ghost-whump

[ghost-whump]

Overstimulation is not used nearly enough in whump. Particularly when it's inflicted by a stoic whumper. Give me human whumpee unraveling as every vibrating sex toy is used on their body, inside and out. Make it hard for them to find a comfortable way to sit for longer than two seconds because just shifting the constant vibrations hurts them to the point of release. While Vampire Whumper watches, waiting, listening as Whumpee's quickening heartbeats pump more delicious blood throughout their body. Give me Hero Whumpee trussed up in the same way, but Villain is interrogating them. Now Hero's mind is being forced to ignore the ravenous pleasure torturing them, but they can hardly string more than two words together. Which of course, makes Villain increase the intensity of each toy as punishment. Give me Human Whumpee whose body is covered in appendages from Eldritch Whumper. While Eldritch Whumper seeps into their mind, the effect on Whumpee's body is as if they're being used, eaten, and dissected all it once. They've never felt anything so excruciating. Nor anything so rapturous. Overstimulation

[ghost-whump]

Wish Granted

CW: Restraints, mind control

Hero growled and tested their bonds. They didn’t find a way out. They squirmed and pulled at the restraints anyways, not willing to give up easily.

They’d been captured. They were in the hands of Villain, a supervillain with poorly understood powers and challengingly high competence. Hero had been trying to combat them, and ended up tied up instead.

“Do you know what my power is, Hero?” Villain asked, tone more conversational than anything else.

Hero glared at them. “We’ve been trying to figure it out. You seem able to influence reality in some way, but exactly what you do seems pretty random from one case to another.”

“I grant wishes. Never my own, and I can only directly affect the person whose wish it is. But it’s enough. Because I can grant them in a way of my choosing, and the best part: they don’t have to be said aloud.”

“Isn’t that, like, a cardinal rule of wishes? You have to say…y’know.”

Villain smirked at Hero’s hesitance to say I wish. They weren’t trying to trick Hero, but if they were it would certainly have proved difficult. “I’m not a genie, I’m a superhuman. Presumably the rules would be different.”

“But how would you be able to defeat heroes? They’re against you, not hoping for your success.”

“Well, that’s the delightful part, really. Your own Agency practically hands you to me. It works you lot into the ground. I can look in their heads and pick and choose the wishes that suit my needs. When Hero B silently wishes it was her day off and she was back with family, I can grant that in such a way that sends her home without adding a replacement for her, and I’m conveniently left unchallenged. When Hero C wishes they had a good excuse to take a break, I can incapacitate them for a while. When Hero D wishes he didn’t have to fight today, I can whisk him out of my way.”

“Now that we know, it won’t be so easy for you,” Hero said.

“You’re under the mistaken impression you’ll make it back to them.”

“I’ll get free eventually.”

Villain’s tone shifted subtly, their eyes no longer quite focused on Hero’s. “You wish there was a way for you to rest. You wish you could give up heroing without having to feel guilty about it. You wish it was out of your hands.”

Hero’s eyes widened. “No! Get out!” They struggled anew against their bonds.

“You wish you could be done without it being your fault. You wish you didn’t have such mixed feelings about it. You wish you were happier.”

“Stop it! I just wish to escape and go back to my duty.”

“But you wish it wasn’t your duty,” Villain continued. “You wish you could be free of the responsibility.”

“But I’d never wish for my relief to hurt people!”

“I don’t hurt anyone, not really.”

“What you do still isn’t right.”

“I can twist it so it’s enough. I get to interpret the wish, remember?”

“No! Stop!”

Villain ignored them, suspended in concentration. Then they smiled. “Gotcha.”

Hero felt Villain’s power flood into them. At first it was just the rush of power entering. Then it moved to their head. Their thoughts scrambled.

When Hero’s brain righted itself, things were different. Hero rested: not bodily, but in their own mind. It was like all the autonomous parts were comfortably sitting back or sleeping, while what remained was left to Villain’s direction instead of having to be self-powered. No longer burdened with responsibility, there was a new lightness in their readiness to do whatever Villain said. The conflict was gone: their devotion to Villain was single-minded. Guilt wasn’t even a question: this was what they were supposed to be doing. It felt right.

And they were happy. Bliss wrapped around their entire brain like a blanket, warm and comforting, muffling anything that might have seeded doubt.

In short, the wishes of Villain’s selection had been granted, in what the old Hero would have called all the wrong ways. But they were no longer in any state to be unhappy about it.

