This is a whump blog (what is whump?) so there will be sensitive and graphic content that not everyone is comfortable with.
Minors, DNI. I will block you if I have to.
I don't want my content to overlap with kink blogs, and I will block solely kink blogs. Please be respectful of that.
This is all fictional and I don't condone any of this IRL (as one of my mutuals put it, 'I don't condone any of this irl any more than I condone murder after watching an action movie.')
If I don't feel comfortable with your blog's content, I will block you. It probably isn't personal if I do, but I have boundaries and things I don't like seeing.
If you are trans, non-binary, you are welcome here.
EVERY identity, race, sexuality, and pronoun is welcome here.
I am pro-choice. DNI if you are not. I am anti-war. DNI if you are not.
Please respect these boundaries!
I tag as best as I can, and if I ever miss a tag, please let me know. Send me an ask or comment, I will see it and I will remember! I appreciate being told, and it helps me, too.
i love interacting so asks/comments/questions are always welcome!
Whump things I love/write:
cells
restraints (shackles, ropes, anything really)
manhandling
captive/royal/military whump
multiple whumpers
hidden pains/restraints
forced to kneel
hurt > comfort (i still do comfort! just focus on hurt)
lady whump
My favorite blogs here: @whumblr, @painsandconfusion, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @pain-in-the-everywhere, @befuddled-calico-whump, @whump-until-wretched, @bedtimescenarios, @funwithmydem0ns, @whumpawaydarling, and @whumpologyy <3
(if the mention is annoying lmk! no problem with removing it if asked)
Stories:
🌙 Task Force Eclipse [in progress] - Callie and Xavier - Police Investigation & long-term captivity - Found family
🍂 Amber [spin off] [in progress] - Taylor Sterling - Undercover investigation - In progress
🦇 Starlight [in progress] - Kiera and Gray - Hero whumpee and Villain caretaker - In progress
🪐 Sariel and Lorcan [in progress] - Sariel and Lorcan - Space and military - Angst and fantasy politics
Oneshots:
Who Did This To You? (Starlight is a full series now)
"No Grave Can Hold My Body Down." (Whumptober No. 6 2025)
Other Stuff:
My Prompts (please tag me if you use these)
My Asks (aka every ask I receive)
My OC Ask Game (i made this!!! :D)
My Polls
People who use AI in your writing, please DO NOT interact with my posts, and don't follow me.
I AM EXPLICITLY STATING THAT I DO NOT GIVE CONSENT OR PERMISSION FOR ANY OF MY CHARACTERS, MY WRITING, MY POSTS, MY STORIES, OR OTHER IP TO BE USED TO TRAIN AI, BE IT ART, WRITING, OR ANY OTHER ARTICIFICAL INTELLIGENCE.
Whumpee's voice was raw and hoarse from days of screaming. They licked their dry lips and tried again.
"Please, I can't again, not today.....please......"
"Please what?" Whumper's voice was calm, casual, as they glanced up from readying their tools.
"Please don't hurt me. Not like -- not like yesterday."
Whumper looked at them, almost amused. Then their expression flickered with something akin to consideration, and they stepped closer.
"Alright. I hear you. I won't hurt you today."
Whumpee's shoulders sagged in relief, but it was short-lived. Whumper's grin widened, a glint of amusement sparking in their eyes.
Instead of striking, they leaned lower, lips brushing Whumpee's collarbone. They froze. No blow, no sharp pain — only the unbearable press of Whumper's mouth.
Whumper felt them tremble and chuckled. “See? I can keep my promise. I’m not hurting you. I’m enjoying you. That’s better, isn’t it?”
I really like silent comfort.... maybe for a whumpee who's too embarrassed to truly let their guard down, to ask for care verbally and relish in it visibly, maybe for a caretaker who isn't great with words. loaded glances and signals, a familiar routine that they've both been accustomed to, cradling them in the dead of night without saying a word
Blunt force trauma is honestly so underrated in whump. Concussed whumpee after Whumper knocked them out - whumpee getting free and knocking Whumper out! Broken bones and bruises, getting thrown to the floor or into walls.. ough, it's just all so lovely! Treat your whumpee like their bones are a suggestion y'all. It's good for them
past monster hunter got turned into a vampire and is Really Scared of her sire who really wants to take care of her and doesn’t want her to harm anyone including herself. Continuation of this.
