Heya, I'm Tea! I post whump prompts and the occasional drabble. Most of the stuff you will find on this blog will be 18+ and some of it contains NSFW content. Feel free to interact, I'd love to hear what you think of my stuff or if you want to see more of something!
(Note: if you see a really obvious grammar or spelling mistake in one of my posts feel free to point it out! Thanks in advance :D)
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Contains: tiny whump, nonhuman whumpee, non human caretaker, injury, harm, fantasy whump, environmental whump
Itâs pitch black. The light she emits only goes out a few inches in front of her. But it doesnât matter. She can see the light of his hut. Itâs not far now. A raindrop falls an inch from her wing, and for a moment- she stops. If you get caught in a rainstorm, keep your wings in tight. The child's lullaby sounds in her head, a gentle whisper in the panic of her mind.
Then a drop slams into her back. Her wings canât support her own weight on top of the pound of water, and her hands are a blur in front of her as she falls, reaching out for nothing at all. She hits the ground with a thud. A sharp pain carries through her ribs, and the gasp of air she pulls in is punctuated by sharp, biting pain. Her arms shake as she pushes herself up to her feet. When you fly, stay low, or else become the night.Â
The tune carries on in her head as she limps, clutching her abdomen, towards the tree where his hut is. Do not stop, do not pause, remember they hit like a brick. The grass provides some safety as the rain pours down. A droplet hits a blade near her, and it bursts, sending a spray over her face. If you get caught in a rainstormâŚâhope itâs over quick,â she whispers, focusing on the tune instead of the throbbing pain throughout her entire body. Sheâs shivering, which exacerbates the feeling, but thereâs nothing she can do about it. That droplet soaked her to the bone. Her clothes are drenched, clinging heavily to her frame as she walks.Â
Thatâs when she spots it. A tiny, shimmery blue light. A wisp. She looks up. Rain drop. She throws herself forward, rolling when she hits the ground. A spray of water hits her back, and then sheâs running. Every pounding step sends another shock of agony through her. The wisp trails just in front of her, always out of reach, fading and growing. Then itâs gone.
She stops running. There arenât any more raindrops coming down around her. She can hear them back where she came from, but hereâŚshe looks up. The canopy of the tree hangs over her. A shaky breath of relief escapes her lips and she whispers a thanks to the dead. She climbs the roots of the tree and begins the climb up the rope ladder leading to his hut. The latter shakes under her, and her wings flutter nervously the higher she goes on foot. By the time she reaches the top, her entire body is shaking from the exertion and the pain. Pulling herself onto his deck, she collapses with a sigh.
âShay!â She yells, despite her ribs screaming in protest. âItâs Pairr!â
It only takes seconds for the door to open. Not a surprise. He never sleeps when it rains. âPairr! What are you doing here?â He sounds panicked.
âI have to tell you something.â
âIt couldnât wait?â He snaps, grabbing her by the arm to hoist her up. When she winces, his approach gentles, and he wraps an arm around her waist to help her inside. âWhat happened to you? Whatâs hurt?â
âItâs not obvious?â She asks, laughing slightly and starts to cough.
âIt must be internal.â He says, almost to himself, as he escorts her to the kitchen. âShirt, off.â
âIâm fine.â She says, pulling her shirt over her head- her wings disappearing to compensate. He sorts through one of his drawers, pulling out a glow stick. Then he begins circling her, pressing lightly on specific spots and asking her if it hurts. Every spot does.
âDamn it, Pairr,â he says, âwhat was so urgent you had to do this to yourself?â
âItâs the monarchs.â She says, jerking when he presses a finger into a particularly painful spot. âI heard theyâre pulling all of the doctors back to the capitol.â
âWings,â he says. She spreads them, glancing back to look at his expression. All of his focus is reserved for her wings. He puts the glow stick behind them to illuminate the subtle lines of their form. He sighs angrily. âTheyâre stressed. You shouldnât use them for a couple of days.â He looks up at her. âYou see how the lines are shimmering? That isnât good.â
âDid you not hear me?â She demands, turning on him. âForget my damn wings, theyâre going to expect you to get to the capitol!â
âI already knew.â
She stops, wings falling. âWhat?â
âIâve already made preparations. Now, come on. You need to get changed. Luckily, you left some clothes last time you visited.â
âYou canât just drop this on me and act like itâs not a big deal!â She says, following him through the living room and into the laundry room. âI flew through the rain to tell you!â
âAnd it was a mistake,â he says.
