Just a girl who loves men in distress!

- a whumpee being blindfolded for days on end. losing track of what day it is, or how much time has passed.

- being forced to watch their fellow captives being beaten

- learning that avoiding eye contact can help avoid a beating, so they’re constantly looking down

- locking eyes with their whumper from across the room, and that familiar feeling of dread blooms in their stomach

- locking eyes with their whumper during a beating, and they can see the shine in their eyes, and themselves reflected back

- desperately looking for a way to escape, some way out, anything useful, a weapon, a shield, anything to help them

- carefully watching the guard’s routines, hoping one day someone will mess up

In honor of all the Disney prince charmings that started this whole whump thing for me back when I was just a  kid! I’d see Aladdin drown or John Smith getting shot and I’d get butterflies in ma stomach, freakin’ butterflies! 

I honestly thought I was the most messed up corrupt human. But alas! The sun had risen and the day has come when I realized there’s a definition for this sort of thing, and a whole lovely community behind it! And now… now I can sleep at night :)

Okay this may just be me loving intimate whump, but I’d love to see some more manhandling in the whump community (yes there’s a lot already, I’m just greedy).

Slamming the whumpee against the wall/floor, causing them to hit their head and be a little out of it for a few seconds? Mhm.

Throwing the whumpee onto their back/chest and keeping them down with a boot? Yess.

Wrenching the whumpee’s arms behind their back and moving forward to whisper something in their ear, with the whumper’s chest to the whumpee’s back? Kills me every time.

And, my favorite: straddling waists. Pinning the whumpee’s arms above their head with one hand as other presses a knife to their throat. Never gets old.

*Watching tv/movie with friends or family*

*Whump scene comes on*

Me: Don’t. Smile. Dontsmiledontsmiledontsmile

"That's right, nothing. You're mine for tonight, doll." Whumper licks their lips, tilting the whumpee's face forward using their index finger.

“Oh, that’s cute, sweetheart. You think you can escape?” The whumpee was thrown into a chair, and the whumper tied their wrists behind it. “You will Never be free, no matter how much you struggle or cry or plead.” The whumper tightened the rope, and the whumpee winced. “You are Mine, and I think it’s time you learned that.”

Character A and B are fighting the bad guys in a forest (or anywhere else, really, as long as it’s remote) and it’s basically A and B versus a shit-ton of people. They were not prepared (#itsatrap) and A ends up kneeling on the ground, utterly spent, blood everywhere (split lip, cut cheekbone, fist fight-related injuries, nothing too serious) surrounded by not-so-friendly faces. One of the bad guys grabs them by their hair/chin to make them look up (the debate remains open over hair or chin, I tend to lean toward hair but whatever floats your whumpy boat)

Now that their face is up, A sees through half-closed eyelids and the dozen pair of legs encircling them that B is running to the tree line, away from the bad guys. Relieved that B is safe, A allows himself to fall unconscious after Bad Guy’s first punch.

A wakes chained to the ceiling/tied to a chair/chained to a wall/any configuration you like to have your character in when they’re about to be tortured. They’re alone for a while, which gives them time to prepare for the torture they know is about to start. As Bad Guys opens the door, A gets a glimpse of the hallway: metal doors lined up, probably a facility of some kind where Bad Guy’s organisation keeps their prisoners. 

Bad Guy takes a chair, sits down in front of them and asks the first question. Of course A tells them to fuck off/is defiant in general and expects punishment for that but nothing comes. Bad Guy simply nods and writes something in a little notebook, something short, not more that a couple of words. Bad Guys looks back up and asks a second question. Again, A doesn’t answer. Still nothing. A nod, a note, on to the next question. 

At first, it makes A dread even more the torture they’re sure is about to come. It makes them immediately uncomfortable because that’s not how it usually goes and what the fuck is going on. But they slowly get used to it, and after a while they don’t even bother answering. Still, Bad Guys doesn’t do anything. Five seconds of silence, a nod, a note, on to the next question.

The sessions last no more than an hour, Bad Guy going through the same list of question every time.

In-between sessions, A can hear distant screams, probably the other prisoners kept in the facility. A usually manage to drown the sound out and get some rest, but it makes them wonder why they aren’t being tortured too. It’s not like Bad Guy seems to mind torturing people.

It goes on like this for days. Until that one session that changes the pattern.

Bad Guy opens the door, but doesn’t immediately takes up a chair like he usually does. He keeps the door open, and two other Bad Guys enter, carrying someone by the arms, their feet dragging on the floor. They throw them on the ground and A starts panicking because that’s B lying a few feet in front of them, and no how is that even possible, they escaped, A saw them run away, no no nononono.

“he looks so peaceful when he’s asleep” the whumper whispered with a chuckle. he was crouched in front of A but his eyes were gazing over the sleeping B in the opposite corner. “fuck you” A spat and pulled against the ropes. “shhh” the whumper put a finger against his lips “you’ll wake him up” That’s when a grin broke out on the whumper’s face. it was a grin that filled A’s stomach with dread. “I have a little game for us to play” the whumper said as he brought a knife to touch A’s bare skin.

“you wake him up” the whumper jerked his head towards B “and I’ll kill him” A hissed as the knife sliced into his chest. he clenched his teeth as hard as he could to keep from crying out.

The boot pressed into the back of her neck. The pressure alone wasn’t enough to keep her down, but the threat that followed was.

“You want me to keep hurting them? Is that what you want? Because that’s the message you’re sending, with all these escape attempts.”

“Please - no, don’t touch them - “

The boot presses harder. She gasps. It’s a struggle to get the air in. Her shoulder blades ache from being held down; she’s already starting to bruise. Tears well in her eyes. She wasn’t even close, this time.

“Please,” she tries again, and it comes out in a hoarse whisper. “Don’t punish them for this. Hurt me instead - “

She’s cut off as the whumper’s boot disappears from her neck, only to visciously kick her in the side. A strangled cry escapes her as the whumper hauls her up by her hair.