Whump Scenario - Blog Posts

Do you guys think that the night Nina was born, Erik felt like peace could finally be an option ?

Like, he watched her sleep, her small hand wrapped around his finger and for a moment, the world felt gentle… It was the first time in such a long period that he felt fear for someone else than himself..

Only for everything to be destroyed years later, leaving him alone again…

Whumpee, after miraculously surviving a WEEK of being held captive, suffering unimaginable torture and trauma being dropped off, literally dropped off - limp and lifeless on the ground outside caretaker's home.

Caretaker, who has been worried sick while whumpee was missing, discovering the mess they're left in. Calling out all their housemates to help check for a pulse and gently pull whumpee indoors and care for them.

Restraints in whump

Strapped to a metal table, staring into the luminescent lights on the ceiling.

Handcuffed to a hospital bed to prevent an escape attempt.

A leather muzzle strapped to the face on account of the subject’s “aggression”.

Ropes binding wrists and ankles to a chair, carving into skin.

A metal collar connected to a chain which can be used to pull the captive around.

Strong arms wrapped around someone until they stop fighting.

Chains around ankles or wrists, being pulled along by captors as they march a prisoner through the streets.

Confined to a straight jacket in a padded cell after lashing out against staff members.

A single chain connected from the ankle to a wall, limiting movement and serving as a constant reminder that there’s no escape.

Draw badly. Write nonsensically. Embroider messily. Burn what you bake and cook. Get paint everywhere. Read half a book. Lose your mind for a bit. Plant things. Have faith in the process. Abandon 70 wood-carving projects. Get a kit and do some of it and never return to it. Get comfortable with sucking and losing motivation. Continue to create with reckless abandon.

tw pet whump, abandonment, rejection

"Please!" Whumpee sobbed, clinging to their master's clothes desperately. "P-please, don't– don't leave me here, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Whumper looked down at them with nothing but ice cold disdain, all that warmth and fondness Whumpee had gotten used to entirely gone. "Let go of my clothes," they ordered firmly, and Whumpee obeyed, because they were good, they could be good, they could follow orders.

"Please, forgive me, I– I've made mistakes, b-but I won't make one again, please. Please, just give me a chance."

"I've given you many," they said bluntly.

Please please please please I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry–

"Please don't leave me," they choked out. "Please. Please, I'll do anything, please–'

Whumper didn't wait for them to finish. They turned around and left, slamming the front door of the shelter shut behind them; trapping Whumpee inside with all the other abandoned pets and workers who seemed not to care for them at all.

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps @anonymous-tiangou @whump-kitty

Not gonna draw attention to the post because I suspect the person might blow a gasket, but it's always so funny to me when you see someone picking apart fanart, in this case, a popular fan Ot3 pairing, and they're like, "y'all have brainrot, this'll never be canon, you realize that?"

And maybe I'm just ancient, but since when has fandom ever been about validating canon? Canon is incidental to fandom output. It is, at best, a guideline. You can stick to it, or you can go so far off the beaten path that you fall off the edge of the world and wind up in a new one where the map has words like "here be dragons" stamped in the upper corner.

Fandom is about exploration beyond the canon. It can look like canon, talk like canon, and sometimes even emulate it so perfectly you'd swear you've found the author's secret account, but it doesn't have to.

Ultimately, however, it's about having fun. And if you can't understand that, I have no idea what you're doing here.

tw: drugging

a defiant whumpee trying to claw at whumper’s arms in protest as their body reacts to the sedative that was just injected into them. they can only muster aggravated, painful groans and whimpers as whumper cards a hand through their hair.

“shh, my love… don’t fight it,” they whisper, guiding their captive to lay back down.

CW: Blood, Amputation

"From now on, you will do as I say if you value your life." Whumper snarled menacingly.

"I'm nice though, so I'll give you ten chances. Your first order is this: kneel before me."

Whumpee stared defiantly from the floor where they lay crumpled. They sneered at their captor, narrowing their eyes.

"Oh, yes, you're so nice, kidnapping me and everything. Real stand-up behaviour from you there!" They spat, eyes darkening, "I will never follow your commands, you monster."

Whumper's aura of confidence shifted to one of slight frustration, glaring at Whumper like they were a particularly petulant child.

"Fine, you want to test your boundaries? I know mutts like you tend to do that under new masters." They grabbed Whumpee harshly by the wrist, yanking them over to a wooden table hidden in the shadowy corner of the room. There, they strapped Whumpee's hand in place by the wrist, palm down, tightening the leather buckle they used until their captive's flesh burnt red from pressure. They then locked it shut, to prevent any unwanted tampering.

