St0rmm_

Never Sleeps I just reblog shit tbh

[lets-play-gwent]

thank you to every single fucking person on this god forsaken site that has ever posted your own art or writing. You really put a vulnerable, important part of yourself out in the open on the hellscape that is the internet and if that isnt an act of bravery and a labor of love I dont know what one is

[mylifewhump]

Okay get this... aftercare AFTER NONCON

Gently cooing in their ear prasing echo good they where "baby you were so good" "made me feel so good"

In the bath gently cleaning their exhausted and shivering body.

Carrying them back to because they're to tired or in pain to move

Hand feeding the some soup.

Cuddling them up in bed and running fingers through their hair.

Lulling them to sleep in your arms

[artists-apeiron]

Caretaker smiles. Whumpee is horrified

«You did it, Whumpee. We made it.»

«What the fuck were you thinking?»

Oh.

«Why on earth would you come back there?»

«I’m not sorry, I couldn’t just-»

«Do you have the slightest clue of what you’ve done? What Whumper will do to us? In comparison Brisge will be a fucking delux center.»

«Whumpee, you need to breath»

«I need to go back.»

«Absolutely not»

«I- I need to apologize»

«For what? Hitting them back?»

«Leave me!»

«Whumpee, you go you never come back. You said it yourself, they’re more than dangerous. They’re psychotic.»

«I have to, Caretaker, they’ll be so upset-»

«Fuck them. They aren’t here»

«They’ll be so angry. They- they’re going to kill me, Caretaker. They’ll hang you, with the other fools and I’ll watch. I disobeyed a direct order. We aren’t getting out of this one. I-.» but they didn’t even know how to continue that sentence

«Whumpee, you’re rambling. We’re not at the court anymore. We’re safe»

«We’re fucked! Why did you have to come back, uh? Why couldn’t you just stay away? For once in your life, why couldn’t you make it easy?»

«For fuck’s sake Whumpee, look at me. They aren’t here. You’re safe.»

Whumpee stared at them, not fully grasping what those words meant

«You’re safe. We did it, Whumpee. We escaped»

«We- we did it (?)»

«We did»

«Oh god,» Whumpee passes a hand through the hair and a chuckle escapes them «we did it»

They keep laughing and despite their anger, Caretaker joins in too until they’re both bent in half holding on to each other not to fall

«How?»

Whumpee asks with tears in their eyes

«I have no clue»

[whumpshaped]

#3 or #12 with villain whumpee?

prompt list

content: bad caretaker (unintentional), hero villain whump, villain whumpee, hero caretaker, whumper turned whumpee, uhhh whumper turned caretaker?? there was some mutual whumping before this, i don't know man

"I can't help you if you don't want to be helped," Hero said. Villain scoffed.

"What, are we a team now?"

"A team? We? No, definitely not. But you're bleeding, I have some first-aid training, and out of the two of us, I don't like to see others die."

Villain glanced down at their wound. Blood was seeping through their fingers. Their nervous — they were trying to hide it, but they were definitely nervous — eyes finding Hero's again. "Fine," they spat, like it physically hurt them. "Take a look at it, doc."

"If you think I'm doing this for fun—" they started, but when Villain actually took their hand away, and they got a look at the wound, their whole trajectory changed. "Holy shit!"

"You did this!"

"No, I— I did? I didn't mean to, I—" they stammered. Had they really injured Villain so badly? This looked... lethal.

"What, you suddenly don't want to help anymore?"

"Don't act like you weren't trying to prevent me from helping two seconds ago!"

"Can you do anything about it or no?"

Hero's eyes were flicking between the wound and Villain's face. "I can try?"

Villain let out a humourless laugh. "Oh, that's very reassuring. I definitely won't die today."

"Okay, let's not act like the wound is undeserved—"

Villain suddenly hissed in pain. "Fuck," they said emphatically. "Just do something! It fucking hurts!"

"Okay! Okay! Let's just... Let's try something."

[justlikeotherchemists]

CWs: implied beating, restraints, hand whump.

