A whump event set in August, run by @starryybrained
Write-up of prompts & rules under the cut
MAIN PROMPTS:
Day 1: resentment / infection / sinister
Day 2: electricity / dislocation / drugs
Day 3: lonely / paradise / cold
Day 4: shackles / support / stoic
Day 5: gunpoint / gristle / terror
Day 6: high / choking / charred
Day 7: needles / tense / smile
Day 8: angel / bite / mercy
Day 9: fresh meat / tragedy / selfish
Day 10: payback / beast / beating
Day 11: cpr / corrosive / coughing blood
Day 12: storm / stumbling / squirm
Day 13: cave in / catatonic / plane crash
Day 14: itch / skin / hooks
Day 15: hidden enemy / crime / body
Day 16: broken promise / flood / still waters
Day 17: chemicals / count / chronic condition
Day 18: flayed / knew it / shattered
Day 19: head trauma / wires / fuzzy
Day 20: training / jealousy / woozy
Day 21: sorrow / sanguine / system
Day 22: watching / bonded / resistance
Day 23: blanket / bold / crowbar
Day 24: draining / deadly / doomed
Day 25: twisted / aversion / crunch
Day 26: listless / misstep / remember
Day 27: rest / behave / title
Day 28: party / mania / limit
Day 29: exile / leash / fault
Day 30: quiet / pinned / perfect
Day 31: free day
ALT PROMPTS:
Alien
Headline
Tradeoff
Disappear
Freak show
Worry
Power hungry
Shadows
Reconditioning
Blindfold
Reunion
GUIDELINES:
Prompts should ideally be responded to in the form of whump
Creators can make any type of media they want (Yes, this includes any kind of media, no matter how niche. As long as it’s creative, it’s allowed)
Tag & trigger warn your content accordingly. This includes marking NSFW and putting up proper barriers against minors seeing it
You can complete these prompts in tandem with any other event or other prompts (such as in combination with Bad Things Happen Bingo, AU-gust, etc.)
DO NOT use ai or plagiarize
Tag your works as #augustofwhump and/or #augustofwhump2026. In addition to that, you can also tag this account — @augustofwhump. I’ll try to reblog whatever I can!
contents: medical whump, surgery, gore, anaesthesia, sadism, yknow just the general stuff
"Please-"
"Please what?" the Doctor asked, hiding a smile under their mask.
"Just- Just put me under for this. I don't want to- I can't do this anymore."
He really was desperate. After days of being denied painkillers, practically slipping in and out of consciousness, his body trying it's best to recover from the previous procedures, he really couldn't take it much longer. Now he laid on the table once again, strapped down for yet an other operation.
As the Patient begged, the Doctor stopped, studying his pained expression, as if contemplating his fate.
"Okay." they said after an uncomfortably long pause, "If you give me a good enough reason, I'll put you under."
"Like- like what?" he asked under his breath. His head spun. He tried to collect his thoughts, gritting his teeth through the pain as the Doctor continued slicing his way inside his abdomen.
"Tell me why I should do this for you."
He let out a groan, shaking in agony and frustration.
"Come on." the Doctor taunted.
"I-I don't fucking know! I can't really think while you're elbow-deep in my stomach."
The painkillers didn't do much, as usually, the dose kept to the bare minimum, only to stop him from passing out on the table. The sensation of being cut open wasn't really something he got used to, no matter how many times he had to suffer through it.
"How about this." the Doctor started, "If you let me take something, I'll give you anaesthesia. The real kind. You'll fall asleep and won't feel or remember anything."
"Take something?"
"Yes. Something from inside you."
"So like- A finger won't do, right?"
"I don't want to start amputating yet."
The Patient would've started sobbing at the implication, the thought of being slowly hollowed out and having all necessary parts removed, eventually ending up as a limbless shell of a human, kept alive solely at the Doctor's mercy. But he did not have the time or the capacity to really think about that.
He instead considered his chances, closing his eyes shut, attempting to ignore the white-hot pain searing through his body. Everything the Doctor could take, they have already taken. His appendix, gallbladder, parts of his liver, his spleen. His tonsils have been removed when he was a child– and he wasn't even sure if that would have sufficed for them.
"A-A rib?" he said, which granted a surprised raise of eyebrows from their tormentor. "I mean- there's not much left in me to take."
"I suppose you're right. Although that would mean an other incision. Apart from the one I've already made." they sunk their gloved fingers in the cut in the middle of his abdomen.
"I'm not- I'm not having you take my guts out. Fuck that."
