#workaholic whumpee

[whump-or-whatever]

Got any whumps for a workaholic?

I may have some ideas… 🤔

Not getting any sleep either cause they’re busy doing work or they’re too stressed to sleep

Lack of sleep=bags under the eyes, easily confused, headaches, etc.

They either forget to eat or are so anxious about work they don’t feel hungry

Lack of food=chills, lightheadedness, shakiness, potential for fainting, etc.

Shaky hands could mean slip-ups such as spilling coffee, accidentally cutting or burning themself in a lab, and so on

When someone is overworked they don’t operate at peak capacity, so they could end up making a mistake that costs lives (eg. Doctor mixing up patient charts), which results in hella guilt

Workaholic emerging from their workspace after being cooped up for a long time and squinting into the sun, shielding their eyes

Not keeping up with hygiene

Chugging coffee or energy drinks until they’re jittery and yet can still hardly keep their eyes open

Caretaker(s) trying to convince them to take care of themself and get some rest, to no avail

Maybe eventually caretaker(s) has to intervene by force, drag the workaholic away from their task kicking and screaming

Caretaker(s) finding the workaholic collapsed on the floor of their workspace

Maybe they’re using their work to distract themself from other issues

Falling asleep at their work table, resulting in back pain and sore joints/muscles

Increased stress levels could result in anxiety attacks, mental effects from long term exposure to anxiety such as depression, and physical symptoms of anxiety

Deteriorating relationships with the people workaholic cares about as they drift further and further away

Feel free to add!

[pixelatedraindrops]

(≧///﹏ ///≦) 💦 💫

[stars-and-blood-72]

Overworking whumpees:

After what whumper did to them they drown themselves in work to distract themselves from the trauma and end up overworking themselves

maybe caretaker had to literally drag the whumpee away from their work, maybe whumpee overworked to the point of not allowing themselves sleep or work worsening their already terrible condition

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #957

Submitted by anon - thanks!

Whumpee is the team insomniac and resident workaholic to boot. Logically, their teammates know they must sleep sometimes, but they've never seen it themselves. So, when whumpee gets hurt or sick, it's almost a shock for the team. They've never seen whumpee vulnerable before. Their near superhuman image shatters. (Bonus if the team goes on a road trip or something and whumpee falls asleep and the entire team is like "holy shit they can do that.")

[patchworkorphan]

Civilian x Crush kidnapped

TW: lady whump, lady whumpee, male whumpers, multiple whumpers, broken bones, kidnapping, kidnap whump, physical violence against a woman,

please be aware of the tags and don't engage if you don't like lady whump! Thank you :)

*~*~*~*~*

It was pouring out, Civilian realised with a groan, resting her forehead against the office window. “Another late night, Civilian?”

Civilian turned her head to see her crush stopped in the middle of the cubicle, his sweater draped over the crook of his elbow. He was just in his tee shirt that showed his defined arms.

That was just unfair, Civilian thought. Why does he have to have a nice face and body?

“Yeah. I’m trying to finish the report on the increase of Villain activity.”

Crush hummed with a nod and a pretty smile. “It seems we’re always the last two to leave,” said Crush.

“Probably because we have no lives,” Civilian said with a small laugh. Oh god she just said that. Out loud. To her crush. When he was probably gonna think she was a weird, boring loser now. Great. Perfect. And it started to rain heavier. Perfect. As if on cue.

To her utter surprise Crush laughed in reply, and not a forced laugh, like a proper, real one. Civilian could listen to that laugh all day.

“You don’t have to expose us like that, Civilian,” said Crush with a small shake of his head. He cleared his throat and then turned his body more towards Civilian. “Since we’re both workaholics and have no lives, how would you like to grab a drink with me?”

“Now?” Civilian asked, eyes going wide.

She looked like shit, and probably smelled like ink.

“Yeah. Now. Why not? I mean… like only if you want to…”

“Yeah, no. Now works,” said Civilian with a smile and Crush’s shoulders relaxed. Civilian quickly shut down her computer and started to gather her things before putting her jacket on and grabbing her crossbody bag before walking to Crush. He gestured towards the lifts and Civilian smiled and walked with him.

When they got into the lift, Crush pressed the ground floor button and the pair of them leaned against the back wall in silence.

Then they both tried to fill the silence at the same time.

“So what do—”

“This report you’re—”

Then they laughed and both said: “you go first.”

Civilian laughed again as a blush climbed Crush’s neck and coloured his cheeks pink. “I was asking,” Civilian continued. “What keeps you in so late every night?”

“Oh,” said Crush, then opened his mouth and a hesitant hum fell from his lips. His eyes almost nervous at Civilian’s question. “Okay, look. You can’t say it to anyone—”

“My lips are sealed,” said Civilian innocently, miming locking her mouth shut.

Crush smiled and leaned in closer to Civilian his voice dropping to a whisper, “you know the new guy? He covers politics…”

“Oh yeah. I’ve seen him around,” said Civilian, eyes bright as she looked at Crush.

“Yeah. He is such a shit writer,” said Crush and Civilian let out a startled laugh. “Don’t laugh. It’s not funny. I’m in late every night trying to fix it up and make it presentable.”

“No rest for the wicked,” said Civilian with a grin. Crush laughed.

“No,” he agreed. “We must be very wicked.”

“Extremely,” said Civilian, then as the doors open, she looked straight ahead as she added, “I’m going to tell him what you said.”

“Ah no. You can’t do that! I’m supposed to be an unbiased editor.”