Team Leader no longer fought the restraints tying them down to the chair. The beating drained them of any remaining energy, so the only thing they could focus on was breathing through the pain.

"Here's how it's gonna go," Whumper grabbed Team Leader's chin, admiring their already bruised face. "I will now call Teammate, and you will tell them to drop the case: say it's been solved, send them on vacation... whatever. Just make sure they stop."

Team Leader met Whumper's gaze and blinked once, exhausted and resigned. Whumper let go of their chin and pressed the button on the phone. The dial tone echoed in a nearly empty room.

"Hello?" Teammate's voice came through the speaker after a few moments.

"Hi, Teammate, just checking in on your project," Team Leader put in an enormous effort to sound calm and even vaguely cheerful.

"Oh, it's going well! With the evidence I found, we should be able to prove Whumper's guilt."

"Great," Team Leader threw a glance in Whumper's direction. "Do hurry up, though."

Whumper's face darkened. They quietly put the phone on the nearby table and grabbed Team Leader's pinky, slowly bending it as a threat.

"Yes, I will. Leave it to me!" Teammate replied eagerly.

Team Leader's face contorted as they tried and failed to stifle a yelp.

"Is everything alright?" Teammate asked with concern.

"Y-yesss," Team Leader hissed. "I'm just busy. Gotta go. Good luck with your investigation," they rattled off as soon as they managed to steady their voice, somewhat.

"Right, thanks. Talk to you later!" Teammate said.

They sounded relaxed, completely unaware of what was happening.

The moment the call was over, something snapped, and Team Leader screamed.

Tag list: @whumplicity

[the-baby-storyteller]

Cw for minor whump

Adoption Whump

Think a teenaged character in an orphanage or foster care. They’d always had a relatively good life; despite being orphaned their home was always filled with lots of other kids like them and they were happy. But, they’d heard horror stories of the horrible lives kids lived after adoption. Lives of abuse, of fear, of pain. They’d be put through endless torment, used, thrown around and beaten up, degraded simply because they were helpless, without a family, without a way to call for help. They shuddered at the thought, but surely, those stories were just that right? Stories. They were satisfied with their comfortable life, and if they ever got adopted, well, they were sure it couldn’t be that bad.

They were right on one front.

It wasn’t bad.

It was worse than they could have ever imagined.

The home seemed nice from the outside, a beautiful exterior, lush greenery, fountains sprawled over the grounds. Everything appeared to be perfect. To the average onlooker it would seem like a luxurious place for anyone to reside. It only made the reality of the situation ten times worse. Once inside, though still littered with decoration, the atmosphere was different. A threatening and frightening energy lingered in the air and the teen turned slowly toward their new owner. And that’s when it began.

The pain.

If asked, the teen couldn’t tell you what their daily life there was like. It was all jumbled together and fuzzy, their thoughts incoherent, clouded by suffering. There was only one thing that remained stable the whole time.

Hurt. Beatings. Pain. Anger. Hands. Kicks. Punches. Pain.

Each day was filled with impossible loads of tasks to accomplish.

Clean every inch of the house and do the laundry. Cook dinner and take care of my kids. Go out to buy groceries and entertain the guests. And I want this done before I get back.

They didn't talk to anyone except to be reprimanded for things out of their control. Every word said to them was meant to beat down, to crush. And when, not if, they didn't complete the overwhelming amount of work...well, they didn't like to talk about what happened then.

They went through life with eyes glazed over and a mind that constantly wished to be away, away from life, away from reality. The only thing they wanted was to leave.

Then, they were adopted by a rich person.

When they heard the news, they grew even more draw in and frighteningly quiet. Their old foster parent was overjoyed to get rid of them which only made them more fearful for what was to come, terrified of what their new parent owner would do to them.

They arrived at the new house and were in awe of how grand it was. Every crevice of the exterior was fully decorated to display their wealth. But, the only thing it could make the teen think of was how much worse they would be hurt here.

They heard footsteps approaching and immediately directed their head downward, trying to radiate submission and not wanting to anger their new owner.

