Can I get Whumpee with a permanent replacement limb prosthetic who hates that they can't take it off or trade it for a "normal" looking one, and a Caretaker who thinks Whumpee's replacement limb is actually badass and cool is trying to comfort/compliment them about it? Thank you!!!
Whumpee hated it. They had signed the papers for the osseointegration surgery, they had given their consent, but they were increasingly unsure that this had been the way to go. Their prosthesis was directly anchored to the bone, meaning they couldn't take it off, and it was just a… part of them now. A clunky, metal part. And they hated it.
"Whoa," Caretaker said when Whumpee removed their pants to get into their pyjamas. "You're… an amputee?"
Whumpee furrowed their brows. They were working for the same organisation, and they had just been assigned roommates. Shouldn't Caretaker have known a little more about them than just a name? "Yeah," they said curtly. "I mean…" They knocked on the metal prosthesis. "It's pretty self-explanatory."
"Yes, yes, of course. Sorry. I didn't mean to stare as you undressed, I just caught a glimpse of it, and I—"
"It's fine," they cut in. "Just quit staring."
"But it's so cool."
Cool? "What's cool about a metal leg?"
Caretaker seemed immediately fired up about the topic, so much so that Whumpee furrowed their brows even further. They would definitely get wrinkles before 25. "I mean, have you seen that thing? That's incredible! Medicine is truly amazing, I mean, it's not the usual prosthesis, is it? It's not the removable kind. It's part of you. And you can walk and do all sorts of things that others in your position wouldn't have been able to do even twenty years ago. And I mean, it's a metal leg. How absolutely cool is that? And I wouldn't have been able to tell if I just saw you in your sweatpants, because you walk so well on it, and you're so well-adjusted to it, and it's just— It's just amazing."
Whumpee gave them a tentative, nervous smile. "Sure," they said, pulling on their pyjama pants. "I guess it's fine."
"It's not just fine! It's a miracle!"
"Okay, now we're definitely overstating its use. It's just a prosthesis. What, are you into amputees or something?"
Caretaker opened their mouth, then blushed. "No," they said quietly, all their fiery passion gone in an instant. "No, sorry. Did it come off that way? I didn't mean to make it weird. I just thought… I was raised that if I wanted to give a compliment, I should just go for it, maybe make the other person feel better about something. I dunno. Sorry. It was probably weird."
Whumpee laughed. "No, it's fine. I was just joking. I'm glad you like this stupid leg, because let me tell you, I was getting increasingly annoyed with it."
Caretaker gave a shy smile. "I really do think it's cool."
"Thanks, Caretaker. I won't complain about it to you, then."
"No, it's totally okay. Obviously, I don't know the ins and outs of having a prosthetic leg. If it's annoying you, you can tell me. I just wanted to let you know that others probably think it's pretty cool."
Whumpee smiled. "Yeah. I guess they might think that. Let's go to bed, training starts at 6 tomorrow."
"Yes, of course. Sorry. Let's go to bed."
Maybe their prosthesis wasn't flawless, but… Whumpee went to sleep that night feeling pretty at peace with it.
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I forgot how much of a sucker I am for factory whump and how fun of a trope it is... Perhaps you could do something with it? Who knows.
- @thewhumpiestofthemall (gonna start signing these so I don't forget)
#266
content: gore, amputation whump
Whumpee was trying their best to stay awake during their night shift. They were standing beside the conveyor belt, packaging the product that came through. They needed the extra money from picking up additional shifts, but sleep deprivation was starting to get the better of them.
"Hey, Whumpee," a coworker called. "There's something going on with the machine. Check it out for me, will you?"
"Aye, aye," they said, stumbling over to the machine and promptly determining that one of the products got caught, and the cogs couldn't turn. Easy fix. Get the product out, machine will be good as new. So they reached in.
