Streamer Whumpee being forced to be on camera for days or weeks straight with very little sleep or breaks in between. They have a supervisor (Whumper) who is taking all the money from the channels, and Whumpee - for being beautiful and charismatic inside out - is being forced to be the face of it. They're becoming extremely famous.
People notice small, weird things sometimes - like when Whumpee nods off and awake as if electrocuted, or when they wince shifting positions on their chair, or when they come back from the bathroom having clearly sobbed their eyes out.
But what could anyone do? Because Whumpee will always shrug off every question with a convincing chuckle. And every time Whumper sees anyone in the chat pointing out something worrying or asks Whumpee if something's wrong, Whumpee gets punished as soon as the cameras are off, for letting anyone notice.
So they will do better next time. Barely anyone even asks anymore.
it’s not personal. that’s the line tim goes with. easy, clean, logical. things change. dick takes takes the kid, takes robin. jason’s alive but distant. bruce is dead, missing. somewhere in between.
he still updates the cave systems. someone has to. the alerts don’t fix themselves. no one asks him to do it, but no one asks him not to either, and that’s about the same thing these days.
sometimes he catches his reflection in the monitor glass and thinks the suit doesn’t fit right anymore. the colours too bright. too young. he makes a note to fix that later.
the others talk. laugh. rebuild. he stays busy. that’s what he’s good at. running systems, tracing patterns, pretending there’s still a place for him between all the noise
“Help! Please, someone, help me!” Whumpee thrashed violently.
Whumper laughed, tightening their grip around Whumpee’s throat. “No one is coming to save you.”
They leaned in, lips against Whumpee’s ear. “But do keep screaming. It’s my favorite sound.”
Whumpee is on his knees, a floor to ceiling wooden post pressed firmly to his back. His wrists and ankles are both cuffed behind him and around the post. A leather belt strap restrains his head. He is unable to move.
Whumper holds a nail gun to Whumpee’s left shoulder. A hiss of compressed air sounds just before the nail punches into his flesh, shredding muscle and lodging itself deep within. Its tip scraps against bone. Whumpee screams, hands clenching as he struggles against the cuffs. Blood drips as the skin under the cuffs splits at the strain.
“Now, we shall try this again”, Whumper leers, “Open your mouth and keep it open. Take what I give you or we’ll continue with the nails. One in each of your major joints sounds delicious.
And then when we’re finished with that, we can add a few more nails to your body as a finishing touch, make sure they hold that pretty pink mouth of yours open…. permanently”.
can i send ur own prompt in as a request lol https://www.tumblr.com/whumpshaped/819060556663259136/religious-whumper-gouging-out-whumpees-eyes-so
#394
link
content: religious whump, gore, eye gore, captivity, torture, no holds barred beatdown
"You know, I don't think this is working," Whumper said one day after brutally beating Whumpee for misremembering a Bible quote. They were still panting from having assaulted Whumpee, and Whumpee was... mentally checked out. They'd tried to stay on their captor's good side, they'd tried to memorise the verses, they'd tried everything, but it always ended the same way: with them in a bloody heap on the floor. "I think you need a little more encouragement."
Whumpee didn't know what that meant. They couldn't move without extreme pain, so they just lay there, motionless, too exhausted to even dread what Whumper might've thought up.
"For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands." Whumper said this in that preacher voice, the voice Whumpee learned to loathe. "Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked." They walked around the basement, tinkering with something on the table where they kept all their torture equipment. They rarely used it — usually a beating with bare hands satisfied them enough. "For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now the one who has fashioned us for this very purpose is God, who has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come."
Whumpee didn't understand. They never did. They didn't care about religion, they didn't care about the Bible, they didn't care. They just wanted to be left alone to wallow in their misery.
"Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord." Whumper walked over and grabbed them by the hair, yanking them up. There was a knife in their hand, and they pointed the blade at their right eye. They lowered their voice to a whisper. "For we live by faith, not by sight."
"No," Whumpee squeaked.
It didn't matter. Whumper stabbed them in the eye, and they screamed, and blood was running down their cheek, and everything was pain, and they couldn't see out of their right eye anymore, and Whumpee tried to pull away but Whumper was holding them steady.
"We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord."
"Stop!" They were going to kill them. They were for sure going to kill them. They didn't want to be 'at home with the Lord', please, they were supposed to be rescued, please, please, please—
Whumper yanked the knife out of their eye and stabbed them in the other eye. They screamed themself hoarse.
"So we make it our goal to please him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it. For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad."
Tears were mixing with blood. They were in so much pain. They couldn't see. They would never see again. Because Whumper wanted them to walk by faith. They were forever blinded because Whumper was a religious fanatic.
"Stop," they begged, broken. Whumper finally released the hold on their hair, and they flopped onto the floor, like a sack of flour. Sobbing. The only movement was their body shaking to the rhythm of their sobs.
They couldn't see. They couldn't see. They couldn't see.
"You'll walk by faith from now on," Whumper said, vicious still. Like their wrath still hadn't been quenched. What else did they need? What else was there to do? They'd taken their eyes. And it wasn't enough? "I'll beat the faith into you, best believe. I won't house a heathen."
You're not housing me. You're keeping me captive.
They didn't dare talk.
"Since, then, we know what it is to fear the Lord, we try to persuade others. What we are is plain to God, and I hope it is also plain to your conscience," they went on, in the preacher voice, and Whumpee covered their face. Their fingers touched sticky, viscous blood.
"Just stop," they pleaded. "Stop. Please. I get it."
"You don't. Not yet. But I'll make you understand."
okay. completely doxxing myself here because this is absolutely worth it
we got five emergency kinship-placed foster boys two months ago with no notice, and it turned our lives upside down. I love them so so so so much, but we need to be able to afford to keep them just one more month until school starts and I can get a job again (I've been having to stay home to watch them since no daycare will take them)
They've been neglected and abused and forgotten, and I will NOT let them be separated. If we can't stay afloat and get into a new house (landlord just told us to move out. haha. isn't that great.), the kids will be split up into separate foster homes.
Absolutely anything you can give will help us, otherwise, reblogging would mean the world to me and these kids. We just need to get the word out there and get a little help to get past this month. We're already through all our savings and I've started selling all the furniture to keep up.
We have food covered for the kids through different programs, but rent and utilities has been / will be going up a LOT.
I will write quite literally anything you want. I don't care if it's a squick at this point. Or draw. Whatever you want. Commissions are open, the go fund me link is here. You have my kofi in my bio. If paypal or venmo works better, just let me know and I can get that to you, too. Anything at all helps.
Help us keep five brothers from being separated by the foster system!
… Shannon Teske needs your support for Keep Five Brothers Fr
Torture the medic for bonus war crimes! Not only are they not going to be able to help their comrades if they’re too injured themselves, but they will know how close you are to causing permanent damage or death better than anyone :)
y'know i used to be on team "whump is kind of a silly word and i wish it was called something different," but these days i think i'm more on the side of "the word 'whump' is a rent-lowering gunshot."
the concept of fictional characters being harmed is a universal storytelling device enjoyed by people outside of the whump community, for sure, but the word "whump" sounding as silly as it does can be a deterrent to people who take themselves maybe a tad too seriously. like almost nobody involves themselves in this community on a whim just because they heard the word "whump" and said to themselves "that sounds very cool and i almost definitely know what it means just from this one instance that i've heard it."
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