Hi! I'm Ruth, they/them pronouns, 26, and I enjoy most types of whump! I do art, graphic design and writing.
I try my best to tag, but if I miss a content warning you'd like added, please just shoot me an ask! I won't tag lady whump as a content warning, but anything else I will if you ask.
Whump 2024 advent calendar
Favourite tropes:
RECOVERY WHUMP!!!
Found family
Gagging
Muzzles
Pet whump
Whumper pressing down on whumpee's back to keep them from getting up
Branding
Whipping
Caretaker turned whumpee/whumpee turned caretaker
Hero/villain whump
Tall whumpee/small caretaker (or vice versa)
Tall whumpee/small whumper
G/t whump
Whumpee thinks caretaker is their new whumper
Incompetent/clueless caretaker (they're trying their best but they have no idea they're doing)
General contents: pet whump, dehumanisation, amnesia, PTSD
Sam and Lucan 'verse
In a world where non-humans are enslaved, our characters are just trying to live out their lives in peace. And failing, mostly.
General contents: non-human characters, institutionalised slavery, fantasy racism, dehumanisation, PTSD
A Death in the Family
When his estranged father dies, Tristam, against his better judgement, attends the will reading, and ends up leaving with long-term bloodbag Sunday Afolayan and Eldrida, his father's former employee (and a terribly mistreated one at that, it turns out).
Even with Aileen and Evelyn's expert advice and friendship, it's tricky to bring Sunday back from the depths of his enthrallment, and Eldrida's struggling too. Six years under the cruel fist of Barnabas Sharpe was hard to survive.
It's a difficult recovery for both of them. But surely, things can't get worse now.
Contains: vampire whumper, non-human whumpee (vampire), lady whump, conditioned whumpee, disabled characters (Tristam has ADHD, Eldrida has anophthalmia, and Sunday has joint problems, a badly-healed arm, and an absence epilepsy-like condition), recovery whump, multiple whumpees
Botanist Whumpee
When the rich and powerful Sebastian Beaumont offers Alyssa a place to stay, she doesnβt expect to become his captive for three years. And when Silver rescues her at a partyβ¦ well, the only thing sheβs absolutely sure is better is that they donβt have a basement. They donβt have much of anything, actually. And she doesnβt know whether she can trust them or not, but she stays anyway. With no-one left to care about her, and Beaumont using all his money and connections to search for the pair of them, where else is she supposed to go?
Contains: recovery whump, captivity, lady whump, somewhat defiant whumpee, found family, intimate whumper
Cian and Row
In a world where superpowers are real, heroes and villains exist, and there's a large black market in powered people, Rowan's been enslaved for as long as they can remember. They're befriended when they're three by Cian Sinclair, a local empathic five year old, and at the age of eleven is rescued and adopted by the Sinclairs. Years later they become a supervillain, disappear for five years and reappear to reunite with their family, and attract another enemy, one far more powerful than their previous captors and obsessed with their healing powers.
Contains: slavery, PTSD, minor whump, past minor whump, immortal whumpee, discrimination, villain whump
Immortal Cannon Fodder
Masterlist part 2 - character profiles, character asks
Phoenix, an immortal hero, joins a team that hurts them and uses them as cannon fodder. But their teammates are only doing what's necessary to help them all survive. Phoenix's regular sacrifices are necessary. And it's not like they've got anywhere else to go anyway.
It takes the arrival of Kai, a wolf-shifter and telekinetic, to help them see what's going on. But a friendship and a promised eventual transfer can't fix everything.
Contains: hero whump, abuse, past abuse, immortal whumpee
MD-264N
When MD-264N, the government's best weapon, runs to avoid being decommissioned and collapses on the doorstep of a small ragtag team of rebels, it's a surprise to everyone. But despite resistance, the weapon, now known as Morgan, starts to find their place, and the rebels soon find that they'll do anything to keep them free.
Contains: living weapon, found family, dehumanisation/self dehumanisation, team dynamics, reluctant caretaker (not the main caretaker), recovery whump, caretaker whump, disabled caretaker (forearm amputee)
Operation Badger
In the year 2037, Earth is invaded by the Stex. 14 years later, superpowers start appearing in teenagers, and are apparently humanity's best defence against the aliens. What is Earth Security to do but train these people up as weapons?