"No, not like that, Whumpee—"
Their coworker was too late. The cogs caught Whumpee's hand, crushing bone and tissue as they screamed for help. Several people ran over and grabbed every part of their body, pulling them away from the machine. Once Whumpee was free, the damage could be seen: there was nothing but exposed bone where their hand should've been, blood gushing everywhere.
"I need to go tell the boss," a coworker said, clearly terrified of the damage. Their phones were confiscated at the start of shifts, so nobody could quickly call an ambulance. "I'll be right back, don't— don't do anything stupid! We can fix this!"
Whumpee stared down at their throbbing hand-bone, and they suddenly felt faint.
"Hey, Whumpee?" another coworker called, still holding them. "Whumpee, stay with us. Don't go passing out on me."
"I don't feel so good," was the last thing they managed to get out before everything went dark.
Caretaker who was sent videos of Whumpee's torture by Whumper
#256
content: forced to watch, captivity, amputation whump, no holds barred beatdown
"You," Caretaker growled, clutching the baseball bat in their hand tighter.
Whumper smiled at them. "Me indeed. We finally meet. Whumpee has talked a lot about you, you know."
"Keep their name out of your filthy mouth," they hissed. "You don't deserve them. You don't deserve to say their name, to look at them, to touch them—"
"Oh, but touch them I did. I've given them a wonderful little gift of scars, pains, and memories."
Caretaker knew. They'd seen the videos. Videos of Whumper cutting off parts of Whumpee's body, permanently disabling them. Videos of Whumpee trying to run from them, limping, screaming for help. Videos of Whumper beating them until Whumpee was nothing but a bloody heap on the ground, unable to even groan in pain. They'd seen it all. They'd seen it a thousand times, trying to look for clues in them, anything that would've brought them closer to finding them. There was nothing.
Until yesterday.
"I didn't call the police on you," Caretaker said. "They would be too understanding."
"No, of course not. You're your own little vigilante, saving Whumpee from the big bad wolf yourself."
They raised the baseball bat. They didn't know why Whumper was so calm and confident when they seemed to be the only one with a weapon, and they didn't want to find out. The sooner they took Whumper down, the better.
"No!" they heard a scream.
Caretaker whipped around to find there was a small glass window looking into this room, and Whumpee was on the other side of it. Their hand with which they were banging on the glass was leaving bloody handprints.
"Would you look at that?" Whumper said. "We have company."
"Caretaker, please, don't do it! They'll put you in jail! Please! I can't do it without you, I can't!"
Caretaker's fingers tightened around the baseball bat, their teeth grinding on each other as they thought back to the weeks of torment both they and Whumpee had had to endure. They were so angry, they almost yelled at Whumpee to come to their senses, to be glad they were going to beat their assailant to death. But then, as they thought further, they realised Whumpee was right. They lowered the bat. They had been so selfish. They'd… put their revenge above Whumpee's well-being.
They turned back around to face Whumper, their righteous fury slowly evaporating. They still loathed Whumper, but their logical thinking skills were slowly coming back to them. Whumper was still smiling, like they were invincible.
"So?" Whumper asked. "What will it be?"
"I'm calling the cops."
Whumper's smile widened, and they reached into their pocket, pulling out something that didn't look like a weapon. They lifted it and let the leather case fall open, revealing a police badge. "At your service."
Continued from this. Contains discussions of right and wrong, amputation (with a sword) and cauterisation (Canna's favourite), and one character taking punishment for another (always fun).
“Alright,” Settin said. “Come here, give us your name. If what you say is true, then we will of course take that into consideration.”
The guards let her through, and she hurried over, wringing her hands in clear nervousness.
“I’m El- Elti. I, uh, was working with Seve- with the traitor, before his arrest. Against the Emperor. I tried to rescue him because I wanted to prove that we don’t leave our own behind.” She raised her chin, defiant. “What you’re doing is wrong.”
“I understand your feelings, Elti, but you cannot call us in the wrong when you admit yourself that you seek to harm His Imperial Majesty,” Settin said, calm, even gentle. “We cannot allow sympathy to get in the way of justice. What befell your friend is unfortunate, but it is his own doing.”
