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urlocalwhumper · 6 months

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android whumpee being beaten to shit in front of a restrained human caretaker. whumper jeering that plastic can't feel pain as they take a metal bat to whumpee's limbs, ignoring caretaker's desperate cries to leave them alone and the android's "blood" staining the concrete blue. (or whatever color you prefer android "blood" to be)

once whumper leaves, caretaker rushes to whumpee's side, but there really isn't much they can do. androids can "heal" like humans do for small things, but damage this extensive and severe is going to need professional repairs.

whumpee is doing their absolute best to stay as functional as they can. shutting down in front of caretaker would only traumatize them further; it'd be like watching whumpee die right before their eyes, even though they could easily be restarted once they'd been repaired. no, they needed to stay online, no matter how many errors filled their display or how badly it hurt.

only one of whumpee's limbs still has function - their left arm - and they use it to weakly grasp caretaker's hand as they pull their phone out of their pocket to call for help.

"you're gonna be okay." caretaker says, voice shaking as they gently kiss whumpee's knuckles. "everything's gonna be okay."

whumpee dismisses all the errors blocking their vision, they can feel the extent of the damage fine enough, so they can look at caretaker clearly.

"i might shut down." they say, and caretaker's head whipped up to look at them so fast whumpee was a bit concerned for their neck.

"it's not permanent." they quickly add, seeing the distress on caretaker's face. "androids- we shut down when we're too damaged to stay functional. once the damage is fixed, we come back good as new." they squeeze caretaker's hand. "it's sort of like... passing out. scary, but i'll be okay."

"you better be." caretaker mumbles. whumpee can't help but laugh a little at that.

and then their vision blacks out.

#whump #whump prompts #android whumpee #robot whumpee #whumpee x caretaker #was the intention but i'm pretty sure you can still read this platonically #mine #whumpee did indeed shut down at the end #but as they reassured caretaker - they'll be okay once they're back in functioning shape

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brainrotlesbian · 7 months

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Fuck it. Take your whumpees on a hike. If there are lots of people threaten them with the well-being of a loved one so they behave and don’t try to run away. If it’s semi-secluded, bind and gag them so they have to rely on whomever’s taking them. Blindfold them even. Go nuts

#whump #whump prompt #whump prompts #gagged whump #blindfold whump #I went hiking today #and I am so out of shape #so this was the result

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sunnynwanda · 3 months

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Part 2

The shackles drag across the floor, filling the space with the clanking of the metal against marble. The hall is dark but warm enough to make the chained creature shiver from thermal shock, numbness being replaced with pain as his white fingers start growing red. He fists his hands, pressing his trembling lips into a thin line to dissociate from the sensations rushing through his body.

Once they reach the middle of the hall, the guards step back, allowing his body to sag to the cold floor. It’s nothing compared to the snow that he was buried in.

Someone enters the room - he can hear the guard speaking but fails to discern words. His brain must be shutting down. He uses the last of his strength to lift his head when one of the guards nudges his shoulder.

The man in front of him is already staring at him, his expression nothing short of austerity. He looks to be in the second half of his life, grey streaks lining his temples and forehead, but his features have not yet lost their sharpness. There is a small scar on the underside of his chin, only visible under intent observation, and a much more noticeable crown on his head. Oh, no.

“What are you?” The King’s voice is tense. His hand rests on the pommel of his sword, never leaving, even when he reaches out to tilt the creature’s head up with his other one. The captive gulps, afraid to speak or meet the King’s intense gaze. “What is your purpose in my land? Answer.”

“I-” he tries, but his throat seizes, clumping in to try and swallow himself up. He coughs, facing the floor once again, lips coated in blood from a wound no doubt inflicted by the guards trying to detain him. The guard on his side steps back, scared of the dark crimson poision dripping down his chin. “I didn’t know I shouldn’t be here... I didn't know where I was.”

The King raises an eyebrow at that, not convinced by the act. His kingdom has lived in peace for over eight years - ever since he reached an agreement and outlawed vishaps from entering his land. In return, humans were banned from crossing into Vishap territory for fear of never returning, which was the least of all evil for the safety of his people and, most importantly, his family. The King sighs, rubbing his temples in slow circles.

“He was found half-buried under the snow right by the Edge,” the guard that captured the young creature informs. “He did not shift when attacked.”

This caught the King by surprise, which was written quite obviously in his features. He glanced at the guard before returning his attention to the young creature still slumped at his feet. It looked young - perhaps nine or ten years of age. Too young to be sent after him or be capable of inflicting significant harm. Vishaps did not tend to leave their younglings alone if they couldn't shift yet. Unless his parents were not in the picture, that is. “What is your name, child?”

“Vanki,” His voice comes out weaker than he intended, so with another cough, the creature repeats. “My name is Vanki.”