“Still,” Civilian teased. Crush grabbed Civilian’s arm, stopping her from going out into the cold wet night. Civilian looked at his hand then up at Crush as he pulled an umbrella from his bag. He stepped out first into the little roofed area and opened the umbrella, holding it high enough for them both to fit under.

Civilian said, “you’re so prepared.”

Crush shook his head. “I just listen to the weather after the news.”

“Then what surprise is left in life, Crush?”

Crush brought her to his local bar just down the road, The Public Domain. Crush told her that a lot of lawyers around the area come drink here too. Civilian smiled politely. Crush always had a good network of people that he trusted for his sources. It always seemed like a secret, and now that he was bringing Civilian here, it felt… well, like he was willing to share it with her.

The bar was buzzing with chatter and life. The smell of carpet dust and stale beer greeted their senses the moment they stepped into it. Crush held the door open with his foot, shaking the excess rain off the umbrella before closing it. He smiled slightly when he caught Civilian’s eye and nodded towards the bar. Civilian got the hint and walked up to it with him. The bar was quaint and bustling with patrons, chatting animatedly, laughter occasionally punctuating the conversations leaving a nice rhythmic lull to the pub.

The barman grinned when he saw Crush. “Another late night, Crush?”

Crush’s hand went to the nape of his neck and rubbed it bashfully, it endeared Civilian to him even more if that was possible.

“Yeah, you got me.”

“The usual?” the barman asked, and Crush smiled and said, “yes. A Guinness please and—” Crush said, looking back at Civilian. He leaned into the barman and held up two fingers. “Actually, two please.”

“Two Guinnesses,” said Crush again, and took out his wallet as did Civilian. Crush pushed her hand back and said: “put that away, I’m getting it. We’re here on my invitation.”

“Fine. I get the next round,” said Civilian.

Crush cocked an eyebrow at her. “So confident we’ll have another.”

“I’m just ensuring you know what you’re in for,” said Civilian with a wink. She thanked Crush for the drink, and they went to a small booth in the back. The conversation flowed easy, easier than Civilian flirting with him in the printer room. Or at the office offering to get Crush a coffee from the canteen because she was going anyway. It was better, more intimate.

The conversation got back to work on her third round of drinks and Crush’s smile was far better looking and almost irresistible. Civilian realised halfway through a story Crush was telling her of work that she could just reach over the table and crush her lips to his and all would be well.

His lips stopped moving, then turned up into a grin. “Civilian?”

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering when you got into current affairs?” Crush asked, his husky laugh making an appearance. Civilian blushed at being caught staring.

“Oh,” said Civilian, trying to think back to when she got interested in current events. “I mean… with all the Hero/ villain stories going around, and our paper not really being Pro or Anti Heroes I just wanted to start reporting the facts. As it happened, so people can witness the unbiased information, the before and after, and make up her own minds about it.”

“And?” Crush asked and Civilian let out a small laugh, lifting her hands in a shrug.

“And… Alice liked the idea and told me to handle the Hero–Villain side of things. It got a lot of positive feedback from our readers too.”

Crush leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. “But why were you interested in it to begin with?”

“I was reading about Hero and how good it is that we have them to help us and stop the Villains running around our city. Praising them to the brim, it was bordering on sycophantic…” Civilian trailed off, taking a sip of her Guinness. Crush smiled and reached over the table, wiping some of the foam off of Civilian’s upper lip with her thumb.

It was as if the world had frozen in that moment between them. Civilian’s heart stopped beating for a fleeting second that stretched into eternity. Crush retracted his hand and licked the foam from his thumb with a secretive smile.

Civilian’s face burned redder than cherries, her cheeks heating up. From all the drinking, Civilian told herself, not anything else. Not how hot Crush was, not at all… they barely noticed.

“And you didn’t like that?” Crush asked with his perfect knowing smile. He knew exactly what caused the blush covering Civilian’s face scarlet and continued on the conversation while they were distracted. As if he didn’t do anything at all.  

Oh no Civilian loved that, she wanted to get more foam on her lip just so he could wipe it off again.

What were they talking about again? Oh god, she was making it so obvious. Think Civilian! Oh yes, Heroes and Villains, oh god, she was making it so obvious. Play it cool, Civilian.  

SPEAK CIVILIAN! A voice screamed at her from the back of her mind, and she blushed again.

“No,” said Civilian, turning the clammy glass around in her hands. She continued thoughtfully, “I don’t like when things get shoved down my throat before I know what shit they’re shovelling. Turns out the Hero agency had donated a very generous sum to the publication and that’s why there was a sudden exposé on how good Heroes were.”

Crush sat back when Civilian stopped talking, a small hidden thing twinkling behind his smile. “What?” Civilian asked, cocking her brow.

“Nothing,” Crush said with his handsome smile.

“No what? What’s that smile for?”

“I just didn’t realise you were so passionate about Heroes and villains from reading your pieces. It’s… you’re very surprising, Civilian.”

Civilian bowed her head and Crush laughed, getting to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

Civilian nodded, following Crush out of the booth then out the door to the pub. It had stopped raining. A sheen of water covering the streets the only remnant that it had ever rained. So, when water splashed on the pair of them from a passing car, they could do nothing but laugh.

That laugh got cut off as into a scream as something suddenly slammed into Crush. Civilian whirled a scream of horror in her throat. “Crush!”

Civilian was running after him, deeper into a side street, shoes splashing the puddles up her feet. At the bottom of the alley Civilian saw Crush engaged in a struggle with someone. Civilian pulled pepper spray from her bag and ran up on the pair.