âI wouldnât have done it if youâd told me! How long did you know? Why did you hide it from me?â
He grabs a set of pajamas and hands them to her. His silence only serves to anger her more. âAnswer me, Shay!â
âI donât know, alright?â He shouts. âJust get changed. Iâll go prepare the paint.â With that, he leaves her alone. She strips herself completely and dries herself as best she can before putting the pajamas on. Sheâs been looking for this pair for a while.Â
Minutes later, sheâs sitting on the floor of the living room, shirt discarded again, as Shay draws sigils in paint on her ribs, leg and back.Â
âItâs good to have a doctor for a friend,â she jokes.
âYouâre going to have to be more careful when Iâm gone.â He says.
Her jaw ticks. âThatâs not funny.â
âIâm not joking.â He replies as he finishes up the last drawing. Slowly, the paint begins to seep into her skin. She can feel things shifting inside her, painfully and with slow precision, setting things right.
âHow are you even going to get there? You canât fly.â
âI donât know. Iâm sure the enforcers will come get me at some point.â
The silence stretches for a long moment, and she slips her shirt back on.
âDid I miss anything?â He asks as she gets up. She stretches, leaning left and right, twisting, even doing a handstand.
âNope.â She decides once sheâs upright again and in no pain.
Thereâs sunlight seeping through the tiny cracks of the boards over the window. It must be midday, and yet Samson hasnât been able to sleep. He can only think. Play back what he should have done differently. Itâs been weeks since he was recaptured.
Weeks since Carter closed him off so completely they barely talk or even look at each other. And itâs starting to really get to Samson. The feeling of being alone, isolated, only serves to make him feel more guilty. This had to be how Carter felt after Samson abandoned him. His hand wanders to the seal over the bite in his neck. The wound aches and itches. It always does. Heâs tired. Carter has to be too. Which is why he feels particularly scummy when he climbs out of bed to nudge Carter awake.
âWhat? What is it?â Carter mumbles, his eyes peeking open just a centimeter before shutting again. âItâs still daytime, leave me alone.â
Samson almost does. He wants to, wants to be able to. Instead he stays where he is and asks the most damning question.
âCan I sleep with you?â
Thereâs a long pause, and Samson is half convinced Carter wonât answer. âThereâs no room.â He replies gruffly.
âOn the floor, like before?â Samson lifts the blankets in his hands. âI grabbed my bedding.â
Carter sighs. His lips twitch downwards. But itâs still better than an outright no. Maybe, maybe, if Samson is lucky, he wants this too. When Carter gets up, pulling his blankets along with him, Samson canât help but smile. They arrange a pallet on the floor and set down their pillows before lying down. Carter rolls away from him, giving him his back. Thatâs fine. Samson does the same, scooting so that their backs are touching. The warmth from Carterâs body and the slow rise and fall of his breath quickly turns Samsonâs brain sluggish. He sleeps uninterrupted throughout the day. Even though theyâre on the floor, itâs the most comfortable heâs been in a while.
Day Two - caught in an explosion - alternate prompt
Warning: mild gore (or at least discussion of it), referenced death
Contains: immortal whumpee, magic whump
âYou canât keep me here,â he says, the cuffs attaching him to the patient bed rattling as he pulls on them. âSomeone will find me.â
âThey donât know thereâs anything to find, sweetheart.â She murmurs.
âNo. No, theyâll know. A body canât just go missing without anyone noticing-â
âWhat body? You were left in so many little bits, there was nothing to recover.â
He swallows against nothing, his mind reeling backwards like a fish caught in a hook. The deafening sound of the bomb explodes in his ears, his vision is filled with light so bright his head is in instant agony. Thereâs a flash of pain and thenâŚhe shudders, the movement rippling up his spine and sending goosebumps over his skin.