“Vanki,” the King repeats with a nod. He motions for one of the guards to lift the boy from the floor. The guard practically picks him up, supporting him as he stands, bone-weary from days of running and hiding in the woods with no proper food or rest. Vanki doesn’t know where they are taking him, but an unconscious fear settles in the pits of his empty stomach. He knows he is too weak to put up any fight. Damn, he was too weak to so much as move when the snow started falling, so all he did was roll to the side and hug himself to keep whatever warmth he had left in his sinking heart.

“I didn’t know,” Vanki claims, panic flashing in the depths of his dark eyes. His eyes dart to the King’s face, who looks at him quizzically. “I wasn’t aware I was trespassing.”

The guard hisses for him to be quiet, but Vanki shakes his head no. He has no strength to struggle against his chains or captors, but he won’t go down without a fight if it’s the last thing he does.

“I was lost.” It comes more pleading than he intended, but that can be attributed to the frailty of his voice. Or so he hopes.

“No.” The King’s answer is plain and straightforward, his voice void of emotion. It sends a chill down Vanki's spine.

“Please,” he hates himself for begging, but the prospect of being executed or, worse, thrown into a dungeon to be tortured for public entertainment gnaws at his side, threatening to rip his ribcage open and wrench his heart out. As it is meant to be.

“You weren’t lost, you were running from someone," the statement catches Vanki off guard. The King’s tone is even, but there is something in his eyes that the boy fails to decipher. “Other vishaps chased you out. Isn’t that right?”

Stunned into silence, Vanki struggles to answer right away, terrified of what his reply may entail. The King approaches him again, standing so close that the boy can see the small scar under his chin again. He wonders if it’s one of his kind that gave it to him.

“Well?” The King prompts, cupping the boy's jaw with a warm hand. His fingers are rough but his touch is featherlight, careful not to hurt. Vanki can only muster a short nod, his eyes getting watery at the contact. For a moment, he envisions his misfortune retreating. The King sighs, seeming satisfied with the answer. “Take him away.”

“I didn’t harm anyone.” Whatever was left of the boy's resolve shatters in an instant. Not paying him any mind, the King waves a hand, and that movement stirs something within Vanki - something feral, something animalistic, something dangerously close to his true nature. With a desperate cry, he hauls away from his captors, yanking at the chains until the shackles loosen around his wrists. “I didn't do anything! You can’t just kill me... you can't!”

“Kill you?” The King turns around with an incredulous look adorning his face. He almost chuckles at the suggestion, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Let me go, please,” Vanki can feel his eyes watering again, and his voice is a whisper by the end of the sentence. Misfortune grips his limbs with renewed vigour, marks the skin on his forehead with a sharp kiss that makes him hiss, baring his teeth. “Please.”

“You have nowhere to go,” the King notes, correctly so. He has nowhere and no one to go to - having escaped the Vishap territory and stepped into the land that considers him nothing but an animal, a monster, a god too vicious to trust. “But you can stay here.”

Vanki isn’t sure if he heard it right, but the King looks as stern as when he first came in, albeit with less hostility in his gaze. At a loss for words, he doesn't have a chance to object when the King speaks again. “So I can keep an eye on you,” he explains before waving the boy away and departing the room.

Vanki is still processing the situation at hand as he is led across the hall and along dimly lit corridors of the castle. It’s too early in the morning for anyone to be awake yet, so they meet no one on the way to the spacious room allocated to him.

The guard walks him in, only stopping to inform the boy that a servant has filled a warm bath for him and left food on his bedside table. He then bids him a good night and locks the door, leaving Vanki alone and utterly confused. He cannot comprehend why or when all of this was arranged for him, but none of that matters when he lowers his aching body into the warmth of the bath, his head lolling back at the sheer pleasure of his element enveloping him. It takes only fifteen minutes for it to soak his bones, healing all of the cuts and bruises littering his skin.

Vanki has no way of knowing what is going to happen in the morning or what the King intends to do to him. He doesn't know if he will be allowed to stay or handed back to his kind. He can't even tell if he is a prisoner or a guest. The only thing he does know is that he is safe, warm and sated. Even if only for a night.

Part 2

Lore: Vishaps are serpent-like dragons in Armenian mythology, closely linked to water. They were seen as guardians or spirits of water sources that lived for thousands of years. They lived in the mountains or beneath lakes and had shape-shifting abilities. Vishaps' blood was believed to be deadly poisonous.

Author's note: This is based on the beautiful request by @annablogsposts.

Thank you so much for this, I enjoyed it incredibly ♡ As I've mentioned in my first reply, it corresponds greatly with my WIP novel and I took the liberty of aligning it even more. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did but even if you don't, feedback is welcomed.