Crush’s eyes found Civilian and widened as he yelled: “Civilian! No— ngh, run! Go!”

“Civilian, hmm?” Civilian turned on her heel, pepper spray aimed and ready at the newcomer, but her wrist was caught in the attacker’s hand, and he twisted it roughly. Civilian cried out, as her attacker twisted her wrist further and plucked the pepper spray from her hand with ease. Her only defence. “How lovely to make your acquaintance.”

Civilian’s eyes went hard, and she balled her hand into a fist. She found her centre in her feet, bending her knees slightly. Then twisted her whole body with the slap that she threw straight for the attacker’s cheek.

The attacker simply caught that wrist too, smiling down at her with a grin that exposed too many teeth. Civilian yanked her wrists down, trying to break free of his grip, but her attacker yanked her forward suddenly and Civilian stumbled, her balance thrown off. Her attacker spun her, so her back was to the attacker’s front, her arm twisted behind her back and pinned there. Then there was a gentle hand on her throat, holding her head up, and when Civilian tried to struggle the attacker lifted her captured arm higher and Civilian cried out.

“Crush. You might want to stop,” said the man holding Civilian. The scuffle came to a pause, Crush’s head lifting to see Civilian and whoever was holding her. His eyes narrowing at the person behind Civilian, but he stopped fighting, nonetheless. Then he got a punch to the face for good measure from his attacker.

“I think…” the man behind Civilian said, “we’re all going to go for a drive, hmm?”

“No,” said Civilian. They were in a public place. Her best weapon was her lungs. So, Civilian opened her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs for “Help! Help! Somebody help us! Police! Ple-”

The coolness of a blade biting into her neck cut her off. “Keep screaming, they’re so pretty… but I would hate for my knife to slip…”

“Okay. Right Hand,” Crush said, glancing between Civilian and Right hand behind Civilian. “I’ll go with you, just… just let Civilian go.”

A rumbling chuckle from behind Civilian sent a shiver ran down her spine. “Oh no, no, no, Crush. Civilian’s coming along to make sure you behave.”

Civilian’s blood went cold as she looked at Crush’s resolve shattering right in front of her eyes. She wanted to fight. She wanted Crush to fight. To try. To struggle to punch to do something…

“Henchmen take Crush, don’t worry. He won’t put up a fight,” Civilian was pushed forward, and she resisted. Her hand was twisted further up her back, and she winced as she was forced a stepped forward.

“Keep walking or I’ll break your arm, Civilian,” Right Hand said into Civilian’s ear. Civilian obeyed because what else could she do?

At the end of the alley there was a black car parked where they had come in. Which meant these guys had been following them… for how long? Right hand kept pushing Civilian forward and when they got to the car, he pushed Civilian into the backseat then slammed the door shut. They did the same to Crush on the other side and Civilian’s panicked eyes went to Crush who just whispered: “everything will be all right.”

“Why do I get the feeling you know these people?” Civilian whispered back. Her hand went to the door trying to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. Child locked, no doubt. Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is going on? Crush opened her mouth to reply when the two front doors opened and their attackers, Henchman and Right hand, got into the front of the car.

Henchman was in the driver’s seat and took off, while Right Hand turned in his seat and smiled at Civilian. She couldn’t really tell his features from here. It was too dark. Did he have blue eyes? Or brown? And his hair… she’d need to remember something concrete to tell the police when she get free.

If they get free.

“Sorry to interrupt your date, Civilian.”

“Go fuck yourself, Right Hand,” Civilian said in reply. Right hand just laughed and stared forward again.

“You got a keeper there, Crush. You tell her who you are? Or does the little reporter want to figure it out all by themselves?”

Civilian looked out her window, but it was all blacked out. She couldn’t even see her own reflection. Of course. Of fucking course.

Crush spoke next. “Right Hand, let Civilian go, okay? I’ll come willingly.”

“You’re coming willingly now, Crush.”

“For now,” Crush threatened, his voice taking on a completely different tone than Civilian was ever used to. Ever knew Crush was capable of.

“Put your claws back in,” said Right Hand dismissive. “We’re almost there now anyways. Besides… you wouldn’t risk putting poor Civilian in danger by trying to stop the car and be a hero now, would you?”

Civilian glanced at Crush from the corner of her eye, her heart hammering in her chest but he wouldn’t look at her. Civilian put her hand out, resting it on the middle seat. Crush put his hand in theirs, lacing his fingers through hers and squeezing gently.

When the car stopped Henchman and Right Hand got out of the car. Civilian’s door opened first, and she was grabbed by the arm and pulled out. She looked into the face of Right Hand, who was still smiling down at her. She mustered up her best glare in return. Right Hand just pushed her in front of him again and told her to walk.

Civilian did just that, trying to take in everything around her. Figure out where they were but all she saw was a garage made of cinder bricks and concrete floors. Then a door opened to them, and Right Hand pushed her through. It just led to a larger room. A man stood at the opposite wall, his back to them as they entered. Right Hand’s grip tightened on Civilian’s arm when he felt Civilian almost stop.

“The prodigal son returns,” said Right Hand to the man ahead of them. Civilian looked over their shoulder, trying to find Crush, but a hand squeezed her cheeks and dragged their gaze to face forward again.

Crush spoke and Civilian’s head flooded with relief. He was still here. Civilian wasn’t alone. They were fine. He was fine.

“I’m not saying shit until you let Civilian go,” said Crush to the room. Then a grunt of pain and Civilian shot forward to help and was yanked back by her hair with a yelp.

