#whumper pitting whumpees against each other

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League — Dead Ringer, part III

Masterlist

Summary: (Continued from part II) The foreshadowed and promised caning. August is punished by Keats and loses any progress he might have made in making a friend. Takes place two years before August meets Wyatt. Beta-read by @alittlewhump!

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, indentured servitude, classism, degradation, manhandling, implied past noncon, burn mention, implied starvation, punishment (caning). Whumper pitting whumpees against each other and being a bully.

“It’s been a spell since I’ve seen you, Fionn,” Keats said, his back to August as he fingered Fionn’s bowtie. “I truly wondered if I’d gotten it right with this new one.” He circled Fionn, keeping an open hand pressed to his throat as he moved to stand behind him. A python holding its prey. “Isn’t he just perfect?” He leaned down, just shy of putting his chin on Fionn’s shoulder so their faces lined up as they regarded August. 

Or, rather, as Keats did. Fionn started ahead unblinking, unseeing. 

Their master must have been wise to his absence but rather than turn angry, he smirked and winked at August conspiratorially. “I think—” He pulled Fionn closer, forcing him to stand taller by the hand at his throat, and placed the end of the cane between Fionn’s feet. “He’s even better than the last.” 

Fionn’s expression crumpled, something of a whimper escaping his lips. His hands at his sides were trembling fists. 

Keats laughed, the movement shaking both of them for how close together they stood. His hand at the top of the cane between Fionn’s hips pulling him nearer still. 

August averted his eyes, all too aware of Keats watching his every move, feasting on his reactions as encouragement. 

“My, my, you have been missing me, haven’t you?” Keats continued, too loudly for it to be an honest exchange. All of this was just another game. “Poor wretched thing…”  

How long had Fionn been up here alone? How long for him to be melting into the embrace as if it were salvation and not something wicked?

Some years ago, August had stumbled upon a tangle of limbs at Elmwood. A footman who’d always given him sour glances with one of the stablehands whom he wouldn’t have been able to pick out of the lot of them. He’d turned and run, abandoning whatever errand he’d been sent on and later refusing to return to complete it when he was discovered skulking in the servant’s hall. The footman had taken it on to make August’s life miserable, a display of influence and power, to dissuade him from becoming loose-lipped. 

He didn’t realize that August was afraid to even admit to seeing the depravity, fearing any association with it. They’d all been warned about perversions at the workhouse. Had once watched a pair of boys whipped bloody on the racks before being dragged to prison for the crime. With little to look forward to after the workhouse, the boys often occupied themselves ranking the various types of labour they might find themselves indentured to. Among the worst were mining for the stories of being buried alive; factory work that would cost fingers at a time;   being shipped to America only to drown on the voyage; and digging sewers whilst knee-deep in shit. 

It was a taunting game to assign these wretched fortunes, same as it was an indulgent fantasy to allow themselves to wonder at being chosen by a tradesman, a farmer who’d never had a son, or a shopkeeper in the city in need of an assistant. But after that day, they had been armed with the ultimate derision, born of their shock and fear: Handsomer boys could be bought by twisted men and damned to suffer Hell twofold. 

 So, August was more than relieved when Keats said, “None of that today, Fionn.” Though the promise in his admonishing tone made August’s stomach flip. Fionn shivered as he was released but remained standing at sharp attention. “I’m not sure if August has informed you, Fionn, but he made a mistake earlier today and we agreed that the natural course of punishment would be the cane—”

“Sir, I thought—” The slap surprised August, a flash of pain on his cheek that brought tears to his eyes. 

“You will learn to hold your tongue and speak only when invited.”

He clenched his fists at his side. 

“Where was I? We agreed the transgression was deserving of the cane. I’m sure you’ll agree, Fionn.”

“Yessir,” came his well-trained reply, face betraying no emotion.

August swallowed. He hadn’t imagined they’d formed any sort of understanding in such a short time, let alone some sort of alliance, but it still felt like something of a betrayal for Fionn to simply accept this course of events. Perhaps it was purely self-preservation, which August ought to imitate rather than resent. 

Their master tapped the end of his cane on the floor. “On your knees now like a good boy.” 

There was less shame in simply sinking to the floor. At the very least, he’d be able to hide his reddened face from—

Keats snapped his fingers and August found himself hanging by his bowtie and collar, the oaf holding him from behind. He scrambled to put his feet back under him and straighten, reflexively gasping in a breath as he did, though he wasn’t released. 

“You are slow,” Keats observed, grabbing August’s chin in a bruising grip. He turned his head left and right, inspecting him with those beady eyes. “I hope you’ll wind up being worth all of this trouble.” He released August and stepped aside. “I didn’t tell you to move.”

Fionn was on his knees. 

“What?” August should have expected the slap this time. Tears spilled down his cheeks but he did his best to ignore them. “He didn’t do anything. Sir, the…mistake was mine, the punishment should be as well.” Keats raised his hand and August cowered as much as he could with the lackey still gripping his collar.

Keats let his hand fall. He paced back and forth like he was having a constitutional through garden instead of threatening his kept boys, cane tapping along with his heels on the hardwood. “You were agreeable downstairs. You thanked me so graciously for sparing you from the cane.” 

“Sir, please.” His voice notched higher, made thinner by the pressure on his throat. “I didn’t understand this to be what it meant. I never meant for—”

“You are astonishingly dull-witted.” 

“Please, sir. I’ll gladly take the cane myself. He shouldn’t have to pay for my error.” Fionn hadn’t even spared him a momentary glance and August couldn’t blame him. There was little chance they’d find camaraderie after this. 

“An admirable sentiment and certainly meaningful as we are learning that your shortcomings far outnumber your strengths.” August felt his cheeks burn, his blood boiling with hatred for this man who was so visibly sated by the suffering he could cause. “Perhaps next time you will employ more of your limited discernment to make a better choice.”

