while, only staying lucid enough to avoid biting her tongue as she seized.

"Let's stop for now. Everyone take a break, we'll resume this in an hour." Rowena almost sobbed as people began leaving. A whole hour of peace. Two nurses stayed, checking her vitals to make sure Rowena wouldn't suddenly die.

Dr Mason was true to her word. Rowena couldn't see the time, but she'd bet good money that the next round of electricity was delivered almost to the second. Still no powers, but a short nap had helped restore some of energy, and a small spark was glowing once again deep in her mind.

It only took two more rounds before Rowena was able to conjure anything. It could barely be called a flame - just a tiny spark that died almost as soon as it appeared. The energy it took felt enormous.

Rowena could hear the doctor scribbling frantically. Apparently her small display of power hadn't been enough, and this time the cattle prod was on her chest.

The eruption of fire almost burnt the guard, who jumped back with a yelp. But that was too much for Rowena's already exhausted. Darkness took her, a dreamless sleep that rolled over her like a wave, and Rowena welcomed it with open arms.

#mortiawrites #whump #whumpee #whumper #tw electrocution #electrocution #cattle prod #experiment whump #unethical experimentation #magic whumpee #land of liars

[whump-it-like-its-hot]

A mage Whumpee who’s still learning to control their magic powers and not overexert themselves, but one day they get cocky while trying to prove themselves for some really stupid reason and pass out as a consequence, much to the concern of caretaker who knows like nothing about magic and it’s side effects

Caretaker rushing to Whumpee’s side, praying that they’re not dead, and feeling so relieved when they feel Whumpee’s pulse still going - Weak, but still going.

They gently prop them up on their lap when they notice Whumpee slowly regaining consciousness, almost crying in relief when Whumpee’s eyes flutter open.

“Whumpee? Whumpee, hey, can you hear me? What the hell was that?”

And Whumpee, still dazed and not fully there, focuses on Caretaker for a moment, before pulling the corner of their mouth up into a half grin.

“Guess you could say that was a...dizzy spell,” before closing their eyes again from exhaustion.

How Caretaker reacts is up to you.

#whump #whump prompt #whumpee #caretaker #magic whump #magical exertion #magic whumpee #unconsciousness #passing out #whimpers who don't take themselves seriously to a concerning amount my beloved #this idea stems from my oc Loki who is like this #and comes up with a dumb pun in every situation #the more unfitting the better #I meant to say whumpees not whimpers wtf #ANYWAY #working in whumptober rn B) #stay tuned #and have this #kinda #Whump meme #in the meanwhile #as my first original post in forever LMAO

[the-three-whumpeteers]

whumpee has intensely powerful magical abilities that they’re kind of terrified of. obviously they repress them even after it starts to physically take a toll and hurt them. eventually the whumper crosses the line in front of the caretaker and whumpee let’s loose.

>> oh hey hey magic whump

Also I’m super tired so I’m sorry I’m advanced if I misunderstood something in the ask- idk if I did but might as well pfft

Every time the whumpee holds back, they hurt themselves more and more, but they can finally see that it all payed off, because in the end, the whumper is hit by a wave of magic far stronger than the whumpee has ever managed to pull off. There’s a small part of the whumpee that relishes on finally hurting the whumper, but most of them is worried about the Caretaker.

The whumpee hated that they’d hurt the whumper, not because they felt guilty or bad, but because they didn’t want the Caretaker to be scared of them, as many people before had thought of them as a monster once the whumpee showed off their abilities. The caretaker on the other hand is more concerned about the whumpee, since they’re still very visibly injured from the time spent with the whumper.

The whumper had been trying to get the whumpee to finally let out their magic for so long, torturing them for days on end just to get them to snap, but the whumpee had held back the whole time. At first, the whumper thought that they’d finally gotten what they wanted, and they were happy to see that the whumpee had finally snapped at them, but their excitement is quickly replaced with terror as they realize that the whumpee is much stronger than they believed, and they weren’t ready to handle the whumpee’s magic at all.

#whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #aramis stabs someone #whump prompts #whumper #whumper whump #caretaker #magic whumpee #magic whump #the void screams back

[shshshquietnow]

Whumpees with powers controlled by their emotions. Maybe other than that they have controll, but when they feel a certain way their powers will NOT be tamed.

Whumpees that turn invisible on instinct when scared. Whumpers that find this endlessly amusing, using man handling and a lot of physical touch because they've "got to make up for the visual unappeal."

Shapeshifting whumpees can't control their forms when angry. Lashing out at whumpers as a large bear or wolf before being restrained, brought to a cage sense "They're so insistent on acting like an animal."

