Q: Are you going to be very active?
A: Nah. maybe (mostly reblogs)
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A: Mod is over 18, and supports trans rights 🏳️⚧️🏳️🌈! Beyond that: secret.
Q: Is this a sex thing for you?
A: Nah. Good for you if it is, though.
Q: Content warnings?
A: Lots. Especially (fictional) violence, injury, abuse and trauma. Tagged "tw [thing]" (except gore, which I just tag as "gore"). Particularly explicit gore/violence (18+) or anything explicitly sexual will be tagged "nsfw". If you're under 18 and wish to follow me, please blacklist it!
Q: Faves and squicks? Organisational tags?
A: Here!
Q: Do you write stuff?
A: Sometimes!
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thinking about hierarchical whump in a superhero setting. like, all superheroes are government property, they all go through the same grueling training, and they can expect to have very little autonomy for their entire lives. and obviously beating down on a civilian would get them arrested (or worse), and fighting villains just gets so monotonous sometimes...
so much abuse that could happen behind closed doors. the world is your oyster.
songs are the natural habitat of very paranoid narrators explaining with escalating urgency how everyone and everything is against them, that's what songs are for, cornered prey individuals. that's the ur-song
content: no holds barred beatdown, broken bones, emotional whump, dissociation whump, loss of consciousness, torture, emeto, dehumanisation (of self)
Whumpee felt like they were floating. It — their body that wasn't really theirs anymore — was in pain, but the pain was numbed, dull, a constant, low buzz that didn't reach their brain anymore. Whumper was wailing on them, they knew that, distantly, and it took the beating, but they were far, far away.
Pop.
A bone broke.
It wasn't withstanding the blows quite right.
Whumpee thought of home. They thought of Caretaker. Back then, when it belonged to them still, they would make pancakes together on Sunday mornings. Only on Sunday mornings. It was their special pancake day.
They thought of their parents. Their siblings. What would they have said, if they knew it didn't belong to them anymore? Would they be horrified? Whumpee had been, when they first realised. The horror was gone by now. It was just a faraway extension of their faraway mind, thrown around and broken in more ways than Whumpee could count.
Whumper was screaming at it. Only it, because their mind was far from the basement. It didn't respond. Whumper only got angrier.
For a moment, Whumpee was it again. Back in their body. The pain was unbearable.
And there they went, floating away again, probably losing consciousness for a time.
When they next came to, they were alone. It hurt, just like it always did, but it was nothing but a low hum. A bit of background noise to the real deal: their thoughts. They thought of Caretaker again. Did they go on to make pancakes every Sunday, even after their kidnapping? Or did they leave the habit behind? Whumpee wondered which they would've preferred.
It stirred. Their treacherous body. It ached and screamed, but Whumpee wasn't there, they told themself they had no right to it anymore, no right even to the pain. It stirred again. It retched.
Whumpee knew that Whumper would be angry. They tried to rein it in, but the damage was already done. So they let their thoughts wander instead, leaving it to deal with its own filth. It had become so easy to let themself go, to allow themself the privilege of retreating into a far corner of their mind, only ever coming back up for air when it was absolutely necessary.
The door opened and closed, and it was beaten again for making a mess.
They thought of nothing but the smell of blueberry pancakes.
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"hold on, pl-ease," whumpee gasped out, doubling over in excruciating pain. there was something tearing inside of them, as if they were coming apart. they knew it. this was— this was different than the low thrumming pinch of the daily bruises.
"I don't have time for your whining right now," they heard, as if from a distance. there was a sharp ringing in their ears. it intensified to a pitch as whumper grabbed at their hair and yanked them upright. the agony was unlike any— a fever eclipsing their vision as blood coated their tongue. something was terribly wrong.
even so, whumper delivered a sharp kick to their torso when they wouldn't get up from their fetal position. with a last coughing cry, they felt everything fade away into inky blackness.
Actor Whumpee who's told to gain weight for a role. They do-- and for the first time since their career started, they're a healthy weight. They have more energy, they don't get lightheaded or winded all the time, they get to enjoy food without worrying about it...
And the media is sniping at them, joking about how it's a shame Whumpee had to gain so much weight to play a comic side character, they say it's for a role but are we sure Whumpee isn't letting themself go, they don't even look like themself anymore. (Whumpee thinks that maybe for the first time in a long time they do look like themself.) And Whumpee knows that when filming is over, they'll have to go back to their restricted diet and exercise regimen. It will be worse now that Whumpee had a taste of how their body is actually meant to be.
