Whump Collection Bucket

Call me Fable (they/she/it). Adult. Whump sideblog (see pinned!) If you ever use one of my prompts, please tag me, I’d love to see it!

[fabled-whump]

Hey, I’m Fable (they/she/it). I’ve been here a couple months now, so I figured I’d rework my intro post.

This is a sideblog primarily to post my own original whump prompts (#fable speaks), reblog other people’s prompts, and post about my whumpy OCs. I’m also here to hang out with the rest of the lovely whump community!

Again, if you ever use one of my prompts, please definitely tag me! I’d be overjoyed to read it!

If you don’t want to see nsfw prompts, filter the tag #nsfwhump

My AO3, fabled_whump.

Echoes (living weapons)

The Sins of the Mother (never die) Masterpost

[tracingthetapestry]

non-verbal whumpee scrambling back, back, back until they are firmly touching the mouldy wall, their chained hands clamped tight over their mouth— because they may have been shocked out of words, but the scream in their throat feels insistent— and this is a new person. that is never good. there is so much hit-and-trial as they try to figure out the rules, in order to avoid punishment.

they take slow, seemingly heavy steps towards whumpee's corner, their hands outstretched to display the lack of any implements. whumpee shudders and shrinks into a tighter ball. that has never protected them, before.

there are words, but they can't really make them out over the roaring fear. they are grabbed and pulled to their feet. the chains are unlocked. whumpee stares at them, feeling untethered. they want them back.

then they are being led away. what is this? the question loops around their head, over and over, as they are bundled up and put into an ambulance. they are asked questions but their words are no longer theirs. the anxiety has them awake and alert even as their body droops with exhaustion.

but when no blows for stumbling come, when any contact is minimal and when they aren't forced to give up information— eventually, sleep sneaks up on them.

[justbreakonme]

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Huh?” *said character has been doing the absolute roughest bare minimum possible*

[pyrepostings]

Whumpee who panics when offered pain meds, because how bad is it going to get if they're being offered Pain Meds

[painwithoutplot]

...now i'm thinking of whumpee who doesn't yet trust caretaker to be any better than whumper, but is still so touch-starved they cling to caretaker desperately, huddle into their chest while they're carried to safety, drinking up these last (they think) moments of softness because even as it sours in their chest their body craves it. and caretaker doesn't realise how afraid whumpee is of them until much later...

[ifyhfyr]

Give me a caretaker and whumpee duo that hated eachother originally but come to like eachother due to mutual hating for whumper.

Like I hate Whumper, you hate Whumper, so I guess we’ll form a temporary team to bring that loser down then go our seperate ways

But they NEVER go their seperate ways

[capacity]

I wish you can hug me and say everything’s going to be okay

Girl we are fucked

[goldensunset]

well when all else fails at least there’s daydreaming about your oc getting tortured and abused and experimented on and assaulted and dehumanized and torn apart and surgically modified and

[unheardoracle]

I love characters who are like "I'm a terrible person" but when you look closer it's more like

"I adapted to survive something and now I don't know how to stop being that version of myself."

[cryptotheism]

Guys! Come quick! It's the purifying nature of pain!

[whumpshaped]

"I got you out of that place, and I can put you back in."

[gemfeathers]

[valtsv]

sorry i'm basic but i love the act of killing someone for the first time as a metaphor for sexual violence

[valtsv]

loss of virginity as a social construct representing the loss of innocence, phallic weapons penetrating flesh and being withdrawn stained with blood, guilt manifesting as a feeling of uncleanliness that can't be washed away, the cultural associations of both your first kill and first sexual encounter with achieving manhood/maturity, hesitation or refusal to participate being met with coercion and mockery. you know what it is.

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

Whumpees who normalized their abuse/rape/torture so when someone calls it what it was for the first time they break down >>>>>>>>

[fineiguessimintowhump]

good old "finding out how the other army treats their men" except it's through being a spy, not a prisoner.

one spy coming back like "the good news and the bad news is that we're fighting traumatised people who would probably fold at the sight of proper nutrition"

one who can't bring themselves to go back bc life is so good on the other side and the longer they wait the worse it'll be for them. one who 'loses' contact with command after a while.

(good) side being able to recognise the 183828 spies the other side is sending because duh. look at them they have big scared eyes and shake at the sight of a commanding officer. they eat like starving dogs. they can't walk past the infirmary without tearing up a little.

[whumpologyy]

I am not immune to a weakened Whumpee being shoved between a group of multiple Whumpers while everyone laughs at how helpless they are

[ziptiesnfries]

Bodyguard

Febuwhump Day 12

Content warnings: teenage whumpee, living weapon, dehumanization

The weapon stood at attention—feet apart, arms at sides, eyes forward—as its new master, Mr. Whitlock, cleared his throat and addressed the blond girl sitting at the vanity across the room. “Violet, my treasure, I’d like to introduce you to your new bodyguard.”

The girl turned and set down her hairbrush, letting out a heavy sigh. “Daddy, I told you, I don’t need a bodyguard.” She frowned as she looked at the weapon, and the weapon carefully avoided eye contact. “Isn’t she a little young to be a bodyguard?”

Mr. Whitlock held up his hands placatingly as he approached his daughter. “Don’t think of her as a bodyguard, then. Think of her as a … a new friend!” he suggested. Violet crossed her arms at him, and he deflated. “Please, darling, it’s for your own safety.”

The weapon wasn’t very good at reading emotions, but it noticed that the young mistress still looked unhappy. It quickly glanced away as Violet turned towards it. “Well,” she said graciously, “I always welcome new friends. Come in, then; we can do each other’s hair.”

The weapon moved to obey, but Mr. Whitlock stepped in front of it with his hands hovering nervously. “Maybe that isn’t such a good—”

Violet leapt to her feet. “Daddy,” she interjected as she strode past him, “you said she was my friend—no take-backs.” She reached the weapon’s side and studied it inquisitively. “Do you know how to do a fishtail braid?”

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t part of my training,” the weapon replied promptly.

“That’s alright, I can teach you!” Violet took its arm and led it over to the vanity. “It’s like my tutor says, we should always be learning new things …”

Now Mr. Whitlock was the one who looked displeased. The weapon kept its eyes on him; although Violet was its charge, Mr. Whitlock’s orders were supposed to supersede hers. But the man only threw up his hands helplessly. “Whatever makes you happy, princess,” he sighed, watching the two with anxious eyes.

The weapon sat down at the vanity and watched in the mirror as Violet untied its long, dark hair. This assignment was already much stranger than it had been trained to expect. But, it thought as Violet began to brush its hair, it supposed it could get used to this.