This is a whump blog, please proceed with caution. NSFW and 18+ content will be present.
If you recognize Zag from somewhere in particular, CLICK HERE. (You know who you are.)
My OCs:
- Zag Ziggler
My Writing:
- All the writing
- One-shots
- The Echoed Will
- Whumptober 2025
- AI-less Whumptober 2025
- Kinktober 2025
What you can expect:
- General Whump: prompts, drabbles, memes and meta commentary. Any images of actual people (i.e. not actors) - whether the whump depicted is makeup or not - will be tagged “irl whump”.
- NSFW content: some whump, some sexual content. I will use the tag “nsfw” for all sexual content. I also try to tag suggestive content that could be potentially triggering as “just to be safe”. (Generally suggestive but consensual content may not always be tagged that way.)
- The Interplay of Sex & Violence as a strong recurring theme: A heads up since I know there will be some folks who definitely do not want these sorts of themes in their whump. Expect some general smut/kink as well. I use “kink” and “hornyposting” for these subjects.
- Dubcon: This is meant to cover the “grey area” of toxic relationships, manipulation, bad communication, alcohol/intoxication, unsafe kink, and general bad-decision-making. I will tag this as “tw dubcon” and “tw dubious consent” as well as “just to be safe” if you want to be extra careful.
- Defiant whumpees 💖
- Sci-Fi and robot/android/cyborg whump
What you probably won’t see much of (but I might reblog):
- Noncon: I occasionally reblog noncon/implied noncon or noncon adjacent posts, but I don’t expect to write any myself, as my preference is dubcon. I will be tagging it with “tw noncon”, “tw implied noncon” and “just to be safe” for cases that might not be explicitly noncon but adjacent in theme.
- Whumpees who are minors: I am an adult, and I typically don’t like to engage with whump involving minors. HOWEVER, there may be rare exceptions - emotional and environmental whump are likely. I will not be writing or reblogging any sexual whump involving a minor, but I may occasionally reblog material that references prior CSA as long as it’s not an explicit scene.
- Female whumpees: My main OC whumpee is a male character. I don’t have anything against female whump, but imo there’s more cultural baggage that comes with it that makes me less inclined to engage with it.
- Character Death: I generally find it unsatisfying for whump. The “game” of the genre is to prolong suffering, so character deaths feel antithetical to my personal view on the matter. Not impossible for me to write or reblog, but it’s just not particularly satisfying for any character to hit a point they can’t actually (at least hypothetically) recover from. Will be tagged “character death” should it arise.
- Pet/hybrid/animalistic/non-humanoid whumpees: Just not into the animal/human combos. I just don’t find it compelling. Pet whump as a conditioning trope is… not really my thing when it leans too heavily towards petplay* tropes, but I do enjoy some of the dehumanization components.
- Emeto: There may be mentions of vomiting which will be tagged “tw vomit” but the specificity of “emeto” is a little too aligned with the kink version of that tag* and it’s not my thing. I will not be using “emeto” as a tag because I don’t want the overlap.
* I actually don’t mind kink overlapping with my whump, but these kinks (and some others, probably) are simply not my taste and I prefer to avoid them and/or engage with them only under specific circumstances.
CW: Criminal whumpee, cyborg whumpee, abusive workplace, graphic workplace accident injuries, sci-fi disabilities, abusive medical system
———
2810 - Age 19
Zag scrambled to the crest of the hilltop, steadying his footing on the sliding dirt beside Carbin.
Carbin was watching the building down in the valley carefully, barely seeming to breathe.
The roof burst upwards, sending waves of dust rushing out towards them. The ground beneath their feet lurched a moment later, delayed slightly at the safe distance.
Zag watched, mesmerized. The warehouse was crumbling, plumes of smoke billowing towards the sky, the orange glint of fires forming inside. Walls caved in, the roof collapsing, the air filling with the dust of concrete and insulation and whatever else had remained behind in the warehouse.
It was beautiful.
Just as suddenly, Carbin burst with a wild whoop. He laughed and threw an arm over Zag’s shoulders, pulling him into an embrace by his neck.