Weight gain as a sign of healing my absolute BELOVED. I love it when characters gain weight and then feel better about themselves. They're comfortable, and alive, and just doing so much better and it's wonderful.
But god it's also so difficult. Everyone knows that fat people get dehumanised and ridiculed, but it's one thing to know that and another to experience it firsthand, and it takes so much effort to push through that and stay true to yourself. Whumpee's going to have a constant battle of "do I prioritise them, or myself?" and the amount of scrutiny is going to feel overwhelming.
The sudden realisation that most of their 'fans' only like Whumpee for what they appear to be rather than who they are is going to hurt so much as well. Whumpee feels comfortable and happy and healthy for the first time in so long, and nobody is sharing the feeling. Instead they're telling Whumpee it's wrong. It's a sign of failure. They need to 'fix it'.
And I LOVE the grief and mourning Whumpee feels at having to lose the weight again, even before their current role is over. They don't want it to happen, the good feeling is not going to last, and for the first time it really hits them how little say they get in anything about themself. Why can't they keep the weight? Oh, right, because they won't get jobs like they used to before. It doesn't 'fit their image'. It's "not what the fans want to see."
The role finishes, and they just have to hand themself back over to the soul-sucking demon that is the industry they work in.
something i’ve always loved is a whumpee with very rapid healing who never hesitates to throw themselves in harm’s way, to act as a shield. Why shouldn’t they? it’ll all heal soon enough, and sure it hurts, and sure some of these hits wouldn’t have landed anyway, but better safe than sorry. especially when they’re first paired with a team that takes full advantage of this, then moved to a second team that, for some unknowable reason, cares about whumpee’s wellbeing
#390
content: team whump, guns, shot, immortal whumpee, hero villain whump, needles, past trauma, comfort
It was so easy.
It was so rewarding.
It was such a no-brainer.
Sure, it hurt for a little bit, but that was a small price to pay for being a literal meat shield that kept their teammates safe.
Wasn't it?
Everyone on their previous team took it for granted. That Whumpee would jump before a bullet, or a sword, or a dagger. They took full advantage of Whumpee's healing power, and there was never really a discussion about how maybe that wasn't all that ethical, how maybe heroes should've had a stricter moral code, and really, Whumpee didn't mind, Whumpee was just glad to be useful, it was fine if it hurt—
"Whumpee, move!" their new leader screamed, but it was too late. The bullet embedded itself in Whumpee's back, and they stifled a groan, knowing their new team would likely also think the noises were annoying. "Fuck! Everyone, pull back! Whumpee got shot!"
What?
Their previous team would've just carried on as usual. That was Whumpee's purpose: to take one for the team. To take two for the team. To take ten for the team. To take and take and take until they were nothing but a bloody heap on the floor, barely breathing, but always regenerating.
Before they knew it, Caretaker had picked them up in a bridal carry to rush them back to the team vehicle. But the battle wasn't over yet. Villain was still at large, and Leader and the team needed to stop them, and Whumpee was helping in that, they had done well, so why—
"Shit, Whumpee," Medic said once Whumpee was gently set down on their stomach. "You'll feel a pinch — it's a local anaesthetic. I'll need to dig out the bullet."
"Can you work while I'm driving?" Leader asked, already starting up the engine.
"I'll try."
None of this made sense. They abandoned an entire mission because Whumpee got shot, and now they were wasting anaesthetics on them?
"It's okay, Whumpee," Caretaker said quietly, just barely audible over the sound of the engine. They were holding Whumpee's hand like they were something precious instead of expendable. "I'm sorry this happened. You'll get better, okay? I should've paid closer attention to you out on the field."
"I don't get it," Whumpee finally said. They felt some pressure around the wound, but no real discomfort; they assumed the anaesthetic was working as intended. "Why are you all... Why are you..."
"Why what?" Caretaker asked gently.
"This is my role in the team. To take bullets. To act as a shield. This has always been my role."
Caretaker furrowed their brows. "Whumpee, what are you talking about?"
"With my previous team, it was all so natural. We never really had a talk about my role, but it was just... sort of obvious. I'd heal. They wouldn't. So I was cannon fodder."
Caretaker looked horrified. "You'd heal, sure, but it'd still hurt."
"I'm used to it."
They looked even more horrified. They squeezed Whumpee's hand. "Monsters, the lot of them. On this team, we look out for each other. Even if you heal. Even if you think it's useless."