âThis isnât fucking possible,â he says, his voice breaking. âI didnâtâŚI couldnât haveâŚâ
âOh, honeyâŚâ She coos, pushing her hand through his hair, her nails scraping lightly at his scalp. âItâs okay. You donât have to accept it yet. But you did die.â
âHow?â He demands. âHow am I alive?â
âI threaded you back together.â She says, smiling. âVery carefully.â Her fingers linger under his chin, prompting him to look into her pale green eyes. âIf you experience any strange pains, let me know. It could be your body unraveling.â
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He stares down at the gun. It feels strange in his hand. Both heavy and light. This is the first time heâs needed a weapon for a job. Theyâve always trusted his appearance to be enough to scare off any issues, and if that failed, a small display of force. A fist to fist fight, if necessary. Never this. Heâs never had the power to kill someone so easily. He could, of course. He knows all of the ways to kill a person with his bare hands. But this. This isnât a method that allows him time to change his mind, to switch tactics, to think.
âYouâre not made to think.â His handler growls in his mind. âYou are to obey and protect, understand, 830?â
His hand flexes around the grip. The metal flashes in the dim light from the window. One second. That would be all it took. His finger slips to the trigger. In the center of the room, his ward sleeps in the bed, snoring. One second. He could do it, and no one would be able to stop him. Unlike every other time, the odds are in his favor.
So he lifts the gun to his temple and- blinding pain spears his head. His grip fails; the gun falls to the carpeted floor with a dull thud. When his vision clears, heâs on the ground. He steadies himself with his hands, staring at the strands of beige fabric that peek out between his gnarled fingers. A wave of nausea comes over him and he swallows back the bile that comes up his throat.Â
âYou do not harm the property of your owners.â He mutters to himself. With that, he gets up, putting the gun back in its holster at his hip. His ward hasnât so much as stirred.
Warning: referenced death, (mild gore?), violence and war- flashbacks
Heâs walking down the street when a car passes by. They arenât common in these parts, although this one looks as cheap as the houses. Every couple of seconds it pops as the ignition backfires. It comes down the broken road in hiccups and shudders. He turns his gaze back to the sidewalk ahead of him, stepping over a piece of it that juts up from the ground, when a bang rings out from behind him.
He turns, and the head of the man beside him explodes. His ears ring as he drops into the mud of the trench, covering his head. His eyes squeeze shut, his body so tense his muscles ache and tremble.Â
But no more shots come. His eyes open to the sidewalk. Slowly, the sound of his gasping and crying comes into focus. His knees ache and burn. As he pushes himself up, he sees thereâs blood seeping through the denim of his jeans. He forces himself to take deeper breaths as his lung strains to fill.
âItâs okay,â he breathes, âIâm okay.â His eyes turn to watch the offending car disappear around a corner.
content: immortal whumpee, medical whump, major character death, asphyxiation whump, frostbite whump, gore
It was so lonely. It had been for quite a while.
Whumpee used to be a social person, despite the⌠challenges theyâd faced due to their⌠particular quirk. It wasnât a simple bad habit they couldâve eliminated. See, it was a thing that was inherent to them. They were⌠immortal.
At first, they didnât know. When they stopped aging, it wasnât that noticeable. It was only when their friend group was beginning to step into their forties that it became painfully obvious that they were the same twenty year old from decades ago. They bounced when the discrepancy was starting to raise alarms.
Their next friend group, they tried to fit in again. They knew they would have to leave them eventually, but it was so nice while it lasted. They wanted to make it count. On the side, they were experimenting with their own immortality like one does with any attribute they have. They tried to see how far they could push it without permanent consequences.Â
The real test came around the time communication underwent a revolution. It was their fifth friend group, and the secret was found out by one of them. They immediately posted about it on their socials, and Whumpee soon realised that bouncing around the same area only brought more attention to them. They had to leave countries, cross borders. Anything to get away.
They learned new languages. Integrated into new cultures. Their fame always caught up with them.
Soon, it wasnât them pushing their own boundaries anymore. Theyâd never forget the day the police kicked down the door of their motel room and brought them in for questioning. Before long, they were smuggled off into a government facility. Their new âfriend groupâ were a bunch of scientist in pristine, white lab coats, running tests on them and seeing where the limits of this âimmortalityâ were.
