(mostly) whump

Thought you'd enjoy this

have a little whumpee being held for ransom! With a touch of protective caretaker, a little medical whump, and a distraught whumpee.

cw: violence, creepy/threatening dialogue, angst?, medical whump, depictions of injuries

Caretaker stood in front of the old van, watching the metaphorical tumbleweeds roll across the empty parking lot. The July sun beat down on the team as they waited in the vacant lot. Leader checked their watch for the seventh time in the past hour, then threw a glance backwards at the van. Nothing had moved. Nothing had changed. Whumper was still late.

Cw: hospital setting, non-con touch, non-con drugging, medical stuff, non-con nudity, overstimulation

Whumpee groaned as the medics deposited them on the table. There were so many hands on them, latex covered and touching, touching, relentlessly touching. Medics swarm around them, driving needles into their arms, shining lights into their eyes, cutting off their clothes. Cutting off their clothes. They don’t want this. They don’t want every cut and wound exposed. Whumpee frantically tries to shove the scissor holding hands away. “Stop,” they wail. “Please.”

They kick their legs and scream, thrashing around, trying to get the medics away from them. More hands move in to hold them down, ensnaring their legs and pining their shoulders. “Hey, hey, Whumpee, I need you to calm down,” one of the medics says. “Calm down, we’re going to help you.” Whumpee wouldn’t. Whumpee would not calm down. They screamed again, like a tortured ghost. Why wouldn’t these people just leave them alone? “Go away,” whumpee tries.

“That’s it,” the lead medic says. “I’m sedating them.” Whumpee tries to pull themselves away, but one medic grabs their arm and pushes the drugs.

A cold sensation slides down their arm, and Whumpee’s body becomes useless. Their body becomes heavy, limbs now chemically weighted down. It’s harder to think now too, thoughts getting caught up in the sludge of their mind. Their words are mangled as they try to protest.

The medics continue on. Whumpee’s clothes fall to the floor, cold hospital air stinging their skin. Every inch of their skin is examined, and every wound is poked and prodded at. It’s uncomfortable and embarrassing. Somebody is taking pictures of their injuries, posing them so that they get every angle. They feel like a human ragdoll. Eventually, the activity dies down. Whumpee’s lays awkwardly in the same bed, wounds now covered in fresh bandages, broken wrist splinted, and pumped full of pain medications. A monitor beeps in the background, forcing them awake. A nurse was nice enough to cover them with a blanket.

It’s only once they’re hidden a way in an exam room that they crumble in on themselves. Every injury is revealed to the medics, and then catalogued and treated. Whumpee’s secrets are stripped bear, their tattered clothes cut off and left in a pile. The medics poke and prod while whumpee holds back tears.

@painful-pooch here you go! Hope you enjoy.

cw: PTSD flashback, drive-by shooting, minor injuries as a result of flashback, unspecified sportsball games

Whumpee checked their watch, swaying back and forth on their feet. They turned to Caretaker. “We’ve been in line for seven minutes.”

“Whumpee, nothing will stop me on my noble quest for popcorn.” Caretaker said. They gestured to the front of the line. “Besides, we’re nearly to the front.” The line moved forward a couple steps. “Alright. You’re buying me some Skittles, though.” “Okay, fair enough.” Caretaker said, and Whumpee smiled, satised.

Eventually, they reached the front of the line. “What can I get you?” The cashier asked. “Uh…I’ll have two large popcorns, a sprite and a coke, and a thing of skittles, please.” Caretaker pulled out their wallet to pay.

After paying for the always overpriced stadium faire, they headed back to their seats. Whumpee was skillfully holding the box of popcorn and the skittles in one hand and their drink in the other as they navigated through the crowd, blazing a path for Caretaker behind them.

They were climbing up into the stands, metal thunking beneath their feet, when the home team scored for the first time. The crowd went wild, hooting and hollering, blowing their horns and screaming their chants. Just this would’ve been fine. However, several weeks ago, one very intelligent man had the bright idea to shoot off fireworks whenever his team scored. A loud crack echoed over the stadium, bright orange and blue lights glimmering the air. It was a pretty display. Whumpee didn’t get to appreciate the colors.

Their vision narrowed, past mixing with the present in the worst way. The soda hit the stairs, followed by the popcorn and the Skittles. They were back on that damn street corner.