The man finally turned to face the group and Civilian’s breath caught in her throat. That was Supervillain. That man was the Supervillain. Civilian and Crush were taken here to see Supervillain?! But then that means the person holding Civilian was… Right hand… Supervillain’s right hand. Civilian felt all the blood drain from her face as a small laugh sounded above her. Civilian took an involuntary step back, but just hit Right Hand’s chest.

“Oh, not so brave now, are we?” Right hand asked and Civilian couldn’t find it in herself to reply.

Supervillain approached them. Fine shoes clacking off concrete, echoing. Civilian didn’t dare breathe as Supervillain came closer and closer to her. Supervillain was taller than Civilian. Taller. Broader. Crueller. Instead of going to Crush he walked right up to Civilian and Right hand pushed her forward, letting go of her hair and arm.

Civilian felt very cold and exposed like this. She nearly missed Right Hand’s brutal hold on her. Supervillain looked down at her without a hint of an expression on his face. He looked almost alien. Cold.

Supervillain took Civilian’s hand in his and pulled it up as if to inspect it. Civilian let him. She hated herself for it, but Supervillain killed people, this wasn’t a time to be brave.

“You’ve been gone too long, Crush,” said Supervillain simply. His voice sent shivers down Civilian’s spine. Then Civilian was screaming, white hot pain burst behind her eyes as a resounding crack tore through her hand. Her legs went to jelly, and she wanted to be sick, but she just put her other hand out for support against the only other solid thing there: which happened to be Supervillain.

“LET HER GO! She has nothing to do with this!” Crush yelled. Distantly Civilian was aware of the scuffle behind her. That Crush was probably trying to get to her, but it didn’t matter because that wouldn’t stop the pain in her wrist from burning.

“Are you going to keep making demands, Crush? Because there are 206 bones in Civilian’s body, and I can break as many as you need to remind you of who has the power here.”

Civilian was shivering at the threat. Or the pain. She didn’t know.

“Please…” Crush again. “Please let them go.”

“No,” said Supervillain, and Civilian wanted to throw up. She wasn’t sober enough to deal with this shit. A hand on her chin tilted her head up to look Villain in the eye. “Just a hairline fracture, my dear. Nothing to worry about. Right hand?”

Civilian felt Right hand’s hand on her shoulder again and she nearly sagged against him. “If Crush decides to make any more demands break something else of her.”

“I won’t,” Crush said quickly, the words rushed out panicky and desperate. Then cleared his throat and said again: “I won’t, sir.”

“Good,” said Supervillain, eyes going between the two of his captives. “Let’s begin again then, shall we?”

[syncope-syndrome]

"I Told You So."

as a gloat, as the whumper strolls forward towards a defeated, exhausted whumpee, after hours of letting them run around in aimless desperation in search of a safe way out of the whumper's lair. there isn't one, not one that doesn't spell death for all but the luckiest of victims, and if whumpee were lucky, they wouldn't have been captured in the first place. the words are crooned by a gleeful whumper from above, grabbing the whumpee's wrists hard enough to bruise as they haul them back to whence they came.

as a sigh, from an exasperated lover, finding their workaholic partner fast asleep over their notes again. the workaholic had claimed they weren't exhausted, that they could keep working, that all they needed was another cup of coffee... and here they are, snoring with the contentment of someone who's finally gotten more than an hour's rest in days. as much as they wish to tell their sleeping lover to wake up and go to bed, they can't bring themselves to disturb them, instead draping a blanket over their shoulders with a kiss to their cheek.

as a threat, spoken in a shaky, livid voice by a whumpee who's finally gotten their revenge like they said they would. A promise, whispered over the fumes of disinfectant and blood, over their own sobs of pain as they patched up their wounds in the dead of night. whumper had laughed when they'd first said it, but they're not laughing now, and as whumpee brings their weapon of choice down again, the wet crunch of metal against bone ensures that they won't.

as a groan, as the door opens to the sight of whumpee bundled in too many blankets with a flush spread high on their too-pale cheeks. caretaker's said it again, and again, and again, to be cautious, and what thanks do they get for all of their warnings? This, being ignored again, and whumpee's gleaming, guilty smile only softens the blow so much.

as a promise, to someone who's had time pass them by over and over, to someone who'd thought they'd been considered collateral damage and abandoned. There's so little hope left that when the door opens, whumpee thinks it a hallucination but no, there's their hero, relieved and teary and telling them over and over I told you. I told you I'd come back for you.

[whumpshaped]

accountability bulletpoint list from my docs. i wrote out this plan based on my write me a novel challenge that's linked in my pinned. and then i could never sit down and write it. i had a plan to condense it into a miniseries with about 10 chapters and then i never did that either. meh

exposition

chapter 1: friends (craven doesn’t have any. lol. loser.)

chapter 2: kidnapping (craven gets kidnapped and brought to the facility)

rising action

chapter 3: tied up, darkness (craven wakes up restrained, in the dark)

chapter 4: hostility, locked away (what use was hostility? and also, he’s locked away)

chapter 5: misfortune (or is it? that’s definitely the central theme. was it actually fortunate that he got kidnapped? or is that messed up to think?)

chapter 6: outside (how the outside world reacts to his disappearance)

chapter 7: fawn (craven is desperate for approval and affection, and god, praise)

chapter 8: someone new (is craven himself someone new? or does he see a new face inside the facility? maybe someone new to torture as part of his new job)

chapter 9: branding AND fresh air (craven gets branded and his training is officially done, and he also gets to go outside for the first time in so long…)

chapter 10: scream and gunshot (craven intimidates someone into obedience successfully. he feels awful after.)

