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[showyourhand]

“Oh, Angel, you’ve been so quiet today. I hardly noticed you.”

[showyourhand]

royal whump scenario where a servant witnesses the heir to the throne makes a mistake in their training—they flinch away during sparring. They dare to raise a hand to protect their face.

The heir, without waiting for their trainer to speak, drops to their knees and pulls their shirt off over their head. Their bottom lip trembles. They don’t beg they don’t speak they merely bow their head with the full crushing knowledge that mistakes cannot be made. Their back is already scarred with winding lines that crisscross their skin. And their trainer lifts a short-handled whip, “I really thought you would have learned courage by now.”

The servant presses back into the corner, a hand clasped over their mouth, horror burning like a newborn flame. They make brief eye contact with the heir and see fear— raw and pleading. The heir‘s gaze darts away almost instantly, faster than a moth in flight, as the whip cracks down

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two characters get into a fight - they usually get along, but they’re arguing now, and it gets physical. there’s no problem with that, it’s not like they’re going to kill each other. it’s all fine, until one character is triggered by how they’ve just been pinned, or the grip on their arm, or getting hit and losing their breath - and then, it’s less of a fight and more of a silently panicked guy getting taken down too easily.

[showyourhand]

Answers to "it hurts"

I know (apologetically)

I know (condescendingly)

It's supposed to

Good

I'm sorry

It'll be over soon

Stop whining

And it'll get worse if you don't *insert threat*

Well it wouldn't have to if you didn't *insert mistake*

You're supposed to say 'thank you'

I love hearing you say that

This is nothing, I'll show you actual pain

Get used to it

You'll get used to it

Stop lying

At least you still feel it

Shut up

Why don't you beg me to stop, then?

Can't be that bad if you're still talking

I don't care

Did I ask?

It's the only way you'll learn

You can take it

Answers to "please stop"

[showyourhand]

The whumpee trying so hard to fight off something mentally, either exhaustion, brainwashing, some kind of drug to enhance or prohibit their powers, etc. They know they can’t fight it off forever, so they warn their caretaker(s) to leave them.

[showyourhand]

"I think you know perfectly well what I want from you. You're just pretending you don't because you're holding out hope that I'll change my mind."

[showyourhand]

There's something so terrifyingly beautiful about mind control.

Just imagine- a Whumpee who knows about Whumper's ability. As soon as they end up alone with them and realize what's going to happen, they panic. They attempt to get away, to stay out of Whumper's reach, to fight.

When that fails, they resort to choked pleas, backing away though they know it's futile. Their eyes warily scan the grinning Whumper, who is walking towards them at a painfully slow pace, aware of the fact that they have them cornered. As their back presses against the cold wall, and Whumper's hand delicately makes its way towards their face, Whumpee freezes.

Whumper's fingers gently brush against their face, the cold touch causing them to shiver.

"Don't fight me."

Their voice is sweet as they speak, so much so that, if they didn't know better, Whumpee would think this was their medium. But as Whumper's hand settles on their cheek, and their mind starts becoming foggy, that idea is discarded.

"You'll feel so much better afterwards, you'll see. Just let me in."

Whumpee grimaces, desperately trying to hold onto their thoughts. their thoughts. their, their, THEIR-

"There we go."

As Whumpee's facial features relax, their breathing slows down, and their expression goes blank, Whumper knows they've won.

Whumpee's mind is theirs now.

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Thinking about a whumper that gets gentler and more possessive over time, using far less extreme tactics now that the whumpee knows what they could get. How they might pull the horrified whumpee from a terrifying situation, telling them they could be safe forever so long as they’re obedient. How the whumpee is terrified for the other shoe to drop in this new personality.

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Whump scenario of the day: two characters with a close connection, captured together and separated from each other.

Loaded in a transport van, each cuffed with a bag over the head. Unable to even look at each other, closely monitored by guards to ensure no communication.

Desperate attempts to reach out with cuffed hands, to brush mere fingertips, to touch once more before whatever comes next. Knowing this could be the end, these may well be their final moments in each other's presence.

Taken their separate ways inside a prison, with no way of knowing where the other is.

Enduring harsh tortures, always with the image of the other in their mind. Submitting to their captors' whims - begging as pathetically as they know how, crawling at their feet, licking their boots - anything to be entertaining, to hopefully divert attention from the other. Anything to protect them.

Being promised the other's safety if they cooperate. Hearing reports of the other being tortured - guards laughing in their face, taunting them with reports of how nicely their friend screamed for them earlier. Being threatened with the other's death. Being told the other is already dead. Hearing contradictory information. Hearing nothing at all.

Screaming their name during long nights alone in a cell, as if they could hear. There's no response. Of course there isn't.

Having no way of knowing what is true, what is a lie. Hoping against hope that the other is alive, that one day they'll be able to break out and save them from this hell.

[showyourhand]

Prompt #12: Captured Knight

She tasted blood in her mouth. Grit pricked her chin. The sun hurt her eyes as she cracked them open. She groaned as aches in her body gradually made themselves known.