What they found out was that there were no limits. Whumpee was indestructible. They always survived, they always came back, and they always regenerated.Â
The lab was where they met Caretaker. Thinking of them still made them teary-eyed, despite the fact they could barely remember anything about them. Not their face, not their voice; only the memories and emotions. Caretaker was an idealist, a new scientist introduced to the lab. They were the only one that saw them as somewhat human. A person, even. They were the one who helped them escape.
The following years were not peaceful, but they were the best Whumpee had ever had, not counting the years of blissful ignorance before their curse kicked in. Caretaker was gentle with them, washing them of dirt and grime after theyâd made their escape. They really wished they could remember their face. They really wished they had some sort of tangible memory. But everything had been destroyed.
Caretaker brought them ice cream and boba tea. They crocheted them a blanket to keep them warm, and they bought shirts with silly custom words on the front. Whumpee could never leave their cellar for fear of being discovered, nor could they talk in anything but hushed tones, but it was nice. It was intimate. Cosy.Â
Then Caretaker grew old and frail. Their visits went from daily to every two days, then three, then weekly. They could barely traverse the steep steps that led down into the cellar, and towards the end, Whumpee offered to walk upstairs instead.Â
âTheyâll catch you if you make the faintest noise,â Caretaker would say then. âYou must stay down here, for your own good. You understand that, right? Iâm not saying this to be antagonistic.â
âBut you can barely walk, and Iâm so lonely down here,â they would plead more than once. âYou need to be taken care of, too. I could do that. I could take care of you.â
âNo, Whumpee. Iâm sorry. I just want to protect you, you know that. Let me.â
So Whumpee stayed in the cellar. The visits grew even rarer. Some days, Whumpee wondered if Caretaker even remembered that they were down there.Â
One day, the visits stopped entirely.
It took the stench of rotting flesh to reach the cellar for Whumpee to muster up the courage to go upstairs. They found nothing but a decomposing corpse in Caretakerâs bed. It was the first time they ever stuck around long enough to see what awaited mortal humans at the end of their lifespan, and as jarring as it had been at the time, now they couldnât remember that either. Theyâd called the hearse and left, trying to evade the government on their own.
Years passed. Decades passed. Centuries. Millenia. Whumpee saw humanity rise and fall. They couldnât exactly pinpoint the time the last human died, but when they hadnât seen one in decades, they kind of assumed they were all gone. The brightly shining sun exploded and turned into a red giant before collapsing in on itself and becoming a white dwarf. It had been cold ever since. Cold and dark.Â
Whumpee curled up a little tighter, trying to stop the chattering of their teeth. They hadnât breathed oxygen in billions of years. Their body was used to a constant state of asphyxiation now.
Would there ever be a new civilization? Something akin to humans? And if there would, would they treat them all the same? Or even worse? Or would there be a new Caretaker?Â
They were kind of glad there was little to no light. What they could see of their body had turned pitch black from constant frostbite. Some days their fingers fell off, some days a whole leg got detached. They didnât want to see any of that happen.
So they went back to waiting. Waiting for another billion years for someone, anyone to spot them in a dark corner of the universe; waiting for another crocheted blanket and some boba tea.
Decided to have some fun designing a different method of delivering these prompts!
For any eight days you choose- or random unconnected days ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ whatever works best for you! As long as youâre writing, itâs a win!
Prompts:
Day One: freezing / canât breathe / âhelp meâ
Day Two: âyouâre safeâ / flames / false kindness
Day Three: being watched / dark / exhausted
Day Four: anger / âIâm sorryâ / shaking
Day Five: comfort / intimate / distrust
Day Six: violence / guilt / begging
Day Seven: hurt / quiet / jumpy
Day Eight: crying / infection / abandoned
Alternates:
Bleeding
Drowning
âThis is the last time.â
Far away
âI canât.â
Holding on
Bruises
Drug use
Also, if youâd like to share whatever you make with me, use the tag #whumptraumacarespecialist; Iâll do my best to leave a like and a comment on every one I see!