Contains: sci-fi, living weapons, team whump, multiple whumpees, minor whump, aliens, disabled character
Out of the Frying Pan
Five years ago Elis, former bodyguard and weapon of Lord Wulfric, was rescued from a fiery death by Col and Sæwin. He now lives in relative peace with them in Sorestan, a peace that's abruptly disrupted after an unwelcome visitor brings his past colliding with the present.
Contains: medieval whump, fantasy elements, living weapon
Out of the Water
TΓΊathal, a merman, is captured and kept prisoner by pirates for his valuable scales. While Robyn, the youngest of the crew and not very popular, takes care of him, the others only bother with his scales (and anything that makes their extraction easier). Especially James. And once the rest of the pirates discover that Robyn and TΓΊathal have become fond of each other, things only get worse.
Whumpee is captured by a Whumper who wants to teach them survival skills. Painfully.
Contains: survival skills whump, sadistic whumper
The Greatest Show on Earth
Damon and Pythias are an unwilling two-person sideshow act in The Greatest Show on Earth, Pythias forced to kill Damon multiple times a day for the entertainment of paying circus patrons. Damon has been in captivity since birth, Pythias not quite so long (although certainly long enough), and they're both ready to get out.
But the outside world is even trickier to navigate than they imagined.
Contains: non-human whumpees, multiple whumpees, immortal whumpee, lady whump, circus whump, public whump, captivity, recovery whump, temporary character death (both implied and shown at times), guilty whumpee, whumpee as caretaker
Other writing:
Non-series whump masterlist
Miscellaneous writing, art and graphics
Fanfic/fanart (AO3)
BBC Merlin, Good Omens, Doctor Who, The Sandman, The Murderbot Diaries
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wij day 6 | prompt: bloodbath | @whumpmasinjuly-archive
Mac sees red.
For @highwaywhump , a little something from Pet Safety, some weeks before Adrian saves Blanca.
Pet Safety Masterlist
Content/warnings: Blood (obviously), sadistic whumper, manipulation, implied drugging, living weapon whumpee (whumper), conditioned whumpees, gendered violence towards a woman, dehumanisation, humiliation, highly implied NONCON (m/f), forced to participate, forced to hurt, bbu setting, Jack Donnell's perverted (noncon) understanding of roleplaying. Hurt, no comfort. Dead dove. This is dark.
"What a freaking bloodbath."
With the heavy weight of two of his comrades kneeling on his back and limbs, Mac can't see the men speaking.
But he can see the blood. It's everywhere. It's on his hands, his arms, mixed with sweat, drying into a sticky film, coating his body hair and making it stick up. It's pooled on the patio tiles under him, in his clothes, soaking through the layers of his gear. It's in his face, a thrilling, nauseating taste on his teeth and lips. It's in his eyelashes, forming little dark lumps in front of his eyes that tint the world even redder.
When he blinks the lumps away, fights back the dizzyness of a knee pressing down on the side his neck, Mac can focus on the shape of the pathetic man whose blood it is that he's bathed in. Two paramedics are kneeling beside him.
He's not dead. He's not maimed. Mac bares his bloody teeth, flashes his enhanced canines at him. He would've done it. He'd have torn the man apart. Every fibre in his being had screamed for it. But there's rules that run even deeper than his hatred. That such a call is only for his owner to make.
All Mac is left to do is growl, a low rumble from deep inside his chest. Even separated by the entire width of the pool, the injured man flinches.
The paramedics flinch, too. They are working with nervous, hasty hands, gloves covered in blood, obviously sweating. Not because of the heat.
Because of Glen, carefully towering over the scene, making sure their patient won't leave.
That call, too, is for Mac's owner to make.
Finally, the whirring of helicopter blades swallows the echo of the man's labored breathing.
Before
Mac knows he's not supposed to take breaks his training regimen, he's meant to focus on his fitness and on getting ever stronger. But he's won his last training fight with ultimate ease, his comrades look up to Mac's impressive physique, and Jack actually does allow his Fighters some narrow lenience, when they perform well and aren't currently on protection duty.
Mac has been undefeated for weeks. And he's not on duty.
So he allows himself to step back from the weight bench and glance out of the window facing the deck around Jack's huge pool.
The auburn-haired Romantic is laying on a sunbed there, the pet that has been called Blanca once, but is Bacardi now. The pet who was kind to him once, and fears him now.
Refurb. She's done something bad, and now she's forgotten who she was and has been made good again.