A boot nudged her ribs. She had been stripped of her armor, otherwise she wouldn’t have felt it. The hard toe met a bruise beneath the soft padding.

“Get up.”

She flexed her fingers, feeling her hands for the first time since regaining consciousness. Her wrists stayed stubbornly fixed beside her head, level to her shoulders. An iron bar rested on her shoulders and neck, to which her wrists were chained.

The command came again. “Get. Up.”

That would prove difficult with her hands immobile. Slowly, she began to pull the bar over her head to get her hands in front. She barely moved an inch when she was stopped by pressure on her throat. What felt like leather encircled her neck, attached to the metal bar by a ring.

The boot hit her ribs again. “I said get up.”

“I can’t.”

The edge of a sword scrapped her cheek. She froze, barely breathing, as the point hovered over her eye. “Do it.”

The sword disappeared. The knight huffed and braced one end of the restraint against the ground to push herself up. In a few minutes of humiliated shuffling, she managed to get her knees beneath her and her stomach off the ground. She sat on her heels, breathing heavily. She blew some loose strands of hair from her face.

Her captor became impatient. He grabbed the bar and hauled her to her feet. A push behind her shoulder blades got her walking towards a procession of prisoners, all shackled in the same manner.

She was shoved to the back of the line. A chain was clipped to her collar, making her part of the train.

The slavers mounted their horses. A whip crack against the ground startled the captives into a doomed walk. The knight was dragged along, among the prisoners she had tried to save.

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Caretaker bursts from sleep and jolts upright in bed, gasping for breath. He feels the clutches of the nightmare grudgingly release him, and the tight band of pressure around his chest eases, just a little.

Ugh. Another nightmare.

He sighs deeply, and sits up, bowing his head down between his knees in tiredness and resignation. He doesn’t get them that often, but they really take it out of him when they do happen. He closes his eyes and rubs at his face with hands, trying to wipe the visions away. His hands are wet.

What?

Confused, he opens his eyes and stares at his palms. They’re red. Wet. Fear stabs through him. Soaked with blood.

As his heart floods with terror, he suddenly notices the feeling of wet around his thighs too, coating his side, soaking the bed sheets, and the hot metallic smell of blood filling the air.

He turns about in a panic, twisting within the sheets, and then he notices the form of Whumpee, curled up, sleeping beside him. Soaked to the skin in blood. He freezes.

“Whumpee? Whumpee!” he gasps. This can’t be happening. He was just sleeping there, next to him! He reaches his trembling, bloodied hands out to shake Whumpee’s shoulders, which loll limply. His skin is pale. There’s so much blood. Pouring out of Whumpee, draining him, staining him the crimson of death. “Oh god,” Caretaker gasps. “Oh god no. No no no no.” He shakes Whumpee’s lifeless form roughly, hyperventilating as he feels Whumpee’s body cold underneath his fingers. He turns him, and wild, panicked eyes meet glassy, dead ones. No. No no NO NO NO-

Caretaker bursts from sleep and jolts upright in bed, gasping for breath.

The room is the same. He’s sitting upright in his bed again. The band of pressure is like a vice around his chest. He pants rapidly. What is happening?

Whumpee stirs beside him, blinking and rubbing his eyes sleepily. He looks alarmed as Caretaker turns to face him, his eyes still wide and his chest heaving. It takes a few seconds for Caretaker to register exactly what he’s seeing, and then he throws himself at Whumpee, clutching him tight. He’s safe. He’s alive, he’s ok. This is real. That wasn’t.

“Oh god. Whumpee. I…” He can’t complete the sentence, instead focusing on trying to draw in breaths as the pressure in his chest gradually dissipates, like ice melting in the warmth of the embrace. Whumpee, confused, raises his arms to cradle the figure clinging so tightly to him. “What’s wrong?” he asks gently.

“Ngh,” Caretaker chokes out a groan. “…Bad dream.”

Normally he wouldn’t elaborate. His nightmares are mild compared to Whumpee’s, and he’s never been much of a one to bare his feelings. Talking about the dreams doesn’t change that they happened. He should just rake his fingers through his hair and shake his head as usual, as if it will shed the visions away, but this nightmare has left him shaken, vulnerable in a way he would usually try to hide.

“You were… there was so much blood, I… oh god.” He screws his face up as the smell and the slickness of it echo in his mind. Whumpee strokes the back of his hair soothingly, pressing him close. A mirror of how this normally goes; with Whumpee starting from sleep in terror, shaking, and Caretaker holding him and reassuring him until the nightmares fade.

“It’s ok. It was only a dream,” Whumpee whispers. Caretaker’s favourite line to use for him.

Caretaker nods, trying to convince himself. His breaths start to come a little deeper.

“I could really have done with not knowing what that would feel like, though,” he grinds out through clenched teeth.