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444

P.S. I know this isn't my usual content, so if you don't wanna be tagged in stories like this one, just let me know! Sunny xo

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savvylittlecoxswain · 21 days

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Ok now that I know for a fact that Bobby was on the fencing team (thank you @kjxlll) I need the boys on their day off bored af cause Bobby isn’t there to “organize activities” for them. And so at the last minute they decide to go to a fencing tournament being held on campus. And they go there and def get all into it like goddamn just look at them go. And then a UW fencer wins and everyone is so freaking pumped, but when the fencer takes off his helmet during the celebration they realize that it was Bobby.

#omg there was a typo and no one said anything brb dying😵‍💫#they totally just short circuit 🤯🫨😦#and Don is like 😳🫣😮‍💨😵‍💫#fencer Bobby Moch #bobby moch is a fencer #the boys in the boat #bobby moch #boys in the boat #boys n boats #bobby and his boys #I LIVE for fencer!Bobby #someone write this please 🙏#BAMF Bobby Moch #I need more of this man in my life #in all shapes and forms #give me Bobby whump AND bamf Bobby

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shshshquietnow · 5 months

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Shapeshifting whumpees are so good you don't even know. Prey animal instincts. Cornered animals. Lone wolves, social creatures, they have it all.

But imagine whumpee hearing someone in the forest and panicking, turning into a cat or rabbit or some other small animal.

And then whumper comes through and decides they like the cute little animal and take it home- horrible to the freedom whumpee previously had and also terrible in that how are they going to unshift, will whumper freak out, try to kill them...

So whumpee unshifts but no. Whumper said they wanted a cute little animal, and whumpee is even more cute and more scared like this!

#whump #quiet whispering #whumper #fantasy whump #whumpee #magic whumpee #possessive whumper #nonhuman whumpee #shape shifter whumpee

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echo-goes-mmm · 6 months

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Ambrose and Elliot #22

Masterpost

Warnings: self-deprecation

The days were getting shorter and colder, which meant the solstice was soon. Which meant solstice parties.

His old master locked him in the closet those nights, so he’d be out of the way. He could hear the drinking and the party games and presents being unwrapped from behind the door.

It meant messes, and it was always his job to clean up in the morning after the guests were long gone.

But this year, he could tell from Master Ambrose’s excited chatter that he wouldn’t be put away for the party.

“It would be nice if you’d join us,” he’d said, “I know you don’t like talking to others, but just consider it, alright? You can always go upstairs if it’s too much.”

That was fine. He could talk. How hard could it be, right?

The really hard part was finding a present for Ambrose. Everyone at a solstice party got a present. And he didn’t know anyone except Master Ambrose. It would be rude not to give him something.

He even had the money to buy a gift. But what?

Ambrose had a lot of books. Elliot wasn’t sure he’d be able to get one that Master didn’t already have.

Master Ambrose was running low on incense for his altar, but he’d hadn’t been praying much lately. It would be a bad gift.

Maybe a teapot? Or a kettle? Master liked tea, but didn’t have either one. He used a pot on the stove for one cup at a time. It was silly to think Elliot was smart at all, but surely it would be better to make lots of tea at once? He drank so much of it.

Both, then. Something pretty; dark blue to match his favorite mug.

Elliot went to put the broom away. He liked thinking when he swept. But sweeping time was over. Everything was clean from top to bottom.

Well, except for Master’s room and all the laundry. He still wasn’t really allowed to clean up there, or wash any clothes. He wondered a little about that. Not that it was any of his business, but laundry was boring and he couldn’t see why Master insisted on doing it himself when he had a slave who could.

Right, thinking time was over.

He glanced out the window. It wasn’t snowing, but it had last night and the pristine white still lay on the ground.

Elliot hated snow. Ambrose had told him that there was probably going to be snow either on the ground or in the air all winter. Gross.

He’d have to go out into it. Walk into town, find the general store that was full of solstice goods, buy the kettle and teapot, and walk back. In the cold.

In the cold where he could freeze to death or lose fingers or toes or get horrifically sick again. And Master wouldn't have his solstice present and would have a body to bury. If he was worth burying.

Master had said he was proud of him. That he was getting better. Elliot didn’t feel brave, but if Ambrose said it, it must be true. Would he be even more proud if he had gone out into the snow?

Either way, next year he’d go buy the present before the cold came. If Master Ambrose still had him by next year.

Elliot trudged upstairs and gathered the loose pile of gold coins he put in his sock drawer. He placed them into the pouch of his belt, one by one, trying to delay going out. Unfortunately he only had so many coins, and the snow was still there.

Elliot chewed the inside of his cheek. He pulled the heavy coat from the wardrobe and wrapped it around himself. He yanked on his boots and tugged on the gloves and mittens Katie made for him.

He thudded downstairs a little, unused to the weight of wool. But he made it out the door, and it wasn’t… so bad.

Okay it was awful, but Master needed a solstice gift.

He walked down the road, avoiding the slush on the ground. His boots were leather and waterproof but he didn’t like risking it.