He seethed, holding tightly to his anger rather than dissolve into hot tears of defeat. He wanted to scream, to lunge at Keats and beat him with his own cane, but he couldn’t take a step – let alone hope to best two bigger men. 

Keats was smirking. “Yes, best not to fight and make things worse for poor, old Fionn.” At that, Fionn let his gaze fall, just for a moment. Keats turned to see what August was observing but Fionn had already fixed his expression, returning to emptiness. “I was planning to be merciful. Rather than strikes to equal the worth of the item you lost me, just one for each hour that you’ve been here, succeeding only to disappoint.” 

August couldn’t help but be relieved. It had to be less than ten, maybe fewer than six. Things really had gone downhill rapidly. Fionn had told him it was fixed, which explained how it could have all turned on him. He felt even guiltier. Fionn had tried to help him. Perhaps if August apologized enough, when this was over, explained that he truly had never intended to pass off the punishment and—

“Unfortunately, I have no way of telling the time…” Keats raised his hands in a theatrical shrug, cane swinging, hooked over one of his open palms. “We’ll simply have to take the whole day. Twenty-four hours.” August struggled against the hand restraining him, struggled to stop himself from swinging and kicking out. Keats grinned. “Perfectly reasonable, don’t you think, Fionn?”

“Yessir,” he whispered, no different than before but now he looked so small and frail, kneeling there, Keats looming over him. August squeezed his fist tighter, fingernails biting into the burn on his palm, pain radiating up his wrist.

Keats raised the cane. August wondered how Fionn managed to stop himself cowering or flinching. His obedience was frightening. Their master swung the cane up. August held his breath—

And Keats let the cane fall. “Can you count as high as twenty-four? Or shall poor Fionn have to take responsibility for that as well?”

August gaped at him. Fucking—

“Well?”

“Yes, sir,” August grit out. “I can count to twenty-four.”

Keats raised his eyebrows. “I hope for Fionn’s sake this isn’t more of your unfounded arrogance.” He turned his attention back to Fionn. “Jacket and waistcoat.”

Fionn removed the layers until he wore only his white shirt, buttoned up to the same fucking bowtie that was being used as a collar on August. He painstakingly folded each item before placing it beside him. Keats didn’t wait for any further sign once he had straightened again. 

The cane whistled through the air and came down with a crack on the center of Fionn’s back. 

“One.” August had almost forgotten to say anything. “Two—”

Keats wound up for every blow, putting his whole weight behind it. By the fourth, Fionn seemed unable to kneel upright and had sunk onto his heels, starting to bow forward. He was breathing through his teeth, tears streaming down his face, but he hadn’t made a sound. 

Halfway, Fionn was doubled over, an even easier target with his back horizontal. His spine and shoulder blades caught the worst for how much they protruded. Keats delivered the blows even faster now that he didn’t have to pay so much attention to the angle. 

When Keats landed a blow across the back of Fionn’s neck, the boy finally cried out. His scream cut off with the next and then he was breathlessly whimpering. Keats paused to wipe his brow with a handkerchief and spared August a grin that made him want to be sick. 

“—Twenty-four.”

The air rang without the sounds of the beating. Keats was breathing heavily, more so than Fionn who hadn’t made a sound for some minutes and remained, still as death, curled on the floor. 

Keats wiped his brow again, letting his handkerchief fall in a flutter to the ground when he finished with it. “You’ll still have plenty of time to think, to make sure this really sinks in.” He stepped closer to August, too close, so that he could feel his breath on his face as he spoke. “I’m sure you’re grateful for my merciful hand to guide you in bettering yourself.”

It was all he could do not to laugh out loud and spit in his face, but clearly a spoken answer was expected of him, judging by the oaf shaking him. “Thank you, sir.” There was nothing to be done about the bitterness that was evident in his tone.

His master chose to ignore it, straightening his jacket as he headed for the door. He paused in its frame, turning to look at August again, though he didn’t address him. “Fionn, be glad that you’ve no need for such corrections.” 

“Thank you, sir,” he croaked, using his hands to push himself up just enough to bow his head at Keats. 

August’s lip curled in distaste and Keats grinned, winking at him. He was glad Fionn couldn’t see the judgement he so poorly contained even knowing Keats had only elicited the response to get a rise out of him. 

He didn’t breathe any easier when he was shoved away from the lackey’s grip. Nor when he and Fionn were locked back in alone. Even as the seconds stretched into minutes since their footsteps had disappeared, he still stood there rigidly, fingers balled into fists, seeing red. He thought of all the freedoms he’d enjoyed at Elmwood. His own time to walk into the village or on the meandering paths through the wood. The small shelf of books in the servants’ hall they could borrow from. Even at the workhouse, there’d been scraps of newspapers, empty cupboards and deserted corridors to hide away in, and his best friend. August really had found himself in Hell on earth.  

It was Fionn that finally snapped him out of it. He whimpered, trying to unfold himself to replace the rest of his uniform. 

August rushed to help him.

“Please,” Fionn whispered, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Please, don’t.” 

Of course not. August was the last person he’d want to help him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, knowing it was no concession.

He retreated to the mattress Fionn had approved earlier, lying with his back turned to give the other boy what semblance of privacy he could. He stared ahead at the greying wood of the eaves and wondered how long it would take for him to match Fionn not only in looks but in spirit as well.

@whumpy-writings @writer-reader-24 @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @whumptakesthecake-deactivated20 @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash @peachy-panic @hold-him-down @poeticagony @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @melancholy-in-the-morning

[unforgivenn]

SHACKLED BY ROYALTY

#1 :THE BEAST'S PET

Next/Masterlist

CW: abduction, captivity, slight whump, coercion, power dynamics, pet whump, drugging, defiant whumpee, swearing, dominant whumper, slavery

Noah woke to the jolt of the wagon hitting a rut in the road. Darkness surrounded him and he could only think he was blindfolded. The cloying scent of sweat and fear clinging to the air like a suffocating shroud. Disorient and groggy, he blinked away the remnants of his sleep, his senses gradually coming alive to the harsh reality. He suddenly sat up frantically shaking his head as if the tightened blindfold would somehow magically fall off.