Also. Human blood is irresistible. @chaotic-orphan you're in luck :3
cw: blood drinking, taking care of wounds (burns), vampire whumpee, vampire caretaker (can be read as carewhumper but that’s not my intention), full comfort
Vampire healing was faster than humans’, but the burn was still taking awfully long to heal. She didn’t expect to heal as fast as he did, but the vampires her family had hunted usually recovered quickly – cuts disappearing in a few hours, visibly regenerating.
Her flesh was not visibly repairing itself.
He had given her blood – and it had helped some – but he still visited her almost every day with bandages and salves. His hands were infuriatingly gentle, grip just firm enough to pull her wounded arm away from her. No matter how many visits there had been, she couldn’t stop curling around it. There was a routine, now: he would kneel by the bed, ask for her arm with a gentle ‘May I?’, apologise when she wouldn’t extend it and he had to pull it away from her. She couldn’t stop the pang of fear every time she opened her eyes to see that hand reaching toward her.
He didn’t try to force conversation. He only made… remarks. Coos and reassurances when he was dealing with the worst parts of her wound. Even when she had hissed at him – like the rabid little monster she was, now – he had only chuckled.
She had observed him the last few visits; it was easier than looking at her charred bones. Sometimes his eyes had flicked up and met hers, and he had smiled – just a twitch of the lips, no showing his fangs – no matter what expression she made.
She got bold enough to ask after almost a week. She had intended to demand, but the words wouldn’t make it past her throat.
“How long do you intend to keep me here?”
There was something a little like alarm in his eyes when he glanced up, but his fingers were still gently spreading the salve.
“You’re not a prisoner, dear.”
A hiss made his way past her fangs, stopped only when she dug them into his lips. He let go of her arm, slowly sitting back on his haunches to look at her properly. “You are not. I apologise if I gave you that impression, but I don’t – I am not your captor.”
She couldn’t stop the angry snort, either. It wasn’t very smart of her to piss off the vampire but – nothing had happened for a very long time, and her life had not prepared her for that. “But you won’t let me go.”
He considered her for a moment, tilting his head. “Not… immediately, no. You’re hurt, for one.”
It was his fault. Despite what he had said, he hadn’t moved her from the room. The window had been carefully caulked after she’d refused him when he had offered to help her look. He had even proposed to light up the domain so she’d have something to watch – domain, which meant there wouldn’t be any landmarks for her to situate herself.
“…I can take care of myself.”
He only looked up at her sadly, and for the first time she saw him hesitate over his words.
“You- Dear… Where would you go? You cannot stand in the sun, cannot approach humans yet…” She froze. Her plans had always been to meet up with her family. He was shaking his head, really looking like he wanted to convince her. “I wouldn’t let a fledgling roam my land freely.”
She shuffled back on the bed, moving away from him slowly. “Let me out, then. I swear I won’t come back.” Pleading never seemed to affect him, but maybe-
“I’m not irresponsible. I don’t kill – and I count the victims an abandoned fledgling would cause as murders. And I don’t think you want to kill, either.”
“I can’t get out just because you think I couldn’t control myself. You killed me, that doesn’t give you the right to control me.”
A flash of hurt appeared on his face, then disappeared in a breath. She stilled. His tone was firmer when he answered next. More rehearsed.
“And you have my sincerest apologies. I deeply regret my actions, and we can talk about… consequences and explanations once you’re more… recovered. That doesn’t mean I’ll let you out to cause a slaughter both of us will regret.”
“You don’t know that I’ll cause a slaughter.”
She really wanted to yell, but the words were harder to push out with every sentence. It wasn’t the usual fear, she felt... something from him that made her want to curl up in front of him.
He smiled sadly at her. “You struggle to resist my blood, dear. Human blood… I fear you’d lose yourself.” He added something when she opened her mouth to retort. He was back to soothing, “I’ll bring some blood for you, alright? If you don’t fall into a frenzy, I’ll send you on your way, I promise.”
Some part of her really meant to question him about the blood. Only her pathetic need for reassurance made it out. “…Really?”
He looked so earnest, nodding at her with a somewhat-happier smile. “I swear, my dear. Will you come closer? I’ll finish taking care of your arms and then I’ll fetch some blood, alright?”