The snow was pretty, even if it was horridly cold. He paused to look at the untouched fields and branches of evergreens. They were so white and the light sparkled off the icicles.

If only snow came in a warm version.

He wanted to take in a little more of the view, but he could feel eyes on him. Staring.

It was a small town and he was still a stranger here. Maybe the solstice party could change that.

Best to move on anyway.

He came to the store quickly enough. The window was decorated in evergreen and paper flowers that mimicked spring plants. Candles too, but they were unlit.

The whole point of the solstice was to coax in spring and give presents and throw parties to keep people happy through the empty days of winter. Spring would come no matter how many paper and fabric flowers people made, but the fun was nice. Or so he heard through the closet door.

He browsed through the aisles, looking for the kitchen items among the bits and bobs of toys and fancy things.

Elliot wasn’t sure if the party would work on him. Nothing much had ever made him happy.

He looked at the funny bottles of perfume. All perfume bottles were strange to him. Just be normal glass bottles instead of in the shape of bows or shoes or stars. Weird and impractical.

“Hi, can I help you find something?”

“Oh. Um,” Elliot turned to find the voice. A woman with graying brown hair smiled at him. “Hello.”

Maybe making conversation would be harder than he thought.

“Uh, where are the tea sets?”

“Right over here.” She led him to the next aisle over, and sure enough it was full of ceramics.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. Are you getting some solstice shopping done?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m buying Mas- I mean, Ambrose, a teapot. He doesn’t have one.”

“Ah, I know Ambrose! You must be Elliot, then. I’m Judy. Don’t worry, I'll keep quiet about your gift,” she winked.

“Thank you, ma’am.” A thought nagged at him. “But, um, how do you know my name?”

“You know us old folks, we like to talk.” He shifted, uncomfortable.

“All good things, hun,” she reassured. “But I’ll let you get back to your shopping. Happy Solstice!”

“Happy solstice, ma’am.” He waited until Judy left to wrap his arms around himself. It really was hard to talk to people. Being quiet was just so easy. Too easy.

If he wanted Ambrose to be proud of him, he’d have to work harder at it.

He looked at the rows of cups and sugar bowls and creamers and more. Teapots were right at eye level thank goodness. He was too small for things on the top shelves.

They came in many patterns. Mostly flowers and landscapes, occasionally birds and buildings.

Too fussy for Ambrose. He liked the roses and gold pattern, but that was a whole set. He just needed the pot.

Only a few of them were solid colors.

There was plain white, red, black, green, and blue. The blue didn’t match the dark mug that Master favored. It would clash.

Elliot worried his lip.

Black maybe? No, that would be hard to see in the early mornings and late nights.

Red didn’t seem like it would go well with the rest of Ambrose’s things.

White or green?

Green or white?

Which one would make Ambrose happy?

White went with everything, he decided. It could always be painted if Master Ambrose hated it. He’d get a kettle too, just to be sure.

He turned to see a selection of kettles. That choice was easy, they were all copper. He picked up the one with the elegant spout, and got the teapot from the shelf. Cradling it in his arms, he carefully picked his way through the store.

“Would you like these wrapped?” asked Judy at the counter.

“Yes, please, ma’am.”

Judy pulled two boxes from under the counter. She lined the first box with paper and cloth scraps. She gently laid the pot down, removing the lid to stuff balled up paper inside. Judy put the ceramic lid on upside down, and the box’s lid fit snugly over it.

The kettle didn’t need nearly as much care.

After, she pulled a pretty patterned paper down from a roll attached to the counter. It was green with white dots for the holiday.

Judy was precise with the paper, none of it was wasted. She tied both boxes with twine, a pretty bow on top.

It seemed like a lot of work, but it was for Ambrose after all. He deserved it.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome sweetie. Stay warm!” She waved as he left.

Elliot liked Judy. Maybe she’d be at the party. That’d be nice.

He made his way home, the boxes heavy but his heart lighter.

Ambrose smiled at him as he walked in. “What have you got there?” he nodded at the boxes.

Elliot grinned at him and said nothing. He knew Master was kidding. Ambrose shook his head.

“I guess I won’t tell you about your present,” he joked, “Your loss.” He turned back to his book.

Elliot hid the boxes in his wardrobe.

He was definitely looking forward to the solstice party.

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone @snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @magdalena-writes

#holiday special! /j #Elliot is bigoted against weird perfume bottles. You guys ever see the ones shaped like a torso with boobs? He'd be SO JUDGY if he saw one #also he still hates snow. mood #anyway. lore: Winter Solstice is a non-religious holiday. the definition of 'party! as a treat :)'#ambrose and elliot #my writing #whump #slavery whump

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thatsgonnaleaveamark · 4 months

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Bodies 1x04

for Whumpuary no.11 Blood

#whump #whump gifs #whumpedit #my gifs #whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno11 #blood #fight #stabbed #the man is so blorbo shaped i love him your honor #the whole damn show too #this scene is sooo dark though #i did all i could lightening it up but its still so dark #you can already kinda see the light artifacts in the first gif and more of that wouldve made the whole thing unusable #it would be clearer if i also showed the original lol theres definitely a difference #bodies #1x04 #charles whiteman

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pixelatedraindrops · 8 months

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Why Yuma Kokohead is my main whump candidate🌡️ An Analysis:

(contains raincode spoilers)

So, some of you people are probably asking yourself; Why do I keep making these sickly edits of Yuma?