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whumpee who knows that there's no one out there looking for them. they doubt they even made it to a local daily's columns, not even wedged in a tiny gap between the large spread of commercials. people like them go missing all the time, after all. their employee probably fired them after the first two shifts they missed, and their landlord has already been threatening to evict them for a while now. they have no family to lose. no friend or coworker who remembers them beyond their name.
so they take it. they become the perfect canvas for their whumper who inflicts pain like paint on their skin and in their psyche. any humiliation that the whumper conjures up does not compare to the idea of being dead with no one to remember them. and they know that even to the whumper they are just a passing fancy: someone who takes it and takes it well. after all, the whumper did not even bother asking for their name. whumpee knows that there is no one coming for them, and their whumper makes sure to twist that knife in properly. they make sure to remind them that there is no point in escaping, because what is there to escape to? and the whumpee believes it, utterly and completely, terrified and grief-stricken.
Pair this with a whumper who is or grows obsessed with whumpee.
Maybe whumpee runs when the opportunity arises because they want to feel the sun. Maybe whumper chases them down like a blood hound. Maybe whumper realizes they can never be without whumpee again.
Thereâs nothing quite like the terror of waking up and being unable to remember a single thing about yourself, every strained attempt to remember only resulting in you smacking into the steel vault door thatâs suddenly right where your cherished childhood memories used to be. Or, where they probably were, anyway. I wouldnât have known, because I couldnât fucking remember. All I could feel was this cold pit in my stomach, the sensation that Iâd collapsed in on myself like a black hole, that I wasnât anyone anymore.
Yep, thereâs really nothing quite like it. Which is why thereâs also the godforsaken sequel: being molded into someoneâsomethingâyouâre absolutely certain you donât want to be.
âYour pain is what makes you useful,â the trainer intoned. âSay it.â
âFuck youââ The cattle prod jabbed into my stomach. My arms yanked at the manacles suspending me, instinct driving me to protect my torso. That was the only thing driving me, I thought numbly, my jaw clenched against the pain. Instinct. I didnât have much else.
When it stopped, I sagged in my chains with my arms pulling at their sockets, and a bead of sweat ran down my nose and plopped to the tile floor, right in front of the trainerâs boots. The tip of her cattle prod, still warm, pushed up under my chin. I flinched upright. She let out a dry chuckle. âI could do this all day, pet. But I doubt you can.â
âUnderestimate me again,â I muttered, âI dare yââ
A short, sharp zap to the sternum shut me up, at least for a second. âYour pain,â she repeated, seizing my chin in her hand, âis what makes you useful. Say it three times, and this session ends, alright? Thatâs a pretty clear win condition. Youâd have to be stupid not to accept it.â
I loosened my jaw, made like I was going slack with defeat. âM ⌠my âŚâ
Her fingers slipped on my sweaty skin as her grip tightened. âYeah?â she prompted.
I jerked my head to the side, and my teeth closed around flesh and bone. I tasted blood before she screeched, and before she had the presence of mind to electrocute me again. The prod drove deep into my stomach, but I clenched my jaw down harder against the pain, against the screaming in my ear. Youâre gonna hurt with me, motherfucker.
Finally I couldnât stand the electricity anymore. I released her mangled fingers, and her blood dripped down my chin. She reared back and didnât waste a second in driving the cattle prod into my stomach, zapping me so long it began to burn. âYou son of a bitch!â Her boot drove into my leg, and as it buckled, the prod dragged up my chest.
I was seeing stars by the time it ended, colors swirling in my vision like they were trying to brighten up the plain tile of my cell. The trainer hissed in pain, flexing her injured hand. I couldnât see how good Iâd gotten her, but I could still taste her blood, so I had to assume it was pretty goddamn good. I spit some of it out by her boots.
She just glared at me. âYou donât eat until you say your affirmations, you goddamn brat. Enjoy starving.â She hooked her cattle prod into her belt and left, slamming the door behind her.
I wiped my face on my shoulder and grinned after her. Facility: zero. Me: one.
Welcome to Whumpay 2026! Up above you will see the basic prompt list and down below the cut you will see it written out in a list as well the rules and the mini challenges/alternate prompts!
Rules are the same as usual -
You only have to use one prompt of the prompts for each day! But youâre welcome to use multiple if you want to. You can also combine days and it counts for both.
I know the description of the blog says itâs a writing event, but if you want to draw or make other kinds of content, thatâs cool too.