Whumpee could still smell the greasy food from the restaurant behind them, they could still taste their dinner in their mouth. They could hear the car driving down the street. It’s getting closer. They needed to run. They needed to-

Whumpee slammed into Caretaker’s chest, shoving them roughly to the side as they tried to ee down the stairs. Their feet were not quite their own, and they went tumbling downwards, knees slamming into the concrete at the bottom. It didn’t work. They weren’t fast enough. They’ll never be fast enough. The car was even with them and it was too late. Shots rang out. Five? Two? Just one? They don’t remember. Pain blossomed in their body a split second after. It’s hard to breathe and it hurts and-

The fall knocked the wind out of them, leaving them heaving on the ground, gasping for air. Caretaker rushed to Whumpee’s side, ignore how everyone around them was ever so politely doing the staring-while-trying-to-look-like-they-were-not-staring maneuver. “Whumpee?” they tried. They got no response.

Whumpee heard footsteps all round them, pounding and pounding and pounding. Somebody was screaming. No, everybody was screaming. When they finally tried to move again, it sent waves of pain cascading down their back. No more movement then, they decided. Caretaker sighed, then gently placed a hand on their shoulder. “C’mon, Whumpee.” They shook it a little bit, like Whumpee had told them too.

Someone was touching them. That had to be bad. It was always bad. They flung out an arm, dragging their nails down whoever’s hand it was, then went for the wrist, grabbing tightly and twisting it away from their body. It was the loud, pained gasp that sent the world ltering back in. Caretaker was kneeling beside them, holding their wrist protectively up against their chest, and their stomach dropped. A feeling of dread wormed its way through them, followed by a ash of anger. Why did they have to do this here, in front of all these damn people? “Fuck, Caretaker, I’m so sorry.” Whumpee’s face flushed red with embarrassment, and they mentally kicked themself under the table. “It’s normally not like that.”

“It’s alright. Not your fault.” Caretaker said, pushing themselves to standing. “It’s just a little sore.” They offered a hand for Whumpee to pull themselves up with. “Do you wanna stay for the rest of the game?”

“Not really, if that’s alright,” Whumpee said. Hesitantly, they took Caretaker’s hand and pulled themselves upright. They dusted the stadium oor grit o their knees, ignoring how their hands were still shaking. “Aight, home it is.” Caretaker bent down to collect the concessions they had dropped, handing Whumpee their drink back, as well as the skittles. They noticed the apprehensive look on Whumpee’s face, as if they weren’t quite sure if they were still welcome. “Don’t worry about it, Whumpee.”

For the remainder of the evening, they took turns throwing popcorn in each other's mouths while sitting on the floor. Whumpee was quite adept at it, deftly catching and swiftly eating several of Caretaker’s poorer tosses. Normally, Caretaker had better aim, but tonight they were tossing with their off hand.

“Used as bait” for @writer-of-worlds. Enjoy!

cw: mer whump, slight dehumanization, restraints, stress positions, shark misinformation mixed with shark facts

“You’ve probably all heard that sharks can smell a drop of blood from a mile away.” Whumper smiled widely, gesturing out at the ocean that stretched far past the horizon. A group of investors listened intently as whumper spoke. “And while this is true, they really don’t care for cow, pig, or even human blood. They’re sharks, they eat fish.”

Taking it off without the proper tools and know is drastic. It could really hurt whumpee, or leave permanent damage behind, like accidental defanging. Whumpee doesn't want that so they're adamant on not letting anyone come close to their face.

Tw: vampire whump, mouth whump, pet whump, probably grammar issues because I wrote it inconsistently

Caretaker took a brief break from their reading to look over at whumpee. The vampire was curled up in the far corner of the room. They’d refused to sleep on the couch but had accepted the warm fuzzy blanket that they were bundled up in now. The device still remained clamped onto whumpee’s face. It was a nasty, tortuous device made by the hunters. One might be inclined to call it a muzzle, but it was far more heavy-duty than that.

Sharp rods were shoved into their mouth, squeezing their fangs. I cage of metal wrapped around whumpee’s mouth. More metal cupped their cheeks, holding all of the junk in whumpee’s mouth in place. Burly straps wrapped around whumpee’s skull, tightly pressing the metal against their face. It was painful, and Caretaker could tell that it hurt, even though whumpee never dared to show any pain. It showed in the little whimpers and whines whumpee would make when they tried to move their mouth or jaw.

Finally, though, after several long, sleepless nights, Caretaker had figured out how to take it off. They had stared at schematics for hours, read through countless manuals and textbooks, and downed cup after cup of coffee until they ran out and had to switch to tea. But they’d figured it out, and tomorrow, after a good night's rest, they would get that awful contraption off whumpee’s face.