The footsteps got closer and they hunched in further as their heart rate sped up, until finally two feet stopped in front of them. They held their breath for a moment, waiting for something to happen, a word, and order, a sigh, a kick or a slap even. A hand suddenly came into their view and they held back a flinch, but it just slowly rose until it gently met their cheek.

"Hi." A soft voice said.

Their heart jumped and they widened their eyes. That voice was smoother than anything they'd heard before.

"Can I see your face?"

The teen blinked dumbly for a moment, then registered they were being spoken to, not spoken at and had to hold back a jump at the unfamiliarity of the question. Why would they ask me-

"What's your name, love?"

The teen realized too late that they'd taken too long to respond, lost in their own worries and thoughts. They quivered slightly at the consequences of ignoring their owner and being reproached already, but..

'Love...'

"W-Whumpee..." The teen whispered quietly, lowering their eyes and wishing they could curl in on themself and become smaller. They couldn't ignore a direct question, but were terrified knowing talking was a sure way to get into trouble. But the hand that was still on their face wasn't letting them escape.

Against their expectations, they weren't scorned or spit at for saying their name. Instead they heard a light response.

"Hello, Whumpee," They could almost hear the smile (smile?) in the voice, "My name is Caretaker."

"Would you look at me, dear?"

Their breath caught and their eyes darted around as their brain hastened to find the right thing to say. They couldn't in good conscience look their owner in the eye but the certainly couldn't disobey an order. Amidst their wrestling, they must have absently nodded their head because, to their terror, the hand on their cheek started raising their face.

Their breathing picked up but there was nothing they could do except let it happen until they were finally face to face with the person who would control their fate for the foreseeable future. They expected to see a harsh, stony face to match their status, but instead were met with overwhelming calm, a warm aura, and a tender charm that made them want to melt. Caretaker oozed control and confidence, and the teen could tell they held a lot of power; they held themself high, were dressed in sophisticated clothing, and Whumpee had to crane their neck to meet their gaze. And yet, there was a soft feeling about them and their face was filled with kindness.

"Thank you." Caretaker smiled with squinty eyes that reminded them of the little kids at the orphan home.

The teen had never been more confused, afraid, and in the presence of such serenity all at once.

[whumpup]

parental caretaker struggling with how much authority they should assert. whumpee is independent and smart, yes, but they're also a kid. a very unstable one, at that. they try a few times, and notice the way the light in their eye fades, or a deep rage ignites. whumpee lashes out, eventually apologizing, and caretaker's not sure how to respond to it.

otherwise: kid whumpee who just. listens to them entirely. maybe they're the first person to have shown kindness to them, parental one no less. they feel that they can lose them any second, so therefore, they must keep up caretaker's whims. caretaker slowly becomes concerned about this, and whumpee panics, having upset them.

[fineiguessimintowhump]

Villain doesn't even need to restrain Hero. Hero is unable to defeat them and if they left, well. They wouldn't forgive themselves if Villain started killing, would they? Kept in villain's home, relatively obedient all because of that threat. Sure. They can leave - the door's right there and open.

If they accept that Villain will take someone else, and again when that person dies. And again.

Sometimes Villain locks them in their room to have fun with someone else and is always so delighted to hear Hero beg to be the one to get hurt instead.

it's not even about hurting them, really, more about seeing how much pain it takes for hero to be able to live with the guilt.

[dying-crying-pining]

reasons B might be holding A’s face in both hands

• calming A down or keeping them from passing out. “it’s just you and me, yeah? you and me, breathing. you can do that, right, A? c’mon. breathe with me again.”

• distracting A from a heavily bleeding wound or broken bone being set. “ah, ah, ah. look at me. lemme see those pretty brown eyes.”

• shaking them back to awareness, or trying. “A? jesus. A?! you with me?”

• pulling them out of a trance or a freeze-up. “hey. hey.” *pats A on the cheek* “there you are. keep moving, kid.”