Have fun, tag content warnings (such as noncon, graphic violence, etc) and try not to be crushed by the mortifying ordeal of posting your writing.
The mini challenges this year also function as your alternate prompts, you can replace a day with one of them if none of the prompts that day work for you.
This is a pretty chill event so you can start posting whenever but Iâll be reblogging posts made to the #Whumpay2026 tag throughout May.Â
If you have any questions or need ideas, send an ask!
If you use Ai Iâll hunt you for sport.
and an extra special thanks to everyone who suggested prompts.
MAIN PROMPT LIST:
Day One - Accidentally Hurting A Friend / âNothingâs wrong, stop asking!.â / PTSDÂ Â
Day Two - Sole Survivor / âPlease donât leave me.â / Trapped UndergroundÂ
Day Three - Blackmail / âDonât make me do this.â / Suicide Attempt
Day four - Stockholm Syndrome / âStop fighting it.â / Touch Starvation
Day Five - Came Back Wrong / âWhat have you done to me?â / Body Horror
Day Six - Rescued Too Late / Unable To Speak / Mouth Sewn Shut
Day Seven - Gaslighting / âWhy did you lie to me?â / Incest
Day Eight - Chemical Restraint / âItâs for your own good.â / Caretaker Burnout
Day Nine - Excessive Drinking / âYouâre going to kill yourself doing this.â / GriefÂ
Day Ten - Hiding An Injury / âItâs not as bad as it looks.â / Reopened Wound
Day Eleven -Â Protecting An Injury / âLook at me. Deep breaths.â / Internal Bleeding
Day Twelve - Whumper Turned Whumpee / âYou thought I wouldnât notice?â / Trauma Reveal
 Day Thirteen - Anger Born Of Worry / âNever do that again.â / AppendicitisÂ
Day Fourteen - Shared Pain / âThis is all your fault!â / Broken RibsÂ
Day Fifteen - Forced To Watch / âNo one is coming to save you.â / Waterboarding
Day Sixteen - Crying Wolf / âWhy wonât you believe me?â / Hallucinations
Day Seventeen - Self-Defense Killing / âDoes it ever get easier?â / Adrenaline Crash
Day Eighteen - Fingers in Wound / âWait, what are youâdonâtâ!â / Arterial Bleeding
Day Nineteen - Makeshift Weapon / âDonât come any closer!â / Backed Into A Corner
Day Twenty - Living Weapon / âI know youâre in there somewhereâ Fight /Â Head Injury
Day Twenty-One - Sadistic Choice / âPlease, Iâll do anythingâŚâ / Deathbed Confessions
Day Twenty-Two - Feed A Cold, Starve A Fever / âHow long have you felt like this?â / Stress-Induced Illness
Day Twenty-Three - Last-Minute Rescue / âOh god, thatâs a lot of blood.â / Loss Of Extremity
Day Twenty-Four - Hurting To Help / âI swear, I wouldnât do this if I didnât have to.â / Bone MalunionÂ
Day Twenty-Five - Betrayal / Collapsing In The Middle Of A Sentence / Self-Surgery
Day Twenty-Six - Villain Whumpee / âWhy are you doing this to me?â / Contrapasso
Day Twenty-Seven - Mental Breakdown / âIâm sorry, I canât help it.â / Withdrawal
Day Twenty-Eight -Forced Transformation / âThis isnât what I wanted.â /Â Dehumanization
Day Twenty-Nine -Â Field Medicine / Using Real Name For Impact / Barbed WireÂ
Day Thirty - Enemy To Caretaker / âIf anyone touches you, Iâll kill them.â / Failed Escape
Day Thirty-One - Time Loop / âI canât do this anymore!â / Character Death
MINI CHALLENGE #1 : FIVE DAYS
Day One - Hanahaki DiseaseÂ
Day Two - âI donât remember the last time I saw you smile.â Â
Day Three - Overworked
Day Four - Chronic Pain
Day Five - Fever-Induced DeliriumÂ
MINI CHALLENGE #2 : NINE DAYS
Day One - Caught In An Explosion
Day Two - Passing Out From Pain
Day Three - Loss Of Sense(s)
Day Four - Coughing Up Blood
Day Five - âWhy wonât you just leave me alone?!â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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