"Ten chances, I suppose one of those would end up being wasted on a learning experience hm?" Whumper mused light-heartedly, rummaging through a storage box next to the table. Whumpee took the time to experimentatively pull against the strap, working the buckle with their hand.

"Oh, I'd move that other hand out of the way if I were you!"

Before Whumpee could fully grasp what that could mean, Whumper spun around, cleaver knife in hand. Quick as a flash they grabbed the little finger on Whumpee's restrained hand, pulled it away from the rest of them, and brough the cleaver down on it with a sickening crunch.

For a second, Whumpee felt nothing. Then, the white hot pain hit them with the force of a truck, and they screamed like a wild animal, their body going limp as they fell to their knees in agony.

Whumper doused the nub left behind in a sterile saline solution, tightly wrapping it in gauze, halting the bleeding. They picked up the quickly cooling amputated finger and crouched down, holding it in Whumpee's face.

"That's one chance gone, ok? I'm sure you understand not to waste the remaining nine."

Whumpee weakly nodded.

the world seems to fade in and out, blood rushing through their ears drowning out the voices around them. it hurts- is all whumpee can think, the pain is setting their body alight and sending stars to dance before their eyes. they’re confused and scared, the world too big and loud for their semi conscious brain to comprehend.

but then, arms are wrapping around their fragile body, settling the shakes that ravage their frame. they panic at first, weakly fighting against whatever new torture this is; but then they hear it, the soft lull of caretaker’s voice. a hand cards through their hair and the rumble of caretakers chest is welcoming as they press against it.

the world is slipping through their fingers now, and whumpee lets their consciousness fade away as they weakly grip onto the back of caretaker’s shirt.

CW: Flashbacks, ptsd mention, past trauma mention, Whumpee guilt

Whumpee sees their face in the bathroom mirror, the overgrown hair, bloodshot eyes, and the bruises that their entire body is covered with.

Just then, some flashbacks from the time they were being tortured come. They remember how the Whumper used to love running their hand through Whumpee's hair.

Suddenly, Whumpee is possessed by the urge to take an electric shaver and they run it over their hair.

They don't stop until all their soft, beautiful locks are lying in clumps next to their bare feet on the bathroom floor.

When Caretaker walks in and sees this, they take away the shaver from Whumpee, because they don't want Whumpee to hurt themselves by mistake.

Caretaker sets down the shaver and turns to Whumpee.

But Whumpee's eyes are cold and empty.

It makes Caretaker worry about them even more.

"What do you think you're doing!" Caretaker screams at the Whumpee.

Whumpee breaks down and drops to the floor, head in their hands.

In their eyes Caretaker can see the torture they are still mentally going through from their time in captivity.

"Why'd you do that, Whumpee?" they ask.

The Whumpee finally raises their head and looks Caretaker in the eye.

"I just ... I just felt like it."

"Then you should have asked me to do it for you!"

"I wanted it gone now! I JUST FUCKING WANTED IT GONE NOW! So leave me alone!"

Caretaker has never felt so helpless.

They crouch down on the floor and look in Whumpee's eyes.

Eyes that used to be vibrant but are lifeless now.

They place a hand on Whumpee's shoulder and speak in a gentle voice. "It's okay," they say to Whumpee, "I understand. Just please let me know first, next time you want to do that? Okay?"

When they hear this, Whumpee grabs Caretaker and pulls him in a tight embrace, on the wet floor of the bathroom and the Caretaker hugs them back.

"I'm sorry, Caretaker! I'm really sorry! I don't know what comes over me sometimes! I know you were only trying to help!"

So, Caretaker tries to calm Whumpee down. "Hey, just relax okay? You're with me now, Whumpee. You hear? Not Whumper! And you'll get used to it, just give it time. Let your body and your mind heal."

Once the Whumpee has calmed down enough, Caretaker helps them up and they take the electric shaver and use it to properly smooth out Whumpee's hair.

Caretaker then sets down the shaver and helps Whumpee take a shower.

Then, they bring fresh clothes to Whumpee and help put them on.

When the Whumpee is freshly showered and clean, Caretaker can see that they are feeling a little better.

So, Caretaker helps Whumpee to the bed.

They give Whumpee their meds and tuck them in.

"Just get some rest, okay?" They say to Whumpee.

Caretaker leans in and kisses Whumpee's forehead.

Whumpee finally closes their eyes and drifts off, finally feeling at peace.

Fucking love defiant whumpees who are all bark and no bite, especially when they kick up such a fuss with their whumper, spitting venomous words and promises that they'll never submit...

And all it takes for the cool, level-headed whumper to call their bluff and threaten them with a knife to the throat before whumpee is like a kicked puppy with their tail between their legs, a humiliating reveal to their true self that whumper can't help but rub in

The bidding to choose Whumpee's death had been raging hard for seven days. Now, the countdown to closing was at an end. They strained at their bonds. It was as useless fighting it now as it had been from the beginning. Whatever the rich bastards who won this auction wanted to do to them, they would do. There was no stopping it.