“But not- this isn’t. This, right here, is for what I did- so you can’t punish him for it.”
“Exalted Master?”
“She has a point,” Canna decided. “I said there would be consequences, and I cannot go back on my word. But if Elti is willing to take them, then I will be satisfied with that.”
“I am! I will. Just… don’t make it worse for him,” Elti added, lowering her voice.
Settin sighed, looking every bit his age. He drew his sword, an arm’s length of gleaming, single-edged steel, and offered it to Canna.
“Master Canna. The standard sentence for taking up arms against the empire, if you please?”
“Of course. Elti, hold out your dominant hand.”
“Now?” she squeaked.
“Now.”
Elti whimpered, but she didn’t try to back out. She pushed up the sleeve on her left hand, and held it out, her breathing rapid as her eyes darted between the limb and the sword. Canna did not draw her terror out any further. A single overhead strike was all it took.
Elti screamed, high and piercing, doubling over as she clutched her stump to her chest. Canna handed Settin his sword back and grabbed the girl, forcing her to show the injury, clamping her own hand over it and calling forth fire. The screams didn’t stop for a while.
“Was it truly necessary to be so rough?” Settin asked quietly as Canna stood up, absentmindedly burning off the annoying stickiness of blood from her palm.
“Every moment wasted on gentleness is a moment in which blood is lost. It may seem cruel, but her health is better for it.”
“Hm. Guard Norin- find Elti a cell and keep an eye on her. I’ll have some questions once she’s recovered enough to speak. Let her know that if she cooperates, she will be home by this evening.”
“It will be done, Inquisitor,” Norin said, stepping forward. The arm he put around Elti’s shoulders was remarkably gentle, as was the quiet tone in which he spoke to her- “Come now, let’s get you away from the crowd.”
“It seems we are done here,” Canna said. Her words were for the gathered people even as she nominally addressed her captive: “You can count yourself lucky that at least one of your friends chose to be truthful.”
He did not think himself lucky- that much was obvious. He was crying.
Whumpee mech pilot returning to the field, and they get deliberately assigned to a mech with an overprotective personality core?
#213
content: amputation whump, past trauma, death, nonhuman caretaker
Whumpee hadn't been out on the field since their latest accident, wherein their mech broke and blew their arm off. It had taken months of physical therapy and rehabilitation for them to be able to use their new mechanic arm — courtesy of Medic — well enough to be able to be sent back out.
And of course, they needed a new mech instead of the one that blew up.
Whumpee didn't want a new mech. Their old one had been their partner for years, and they got along splendidly. Their teamwork was smooth, they never had any hiccups, and Whumpee was used to its parameters and size. They didn't want to have to get used to another one. Alas, there was nothing to do.
The first time they climbed into the new mech, it was strange and uncomfortable. Whumpee made a face as they settled in. Everything was different.
"Okay, girl," they muttered. "Let's see what you can do."
Practice went… okay. This new mech wasn't as powerful as their old one, but it was more agile. By the end, Whumpee was almost used to the way it moved.
"I'm ready," they told Leader after some sessions. "I can be sent out again."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Did you get used to the mech?"
Whumpee made a gesture to indicate that they sort of did. "I'll get more used to it in a combat setting."
"Okay. There's a mission we're preparing for, it's in about two weeks. Practise some more, and I'll talk to the mission leader to take you in."
"Thanks."
Two weeks flew by in an instant. Soon enough, Whumpee was out in the field, dodging bullets and killing others. The new mech was unstoppable.
Unfortunately, they soon realised they were outnumbered. The mission report had severely underestimated the number of enemies they'd encounter. But that was okay, Whumpee thought. They could still hold their own.
Their mech had other ideas.
"Hey!" they cried when all of a sudden, their mech turned around and began clearing a path for them to… run? "What the fuck? We have to fight!"
