I might not be confident enough yet, (and maybe I will never be) with my writing to do more of an actual, full stories.
My brain is bombarded with too many ideas at once, and I want to share them, but it's too chaotic to focus properly on one. Yet due to my jealous nature I tend to withdraw from posting them. I often feel like I need to make something bigger out of my idea, because if I don't, someone will take it, use it first and probably do it better.
Today I realized it's not a bad thing. So for now I will be writing mostly whump prompts and ideas lists like few of my previous posts and all of them will be free to take and expand:)
No more small, irrelevant Spammy. No more shame and insults. They are all going to pay. All of them.
The metal of the machine can morph and transform as it see fit. Claws? Fangs? A gun instead of a hand? Anything it needs to exact revenge on those who abandoned him.
The addisons disappear, one by one. They arrive at their shops in the morning to open, turn the lights on, get ready to prepare for the day...
Until they realise the're not alone in there.
Not even Tasque Manager knows where they are gone, but after arriving at the scenes, the salons are always covered in claw marks and signs of struggle.
The taste for revenge is satiated, but NEO still haunts the Cyber City. The monster is out, don't go near the Trash Zone, some say. You might not come back...
Somehow NEO gets to TV World. After the late night show is finished, he corners Tenna backstage, making sure he never forgets about him again.
NEO likes to write phone numbers on his whumpee body and on the walls of his lair, usually using his claws.
He also likes to use the strings to tie up his prey for later, like a weird spider. Whumpee often wake up, unable to move, having to wait and hope NEO comes back to them.
Whumpee:
Right after transferring there is a moment of euphoria. Finally everything worked, the mailman being having what he desired for so long. And then the strings start to show. Slowly but surely, tying up every limb, every moving part no longer under his control. He can't do anything about it. Not even scream for help.
Additional points if the strings are tied tight enough to make incisions when the legs and arms are moved around.
Or maybe the strings aren't neatly tied around, but go straight into the skin/under metal, connected straight to the muscles and nerves, leaving small but deep holes when removed.
No one calls them "Big Shot". The darkners only run in fear. Nothing changed, he's still alone. Spamton NEO goes back to the Trash Zone, not being able to fit back into Cyber City society. Some say crying can be heard when walking through that area during the night.
They are permanently muted. Can only talk when strings move his jaw, and it still is what the puppeteer makes it say. No one heard Spamton since then.
After getting rid of the strings it's too weak to move on its own, using all of its energy on fighting the possession. Not sure if it will wake up again, it falls into darkness. After all, who would help it anyway...
Addiction whump prompt: whumpee is too ashamed to go home to Caretaker after relapsing, so they end up spending a cold night outside on a park bench or something. Caretaker finds them in the morning.
(Feel free to ignore if it’s not to your tastes ofc! Thank you for your writing!)
Whumpee had thought about going home. They really had. After all, where else were they supposed to go?
But then they thought about the horrible stench of alcohol they must’ve been emitting, the very real possibility of throwing up on the nice living room carpet, the way Caretaker’s face would change with disappointment and hurt… And they suddenly thought they could endure one night outside. Just one, just until they sobered up. They would go home in the morning.
So they stumbled into the park, occasionally steadying themself on street lights and trees. They walked to the nearest bench and lay down, face towards the open sky, hands clasped on their upset stomach.
Why had they done this to themself? They’d been clean for months. The drinks hadn’t even tasted good. The high of it was long gone, leaving only the sharp sting of regret as they swirled and swirled and swirled even more.
Of course, Caretaker wasn’t going to say what was really on their mind. They’d say something like ‘oh, everyone makes mistakes’ or ‘this doesn’t erase your progress’, and they wouldn’t talk about the reality of the situation, the ‘I trusted you’ and the ‘are you proud of yourself?’