But when Whumper read the email from the winner to themself, the look on their face was one of revulsion - and that terrified Whumpee more than anything that they had seen or heard so far.

"Well," Whumper said, grimacing. "There's no accounting for taste."

Two henchmen came in and Whumpee was unbound for the first time in over a month. Not for long. They were dragged kicking and screaming toward a flat table, strapped on their back to the surface and left helpless once again.

They wailed piteously as Whumper strolled over, a thin rag in one hand and a large, opaque jug in the other.

Whumpee started to sob. They should never have let slip that their fear was suffocation, never because they knew what this meant. They were going to be waterboarded. Drowned where they lay, and because of the cloth, Whumper could do that to them as many times as they wanted.

"Please," Whumpee whimpered. "Please don't waterboard me, please, I-"

Whumper shook their head. "This isn't water."

Whumper popped the cap on the jug and the smell that hit Whumpee's nostrils was unmistakable.

Vanilla extract.

Poisoning method of choice? (Injection, ingestion, inhalation, etc)

Ugghhh...all of the above...im such a whore for poison and drugging

I love it all

Force it in my mouth

Maybe by kissing me

Strapping my arm down and slowly pushing it into my veins

Holding my face while you make me breathe it in...

Shove your whumpee against the wall with whumpers arm pressed against their neck. Making Whumpee gasp quietly, fear filling their face as their eyes quickly flutter up to meet Whumper’s.

It was an exhausting, rainy day. Caretaker shook their soaked coat off their shoulders before eagerly drawing a hot bath. They passed by whumpee’s door and stopped, hearing quiet sobbing coming from the other end. Their heart sank as they quickly knocked. 

“Whumpee? Are you alright?” They asked. 

The crying silenced, but so did the voice. Caretaker didn’t wait and pushed open their door-

There they sat on the floor at the end of their bed. Tears drained from their eyes, they gave them a silent-wounded look, seeing them seemed to only overwhelm them more as they curled their arms around themselves and sniffed.

“Sweetheart… What’s wrong?” Caretaker asked, sinking on their knees next to them.

…

“…I feel so small”

@lave-whump@amethysts-sideblog@whump-it-like-its-hot@thingsthatgowhumpinthenight@yet-another-heathen@whatwhumpcomments@hamiltonwhumpdump@as-a-matter-of-whump@lonesome–hunter@digitalart-dwa@mabledonut@melancholy-in-the-morning@anonintrovert@sunflower1000@shywhumpauthor@dont-touch-my-soup@batfacedliar-yetagain@uvanuva@princessofonwardsworld@bluesoulpeace   @whumpkitty  

The whumpee isn't ready for it, maybe they don't expect their attacker to hurt them.

They almost mistake it for some sort of odd embrace before they feel a searing pain in their stomach.

The whumper steps away, leaving them clutching the hilt of the blade shoved deep into their flesh, blood begins to drip between their fingers.

The whumpee collapses to their knees as the support of the whumper disappears, eyes cast up to their betrayer, full of hurt and surprise.

just something i've been thinking about recently

🥺🥺

This is a writing I love from my old blog, please enjoy :)

"Whumpee! Whumpee oh thank god, are you ok?!"

The caretaker's heart broke as they saw the whumpee flinch at their voice, they looked up, their eyes stayed locked on the doorway even as the caretaker rushed to the whumpee's side, pulling them into a gentle hug.

The whumpee melted in the caretaker's embrace, "I... c-caretaker please take it off I c-can't, please," the whumpee's voice shook.

"What do you..." the caretaker looked for any restraints, but couldn't see what the whumpee was talking about, "What do you want me to take off?"

The whumpee looked panicked, their eyes were vacant, "please I can't, I can't s-see please take it off," tears began to drip down the whumpee's face.

The caretaker's eyes widened, their throat felt tight.

The whumpee wasn't wearing a blindfold.

"Whumpee, take a breath ok, it's all going to be ok."

"Please, please I- I want to see you, I want to k-know it's over- please," the whumpee took in hitched gasps between words.

"Shushhh, it's ok, I know," the caretaker pulled the whumpee back into their arms, cradling their head against their shoulder, "I'm here, even if you can't see me, I'm here. It's over."

"Please take it off," the whumpee's voice was a weak whisper.

"Whumpee, I- I'm so sorry-"

"please."

"You're," the caretaker hesitated, "whumpee there's nothing over your eyes, nothing to take off. I- I'm so sorry."

A sob escaped the whumpee's lips, "I c-can't caretaker, please. Please I can't see."