“Thank you,” Hero said to Villain, with a loving, genuine smile. They’d do anything Villain wanted, and they’d like it.

Villain’s grin was a little more wolf-like. “My pleasure.”

[ghost-whump]

whumper who learns that whumpee was tortured or abused in some way before meeting them and taking advantage of that. using their existing trauma to manipulate them into accepting further abuse, or playing with their reactions to things like it’s a game. making them flinch, pressing on their insecurities, reinforcing to them that they deserved what happened before. whether it escalates into physical violence or not, there’s a lot of potential in that - in using that existing trauma to abuse whumpee further.

could even involve direct references, depending on how subtle whumper wants to be about what they’re doing. “who would believe this could happen to you twice?” “you already know you deserve this” “what would [past whumper] have done?”

[ghost-whump]

[ghost-whump]

Whumpee struggled against their bonds, wriggling and trying to free themselves from the tape trapping their arms to their sides. A cloth blindfold covered their eyes, but they could still feel duct tape digging into their arms and legs mixed with the cold, tile floor beneath them.

Footsteps echoed beside them, followed by a swift kick into their ribs. Whumpee groaned from the pain, the tape covering their mouth absorbing most of the sound.

"So, you've still got some fight left, huh? That's good, very good."

Whumpee turned towards the sound of the voice. The blindfold was ripped away and they blinked for a moment from the sudden light before focusing on the figure before them.

"Now," Whumper leaned down to face them. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to stay right here, looking all pathetic and shit. Struggle all you want, I don't care. Eventually Caretaker is going to show up. And when they do, their going to give me exactly what I'm looking for. Or else..." Whumper chuckled to themself, wiping a tear away from Whumpee's face.

"Well, let's just say you make a very lovely bargaining chip."

[ghost-whump]

characters raised to be tools

Weapons. Trained, tested, forged in steel and fire. Failure is an inevitability that ends in death. Pain should not be felt--it should be recognized, familiar, and inconsequential

Martyrs. In the form of servants and princes, of leaders and underdogs. If blood is necessary, the martyr will lift their hands and offer it all

Shields. Like tempering a sword, but only to bear and not to lash out. Wounds are medals--not symbols of pride, but symbols of worth. A pretty shield is useless; scars mean a job well done

Experiments. Raised on the cold comfort of a lab table. Restraints are only necessary when they're not in their right mind. Is it honorable, to be twisted beyond recognition? Or is it just a necessary evil?

Monsters. Cruelty, caution, and regarding one as a creature beyond reasonable thought is tempering in its own right. But if you keep a leash at the right length, perhaps the massecre won't reach you. One can hope.

Idols. Pretty face, pretty name, pretty hands around their shoulders and throat. There to seduce, manipulate, force any feeling to come to the surface and twist it to their favor. Any genuinity stays locked behind the guilded cage that surrounds their pretty little heart

Trophies. Status and wealth and the traditions that keep someone at their heels, on their knees, to display and serve and decorate one's ballroom.

Sacrifices. Drenched in honorable clothes, prepared and adored and cleansed. The gift of hope at the cost of one's life. Is it taken with no fight? How can you escape the ropes you were born in?

[ghost-whump]

Whumpee, who is small enough to fit in Whumper's hand, unable to escape because Whumper holds them high above the ground. Keeps them on Whumper's desk. Leaves them on Whumper's nightstand when Whumper goes to sleep. Or does Whumper keep them in his pocket? In a mason jar? In a box frame? Does Whumper dress them in doll's clothes? Or at all? Are Whumper's kisses all the more smothering because they cover a third of Whumpee's body? When Whumpee tries to escape, does Whumper bring out the fly swatter to scare them into behaving? ...Whumper is smothering Whumpee in those kisses, does Whumpee ever keen when they feel Whumper's teeth graze them? And when Whumper nibbles just a little longer to make Whumpee cry, does Whumpee think that this time Whumper is going to eat them like the others?

[ghost-whump]

Reblog if it's okay to invade your ask box.

Always

[ghost-whump]

W for the alphabet owo

[ghost-whump]

The Haggle

Premise/Prompt: Human slaves were a common enough sight at the market. Out of pity, Caretaker buys one.