They shivered, pulling their thin jacket tighter around their body. It had been warm in the pub, and they’d thought the booze would continue keeping them warm well into the evening, or at least until they fell asleep. They thought about their comfortable bed, the way the mattress would creak and conform to their body, the way their head would sink into the pillow… Oh, the bench was so very rigid and cold.
Not as cold as the pit of guilt in their stomach.
“Was it worth it?” they slurred to themself. “Was it at least worth it…?”
They knew the answer. It was always, always the same.
Nothing was worth disappointing Caretaker.
Sleep took them swiftly and unexpectedly. They barely had a little time to ruminate on their life choices before they were pulled under, not remembering the last minutes they’d spent awake.
“Whumpee?”
Whumpee groaned and tried to turn over — whatever they had been lying on wasn’t wide enough for that. They rolled off the edge and landed in mud, which sobered them up quite quickly.
“Whumpee!”
Someone rushed over to them and helped them up while they were sputtering and trying to get rid of the taste of dirt in their mouth. Caretaker. It was Caretaker. Of course it was Caretaker.
“Where am I?” they asked before they could’ve stopped themself, giving away their previous state right away. “I mean—”
“I know you drank,” Caretaker cut in. “I’m sure you thought staying out the whole night was a smart idea, but it really gives the game away, you know? I went to all the pubs when I realised you weren’t coming home, but I couldn’t find you. The park must’ve been too dark for me to spot you, so I woke up early to continue looking… Enough about that. Let’s get you home and cleaned up.”
Whumpee wiped the mud from their face with the back of their hand. “You… You looked for me?”
Caretaker smiled. At them. Dirty, disgusting, hungover Whumpee. “‘Course. I was worried sick. I’m glad to know you’re okay— Unless you caught a cold sleeping out here.”
“You’re… not mad?”
“I was, at first,” they admitted. “But then I realised I was just worried. The more pubs I went to, the less angry I was. I know… I know it’s difficult for you. It wouldn’t be fair for me to be angry or judge. I just want to know you’re safe at home. That’s really all I want.”
Whumpee let themself be led home, and once their dirty clothes were in the laundry basket and they were fresh out of the shower in clean ones, they ventured out into the kitchen, where Caretaker was making breakfast for them. There was a painkiller and a glass of water already on the table.
“I’m sorry for worrying you,” they said quietly.
“That’s what friends do,” Caretaker said easily. “But Whumpee?”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to come home. No matter the state you’re in. I want you here. Okay?”
Whumpee felt tears pricking their eyes. “I, I really don’t think you do… I was an absolute mess yesterday. Nobody should have to see me like that.”
Caretaker sighed. “This is your home as much as mine. Even if it was all mine— It doesn’t matter. You’re wanted here. You matter so much to me. Even when you relapse. Even when it feels like you’ve taken two steps backwards. Do you believe me?”
Whumpee slowly shook their head, and Caretaker stepped away from the stove to walk over and draw them into a hug. That was all it took for the dam to break, and Whumpee broke down sobbing in their arms.
“I love you, Whumpee. I love you, even when you don’t love yourself. Okay? Please, come home. Always come home.”
“O-Okay,” they sniffled. “I will. I’m sorry.”
Caretaker rubbed their back a little and stepped back, smiling. “Water under the bridge. Let’s eat.”
Throwing whumpee onto their knees before the enemy leader and holding them there by the back of the neck
Whumpee half-curled into a fetal position as they're being relentlessly kicked
Whumpee forced to strip. And doing so flushing and getting ashamed.
Whumpee shuddering and shaking from exhaustion caused by screaming, resisting, and fear
Wiping blood off hastily, grabbing injuries, making faces as they try not to cry
Ripping their pants down or shirt up so roughly it jerks whumpee's body
The broken sob that's kind of the end of a cry they barely managed to hold in
Whumpee feeling stupid, humiliated, even though anyone would, in their position
Sweating, swallowing, and keeping their face under control, trembling as they are inspected
Being twisted by the wrist, spun around, and slammed face-first into a wall or desk
Compromising positions like whumper sitting on their butt, in a non-sexual, violent way that just emphasizes the desperate physical struggle.