chapter 11: collared (craven collars someone… it’s a big thing. craven doesn’t wear his collar anymore since he has the brand)

chapter 12: forced feeding (craven force feeds someone who went on a hunger strike)

chapter 13: distance (distance from the outside world, distance from his family, distance from his past self, distance from the tortures he carries out)

chapter 14: muzzled (craven gets muzzled and sent to torture someone like that, he gets laughed at by a defiant whumpee, he goes to town)

chapter 15: morally grey (that’s craven’s entire being, isn’t it? no, he’s morally very dark at this point, especially after the last chapter)

chapter 16: shock value (we learn smth abt ray… smth shocking, smth that absolutely shocks craven. it’s probably a fatal illness or wound or smth… and ray doesn’t plan on putting him in charge after. in fact they plan on putting someone in charge who would Not treat craven well)

chapter 17: breaking point (he’s done everything, been obedient, been respectful, and yet this is how he gets treated? he tries to kill ray probably… fails)

chapter 18: punishment (the punishment for the last chapter. rights probably revoked)

chapter 19: resignation (craven tries to make peace with the fact that he blew it all and now he’s going to be sold off)

chapter 20: shown off (craven is shown off to customers)

chapter 21:

chapter 22: opportunity (in a last show of trust, ray gives craven a careless chance to free himself of his own misery and kill them, taking over the facility)

climax

chapter 23: betrayal (craven betrays them and kills them)

chapter 24: death (...ray dies. a piece of craven’s soul dies along with them, just like the first time he’d ever killed someone)

falling action

chapter 25: apathy (what else is there for him now? he takes over the facility but he’s very robotic and practical about it, becomes a workaholic all the same as before, now also without friends)

chapter 26: hospital (turns out ray is alive… not well, but alive, so craven goes and… kills him a second time bc he now can’t let go of his power fantasy…)

chapter 27: revenge (craven kidnaps ppl from his old life who caused him to be miserable and turns them into pets)

chapter 28: rebirth (craven completely settles into his new life and completely rebrands during the very therapeutic hobby of torturing past bullies)

chapter 29: conditioned response (smth sets off a conditioned response he had and he gets really angy abt it)

resolution

chapter 30: introspection (craven changed a lot… he looks back… and looks inward…)

chapter 31: ambiguous end

[warmblanketwhump]

Something in whump that always makes me go feral is when a character is just dragged through hell--it doesn't really matter what, kidnapping, torture, sickness, endless war, all of the above, whatever--and in the end, the only way for them to recover from it is to get lots of good, deep rest. And their teammates are supportive! They get whumpee everything they need, making them as safe and comfortable as possible. Whumpee crawls into bed, clean and full and utterly exhausted, ready to put the pain of the past who-knows-how long behind them--and then they shut their eyes and they can't sleep; what little sleep they do manage to get is torn to shreds by nightmares.

They don't ask for help. Of course they don't. So poor whumpee just throws themself into their work and grows more and more exhausted. Every little thing that rubs them the wrong way makes them want to lash out or scream or cry; it takes all their energy to hold it inside. And they just keep working. And working. And working.

And Whumpee has always been a workaholic. Considering the lethargic, almost comatose state the rest of the team expected after all they'd been through, seeing whumpee crack away like normal is a welcome surprise. So no one stops them.

OOOF okay this is such a good one. esp because everyone assumes that getting back into your normal routine is a sign of “hey, you’re healthy!!!” when that is in fact Not the case. And when the inevitable blowup happens and the team realizes they’ve gotten things all wrong and whumpee has been suffering in silence this whole time? GOLD. 🤩

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Okay so I've been thinking about workaholic whumpee trying to keep up with deadlines that they've already met and trying to get all their work done in time for the holidays. They hardly listen to their coworkers who desperately want whumpee to take a break- And it's 3am and who better to get them to rest than sandman caretaker! How much sleep sand would they need? Especially after whumpee drank several cups of coffee to finish working on emails....

Just a thought!

If they've been keeping themselves up that long, they'd probably only need half a handful of sand to knock them out! Even with the coffee in their system. I'd imagine Caretaker would gently carry them to bed and tuck them in afterward.

[i-likegamesbut-cant-playthem]

day 12

another not very good one. this has insomnia duh and whumpee on whumpee violence i guess. they cope with their shit weirdly and are dicks to each other. these characters are in a weird facility because their half monster and honestly it doesn't make much sense. technically whump of minors cuz their like 17 the whumpers aren't there but they are implied.

its under the cut

John had gone to bed about 5 hours ago and was woken up by shuffling noises.he rustled in his bed and rubbed his eyes as he woke up. Last time hed seen him Alex had been digging. The escape route was the only place he had found him. As John walked over to him. Alex was barely moving except for rapid digging. “Alex? What are you doing?” “digging” was his response. The words were harsh and wobbly. “Go back to bed” John said like a wife to her workaholic husband.

He turned to sit near the hole and look into his face. His eyes were exhausted and focused. And his nails were cracked and dirty. “Please Alex,” he begged.

Alex turned to him with tired inhuman eyes. Growling like the animal people told him he was. “Do you even care about getting out?!” he said glaring. His red hair was disheveled along with his uncomfortable pajamas. John couldn't hold back and yelled back “before you knew me you didn't even WANT to leave!!” 

