#traumatized whumpee

[whump-or-whatever]

Ways To Reveal a Character’s Traumatic Past

Dream sequence/nightmare

Flashback/resurfaced memories

Revealed by psychic reading Whumpee’s mind

Found footage/pictures

Someone finally asks and they explain

As the reason behind a thought process/assumption/belief

Whumper shows up and taunts them

Scars

Through conditioned behaviour

Finding an old journal

Hints dropped in conversation

Have someone who knows tell someone who doesn’t

• • •

Feel free to add others!

#whump #whump reveal #traumatized whumpee #whump idea #whump stuff #whump recovery

[echoingalaxies]

Whump drabbles, 12/100: kick.

It wasn’t the first time Whumpee had knocked the wind out of Caretaker when he went to console them during what appeared to be a vivid nightmare.

“It’s okay,” he grunted between shallow breaths, doubled over in pain, while Whumpee sobbed, apologizing profusely.

“I thought you were him…”

“I know.” Caretaker lay next to them, still holding his stomach. “Honestly, it was on me this time. Next time I’ll try not to startle you so badly.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, shush.” Caretaker opened his arms, letting Whumpee snuggle against his chest. “It’s just good to see you finally fighting back.”

#100x100 whump drabbles #recovery whump #traumatized whumpee #nightmare whump #comfort whump #whump drabble #whump drabbles #whump trope #whump scenario #whump #whump writing

[generic-whumperz]

Oh buddy just you wait

*cue the night terrors

#whump #whumpblr #whump blog #whumpee #escaped whumpee #free whumpee #traumatized whumpee #whump aftermath #trauma recovery #recovering whumpee #cptsd recovery #tw truama #tw ptsd #tw cptsd #whump rescue #recovery whump #whump recovery #whump drabble #whump memes #emotional whump #physical whump #just whumpy tings

[whumblr]

What's best

"You'll want to wait inside, Whumpee."

Whumpee glanced from Caretaker to the strange man. They were curious, especially why Caretaker's demeanor suddenly changed so much... and why the man was looking at them like that. But Caretaker's expression and tight clipped voice stopped them from asking.

"I... okay."

Whumper watched them carefully until they were fully out of sight.

"Don't you leer at them like that, you fucking piece of shit," Caretaker snarled as soon as the door closed.

"Just curious..." Whumper said casually. His gaze remained on the door, somewhat lost in thought. "They really don't remember?" he said after a beat. "Anything?"

"I'd like to keep it that way. Stay away from them."

Whumper hummed. "I didn't beat on them that hard... Or wait, maybe that time when-- Hm, no... No, they were still frantically begging me for forgiveness, so they definitely remembered that they did something wrong..."

"Stop it."

"Keep them like this, huh?" Whumper turned to leave, a smile creeping over his lips. "Well, if you think that works. Just remember... Surpressed memories are a tricky thing. At some point, probably when you and Whumpee least expect it, everything will violently explode back to the surface."

He glanced back at the rigid Caretaker. "And I wonder who will be worse off... you... or Whumpee."

-

General tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi @auroragehenna

#whump #whump drabble #whump prompt #aftermath of whump #aftermath of torture #protective caretaker #traumatized whumpee #my writing

[the-baby-storyteller]

A character after having a panic attack says, “I’m sorry. I was being dramatic.”

Cue horrified, disgusted, and furious caretaker.

#whump #prompts #writing #writing prompts #tropes #writing ideas #whump scenario #creative writing #whump ideas #whump prompts #whump thoughts #traumatized whumpee #overprotective caretaker #angry caretaker #writing tropes

[jordanstrophe]

When whumpee's medical treatment is far too similar to their past torture. Even though it's relatively painless, whumpees reaction is as if they were under relentless torture.

No matter how gentle and assuring caretaker is, they're met with screaming, begging and hysteric sobbing from someone they never even heard grunt in pain before.

[A drabble]

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #whump prompt #caretaker prompt #caretaking prompt #torture whump #recovery whump #recovery prompt #medical whump #traumatized whumpee #tortured whumpee

[cold1dead1eyes]

whumpee who associates praise with pain. whenever whumper would hurt them, they’d do it with a soft hand in their hair, thumb on their cheek wiping away their tears as they cut into their skin.

“good job, darling. you’re doing so well. just like that, you’re so good.”

caretaker doesn’t know why whumpee always flinches when they praise them. they’re trying to be comforting, but it only makes whumpee pull away more.