Grabbing them by the face to look at them and make snide observations about how scared they are
Slapping whumpee in the cheek
Small whumpees being thrown around and restrained physically by big whumpers
Grabbing their hair to slam them into the wall and whispering something in their ear that makes whumpee grimace
"turn around and face the wall."
Slapping a knife wound or gunshot injury and whumpee winces, cries and curls over the injury
A sarcastic remark dying on whumpee's lips as they see what whumper brought to beat them with
A stoic whumpee after a long time of taking a beating with only grunts of pain, groaning as a bone is broken, and as whumper raises their boot to kick again, whumpee hoarsely cries "wait wait, please! --please wait!"
The Villain's great plan centers around opening a portal to other dimension inhabited by hellish/eldritch/necromantic demons. Taking control of them would grant them sufficient army to achieve their ultimate goal. Yet due to Hero's actions the spell backfires and now both of them are trapped in said dimension. Two options from here:
The creatures love inflicting pain on anything alive and are ecstatic to have the newcomers here. Villain might ally with them to hurt the Hero, but soon realize that they are not safe themselves.
The inhabitants are furious that Villain wanted to take control of them and intend to punish them for it. Hero can either try to get out of the realm on their own or try to save the enemy.
Such picture came to me mind today and thought it has a nice enemies to allies/friends potential:)
The journey is long and dangerous, but necessary. And only whumpee is willing to make it.
The road is filled with bandits, who after ambushing whumpee and beating him up don't mind leaving them unconscious on the side of the road
Bonus point if they wake up in the dark and don't know which way to go anymore
Or whumpee is tied up and gagged as bait/distraction for other people/animals that might go this way. If the road turns out empty, bandits can just leave them. Whumpee is not going anywhere anyway...
If whumpee is wearing expensive clothes or equipment there is a good chance muggers would rip it off them (or make them strip to not damage the loot)
Muggers turn out to be slavers, looking for their next victim, especially if the traveler is different race than assailants - rare find surely is worth more than others...
Whumpee is not alone in their journey, but when the team realize they have no chance to avoid the fight, they run away. Whumpee is the only one that didn't manage to escape, crying out to their companions for help
The journeyer finds the bandits during the act of beating up some poor soul. The attackers are too focused on their victim to see them. They know that engaging in the fight is pointless and would just become another prey. They have a choice: wait for bandits to finish their act and hope whumpee is left alive, so they can help, or move along, leaving the one in need to their fate
After the attack whumpee doesn't even consider turning back. They might not even have anything to go back to, so they press on. Hurting, swaying with each step, their supplies taken or destroyed.
The bandits leave the whumpee in decent state, but they take the key possesion from them, rendering the whumpee unable to complete their quest. Wracked with guilt they try to follow the muggers to retrieve the object.
Dreaming about: To be someone's redeemer, a tough looking person that one might expect to be gruff and intimidating, but actually kind and helpful one, that is strong enough to take care of someone in need.
Me actually: Timid, lacking in both physical and mental prowess, traumatized, usually the one in need of assistance, often on a verge of crying.
Whumpee who has been through terrible things in the past gets hurt. They're not thinking rationally, and refuse help. They lash out at Caretaker, and keep their guard up until they pass out.
Later, when they're awake and calm, Caretaker asks why they wouldn't accept help.
And Whumpee... doesn't know.
Caretaker says it's okay to not have an answer, but they ask Whumpee to think about it.
Whumpee hates it. They don't want to confront their past, their trauma. But Caretaker asked, and they nearly hurt them last time, so they try anyway. They know they can't talk about it, so they try to write a letter.
It will be a list. Simple, just bullet points of what they need and don't need. But... it's hard. It's just words but it's so hard. Why is writing a simple line like 'Don't grab me' so difficult to put on paper? The words are in Whumpee's head, why can't they just write it down?
