Imagine if you will the sheer panic of an exhausted, semi-delirious whumpee feeling a bottle of water being pressed to their lips after they were just rescued from nearly drowning:
“No! Please! I don’t want it! Please. No more. Please!”
“Whumpee! It’s okay! It’s just- okay not just- it’s fresh water. I know it’s scary but you’re so dehydrated. You have to drink or it will get worse. It will be okay. We can take small sips. I won’t let you choke. But you need to drink. Please!”
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Kevin was crying. That's all he does. He just cries and cries and cries. While the rest of his friends dealt with stress in more healthy ways, Kevin just holed himself in his room and sobbed.
His parents asked him if he was okay, but he didn't want to tell them. It was stupid. He was crying over something stupid.
It was just a party. He was supposed to be having fun. Sure, he got overwhelmed and anxious, but he should've calmed down and had fun with everyone, right? Why did he have to ruin it with his obnoxious crying?
He tried to take deep breaths. He tried to calm down, but he couldn't. He couldn't control the heaving gasps. He couldn't control his racing heart, the nausea, the shaking... Why was he so weak?
Why weren't his friends there for him?
Why couldn't he control himself at that party? Why couldn't he be normal like them?
Whumper keeps Whumpee in an excessive amount of restraints (can’t move an inch for chains, collared, muzzled) to ensure that they won’t break out - even if Whumpee is completely cooperative
Whumpee who does fight back, who bites, claws, scratches, does everything they can to cause as much damage to Whumper as possible
Whumper who “has to” keep Whumpee constantly sedated
Whumpee is a danger to themself, intentionally or not, so Whumper has to protect them before they fatally injure themselves
Nonhuman Whumpee is percieved as dangerous and muzzled/shock collared before they can plead their case, if they even can
Caretaker who is scared of Whumpee!
Stranger Caretaker arriving to rescue Whumpee after defeating Whumper but hesitating when they realise who or what Whumpee is
Whumpee’s hope turning to dread as they see this, and silently begging for mercy
Whumpee who lashes out at Caretaker, who hurts then one day, and guilt hits them at full force
Whumpee who believes they’re a danger to Caretaker and takes it upon themself to remove themself from the equation
Caretsker who flinches when Whumpee moves suddenly
Whumpee wakes up after being rescued, filled with relief - only when they try to move they notice the chains, and the muzzle
Or Whumpee wakes up in a hospital but is restrained to the bed “for their own safety”
Whumpee is a living weapon or villain and everyone is scared of them - except Caretaker’s child
Whumpee who tries to be gentle and unassuming to win the favour of those around them
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Whumper has been arrested but there’s no sign of Whumpee. They’ve been locked away somewhere that only whumper knows, but whumper isn’t talking. But with whumper in jail, there’s nobody feeding whumpee. Nobody bringing them just enough water to survive. It becomes a race against time against an unknown clock, to find whumpee before they die of starvation or dehydration
Consider combining with the trope where Whumpee is in a secret place where they can hear their rescuers searching for them but can’t draw attention to themselves and where they are almost found but caretaker gives up moments before they would have found them
Whumpee should have known not to push Whumper's buttons. Their eyes had had a wild, uneasy look in them since that morning. They had a hair trigger temper as it was. But Whumpee had been so good recently. And they thought they could get away with some mischief. had struck a nerve this time. In the end, Whumper had given them the works.
When the beating was over, Whumper dragged them to the basement by their hair and deposited them in The Box. The punishment reserved for only the worst transgressions.
Whumpee’s hands were bound behind their back. The handcuffs were standard. But after Whumpee had once scratched their fingers so raw on the hardwood walls that Whumper had been forced to take them to an actual hospital afterwards, they had started wrapping their hands in duct tape as well. The gag was more typical. The kind that most people used for more desirable activities. But still adequate enough for Whumper’s purposes. They claimed they couldn’t hear Whumpee’s screams through the floorboards when they had it on.
Whumpee had never completely believed that. They could hear everything that went on outside The Box when they were in it after all. Except for the time that Whumper had stuffed cotton in their ears and tapped over them to throw them into total sensory deprivation. But that had only happened once. Even Whumper had admit they'd gone too far that time.
This time, Whumpee had only been in The Box for a few hours (or so they assumed) before the typical sounds of Whumper walking around and talking on the phone were broken by crashing and yelling, and sirens.
Whumpee was free! It was finally over! The police had come and Whumper was gone! And they were going to find Whumpee, and rescue them, and take them home!
Home.
That singular thought had run in Whumpee's head like the steady bong of a church bell. Constant and all consuming. A feeling that filled their chest and shook the last tendrils of their energy into focus around one singular mission.