She shuffled closer, almost managing to extend her arm towards him – he still had to lean forward quite a bit, but it was progress. His fingers were just as gentle as before when they reached her wrist, turning it this or that way to better reach. He looked up at her with a small smile. “I meant to tell you – I think your fingers are almost completely healed. The bones, at least. Things will go much faster, now.” There was a happy tilt to his voice, and when he carefully bandaged her hand he was humming happily.
He stood up slowly, carefully put away the bandages and tools. “I’ll fetch the blood now, alright? Wait just a moment.”
He was gone just like that, carefully closing the door behind him without even pausing at the thought of touching silver. She couldn’t hear anything as she shuffled near the edge of the bed, trying to ready herself. She stood up and took just a few, hesitant steps towards the door before feeling the influence of silver. She considered pushing forward but her strength was being sapped quickly enough that she thought she’d faint. She sat back on the bed and waited.
The door opened and she tensed, though the vampire looked just as at ease as usual. He closed the door and leant against it. She tried not to stare – silver etchings? Digging into his back? Did he not feel them? – as he showed her a vial. “This is human blood. The scent will spread once I open it. We’ll see how you react, alright? No matter what happens, it'll be alright, dear.”
It all went very quickly after that.
Her sire dropped the vial and its cap when she lunged forward, trying to stop her from crashing into the door. She was trashing wildly in his grab, deaf to his reassurances, desperate to drop to the floor and reach the blood.
(Some of it weren’t reassurances – a swear escaped him, then an apology along a I didn’t think this through.)
He dragged her away, apologising with every step amidst the constant stream of reassurances and coos and comforting words he kept. Nothing registered, of course.
She was trying to fight him, nails turned to claws digging into his back, swiping at his face, throat, arms – anything she could reach. Bucking and growling, the mindless struggles of a starving beast. He only tightened his grip – more an embrace than anything – and tried to soothe her.
She tried to bargain then, her struggles calming slightly – but never stopping – as she pleaded and begged and offered anything she could think of if he would just let go. Babbling pleas and hungry chirps that made him apologise. Pleas turned to wordless whines turned to desperate sobs as her frenzied mind struggled to understand the situation. She felt so hungry, and he was keeping her away from her food and she didn't understand.
She was fully sobbing into his ruined shirt, chest trembling with her cries and still twitching weakly to reach the blood. He kept up the stream of words, trying to soothe her, gently stroking her back.
“Oh, everything’s alright dearest- please don’t cry, please, dear one, I apologise, please, please, don’t cry, I’m so sorry, please- oh no, my darling, fledgling, there’s no need to be upset, please, don’t be upset, don’t cry, oh, darling, please, it’s okay, darling, everything is-”
The realisation finally hit her. Maybe his words, maybe the scent of his blood, something managed to break through. She was throwing a tantrum – like a little child asking for a treat. She still couldn’t stop reaching for the blood. The spilled blood on the floor some part of her brain wanted to crawl toward and lick of the carpet because she was a rabid monster, now.
Her sobs trailed off slowly. She slowly dug her claws out of him, trying to turn them back into nails. A stupid whimper escaped her when she failed to do even that, and he jumped to reassure her.
“It’s alright, darling. They’ll turn back in a bit, once you’ve fully calmed down.”
She wondered why he hadn’t ordered her to stop – though maybe in her state the command wouldn’t have registered.
“I’m sorry, dear. I know better, I should… I shouldn’t have.”
She was too spent to react, almost limp against him – only those stupid spasms left – as he explained that he’d replace the carpet, and feed her again, and teach her and find anything she asked for, really.
“I can’t leave.” Her voice was resigned, slightly muffled because she hadn’t managed to get her face away from his throat – where she had tried to bite him to make him let go and he had just let her because fledgling fangs weren’t enough to hurt him, apparently – and she didn’t really want to look at the mess she’d caused. “I’m a monster.”
She felt sobs form in her chest again, emotions still running high. He was still stroking her back, trying to reassure her.
“Oh, fledgling… You’ll learn, in just a few months – years, at most – we’ll be able to go out. I’ll come with you, anywhere you want to go, dearest. Please don’t be upset, it’s alright, it’s expected, I won’t let you hurt anyone-”
She just buried her face into his shirt. The scent of human blood was still so strong, that for once she didn’t feel hungry smelling his.
past monster hunter got turned into a vampire and is Really Scared of her sire who really wants to take care of her and also doesn’t want her to harm anyone including herself.