Whumpee couldn't find the words to explain what they were feeling, so they kept quiet. But deep down, deep in their heart, there was something dangerous blossoming. Something they shouldn't have felt towards a teammate, or an entire team, when they knew their power made it so that they would always be required somewhere else. Maybe they'd be moved in a week, maybe a month, maybe a year. But they'd be moved.
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you know what I’m in the mood for? Spy whump. Captured spies. Such an unfortunate situation.
The initial moment of realization when their identity is first discovered. Their stomach drops, anxiety boils over, but they keep their face placid and cool.
“Me? I would never!”
They try to play it off, mark it as baseless accusation, but they know, they know as well as their accuser does that no amount of words will get them out of this situation.
So they fight. But their accuser was prepared for that, and the spy goes down. They aren’t dead—no, where would the fun in that be?
“Do whatever you want to me, I don’t care!”
A trained spy knows how to deal with torture. Have they been through it before? Was it part of their training, to withstand pain?
No amount of training could ever have prepared them for what happens next. For the unimaginable pain that falls upon them.
All they can do is scream—their captors wont let them die.
living weapon whumpee, dehumanized and raised to see themselves as a tool to be used (for violence)- cold, stoic and stonefaced tanks any and all violent atrocities done to/by them, its their purpose after all. they've been at it for years now, maybe even longer than most in their profession even lasts. trained to not crack under torture or the likes- but no one trained them to endure sexual violence/torture. why would they? no one would *want* a a weapon, a *tool* like that- and in all these years, no one ever did. this is not what they were made for.
in short. whumpee being used to dehumanization and being objectified in one way is forced to face the same but in a completely different context for the first time and it fucks their whole shit up
(my mind went a PLACE with this so just. go with me on this journey.)
“you should have fucking trained me.”
whumpee’s voice is loud and angry as they bang in through the door, so angry in fact that at first caretaker doesn’t recognize it’s their voice at all. anger is so rare to hear from them since caretaker and their team rescued them. most of the time they sound flat, or sometimes scared. (sometimes, rarely, though more often as time goes on, they sound happy.) honestly, anger would be a good thing to hear from them. it might mean they were starting to see themself as someone worthy of being angry.
except for the way that whumpee looks right now, which means nothing about this is good at all. there’s a bruise swelling fresh at the corner of their mouth and their eyes are red like they’ve been crying, the way they look after particularly bad night terrors. worst of all is their clothes.
whumpee is still such a neat freak. and their clothes are a rumpled mess.
apprehension rises thick and high in caretaker’s throat. “what happened? why are you- what are you talking about?”
“you didn’t train me, and you said i was done being used, you all said. but teammate whumper just used me, and i wasn’t ready. i wasn’t- if you had told me and you had trained me then i would have- i could have been better. i could have taken it better.”
that apprehension quickly turns to fear and horror. “used you? that’s not- no. you’re not here to be used. i promise.”
“not like old whumper wanted to use me, no, you wanted me for something else. teammate whumper was just the first to actually do it. the first to- to fuck me like that.” betrayal flashes in whumpee’s wide eyes, eyes that are too bright. glassy with unshed tears. they’re shaking a little, breathing hard and fast. “and you didn’t even train me first.”
Ok so imagine a living weapon who got rescued by a team and got out of the brainwash. BUT the team has to go incognito inside a living weapon auction to save the other whumpees, so ex-LW pretend to still be one for the mission's sake.
Can you imagine ?👀👀👀
●the team seeing the staff no giving a fuck about ex-LW comfort and treating them like an object or telling the team they "could get a good price out of that one"
● the staff asking ex-LW questions about the 'training' they got and them having to recall painfull memories while unable to show emotion (and the team being horrified)
●ex-LW seeing old handler/whumper
●Being afraid things will go wrong and they will lost everything again
● bumping into another living weapon who was trained with them or who fought side by side with them and they recognized each other but can't talk
● and living weapon is sad because they thought their friend was able to escape but is apparently still prisoner. At least their new handlers don't look too cruel ?
●or they can talk breafly buy ex-LW can't blow the team's cover so they just lie
●and when the team is able to save the whumpees ex-LW has to reassure the others that they are actually nice or new handlers, and won't hurt them, but know years of brainwashing can't be erased so quickly...
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I love whump of characters who feel emotion so intensely that they just need to MOVE, but it's not enough so they drive themselves harder and harder until it just HURTS