“Holy shit, that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he shouted gleefully above the distant roar of the building reducing to rubble. “In-fuckin-credible!”
He ruffled Zag’s hair roughly, enough to rouse him from his trance.
“Yeah,” Zag felt a grin spreading across his face, “that’s really cool.”
“Dude, it’s fucking amazing! That went perfect! You’re awesome!”
Zag felt an odd, nervous flush to his body. He definitely had never had anyone call him any variation of “awesome” before - “annoying” certainly, “obnoxious” often… Shit, Carbin couldn’t have misjudged him that badly, right?
“Ah, it’s not really a big deal,” Zag mumbled from the headlock. “You know. It’s just—”
Carbin rolled his eyes, but it didn’t wipe the huge grin from his face. “Jeez, man, take a fucking compliment!”
Zag felt his face burn hot as Carbin released him. He hoped the heat didn’t show on his face.
“You took down the whole warehouse! That’s cool as fuck.”
Zag looked at what used to be the warehouse, then at Gillian and Yancy. They both seemed… impressed? Yancy wasn’t scowling at least. Gillian even shot Zag a smirk and a nod.
Holy shit. They were impressed. He was impressive.
Something swelled in Zag’s chest. Laughter bubbled up.
“Yeah, it’s cool as fuck!”
———
Zag stared at the number on the screen.
Jesus, that was a lot of zeros.
He had thought he would feel relieved. It was more money than he’d ever seen in his life. And it was entirely his.
All for one day of work. Well, maybe more like a week if you counted all the prep - sneaking out the extra supplies from the blasting company’s workshop, building the explosives, smuggling it all out of the company property without anyone noticing.
But wealth was nerve-wracking apparently.
It was enough to cover what he owed for the cyberprosthetics. That should be what he would spend it on.
But maybe there was something smarter? Split it up, maybe invest like he’d heard some of the site managers talk about. He wasn’t sure how that worked. Or save it, spend a little at a time, try to make it last. It’s not like he’d have another payday like this anytime soon.
Zag felt a twinge in his chest at that thought.
He’d gotten absolutely hammered after the heist. He’d stumbled back onto the company site and crumpled into a heap on his bed as the first hint of sunrise was creeping in through the tiny window near the ceiling. His supervisor had had to come to his room and bang on the door like he was trying to break it down in order to wake Zag up, two and a half hours late for his shift.
It was worth the write-up.
They’d been impressed by him. They thought he was awesome. Carbin in particular had raved about the explosion all night - how precisely it had been timed, how perfectly the building had collapsed, and how completely it would cover their tracks.
“You definitely earned your share of the pot, kid,” Carbin had said, tilting his bottle of beer to clink against Zag’s. “You’ve got a lot of talent.”
Zag felt like a supernova that night.
He held onto it the next day, late for work and head pounding with a hangover, his supervisor bitching about “punctuality” and “company expectations” to him as he pulled on a clean shirt. He’d mostly ignored Mirai’s passive aggression when Zag arrived to relieve her from her overtime. And the work, for a brief moment, didn’t feel so monotonous.
That didn’t last long though.
It had been a week now, and it somehow felt worse than before. The tedium was crushing. He felt adrift, as if the familiar faces around him were far away, almost ghostly. Kelly still tried to be nice. Takeshi was still polite enough to tolerate him. But they almost didn’t feel real.
Or maybe it all felt too real. Too heavy and too grey and too suffocating.
He’d gotten the notification of the deposit two days ago and hadn’t been able to do much of anything but stare at it. That didn’t feel real, that was for sure. More money than he knew what to do with. He wasn’t exactly sure how he could fuck it up, but he was certain he could manage it somehow - if anyone could, it was him. So he hadn’t been able to touch it.
Except… there had been another accident that morning. One of the handful of old timers, Locke, a grizzled guy approaching sixty, had been tripped by a stray coil of cable while carrying a crate of plastics. Zag had watched him being carried to the Medbay by a couple of emergency medics.