Content: Slavery whump, implied past non-con, implied/discussed forced pregnancy/abortion, fever, infected wounds, dehydration, restraints, past physical abuse, discussion of death/child death

____________

Aaramis walked through the market, hearing the sellers calling out their wares, the potential buyers trying to haggle. It thankfully wasn’t too crowded at this time of day; still bustling, but Aaramis wasn’t jostled to and fro like he would be during the later afternoon. Still, it was getting hot – he would have to head home soon.

To his right were aridians from local farms selling their fruits and vegetables; to his left, winged folk of Great Plateu heritage with their livestock and beasts of burden – one of them in a particularly lively haggling exchange with an aridian over a large midnight-coated horse. And beyond that pen was –

Aaramis stopped.

Slaves were a common enough sight at markets. He had passed by a few pens and auction stages on his walk through this one. Though few were common folk, sold to pay off debts, most were human or commonfolk-human hybrids, all of whom in this region either born into slavery or sold from beyond the borders.

A tall, lean man of Kell Forest or Mountain folk heritage, his green, swirling tattoos tracing over his arms, face, and small, angled horns, stood in front of a large open pen – behind which was a permanent market building – where many chained humans sat. Well, most of them.

Directly to the man’s right, in the front of the pen, was a set of low stocks, designed to hold a kneeling person’s wrists above their head, with their ankles restrained on the ground behind them.

The slave now held in the stocks was clearly in a bad way – a very bad way. Her head hung down limply, with brown, sweat-plastered hair covering her face, and she shivered, even in the heat. Torn, dirty brown clothing – it’d be more appropriate to call them rags, really – barely covered the important parts of her boney, nearly emaciated frame. And even from this distance, he could see the dark bruises littering her limbs.

Aaramis came over to take a closer look, and was greeted by the minder. “Ah, hello, sir. See anything you like?”

“Perhaps.” Aaramis took a courtesy glance at the other slaves in the pen – most of them looked relatively healthy, though some a little roughed up and dirty. He crouched down in front of the human in the stocks, and placed a gentle hand on her cheek to lift her head and look at her face. Her eyes were closed, her lips were cracked, and fever heat burned against his skin as the human leaned into his palm. Bruises the shape of handprints wrapped around her neck.

A glance over her shoulder showed Aaramis that her back was fully covered in lash wounds, with a few on her feet, as well, some scabbed over and healing well, but most of them infected and inflamed.

“You would leave a slave in this state?” he asked the minder, incredulous. Even if they did not care for slaves on moral grounds, he would think they would want to keep their merchandise in better condition, if only to increase their profits.

“She was like that when she came here, sir. We sell merchandise as-is.”

Ah, so it was one of those types of slave brokers. Aaramis had heard of them. They would buy any slave, in any state, for cheap, and see how much money they could make without investing any into the slave themselves. Scientists of few moral standards often frequented these brokers, and the slaves who died – from starvation, or untreated wounds or illness – were either still sold to these scientists, or more often, to either commonfolk with beasts that had a taste for human flesh or to hunter mercenaries to use as bait.

“…I see,” Aaramis said, gently lowering the slave’s head and standing to his full height. “When did you get her?”

“She was brought in early yesterday morning.”

That was more than a day, likely more judging by her state, without any medical treatment whatsoever. “And has she been kept like this,” he gestured to the stocks, “the entire time?”

“We lock them back up in the building at night,” the minder pointed at the building behind him with his thumb, “but otherwise, yes.”

“Are they provided with water at night?” A few troughs of water stood near the back of the pen, where the other slaves could reach them. This human, held in the stocks, could not.

The other man scoffed through his nose, as if the idea was ridiculous. “’Course not. Some would drown themselves.”

Aaramis noticed that he had gone rigid, and consciously relaxed his muscles. It made a morbid, callous sort of sense, he supposed. Better not allow the merchandise to die prematurely, while there was still profit to be made. Though dead slaves did sell, living slaves sold for more.

Though in the case of this slave, such a policy would only hasten her death. That she was still alive was a miracle.

“Has anyone else been interested this one?”

“A few have made inquiries, yes.”

“I see. How much?” he nodded towards the feverish human.

“Fifty runesuns.”

Aaramis narrowed his eyes. “Fifty? For a slave on death’s door? That’s thievery.” No wonder she hadn’t been bought yet. Most wouldn’t even bother to haggle for a half-dead slave, and would just simply move on to the healthier-looking ones.

The minder sighed, “Fourty-five, then. Is that more reasonable?”

Aaramis shook his head. “Twenty is far more reasonable.”