The first three papers get throws away with a snarl, crumpled to a ball and thrown to the wall. The next two get ripped to shreds.
But... slowly, it becomes easier. It's still difficult, but Whumpee manages. The final result is a mess. The paper is creased, words and whole sentences are crossed out and the handwriting is a mess. It took days to finish.
But they did it.
They give it to Caretaker. No elaboration on what it is, Caretaker will know.
“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Whumpee repeated, over and over, like a magic spell that would make them all okay. No, they were okay. They stared at their face in the mirror, a face that looked like a panicked rabbit about to be swept up by a hawk.
A face that was free of bruises or lesions. A face that had filled its cheeks out with three meals a day. A face attached to a body that wasn’t in pain. All smack in the middle of a normal bathroom.
“I’m fine,” the mouth in the mirror repeated, though the eyes were leaking tears now. Whumpee sat on the lid of the toilet, huddled up, wrapped their arms around their legs, and buried their face in their knees. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.”
So why did they still feel this way? Why did it always feel like they were in danger? Why were they so afraid all the time? It wasn’t supposed to be this way. They were supposed to be out and fine. So why did it feel like they had to convince themself that was the case?
Why did it feel like they were lying when they did?
Just then, Caretaker scratched insistently at the door.
Whumpee reached to open it, and in she pranced. Despite having no words, she was a beyond-effective communicator, and it only took one pointed look for Whumpee to lower their legs for her to rub against. Her little head bonked against their shin, purring filling the tearful silence at the contact.
“Hey, kitty,” Whumpee sniffled, reaching down to pet her. She nuzzled into their hand, utterly oblivious to all their worries.
There's a good chance I will make more parts. Though usually I skip pretty fast to rescue and recovery part but with this one I want to work on the painful bits a bit more. Might need some inspiration for that.
The sound of whip cracking echoed repeatedly around the chamber. Caladin tried to stay
quiet, but cries and moans escaped his lips. Wrists chained to the wall didn’t allow him to
move away from his new master.
“Stop whining like a child and do what you’re told to do.” Another crack. Another red line on
the boy's back.
“But…” Caladin gasped, his stomach turning upside down. Tears started falling down his
cheeks. “Please… I can’t… I don’t know how…”
The boy held his breath, preparing for another strike across his back, but it didn’t come.
Instead, a strong hand grabbed his hair and pulled it sharply.
“You have to. You are chosen as the protector of our realm. Of the Crown. Of people that
need a guardian. It’s not for you. It’s for them. So stop thinking about yourself and show me
the monster they need.” The handler’s face was close to his protégé’s ear. His breath carried words
that Caladin didn’t want to hear. But it was either this, or going back to wandering the streets
hoping someone would throw away something edible.
His arms suddenly started to feel cold. Like his veins were filled with ice instead of warm
blood. Gasping in fear, he watched as his palms started growing, claws coming at the end of
his fingers. The chains now had no empty space between the metal and skin.
“Good.” The voice came from behind him. The young man felt a spark of hope that it was the
end of it for now.
“But that was only part of it. I know there is a whole beast inside of you.”