They weren’t the worst injuries Zag had seen. The man was pretty scorched, and his left arm was finally done for, but he’d survive without too much difficulty - a fresh cyberpros and he’d be good to go.
But as Zag laid on the lumpy, company-provided mattress in his dingy, company-provided housing unit, he couldn’t stop thinking about the old man.
It wasn’t the fresh blood or the charred skin that bothered him. It was the cyberpros. His right leg up to his hip, just like Zag’s, and his left leg up to his knee. His right arm up to his elbow - again, like Zag’s own. His left arm had matched the right, but this accident had mangled him nearly to his shoulder. He’d have to be refit for a new prosthetic, not to mention the existing ones needing to be replaced from the damage in the explosion. Even if they were still operational, the doctors were all company affiliates - they usually replaced them regardless.
And charged you for it all.
Zag absently flexed the fingers of his own cyberpros. He already had nearly identical prosthetics to the old timer’s - maybe even more.
What would he look like in forty years? What the hell would be left of him?
God, would he even make it that long?
Dread weighed down on his chest like thousands of pounds of stone and earth.
He swiped up on his data pad to open his messages.
> Money should be cleared by tomorrow morning.
> Got it! JEEEEEEZ that’s a lot more than I thought when you see it like that.
> LOL no problem. You did a great job, kid, you deserve it!
Zag chewed at his bottom lip. And typed.
> Hey, you still planetside?
He hit send. Waited.
Three dots appeared after a few moments.
> Yeah, catching a ship out in a few hours. Red eye.
So they were still in town.
> Would you mind—
Delete.
> Could I—
Delete.
Was this crazy? This was crazy, right?
Three dots appeared again.
> Wanna come along?
Zag blinked. Time seemed to freeze, the only indication otherwise was his heart pounding a million miles a minute against his ribs. His hands were shaking so badly it was hard to hold his data pad.
This was absolutely crazy. He was gonna die out there, on the run with a band of criminals.
But it was better than dying here, chipped to nothing but brand-name metal and buried under a mountain of debt to the company-owned Medbay.
> Definitely, he managed to type out despite his shaking hands.
Three dots.
> Gwenith Spaceport, Dock 8, 04:05 departure. I’ll cover your ticket.
Zag’s head spun as he ripped apart the cramped little room, hurling everything he owned into his duffle bag. It wasn’t much, but he even stole the company-provided blanket and stuffed the pancake-flat company-provided pillow under his arm for good measure.
He didn’t bother closing the door behind him as he marched up the hallway and slammed his fist against the door of unit 301.
After pounding on the door for nearly a minute straight, he heard a latch unlock and the door swung open.
“Fuck, alright,” his supervisor grumbled, eyes and voice heavy with the signs of an interrupted sleep. “The fuck you want?” He eyed Zag suspiciously.
“I’m quitting,” Zag said, breathless and beaming.
“No.”
“Dude, you can’t just say ‘No’ to that.”
“Two weeks notice minimum is required by your contract,” his supervisor scoffed. “Otherwise you’re fined at twenty-eight percent of your annual productivity rate. And don’t you owe the Medbay for those shiny bits?” He smirked. “Can’t leave without paying those off, unless you wanna default on the workers comp agreement. What’s the copay for that model? Thirteen K? Fourteen? How deep in that hole are you?”
He was trying to rile Zag up. Any anger that he normally would have had, any smartass retort he would have taken a write-up for, was drowned out by the heady buzz of adrenaline.
It was like being high off that stuff they gave him after the cave-in, but better.
Zag held up his data pad. “I don’t owe any of you jack shit.”
His supervisor blinked at the data pad, his eyes struggling to focus against the force of sleep.
“Holy shit.” The receipt for the outstanding Medbay payments listed the processed payment and the remaining balance at… zero. “Where did you get that kind of money?”
“Better offer than this dogshit job,” Zag said, his middle finger raised. “I. Quit.”
“There’s still the Breach of Contract fine—”
“Fine me if you can find me, asshole.”
———
His whole body was still shaking. He knew he wasn’t thinking straight, but he wasn’t sure he cared.
