short stories

Scott. Whump writer, worldbuilder, prompt afficionado. Author of Lux, a novel available on Amazon.com. Member of the whump community since July 2018.

[sulestarlight]

Whumper holds up an old photo of Whumpee.

"Look at how beautiful you used to be."

[deerslayer14]

Just one little thing to honor the mermay

[deerslayer14]

Whumpee held strong. Whumpee never broke. Whumpee never said "stop", never said "please", never shed a tear. When the law enforcement rescued him, he made sure to give as many valuable details on Whumper as he could recall. Officers tapped him on the shoulder, saying "Good job, champ."

And then Caretaker came. And hugged him, ever so gently.

Two seconds, three, five. "Ok, ok, I'm alright, you can let go now," Whumpee say. Caretaker nods and keeps holding. Fifteen seconds in Whumpee's arms raise to hug Caretaker back.

And thaaaat's when the dam breaks. First the lip begins shaking. "I'm alright, really," he says and the voice cracks. He finally cries.

"I got you," Caretaker replies softly and holds him through screaming, and ugly crying, and eventually sobbing quietly. Caretaker's vest gets wet with tears. "I got you."

[shakesfeare-whumps]

A whumpee with broken ribs. They just got out of a situation, and Caretaker, who doesn't realize that they were injured, hugs them tightly. Cue Caretaker's frantic apologizing as Whumpee doubles over from the pain in their ribs.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Whumpee with trust issues having to be taken care of by a stranger in the most vulnerable state they’ve ever been in.

[butchwhump]

Girl who’s been in some form of captivity for an extended period of time in which her short hair grew out getting some relief of her trauma after escape/rescue by cutting it short again.

[yellowcatwhumps]

Caretaker ruffling the the new short hair-do

"Suits you!"

[trifon002]

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

[straight-to-the-pain]

I think the idea of chemical restraint is underused in whump. Is your prisoner causing you too many problems? Fighting? Hurting themself? Why not drug them! Plenty of various substances to choose from all with their own fun side effects and consequences. Can’t plot an escape plan if they can’t think straight. The fear of the unknown horrors held in their captor’s needle. Fighting with their own mind and body.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“When were you gonna tell me?”

“Tell you?” The rasp is soft, gravelly. Shaking hands press over the wound that’s finally making itself known. Pain is etched across their face, exhaustion slumping their shoulders. “Was hoping I could get away with… not.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m wondering about the chance of a lighthearted Jameson and Nanda snippets, or lovely facts about ‘em?? TIA🥰

"Oh, what is that face about?" Nanda turns, looking over at his pet where the young man sits on the bed. The spot where he'd bitten his lip until it bled is still red and swollen, making Nanda want to kiss it until it burned, see if he could drag more whispers out of that pretty throat.

The pet shrugs, cross-legged and still naked with a blanket thrown over his shoulders. The sun makes his brown hair faintly gold around the edges, and Nanda finds himself slowing as he buttons up his shirt, giving himself more time to look. "What face?"

"That one," Nanda says, teasing, watching the pet scowl in return. "The pouty one."

"I'm not fucking pouting."

"You absolutely fucking are. So tell me. What is the problem, exactly?"

The pet's eyes drop to Nanda's hands, move back up again. Nanda grins and walks forward, until he can lean over and use a finger to push up the pet's chin for a kiss.

"Tell me," He whispers. "Or I'll make sure you regret not telling me."

"You have a date," The pet spits out, bitter and angry. "You already have me and you're still going on fucking dates."

Nanda laughs, standing up straight again and shaking his head as he tucks in his shirt, then untucks it just a little for the perfect dressy but casual, not too bothered but not a slob look. "You're my pet, not my partner. Don't get it in your head that you get a choice on if I go on dates or not."

The pet's scowl deepens. "Fuck you."

"Mmmn, that is how we usually solve problems, isn't it?" Nanda pauses, looking over and catching the genuine hurt, even sadness, his pet is trying to hide by acting angry. He finds his smile gentling - less mocking and more sincere.

He sits down next to the pet, sliding a hand over the back of his neck to push him in for a kiss. "Hey," He murmurs, their foreheads tipped together. "It's not a real date, anyway."

The pet's breath catches. "It isn't?"

"No. This is just for work. This won't even last long enough to get to fucking him. I'll come home and fuck you."

The pet starts to smile, then clamps down on the expression. Nanda caught it, though. He knows all his pet's faces, especially the ones he tries to hide. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Trust me." He kisses his pet's cheek, pulling back and enjoying the shy flush his prickly boy normally won't show. "I won't ever see this guy again."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Nanda doesn't bother to explain that it's because tonight's date will be dead in the backseat of his own car before midnight.

[allthewhumpygoodness]

Today I pictured a scenario where a character is lost and feverish or has a concussion or has been drugged (and is also injured in some other manner of course), and is just out of it enough that they assume anyone they meet like, won't immediately be able to tell there's something wrong with them? Even though there really, obviously is. But they can't see the way they're staggering or how bloodshot their eyes are and how they're obviously bleeding, they're just internally panicking about how they'll have to be Very Very clear with whoever they first meet (if they meet anyone) that they're hurt in These Ways they've been outside for This Long they need This Treatment.

So they rehearse to themselves as they trudge in the direction of safety, repeating their injuries in a slurred mumble until they're exhausted. Finally, finally they reach a town, or flag down a car, or get back to whoever they were separated from, but to their horror it's been so long that all their careful rehearsal falls out of their mind completely and all they can manage is "I'm really cold and something hurts and I think I hit my head..."

Which, of course, is more than enough to set off multiple alarm bells for anybody, but whumpee is terrified they haven't been convincing enough to get help.

[painwithoutplot]

mmfgh thinking again about whumpers who maliciously redefine the terms of "pain". I'd never hurt you, I know what I'm doing, I know how much you can take...

[painwithoutplot]

"Calm down! I'm not gonna hurt you" said while actively beating/cutting/etc the whumpee

[whump-me]

Two whumpers compete to see who can break the most bones without their whumpee dying.

[allthewhumpygoodness]

Imagining a sick character coming up to their friend/partner and, rather than announcing that they're sick, simply leaning against them like a cat. Cue the other's exclamation of "wow, you feel warm," and the sickie mumbling "I know" into their shoulder. Bonus points if they're not usually this touchy feely.

[for-the-ouchies]

Whumpee trusts whumper in a calculated, bitter sort of way. They know whumper well. They know what to expect. They trust them to be cruel, to be brutal. They don't need to be afraid, because none of it is an unknown to them.

They trust themselves to handle what they know whumper will put them through. And whumper, in turn, trusts them to take it.

It's not a friendship- it's cold, and grim, but... there is respect, there. A kind of appreciation. A kind of intimacy. A kindness, perhaps.

[uuuhshiny]

“I could start threatening your family, friends, but I always found the direct approach more effective.”

“Please… please”

[whumblr]

Whumper shoving or literally throwing Whumpee back into their cell after a session, making them stumble, wince in pain as their body can't keep up, and they fall right into Caretaker's arms.

But consider. An alternative.

Whumper unlocking the door to the cell. And Caretaker inside jumps up. "Where's Whumpee?!"

"Relax, Caretaker. Give them a sec."

And to Caretaker's horror, Whumpee has to drag themself back in there, biting through the pain, no support, limping. Or worse: Crawling.