#whump #whump writing #whump drabble #whump prompts #traumatized whumpee #recovery whump #caretaker #whumper #manipulation #vince rambles

[rizzoto-whump]

"Oh, Whumpee," Whumper cooed, their voice filled with feigned sadness, "I should thank you. You never fail to amuse me, trying to escape like that. It's almost adorable, really."

Whumpee glared at Whumper through tear-filled eyes; their voice was barely a whisper, a testament to their broken spirit. "Go to hell, Whumper."

Whumper chuckled. "I might just. But first, I'm going to have to make sure you never try that again."

#whump #whump prompt #writing prompt #failed escape attempt #implied torture #sadistic whumper #injury #injured whumpee #implied kidnapping #intimate whumper #yandere whumper #whump tropes #whump scenario #traumatized whumpee #dialogue prompt

[abhainnwhump]

Whumpee laying in bed, staring out the window as their ribs are wrapped with blood-soaked bandages and they smoke a cigarette. Their eyes are empty and cold as the memories of their captivity flash before them. It's an interesting contrast with the sun outside.

#i don't know have some whump imagery #whump #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump tropes #whump thoughts #whump writing #whump scenario #whump idea #whump aftermath #traumatized whumpee #stoic whumpee

[whumped4whumplover]

Whump Idea

Months ago, Whumpee was taken. Caretaker was a wreck, spending the days scouring the streets in search of Whumpee and investigating at night, hoping to find some clue, even the most insignificant, about where they might be.

Caretaker and Whumpee had a special relationship, they always had. While Caretaker was an extroverted and popular person, full of friends and party invitations, Whumpee was extremely shy and reserved. They didn't like crowds, or loud noises, or talking for a long time. In fact, if it were up to them they wouldn’t have spoken to anyone at all. To anyone but Caretaker. And Caretaker was grateful for this, for the fact that, with them, Whumpee smiled and laughed, cried and vented, a completely different person from the one with that neutral expression and empty eyes which they were the rest of the time.

One day, finally, Caretaker manages to find Whumpee, and their heart skips a beat. Whumpee is covered in bruises and dried blood, thin in the most severe meaning of the word, it is as if Caretaker can count all their body’s bones, and their complexion is pale as that of a ghost, their lips of the same purple as the dark circles under their closed eyes.

If it haven’t been for the pulse they heard when they places their trembling fingers on their neck, Caretaker would have thought Whumpee was dead. But, as soon as the two’s skin makes contact, Whumpee's eyes suddenly open, and a strange expression forms on their face. At first Caretaker thought it was confusion, but then they realized: it was just pure terror.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's me, it’s Caretaker. It's going to be okay" Caretaker tries, but their words are uttered in vain, and Whumpee pushes their weak convulsing body against the wall, screaming hysterically and crying, no, sobbing desperately, as if danger was about to envelop them. But it doesn't make sense, Caretaker thinks, because they’re here now and they’re ready to take Whumpee to safety. There is nothing to be afraid of, Whumper is no longer here, there is only Caretaker. Yet, Whumpee's heart wrenching screams don't cease.

The torch falls from Caretaker's hands and they retreat, realization evident in their eyes.

Whumpee is reacting like this because they are afraid of Caretaker.

#caretaker and whumpee #traumatized whumpee #caretaker #whumpee #delirious whumpee #rescue whump #conditioned whumpee #conditioning whump #caretaker x whumpee #whump things #whump stuff #whump prompt #whump writing #whump angst #scared whumpee

[whumppzzy]

No one will hurt you but me ∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠°

Cw: past abuse, mention of violence, pet whumpee and conditioned whumpee, kinda carewhumper?

Whumpee was lying on the floor with the blanket Whumper gave him. It was very soft, and it smelled like Whumper.

Whumper had just gotten home and was preparing dinner for him and Whumpee, but he had had a horrible day. He barely focused on the food, but on the stress that had been outside the house, when he finished he placed his plate on the table and Whumpee's food in a bowl on the floor.

"Whumpee, the food is ready!"

Whumpee entered the kitchen shyly and bent down to eat on the floor, which was his place (and he knew that, so he never questioned it).

Whumper didn't like to interrupt his meals just to waste time torturing Whumpee, this time he really needed to talk to someone and his pet was perfect at listening.

"Today I had a bad day at work, it was stressful...They don't listen to me! It seems like I have to fire some..."