“The price was sixty yesterday, before she took a turn. And you’d be buying two, if you want to bring it to term.”

What? “Two? And what do you mean by ‘took a turn’”?

The slaveminder nodded. “She was conscious and alert most of yesterday. But, now…” He waved a hand toward the human in the stocks. “And, yes, two. She’s pregnant.” What? “Not far along. But if her past owner was telling the truth, the father is a winged Plateau-ish man, with heritage from the northern karsts. If it survives, you could make back at least twice your investment.”

It was true; hybrid slaves sold for great amounts of money. Though not rare – at least, not if they were all allowed to be carried to term and kept alive after birth – they were seen as freaks and novelties, often used as status symbols for the wealthy. Folk of northern karst heritage were known to be strong and robust, with their hybrids highly sought after as laborers. If anything, “twice the investment” was underselling it.

“It more likely will not survive, with the mother so unhealthy,” Aaramis countered, gesturing a hand at the slave to indicate her obvious illness, wounds, and starvation. “Why should I pay more than twice the slave’s worth on such a gamble?”

The human, who Aaramis guessed was eighteen or nineteen years old, did not look the slightest bit pregnant, or even healthy enough to become so.

If the slaveminder was telling the truth, it was a wonder the baby hadn’t miscarried already.

“Fourty, then,” the man said. “It’s still a steal if the hybrid lives.”

Aaramis folded his arms. “And if it doesn’t? Even if it does survive, there’s the fact that I have to invest in more than just the sale; I’d have to hire doctors and buy medicine to keep the mother alive, and invest even more time and money to try and ensure the hybrid isn’t miscarried. I’d be spending at least close to three-hundred runesuns, most likely more. I’ll be lucky if I get even the full investment back. I’ll give you thirty runesuns, and not a runedrop more.”

That was a bit of an exaggeration. Even if he had to spend that much, he’d still definitely get his full investment back if he sold the hybrid to the “right” people or labor company. Hypothetically.

As things were, however, it was a complete falsehood on his part. Hiring doctors and buying medicine would not be necessary.

The other man pursed his lips and let out a breath through his nose. “Very well. I’ll take thirty runesuns.” The man looked pensive, and Aaramis guessed he was thinking that if he didn’t sell her now, by tonight or tomorrow her price would go down to fifteen runesuns– the standard value of dead slaves. Even the baby, since it wasn’t far enough along for the body to be of any value to scientists, would not add to the price.

Speaking of which…. “You don’t mind if I check the pregnancy?”

The minder shook his head and waved his hand in a “go ahead” gesture. Kneeling in front of the human again, Aaramis placed a hand on her abdomen, his fingers and palm slightly glowing with magic as he did so.

The man was right.

Aaramis stood up and nodded. “I will take her.”

Once the money was handed over, the minder took out a key and crouched by the stocks.

The human fell forward as her wrists were released. Aaramis held her head gently against him as the minder unlocked the boards from around her ankles. He then took off his cloak and wrapped it around the human’s limp form, covering both her body and her head in a loose swaddle – to protect both her modesty and her wounds, and to shield her from the sun – and stood up cradling her against his chest.

“A pleasure doing business with you, sir,” the minder said, with a small, barely-there polite smile.

Aaramis didn’t smile, but he managed a nod. “You, as well. Good day.”

With one last acknowledging nod from the minder, Aaramis turned and started back down the market path.

It was time to go home.

[ghost-whump]

After yet another failed escape, Whumpee breaks down sobbing in their cell. Though they try to hide it, CareWhumper is quick to notice the little sniffs and red rimmed eyes when they return.

"What's wrong, Whumpee?" CW asks sweetly, putting a hand on Whumpee's shoulder and completely ignoring how they flinch away from their touch.

Whumpee bursts into tears, unable to keep it together anymore.

"I- I almost made it this time... I was s-so close!" Whumpee sobs, curling into a ball as they replay every moment of the escape attempt in their head. They remember seeing the door, seeing a light, so close, yet so far out of reach.

CW rubs what they think are soothing circles into Whumpee's back, shushing and cooing at them. Whumpee is too worked up to communicate that they hate this, so all they can do is retreat further into the corner of their cell.

Despite Whumpee's reluctance, they do calm down a bit, enough for CW to speak.

"Oh, sweetheart..." CW coos, sounding genuinely sympathetic, "It's not your fault. I built this facility to contain you specifically. Of course you couldn't escape. You weren't even close."