Also. The sun hurts like hell.
cw: blood drinking, burns, vampire whumpee, vampire caretaker, wanting to die (vaguely),
Shame was slowly starting to turn into apprehension. She truly had become a mere beast, lost to her instincts as she curled in the corner of a room. Rather – the cell with the large bed covered in silk sheets and the set of ebony furniture and the gigantic cheval glass in a corner and the persan rugs covering every bit of floor in the room.
And the window.
It looked gaping, still letting in that burning light. It was drawing a thin blade on the rug, pointing straight at the door. Before, she would have crossed it without thinking. Now, she flinched when the wind-moved leaves make it flutter.
She had thought she was being so careful, angling her body carefully behind the curtains, only pinching slightly to pull them no more than a breath to the side.
She had only wanted to look.
It was too early for an escape attempt, she still knew too little. So, she had only intended to get a glimpse of the outside – to peak from behind the curtain and figure out where she was, if there was anything she could use, anyone to signal to. At least figure out her north and south.
She had waited late in the afternoon, to lessen the strength of the rays. Even if she were unlucky – if he had planned even this – she had thought she’d avoid harm. It would sting and her uncontrollable instincts would make her hiss and she’d learn nothing. Nothing more.
The curtains had felt warm to her fingers, but she had ignored it. Most things felt warm to her touch, now that she had lost all warmth. They were dark and heavy, easily hiding the window while still flowing onto the floor.
The pain had been so acute that she had gone blind for a moment, with only spots of crimson remaining. Her fall had made her rip the curtains wide open, and only the height of the window had protected her from more agony. She had crawled away, fangs mangling her own lips as she tried not to sob, pulling herself forward with her least aching arm.
It had taken a while, but the light had shifted and she had crawled to another corner to hide behind the bed like a terrified child, barely daring to breathe.
She hadn’t moved since then, waiting.
She felt a lot of things, besides the pain. Some part of her wished she was as brave as she had thought she was. A true hunter would have never tolerated the situation and do anything to avoid becoming a monster – unlike her, who hadn’t been able to bear a bit of pain for a quick end.
There was also fear. She thought she knew about monsters, had called herself a specialist on vampires, at some point. She knew vampires died to sunlight. Old ones could survive a bit longer but would still rather avoid it.
She couldn’t begin to fathom how old he was. The door to her room was ornated with silver – she couldn’t approach it without feeling faint, but he didn’t look affected in the slightest. She had thought being like him would be an advantage, but she was so incomparably weak. How long until she could resist him? What if he could still grow stronger?
Some part of her couldn’t help but wonder. He’d think she had tried to escape. She had been too weak to do anything but try to turn away and mutter, before; this was new. What would he do? She couldn’t think of anything worse than him forcing her into the sunlight.
She heard footsteps, curling up tighter on herself when the door opened. He took a few steps inside, stopping besides the bed. He was standing in the light, uncaring. A small whimper made its way out of her mouth.
“Oh dear.”
She looked up, chin resting atop her knees. There was no smirk on his face, but she couldn’t identify the emotions she saw there. Neither disappointment nor anger, at least. In just a few large steps, he was directly in front of the window, submerged in the light without even a flinch. He looked at the outside for an instant before shutting the curtains in a quick move. She licked her lips.
“I just… I wanted to see-”
A glance from him was enough to make her quiet. She couldn’t get herself to leave the corner, even though the loss of sunlight had finally made her relax slightly. His presence was enough to compensate for that.
“The… fragility of fledglings had slipped my mind. I shouldn’t have given you this room.”
He approached, crouching in front of her. She shook her head, but he ignored it, reaching for her arm.
“Let me see.”
She tried to pull her arm back, finally regretting the fact that she hadn’t left her corner. There was no way to escape him. She hissed, biting her lips as soon as the sound got to her ears. She was so far gone.
He was rumbling, shushing her while still trying to grab her arm.
“Please, I’m sorry, don’t-”
He ignored her, inexorably reaching for her arm. His fingers felt cold as they enclosed her wrist, and it almost soothed her. She went still – any struggle now would jostle her wound and it’d hurt.
He pulled gently and she finally got a good look at her arm. The very tips of her fingers were gone, the rest was black, charred tissue she probably couldn’t feel anymore. Ashes in the shape of a hand. Small spots of white were visible, and her head spun as she recognised her bones.