Zag was sitting with his bag across his lap at Gwenith Spaceport, Dock 8. His stolen pillow folded in half propped up his elbow as he chewed at his thumbnail.
He was sporting a few fresh bruises, but honestly? He felt amazing. Even the bruises ached in an invigorating way.
His supervisor had tried to follow him to the elevator. Zag had wheeled around to deck him. He hadn’t thought about it, it just happened. Instinct. And it felt incredible.
He must have called security, though, because the site’s armed guards were present to meet Zag when the elevator doors opened on the ground floor. A few moments of scuffle, but Zag had managed to bail with only a few bumps and scrapes, and a very near miss from one of the security guard’s guns as he hauled ass out the front door and down the road, his legs pumping until he leapt over the red and white barrier that let vehicles into the blasting site.
And then he kept running.
“Now boarding Priority passengers at Dock 8,” a voice said over the PA system, delicately calibrated by a crack team of AI engineers to sound perfectly calming and inoffensive.
It was 3:42 AM, and Zag hadn’t spotted Carbin or the others yet. He twisted a fist into the flat pillow.
A hand rested on his shoulder.
Zag whipped around, every sense of his body turned up to eleven.
A man sitting on the reverse side of the bench stared intently at him.
“Hey, Zigzag,” Carbin said, voice low.
He looked different. Still handsome, but he’d let his beard start growing out over the week, and wore a cap pulled low. Oh, yeah. Traveling low-profile. That’s probably why he hadn’t spotted them.
Zag breathed out in relief. “Hey.”
Carbin tipped the brim of his hat back slightly. “Uh, you okay, man?” He peered at Zag’s disheveled appearance with concern.
“Yeah. Yeah! I’m great. Fantastic!”
Carbin let himself grin despite a skeptical glance up and down at Zag’s scraped face and black eye.
He pulled a bit of paper from his pocket and slipped it over Zag’s shoulder. “Rooms were pretty scarce, so you’re staying with me.”
Zag nodded curtly, pressing the ticket to his chest. “Okay.”
They boarded separately. Gillian got her own Aquatic suite equipped to accommodate her. Yancy had already split off on his own, taking a different ship three days earlier. Apparently that was pretty common, Carbin had said. They weren’t so much a “gang” as a rotation of rogues and criminal connections who would come and go as they pleased.
Carbin’s suite was “modest” - “Trying not to attract too much attention til we’re off-world,” he’d explained - but it was far nicer than the cramped, grungy little single-room units that the company provided for housing. Hell, it was a lot fancier than his own room growing up, even if this was supposedly “just” a mid-tier suite. The small loveseat pulled out into a bed, where Zag tossed his shitty pillow and laid out his equally shitty blanket. The company would probably try to charge him for taking both of those too.
Fuck ‘em, he thought as he flopped backwards onto the bed. Try to send a bill without a forwarding address.
“Hey, Zigzag?” Carbin said, pulling his shirt off at the edge of the room’s actual bed.
Zag tried to fix his eyes on the ceiling. “Yeah?”
“Honestly, I’m glad you came.”
Zag felt his throat tighten. “Yeah?” he said again.
“Yeah, man. You were totally wasted at that mining company. We couldn’t have pulled this off without you.”
“Oh.” Zag said. Shit. His eyes were stinging. “Thanks.”
The room plunged into darkness. Carbin must have hit the lights.
“Night, Zigzag.”
“Night.”
Zag stared up at the ceiling he could no longer see, and in the dark, the whole week seemed to crash into him at once.
He had quit his job less than 5 hours ago. He was actually free from the medical debt, which had seemed impossible. He was on a ship heading… somewhere. And he was laying in the nicest room he’d ever stayed in, with someone amazing, who thought he was amazing too.
And he was committing to being a professional criminal, he guessed. Not really a way to back out of that one.
Tears started to flow. Relief? Overwhelm?
None of this felt real. Nothing had felt real since he’d met Carbin. It was all excitement and adrenaline and like every moment was just on the verge of slipping through his fingers. It didn’t feel real.