Whumpee sat furled up in their corner, covered by the blanket that a stupid, dirty leech like them certainly did not deserve. Caretaker had been up for nights on end, reading all sorts of horrible books. When they had gone to bed, whumpee knew to fear what tortures would await them in the morning. Whumpee spent the whole night terried, pressed into the corner in fear, waiting for the sun to rise and the pain to start.

***************

When morning finally came, Caretaker came out of their room much more refreshed. They greeted Whumpee, something that Whumpee found confusing. Surely they didn’t deserve to be spoken to like a person. Next, Caretaker did something very surprising; they fed whumpee.

Caretaker was very gentle as they drew blood up in a syringe and eased it in between the bars of the contraption. Slowly, they let whumpee swallow the blood. The food felt warm in their stomach. Even though caretaker fed them like this every morning, it was still amazing not to be starving. After it was empty, and Caretaker had withdrawn the syringe from the grate, Whumpee collapsed to the floor, kneeling to show how grateful, how thankful they were for being fed.

Caretaker didn’t seem to appreciate the display. They crouched down “Woah, no you don’t have to do that here.” Caretaker lifted Whumpee to a more comfortable position. They both sat on the floor as Caretaker started to explain something. “So, I’m going to try and take the mask o today. I think I’ve done enough research to get it o you with it hurting.”

It was so strange, having someone care if it hurt or not.

“This is going to be a rather lengthy process, I’m sorry, so how about you lay down on the couch. It’ll make it more comfortable.” Even though, Caretaker phrased it as a question, Whumpee knew an order when they heard one. They scrambled to the couch as fast as they could. “Good, thank you.” Caretaker praised. Whumpee swallowed nervously as Caretaker sat a toolbox on the coee table and popped it open. “I know it looks scary buddy, but I’m going to hurt you.” Whumpee whimpered softly as Caretaker pulled something that looked like pliers out from the box. Maybe bolt cutters or loppers? Did loppers go in toolboxes? Whumpee didn’t know. After the pliers came a boxcutter. The hunter had told the vampire that it would hurt if they tried to take the contraption off. Maybe this is what they meant.

Caretaker’s work calloused hands slowly wrapped around whumpeee’s head, holding it up. Extending the blade, caretaker led through the plastic casing over the top of the straps. They felt whumpee tense in their hands as they cut through the plastic. “I’m not gonna hurt you, bud, you’re okay.” Caretaker pulled the chunk of plastic off, leaving the chain uncovered. They kept two of their fingers between the chain and their head to keep the pressure off while they reached for the cutters to cut the chain.

With a satisfying clink, the chain snapped, but the contraption remained pressed to Whumpee’s face. Step one done. “Alright, so I’ve looked at some diagrams, and I think I know how this is set up, but I’m going to need to feel around for a little bit just to be sure.” Whumpee went deathly still as Caretaker inserted their nger under the corner of the mask. They didn’t want any squirming to be mistaken for combativeness. “Found it.” Caretaker said as they pulled the pin out. The upper and lowers pieces of the contraption split open, releasing some of the pressure on whumpee’s face. Caretaker pulled the pin on the other side, and the two metal plates loosen enough that Caretaker could pull them off.

Their removal revealed something horrible. The undersides of the contraption had been lined with silver, and whumpee’s cheeks were covered in angry silver burns. “Oh, bud. No wonder it hurt so much.” Caretaker’s normally gru voice had gone soft. “We’re nearly done.” Only the worst part was left. The last parts of the contraption was a metal cage that was held on whumpee’s face by long rods that had been shoved into whumpee’s mouth. The rods were attached with simple screws, and caretaker was able to quickly unscrew them and remove the cage. “Alright, can you open your mouth for me, Whumpee?”

Almost out of habit, whumpee tried to push their head away. An open mouth meant pain, but whumpee feared what would happen if they didn’t comply. They popped their mouth open. “Thank you. I’m going to reach into your mouth to get the rods out.” Caretaker said as they pulled a pair of thick gloves over their hands. Holding whumpee’s jaw with one hand, Caretaker slowly removed the rods from whumpee’s mouth. Whumpee’s mouth was finally free.

Give me a whumpee that steals, stores and hoards food as a result of being neglected and traumatised by whumper.

A whumpee whose basic needs were not always met in the past and who now, despite having been taken into caretaker's care, hides food because they fear that caretaker will stop providing meals.

A whumpee that will scarf down their food, stuffing it in their mouth, sometimes overeating to the point of throwing up.

A whumpee that will get defensive around their food, scared it will be taken away, or that starts spiralling when caretaker innocently mentions they're running out of something/that the fridge is empty/etc.