"H-Hey!! Let me out of here!!" His body ached from the unforgiving jostle of the wagon, every bone protesting against the place he was in right now. Chains rattled with each bone-jarring bump in the road, a chilling reminder of the shackles that bound his wrists and ankles, tethering him to a fate he dared not contemplate.

"Where are you taking me?!!" Noah's screams only grew louder when no response was given. His heart beating so fast as if it would jump out of his chest. "ANSWER ME! SOMEONE!" He quietened when he heard a "tch" near him.

A deep, South American accent cut through the darkness like a blade, sending a shiver down Noah's spine. "Didn't expect him to wake up this early. And he's awfully loud," the voice mused, its casual cruelty sending a chill through the air.

Noah's heart pounded in his chest as he felt a rough hand grab his arm, the sting of a needle piercing his skin sending shockwaves of numbness coursing through his veins. Just then he heard whines around him. There were people. More people like him. Gradually, the numbness from the injection site started to spread.

Noah tried his best to speak something. Something that could catch the attention of other people there. He felt confused.

Who were these people? And where the hell were they taking him?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Abruptly, the cart lurched to a halt, the sudden cessation of movement sending Noah sprawling against the unforgiving floor. He woke with a small cry of pain, his heart hammering in his chest as he listened, breath held in fearful anticipation.

Footsteps approached, heavy and purposeful, accompanied by the jingle of chains and the murmured voices of unseen captors. Noah's pulse quickened, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach like icy tendrils of dread.

Two muscular arms went under each of Noah's underarms holding him up.

"Where are you taking me?!" he cried out, his voice raw with fear, but his captors remained silent, their faces hidden in the shadows.

One of the guys patted Noah's head leaving him more enraged.

All of a sudden, he was thrown to the ground before he was being manhandled to be in a kneeling position with multiple chains on his neck, ankles and wrists holding him in place allowing his captors to have full control over him.

As the blindfold was ripped away, Noah blinked against the harsh light, his eyes adjusting to the sight of his surroundings. It seemed like some sort of a court room? His mind was still clouded up from the drug that was given to him.

"W-What the fu-" A harsh slap shut him up.

"Shush. The young prince will be here any second" Prince? What the fuck was happening?? He wanted to question more but knew better than that. It felt like a scene right out of Hollywood.

Suddenly, he saw the men around him which he thought were most probably the guards bowed down to a young man. Noah raised his head up as to see who it was before a rough hand in his hair forced his head back down only allowing him to see the man's piercing green eyes. The man whom they called the "young prince" stayed quiet. The tension in the room visibly increased before a deep voice spoke.

"Leave us." The guards were quick to retreat from their position and going out of the court room. Noah was about to get up from his kneeling position before flinching at the harsh voice. "Stay still slave!"

"Slave?!" Noah's voice wavered with disbelief, but the harsh slap that followed left him reeling, his cheek stinging with the sting of humiliation. He heard the man tutting.

"Oh dear" He sighed. "It's going to take a lot of time to break that swearing and defiance from you.. But.."

The man grinned, the smile no other than a vicious beast's. He leaned closer, his teeth barely just grazing the other's ears before he whispered. "Oh how I'll enjoy seeing you squirm and beg me to spare you" Noah's body practically froze, terror filling his eyes.

Desperation clawed at Noah's chest as he dared to question his captor's authority. "W-Who are you...?"

But the prince's response sent a chill through his bones—a predatory grin twisting his lips as he whispered promises of torment and submission.

"I'm Andrey. Son of Viktor Kozlov," the prince declared, his name a whispered curse that echoed in Noah's ears. "You will address me as 'sir'."

Noah's blood ran cold as the weight of his situation settled upon him. This was no mere kidnapping—it was a descent into a nightmare from which there would be no waking.

As the reality of his situation sank in, Noah's world spun on its axis, his mind racing with unanswered questions and unspoken fears. With each passing moment, the weight of his captivity grew heavier, a suffocating shadow looming over him, threatening to consume him whole.

Noah only knew this was going to be one hellish of a ride. And only god knew when it was going to end.

Taglist: @anutz1234 @ash-reh @miireux134 (Let me know if you want to be added <3)

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Whump Prompts: Multiple whumpees

Content: Forced to watch, forced to hurt, multiple whumpees, PTSD/trauma, restraints, punishments, caged, [implied] dub/non-con.

Multiple whumpees bonding over trauma.

Sobbing into each other's shoulder after some particularly intense torture.

Whumpee A begging their whumper to hurt Whumpee B instead because they just can't take anymore.

Alternatively, Whumpee A begging their whumper to hurt them instead of the other.

Forcing the whumpees to hurt each other.

Forcing the whumpees to please each other.

One of them wants to escape, but the other won't let them because then they'll be alone.

Tying them back to back with each other.

Forcing them to beg for the other to be hurt.

Two best friends getting separated as punishment for something they did.

If one of them fucks up, they all get punished because they're a team. It opens the door to pitting them against each other.

Locking them both in a tiny cage. Forcing them to squish against each other. Perfect for two whumpees who don't like each other.

Similarly, two whumpees who don't like each other trying to get the other into trouble.

One of them saving what little food they have so the other can eat.

One of them getting pampered and loved on while the other has to sit and watch.

Stitching two whumpees together.

Alternatively, cuffing them together.

[shywhumpauthor]

Two Weeks of Whump—Day Three

Car Battery // Scalpel // Alcohol

Masterlist

Cw: medical whump, deranged/mentally ill whumper (not outright stated, heavily implied, intended), noncon nudity (not sexual), noncon touching, torture, kidnapping, restraints, noncon drugging

“No- no no, don’t do this! I- I’m serious, stop!” Whumpee spat, twisting their limbs against the thick cuffs until deep bruises began to drag across their wrists. “I’ll fucking- I’ll kill you! Don’t fucking touch me!”