Okay. Allow me to present my evidence and reasoning behind this weird little obsession of mine in 3 parts. (prepare for a small essay with some spoilers)

First off; I've noticed that Yuma always holds his head like this whenever he's distressed.

I know its probably just a nod to his memory loss, but he does it

EVERY

SINGLE

TIME

Through the whole game.

Like his model is just programed to do it whenever he makes these two expressions in the sprite art.

He always looks so pale and tired... sick even.

Which is why I edited these sprites first

The model of him that’s used in an Ace Attorney fan made crossover project does this exact same gesture too.

Only he actually looks like he's in even MORE pain here.

source

And Reminder; he canonically felt sick in the first chapter of the game. Idc what the reason was, the point is it happened.

All of this might confirm that he has potential to be frail of health or may suffer from specified ailments easily.

Also... DO YOU HEAR THIS LABORED BREATHING???

Like hello? BE FR RIGHT NOW??

In the JP dub, he speaks under somewhat heavy sounding breaths when he's going through this ordeal of trying to open the door to the Infirmary (as he should) It shows how exhausted he feels or how dizzy he is just wanting, BEGGING to lay down and make the world stop spinning.

(sorry for the poor quality video lol)

This was all that was going through my mind when I first played this part of the chapter. And I nearly lost it. He was officially on my list

This part of Chapter 0 was more than enough to convince me he had the potential.

SPOILER TERRITORY⚠️

Second: Yuma usually doesn't mind admitting when he is weak or vulnerable.

Such as when he tells Fubuki that he feels like he's in pain and going to pass out after Shinigami punched him in the Ch3 ML, or telling Vivia how scared he was when he was threatening to kill him during the Ch4 Investigation, or admitting his fear and hesitation to Shinigami in Chapter 5's deserted factory. Anytime that he admits his feelings if someone asks him rather than trying to act tough. Instead of playing dumb, he admits when he feels a negative way. He's completely honest about it.

THAT IS SOME GOOD SHIT 👀

This is really good fodder for a scenario where he just confesses that he's not feeling well. Or that he's about to be sick. Or if he's in pain or injured. Or if he's having a mental breakdown. He won't shy away from it. He'll say it.

(though I did kinda make him play dumb in my own fic lol I cannot deny that there are times he also wants to be strong and/or not be a burden to others)

Third: Yuma's size. HIS TINY SIZE??? COME ON?? He may as well be a CHILD.

I know vivia is a freaking giant but STILL LOOK HOW SMALL HE IS

He is so baby despite his age being completely unknown. He could be a teenager or he could be an adult over 20. Nobody knows.

Point is regardless of that, you can see him is any kind of vulnerable situation with no doubt or worry of it being OOC. You can see him crying if he's hurting. You can see him whining about making the pain go away. You can see him wanting comfort if he has a nightmare. You can see him having a panic attack reaching out to a caretaker for support.

He can be carried or lifted up by anyone taller than him and probably be light as a feather. Seeing him cling to them like a sick or hurt kid would.

He could sit or lay on their lap. He could lean on them as they help him walk if he's hurt, or as they help him eat or drink if he's too weak to do so himself.

And he probably couldn't stop someone from forcing him down to rest if he tried due to his physical stature being unfit for combat. (or anything)

Regardless, it would ALL FIT.

Like taking care of a child.

Now with those 3 points out of the way, I ask you all:

How can this character NOT be easy whump bait? Don’t underestimate my imagination as a sickfic enthusiast.

HE IS LITERALLY SO WHUMPEE SHAPED AND CODED WITH THIS INFORMATION

He's a perfect victim for specifically any sort of head issue:

Be it a headache, a head injury, migraine, or what I usually continue to give to him in my edits.

A High Fever.

plus, coupled with the RAIN 24/7 SETTING?

In THIS type of scenario??

AS I KEEP SAYING; IT'S WAY TOO DAMN EASY

THIS GAME PRACTICALLY SPOON FEEDS ME ALL THIS BAIT

he's got the major potential to be the biggest sickly wet cat ever

and I love him so much for that

he's so dizzyboy coded that I want to make him SICK AS A PUPPY

Which is why I do it so much.

40 degrees? Call a freaking doctor aaaa

I'll mostly go with a high fever because they're my favorite thing in the sick whump category and easy to edit, but at the same time, he could be suffering with any sort of issue and it would seem accurate, likely or canon, so long as it involves his head.