Whumpees with electric powers that get turned up to ten while in pain. Everything whumper does gives them an electric shock, making any torture or punishment very frustrating for the whumper. Even if whumpee can't control it, can't do it on purpose, even if they apologize a thousand times, they are still spurned, told that "they should know better than to try THAT little stunt again."

Empath whumpees that can't help but project their strong emotions. Whumpers having to step out of the room while torturing them, or whumpers that get the smug satisfaction of feeling a wave of relief as they walk back into the house to their whumpee. Of course no good things will happen when the whumper realizes what's going on, but that won't be for a while. Caretakers rattled by anxiety and fear so overwhelming they don't know what to do, holding whumpee too close or even running, scared they're going to hurt them all over again. But also caretakers crying tears of joy when they realize why they felt so good all day: they finally made whumpee feel safe.

Whumpees that grow armor when they feel threatened, whether that be crystals growing from their skin, or thorns or whatever else. On top of the pain of whatever whumper is about to do to them they have the pain of new material growing and pricking out of their skin. Whumpers that sigh, over compensating for the armor with the pain they cause because "You're over reacting, it's not going to be THAT bad."

Whumpees that have power over plants, flowers blooming when they feel safe and warm, withering when they're depressed or lonely. Whumper's garden never grew well, not until they broke whumpee in. And after rescue caretakers garden was rotted down to the soil, but as time went on their garden flourished, more beautiful than whumper's garden could ever be.

Whumpees that subconsciously control other people's powers, making them more or less powerful depending on how much whumpee trusted them. Whumper getting annoyed beyond belief after their powers STILL barely function, even after weeks of trying to manipulate whumpee to staying. Caretaker scared for whumpees life after a rescue, none of their healing powers working on whumpee because they don't trust that this rescue isn't another of whumper's tricks.

Whumpees that can only charm abd mind control when they're most desperate. Screaming first whumper to stop until finally right before the worst punishment they do, whumpers getting PISSED, continuing on once the enchantment wears off with new found rage because "you don't get to control me, I control you."

Whumpees with "Spider senses", knowing when whumper is approaching, feeling the tingle right before every new method of torture is used. Their senses going HAYWIRE when whumper is in the room, overwhelmed.

Whumpees letting out powerful bursts of kinetic energy when it gets too much, sending anything near them flying several feet away from them. Frustrating for whumper, sure, but even MORE dangerous for the caretaker trying to save the poor confused bomb waiting to go off.

Just yes <3

#whump #whump community #superpower whump #magic whump #magic whumpee #superpowered whumpee #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #healer caretaker #hero whumpee #villain whumpee #if you want #manhandling #caged whumpee #captivity whump #cruel whumper #quiet whispering

[zoethehead]

OK, imagine this scenario; the whumpee loses control of their powers, essentially having a berserk conscious blackout, unaware of anything around them. The whumpee's blasting powerful magic out trying to hit anything around them, eventually the magic fades, and the whumpee's weakened by it; burns and wounds covering their body as they teetered between conscious and unconscious, the wooziness coming in tenfold.

*CRACK*

The whumpee feels a blinding white hot pain shoot through their head as they felt their body leave the ground, they slammed against an object before falling unconscious.

The caretaker saw one of their allies hit the nearly unconscious whumpee with their weapon(an oversized blunt object like, a warhammer or a giant mallet), chastising ally A for doing that when the whumpee had already calmed down.

The caretaker picked up the unconscious whumpee, carrying them to another area where they'd tend to the whumpee's injuries before letting them rest in a bed.

#whump #magical whump #magic whumpee #magic fatigue #magical exhaustion #exhaustion #exhausted whumpee #head injury #blunt force trauma #burned #injured #injuries #knocked out #fallen unconscious #wounded #woozy #blackout #barely conscious whumpee #conscious blackout

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1189

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

I just had the idea of a magic whumpee getting drugged, but with a twist.

They drug has them confused, exhausted and delirious. But here’s the thing, the whumpee has to actively stop their magic from leaking out and hurting someone, even if that someone is the whumper. The whumper tries to use the opportunity to snatch whumpee only to be thrown back by a wave of magic finally ripping free from the delirious and scared whumpee, unable to hold it back any longer.

Bonus points if the caretaker is the only one that can talk them down

#Its the return of the bonus points! #whump #writing #prompts #ideas #angst #magic whump #magic whumpee #drugging #tw: drugging #exhaustion #delirium #holding back powers #uncontrollable powers #uncontrollable magic