drugs that make a character woozy and disoriented. slurring words and falling slack, everything too heavy and confusing and muffled
blown pupils, wandering eyes, breathing too much or too little. sweating, shaking, puking, so limp and pale it’s almost like they’re dead
fevers so high a character's mind just turns to mush. glossy eyes tracking the ceiling, listless and unaware until eventually there's sweat sticking all over the sheets and they start mumbling some vague responses to caretaker's questions
tranquilizer dart that brings a character down all at once. one sudden jerk or look of confusion, not enough time to glance at it much less pull it out before eyes are rolling back and they collapse into the dirt
tranquilizer dart that comes on slowly. pulling it out and running and running until each step becomes too uncoordinated, stumbling or getting dragged along by a teammate until even their begging to stay awake, let's go, becomes hazy and distant
struck so hard that everything rings in one ugly roar. staggering or falling, told to sit down, just stay down. so confused and lost, repeating the same questions and forgetting the answer over and over and over again
character so messed up they struggle to follow any part of the conversation. everything too heavy and confusing and muffled, just useless and incoherent and completely oblivious to the situation
nervous prodding or pleading by caretaker, begging them to just stay awake or focus
jostled around by captor, told to get the fuck up and follow orders, easily manhandled and restrained
mumbling nonsense and spilling secrets. stoic characters without any masks, so confused and broken and vulnerable, slipping and powerless in every sort of way
"you're okay, i promise you're okay"
“ah, shit. you’re a mess—”
“I guess you won’t remember this anyways…”
gaze drifting and blank, too faraway to track anything caretaker/captor is saying. nudged and prodded and pleaded at to no avail, just incoherent and out of it
too weak to move. beaten absolutely senseless or bleeding all over the place, a character just hurting and spent beyond means sprawled flat against the ground
getting dragged along or stepped on, pinned down as if they're in any state to go anywhere
hypnotized and stunned into mindlessness. repeated mantras and rewired thoughts, a character made pliable and blank and used like a puppet
paralyzed but fully aware, left slack and useless and desperate with limp muscles and depressed breathing. assumed dead and abandoned, grieved over or dumped aside like a corpse, forced to watch and unable to do anything
poisoned and just getting worse and worse. teammates desperately looking for a cure while character deteriorates, puking and passing out and getting high fevers, hallucinating and begging for relief
characters taken out of commission when they're otherwise the strongest one. exposed to a weakness, given magical restraints or cuffs with neural suppressors to keep them docile, targeted and taken out
vertigo taking a character side to side, brought down and useless
If I forgot something in warning, please let me know!
Here's a small story I came up with after writing last "whump ideas" list. I'm not sure if I will be continuing it further. If anyone wants to use it as a prompt or has any questions, don't be shy and go ahead:)
It was raining. Sebastian Reyer was hoping it would stop at this point. It was way past
sunrise, and his livestock needed to be fed, but going out in such a downpour wasn’t how he
would like to start the day. With a sigh, he finished eating his breakfast and prepared to go
outside. He only needed to feed his cows, pigs and chickens. The sooner he does it, the
sooner he will be back in his warm house. At least he didn’t need to water the crops.
Sebastian stepped into the rain and headed to the barn. The only sound loud enough to
pass through the drumming of droplets was the splotching that his boots were making in the
puddles of mud. The creaking of barn doors made his two milk cows turn their heads and
moo deeply in their stalls.
“Hello to you too, ladies”, Sebastian took off his hood and approached the cows. Contact
with animals always soothed him. After all, they didn’t care what he went through, what he
did. They didn’t try to change or “repair” him. They coexisted with him, together making a
clique of flawed creatures in this cruel, uncaring world.
Then he heard something move behind him. Sound wasn’t coming from the stalls, but from a
small room he used as storage for feed and tools. He took a pitchfork that was left next to a
wall after yesterday’s cleaning. Part of him knew he was overreacting. It was probably a
mouse or raccoon, hiding from the rain. But one cannot be too careful. Especially he cannot
be unprepared. He can’t let anyone hurt him. Not again.
What was in the closet wasn’t a mouse nor a raccoon. It was a man, by the look of it,
sleeping. He was lying on a small pile of clean hay, wearing only a shirt and pants. His feet
were bare. His wet hair was nearly blending with the straws due to its yellowy coloring.
Sebastian prodded him with the pitchfork handle. He didn’t want the stranger to be there. No
one was allowed into his space. Ever. The young man woke up with a start. His wide eyes
jumped from the tool that touched him to the man towering above him.
“Who the fuck are you and why are you here?” Sebastian asked sharply, his muscles tense,
turning the sharp points toward the stranger. The blond man flinched away and raised his
hands defensively.