Maybe I’m just a little slow or haven’t looked hard enough or in the right places, but I don’t really see much of this trope at all. So let’s write out some scenarios for it ^^!!
• Captured by a bigger threat: The whumper gets taken by someone far more dangerous. Suddenly they’re experiencing the same fear and lack of control they once caused.
• Role reversal through injury/illness: They become physically weak (injured, sick, etc.), forcing them to rely on others, possibly even the person they hurt.
• Betrayal arc: Their own team turns on them, treating them the way they used to treat others.
• Revenge but complicated: The former whumpee has the chance to get even… but realizes it’s not as satisfying as they thought.
• Slow breakdown: Instead of one big moment, it’s gradual, sleep deprivation, stress, guilt, until the “untouchable” one cracks.
There’s plenty more that I ca think of, but this is what I’ll throw in for now. And if I’m being totally honest, this is one of my favorite tropes to experiment with ^^!!
Your pilot/driver is badly sick/injured... but there's still a job to do. So they put on a smile, buckle into the chair and move as little as possible as blood pools on the leather beneath them. They think about pressing a hand to their wound, but they need all the grip they can get on the controls.
Bonus points if they're hiding this illness/injury, and it's not noticed by the caretaker until they pass out at the wheel (after they get everyone to safety, of course).
They're found a little while later, hunched over the wheel/console. The caretaker jokingly tells them that "piloting isn't that tiring, is it?" but they get no response - no smartass quip, or a roll of the eyes. Huh.
Whumper forcing their fingers deep into whumpee's mouth until they choke and gag, over and over. Over time whumpee learns how to breathe past the intrusion, and their gag reflex is slowly trained out.
"I didn't have to do this for you, you know," Whumper tells them in between sessions. "You'll thank me later."
This prompt was brought to you by me coming down with heat exhaustion a few days ago.
It's a hot day.
At first, it doesn't seem like anything is the matter. They're resting, exhausted from the previous day, waiting for the lingering pain to abate. They're resting, and not moving much, so they don't feel thirsty, or sweat much. They don't realise this is a problem.
At first, it's just a slight headache. They think they probably just need to lie down in the dark, so they do. Half an hour, no improvement. The head hurts. The back of the neck hurts, constant and cramping. Then the nausea comes.
Something is wrong. But one of the symptoms is confusion. It's probably just a headache. Dehydration headache maybe? Drink water, go get some fresh air, it'll get better. Holding the glass is difficult- they feel clumsy. The dizziness makes getting anywhere a challenge.
It doesn't get better. But in hindsight, the water probably prevented it from getting much worse.
Hours. Then, sundown. The temperature drops sharply. The nausea abates. The pains fade, too, though not entirely. They're exhausted, but alright. Whatever was has passed.
Until the next day, when the sun rises, and the symptoms return. Only then does the realisation come.
Your whumpee arrives at their room exhausted; utterly ruined and hurting. The collapse in bed and just lay there until the emotions boil to the surface, and pour over the edge of their resolve. Little do they know that the have a visitor, who just watches for a while, unsure on what to do.
This is the stoic whumpee - why are they crying? And whose blood is that?
Caretaker rushed into the room where Whumpee sat bound and gagged. Whumpee’s eyes were wide, their head shaking frantically, and Caretaker’s hands shook as they undid the gag around their friend’s mouth.
“You can’t be here!” Whumpee burst out as soon as they could speak. “You can’t, you have to go now —“
“What—?”
Caretaker couldn’t even finish their question before the door slammed shut and Whumper stepped into the light.
There is something just so beautiful about a strong, confident, in-control character going through the Whump, as short as it may be, and being reduced to a broken, nervous, scared whumpee
dehumanized characters who reject their dehumanization, who scream that they're a person, they're human, they're just like you!! vs dehumanized characters who embrace their inhuman status, who don't care if they're perceived as dangerous as long as they're not perceived as lesser, who say 'fuck humanity, I'm something different but I'm still worth the same as you'
more characters with psychic powers who get migraines and seizures after they use them. i wanna see someone kill a bunch of ppl with their mind and then lay in a dark room vomiting for two days
