hurtmyfavsthanks - Tumblr blog

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

How about some robot whump, where Whumper is going all out on it with Caretaker forced to watch.

The android assures Caretaker, "Not to worry. I cannot feel it. There is no pain."

But that doesn't mean that Caretaker stops yelling at Whumper to stop tearing their friend apart in the most brutal way. Appendages ripped from its torso, wires sending sparks up, the humanoid features slowly but forcefully removed. Oil drips out, leaving dark puddles not quite unlike blood.

All the while, the android keeps diligently updating on its status:

"Sensory functions failing."

"Emotion recognition centre damaged."

"Visuals reduced to 30%."

"It's okay!" Caretaker shouts. "I can still fix you. I can fix it all!"

"Oh, can you?" Whumper croons, fingers teasing over loose wires and smashing a hammer to the core.

"Memory storage compromised," the android croaks, it's voice failing.

"Maybe you can fix it, Caretaker," Whumper says, raising the hammer again. "But will it get you your friend back?"

-

General whump taglist: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop (huh not sure if these tags are working..)

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

head injuries that cause a character to do something wrong before they know they're hurt. imagine a character with a concussion leading the team in circles by accident. the team gets mad at them for not admitting they're lost until they finally realize they're not really making much sense at all.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Whumpee’s barely alive. Their eyes are partially open, slowly blinking up and down as their gaze tracks hazy figures. They’re in an ambulance swarmed by doctors, all shouting concerning call-outs, yelling at them to hold on. 

-But whumpee seems unreactive to their voices. 

They shine a light in their eyes, they ask questions, they tug their wrist: all of it and they’re… still unresponsive. 

-Until caretaker softly calls their name.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

i just think it's a special kind of humiliating to force whumpee to refer to themself as a good boy. "yes sir i've been a good boy" "i'll be a good boy, sir" it's ridiculous it's embarrassing it's horrible but what are you supposed to do when your captor refuses to take anything you say into account unless you use their terminology

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Caretaker awakens to a silhouette standing in their doorway. They flick their lamp on, finding whumpee with their arms hugging their body and brows knitted together.

"Hey, you okay?" Caretaker whispers.

"I..." Whumpee mumbled, their voice causing caretaker to shoot up in bed.

"-You need pain reliever." Caretaker finished their sentences.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Whump prompt #66

Whumpee stumbled back, stuttering out the words. They'd been behaving lately, all to avoid this. "I... I thought the whip wasn't necessary anymore?"

"So did I, baby. So did I."

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Idea I've been rotating in my brain nonstop lately is a living weapon and their handler having like a weirdly loving relationship.

Affectionately cuddling but never losing sight of the understanding that orders matter more than wants. Gently tending to their wounds and cleaning them after a battle/mission/etc. but never acknowledging that they might be a person. It's obvious they both care about each other a lot but the handler still calls the weapon "it" and the weapon still calls the handler "sir." Do you see my vision

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Content: Recovery, PTSD/trauma.

"What on earth are you doing on the kitchen bench?" Caretaker asked curiously as they stuck their head into the kitchen to see what was making noise. There, Whumpee sat on the island with their legs crossed, grinning from ear to ear despite their clear nervousness.

"You told me I was allowed to break Whumper's rules. They never let me sit on counters, so that's what I'm doing."

Caretaker's confused frown curved up into a smile, pride no doubt evident. They took a few steps into the room and leaned against the nearest wall behind them. "Yeah? How's it feel up there?"

"Great!" they chirped. "I always used to sit like this, before. It's only a small aspect of the freedom I'm trying to reclaim, but one I'm excited to have back nonetheless."

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Is there anyone in the whump community currently obsessing over these two guys or is it just me?

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Can't Sleep

First day back from imprisonment/captivity/a long, forced separation of some sort, and Whumpee can't sleep -

But not because of nightmares or wounds or trauma or the noise of the hospital around them. It's because their friends or other members of their team keep sneaking into their room to check on them, as though Whumpee might disappear on them again if left alone for longer than ten minutes.

Every time Whumpee slowly starts to drift off, the door squeaks open again. Every time Whumpee blinks their eyes open and catches one of them at it, they grimace and apologize and quickly leave -

Until Whumpee just heaves a long sigh, throws one of their pillows at the door, and calls out "Hey, if you're all going to hover out there like anxious butterflies all night, can one of you at least make me some tea or something...?"

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“Come near me and you’ll regret it.”

A’s voice was low, deadly, their entire body hunched forward like they were ready to lunge, to attack. B held up their hands, placating and calming. Or tried to be. Their own patience was running thin.

“That wound is not going to clean and wrap itself.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.” A had their hands on either side of them on the mattress of the hospital bed they sat on, the plastic sheet crinkling in their white knuckled grip, ready to push themself up.

B raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’ll slowly bleed out. Or it will get infected. Both very bad, very painful ways to die.”

“I know pain, I can handle it.” A spat back. They were repeatedly glancing at the door, eyeing the distance. B knew they wouldn’t make it, with that gash in their leg and what probably was a broken rib, they wouldn’t even make it one step towards the door.

B also had no doubt it wouldn’t stop them from crawling out if they had to. They’d probably pass out trying, and then start it all up again as soon as they came to.

“Did you hear the part about dying?”

“I’m not gonna fucking die. I’m not dying, shut up. I can fucking beat you and anyone who gets in my fucking way.” A was panting at the end of the sentence.

B didn’t doubt A’s words, they would fight tooth and nail. But they could also see through their vicious words. They could hear the hitch of pain in their breath, the nervous energy that gave way to anger. A was doing everything they could to hide the tremble in their body, their racing heart.

B sighed, defeated. They wouldn’t be able to reason with this one.

“Ok. If you want to leave without getting treated, then go.” B stepped away from the door, giving A a free way.

A’s eyes thinned in suspicion, then they glanced at the door again.

After a moment of hesitation A moved, pushing themself from the bed to standing and made a hasty step forward.

B was ready before A faltered and stumbled to the floor.

A growled against B’s outstretched arms, immediately trying to push them away. But B was faster, needle already in hand. A didn’t see it, they only felt the prick of it and B could feel them tense in their arms, see their eyes widen in shock, then fear.

“Nh- No, you fucking- get away from me!” A scrambled to push away from B and B let them. This time they fell to the floor, unceremoniously crumpling to a heap. They cried out at the impact, but as B had predicted, they immediately started to crawl their way to the door.

B waited a beat, watching how one movement slowed after the other, how A’s limbs got heavier as they struggled closer to their freedom. Then they bent down and picked A up, lifting them back up to the bed. A was struggling and pushing at B, even trying to turn their head and bite B when their arms gave way. But A’s strength left too quickly and B all but slammed them onto the bed.

“Nhh, no, no, you fucking bastard. I’ll kill you, you-” A’s voice had turned whiny now, high pitched.

“Trust me, this is better than an infection.”

“No, I don’t want-”

“It doesn’t matter what you want. You’re not dying on my watch.”

B watched as the last of A’s struggles thinned out and how their eyes drooped closed but didn’t let go of them until they were sure A was out.

Then they took a deep sigh and started to prepare their tools in blissful quiet.

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Whump Prompt #862

I love the image of an emergency evacuation - when the caretakers decide their current location is too unsafe for the whumpee to recover in:

“It’s not safe here, we need to go.”

Hastily packing up A’s meds and other stolen supplies into a backpack. 

Coaxing A from their nap and stuffing shoes on their uncooperating feet. 

Ensuring A is bundled in the most comfortable clothes that still allow for access to change bandages/inspect the wounds. 

Maybe their clothes are the bloodstained ones they were brought to the location in. 

“Where’re we goin’?” A slurs, either being carried bridal style, via piggyback or pushed in a wheelchair. 

“Shh, just sleep, A, we’ll sort everything out, just focus on resting, alright?”

“You comfy back there, A?” The driver says, giving a tight smile to the rear-view mirror at A, who is leaning heavily on B. A smiles tiredly. 

“The fevers worse, we should stop.” B says, feeling the worrying amount of heat radiate from A’s forehead. 

“Just a few more miles, I want to make sure we’re far enough.”

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

A terrified whumpee whose body is exhausted from the intense trembling but they still can’t stop quivering. Warmth cocoons them as Caretaker wraps a blanket around them and pulls them down onto the couch before their shaky legs give out. Once seated, Caretaker curls up behind the whumpee and wraps their arms around their shaking form until they feel whumpee’s hands grab theirs and pull them close to their rapidly moving chest. Caretaker murmurs words of encouragement and keeps telling them that they’re ok and nothing is going to happen to them. Whumpee mumbles something about having a living weighted blanket and they feel Caretaker smile against the back of their clammy neck.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

then imagine caretaker being called in to try and calm whumpee down, but it’s too late. whumpee’s voice lashes out like wind, speaking tongues only the ancients know, their power overtaking their own body, ichor dripping from gashes—no longer human, nor ever will be again. there’s nothing caretaker can even do anymore, it’s far too late

but even now, whumpee softens around caretaker. through the mania, they remember the shape of caretaker’s soul and wish no harm upon them, even after laying devastation into the world around them

AUGH EVIL. Oh okay, I never really considered if there’d be a point of no return. If whumpee could become so overcome with their magic that they’ll never fully recover from it, that they could lose their humanity to it.

I’m sure the fate for such mages isn’t pleasant. Are they allowed to burn out in an empty field, magic still sputtering out of their broken body? Are they shot and killed from a distance? Darted and held captive like a wild animal, prodded by scientists still trying to use them? Mages are already treated like ticking time bombs, like weapons with a human mind attached to them. Imagine how they’d be treated if that human mind were to shatter.

