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Whumpee with Whumper as their emergency contact

Whumper doesn't know that they are, so they are surprised when they get a call one day from the hospital stating that a patient named Whumpee has come in.

Whumper knows who that is, is curious why they are listed and not Caretaker, so they go to the hospital to find out.

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Hey, friends! I made a quiz! ✨️

I've never done one before so be gentle, but it will tell you which of my living weapon OCs you'd be!

I'd love to hear your results if you do it!! I can go further into the details of the character if you want, too. Have fun!

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Every day, Whumpee is brought to a room with a bolted chair, a tray of tools, and a mirror.

They're tortured to a brutal degree. Whumpee screams, sobbing through the pain, “Why!? Why are you doing th-this? Just tell me what you w-want!”

Their captors never speak; whumpee's never even heard their voices. Sometimes, they grab their face and force them to look into the mirror bleeding, shaking, barely conscious.

Then the moment ends, and it starts all over again.

On the other side of the glass sits Caretaker, watching while unharmed and being questioned.

Every time they don’t have an answer, whumpee takes the hit.

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🤌🏾

brainwashing tropes are fantastic and I love a deep POV whumpee fighting against their own mind but I just had a vision of the team, weapons raised against a feral opponent wearing the face of their friend, turning towards caretaker/leader/whoever knows them best. "you're the only one they'll listen to. Tell them to stand down."

caretakers with hoarse, pleading voices, hands raised in surrender. "it's me, you know me! why are we fighting? you don't want to hurt us!"

leaders who hate their authority, commanding a firm, no-nonsense tone. "weapons down, Whumpee. that's an order."

brawn characters, arms outstretched, speaking plainly. "come on. y'know i don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to."

the rest of the team waits with bated breath. if this doesn't work, blood will be spilled. their last hope of getting Whumpee back relies on one character's words. that tense, pleading standoff, conflict in their eyes.

does it work? or does it take a fight to wake their friend from the nightmare?

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🤌🏾 chef's kiss!!

Wahh anyone got any good whump scenarios bouncing around their head that they'd like to share with the class?

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Addicted hero with supplier villain

Hero takes meds to numb their physical and mental pain, knows it's hurting them more but they can't/won't stop.

Villaim provides but only if they get what they want from Hero. Favors, using Hero like a weapon or forcing them to hench for them. One day, Hero is out and begging Villain for more.

Villain agrees but only if Hero turns on their team.

"Either confess your little secret to your team..."

"I can't..."

"Or, you didn't let me finish, leave them. Work for me. Give yourself to me and I will take the pain from you permanently."

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Something about a whumpee with regenerative powers. No one really takes it seriously when they get injured cause it really will just grow back. Even the whumpee is a bit blasé about their wounds.

But when the team completely ignores them in favor of another teammate’s injuries, not even stopping to give the whumpee pain medicine…

That’s a pain their body can’t fix.

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Writing down part of a whumpy dream I had last night so I don't forget to write it out later.

Captured and sold into a strange kind of servitude. Kept in a facility with tiled walls and tiny rooms lining corridors. There's 10-20 others here of a variety of genders. I meet a soft spoken woman that I am delivering items to (my first task). She is setting up her room with new items since she saved up enough money from the little jobs we get used for.

I am assigned to a tall, thin man. He smokes cigarettes and promises to take care of me as long as I work hard. He gifts me a radio for my tiny room.

My first big job is to drive with him across town to pay respects at a funeral. I'm dolled up and silent as he drives. He talks about how I need to control my emotions because my heartbeat will give me away if I'm not careful. His knuckles tap my chest rhythmically as he talks.

Funeral is a big affair. I stick close to my tall man and politely engage when I'm spoken to. I'm given a name that isn't mine and I roll with it. At some point I get very dizzy and I collapse, making everyone rush over. In my head I'm terrified I'm doing something wrong by making a scene and I'll get in trouble, but I can't move. Someone pours water into my mouth and I'm lifted and moved into a car.

(That's all I remember)

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Brutus II

On the walkway, surrounded by the hiss of overheated mechanical joints and the shouts of other staff as they try to work around them, the medics try to resuscitate a pilot.

There's five of them, an appropriate amount for the task, but to Eigen, it made the space far too crowded. Their hands were folded one over the other and settled over the sternum of one very still, very injured Brutus. They rocked their weight down in textbook compressions as the medic across from them called out orders.

The Guerrilla peered down with four massive eyes, making Eigen keenly aware of all the eyes in the hangar. Watching. Critical of every move, every second that went by that the pilot did not make a move.

They were failing her.