Despite the anger behind their tone, fear flickered behind Whumpee’s wide eyes, letting Whumper see straight through to them. The terror disguised as tension in their muscles, terror clinging to each breath.

They just hummed, a delicate rhythm only audible to themself as Whumpee’s screams and threats filled the silent lab. A dark, unfinished basement turned into a theater. Curtains of plastic draped neatly over the walls and shelving units, bright fluorescents installed across the ceiling to sharply illuminate every detail across the room. New equipment, pristine metal shone in the light, sharp shadows cutting across the floor.

Whumper moved the specialized lamp to the side of the table where Whumpee lay strapped to, still thrashing heavily and fighting their restraints. They flicked the light on, adjusting the long neck so the light was spilling down across Whumpee’s exposed torso, illuminating every inch of pure, untouched skin.

Whumpee’s chest shuddered, breath hitching as Whumper lay a gloved hand on their abdomen, feeling the muscles tense under their fingertips.

Their fingers danced over to Whumpee’s inner elbow, double checking their IV and smoothing down the medical tape where the edge had begun to peel up against their clammy skin.

The basement was cold. Whumper didn’t feel it much, below their scrubs and surgical gown, but they could see the goosebumps along Whumpee’s arms, the shudders that wracked their restrained form. They were naked, the sheared tatters of their clothing Whumper had cut away a few minutes prior peeled away and discarded into the waste bin just by their feet. There was a thin surgical drape laid over their lower half, but it hd been disrupted by the squirming.

With a gentle, steady hand, Whumper reached down and fixed it, pulling it back into place.

All good.

They gave Whumpee a soft smile, dragging their hand up and across the captive’s midriff, tracing a line up the center with the tip of their nail.

Whumper pulled their hand away and stepped back, resuming their humming as they made their way across the basement to a deep basin sink, where they turned on the water and began scrubbing their hands with sterile antibacterial soap.

It was as if they didn’t hear the screaming at all. Completely indifferent to the threats and the pleads and the begging as they dried their hands with a clean blue towel, before grabbing a face mask and fitting it over their mouth and nose.

They stepped back towards the sink and began washing their hands for the second time.

“Please! Please I- I won’t tell anyone! Just- just let me go!” Whumpee sobbed, slumping back against the cold metal table, the struggling having only exhausted them. Tears slid across their temples, the lights above them blurring as they tried to fight back the cries.

The running water suddenly fell silent, and Whumper stepped away from the sink again, moving to a small rolling tray off to the side. They slid on a pair of surgical gloves, and began to unload metal tools from a silver case. From their position, Whumpee couldn’t see what they were really holding, only glimpses of the light reflecting off the blades.

A cold, heavy feeling settled in the pit of their stomach, and Whumpee let out a small sob, twisting their head to the other side so they didn’t have to look.

Whumper finished arranging the tools, delicately placing the final scalpel on the clean tray, sliding the table over and locking the wheels in place just next to where Whumpee was restrained. They tugged the gloves off and tossed them into the waste bin, and returned to the sink for their third and final hand wash.

The room was eerily quiet, the running water blending with Whumpee’s sniffles, Whumper’s hum filling any silence, yet the room seemed to snuff out every sound. Whumpee could hear their heartbeat, the blood pounding in their ears, hands curling into fists, nails biting into their palms as they tried to calm down their rising panic.

The water turned off, and Whumper dried their hands, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves.

Their footsteps were deafening as they walked back to the table, pausing over Whumpee’s body. The captive shuddered, unable to resist the instinct to raise their eyes to Whumper, whispering one last “please..”

Whumper didn’t blink, taking the scalpel delicately in their hand. They pressed their other hand to Whumpee’s sternum, tracing their fingers down to the bottom of their ribcage.

They brought the scalpel to the skin, letting the blade rest against flesh for a moment as they hummed the final few notes of their song.

Then slowly, they dug the edge deep into the flesh, and dragged the blade down.

————————————————————

@promptsforyourwhumpfic

[avvail-whumps]

A prompt if you're ok with it: whumpe being bitten and turned into a vampire, having a painful transformation. Then they're starving for blood but its conditioned so that they don't move. As a kind of test or punishment?

But then they're allowed to feed and they desperately drink from their sire?

Feel free to ignore if u don't wish to do it! Thank u in advance if u do.

content warnings: vampire whumper, past vampire turning, vampire whumpee, blood drinking, conditioning, captivity

Once, kneeling on the floor like this was one of the most painful and uncomfortable things Whumpee had experienced under the vampire’s so called ‘care’.

The numbness, the stiffness, the horrible pins and needles, and the pain so agonising they could barely walk for hours afterwards. But after hours, days, months of being bitten and succumbing to mind numbing pain, Whumpee was starting to realise they’d had it easy.

Their sire had strolled in.

Wiped the sweat from their forehead, carded a hand through their hair that almost made them keen.

Their senses were so alert, so enhanced that even the smallest of touches hurt. The smell, and the hunger, was the worst part of it all.

The whumpee’s stomach felt as though it was tearing through itself, chewing at the tissue just to satiate the agonising hunger. But kneeling here was something Whumpee was used to. It was something they knew to abide by, lest a punishment be worse.

Whumper pulled their hand away, admiring their panting newborn as they fought against the ravenous hunger.

“I think you deserve a little reward, don’t you?”

Whumpee’s stinging eyes squinted, staring up at their sire with a pleading expression. Their dry throat swelled the moment they saw the knife glinting in Whumper’s hand, and it seemed to tighten when it sliced through their palm.

The scent hit them first. So hard it was like being thrown into a brick wall.

Whumpee’s nose flared, and their eyes lit up, something primal ripping through them. They were so close to jumping onto their feet and lapping up at that blood just to ease the pain, but they couldn’t move.