The caretaker's heart felt like it would break in half, "I know, I know I'm so sorry,"

"I- I can't," the whumpee pulled back, freeing their hands to rub at their eyes, "I can't- no, no no, please! Please they, they can't take another thing, I- I want to see you, please," the whumpee let out another broken sob.

"Come here, don't," the caretaker gently pushed the whumpee's hands away from their face, "you'll hurt yourself."

The whumpee let their hands be moved, tears streaming down their face.

"p-please."

There was nothing the caretaker could do.

Teen Wolf s3 x 1

Daniel Sharman | Isaac Lahey

Whumpees been taken for ransom from right under caretaker’s nose. Weeks pass before they get the call with demands for a chance at getting them back.

But caretaker will hear none of it until they hear whumpee’s voice over the phone.

“Whumpee are you okay?! Have they hurt you?” They cry over the phone. 

“….”

“I’m alive.”

OMG

whumpee being kept as just a blood source~

it’s just so much more dehumanizing, getting tossed around and kept restrained and covered in bruises and bite marks all the time, always on the precipice of deleriousness from the constant blood loss. weak and angry and desperate but too drained of blood and energy to do anything but snarl and struggle weakly against the ropes that keeps their hands behind them

A feral whumpee that attacks anyone that comes near them- except for the whumper, as they’re the only person they’re scared of. People that try to help the whumpee are usually hurt by them, and are usually repelled by this behavior.

🤤🤤🤤🤤

【腐】団長と兵長 by 炭谷 || please do not remove source

Whumper dumping whumpee in some secluded alleyway one night, stating they're bored with them and quickly driving away.

In their dazed state, whumpee begins staggering through the dark, with just one thought in their mind:

"I need to get to caretaker's house"

Injury Prompt #1004

Held by the neck

TW: Whump

CW: crying, blood, bruising

It was all behind him now. He was out. He was free. All he had to do was get to his friends and heal up. The bruises on his wrists bled a little, as he stumbled down the dark street. He roughly wiped away tears from his face, hardly able to stand. His very soul shook, the tremors spreading to his bones, his muscles, his tendons.

He leaned against a wall, lightheaded from exhaustion. He wasn't used to walking everywhere. Flying was just so much more convenient. But any qi usage would mean capture as Thomas would no doubt be scanning for any large qi use. In this pitiful state, it wouldn't even be a fight. All Dené could hope right now is that he almost died and got a boost after he healed up.

He fell to his knees and screamed. A gutteral scream that was borne from his heart. A scream, not of pain or anger, but of release. As did his tears, so too did his scream lift a weight from his shoulders. He shuddered before standing up. At least, trying to. His legs gave out and all he could do was kneel as rain began to fall. A calming, cleansing, light rain that romantics danced and proposed in. The moon played across the water dreamily, almost mocking Dené's predicament.

But as quickly as it had come, it was no longer. At least, not on his back. He looked up. It was a woman holding a rather large umbrella, one who looked quite established, that she was not one to be trifled with.

"Hi. Um, you look like you need some help."

"I just need to get to my friends and I'll be alright."

"Well based on the sound of your throat and your posture, I'd say you need a bit more than that, young man." Dené growled and lashed his tail before shoving himself upright and looking at the woman who happened to be considerably taller than him. "Well?" she questioned. She looked like Lady Dimitrescu, but felt more like a mother bear, perfectly willing to kill, but only as a means to protect.

"Fine," Dené muttered and the lady called her chauffeur.

"And we'll need to do something about that... mane you have. At least make it look nice."

After the drive, she showed him to a bedroom and its bathroom. "I trust you know what to do from here." She got him a change of clothes, a cloth, and a towel.

When he looked in the (rather expansive) mirror, he saw someone he didn't recognize. Someone who was weak, helpless, ill-maintained. Not the former general of a military based on strength and order. He ran his fingers through the tangled mop that was his hair and came to an abrupt stop at a wad of knots. He started the shower, stripped, then stood under the hot water.

It was then that tears started to flow. Silent tears of helplessness, weakness, inferiority, and fear. Tears of despair, conflict, and emptiness. He cleaned himself then set to working out the knots, but he didn't quite have the patience, so got out of the shower, dried off, put on the clothes he was given, and went to find the woman.

But then, his nose caught the strong scent of food, the strongest of which was the smell of chicken noodle soup, with celery, carrots, onion, garlic, and basil. It was this smell which led him to a dining room where the woman sat, as if she was waiting for him. Now she wore a silk nightgown, making her look more like a rich MILF from some cheesy anime than an evil, centuries-old vampire dominatrix.

They ate, but before Lady Borea sent him to bed, she had him sit with her in front of the fireplace as she worked out the knots in his hair. Before she was done with the first one, he was asleep.