• B brushes away A’s tears with the rough pads of their thumbs. could be hospital aftermath, or the end of a traumatic, adrenaline charged moment and the realization of the true cost is hitting A like a ton of bricks. “i know,” B whispers. doesn’t shy away from the uncontrolled, raw display of emotion. holds fast. “i know.”

• A desperately needs rest and finally passes out with B there to anchor them. “let go, kid. i’ve got you.”

[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

[tracingthetapestry]

"hold on, pl-ease," whumpee gasped out, doubling over in excruciating pain. there was something tearing inside of them, as if they were coming apart. they knew it. this was— this was different than the low thrumming pinch of the daily bruises.

"I don't have time for your whining right now," they heard, as if from a distance. there was a sharp ringing in their ears. it intensified to a pitch as whumper grabbed at their hair and yanked them upright. the agony was unlike any— a fever eclipsing their vision as blood coated their tongue. something was terribly wrong.

even so, whumper delivered a sharp kick to their torso when they wouldn't get up from their fetal position. with a last coughing cry, they felt everything fade away into inky blackness.

[whumpologyy]

The quiet moments after a freshly post-rescue Whumpee falls asleep next to Caretaker. Caretaker looking at Whumpee’s slack expression, the steady rise and fall of their chest, the fact that they’re here and alive and trust Caretaker enough to sleep next to them, and finally feeling the dam of their emotions break

[survivesurvivingwhump]

Psychic Whumper can make Whumpee feel whatever physical sensations Whumper is feeling. So when Whumper has consensual sex with someone else, Whumpee feels it. Does the other partner even know what's going on? It's bad enough when it happens at home, but sometimes Whumpee is in public and struggles not to react. The worst part is that since Whumper isn't actually touching them, Whumpee doesn't know if they can call it assault.

what really gets me about situations like this is the thought of like... if this is an ongoing thing. not constant but frequently enough. the exhaustion of it, the terror that it could happen at any moment. the way their body feels like a toy that belongs to someone else, that's played with when they're bored and put away when they're tired of it. is it even really assault?

it's invisible. there's no proof, no evidence. things are happening to whumpee's body, but they aren't. there's nothing happening to them.

and then the point where they just can't take it on their own anymore. they need to tell someone. and so they find the person they trust the most, the one who will believe them, the one who won't be disgusted and unable to look at them the same away again.

so whumpee and caretaker work out a plan. they figure out what level of company whumpee can tolerate - if they need caretaker to be sitting in the next room over, or if they can tolerate caretaker sitting on the floor beside their bed while they huddle inside it, hiding from the world as they gasp and tremble their way through another assault. sometimes, they can even stand to have caretaker hold their hand, anchor them in the actual world around them.

(if they didn't feel like they'd be doing something horrible and violating to caretaker by allowing it, whumpee thinks maybe they'd want to be held. but they can't. they just- they can't let that happen. even the thought feels like they would be assaulting caretaker by being in their arms while their body experienced that.)

[whumpie-comforts]

Multiple Whumpees but focused on the recovery stage instead of the whump stage. Maybe there's one Caretaker, maybe multiple whom all take care of the Whumpees, but care is split equally between the Caretakers. Either way, now Caretaker (I will be using only one for my ideas for this prompt) has to figure out how to deal with multiple traumatized Whumpees. Even better if they all went through the same trauma so Caretaker assumes they will all be similar but in reality they all act very different. Maybe you have one very open Whumpee and one stoic one, and the open one asks Caretaker to stop doing something and Caretaker does the same for stoic Whumpee but actually stoic Whumpee really liked what they were doing. So many delicious miscommunication options.

[meraki24601]

Living Weapon Part 2

Part 1

Caretaker wasn’t weak. Years of living on their own had required them to build enough muscle to fend for themselves. Sure, it wasn’t uncommon for friends to visit when Caretaker was feeling up to company, but as a general rule, they alone were responsible for taking care of their home and everything in it. 

Everything and everyone. Unknown, injured mystery guests included.

The problem was… Weapon was heavy. And unconscious.