Eigen had never met Brutus. Most pilots received their maintenance from their handlers and not the regular medical team. They were only called upon for emergencies and this station had been lucky to not have many of those. Eigen spent most of their time treating scrapes, burns, and the occasional broken bone.

But now? Here was a pilot, a great hero of stellar battles, under their hands, in their care.

With no heartbeat.

A curse finds its way between Eigen's gritted teeth. 'I'm not failing you, Brutus. I won't.'

A call for defibrillation has them moving back and lifting their hands, waiting. The spidery machine clamps onto Brutus' bruised ribcage and, for a moment, every muscle in the woman's body tenses before relaxing. The AED drone eases its grip, but does not move. It waits for a other command.

With bated breath, Eigen leans forward to hover an ear over the pale lips, fingers searching at the throat.

"Pulse restored. We got her." Brutus breathes in short, whispering bursts against the medic's cheek and they watch the shaky movements of the (definitely broken) ribs. They sigh through their nose, relieved, before straightening their back.

"Let's move her. Ain't out of the woods yet."

The stretcher hums to life, lifting the pilot a few feet from the ground and the team guides her through the crowd of cheering mechanics and techs. Eigen winces, glancing back at the Guerrilla .45 and its dark gaze. The machine's body reflected the damage seen on its pilot and mechanics raced to stop leaks, reset joints, and pump fuel back into vital areas.

Brutus. Guerrilla. 45.

Machine. Weapon. Damaged. Dying.

(Thank you @syncopein3d for the spider defib idea!)

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His pilot is failing.

He stands with the others, watching the screens displaying her vitals and gritting his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache.

His pilot, his sweet, talkative, smart little pilot is DYING and he can only stand there and watch.

The mechanics are racing along the platforms outside the control room, preparing to secure the massive mech being piloted into the hangar by the reckless (and still dying) pilot.

"Come on, Brutus. Get in here." His voice is low and grating. His eyes watch as a new screen pops up. HULL DAMAGED. PILOT OXYGEN AT 86%.

Not good.

The scream of the too-fast flight grows louder and the shimmering diamond hull of the Guerrilla .45 comes into view. Someone is shouting to brace and the flying armor slams into the securing station with enough force to shake the entire hangar. Clamps descend from the ceiling and clamp the mech under its arms as its feet are locked into place. Naturally, the machine shuts down and the chassis, crisscrossed with jagged gashes, opens with a groan to reveal its pilot.

Brutus hangs limply in her harness, her hands slack around the dual helms and her curls falling loose from a high bun. Smoke winds lazily from the dash and the screens before him blare again. HULL CONTAINMENT DISENGAGED. PILOT OXYGEN 80%.

"Get her the fuck out of there!" Someone orders beside him. His boots seem to be made of lead as he watches the medical team swarms the Guerrilla. Brutus is lowered from the cockpit and settled onto a stretcher on the floor. He loses sight of her immediately but he understands what is happening all at once. He sees one of the medics begin bobbing in a steady, rhythmic pattern just as the HUD overhead reads a perfect little flatline. 'Oh, Brutus...'

His pilot is failing.

(Continue?)

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Really obsessed with the idea of "pulled from the machine too quickly" whump

Mech pilot that plugs into a massive mech suit and is ripped away from the machine before they have time to prepare

Exploration of normally unsafe places through a human body piloting a robot that is elsewhere and forgetting what it's like to be human after unplugging from the devices

Shaking, nausea, seizures from the sudden throwback into a soft mortal shell

Misfiring ports that cause memory loss, temporary blindness, or arrhythmias

Addiction to the power of the machine, the highs of that strength and freedom

Overdoses on stimulants to keep the human body powered enough to continue piloting

Uuugh I want to read fics or RP this right tf now

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tiktok stunt haha funny. please talk about the ice raids

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i love this character so much......i hope they get seriously injured and almost die

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im a fucking sucker for the “character gets so badly injured that they can’t think clearly and start calling for help in a distressingly vulnerable way.” characters who start using nicknames for their friends they haven’t used since they were kids. characters who start begging for their brother they haven’t seen in years to be there. characters who would usually use their parents’ names or call them mother/father/etc crying out mama when they go down. u understand.

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woah this character is so cool i wish they were covered in blood their whole body trembling with a look of absolute horror on their face as theyre struggling to breathe in panic

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RULES!

No AI-generated content

Please tag this account if you post your challenge submissions on Tumblr and use the tag 'medwhump may' (as in the tags of this post)

For completionists, all 31 days must be completed (using either the daily prompt or an alt prompt)

Have fun!

I will update these rules if necessary! Happy whumping!

Please reblog this to get the word out :)