Such as a splitting headache, immense dizziness, flash blurred vision, or even a nausea induced migraine. (heck, even all of the above, go crazy)

You may ask yourself, why?

Easy: For caretaking fluff purposes.

That's mostly why sickfics exist.

The potential fluff of him getting taken care of by the NDA (found family) Shinigami (chaotic mascot partner/sibling) Kurumi (platonic or romantic) or heck maybe even Makoto (sibling dynamic or possible ‘self-care’)

Just the thought and image of him getting taken care of in general puts a smile on my face. Its a HUGE comfort for me 💜

The potential for the found family, shipping, or sibling moments he can produce from being in this state is astronomical. And you don't see that in characters very often. He is a very rare specimen. He is Number 1 after all.

Checks literally all of my boxes on why I love illness whump and sickfics so much. He is perfect.

Sometimes sacrifices must be made to forge deeper connections. And these kinds of scenarios almost NEVER fail to be 1 of three things: tooth-rottingly wholesome, heartbreakingly angsty, or chaotically comedic. It depends on your preference. (They're mostly wholesome and sweet though.)

fr though.

once you find your prime whumpee you never go back

and now I know how it feels ;w; the bliss makes me feel as though I am now complete in a place where something was missing.

Thank you Kodaka for this adorable smol anxious purple trainee who’s actually the top dog 💜

I love him dearly🥰

Some of you may just want to see Yuma as a cool smart, competent, and badass protagonist and that's great! I completely agree! That he is.

But to me personally? He's also a soft, delicate, anxiety filled, adorable lil' wet cat who needs constant TLC, love and/or support 💊 Physically and/or mentally.

Get a character that can do both lol

That is all.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

I love this little guy so much! He means everything to me.💜 He’s just a little guy. My babygirl, my little scrunkly, my lil' blorbo, my little meow meow…

No matter how you see it;

Yuma Kokohead is a blessing✨

#whumpcode #master detective archives: rain code #rain code #yuma kokohead #long post #character analysis #not me explaining once again why he’s my prime whumpee #and honestly a really solid whumpee in general #he’s tiny frail anxious self concious and physically weak #LITERALLY WHUMPEE SHAPED AND CODED #AND I HAVE EVIDENCE #I’m honestly surprised more whump blogs haven’t targeted him yet #illness #whump #whump posting #illness whump #fever #my edits #fever edit #male whump #whumpee #whump community #canon whump #whumpblr #individuals holding their heads from pain or dizziniess is one of my favorite things ever #and the fact this boy does it CONSTANTLY as part of his CHARACTER??#instant fave and instant target holy shit #he’s a frail baby wet cat and he needs all hugs in the world #a perfect set up for fluffy moments between him and many various potential caretakers #I love him so much even though I torment him constantly lol

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befuddled-calico-whump · 5 months

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someone should whump Greer

pretty plausible, if he were ever caught by the Riot Kings

#look greer is a lot of things but he's loyal as hell to the Fleet and not afraid of getting hurt #also i said no one is exempt from being whumped so that includes greer even though he's cop shaped #whump art #whumper turned whumpee #his frame looks way smaller than usual but thats cause his arms are semi behind his back 😭

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siren-of-agony · 1 month

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I do think blocking* is pretty important in crochet to get the shape you want, but if what you're crocheting is a lil guy, it can feel pretty whumpy:

(*aka making what you made wet, stretch it or manipulate it into the shape you want, fixating it w needles and then waiting until it dries, or as I like to think of it, drowning them and then nailing them to the floor until they learn to behave)

#Whump #Whump meme #This is going to become a Lil deku from totk and while that already feels barbaric everyone did use the new features to torture them so this #Feels reasonable?#Next I am planning to make a karl Marx plush and that one. I hope I won't have to block ngl #I prob won't cause he's a human guy w a more regular shape

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serickswrites · 1 year

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Bent Out of Shape

Warnings: head injury, unconsciousness

Whumper struck Whumpee’s head with the pole as Whumpee rounded the corner. Whumpee crumpled into a heap instantly. Whumper tossed aside the pole that was now completely bent out of shape.

They toed Whumpee’s body. They had to be sure Whumpee was unconscious. The last time they had tried to grab Whumpee, Whumpee hadn’t been completely knocked out and had beaten Whumper terribly. So Whumper was extra cautious now.

Whumpee rolled bonelessly onto their back as Whumper kicked them. Whumpee’s eyes were closed, their jaw slack. But they were breathing. Whumper could hear Whumpee’s breaths.

Good.

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s ankles and began to drag them away. They had plans for Whumpee. Many plans. Plans of pain and fun. And they were just getting started.