They stayed locked in place, kneeling.

Whumper hadn’t told them they could move. They hadn’t said anything.

The whumpee mewled, eyes desperately wide and begging. Was this a test? Did the whumper want them to drink, or were they doing this on purpose?

Agony tore through the pits of their stomach. The smell was getting stronger, and they could feel a cold sweat beading on their forehead, breathing getting shallower and shallower.

“Sire...p-please,” they choked, nails digging into their legs hard enough to draw blood as they itched to feel the liquid sliding down their throat. Whumper offered them nothing but a smile.

The blood in their palm slid along the skin, hitting the ground. Other red droplets followed afterwards, creating a rhythmic dripping sound. Every time it hit the floor, it seemed to rock the whumpee’s skull.

Each time, it was getting louder, and louder, matching the pounding of their heart, the sound of their blood rushing through their veins, the ringing in their ears, and god—they couldn’t take it anymore.

“Come here, Whumpee.”

They didn’t need to be told twice.

They couldn’t feel their legs as they staggered to their feet, pain seizing their muscles. They crashed into the whumper’s arms, but wasted no time on latching onto their hand and gulping down as much blood as they could.

It was like ice, relieving a horrible fire in their stomach. They nearly moaned at the euphoric taste, melting under the vampire’s soft touch, running their hands through their hair.

“What a good little thing you are,” the vampire drawled, but Whumpee couldn’t hear over the sound of their own feeding.

[whumpwillow]

another amazing dynamic: whumpee and their whumper being captured together by a third party.

are they forced to work together to escape? does one take out their anger on the other? do the captors know of their history and pit them against each other?

[moa-broke-me]

Two whumpees + a whumper who tries to pit them against each other, specifically fight over food and water, but they're friends/partners so it doesn't work, and they just get sicker and sicker, thinner and thinner, and whumper wonders if maybe they've gone too far. Wouldn't want them to die, after all. That's no fun.

[spookyboywhump]

I really love whump scenarios where there’s multiple whumpees and they have to work together and they get along and develop close bonds and relationships and I think that’s neat. But I also really love whump scenarios where there’s multiple whumpees in captivity and they just fucking hate each other. They will gladly sabotage the other. They will throw the other under the bus for no reason at all. Whumper doesn’t have to try to pit them against each other, they’re doing that all on their own and whumper doesn’t even have to lift a finger

[whumpster-dumpster]

So there are whumpees, caretakers, and whumpers. It can be fun to think about it when there's multiple of one or another. Multiple whumpees pitted against each other, or trying to save each other. Multiple whumpers, trying to break the whumpee in different ways or wanting different things from them. Multiple caretakers, one to hold the whumpee while the other caretaker performs a necessary but painful procedure on them.

They say more isn’t always better but the case of whump like this, it can be!

[whumpshaped]

trigger warnings: multiple whumpees, pitted against each other, emotional/psychological whump, betrayal, abandonment, manipulation, lashing out, implied torture and captivity

"I'm sorry-"

"Stop," Whumpee hissed. "Stop. Fucking. Talking to me. Get the fuck away from me."

"Whumpee-"

"Leave me alone!" they snapped, tears of anger already threatening to fall. Their broken body couldn't take any more of this torment... all that, just to be a puppet. To be used as emotional warfare on Caretaker.

"Please," Caretaker choked out, desperate to somehow reach their friend. "Please, I'm sorry they're doing this, I'd take your place if I could, please forgive me..."

"But you can't. As it is, I'm the one being tortured. Whumper can say it's torture for you all they want, but you're not being tortured. I am."

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League — Another Strike

Masterlist

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, indentured servitude, starvation/isolation as punishment, beating. Whumper pitting whumpees against each other and being a bully.

August wasn’t very good at waiting out his week-long punishment in the attic. 

By the fourth day, he thought he would go mad from staring at the same walls and eaves. Shivering on the thin mattress, hunger gnawing at his belly and only fistfuls of snow to stave off thirst. Fionn hadn’t so much as glanced at him, let alone spoken to him, since the caning. All his walking-dead-ringer did was sleep. Or at least that’s what he pretended to do while August was awake. 

So, August started pacing. 

The full length of the attic. Making a narrow circle as wide as the steep angle of the roof would allow without having to stoop. Back and forth, back and forth. 

He once saw a lion at the fair down in the village square. The older boys from Elmwood had goaded him to stand nearer and nearer the bars of its cage but the beast had no eyes for him. Focused only on pacing back and forth in its prison where it had already worn a track into the grass, heavy paws treading an endless tight loop. Eventually, he’d wrapped his fingers around the bars to the ill-intentioned approval of his audience but the lion never paused. The rest of the servants peeled off while he lingered, feeling sorry for the poor creature. 

August nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned to find Fionn sitting up, staring at him. 

Colour rose to his cheeks and he felt himself wilt under Fionn’s gaze. “I—I’m sorry,” he said lamely, “‘twasn’t my intention to wake you.” Just another strike to add on top of the previous twenty-four mercilessly beaten into him for August’s mistakes.

Fionn shook his head, eyes already falling. “It’s too late.” His voice was barely a whisper. 

Hopelessness welled up in August’s throat, carrying with it the tide of shame and dejection he’d held at bay until his eyes filmed with tears and there was no way he could open his mouth without crying.  

But Fionn didn’t want his worthless apologies and he hadn’t been speaking of disrupted sleep anyway. Keats burst through the door and within seconds, Fionn was on his knees again and August was gasping for breath because the lackey charged with holding him this time did so with all four thick fingers down the back of his shirt collar. 

As though no time had passed at all. 

Except for some reason, Fionn took off his shoes and stockings this time, and Keats shoved him so he fell onto his hands and stayed there. August’s stomach dropped as Keats pulled off his belt, doubling back the thick leather but when it rained down on Fionn it was not at all where August expected.