Starting from her wrist, her skin almost looked normal. In colour, at least. The flesh had melted and darkened slightly, with some areas blistered and swollen. It felt warm, still, and she swallowed several times to avoid retching.
She’d lose her hand, probably. It was useless, like this. Another whimper escaped her. He let go of her arm and she curled around it protectively, clutching it to her chest.
He sighed, making her look up. He was unbuttoning his shirt, pulling the collar down and away from his throat.
“You’ll heal faster with my blood in you.”
She shook her head again, pressing herself into the wall. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her with a sigh.
“You need blood to heal, dear. Mine is ideal – I turned you and I’m old enough for it to help with your healing.”
Another shake of her head. Her fangs dug into her lips; they were at least good at keeping her weak and distressed noises inside. She wouldn’t drink. She had been turned into a monster by drinking his blood – never again. Hunger wasn’t the quickest way to die as a vampire, but it was fine.
The smell of blood permeated the air and her neck snapped from the speed at which she looked up. He had cut his neck open, baring it in her direction. She cursed her instincts, feeling her fangs grow slightly in size and drool filling her mouth.
She trembled, struggling to stay in her corner. He waited for bit, speaking only when a drop of blood started to make its way down his neck. It rolled under his shirt and she couldn’t look away from the smear.
He sighed again.
“Come. Drink.”
Instincts, again. She practically lunged at him, making him fall back on the bed. Her arm stayed between the two of them, pressed to her chest while the rest of the body weighted down on him. Some part of her remembered how to hold someone down, and instincts guided her to drink.
He didn’t wince, moving slightly to accommodate her arm. He could have launched her away without a thought, commanded her again in that voice she couldn’t resist.
“You’ll be healed soon, I promise. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. My blood will help – and I’ll buy salves.”
His voice sounded slightly strangled, but she didn’t care, too far gone in her instincts. She gulped the blood down, barely noticing the taste. She felt warmth in her arm again, soothing this time.
She didn’t know how long it took for her to feel satiated, but she suddenly stopped. As soon as she pulled her mouth away, the cut healed. She stared. How powerful was he, exactly? She tried to leave but he held in place.
“No. Stay. You need rest. I’ll go.”
He left the bed, setting her down gently. His neck and throat were covered in blood, as well as the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t care. He stepped towards the door. She stared from the bed. When he reached for the handle, she spoke weakly.
“How old… are you, really?”
He turned back slowly, the corner of his lips raised.
“Ancient.”
She had been tricked, then. She had tracked him, and he hadn’t stepped outside during the day, even though he clearly could.
She bit her lips again, making him frown a little.
“You tricked me.”
He pursed his lips. There was something hard in eyes, something she couldn’t identify.
“I didn’t know hunters were still around.”
He closed the door quickly, stopping before it slammed and leaving her to rest. It would take a while for the command to wear off, and for her to be able to leave the bed.
okay but defiant whumpee holding their breath so whumper can't put a gag in, but instead of waiting, whumper simply pins their nose shut and grabs a strip of duct tape to put over their mouth as a way to teach whumpee to just let themselves be gagged next time
whumpee learning the consequences of their actions my beloved <333
the fear in whumpee's eyes as they struggle to breathe, whumper's firm, unrelenting grip.
im very partial to whumper waiting for them to calm down, gently tilting their chin up with a "Next time you'll be good for me, hmm?"
or angry whumper waiting until they have to tear the duct tape off to go "Hopefully that'll teach you."
thank you anon i love imagining scared whimpering whumpees looking at whumper with wide tearful eyes <3
Spent way too long researching this before posting lol. but please, if something's wrong, tell me. i'd rather be corrected than spread misinformation.
⋆˙⟡ Doctors don't run. Almost ever. Running in a hospital is a safety hazard, knocks into patients and equipment, and signals panic to everyone who sees it, which is the opposite of what hospital staff want to project. In a true code blue situation, there is urgency, but it looks more like extremely fast, purposeful walking and a kind of controlled chaos where everyone knows their role. The sprinting attending dramatically sliding to a bedside is a TV invention.