They did the best they could. Kicked against the walls of their tiny prison. Screamed through the gag at the top of their lungs until their throat was raw and they couldn't swallow for lack of moisture. They kicked. Screamed. Shook. Sobbed.
But it seemed Whumper hadn't been lying after all. The original noise of the invasion died down. Decreasing foot steps shook the floor. The frantic talking started to die down. And then pick up again. And then die down. In an eb and flow Whumpee couldn't predict or follow.
People were looking for them. They couldn't hear entire conversations. But their name stuck out often. At first people had been calling it. Screaming as loudly as Whumpee thought they were. But after a while the voices grew quieter, and they could understand less of what was being said besides their own name.
At first the conversations were calm. But were growing more desperate by the minute. Hour? Day?
Whumpee had no idea how long had passed. Their limbs had cramped a long time ago. Gone numb from lack of blood flow and movement. Then their stomach began to grumble, then cramp, then go silent.
All that they were used to. Pain. Starvation. In barely registered as a problem in the confines of their well trained mind.
It was the thirst that made them spiral. They had been thirsty before. But this was all consuming. They could barely think of anything else but their all consuming need for water. Even a glass of it would do.
They could barely keep their eyes open now. Not that it helped anyway in the pitch black of The Box. They didn't have the energy to kick the walls anymore. And no voice to yell with. The chiming of that hopeful bell in their chest had grown so silent they could barely hear it anymore over the subtle beating of their fluttering heart.
They'd always known that The Box was well hidden. And had long now accepted that their would-be rescuers had not heard their cries for help. But surely Whumper had told them where they were.
No matter how mad Whumpee had ever made them, no matter how bad the punishment got, they'd never forgotten to give them water. Starved them? Yes. Beat them within and inch of their lives? More times than Whumpee could count. But Whumper had never let Whumpee get to this level of dehydration. They'd always been so careful about that.
Even now. They would never let this get this far.
Why would the police leave them here? Why weren't they resucing them and letting them out? What had Whumpee done to make the police so mad that they deserved to be punsihed like this? To be left in here for so long?
The bell in their chest stopped chiming as Whumpee realized with a sinking feeling that they were never going to be let out of here. They were going to die in this coffin. And their body wasn't going to be found until long after they'd been mummified by the arid air and dust. Or else eaten by the insects and mice that crawled on the other side of the floorboards. They'd become nothing more than a curiosity to put in a museum, for passers by to read about and wonder: What did they do so bad that they deserved this?
Maybe that answer would be put on display for onlookers. Maybe it was obvious to the rest of the world. But as Whumpee's consious slipped ever closer into oblivion, only one explaination could swirl in the drain at the center of their reality.
Tired Dad ™️ Team leader when everyone on the team gets sick:
• Boxes of disposable masks start passive aggressively showing up by the entrances of all common areas.
• “next person to get sick is just getting chicken broth. I’m all out of noodles and I refuse to spend any more of my paycheck on you idiots than I already do.”
• *heavy this-is-why-we-can’t-have-nice-things sigh as they lovely brush damp hair out of a teammate’s face and physically hold them up so they don’t collapse face first into the trash can they’re puking in*
• “Nah-ah! I don’t want to see your face more than an inch from a pillow until it’s not sporting Pantone’s color of the year.”
• “Go. The. Fuck. Home.”
• *glaring at the team in silence after getting interrupted for the third time before being able to finish the sentence by separate people having coughing fits*
• Shows up to work one day in a full hazmat suit. Proceeds to tell everyone they have a spare and are willing to share.
• more than one sick teammate wakes up after falling asleep at their desk to find Team Leader’s jacket draped over their shoulders.
• “for the last time: yes it is hard to operate when someone goes out sick. But it is infinitely harder to get anything done when three of you are on your death beds! You all have plenty of sick leave. Please, for the love of God, use it and stop spreading around your gross sick germs!”
Whumper takes their time, has planned in hours to reduce their usually rather stoic whumpee to a crying, trembling mess.
When whumper leaves them, whumpee, exhausted, thinks it's finally over. But whumper has only gone to open the door. The guests are here... now the party can begin.
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the leader tightened their grip on their struggling teammate's shoulders, where they lay across the leader's lap. "stay still, just a moment more."
"it hurts," the other gasped, too breathless for more than a whisper of words. "please make it stop - "
the leader looked from their teammate's wan face to the bloodstained mess of their clothes, and the worried expression of the medic who was still tending to them.
"it'll be over soon," they said. they leaned down, pressed their cheek to the sweaty forehead of the other, wished there was more they could have done.
all they could do now was hold their teammate and wait, their mind racing in a frantic prayer and desperate hope - let them be all right, please, please.
"it'll be over soon," they said again.
their teammate's ragged breathing was the only answer, but their hands grabbed the leader's tightly, and did not let go.