Whumpee puts down his bowl to pay attention to his master's speeches, he suffers at home while Whumpee enjoys the comfort of being on the floor with a warm blanket and well fed.

"I'm sorry master, it must be difficult for you, if I could help you I would definitely help!"

Whumpee looks down thoughtfully.

"Look, maybe I can help you. My old master did something to me when he was stressed..."

"What? What kind of thing did he do to you?"

"Well, he w-was kind of...touching me, you can do that if you want. Maybe you'll feel better."

"Whumpee, I-"

The whumper was horrified by Whumpee's words.

" I'm very sorry. "

" what? "

"I don't want to do this to you, it's not right-"

Whumper thinks about all the times he yelled at, hit, and tortured Whumpee. That wasn't right either, but what his former master had done was the final straw.

" You can't offer that, you don't need to... He was a crazy person, don't let people do that to you, you hear?"

Whumpee is surprised by his master's words and nods.

"Now that you've finished eating you can go to sleep, I already have an idea of ​​where to take my anger out"

Whumpee obeyed, went to his little corner on the living room floor and covered himself, closed his eyes and tried to sleep. But he heard a noise at the door, his master was leaving, where would he go at a time like this? It was already late at night.

Well, Wumper went to Whumpee's old master's house and beat him unconscious, that was his fun for the night, all the stress and anger was taken out on that bastard.

Whumper was evil, he was bad for Whumper but not to the point of doing that kind of thing, he had limits.

Every night Whumper made sure Whumpee slept well, ate a hot meal, and was protected. No one would harm Whumpee but Whumper himself, he could swear it.

#traumatized whumpee #whump #whump prompt #whumpee #intimate whumper #whump writing #whumptober2023 #captive whumpee #defiant whumpee #captivity #conditioned whumpee #whumper turned caretaker #carewhumper #whump community

[dont-be-gentle-please]

Whumpees so traumatized caretaking them is basically impossible! Caretakers that have to act like soft whumpers in the beginning because telling whumpee "actually, you are human with free will and rights" does nothing but overwhelm them! Caretaker having to "train" whumpee to show and express discomfort and desires because whumpee will rather starve than admit they are hungry or would rather suffer than say they are cold/hot!

#whump prompt #whump thoughts #caretaker #traumatized whumpee #conditioned whumpee #don't be gentle please

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Falling Water Cease to Roar

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

CW: 'It' used as a pronoun, references to past murder/abuse, captivity, referenced mind control/magic

The grandfather clock that stood along the wall by the fireplace in the study ticked, lazily but inevitably marking the passage of time while Ford stared down into the glass of amber bourbon he’d poured himself to stop his hands from shaking.

In an hour, he would hopefully be drunk enough to make dining with his father, his sister, the absolutely gorgeous woman upstairs his father intended to force him to marry, and his father’s beautiful monster something he could bear. For now, though, he was sober enough that the horror weighed too heavy. He was slumped in the overstuffed leather chair, close enough that the warmth of the fire touched him, but it could not fully penetrate his skin.

The worst thing, of course, was that the monster was in here, too.

It sat in a different chair, over by the window, staring at the sunset with a look of fixed intensity, barely blinking. It had every appearance of being an unnaturally beautiful man a decade or so older than Ford was, but of course it was at least close to two centuries old, and really… who knew how long it had lived before Guilford Wentworth had come across it? 

It wore the loose shirt and pants it had been given as if they were chains, shifting uncomfortably every few seconds. Its bare feet pressed into the softness of a plush rug beneath its chair. Ford stared as it… wiggled its toes, like anyone might at the simple comfort. Like any human, any… person.

The creature had been there his entire life, just one more tool in his father’s toolbox. The biggest and most useful one. He had watched with growing dread as he aged while the thing sang affection into his father’s friends, obedience into his enemies, and… love into Ford’s own mother, over and over, every time her mind threatened to stray away from it. 

Just as it would sing love into the mind of the woman upstairs, love into him, and even after that it wouldn’t be enough to please his father’s demands. No… time was running out for Ford’s own mind to remain his own. 

Once the wedding was done, and the monster had done what it was commanded to do, Ford would be nothing more than what his own true father had been. He’d be a puppet, going through the motions with a stupid smile on his face, until he was no longer needed and was tossed into the toybox to rot.