Mac has seen her naked body before, and he's seen the new scars it features now. He knows what the refurb training entailed. Good, to Jack's taste, means scared.
And she is. Even though she doesn't act the part now, even though she buries all of it under a brave, sweet face. She plays the role Mac heard Jack order her in the morning, for one of his sickening games of play pretend. She's supposed to be a rich socialite, lounging by the pool, a little drunk and a little bored, so that Jack can watch her on his security camera feed and 'built up the tension' until he comes home.
Jack likes his scenes to start out domestic. They never stay that way.
But it will be a while before Jack comes home, and even though it fills Mac's heart with aberrant feelings that make him want to claw at his own skin, he stays at the window. Blanca - that's what he still calls her, that's who he met before - pretends to read a fashion magazine, carefully considering each page, even though everyone knows Romantics can't make sense of letters. She's wearing sunglasses, a big hat, pearls around her neck and a pristine white sundress. Jack chooses the dresses himself, as carefully as he picks the outfits for his Guards. The Guards' gear is meant to be both visually impressive and functional. The Romantic's dresses are meant to tear easily at the right places.
Mac clenches his teeth and because he knows she can't do it herself, he'll just do it for her - he daydreams that, right now, without Jack, without anyone there, she can be at peace.
That's when he notices the man.
Now
Jack embarks from the helicopter, striding towards the scene with large steps and a bellowing laugh. "Oh, Maccy-Mac, big boy, what have you *done*?"
Before as much as looking at the injured man, he bows down to Mac, slowly runs a finger across Mac's blood stained lip, down the titanium canine. Light red blood coats his fingertips, sparkling like rubies.
"That thing is a monster," the bloody mess of a man croaks, his words punctured by pained groans. It's a wonder he's still strong enough to speak. "It's not contained. I'll report you. That. I'll have it killed."
"No, Marty." Cowboy heels slowly click on the tiles, when Mac's owner gets up and strolls over to the stretcher. He's leaving bloody footprints in his wake. "You will not. I could get your ass for trespassing, you know that."
Before
Mac has seen the man before. He's a neighbour, an acquaintance of Jack. Marty. Tall, handsome, otherwise unassuming. Weak. Not a threat.
The fact that he's here, that far into Jack's grounds, means he's been vetted and checked. Probably here to borrow the big lawn mower. Glen is on perimeter duty; and even though they're all meant to act the same, they all know that Glen is the most thorough of them all.
Still. There's someone wrong. About the way the man pauses on his way to the shed. About the way he looks at Blanca.
Mac's lips pull back on instinct, teeth bared. He scans the area around the pool. None of his comrades are there. Nobody is on alert.
Well. One is. He can see Blanca's shoulders tense. Her fingers curl up in the magazine. She barely keeps up the appearance.
To any predator, Blanca is designed to look like prey.
Mac is a predator.
And it seems that the neighbor is as well. He kicks aside a pebble as he stalks towards Blanca.
Inside, Mac carefully picks one of the dumbbells.
The neighbor sits down on the sunbed next to Blanca. He says something that Mac can't hear. It doesn't matter. He knows what's coming, frame for frame.
Blanca replies, inching back from the stranger. His arm shoots forward, grabs her, wrestles her down. He swings a leg over her.
Teeth bared, Mac is over him, before Blanca even begins to scream.
It's the neighbor, who screams instead.
Now
Marty's voice falters. His face has turned an unnatural white. "No, Jack, you... you said I could-"
"Shhh," says Jack. "200k should cover for your trouble." Is not a suggestion. Whatever Jack says is either an order, or a threat.
The young man shivers, silent. Stays silent, when Jack's fingers roam his neck. Lets out a garbled scream, when they prod at the deep gash torn into his shoulder. Then again nothing. He's fainted from blood loss.
"Sir," one of the paramedics urges.
"Yeah. That's a good boy." Jack ignores her. He is talking to the unconscious man, tracing the dressing of another wound. "Beautiful."
With a contented smile, he nods at the paramedic and gives two quick raps on the side of the stretcher.
Glen folds his hands and steps back.
Everyone seems to hold their breath, as the paramedics hurry off.
"Now," says Jack and jovially claps his hands. "Get off of Mac, guys. And where's the seductive little thing that's incined this spectacle?"
The weight on Mac's back shifts, air streaming back into his lungs, as his comrades retreat. Instinctively he pushes himself into respect position. His forehead presses into slick wetness.