"You don't have to do this." Caretaker urged as they followed Whumpee down the hall towards the holding cells. Leader tried to give them a death glare without Whumpee catching on But they saw the flash of Leader's hardening expression in their periphery anyway.
It didn't matter. Leader had given them the option too, when they had called them to their office earlier that day.
"We caught someone." They had said sullenly. "From Whumper's organization. But we can't identify them. It's none of Whumper's known henchmen and they won't talk to us no matter how we ask them to."
Whumpee was under no illusion about how Leader had been "asking" the prisoner to identify themselves. But it was hard to feel bad when the mention of Whumper's name still sent chills of fear throughout their whole body. Even all these years later.
"Some of their equipment is old. From around the time we rescued you. Would you be willing to take a look? See if you know them?"
This guy must have been bad. Leader was grasping at straws asking Whumpee to try and identify them. They knew how scared Whumpee still got of Whumper. How knowing they had been dealing with them, or captured one of their henchmen never failed to send Whumpee into a spiral of nightmares and panic attacks for days, sometimes weeks. They were usually so careful to keep Whumpee out of that end of the business. And anyway, Whumpee had already given them the names of all the people in Whumper's organization that they knew about. Names, descriptions, everything they would need to identify someone. This couldn't have been someone Whumpee encountered in those days. They would have figured out who they were already.
But Whumpee agreed anyway. Maybe it was an attempt to face their fears. To try and heal something still left broken inside their mind from all those years as Whumper's lab rat. Maybe they were scared that if they didn't Leader would loose their patience and start "asking questions" the way they did with their prisoners (Caretaker wouldn't let that happen. Caretaker would kill Leader before they let Whumpee get hurt again. But still, the fear was always there). There was something inside Whumpee that just told them they needed to do this.
"It's fine." Whumpee lied as they all came to a stop outside the room where the prisoner was being held.
There was no way Caretaker and Leader couldn't see the way Whumpee's hands were shaking. Or the sweat beading on their forehead and the back of their neck. Leader chose to ignore the signs that Whumpee wasn't as okay with this as they claimed, but Caretaker looked them up and down with a concerned expression. They opened their mouth to speak but Whumpee continued before they could.
"Let's get this over with."
The interrogation room was purposefully warm. With obnoxiously flickering florescent lights. There was a square of bars in the center of the room, coming up from the floor and disappearing into the ceiling only an inch or two apart. Too close together for someone to squeeze through. They surrounded a heavy, metal table with two chairs on either side. All three were bolted to the floor.
Whumpee hadn't been in one of these rooms in years. They reminded them too much of some of the rooms Whumper used to keep them in, and that only made their hands shake more as they entered.
The figures in the room made their hands shake too. Two heavily armed guards standing on either side of what appeared to be a humanoid shaped bruise sitting in one of the chairs. The bruise's ankles were locked to the chair legs with heavy rings, and its wrists to the table with the same contraptions. Its head was resting on the table top obscuring their face and showing only tufts of hair so matted with dried blood you couldn't tell the color. If it weren't for audible, ragged breathing emitting from the thing at the table, Whumpee would have thought it was dead.
Whumpee had been in similar situations to that thing before. Imprisioned. Tied down. Barely alive. Broken. Whumper had done that too them. Sometimes with their own hands. Sometimes through ordering their henchmen to. Henchmen like the thing in the chair.
Whumpee clung onto that thought to keep themselves from feeling sympathy for the thing. It was in Whumpee's place now. A place it had put Whumpee. It was broken, and scared, and couldn't hurt anyone.
After taking a deep breathe, Whumpee indicated to Leader that they were ready to see the bruise's face. Leader nodded to the guards and one of them grabbed the bruise by the hair and yanked it's head back.
At first, Whumpee thought there was nothing to recognize. The face was too bruised and swollen to look like anything, much less someone Whumpee hadn't seen in years. And so bruised and hurt themselves when they had that they couldn't have focused on remembering. But then the thing in the chair let out a pained grunt in protest to their treatment, and was Whumpee crazy, or did it sound familiar? Then Whumpee noticed a cut trickling out of the bruise's hairline. Or was it already a scar? One Whumpee never thought they'd see again.
A chill ran down Whumpee's spine and their stomach twisted into an anxious knot. Despite themselves, they stepped forward and pressed their face against the bars to get a closer look. Over either of their shoulders both Leader and Caretaker made small noises of protest.
In the chair, the prisoner tried to blink one of their eyes open. They were only successful for a second but it was enough for Whumpee to see a flash of blue standing out against the blood shot sclera.
"Can I get a closer look?" They didn't expect their voice to be so steady given the circumstances. An anxious pit was forming in their stomach and they could feel an all too familiar sense of unreality poking at the edges of their thoughts. The kind they got when they woke up from their nightmares and couldn't quite convince themselves that they were awake, and all the good things that had happened to them actually had. Behind the bars. the bruised prisoner was turning towards the sound of their voice and trying to open their eye again.