Sweat poured down Caretaker’s back just thinking about carrying Weapon upstairs to their spare bedroom. They’d hoped Weapon would wake up, grateful for the gentle nursing Caretaker had given them, and walk to the bed on their own two feet, especially since they’d already dragged them nearly three miles out of the forest. 

At least this time no one was drenched in blood. It seemed their stitches were going to hold as well. Weapon was clean and wrapped up in nearly every bandage in the house. 

That in mind, Caretaker’s current top priorities were: settling Weapon somewhere they could rest, throwing themselves into the hottest shower imaginable, and finally sleeping for the next two days. The order of completion was still flexible. 

 Every exhausted muscle in their body shook as they lowered Weapon onto the mattress. The blankets on the bed were thin, but soft. Hopefully, they would be able to sleep easily without overheating or too much pain.

The last light of the day reached through the window and brushed across Weapon's face. Caretaker couldn’t say they looked peaceful in the warm glow. Heavy scars marred their skin, casting shadows that distorted their features. Scars that matched the marks covering most of their body. A history that couldn’t be forgotten.

They turned away. That would have to be good enough for now. A hot shower just took top priority on their to-do list.

And yet, Caretaker couldn’t seem to enjoy it. Wind buffeting the house until it groaned became Weapon crying out in pain in their ears. Heavy drips from the leaky faucet were Weapon's footsteps on the way out the door, too scared to realize they had been brought to a safe place. Every flicker of the old lightbulb was a sign that whoever had abandoned Weapon for dead had returned to finish the job. A shower could do nothing to clean Caretaker’s mind. 

Of course, Weapon was fine. They hadn’t so much as twitched in their sleep when Caretaker returned to the room to check on them one last time. Alive and breathing, comfortable and slow.

Weapon continued to sleep through most of the next day. Through Caretaker’s stumbling around, cleaning up the clutter that built up while the room was empty. Changing their bandages nearly roused them, but their pinched expression smoothed back, and they never opened their eyes.

Caretaker had no choice but to leave for more bandages soon after. They hadn’t had enough to replace all the original ones. Leaving them for much longer would open up too many opportunities for infection. 

They were sure the poor teen at the checkout lane would report them. Their eyes had widened at the mountain of first aid supplies. As Caretaker caught a falling bandage and mumbled an excuse they couldn’t remember seconds after it had been said, they motioned for a passing employee to stay nearby. It was a subtle motion, but one Caretaker had been looking for, and they seemed to know it.

Yet, no one stopped Caretaker. Eyes followed them, sure, but no one brought in management or pressured Caretaker for a more acceptable answer. 

When they made it home, a noise upstairs was nearly covered by the crashing of the heavy shopping bags on the counter. It had, it seemed, been too much to hope their guest would continue sleeping through their absence. They had a feeling they should be grateful they weren’t immediately attacked upon opening the front door.

Knock knock. Caretaker kept the warning of their presence soft so as not to scare Weapon. The last thing they needed was to strain their wounds by jumping at the sound of the door. “Excuse me, Weapon? Are you awake? I’ve got fresh bandages for you.”

Silence.

Caretaker peeked in the door. 

A trail of blankets led to where Weapon was kneeling. One end was still wrapped around their left foot. Their hands rested extremely still in their lap, a bandage only half wrapped up their arm from where they appeared to have been rewrapping it. Despite the noise of panic Caretaker made as they entered the room, they kept their eyes trained on a spot in the floor only they could see. 

“Holy… What happened? Why are you out of bed? Are you okay? Moving didn’t rip your stitches, did it?”

“No.” Weapon’s voice was gravelly from disuse. “My stitches are in acceptable condition.”

Kneeling beside Weapon, Caretaker dumped their bag of supplies and reached for their hand. “Are you sure? I should probably have a look anyway. Can I help you finish rebinding your arm? It looks way too tight. Does it hurt?”

Weapon’s eyes flick up for a split second before settling back down. They hold their arm out in front of them and chew on just enough of their lower lip to notice the motion. 