This seemed to snap him out of it before he got even more upset. “If you want to leave, why don't you do anything about it!” This hit John hard. “You know I have health things, dude!”alex shifted and seemed to get angrier. “youre just fucking lazy!” Alex spat back. John's vision went red. And he grabbed at the other boy's throat “TAKE THAT BACK” he screeched as they grabbed each other. Alex was weak from exhaustion and John slapped him hard in the face.

“Please just go back to bed,” John said with bruises on his arms. “Fine.” alex replied

[whump-or-whatever]

My Whump Posts Masterlist Pt 2

Will be updating as posts come out.

Part 1

Prompt/Dialogue Lists:

Non-Verbal Anxiety/Stress Indicators

Head & Face Injury/Illness

Leaving Whumpee Ruined

Angel Whumpee, Demon Caretaker, Human Whumper

Stoic Whumpee

Workaholic Whumpee

Ex-assassin Whumpee

Mentor Whumpee, Mentee Caretaker

Bathing Captive Whumpee

Defiant whumpee copes w/ humour Pt 4

Old Timey Prim and Proper Dialogue

Farm Whump

Individual Prompts:

Whumpee looking away ashamed…

Whumpee having head held under water…

Defiant Whumpee realizes how big Whumper is…

Whumpees who nest…

Caretaker and Whumpee are strangers…

Zoning out in the bath…

Exhausted whumpee can hardly see…

Kneeling, hands behind back, bloody lip…

Art in captivity…

Peeling injured back off tub wall…

Standing in the rain…

Slamming Whumpee’s head in door…

Whumpees who think they’re healing…

Team Leader getting cross faded…

Stranger on the doorstep…

Poison Parsnip…

Fall off railroad bridge into shallow water…

Whumpee hates being indoors…

Whumper making whumpee tread water…

Whumpee trapped with dragon…

Jumping out a window to escape…

Whumpee misses the people they met in captivity…

Self-sacrificial test subject whumpee…

Leave whumpee out in the sun…

Caretaker gets call about whumpee…

Whumpee scared of thunderstorms…

Telepathic whumpee turned whumper…

Both whumpee and caretaker flounder…

Whumper grabbing whumpee’s head…

Demon whumpee/archangel whumper…

Whumpee hung up with bruises hip bones…

Whumpee slumped against wall…

Severe dizziness…

Getting rid of scars…

Whumpee hiding injuries beneath clothes…

Needy pet whumpee…

Whump Vignettes:

Vignette #7

Vignette #8

Vignette #9

Vignette #10

Vignette #11

Vignette #12

Touch starved/touch averse whumpee & caretaker comfort

Whump Poem

Fav Whump Moment Screencaps:

Zed Martin

Whump Memes/Humour:

Stoic Whumpee

Caretaker after Rescuing Whumpee

Self-Sacrificing Team Leader

Unlimited whump

When you don’t wanna have to write it

Sword fights to satiate bloodlust

Random Character Gets Whumped

Polls:

Dull vs Sharp Knife

Whump Media Form

Fav Whump Method

[whumpwillow]

a workaholic whumpee who is used to powering through their sicknesses without sympathy and the jarring difference of a caretaker (a coworker, a partner, a friend, etc) who worries over them when they’re ill and wants them to rest (could be combined with whumpee unintentionally hiding their symptoms by not bringing attention to it and then downplaying it when caretaker notices)

characters downplaying their injuries / illnesses and overworking themselves my beloved

whumpee grew up raised in an environment where only the strong survived. they received no love and care as support and had to work to earn everything they had, with the punishment being that they might die as a result. of course, even now when they have a stable life, the habit still carries over

whumpee learned it was better to hide their vulnerabilities or else others would take advantage of them

whumpee who's just a type A personality and really believes they can get through everything just by pushing through it no matter the pain

whumpee who thinks everything is their responsibility

whumpee who knows everything really is their responsibility, whether they're a monarch, a team leader, a battle commander, or some other person in a position of authority where they have to protect others in a dire situation

caretaker bringing whumpee some tea and massaging their shoulders

caretaker offering to help whumpee with their work

caretaker insisting that whumpee needs to sleep, they clearly aren't being productive like this and it's getting them nowhere

caretaker catching whumpee when they inevitably collapse from exhaustion

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Mr. Petrus is somewhere in public when a meek stranger approaches him on the street. They immediately recognized him as a Handler—formerly theirs. They appear alone, and half a second from falling to their knees should he so much as look at them a certain way. They try to tell him something but the words catch in their throat and only a quiet noise slips free. How does he react this unexpected interaction?

CW: Pet whump, whumper POV, creepy/intimate whumper, escaped whumpee returns to whumper, dehumanization, collared, implied dubcon/noncon at end, dubcon touch, dubcon kiss

He isn’t usually the type to go out to bars - Luke’s a workaholic on a good week, content to all but live in his Facility sleeping quarters, leaving for supplies or to spend a day out in the sun and then coming right back.

When you love what you do, as they say, you’ll never work a day in your life.

Still, Renford's essentially mandated he take a damn vacation for once. He’s left behind his trainees and headed out to enjoy himself at a bar he used to frequent, back before he found he preferred to frequent the cells the frightened young men are held in, waiting for the slightest touch to remind them they exist.

Luke sits back on a barstool with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Oh, he’s not supposed to smoke, but this bar doesn’t push the issue and he’s not the only one filling the air with the familiar, acrid scent.