"Sir." It's Jim Beam's voice, and next to it Mac can hear Blanca's shivering gasp, her feet scurrying on the floor. "She's here."
"Good. Sit up, Mac. Look at her. Look at the perfect little thing you've clawed from the hands of that intruder."
He does, automatically stretching his neck muscles as he sits on his heels.
Blanca's usually light grey eyes are almost black, pupils blown with panic. Her hair is messy. There's a bruise on her arm, where Mac has pulled her away from the man. She's horrified.
She's just how Jack wants her.
"Sir," she whispers. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"
Settling himself on a sunchair, Jack leans back, one hand already fiddling with the buckle of his belt. Blanca follows, falls to her knees in front of him, desperately, silently begging for him to not follow through with whatever he's planning.
Jack clicks his tongue. "Of course you wanted to, manipulative little whore. I watched the feed. You got these horny guys to fight over you. And I guess we all know, who won." The wide grin on his face is sickening. Mac wants his owner to be pleased. He also wants him to be gone.
"Ah. Not now, pet." Jack lazily kicks out at Blanca, before he reaches into his pants and starts stroking himself. "I think, this once, I'll enjoy to just watch." He snaps the fingers of his free hand. "Mac."
"Sir," replies Mac, and the word is supposed to mean so much - a refusal, a plea, a demand, a cry of despair - but everyone else hears it for what it truly is.
Acknowledgement.
It tastes like blood.
Between the two men, Blanca scrambles backwards.
Nobody bothers. She won't get far. All of them know.
"Go on with the scene, Mac." Jack's white teeth shine bright in the sunlight. "Take her right there. Right where you defeated your opponent." He points at the scarlet puddle. "You look stunning, covered in blood. She will, too."
Mac steps forward to reach out for Blanca's arm and drag her up. His hand leaves bloody marks on her skin.
"Please," Blanca whispers tonelessly.
He avoids her gaze.
Jack wants her to fight. Not for show. For fear of her life.
Mac knows she will.
And they all know her resistance won't matter at all.
Love it when a sickness or the effects of an injury can be seen by a whole team but not by the whumpee, until it hits them hard, and there are hands already outstretched to catch them, to carry them, to treat them with kindness and medicine and comfort them in the darkness. A care prepared for and ready to spring into action.
Love it when a sickness or the effects of an injury are only known by the whumpee and hidden from the group, so that when the collapse inevitably comes, everyone around them is shocked, and there's calm for a split second before the shouting and rushed footsteps begin, and the whumpee has already hit the floor but there are hands to scoop them up and frantically check their body for any harm. A care created by panic and desperate in its speed.
Or, Rhus tries really hard to put all his eggs in one basket
Contains: starvation mention, but this one's pretty fluffy
"Hey kid, you wanna do some chores with me?"
Rhus looked up, head tilted slightly, at the sound of Spruce's voice, then glanced back down at the bone he'd been gnawing on.
"Nobody's gonna take the bone. You can put it in the fridge. And we'll have breakfast when we get back inside."
He nodded and put his bone away. He wasn't hungry, not anymore, but he was teething.
Bones were better to chew on than wood.
And⦠last time he left a bone out, Wicker stepped on it and had a fit and he'd been sure he'd get kicked out.
He trotted back to Spruce's side, tail wagging, and pressed his head into their hand, and they scratched behind his ears just the way he liked. He'd do anything, anything, if it meant he got to stay.
Putting a bone away instead of leaving it on the floor was a small ask.
Wicker hadn't even been mad at him. Had apologized for getting loud.
He'd still gotten the bone back later.
He was moving much better now than he had been at first. His shoulder was finally holding in place now, his back was mostly healed. The ache in his knees had subsided, his cough was gone.
Spruce handed him a basket and he carried it proudly.
"Birds first," they instructed.
Rhus nodded and followed along at their side.
He'd seen the chickens before, but from a distance. They roamed the property as they pleased.
"Not for eating," Spruce had told him the first day he felt well enough to be outside.
He'd⦠kept his distance, afraid of making a mistake. But now they were going right up to them.
"Can you open their door for me?"
Rhus nodded. He could hear, could smell, could taste the birds inside. Chickens and ducks and pheasants, andβ
He opened the door and they all ran and flew past him in a flurry of feathers.
His blood was rushing in his ears and his brain was screaming at him to catch one and eat it, what if you don't have another chance stupid boy!