“Thank you.” Caretaker decides to remove the hanging bandage altogether and grabs a new, clean one from the pile. “You didn’t answer the question. Are you hurting much?”

Hand twitching in Caretaker’s grasp, Weapon shook their head. “The pain is within acceptable parameters.”

“So you are in pain. I’d be shocked if you weren’t. I’d like to get some food in you before you take some medicine. Do you think you’ll be okay waiting for me to heat up some of the soup I bought? Goodness, I think you’ve got a fever now as well.”

When Caretaker looked up from their arm, Weapon flinched away. They had finally been looking up, but curled in on themselves like they expected to be attacked for the action. It wasn’t painting a good picture of what they had been put through. Or easing the tension of how they had been found. 

Caretaker kept their movements slow and readable as they lifted Weapon’s head to look at them. “You’re safe now. Do you understand?”

“No, Master.”

Caretaker startled a little at the title. “What don’t you understand?”

Weapon sat silent. Their eyes were tortured with things they weren’t saying.

“Are you in pain?” 

“The pain is within acceptable parameters.”

“So the answer is yes?” Caretaker let their thumb rub lightly over Weapon’s scarred cheek and tried not to startle when they leaned ever so slightly into the touch. 

“Yes, Master.”

“Can you wait until after you’ve eaten some soup to take something for the pain, or do you need the relief first?”

Weapon’s lips parted in a light pant as their eyes flicked across Caretaker’s face, searching. Even they didn’t seem to know what they were searching for. No words could seem to slip past that wall of panic. 

Caretaker released their face, hoping some distance would ease their anxiety. “Hey, you’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay if you don’t have an answer. All I’m trying to do is figure out the best way to help.”

“Why?” 

The single word, an unpermitted question, broke the wall. Weapon curled in on themselves. Hands on the back of their neck, elbows touching the ground, and knees spreading slightly wider. Their back was exposed. Sides open. Breathing thick with fear.

“Hey, hey, no! You’re going to rip your stitches!” Caretaker gasped and pulled Weapon back upright. “It’s okay! Slow your breathing. I’m not going to hurt you. It was a good question.” 

Weapon helped Caretaker shift their body back until they were resting against the side of the bed. They looked exhausted and yet completely aware of every move Caretaker made. Only, unlike the first time they woke up, they didn’t seem to be considering attacking as an option. There was only acceptance for whatever Caretaker decided to do. 

Checking their stitches carefully, Caretaker sighed with relief. “It’s alright. You’ve only opened up one small spot on your arm. I’ll need to change the bandage for that, but we can wait until it stops bleeding first.”

Weapon wasn’t looking at them again. 

“Hey, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Master.” 

“Then pay close attention. I will not intentionally hurt you. I do not want you to be in pain. I do want you to tell me what you need and anything else I might need to know. As well as anything you want me to know. I don’t know what all whoever abandoned you like this did, but you are safe here.”

Caretaker could have sworn they saw a tear in Weapon’s eye before it was blinked away. 

“Do you have any food allergies I need to know about?”

“No, Master.”

“Okay. Here’s what is going to happen.” Caretaker lifted Weapon’s face again so they could see the calm honesty in their expression. “I am going to go downstairs for a bit. You need medicine for the pain, but I’m not sure how long it’s been since you’ve eaten, and I don’t want you to throw it up on an empty stomach. I’m going to bring you something to eat and some water. Then, we’ll talk.”

[tracingthetapestry]

child whumpee who desperately wants to be left alone when it comes to... what happens at home. last time a teacher had gotten a little too curious after they burst into tears during class, they were the one who had to pay for it.

so they try their best to put on a normal act. and it works. but all it takes for it to come crumbling down is when a well-intentioned tutor notices something amiss— and wants to clarify with the child's guardians.

but it sends whumpee spiralling, as they try to convince their teacher— it's okay, I'm okay with that, or they're fine with it, they know, or I deserved it— every new justification only serving to further cement the grim look on the other's face.

[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.