Whumpee's breath hitches, "But- But I saw the door... I saw the outside."

Whumper clicks their tongue, brushing the hair out of Whumpee's face with their fingers.

"I had been planning to surprise you with the courtyard. But I guess that you saw it."

Courtyard. A fucking courtyard.

"If you promise to be good, I can take you out there sometime, Whumpee."

Whumpee does not respond, still reeling over the notion that all their months of planning and hardwork had resulted in nothing more than a glimpse of an enclosed outside area, an open air prison.

They start to cry again, and they don't fight as CW wraps them in a comforting embrace.

[ghost-whump]

Destroyer -- Living Weapon CYOA

Be more specific about rules and consequences.

Most of what was formally written isn’t helpful for the day-to-day. You guess its owners don’t care that much? You decide to elaborate on the rules, since they seem to have been left to your discretion anyway. 

“Okay. Ground rules.”

Your voice falters a bit, and you worry about giving it any ideas even as you say it. 

“No fighting. Ever. You’re not going to resist orders or try and struggle. If you hurt any of the personnel here, you are getting hurt back.”

You wonder if it knows how valuable it is, and that it can only be hurt so much. You imagine the threats are most effective if it doesn’t. So it probably doesn’t.

“Don’t try to leave from wherever you’ve been placed. If you move without permission, we’re just going to use more restraints, so you’re only making it worse for yourself. If you behave, I’ll consider lowering the level of restraint.”

Might need to get permission for that. It came with the chains, but the rules don’t say anything about keeping them on.

“…And you’re not to speak to any of the personnel. If you need to say something, you say it to me. Okay?”

“Yes, sir.” It hasn’t moved from its position, or looked up from the floor. Which makes you wonder if it was even listening.

“Repeat them back to me,” you order.

It does so near verbatim.

You can’t stay in this cell forever. And it seems a bit agitated by your presence. You decide to come back later, after you’ve had more time to think. 

tags:

@dragongodryss @whumpsday @elle297382 @inhurtandincomfort @catnykit @thewhumpcaretaker @moony-reblogg-stuffs @sorrowful-hyacinth @melpomenelamusa @floral-comet-whump @half-duck @doumidas-whumps @sir-fenris

[ghost-whump]

you tell me to shut the fuck up and i wish i would

[ghost-whump]

big big biggest possible fan of when a whumpee who sacrificed themself for their friends/teammates is publicly displayed for their friends to see. Like their capture is broadcasted, or a video sent to the team, or its some sort of public setting where whumpee follows whumper around on a chain or more humiliatingly, a leash and collar. Even better if whumpee was someone they used to look up to as someone stronger/ more powerful than them and. Is now reduced to a toy

[ghost-whump]

yesterday i had to summon my doctor's personal notes from a few years ago to give to my new one and awww 🥰😍

I should put this screenshot as my LinkedIn header

[ghost-whump]

Trope Vote 2025

It's July! That means this years trope vote is now open for everyone to vote on their favourite tropes - including dditions from your 2024 honourable mentions!

For the 2025 playlist, we are open to suggestions! So if you have a favourite whumpy song, feel free to let us know via the form.

The vote will be open until the 28th of July.

We aim to have the prompts list ready for the end of August.

If you want to chat about your favourite tropes, the [DISCORD SERVER] is always active for our wonderful community of whumpers.

Similarly, if you're looking for a comprehensive list of the tropes, then under the cut are links to the A-Z lists that Surro put together some time ago. We can't wait to get the WT ball rolling this year! -Mods Surro, Yenn, Vanne and Kitty <3

[Question Summary + Trope List Links under the cut]

TROPE LISTS:

[A-H]

[I-Q]

[R-Z]

QUESTIONS:

Question 1: 'Which tropes would you like to see for Whumptober 2024?' - Here, there is an A-Z list of tropes with checkboxes next to them. Simply choose your favourites!

Question 2: 'Honourable Mentions' - Here you can list any tropes we have forgotten.

Question 3: 'The Music Round' - If you have a song that you attribute to a trope/theme, let us know! This is entirely optional but we would love to hear the songs that put you in a whumping mood. Please format each one as SONG - ARTIST - TROPE

[ghost-whump]

Whumper dragging a screaming, crying, begging Whumpee and mercilessly throwing them at the feet of Someone Worse™

That'll teach Whumpee exactly how good they have it with Whumper, they'll be so nice and docile for them once they are back *home*