Whumpee nods sadly, and shifts to cuddle him closer. They don’t say anything else, just cling to each other in the quiet dark for what feels like hours. The awful clarity of the nightmare and the emotions it wrought begin to fade away from Caretaker’s mind, and he focuses in instead on the calm and regular rumble of Whumpee’s breathing.

In. Out. In. Out. Soon his own breathing matches it.

“Thanks,” he mutters eventually, not moving his head from Whumpee’s chest. Whumpee responds by placing a gentle kiss into his hair. Eventually, Caretaker lets his eyes drift closed again, knowing that Whumpee is safe and with him, and slips away into sleep. There are no more nightmares for either of them that night.

[showyourhand]

Collars, and the stories they can tell.

Iron bands with a single loop to hold a chain or leash, practical over aesthetics. Strong and unwavering, maybe freshly forged, maybe rusted with age, the latch once used to shut it sealed into a closed shape by oxidized metal.

Ornate silken collars, woven for strength and design. It catches the light in unique ways, revealing patterns in each glint. Crafted with love and meant to be soft on the neck, a gentle way to assert control. What does it mean when that collar's covered in mud and ripped apart?

Pronged chain, too tight and digging in no matter how the neck is positioned. Rusty, new, it doesn't matter, what matters more is the neck beneath. Wounds, fresh or old, thick with scar tissue or supple and raw.

Simple leather, a practical and comfortable thing, yet it could mean so many things in its variability. A thin band to hold a price tag, a braided and beaded way to honor a warrior, a spiked collar to keep a neck protected, or simply a way to hold a nametag.

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Vampire whumpee escapes but they still have the manmade device to prevent them from biting stuck to their face. It's painful, uncomfortable, and prevents them from feeding. They can't speak with it on even, or really move their mouth in general. The device is only fitted for blood bags to be slipped in afterall.

Taking it off without the proper tools and know-how is drastic. It could really hurt whumpee, or leave permanent damage behind, like accidental defanging. Whumpee doesn't want that so they're adamant on not letting anyone come close to their face.

But they can't just leave it on. Whumpee will starve, and frenzies will only do more harm than good since they can't sink their teeth into anything. Maybe by the time someone gets it off whumpee won't be thinking right, or haven fallen into lethargy before a second death.

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just… give me whumpees getting dehumanized to hell, getting gagged and restrained and manhandled and inspected and called pretty… give me a whumpee who gets treated like a toy, an accessory, a decoration, arm candy, a prize— I don’t care just make them exist to make you look good

[showyourhand]

Whump Prompts: Restraints

Content: Non-con kissing, restraints, immortal whump, creepy whumper, defiant whumpee, non-con drugging, gags.

Kissing a gagged whumpee's mouth and holding them by the chin to stop them from moving.

Caretaker/Carewhumper rubbing aloe vera on Whumpee's rope burn (wrists, ankles, etc.)

Being hung from the ceiling by the wrists or the ankles. Perhaps both, with their legs pulled up behind them in a stress position.

A creepy whumper tying their defiant whumpee up and drugging them so they can contently brush their hair without any resistance.

Tying a whumpee up with their own clothes.

Strapping a whumpee to a board with every limb stretched passed their limits.

Gagging a whumpee with rope. Drying their mouth out and possibly burning the sides of their mouth.

Restraining them with zip ties that are too tight around their wrists and ankles. The constant pinching and irritation leaving them whimpering and wriggling for a more comfortable position that doesn't exist.

dragging an immortal behind a car by their neck.

Injuring themselves just so they can escape their restraints.

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One trope I love is those few moments after Whumpee has been rescued, but before they’ve been released from restraints:

1. Throwing themselves against their binds because they just want to embrace Caretaker, who is keeping a cautious distance until they can assess threat/damage

2. Caretaker frantically asking if they’re alright even before they’ve removed Whumpee’s gag

3. When getting the restraints off wrists or ankles is the priority, leaving Whumpee to huff or whimper behind their gag until one of the rescuers finally removes it

4. Caretaker or other rescuers are in the room and Whumper is gone, but they need to check Whumpee’s restraints aren’t booby-trapped before they release them

5. Caretaker is badly injured or the room is dark, so they have to undo Whumpee’s binds by feel or with shaking hands

6. Whumper is still a threat, so getting Whumpee away from them as quickly as possible is a priority over untying them

7. Caretaker is so overcome with relief that all they want to do at first is hold Whumpee, until a muffled noise reminds Caretaker they’re still bound and gagged

8. Whumpee’s restraints are all locked, so Caretaker has to leave them again to go and find the keys

9. Whumpee is blindfolded and thinks it’s Whumper returning for them, either throwing out weak but defiant insults or begging them not to hurt them again.

[showyourhand]

Whumptober Day 2 Prompt - Caged

At the end of each day, Whumper locks a muzzled Whumpee in a narrow cage that they then slide under their bed. The cage is so small that Whumpee is barely able to move until Whumper lets them out again. They spend the night and then the morning willing the dent in the mattress above them to finally wake.

Too bad that Whumper is a fan of sleeping in.