"I don't think that would be a good idea," Leader said lowly. "they've already escaped their restraints twice. And -"
"I know," Whumpee cut Leader off with a certainty of their statement that they didn't even realize they felt until the words were out of their mouth. Leader was probably going to say that the prisoner had beat someone half to death when they escaped. Or maybe even killed someone. But they had turned their head in such a way that Whumpee could see that that cut on their head was definitely a scar. And they just couldn't believe it.
"I'll be okay."
Begrudgingly, Leader lowered a few of the bars so Whumpee could go to the table the prisoner was restrained at. Caretaker offered to go in with them, but Whumpee needed to do this on their own. The fear was waning, slowly, But their heartrate was increasing with every step they took. And the sense of unreality was threatening to engulf them.
The prisoner had finally managed to keep one of those blue eyes open. And followed Whumpee with it as they made their way to the table and sat across from them leaning all the way forward in the cold metal chair to get as close to them as they could. Both of the guards drew their hand guns. One pressed theirs to the back of the prisoner's head when they tried to slide their hands ever so slightly closer to Whumpee in their tight restraints. Blood oozed from underneath the rough metal. Neither Whumpee, nor the captive noticed the fresh blood, or the gun.
The captive managed to crack a smile. It was a terrifying expression. But that was just because the action had reopened a split in their lip, and their teeth were covered in blood. Probably from biting their cheek or breaking a molar during the ruthless beatings they'd endured over the past few hours. Miraculously, their canines were still intact though. They had prominent eye teeth. But it was the snaggled front two that made Whumpee's heart stutter to a stop for a few sinking seconds.
"I never... thought I'd see you again," Living Weapon rasped in a weak, labored voice. "You look good... safe."
The room thrummed with a nervous energy. Leader and Caretaker were whispering to each other on the other side of the bars. Now both the guards had their guns pressed to Living Weapon's head. Whumpee's heart had started to beat again. But they thought it was going to jump out of their chest. The unreality had washed over them completely now and they had to vigorously fight the urge to reach out and run their hands over the face to prove to themselves that they weren't dreaming. The scar on their hairline. The sad, watery blue eye. The toothy grin that rarely held any emotion in it now flashing with something almost like actual happiness.
I know most people don't like female whump (which is completely understandable). But whenever I see female whumpees I imagine this specific scenario:
Whumpee has been captured for a couple of days/weeks before she escapes or is rescued. Of course once Caretaker (male) gets to her, he is extremely worried about Whumpee and desperately trying to help with her wounds, even as she refuses to let him investigate the blood stain on her pants.
"Caretaker, not all blood comes from wounds." she tries to hint gently, but Caretaker just doesn't get it.
"What the hell are you talking about? That blood stain is huge! Just let me take a look please. I promise I'll be discreet."
"For the love of God Caretaker, I'm on my period! Just get me a tampon and lets move on!"
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When whumpee is captured by whumper they see caretaker shot. They’re dead and it’s Whumpee’s fault. All the torture that whumper can heap on them is nothing compared to the torture they heap on themselves.
When the door opens one day and caretaker walks in, whumpee is sure they must be dead. Caretaker’s being so soft and gentle and telling them they’re safe and it wasn’t their fault. They don’t deserve it but whumpee appreciates caretaker being here to take them to the afterlife. It never crosses their mind that caretaker might be real and here to rescue them (and doesn’t that just break caretaker’s heart)
Caretaker and Whumpee are somewhere where they can't get help. Whumpee is poisoned, and Caretaker has the antidotes. The problem is that it needs to be given every few hours, until Whumpee is getting better again.
And they hurt.
Whumpee has finally calmed down from the last shot. They're weak, pale, and trembling slightly. They're not even fully awake, just lying there all sweaty and with eyes half-lidded. But it's time for the next shot.
Caretaker takes another vial and a syringe, and gets closer to Whumpee again. They don't try to get Whumpee's attention, it would honestly better if Whumpee is out of it for this.
But as they gently take Whumpee's arm, they feel Whumpee trying to pull away. Looking up, they find Whumpee staring at them, eyes glassy but wide open. "Please," Whumpee begs softly. "No more."
Caretaker would love to give in. They hate putting Whumpee through this. But if they stop, Whumpee will die. And they can't allow that to happen.
"I'm sorry," they whisper back, "just a few more."
Without giving Whumpee a chance to reply, they push the needle in their skin and give them the next dose. They've only just pulled back when Whumpee starts trashing in pain.
It's helping them, buring away the poison. Caretaker knows that.
But fuck, they feel so guilty.
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