Out on the floor, people dance together, barely lit by dim lights changing color every so often, Red, blue, and green move over sweaty skin, curves and straight lines. Luke enjoys it all. He quirks a smile. He can see, just looking, who here would look fucking gorgeous with a collar buckled around their neck and a little more emptiness inside.

Get ‘em so empty they need someone to fill it up.

Luke’s probably ten years older than the oldest of the people on the dance floor, but that doesn’t bother him. Plenty of people like an older man, and those who don’t… well, if he gets them on the wrong end of his baton, they don’t really get to choose what they like or don’t, now do they?

The beat is a deafening rumble that rolls against his skin in rhythm and Luke hums contentedly. His beer is cool and rolls with citrus sourness along his tongue and down his throat, slightly fizzy compared to the darker stuff. Bright enough to flirt with tasting like cider, or nearly so.

Some local craft brewery shit, probably. In his Facility studio, Luke just keeps some basic Coors. No need to get fancy at home, after all.

Does he even have beer in his actual home? It’s been so long since he’s been there…

Something touches his arm, pulls just slightly at his sleeve, and Luke turns, head tipping to the side, a grin already on his lips.

There’s a lithe, beautiful young man there, with hair dyed a brilliant, ridiculously bright purple, eyes ringed in eyeliner. He has a lip ring, Luke notes, his tongue moving out to run over his own lower lip in thought.

There’s something familiar about the young man, although Luke can’t quite place him. Not exactly.

But the shiver of trepidation mixed with a desperation to have eyes - and more than eyes - on him… Luke knows that well enough. It tells him what he wants to know. His smile widens, just a little. “Evening, pretty boy.”

The young man looks up at him, his hand still hovering just over Luke’s bicep, and his mouth opens like he’ll reply. All that comes out is a soft sound that Luke only hears because a new song has started, slightly off-key piano playing over a heavily-synthesized voice and the slow introduction of a beat.

“What?” Luke’s eyebrows raise. “Use your words.”

The young man takes a step closer, and then another. He’s moving like a newborn fawn, on suddenly-awkward legs like he might fall to his knees at any moment. Luke was watching the dancers before, but now his gaze is wholly caught by the absolute goddamn sexiness of a runaway pet who can’t stop himself from walking back into a cage.

“H-Handler Petrus,” The runaway says, and when Luke’s hand moves to cup his face, the young man tips his head immediately into it. His eyes are watering, wet with tears that haven’t yet fallen. As soon as one slips out, Luke leans slowly forward and licks up the side of his face. The runaway whimpers at the wet heat of his tongue, the casual ownership of the action.

“That’s me,” He murmurs into the young man’s ear. “You know it. Why aren’t you running from me?”

The young man swallows, hard, and turns his head, pressing his own lips in a shivering, fearful brush against Luke’s cheek. “I-I’m hungry,” He says, voice almost too low to pick up. “And… and I don’t-... I don’t w-want-...” His voice trails off, and Luke’s smile only widens as the runaway leans forward and rests his forehead against Luke’s shoulder.

He sighs, setting his beer down half-drunk and turning to run his condensation-cold fingers through that garishly bright purple hair. “You ran away, huh?”

He already knows the answer.

The runaway pet nods without speaking.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, is it?” Luke slides off his barstool, shifting to slide an arm around the runaway’s shoulders. He slaps a ten-dollar bill on the bar and walks away, heading for the door, the beat of a song bouncing off his skin right up until they step outside. It’s chilly out here, with a stiff breeze blowing the scent of saltwater through the air around them. It feels a little like walking through the surf, down here at the old warehouse district.

“No. I’m… hungry all the time, I still have to fuck for a place to sleep, people are… mean sometimes, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, where to go.”

Fuck. He has to make sure the lib people don’t get ahold of this little beauty. He’s exactly what they’re looking to save.

“What’s your number?” He asks, casual as can be. The runaway isn’t wearing long-sleeves or a bracelet, he’s scarred on the inside of his left wrist when Luke takes a peek. Looks like he cut the tattoo off of himself, or had someone else do it, once upon a time.

“654338,” The pet says automatically, without hesitation. “Designation Romantic, Facility 001-”

“Yeah, I got that part.” Luke cuts him off and the pet falls back into silence. “Why’d you run away?” With his blue eyes as cold as ever, Luke lights another cigarette, takes a deep, deep drag, exhales smoke into the air in front of them as they move. The runaway coughs into one hand.

“I just… didn’t want to, anymore. With my owner.”

“You should know that what you want doesn’t fucking matter,” Luke says amiably, but the runaway winces and hunches into himself. Luke watches from the corner of his eye, his own mouth watering at the sight of the pet’s shame, his nervousness. “You don’t exist to get what you want. So why come up to me?”

“I thought maybe-... maybe you could help me.”

“Get back to your owner?”

The pet turns to look up at him, with gorgeous warm brown eyes full of pleading. “No, Handler Petrus. Please, please no. Just… just, to someone else, please, someone who won’t-... hurt me so badly. Please. Please.”

“It’s my job to get any runaway I see back to the Facility, gorgeous thing. Then back home."

“No. No, don’t take me back there! Please, I can’t-... I can’t do the lights again, please. I can't take how he h-hurts when, when he-"

"Yeah, yeah." Luke rolls his eyes. "Wimp."

The pet's eyes close against more tears.

Luke snorts at the sight. Pathetic. “We have pretty strict contracts that ensure runaways go right back to their rightful owners.”