I hope you know that I love your idea. Whumpee being gone, everything of who they were carved out and replaced with power and glee, and yet something of them remaining. A fragment, an after image burned into their hollow body. Sometimes the voice speaking in incomprehensible tongues sounds like them. Sometimes the way their body twitches, wracked with power, seems familiar. Sometimes their smile softens, if only for a moment.

It’s not enough to save. It’s just the residue of who Whumpee was, nothing more. But it’s enough to be recognizable. And it gives Caretaker just enough hope to march through the chaos and destruction to reach them.

Caretaker knows what they’re supposed to do. They feel the weight of the weapon at their side, remember that it’s their duty to control Whumpee, not save them. Caretaker knows that a good handler would see that Whumpee is too far gone and put an end to the madness. Uncontrollable weapons need to be put down.

But then Whumpee looks at them. There’s nothing but madness in those eyes, but they’re still Whumpee’s eyes. Even clouded with magic, even covered with blood both their own and foreign, even fully overtaken by power Caretaker could never hope to understand, it’s still Whumpee. And at that moment Caretaker realizes they’d rather die to Whumpee than kill them.

But they don’t die. Even with the chaos around them, Caretaker is never touched. Whumpee’s gaze moves past them, their magic does not harm them. They feel like they’re in the eye of the storm, walking within a cocoon of safety while screams tear through the air. Whumpee does not hear Caretaker’s pleas, their desperate demands that they stop. Caretaker never truly believed that they would have. But Whumpee doesn’t hurt Caretaker either.

Caretaker knows what they should do, what the right thing to do is. Whumpee doesn’t see them as a threat. It’d be simple to kill them.

Caretaker lets the blade from limp fingers and reach out. They grab one of Whumpee’s sparking, twitching hands and squeeze. They like to imagine that, when Whumpee’s hand tightens around their own, it’s a conscious decision.

They’ve never left Whumpee alone in their madness. If Caretaker can’t pull them back, then the least they can do is walk alongside them.

And so they walk with Whumpee as the world is torn apart around them.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Bonus points if it's Caretaker handing it to them because it's the only pain relief available, and they're in a situation where they can't afford for Whumpee to panic.

Non smoker whumpee desperately smoking a cigarette to help null the pain/calm themselves down 👌

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"I just-" Whumpee's fingers curled into a fist. "I'm not broken, Caretaker."

"I know that, honey."

"I, I'm not." Tears slipped down their face. "I'm not broken. Right?"

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

31 & 15 plz?

Fevers + forced drugging

CW: Feverish character making inappropriate gestures at another person. Forced giving of medicine. TIMELINE: Future Kauri, just after he cuts out the shock implants and shows up at Nat's safehouse

"Come on, little man, open up."

Kauri giggles, turning his head to look, bleary-eyed, up at Jake. The safehouse worker and college-aged pet lib volunteer leans over him, yellowed hair nearly white from the time he spends in the sun.

Tan skin and sun-streaked hair - he even smells like the sun, warm and pure.

Kauri wants to fuck him so badly, just to know what someone who looks like that is like.

Kauri rolls on his side on the couch and there's a flash of pain, lancing through his mind from the bandaged place on his collarbone. He reaches out and snags Jake's waistband with clammy fingers, pulling him closer.

"Okay," Kauri half-slurs, and giggles again. "Wan', want to. Bet you're big. I can take big. I learned, in training-"

Jake tenses, and then gently extricates Kauri's fingers, peeling them off the denim just as he fumbles open the button and starts dragging, clumsy and uncoordinated, at the zipper.

"No, little man. You're too sick for that. Plus, you... I don't, with pets. We need to clean out that wound and you... really need to be asleep for that."

Kauri shakes his head, and the world spins a little. "Don' need to. I'm okay."

Jake sighs and takes his arm. Kauri tries to pull away but his grip is tight, too tight to escape, and when Kauri whimpers pain twists in the larger man's eyes.

"It's okay, little man," He says, softly. "It's okay. Just a little pinprick. You'll wake up feeling a ton better, I promise."

"Nooooo, I don't like needles. Just... jus' no. I don't like those, I don't."

When he sees the needle, Kauri clenches his eyes shut and pulls away as hard as he can. Jake holds him still effortlessly, like he has no strength at all.

Maybe he doesn't.

Maybe all his strength ran out when he jumped out of Owen's car.

"Sssshhhh, you're doing great," Jake says, softly, and there's an awful pinch. "You're a good kid, Kauri. We're going to help you get better. Count back from ten."

Kauri blinks, feeling a sudden lurch of woozy exhaustion.

"10... 9..."

His head drops back onto the couch and he takes a deep, even breath in sleep.