“Please, I just wanted to shelter here. I couldn’t go anywhere else.” He quickly responded,
voice trembling. “The rain stops, and I will leave, I promise. Just don’t hurt me. Please.”
Sebastian was silent, his mind going through possible scenarios. It was some weird trick, for
sure. After a year of living here, everyone in the nearest town knew he was not to be
bothered. Why would this guy go as far as his farm to hide? Was he looking for him? He had
to. There was no other explanation as to why he found himself here. Wouldn’t normal people
go straight to the house and not hide with the animals? Now he was nearly convinced the
man had been sent by Alexander - his so-called friend. It’s probably another attempt at
“helping him cope” or something like that. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Get up. You’re not staying here.”
“What?” The question came out as a quiet gasp.
“You heard me. Get out of my property”
Sebastian grabbed the man by the T-shirt. A small yelp escaped the stranger’s lips when he
was half-walked, half-dragged outside. Flung outside, he landed on the ground, barely
catching himself to not end up with his face in the puddle.
“Please…” the blond man uttered, looking up at the ominously-looking man towering over
him.
“Get. Out.” The words came out from behind clenched teeth, “Or I will make you.”
This time the message set in, and the stranger left hurriedly. Sebastian looked after him for a
while, last seeing him disappear on the road leading through his wheat field. Hoping it was
the end of it, he returned to his morning chores. But now he felt numb. He saw his legs and
arms move, but his thoughts weren’t focused on them. He was thinking about the encounter,
even though he was telling himself he didn't want to. He went back to the barn when doubts
about the whole situation started creeping up on him. Looking at the pile of hay, he thought
about how pale the young man was. How light he felt when he grabbed his shirt. The look in
his eyes when he threw him out.
And then the realization dawned on him. He looked like him. Not literally. Not right now. But
when he was kidnapped, tortured, kept for fun. Sebastian’s breath quickened when the
memories filled his mind.
“I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe”, he repeated to himself, on the verge of crying when he saw his
kidnapper before his eyes. Suffocating. Sebastian’s hands around his throat.
His tormentor was dead. He had it coming. No longer could he hurt anyone. But the world is
filled with sick fucks just like him.
Now someone else was living a nightmare and needed help. And he turned the man down.
The air growled with the sound of incoming thunder.
***
The rain drenched Sebastian’s coat and impaired the vision of the road ahead. He knew the
stranger couldn’t go far. Not in this weather.
Suddenly, his legs were caught by something. He regained his balance and looked down to
take the obstacle out of the road to not trip again on his way back.
“Shit” he cursed under his breath, as he saw the man he was looking for, lying on the side of
the road. Sebastian shook the person’s arms hoping he was asleep again, but their head just
lolled around. He checked the pulse on the man’s neck. It was barely felt, but it was
something he could work with. Hopefully, he wasn’t too late.
Taking the man in his arms, he nearly ran back home. Every second felt like a matter of life
and death, and he wasn’t going to let the stranger die.
Upon arriving at his farmhouse, he quickly hurried to the bathroom. Putting the man in the
bathtub was the best thing he could think of for now. He was going to put him in bed, but it
was no use if it would just soak the wetness. He was sure the man had hypothermia at this
point, so making sure they were dry was his top priority for now. And keeping his heart
beating. He carefully started taking off the soaked clothes from the young man. He couldn’t
stop wondering how old he was. Looked 25 at most.
Upon taking off his shirt, he cursed
loudly. Before his eyes was a man's chest, but it looked like some modern art installation. It
was overspread with cuts, some shallow, some deep, arranged in a symmetrical pattern.
Some circular wounds looked more like burns. He hated the fact that he knew these were
marks of someone putting a cigarette on his skin. The wrists were bruised and looked like
they could snap if they were grabbed too tightly. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the
man’s back. Taking a clean towel, he pulled the unconscious man forward, so his chest was
supported by Sebasian’s arm.