“No, please, just-... can you help me another way?” The runaway goes up on his toes, presses his lips to Luke’s chin, against the corner of his mouth. Those pretty hands move to slide up under Luke’s shirt, cold fingers against his warm stomach. They tease moving downward. There’s a distance in the pet’s eyes, now, separating himself from what he’s doing to earn what he’s desperate for.

Luke considers. Then he has an idea, and he sighs, as if he's won over.

“Tell you what.” He rubs a thumb over the runaway’s lower lip, toys with his lip ring. The pet opens his mouth to show the silver stud on his tongue. Luke’s smile goes slightly cock-eyed, a jolt of heat straight to the pit of his stomach, spreading from there. “I’ve got a friend who might be able to keep you. I’m not going to just hand over anyone, though.”

The pet takes Luke’s thumb into his mouth, sucks lightly, rolling the tongue piercing against the underside in an unspoken promise. He pulls back just to ask, “What do I need to do?”

“I have an apartment, a week’s worth of vacation scheduled, and you can show me just how good you are at earning your keep.”

The runaway swallows with an audible click in his throat, then nods. “I-I can do that.”

“I know you can, baby. I’m the one who trained you. Now, let’s go find out how good you are with that tongue ring.”

Luke leads the pet away, towards his car, smiling contentedly into the night. He can enjoy a week of desperate eagerness, then drug the fuck out of the pretty thing, buckle a collar right back around his neck, and throw him into a cell at WRU to be wiped and put back where he belongs.

Once he’s on the Drip for a couple of days, he won’t even know Luke broke a promise.

He’ll be the same puppy-eager for Luke’s hands and mouth and anything else he wants to give him that he is right now. Plus, Luke’ll get a nice little bonus for turning in a runaway.

This is shaping up to be an excellent vacation.

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

My Year In Review!

I posted 232 times in 2022

188 posts created (81%)

44 posts reblogged (19%)

I tagged 180 of my posts in 2022

Only 22% of my posts had no tags

#prompts - 140 posts

#writing - 133 posts

#whump - 130 posts

#ideas - 128 posts

#angst - 91 posts

#worry - 33 posts

#torture - 24 posts

#whumptober - 21 posts

#whumptober2022 - 21 posts

#kidnapping - 18 posts

Longest Tag: 96 characters

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Whump Prompt #815

“Welp, if you’re all finished bickering. I’m going to collapse now.” And A does just that.

311 notes - Posted January 20, 2022

#4

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.”

312 notes - Posted March 8, 2022

#3

Whump Prompt #813

The caretaker has to have a tight grip on the whumpee sat on the saddle In front of them, as they race to the nearest town in search for a healer. Through the layers of clothing, the caretaker can feel just how feverish the whumpee has gotten, and time is running out to find a cure for their ailment.

331 notes - Posted January 18, 2022

#2

Whump Prompt #902

The burn-out sickness.

A fever of 102

Chills

Hot flashes

Constant, hacking coughs that leave your ribs strained and your back aching.

Joint pains

Headache

High anxiety levels

Fatigue

Insomnia

Lack of appetite

Nausea

Dizziness

Feeling faint whenever you stand

Calling in sick despite the fact your workaholic tendencies are screaming at you not to

Not being able to get comfortable

431 notes - Posted June 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Whump Prompt #820

“A, you okay?”

“Yeah… just- just tired…”

B has seconds to react before A hits the floor, unconscious.

518 notes - Posted January 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[justbreakonme]

As someone who cooks for the people they love often, I love when the caretaker cooks for the whumpee.

-They’ve been constantly having to fight for/find/earn food, so when the caretaker gives them a steaming bowl, then look up in confusion, asking what they wanted in exchange. Caretaker being equally confused, and eventually figuring out the general idea. “You don’t owe anything. Eat.”

-The whumper starved them out of intentional abuse, and the caretaker intentionally giving them food, even if they didn’t “need” it (like breakfast even though they had dinner the night before, etc) is a big step in seeing the caretaker as, well, a caretaker.

-The whumpee not even realizing how awful they felt, how weak and tired it made them until they started eating again and found themselves not in constant mid level pain throughout the day.

-Family recipes and home remedies, chicken soup and grandmas cakes, the caretaker telling them about their family history as they cooked, and the whumpee realizing as they took the first bite that they were tasting generations of love. That the caretaker considered them family, to share this with them.

-Workaholic and/or neglected whumpee not even realizing what it was like to sit down and eat a meal 3 times a day. They were so used to being constantly ran ragged, either by themselves or by others that actually taking time to eat was…strange.

-Secretly looking up how to make whumpees favorite food, the more difficult, the more endearing. Surprising them with it, and reminding themselves to make it often based on the delight on the whumpees face.

-“I know you don’t like mushrooms so I didn’t put any in yours.” “I put extra whipped cream for you.” “Two sugars and two creamer right?” “I know you like these so I grabbed an extra pack.” Just things that say I know you, and I use this knowledge to love you.

No matter how gruff the caretaker, how stubborn the whumpee, a plate of food handed is a silent acknowledgment of care.

[albino-whumpee]

I love that part of whump when the whumpee is so far gone on the effects of delirium, recovering or simply being so tired they crash unconscious, so their friends gotta carry them somewhere comfortable and they don’t react at all. But it’s when that one person comes to see them that they lean on their touch and mutter little words like “Dont go” or “stay”. Just knowing it’s their person instinctively.

So then you have the other sitting down next to them to comfort them until they fall back asleep.

Bonus points if whumpee is a workaholic or too responsible and strong to be this vulnerable and needy.

Even more bonus points if it’s not the person whumpee should trust at all.