The mech didn't react to them pushing any of the buttons. It was as though Whumpee had been locked out of the system.
"Let me fight!" they yelled, desperately turning knobs and pressing buttons. "Turn back around!"
Their mech was like a brick wall. As soon as a path was cleared, it sped off, leaving Whumpee's teammates on the battlefield to fight alone.
"Fucking— piece of garbage!" Whumpee slammed their hand down on the control panel, breaking one of the screens. Their mech emitted a sound that resembled a pained cry. "Let me fucking fight! You coward!"
Leader must've had a hand in this. They had been the one to assign Whumpee to this new mech. They must've known it was so fucking overprotective.
Whumpee kicked and screamed the whole time their mech was running off with them. In the end, their mech brought them to a safe place and straight up ejected them from their seat.
"Useless!" Whumpee screamed, kicking the leg of the mech. It didn't react. "I'm going back to base and telling Leader to sell you for spare parts! What the fuck were you thinking? My teammates are still out there!" When it still didn't react, Whumpee huffed and started walking back towards where the battle was on their own two feet. That made the mech act.
It grabbed Whumpee, holding it close to its main chest cavity.
"Let go!" It didn't. "You can't hold me captive! I have a right to fight! I have a duty to fight!"
They screamed and cussed for minutes before they tired themself out, sagging in their mech's hold. They weren't getting back to the battlefield. They just had to accept it.
"Okay, girl, you won," they said, exhausted from having fought a several tonne metal beast. "Let me back inside. We're going back to base."
On their way back, Whumpee's mech didn't disobey a single order. They moved like the two of them were one body, one mind. If only it had been that easy during battle.
Once there, Whumpee found Leader. "I need a new mech," they said straight away.
"Oh? Why?"
"This one is way too protective of me. I can't go out into battle with a fussy mother-figure."
"Whumpee…"
"I don't want to hear it. I need a new mech."
"You're the only one who came back from the mission."
Whumpee stopped in their tracks. "What?"
"You're the only one. That mech saved your life when the rest of the team was too stubborn to withdraw."
Whumpee ran their fingers through their hair. "Maybe if I'd stayed—"
"You would've died as well." Leader placed a hand on Whumpee's shoulder. "Get comfortable with that mech of yours. I'm not assigning you a new one."
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content: ableism, past trauma, rocky recovery, amputation whump
Whumpee was sitting on the bus, staring out the window. It was a nice day out. If not for the bus engine, they probably would've heard birds chirping.
Until some dipshit decided to ruin their day.
"What happened?" someone asked in an annoyingly high-pitched voice of concern. Whumpee didn't think they were talking to them — after all, they hadn't even looked in the stranger's direction. "Hey! What happened to your hand?"
Now, that was starting to be suspicious. Whumpee was missing a hand, and usually, any hand comments in their vicinity were directed at them. So they turned around to see who was making said comments.
"Yeah, you!" The stranger even pointed at them. "What happened?"
Whumpee looked down at their missing hand like it was the first time they'd seen it. "Nothing," they said.
"Why are you missing a hand?"
"I just do."
"Nobody just does."
"In fact, it's way more common to just do than to have it amputated," they said with a forced smile. "So yeah. I just do."
"You were born this way?"
No.
"Yes."
"What's the stump like?"
"Excuse me?"
"How does it look?"
"I'm done with this," Whumpee said, standing up and pressing the stop button.
"I hope I didn't offend you!" the stranger called after them as they exited the bus. Fucking idiots everywhere.
Whumpee looked around themself. They were three stops before their usual stop. Great. Now they had to walk because of this asshole.
They didn't like to think about their missing hand, but there was nothing else to think about as they put one foot in front of the other on the way home. Whumpee felt like everyone was staring at them. Did they really stick out that much? That random strangers felt the need to call attention to it? Why didn't anyone on the bus say something?
Before they knew it, they were crying. Why had Whumper done this to them? They never got an answer out of that fucking monster. And now they had to live like this, branded forever. Forever the laughing stock of everyone around them. Forever the freak.