Keats drew blood before August could pull himself together to voice any manner of protest, it trickled down Fionn’s bony ankles to disappear into his trousers. Droplets of it sprayed onto the walls and ceiling with each swing of the belt. 

Fionn eventually fell onto his elbows, holding his head. He cried out in time with each lash, sound muffled by his arms, but somehow still managed to keep his feet in the air for Keats to whip. 

Again and again and again. 

August had never even started counting and now he was too afraid to speak. He couldn’t make this worse with more thoughtless, impulsive stupidity. He had already made everything so much worse.  

He flinched when something landed on his cheek and, even though he knew what he’d find when he lifted a hand to his cheek, he was unable to mask his distress when his fingertip came away stained with Fionn’s blood. 

Keats winked. 

Just as quickly as they came, they went. Without a single word.

After a few beats of silence, August made a half-start toward Fionn. If only to fall onto his knees and apologise or help him find a way to lie comfortably. But as if he could sense August’s intentions, Fionn turned to glare up at him, hatred plain as day on his tear-stained face. 

August backed away, biting his lips together and willing himself not to let any of his own undeserved tears fall. He folded himself against the far wall, facing the corner and hugged his knees to his chest. 

Even he could understand what was being left unsaid, by Keats and Fionn alike. 

He was entirely alone here.

@whumpy-writings @writer-reader-24 @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash @poeticagony @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @magziemakeswhatever @neverthelass

[throwawaywhumper]

Whump Dump #8

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Training Day Edition

Whumper making whumpee strike a match and hold it between their fingers vertically until the flame burns down past their fingers. Dropping the match or extinguishing the flame by other means is marked as failure

Excessive use of shock collar until whumpee learns to respond appropriately to even the most minimal gestures to supply Whumper's needs

Whumper Supreme™️ that other whumpers bring their more defiant whumpees to when they're having trouble breaking them

Whumpers that pit whumpees up against each other to make the compete for affection and attention

Any stretch of time in solitary confinement for whumpee breaking them immediately, they can't do that for very long.

That first time whumpee uses the proper title for whumper (sir, master, ma'am, gamer, etc.)

Whumper showing off how well whumpee is trained to their friends by instructing them to break their own arm, however they see fit

Whumpee being forced to hold their hand over a candle and slowly move closer towards the flame, holding it there though the emanating heat absolutely burns

Whumper secretly building in sleeper agent style codes into whumpee's psyche. Even if whumpee escapes and manages to recover, just a simple accidental word from caretaker or a stranger can send them spiraling back down immediately

Stress positions for compliance, my beloved. Stretching limbs till they're just nearly dislocated, the stress on whumpee not to move an inch less they break something that's already applied tension, the constant attack on mental fortitude it takes to assure proper weight distribution.

Whumpee who absolutely refuses to remove their collar, even post rescue.

Making whumpee write "i will not disobey whumper again" 200 times on paper using their own blood as ink. (Bonus points if its blood from the bloody nose whumper gave them from doing something stupid. And they're sitting there with a shit-eating grin the whole time glad that they at least got an annoyed rise out of whumper)

A whumper who becomes frustrated that their training isn't going well and accidentally injures whumpee near fatally

Other Whump Dumps

[whumpkinz]

WHUMPERS WHO LOVE CONTROL! I mean that's most if not all whumpers but whump promps/ideas/inspo that focus on control and power dynamics. My favorite dynamic is a controlling whumper with a defiant whumpee. :)

---

TW: non descriptive meantions of beatings, electrocution, possible non/dubcon. Party whumping. I like to leave things up to interpretation.

A whumper who loves breaking in defiant whumpees. They just can't help but love when their poor little Whumpees face contorts from anger to restrained pain. When a Whumpee's been repeatedly beaten or shocked to the point where they can only kneel on the floor slumped over, using their last bit of energy to look up at Whumper with the most hate filled look Whumpers ever seen. It's like a cycle for them, getting the

Whumpees to hate them only to see them break apart slowly during each session but making sure to keep that fiery spirit up to keep up the fun.

A Whumper who loves complete control and constantly drugs or forces Whumpee to be in an altered state where they are completely helpless. So fucked up they don't know what's happening let alone being able to resist or fight. Maybe they whump them in the way they know they hate the most without them even knowing it.

Humiliating them by showing them off to their friends at a party. Touching them to show how pliable Whumpee becomes, putting their fingers in Whumpees mouth, allowing others to touch them and maybe as a power move slapping away hands that overstep Whumpers boundries. Making them do tasks while the drugs/alcohol kick in knowing Whumpee will fail and they can punish them. Using drugs and/or alcohol that makes their pain and sensations more intense. Perhaps making it even more satisfying when the Whumpee is normally stoic or defiant not showing their vulnerability until they have no choice. No control.

A Whumper who controls every aspect of their Whumpees life much to their dismay. They always dress Whumpee up in whatever clothes they want, choose when and what to feed whumpee. A Whumper who dresses them in ratty clothes and gives them spoiled food regardless of if they've been good or bad. Who treats them like a stress relief toy and uses them as a way to feel in control in their spiraling life on the outside. The Whumper loves when the Whumpee begs not to be punished or begs for better treatment but Whumper refuses because they don't deserve it yet or bc Whumper simply doesn't want them to be comfortable. They don't care what Whumpee wants and they remind them of that every chance they get.

Maybe the Whumper doesn't play tricks on them and serves them good food when they behave and bad when they don't. Who dresses them up nicely and ruins it as they beat Whumpee into submission. A Whumper who spoils Whumpee outside of beatings or other whumping sessions. They tend to their wounds and whisper praises to them about how good they were during their whump session and how good Whumpees get taken care of and bad whumpees are punished. Great scenario for multiple whumpees!