⋆˙⟡ "She flatlined" does not mean what you think it means. A flatline (a straight line on a heart monitor) means asystole: the heart has stopped producing electrical activity. You don't shock a flatline. CPR, yes. Epinephrine, yes. But the dramatic defibrillator moment everyone loves? That's for ventricular fibrillation, which looks like chaotic scribble on the monitor, not a flat line. Shocking a flatline in real life does nothing. Your doctor character would know this. Your nurse would know this. Your paramedic absolutely knows this.
⋆˙⟡ Medical professionals have a dark, dry humor and it's a coping mechanism, not a character flaw. People who work in high-stress, high-death environments often develop humor that sounds brutal to outsiders. BUT It's not callousness, it's a pressure valve.
⋆˙⟡ Hospitals are obscenely loud and smell very specific. Writers default to clinical silence and "the sharp smell of antiseptic." Real hospitals smell like a combination of cleaning fluid, stale air, cafeteria food leaking through vents, and occasionally something you don't want to identify. They're also constantly noisy. Intercoms, rolling carts, the beep of a dozen different monitors all slightly out of sync with each other, people talking too loudly, visitors crying in hallways. The silence only comes in very specific moments, and it's jarring precisely because it's unusual.
⋆˙⟡ Waking up from a coma is not waking up from a nap. Someone who has been unconscious for more than a day or two will have profound muscle weakness, and they often can't hold their own head up. They'll be confused, possibly for days. They won't be able to speak normally if they had a breathing tube, because their throat will be raw and damaged. They won't recognize people immediately and then have a tearful reunion five minutes later. The brain coming back online is slow, strange, and disorienting in ways that aren't photogenic. Patients frequently don't remember the first several days of recovery at all.
⋆˙⟡ There's a specific hierarchy and it matters to the people inside it. Attending physician, fellow, resident, intern, these are not interchangeable words for "doctor." An intern on their third week is legally a doctor and can barely order a sandwich without second-guessing themselves. An attending has full clinical responsibility and has seen everything. A fellow is post-residency, specializing, somewhere in between. Nurses operate in their own parallel hierarchy that intersects with but is absolutely not subordinate to doctors in the way TV suggests. Experienced nurses regularly catch errors that residents make, and both parties know it.
⋆˙⟡ Patients are almost never alone in their room doing emotional things. Nurses check vitals. Phlebotomists come for blood draws at ungodly hours. Housekeeping rolls in. A different doctor than the one managing the case comes to consult. Meals appear. An orderly needs to take them to imaging. The room itself is rarely private for long. The idea of a character lying in a hospital bed having a long, uninterrupted emotional conversation is something that mostly happens in fiction. In reality, someone knocks and enters approximately every 40 minutes, sometimes more.
⋆˙⟡ Paperwork and insurance are a constant, grinding presence. Discharge doesn't happen because the patient is better. It happens when it's approved, when a bed is needed, when insurance says so. Patients are sometimes sent home earlier than feels safe because the system demands it. Doctors spend an enormous, demoralizing amount of time on documentation, estimates suggest 2 hours of paperwork for every hour of patient care. The administrative weight of hospital medicine is a slow-burn horror that almost no fiction touches, which means the moment you do, it feels startlingly real.
⋆˙⟡ Prognosis conversations are never one clean scene. When a doctor tells a family that someone is dying, there isn't a single moment of devastation and then forward motion. People mishear. They ask the same question rephrased five different ways hoping for a different answer. They argue with the information. Someone pulls out their phone to Google the diagnosis. Someone else goes completely silent and leaves the room. A week later, one family member still believes recovery is possible and another has accepted the death entirely, and they haven't been able to talk about it. Information lands at different speeds for different people and the gap between them is its own source of suffering.
I love it when whumpee is in some kind of horrific distress, or mid-torture and whumper is hanging out doing something casual at the same time. Flipping through their dayplanner, playing office golf, fixing their makeup or their hair, taking a normal phone call...
whumper who very obviously specifically gets off on making whumpee cry. when they assault whumpee, it's always with the goal of making them cry, figuring out what will hurt them enough to do it, what will degrade or upset them enough to provoke tears, to cause them to sob. and then whumper getting noticeably more enthusiastic, worked up. moaning and telling whumpee how pretty they are when they cry, praising them for 'crying for me.' whumper who wants whumpee to suffer and relishes in the evidence of whumpee's pain and grief as they're violated.
Guh whumper getting worked up after seeing the tears.. And whumpee realizing the tears are making it worse but not being able to stop them.. instead it just makes them cry harder..