"Hey, are you okay?" someone asked, and Whumpee didn't even look up. "Hey. Hey, stranger."
They furrowed their brows and looked around, and found a kind-looking stranger staring at them. "Me?"
"Yeah. Are you okay? Do you need a tissue?"
"That… would be nice, actually."
"My name's Caretaker," they said as they rummaged through their bag, grabbing a tissue triumphantly and handing it to them. "Why the crying?"
"Just had a bad commute experience…" they mumbled as they struggled with the tissue. Even this was stupidly difficult with one hand. This was so dumb.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you live far from here?"
"No, I… Actually, yes."
"Which way are you going?"
Whumpee pointed, and Caretaker gave them a smile. "I'm going that way, too. I didn't want to take the bus anyway, what do you say we walk together? I'm not a creepy stalker, I promise."
Unlike Whumper.
"Sorry, I'd rather not," they said with an awkward, teary smile. "I'm sure you're very nice, I just don't… have the best track record with strangers."
"Oh, understandable. Sorry if I overstepped. Well, have a better rest of your day."
"Thanks. By the way, my name is Whumpee."
Caretaker pretended to tip their hat. "Nice to meet you, Whumpee."
There are 3 or 2 phalanges per finger, that's 14 on one hand/foot, overall 56 if you count their toes too. Do with that information what you will. Maybe get a guy and whenever they misbehave just chop one off. Until they dont have anything left. A long way to go, but sure possible!
A whumpee who’s just woken up from a coma realizing they can’t feel their legs and they panic. Caretaker who’s been there the whole time tried to comfort them, but breaking the news isn’t easy.
#162
content: amputation whump, hospital setting
It was slow — the waking up. Whumpee couldn't tell what they noticed first, the bright lights or the beeping of the machines they were hooked up to. Or maybe the hand on their own, gently holding, massaging.
Or the ache.
The terrible ache where there should've been none.
"Where am I?" they croaked as they opened their eyes. The first person they saw was Caretaker, on one of those uncomfortable, white hospital stools. "Am I in a hospital?"
"Whumpee!" they squealed, clearly trying to keep the volume down but failing. They jumped up and pressed a kiss to their forehead, tears already shining in their eyes. "You're awake! I thought— It doesn't matter. You're awake!"
"What day is it…?"
"Wednesday. You've been in a coma for a week now. God, I can't believe it. You're finally awake."
"I can't… I can't feel my legs. My hips hurt. But nothing below that." Caretaker suddenly shifted from cheery to concerned. It scared them. "What's with my legs? Did something happen to my—" They tried to take off the blanket to check, but Carteaker grabbed them by the wrist.
"Whumpee…"
"What's with my legs?"
"You don't… have legs anymore."
Whumpee let out a nervous laugh. "What?"
"The accident, the damage was too great. I'm sorry. They had to amputate both legs before they put you in the medically induced coma."
"You're joking."
"This is no laughing matter."
"No shit!" Whumpee yanked their hand out of their hold and pulled off the blanket. Sure enough, it was abundantly clear why they had no feeling in their legs. "Oh my god…"
Caretaker quickly pulled the blanket back into its original place to hide the damage. "I'll tell the doctor you woke up."
"Don't just leave me here like this!"
"I can't magically grow your legs back," they said with obvious grief. What were they grieving? It was their legs! "I'm sorry. I'll tell the doctor."
"You know what? Good. I want to meet the fucking barbaric monster who did this to me."
"Whumpee, you owe your life to that doctor."
"I'd rather be fucking dead!"
They didn't mean that. Or did they? No, definitely not. When they saw the look on Caretaker's face, they looked away, embarrassed that they'd said that. They were grateful for this second chance at life.
"Tell the doctor," they muttered.
"I will. I'll be right back with them. Just…" They never finished the sentence. They just turned and left. Whumpee would never be able to walk out of a room just like that anymore.