They take them on extravagant vacations on their yact or to fancy dinner parties which can tie into a Whump party. They go to a party specifically for Whumpers and Whunpees. Whumpee thinks this is a normal party the first time they go. They know they've been marked with a cuff or some kind of indicator (I've frequently seen red and blue bracelets in party fics) but don't understand until they see Whumpee B being whumped by Whumper B. Whumper torments Whumpee by forcing Whumpee to watch others being tormented knowing they're going to meet the same fate. Maybe Whumper even teases them and tells them exactly what they have in store and want from Whumpee.

Or maybe it's a whump for all! All the whumpees are gathered in a pile and either physically whumped together, emotionally used to torment each other, being pitted against each other or forced to choose how each other gets whumped, or they are put through some kind of competition or trial where they're about to get whumped the hell out of or a pre whump where the "best/victorious" whumpee gets to be put on display and left alone while the others get whumped. It's always a punishment in disguised or a reward that comes bittersweet.

[shywhumpauthor]

NO. 24 FIGHT, FLIGHT OR FREEZE

Blood Covered Hands | "I don't want to do this anymore." | Catatonic

Prev. || Masterlist

Cw: torture, carving, blood, creepy whumper, noncon touching, partial dubcon nudity (just a shirt, neither are sexual), intimate whumper, just mathias being creepy in general. Past isolation, touch starved Whumpee, fear of being left sooner

By the time he pulled the knife away, pulling an unused table napkin to wipe the blade clean, blood had flowed free from the wounds, dripping down their arm to bead against the floor below.

“You did good for me, love,” Mathias praised quietly, flipping the blade closed and tucking it back in his pocket, before reaching over to grab the napkin from an unused placemat. The silverware folded neatly inside clattered against the wood, but he paid no mind, folding the fabric in half and moving to press it against Kaden’s arm. They winced, a hiss of pain slipping through their teeth as they tried to jolt away from him.

Mathias just smiled, his eyes full of a remorseful sort of sympathy, the hand which once held the knife raising to cup their cheek, his thumb scrubbing away the fallen tears.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Mathias reminded quietly, tilting their head up to him as he felt them tremble. “Breathe. You’re alright. That’s it for now, you’re alright.”

Kaden just collapsed their chin against his hand, barely stifling the sob as they let themself be comforted by the man’s soft touch and gentle words. He stayed like that for a moment, soothing them with his soft words and light touch, before nodding to the man standing behind them. Without a word, Daniel released his grip on their shoulders and stepped back, giving Mathis space as he eased Kaden out of their chair and into his arms.

Blood dripped from their fingers to his shirt as they gasped, their arms quickly clinging around his neck as he hoisted them up into a bridal like carry.

“Don’t worry, love, I’m not going to drop you,” Mathias chuckled, his eyes making brief contact with Daniel as the other opened the door, propping it with his foot so Mathias could step through. “Just relax. I’ll get you cleaned up, and you’ll be good as new.”

Kaden had no other option, their face burying in his shoulder as he began to make his ways through the intricate halls.

The sway of his footsteps, slow yet unsteady was enough to draw another wave of nausea over them, and Kaden squeezed their eyes shut, fighting back the sickness. Not soon enough, Mathias was kicking the door to their bedroom open, and carrying them straight across the room to the open bathroom.

Kaden jolted as they were set in the empty porcelain tub, their eyes flying open as their hands darted to clutch to the man’s shirt, nothing but panic fueling them as senseless thoughts flooded their mind.

“Woah, hey, hey calm down,” Mathias soothed, his hands moving to grip their own, gently prying them away. “I’m just going to get you cleaned up, love, don’t worry.”

He watched as Kaden’s eyes widened, their gaze flicking around the bathroom for a moment before landing back on his. They quickly wrenched their hands back, a heat quickly rising from their chest and creeping up their neck. It was humiliating, yet the moment they pulled away they longed for the touch to return. A empty pit seemed to open in their chest, swallowing any positive feeling as they curled their legs to their torso. Their arm stung, the wounds pulling with each little movement, but the pain wasn’t unbearable.

“This may be a little cold at first,” Mathias warned quietly, his hand moving to twist on the bath tap. Water spurted out almost instantly, and Kaden couldn’t help but push back as a spray of cold mist was caught against them. It didn’t take more than a moment for the water to heat up though, and Mathias reached to pull the drain plug into place.

“Take your shirt off,” The man ordered wortly, his back turning for a moment to pull a towel from under the sink. “You can take this if it would make you more comfortable.”

He set the towel on the rim of the bathtub, before turning to grab a few washcloths. The warm water pooling quickly around them, Kaden tugged off their ruined shirt and quickly pulled the towel around themself, hiding their scarred body behind the thin layer of fluffy white.

When Mathias turned back, many bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and all sorts of soap balanced in his arms, the water was just past Kaden’s ankles. Somewhere in the back of their mind they wanted to protest, that they could clean themself just fine, but the thought that that would send Mathias away once more, for good, made them stay quiet. The water was warm, a comfortable heat that nearly melted in as they leaned heavily against the side of the bath. Exhaustion rooted deep in their bones, making it a struggle to keep open their eyes.

When the touch came, a gentle hand scooping up some fresh water from the spout before pouring it over their hair, then careful fingers working some smooth lather against their scalp, it took everything not to fall asleep. The running water produced the perfect noise to drown out their last remaining thoughts, their worries melting away as the dirt was washed gently from their skin.

Their efforts were quickly proven in vain, though, when Mathias began to hum. A light, melodious tune that carried an air of familiarity, though Kaden couldn’t remember where they had heard it before. They weren’t able to hold out much longer, their eyes drifting shut and their breathing falling steady.

•••

When Kaden woke up they felt… well rested. It was such a strange, foreign feeling that it took them a moment to distinguish. They had forgotten what waking up and not feeling exhausted had felt like, but god was it amazing.

Faintly, they could feel the ache of their muscles, the sting of the cuts along their arm, but the soft blankets laid over them made that easy to forget.