But Spruce was patting him on the shoulder and telling him he did a good job. Spruce would feed him. Spruce always fed him. He would eat again, he wasn't even hungry now.
"Can you go in and grab the eggs? You can put them in the basket."
Right! The basket. His tail started to wag once again as Spruce followed him inside. His mouth was wateringβ he tried to ignore it. He had a job to do.
He almost did it. He grabbed almost all of the eggs, browns and whites and creams and blues and greens, and put them safely in the basket⦠but he shoved the last egg into his mouth.
He'd crunched and swallowed it before he realized what he'd done and immediately dropped to his knees.
Spruce sighed and picked him back up.
"You'll kill your knees doing that, kiddo. C'mon."
"But I. I ate. Without permission."
"You shoved one of, what, thirty eggs in your mouth."
"Yes, please correct me."
"You've been starved your whole life and successfully put twenty-nine eggs in the basket."
Spruce knelt in front of him and a tiny whimper escaped him.
"Did you enjoy the egg?"
"It⦠eggs are better how Katy makes them."
Spruce laughed and Rhus's tail started to wag, still hesitant.
"You're⦠you're really not mad?"
"Nah, kid. Come here." They opened their arms and Rhus collapsed into the hug, tail wagging wildly.
"You won't kill a bird, right?"
Rhus shook his head. "No, never."
"Good boy."
Spruce scooped him up and he melted into his arms.
He rode on Spruce's shoulders as they went through the rest of the morning chores. Feeding the livestock, milking the goats and cows, checking their greenhouse. Then they returned to the house.
It smelled like food.
Of course it did. Spruce had promised breakfast after chores. Spruce didn't lie.
They set him down and he raced to the kitchen and wiggled up into his chair. It was taller than the others, so he could sit at the table with them.
"Good morning, cubbo." Wicker scratched the back of his neck and his foot thumped against his chair, and then Katy set a mug of hot cocoa in front of him and coffee in front of Wicker.
Wicker was writing something, but Rhus could barely read, and certainly didn't understand Wicker's shorthand, or the way he skipped from journal to journal, so he didn't try.
He watched Spruce sit down on Wicker's other side, watched Wicker lean into them with a purr.
Everyone was so nice here. They were all nice to each other and nice to him and when they'd noticed he had nightmares, they let him sleep with them like a real pack instead of leaving him alone.
Like a real pack where he was wanted, and not just a sacrifice to an absent goddess.
And they fed him. They always made sure he wasn't hungry. He giggled in excitement when Katy set a plate of eggs and pancakes and fruit and bacon in front of him. And then in front of everyone else, because that plate was all for him and everyone got to eat.
And the eggs Katy cooked were so much better than the raw egg he'd eaten that morning.
He dove in immediately, then watched with wide eyes as Wicker meticulous poured syrup over his and Spruce's pancakes and then offered the bottle to him.
He tried to copy Wicker's techniqueβ he was much clumsier.
But it was so good.
He ended up getting seconds, he usually did, because that was an option now, and poured even more syrup over them.
He heard Spruce laugh and wagged his tail because here, laughter was good.
Laughter was good and he would always get to eat and he was safe.
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Whumper grabbed Whumpee by the roots of the hair and wrenched their head back so they could speak in their ear, while their other hand ran down Whumpee's torso.
βYou have no idea what it means for me to have my hands on you. Not really. Would you like to find out?β
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"get up." a light nudge followed by a kick to their abdomen. "get up."
whumpee shakes their head. curls up tighter into themself. what's the point, if all that awaits them is more endless agony anyways?
a low cry of despair slips past their lips as whumper grabs their hair and pulls them up. "I said," two heavy slaps followed by a warning squeeze to the back of their throat. "get the fuck up."
whumpee trembles, trembles, trembles. tasting blood, feeling it dribble past their chin. it won't stop. what's the point?
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Whumpee grits her teeth, holding back a whimper as the stranger probes her injury. She's brisk, not cruel, but it hardly matters - the damage runs too deep. Whumpee braces for what the stranger will demand of her, and dares to hope. She has been merciful thus far. In this state, Whumpee can't offer much; can barely stand, she knows, without incurring further damage.
The stranger hisses through her teeth. "Okay. It's okay." It's a strange tone for orders, but she's clearly talking to Whumpee. "Can you walk?"
Whumpee's heart drops. She knows the right choice here - the only choice.