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw head injury #tw unconsciousness #themerrywhumpofmay #merry whump of may 2023 #day 24 #bent out of shape #prompt: dragged #queue

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whumpybobbert · 25 days

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So, I've started re-watching The Flash (because why not, I guess) and I was noticing that EVERY SINGLE EPISODE uses some kind of whump trope, often more than one. I will now go through and catalog every trope used and on whom in season one, probably season two as well.

#whump #whump community #cw the flash #i have a feeling #a vibe if you will #that cisco is going to be our top whumpee #i love it when shows have a blorbo shaped character and whump them to hell and back

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sunshiline-writes · 4 months

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A Rose Amidst Thorns #13: A Promise Amidst the Nightmare

okay so.. imma be real this took me so long and im still not super happy with it. But if I don't post it now I never will so.. enjoy.. CW: lady whump, poc whump, mentioned minor whump (just barely), choking, mentions of historical slavery (please don't kill me), gore, hanging, torture, dehumanization, fear of death, fear of witnessing death Whumpee referred as a dog a lot idk man, toxic relationships, past abusive relationship, past toxic relationship, complicated character dynamics, fade to black noncon, thoughts of murder I THINK that's everything, let me know if I missed anything. Previous | Masterlist | Next

There was blood on the floor. Solomon’s blood. It scattered on the wood, drops staining it. Henrietta had already cleaned the broken plate, now she was working on the blood. She was cleaning her friend's blood from the ground. Xavier had beat him until he was almost unrecognizable. His eyes had swollen, his skin had turned red and purple. His lips swollen and split. He barely even looked human. Solomon was unconscious by the time Xavier dragged him upstairs.

She was ordered to clean the blood. No matter how much she scrubbed and scraped, the blood wouldn’t come out of the wood. It had stained it, become one with it. They had waited too long. Her knees hurt from being on them for so long. Her hands were dried and cracked from the soapy water and cloth she had used to try and clean. Everything frustrated her, the stains in the wood, the stains on her dress. Her nose was still throbbing from its earlier assault.

Henrietta pressed her forehead against the ground and sighed. The pressure of the ground against her was nice. She took deep steadying breaths, trying her best to calm her racing heart. When she opened her eyes, there was still blood.

“Get up.”

Henrietta pushed herself to her knees, staring up at Xavier. Tears welling in her eyes. There was no warmth in Xavier, all she felt from him was the cold rage. He grabbed her by the arm when she didn’t get up fast enough, pulling her forward, dragging her with him. “Just wait.. I-” Henrietta started to say, but she was cut off by a short growl. Xavier continued to half drag, half walk her out the door of their house. Their house, she still called it their house. It was hard to break that habit. It was his house, now she was just living in it. She knew that she was being taken to the barn. How could she not know? It was right in front of her, getting closer with every step.

“Xavier, please..” she whispered as he threw the door open. What was she begging for? Henrietta didn’t know. His grip only tightened on her arm, bruising. One more to add to the array on her body.

“Just shut up already,” he growled, shoving her forward.

She stumbled forward and tried to avoid falling on her face. When she finally looked up, she gasped. In the middle of the barn lay Miguel. Rope around him that had recently been cut. His legs were still tied together. There was a noose around his neck, though the rest of the rope hung off a beam in the ceiling.

“Xavier what did you do?”

“Nothing he didn’t deserve. There’s a chair on the other side. Go sit in it,” he said, voice low and rough.

“Xavier I don’t understa-”

His hand shot out and he grabbed her by the throat. Squeezing and shoving her backwards. She stumbled back instinctively, eyes going wide and mouth opening in an attempt to get some air. Xavier walked backwards until her hind legs hit the back of the chair and he shoved her down to sit. Hand still wrapped her throat, he squeezed. Her lungs and throat burned. Everything was blurry and her vision went dark around the edges. When she started to slump, he let her go. She gasped, taking in lungfuls of air.

“Stay there,” he growled, “I want you to watch.”

Henrietta was too busy sucking in lungfuls of air to really grasp what he was doing. She couldn’t get enough air. When she finally could breathe without her vision fading, she looked up. Xavier’s hands were on the rope. The rope that hung loosely over the beam in the ceiling, the one connected to the noose around Miguel's neck. Xavier’s eyes connected with hers. Then he pulled on the rope.

“Xavier stop!” she screamed as choked sounds came from Miguel. His feet slid on the wood and his hands clawed at the rope around his neck. “You’re going to kill him!”

“Why shouldn’t I? Would it really matter if I did? He’s just a dog.” Xavier’s eyes were wild, unhinged. He looked as if he really would kill Miguel, right here, in front of her.

Henrietta improvised. Trying to take the attention off the choking boy in front of her, who was turning blue. “Xavier. Please. Please don’t do this. I’ll never forgive you. I’ll kill you.”

He released the rope and Miguel fell to the ground with a dull thud, gasping and choking for air. Miguel was crying, shaking and sobbing. When had Xavier put on the blindfold? Henrietta didn’t recall. Her memories were flooded.