They longed to release their mind back into the blissful unconsciousness, but a soft touch stroking their hair prompted them to open their eyes. They blinked a few times, gaze settling on the face of the man above them. His attention wasn’t on them, though, his eyes flicking over the pages of a book.

With a soft exhale, knowing how wrong it was to lay there with their head resting on the chest of their captor, practically clinging to him as he absentmindedly stroked their hair, Kaden was unable to bring themself to feel any sort of the expected disgust or embarrassment. Soft cotton bandages wrapped around their forearm, dotted with blood from the wounds, but Kaden just let their eyes flutter shut once more, relaxing back into the warm touch.

They could worry about everything else later. Right now, they just wanted to rest.

——————————

Next

Tag list: @whumpasaurus101 @whumpycries @d-cs @t0rture-me @suspicious-whumping-egg @pigeonwhumps @morning-star-whump

[oddsconvert]

Whumpmas in July Day 14: What are your favourite whump character dynamics?

So here's just a few I enjoy!

Conditioned whumpee's that show complete submission and obedience to Whumper, acting so well behaved but they actually aren't broken, and still have a running internal monologue of hatred. They'll act so sweet and compliant to Whumpers face but in their head, they're planning their next attack or escape, silently cursing them out and filled with rage.

One I'm exploring in ATOYOM right now! Whumper and Whumpee (their previous prisoner) held captive together, pitted against one another, a burning mutual hatred and they both want to kill each other at first chance but they become forced allies, they'll have to begrudgingly work together to get out of there.

Two whumpee's using each other as a support mechanism. Whether they knew each other previously or not. The willingness to sacrifice themselves and providing comfort to one another because they're the only ones who understand what each other are going through.

Stranger caretaker and whumpee. The slow building of trust and breaking down the walls to this complete and utter stranger who they think could very well turn at the flick of a switch, they could hurt whumpee - but they're learning that they won't. And suddenly this person becomes their home.

@whumpmasinjuly

[dont-touch-my-soup]

“Don’t trust anyone”

Kell finally meets the other birds. I just realized I misspelled Thrasher in my last chapter and laughed about it for 10 minutes. How one letter can change everything.

Previous || Masterlist ||  Next

CW: captivity, slavery

“And you really go by bird names now?”, Kell asked disbelieving.

“Listen”, Thrasher said. “There is one thing I want to make absolutely clear. Everyone here is playing by Oryn’s rules. When he gives you a new name, take it as an honour and forget your old one.”

Kell looked down. “But I …”

“Don’t”, Thrasher said. “Don’t even think about resisting. Just do what he tells you to. Best is you don’t even ask questions.”

Bewildered Kell teared his bread into tiny pieces. It was concerning that everyone told him how bad this place was when it didn’t seem too bad. At least it was much better than everywhere else Kell had been the last year. And the food here was better too.

Kell decided to talk about something easier, something less confusing.

“So, you are Thrasher”, Thrasher nodded and Kell looked to the black-haired girl on his left. “Linnet”, Linnet nodded. “And you are Blackbird.”

The boy on Thrasher’s right looked up at the mention of his ‘name’ but didn’t respond.

“He doesn’t speak Varsennan”, Linnet said. Her voice was low, nearly a whisper.

“But how does this work when we are not allowed to talk in Tharlian?”

“Don’t ask questions, Kell”, Thrasher said.

“And everyone else can keep their real names?”

“Yep”, Thrasher said, spearing several green beans with his fork.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, we are the chosen ones”, Thrasher said, his voice suddenly sarcastically dramatic. “We are just singing sooo good, that we deserve extra privileges. Don’t talk to the others if you can avoid it.”

“What? Why?”

“Gosh. Stop asking so many questions”, Thrasher rolled his eyes.

“Then stop talking in riddles.”

“Okay let me spell it out for you.” He spoke urgently now, his voice quiet. “You will do exactly as you are told. You don’t trust anyone. Not even me. And most importantly don’t try to run away. Can your little brain memorise these three rules?”

Kell smiled nervously and nodded, while goosebumps covered his skin.

“No, I mean it.” Thrasher said. “This is not a joke, Kell. Everyone here fights for their own.”

It was the most un-Tharlian thing Kell had ever heard. Tharlians were fiercely loyal. At least so he had thought.

Kell looked down the table. There was a total of 14 singers sitting at two long tables, a noticeable gap between Oryn’s song birds and the other singers. Most of them were eating quietly. A few were talking in low voices.. Even Tharlian funeral feasts were happier than this. He could see Jinn at the very end of the table, but he seemed to ignore Kell. Kell wondered what the others had told him. He wished he could just walk over and talk to him.

“So you are telling me, you three never talk to the other Tharlians?

“Four”, Linnet said quietly, using only as many words as absolutely necessary. “Robin, too.”

“Huh?”, Kell asked. He had already heard that name somewhere.

“Oh right. I totally forgot about her. She is one of us, too”, Thrasher explained. “But she hardly ever eats with us. She is …” He exchanged glances with Linnet. An eerie silence between them.

“She is what …?”

“You will see”, Thrasher said, facing his plate. “Now, what happened to your hand?” He pointed at Kell’s sling with his fork.

“Uhh I … broke it”, Kell explained quietly.

“Looks bad”, Thrasher said with his mouth full.

Kell just nodded. But except the constant throbbing, he hardly felt any pain now. He just hoped the bones would heal straight. He tried to not think about it too much.

“So how did you get here?”

“I guess the same way you all got here”, he said.

“What do I have to do to get you to tell me something about you?”, Thrasher said.

“Well, you just told me not to trust any of you, so I am only doing what you asked me to.”

Thrasher laughed, the sound weirdly out of place in the quiet food hall. “You may survive longer than Oryn’s last bird”, he said lightly, jabbing his fork into his food, not noticing how his words had filled Kell with trepidation.

Previous || Masterlist ||  Next

Tag List: @whumpzone @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @whump-cravings @tears-and-lilies