“What the fuck…”
The back was nearly clean, except for two deep cuts near the scapulas. These were sewn
up with thick black thread, contrasting aggressively with pale skin. The edges of the wounds
were red, as if the threads weren't sanitized before using them.
Something was boiling deep inside Sebastian’s chest. Old, hidden anger. Resurfaced. Tears
started to form in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them off. There was no time to waste. He
finished undressing the stranger, taking care of any cuts that opened and bled, and gently
patting the towel on his skin and hair to dry it. When he was done, he picked up the man and
carried him to bed. His farmhouse had only one bedroom, since no guests were ever
expected to stay there.
“I can sleep in the armchair,” he thought, “if I fall asleep at all.”
He took two blankets and wrapped them around the injured man. After putting a bed cover
over him, Sebastian stepped back and looked at his work. The man under his care still
looked pale, his face poking out from under dark blue bedding. He now looked like some
kind of weird chrysalis, tucked tightly to get him ready for metamorphosis. But
Sebastian
knew it was not that easy. He won’t lie to him like some did to him.
It won’t be easy.
Not everything will be alright.
He isn’t okay and won’t be for a long time.
But one thing he can promise. He’s safe now. And Sebastian will make sure of it.
When whumpee doesn't want to forget the past. They want to kill it.
Whumpee haunted by flashbacks, each followed by whumpee adding more to their plan. They will find whumper and make them pay.
Rage turning into sadness, tears of anger into fits of crying (or the other way around).
Intense guilt for not being strong enough, smart enough. They should have been better and not "allow" whumper to break them.
Caretaker trying to help with anger management, healing the mental wounds caused by trauma. Whumpee feels betrayed and misunderstands the message - thinking he is asked to forgive the whumper
"You took my life away from me. Now I'm going to take yours."
Coming back to caretaker, greeted with open arms, only for their smile melt into disbelief when they realize what whumpee has done.
Whumpee doesn't turn into whumper - they just want their demons to go away (they don't)
Reblog if you're a-okay with your story stuff being reblogged by others (not reposted, just the normal reblog, obviously)!
[Edit: reblog meaning using the reblog button; repost meaning someone copy-pasting into a new post, which also often comes with giving no credit to op (but seriously, why copy-paste someone else's stuff when the reblog button is right there) ]
I've been noticing how few reblogs my stuff gets, even if it gets likes. Which like, I'm not complaining on the attention! It's really cool to see people enjoying what I have to share. But Tumblr stuff thrives on reblogs, sharing what you like. It's not an algorithm, especially if you have it set to chronological, not "best stuff first" like myself and others do (I switched it from the latter because I was sick of only seeing the same 10-20 posts even after refreshing). Share what you like! Personal posts are 50-50, depending on the blogger. But 9 times out of 10, if someone shares their art (paintings, drawings, writing, photography, etc), it's because they want people who like it to see it. And chances are, people who follow you like similar things that you do, so sharing these things means it can spread further, especially if others haven't stumbled across it yet.
Anyway, yeah. Just share things! That's how community grows, at least on here.
This time whumpee can't get up properly so their only way to get away is by crawling on their belly
Whumper putting their foot on whumpee's back to stop them from moving
Their arms can't hold the pressure, chest squeezed to the ground, unable to breathe fully
Bonus points when whumpee's face lands on the ground as well, in the puddle of mud/blood
Whumper yanking their hair up, maybe even using that as a way to pull the whumpee to their feet
Their ankles are grabbed, puling them back, whumpee's nails scrape the floor as they try to resist
If they are wounded the friction might pull away the bandages or rip stitches - perfect environment for infection
Whumper knows whumpee tries to escape, but their attempts are so pathetic they don't want to stop it - they enjoy the show
Whumpee successfully escaped, far away now. They lay down their head just for a moment, just to catch their breath. They drift off before they know it... (And are found like that - by whumper or caretaker?)