How would he be made to do it? He looked over at the monster again. It looked so… calm and peaceful, resting its chin on one hand, the light from the setting sun warming its brown skin and making its eyes seem oddly ablaze. It never looked all that dangerous, but… although Ford had been young, and the twins only just born, he remembered very clearly watching the monster sing a pretty song and then his true father walk into the pond in the garden to meet it. He remembered how its jaw had opened far too wide, how it had had too many teeth when it fell on him. There had been so much blood in the water. 

They hadn’t known he was watching.

Ford wondered sometimes if he’d have been sent into the pond as well, if they had seen him peeking over the windowsill in his mother’s room. 

Would Guilford Wentworth allow his so-called firstborn son to make requests on the manner of his murder, once his life became inconvenient to the grander plan? Maybe. Maybe he could ask, once he’d had a child of his own-

His stomach flipped, nerves and nausea battling within him when he thought of the look of fiery defiance in the eyes of the woman upstairs. She did not want this. He did not want this. But of course, that mattered very little when Lord Guilford Wentworth, second only to the king and with a terrible magic at his command, wanted it.

Not when he had a monster to remake the world to his liking, and all Ford had was his pitiful anger and no skill, influence, or fortune he could use to effect an escape. Had his true father been this frightened, before his wedding? Had his mother loathed Guilford Wentworth like the woman upstairs so clearly did, before the monster wiped her clean of everything but softness and light? Had his true father regained his mind at the end, when the monster’s teeth tore out his throat and he had only seconds to live?

And if he had, was it a mercy to die his own man, or simply a darker murder?

His fingers tightened around the cool glass until he worried it might crack under his grip. Thinking of his true father and the days after when he had screamed himself hoarse that it had been murder while everyone around him mourned the unfortunate drowning accident… it ached, and he had to shove the memory away as far as he could. He’d been shoving that memory aside most of his life, and he was an expert by now at how to bury it. He took a breath and then sipped the bourbon, letting the liquid burn down his throat and warm his shoulders, his chest. 

He took another drink, a deeper one, and this time he coughed when the liquid felt like it tried to go into his lungs and not his stomach, his chest suddenly felt like it was on fire within, burning behind his breastbone. He had to lean forward and pound his chest with a fist, coughing breathlessly and then jerking in air in graceless gasps. 

The monster did not move - but its head turned, just a little, to look over at him. It should be a crime, to be a creature of such evil and have such beautiful eyes. “... are you dying?” It asked, voice low and devoid of any real curiosity. 

“N-No,” Ford spat, finally feeling air enter his lungs more easily as he gulped oxygen down. It felt like spots danced at the corners of his eyes, fading as everything settled. His heart, though, still raced. When had he last heard the monster speak aloud? “I’m fine. Just went down the wrong way, is all.”

“Mmn.” The monster turned away from him. “Good. I would be blamed if you died here.”

“Why do you care if you are?” Ford’s eyes narrowed. He set the glass down on a small table next to his chair with a hard enough crack of glass on wood that he winced, hoping the pricey liquor wouldn’t leak onto the wood, make a stain, and get him in trouble. 

No. He was a grown man, and he would not fear his father’s beatings, not now. He would not let that creeping terror of Guilford’s rages keep him from standing, stalking across the room to the monster, and standing before him.

He leaned over, pitching his voice so low it wouldn’t even carry to any servant who might be lingering on the other side of the door, eavesdropping for anything they might take to Guilford to get Ford in trouble again. “We both know damn well, monster, that you’ll be the one to kill me eventually, anyway. So why do you care if it happens now?”

It did not stand, but its eyes flicked upwards to meet his where he loomed over it. From this angle, he could see the tattoos, the swirling loops and and arcane symbols that moved from just under its jaw down one side of its neck, disappearing into the neckline of its shirt, reappearing in glimpses along its wrist and hand where they came out from its long sleeve. He could see, too, scars around the unmarked side of its neck. They were so faint he’d never been close enough to notice them before. The scars circled, layered over each other. 

The monster held his gaze. “He will be displeased with me if his plans have to be changed. I will bear his anger again.”

“You…” Ford trailed off. The monster raised its eyebrows. Despite its posture reading as nothing more than lazy insolence, he could sense tension. When his eyes followed the line of its arm, he found its fingers were trembling, minutely, where they lay seemingly relaxed against the arm of the chair it sat on. There were scars faintly visible around its wrists, too. Its throat shifted as it swallowed, holding perfectly still. 

Ford had spent his life learning how to appear like a happy first son of one of the wealthiest families in the world, while secretly fearing his father’s every hint of disapproval for the violence it would bring on. He knew what it looked like to be frightened and yet determined not to show it. 