“You’ll kill me? Over a mutt?” Xavier asked softly. Releasing the rope from his hands. “Didn’t you ever love me?”

Henrietta’s eyes widened. She did once. A long time ago. Before Xavier was all rage and hatred. He wasn’t always like this. Or maybe he was, she was just blind to it. In her youth, she was blind to a lot of things. She was blind to the way he was built, all hard stone and jagged edges. Darkness surrounded him and perhaps, just for a little bit she was attracted to that darkness. She thought she had needed the darkness. Henrietta hadn’t realized that Xavier’s darkness was all consuming, destroying everything in its wake.

Her parents had grown up in darkness. They had been freed from slavery by their masters paying for their papers. They earned that money playing music for people. Their masters had claimed their talents were wasted as slaves. So they set them free. How strange some people were, seeing a beautiful thing and instead of wanting to keep it, they wanted to see it flourish. Henrietta had grown up free, by the time she was four or five, slavery had been abolished and her parents had danced and drank. Her mother sang loudly, more loud than she had ever heard her sing. Her father’s violin had never sounded so happy. It was her most fond memory of her childhood.

When she had seen Xavier for the first time, as a young woman, she was attracted to his calm outer shell. The way he was so confident and the way he tried to charm her. She liked the attention. Was that what caught her in the snare? The attention?

She had always liked the love of the crowd. When they laughed and jeered it fueled her. Made her want to prove them wrong. She always proved them wrong. Her mother always said that spite would get her in trouble. After she married Xavier, it always did. She liked the fight, liked the way he would get frustrated and try to control himself when she did something particularly spiteful. Henrietta had enjoyed it, she had loved it. She loved him once.

Henrietta had slowly fallen out of love when his anger became more and more uncontrolled. When every slight thing sets him off. He never hurt her, not really. It was the words that cut deep and true. The slow effort to control every aspect of her life. The last straw was Miguel.

When he had brought him home, she had asked what he was going to do with him.

I just got myself a new dog, I think, was the response.

It wasn’t until a few years later though, after a particular conversation with Miguel and Solomon that sealed the deal. That made love turn into hate. *

“What's the book about?”

“Anger.”

“Anger?” She repeated the sign, unsure of what it meant. The boy spelt it out for her. “Anger.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Captain. He’s so angry all the time. He gets so angry he forgets about his crew and he’s focused on killing the whale.”

“Oh. Did you like book?”

“No. Everyone dies.”

“Not everyone.” Solomon gently corrected, Miguel shrugged. He was fifteen at the time. And the shrug had become a common response. It was the only time she saw his real personality come out. Slightly sassy, and intense.

“Ishmael lives,” Solomon continued.

“You remind me of Ishmael.”

“Oh? What about Hen?”

Henrietta gave him a small smile.

“The Captain.”

Henrietta’s smile faded. No one expected that response. Solomon gave a nervous chuckle.

“Oh. Well.. what about you? Who are you in the story Miguel?”

His expression turned sour. Shrugging again and signing his next words with practiced ease.

“There are no dogs in the book.”

There are no dogs in the book. *

Xavier had made him believe that he was not a person. He was not a character in the book. He was just a dog. Nothing more than a slave. It reminded her of the stories her mother would sing about being a slave. It was the thing that broke her. “I did love you once. But you became a monster.”

How easy it was, for love to turn into hatred. They weren’t all that different. Two sides of the same coin. Both such passionate fiery emotions that could tear the world apart if used correctly.

Xavier grabbed her by the throat again, growling and hissing something. She couldn’t even help the choked laugh that escaped her. The fire that was growing in her chest. The hatred that poured from her, from him. The love that used to reside in that space between them had rotted and twisted into that hardly distinguishable hatred.

Henrietta preferred the hatred.

Xavier was her white whale.

He stopped choking her, looking into her eyes, searching for something. Slowly, he stepped back. There was a chasm between them. It was a relief and it broke her heart.

“All of this over a fucking kid.”

“He’s not a kid anymore.”

“You’re not my wife anymore.”

Henrietta stared at him with a sense of indignation. “I haven’t been for a long time. We both know that.”

Xavier smiled at her, cruel, unforgiving. “Yes. You’re right,” he lifted his hand to rub his face. “On your knees.”

She didn’t move. It was always going to end like this. With him throwing her to the ground, wrenching her on her knees by the hair. His grip stayed firm in her hair as he undid his belt. Henrietta was going to kill him. She was going to kill him and use his own spurs to slit his throat.

This was a promise. __

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#whump #whumpblr #whump blog #sunshine writes whump #poc whump #lady whump #choking #toxic relationship #past abusive relationship #past abuse #Dehumanization #historical mention of slavery #hanging #everyone is suffering #hen is in the worst mental shape but best physical shape lol #uh..#yeah I might rewrite this chapter later down the line but alas

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