He knew he saw the same fear in it now that he knew so well. Carelessness was an armor, a magical cloak of invisibility for true feelings, but it was one that you could see easily if you’d worn it yourself. 

Its eyes narrowed and its top lip shifted, revealing sharp fangs for teeth, a hint of a defensive snarl.

“Stop it,” Ford commanded, but some of his anger had gone. 

“I do not serve you,” It said, its own voice holding both its human tongue and a lower, animal growl that rumbled underneath. “I will not kneel or lay down for you. Touch me and I will tear off your hand.”

Ford took a step back, and then another, almost stumbling until he bumped into another chair and didn’t so much sit as fall backwards into it. “You won’t what-”

Its bared its teeth fully, then, briefly showing him the full force of its razor-sharp fangs before it turned deliberately away, to look back at the sunset. Dismissing him the same way his father used to, without even speaking a word.

Ford stared at its impassive face, back to seeming utterly human now that it was no longer showing its surreal, hideous teeth. “... I saw you kill my father, you know.”

Those eyes moved briefly to him, then back to the window. “I kill all the fathers. A few of you have seen me. Your children may see me kill you. Every time is different. Every time is the same.”

Ford swiped his hand over his mouth and let his head drop until it hit the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling, letting the simple mundane horror of the words flow over him like water. Dipping his head beneath the surface of such easily-spoken and awful truths. His heart pounded, thumping against the inside of his chest as though trying to batter its way out. “Have you ever not killed anyone?”

“Yes.” Ford looked back at the monster in surprise, but it only watched him now, evenly, with no expression on its face or in its voice. “I told a child to run, once, and she lived. The rest… even if I do not rip them apart myself…”

“They die because of you. We die because of you.” It nodded, face utterly blank. “Don’t you…” Ford gestured aimlessly, not even sure what the movement of his hands was meant to represent. “Feel the slightest bit bad about it? Regret? Remorse?”

“You are human. You are his blood, you are like him-”

“I am not like him!” The denial roared out of him - the shouting was so loud and seemed to come unbidden, and it took him until the end of the sentence to realize it was he himself who was shouting. He was on his feet in an instant, closed the short distance between them, and he had slapped the monster full across the face before he understood he had moved at all. “I am not!”

His palm stung, hot and buzzing, and he stared at the monster who looked at him with that snarl yet again, one side of its face flushing bright red already, eyes glimmering with the reflection of the dying day. “Are you not?”

Its voice was low, and its aim true.

Ford hitched in a breath, horror washing cold through him, sweeping away the anger that had driven him forward. He had never hit another-

No. It wasn’t a person.

But still…

If he resorted to his father’s violence so readily, turned on another what had once been turned on him, was he even a person?

Perhaps they were both monsters. 

“I-... I’m sorry,” He said, his voice slightly strangled, looking away. Something very like a scream was trying to claw its way up his throat and he had to fight with everything he had to keep his voice level and even. “I apologize. That was… I should not have-... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He all but fled back to his glass, drinking the rest of it in a few quick swallows, breathing harshly as the warmth spread but could not fight the cold loathing of himself that one small slap had brought to the surface. He set it back down with a shaking hand, putting the other up against his forehead, closing his eyes tightly against the hot rush of tears that he would not allow to fall.

Once he felt more in control of himself, he took the deepest breath he could, expanding his lungs until he felt they might burst, and then slowly exhaled again. 

When he found the courage - just barely - to chance another look at his father’s creature, the monster was watching him with the first genuine, open expression he’d seen it make. 

It was surprised.

There was a pause while it stared at him, and he stared back. Then, it said, in the same low voice always, “Help her.”

“What?”

“Kiraya Losna. Help her, and save us.”

“Save… you?”

It hesitated, and just as it opened its mouth to speak again, the door swung open. Ford turned on his heel to try and look unsurprised, but it was only his father’s butler.

“Miss Kiraya Losna and Miss Nathalie will be escorted momentarily to the dining room,” Babbage said, cheerful as always. If he was even able to sense the tension in the room, he seemed to ignore it. Although perhaps he couldn’t see anything but whatever Ford’s father wanted him to see. “Your father is already seated, Master Ford. You will join him now, you and your friend.”

Ford’s eyes shifted to the monster and then back. “My-... Ah. Of course, Babbage, thank you.”

Babbage bowed his head, briefly, and then walked away on silent feet. He always moved like that - he’d caught Ford at childish nonsense many times in his childhood, because he was impossible to hear unless he wanted to be heard.

Although Ford could have sworn he’d once or twice heard Babbage shouting in the night, incomprehensible, silenced before Ford had ever been able to quite understand what was wrong. And each time, he was right as rain the next morning, with a smile and a welcoming pat on the shoulder. 

Ford took steps that felt like walking to a gallows, the monster falling in just behind him, as if they were old friends. He could feel its presence at his back, goosebumps rising on his arms, but there was no threat, no danger. Only his own nerves pouring acid through his veins. 

“Help her,” The monster whispered once more. “If you are not your father, then be a man better than him. Free me and I will harm no more of you. Go to her room and bring her down to speak to me. Free me. Please. Please.”

“I do not trust you, monster,” He murmured, barely moving his lips. “Why should I believe your words at all?”

“Better to hope for my honesty than to fear your father’s anger.”

Ford’s teeth ground together. What could he possibly say to that? His father would be furious beyond all reason if he let his prisoner loose to roam the halls of the house or run away entirely. His rage would be all-encompassing. He might decide to marry Nathalie or-... god forbid, one of the twins off instead. Damning them to the fate he now faced seemed a worse sin than any other.

But…

The monster did not seem to want to be here. If it wanted only to escape, his father’s control would be shattered, and Ford could be free.

If it was only trying to lead him to the slaughter, well… That would be terrible. But if it was looking to escape and he did nothing, then… his father’s monster would doom him to lose his mind and then his life. It wouldn’t even care about the loss. Indeed, it would make sure no one cared about the loss in the end, the way his mother had mourned his true father only for a night before she seemed to simply forget he had ever existed as anything but a faint, lovely daydream by noon the next day. 

His life, all his wants and dreams and wishes for his future would dissipate like smoke, unmourned, unmissed, because of this thing that sat in a chair like a man and sang magic like a demon. 

But it was the same thing that was begging him for help.

Help her.

Ford squared his shoulders, straightened his spine, and stepped into the dining room like a man preparing for a fight.

-

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 @angelsproject

#fantasy whump #original writing #fantasy writing #whump #captivity #it as a pronoun #light dehumanization #referenced child abuse #traumatized whumpee #mentioned murder #mentioned mind control #magic whump #original fantasy #fiction #original fiction #fantasy world #siren whump

[thatgenderfluidmonstrosity]

Oh my gods- okay, so we all know of the trope, “Whumpee can’t sleep due to the traumatic nightmares and it gets so severe that Caretaker has to add some sort of thing to help them sleep or make them go to sleep into their drink”

BUT

What about “Whumpee can’t sleep due to the traumatic nightmares !but! They start getting hallucinations due to sleep deprivation and start SEEING what would be in their nightmares, so they:

Down a bottle of Ny-quill, Take a bottle of melatonin (so on and so forth)

Basically, Whumpee doing a fully 180 going from never wanting to sleep because they get visions of their trauma to forcing themselves into a sleep coma.

#whump #whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #caretaker #traumatized whumpee #whump things #whump prompt #whump stuff #trauma #induced sleep #whump community

[whumblr]

A stoic whumpee who just breaks when they hear a certain song, either because it's bringing up bad memories, is scarily related to whatever happened to them, or is just so wholesomely positive that they just crack.

#whump #whump prompt #angst #traumatized whumpee #stoic whumpee #whumplr #my writing #my prompts

[the-baby-storyteller]

Whumpees in a team being interrogated and tortured one at a time.

They’re each dragged out and after some time, thrown back into their group call, each one looking haggard and beat in a different way. One is thrown back in with cuts all over them, bloody turning into a sea of red. Another comes back with more bruises than clear skin. Yet another comes back barely able to breathe.

And then they take another member, but this time when they come back, they’re not thrown in. They’re walking. They show no sign of physical trauma, the torturers letting them walking back in by themself. But their eyes…

Their eyes are glazed over almost unseeingly. Disbelieving. Nothing seems wrong with them physically, but their face looks as though they saw something earthshaking and they look up at the team with so much blankness that the team instantly knows something is very wrong because why would the kidnappers send them back without anything, they must have done something because Whumpee looks so foreign and terrified and what in the world did they do to them, what did they tell them?

#kidnapping whump #team whump #whump #whump inspiration #scared whumpee #traumatized whumpee #whump prompts #whump ideas #whump scenarios #whump thoughts #more spur of the moment thoughts #the baby storyteller