The Doctor laughed.
"Yes, that would've been my first option. But if you're so dead set on your ribs, we can do that." they said while drawing a syringe full of a white substance.
The Patient laid frozen in anticipation, taking small, hitched breaths to avoid the gash on his stomach causing even more pain. Still, his body shook with each inhale. He waited, his eyes hazed over by tears but still following the Doctor's movements. He watched as they pushed the contents of the syringe into the IV line. Then, he felt the calm wash over him, and for the first time in what seemed like years, his consciousness faded to painless nothing.
June of Doom 13: Electrocution + August of Whump 8: Defiance
Masterlist
CW: Electric torture
“You could avoid this, you know. Just do what I want and you won’t have to go through anything more.”
Whumpee just snarled in response.
Whumper shrugged lightly, as if they were agreeing to disagree on what ice cream flavor was the best instead of deciding to torture someone over a totally reasonable lack of cooperation.
Whumper flipped a switch. Whumpee screamed as pain ripped through them. They saw stars. They lost control of their movement as their muscles spasmed.
It went on for several seconds that felt like hours, and then Whumper flipped it back off.
“Changed your mind yet?”
No, Whumpee thought, but didn’t deign to give them an answer. Whumper took their silence as the negative it was.
Again, white, searing pain, and a loss of control over their own body as the electricity ran through them.
“You gonna cooperate now?” Whumper checked in.
Whumpee called Whumper a choice insult, in a voice that was now significantly weaker than their will.
The soreness of muscles overtaxed by electrical stimulation was drowned out by a brighter, more acute pain as Whumper shocked them again. “I can do this a lot longer than you,” Whumper said before turning it off once more. “Either you can give in to me, or we can continue until you lose consciousness.”
Whumpee glared. There wouldn’t be much point in feigning unconsciousness if their reaction to the next bout of electricity would give them away anyway. But they weren’t giving in to this. They would have to hope unconsciousness came sooner rather than later.
He was backed into a corner. The streets were dark, he had low hopes in anyone finding him.
Blood was dripping from his nose, painting a small red river down his chin; he didn't dare raise a hand to wipe it off.
"Got nothing to say now, smartass?" The other man's voice broke the silence while he stared at the shiny metal pointed right at his face.
"Usually I'm the one holding the gun. Guess everyone must have a first experience, mh?" He replied with an half assed smile, feeling his heart thumping like never before. He couldn't panic now. He could never.
"Ah, there it is." The man sounded almost satisfied. "Thought I had scared ya for good now." His finger itched for the trigger, but he didn't shoot.
"Now, if you wanna keep your sorry ass alive, you're gonna have to do me a little favor... Got it?"
He sighed.
"Wow, at least where I'm from they simply send a bullet to your head, they mostly skip all the useless talk." He almost managed to look completely unbothered. Almost.
Jean's eyes shot open, the cold, oppressive darkness drew in from all sides. He looked down to where he'd kicked off the blankets, the fleshy, uneven nub of his right arm twitched. Flinching, he looked away. He grit his teeth, struggling to wrench himself forwards. The nub kept twitching painfully, flailing of its own accord. Jean did his best to ignore it, dragging himself towards Marco.
Marco whimpered, wrapped in his sheets. His one exposed eye was crying, the lids clenched tightly. His rest was anything but peaceful. Jean could feel his own eyes water as he dragged himself closer, his chest was aching, that thing had wrapped itself tightly around his heart and lungs. It was stealing from his body, but it was too deep in for him to remove. He could only watch helplessly as it consumed the both of them.
His hand had only just managed to brush Marco's back when dread filled his bones. The cabin's door opened with a soft creak, frigid air billowing in from the snowstorm outside.
"Jean? What are you doing up?" Reiner's voice crawled across his body like a marching sheet of ice. "You need to stay in your own bed, you can cuddle when you're both better."
"No…!" He could barely wheeze, his arm flailing for purchase as Reiner grabbed him. With his superior health, he could lift him effortlessly, and carry him back to his bed.
"Stay in bed, Jean." Reiner said sternly, tightly wrapping the blankets around him.
Jean glared at Reiner, the one defiant action he could still manage in his weakened state. However, Reiner either didn't notice or straight up ignored this, opting instead to adjust his pillows and neatly tuck him in. Jean's frustration only grew as Reiner began to purr softly. He shut his eyes tightly when Reiner nuzzled him, flinching at the tingling feeling of his whiskers.
"There, there, Marco." Bertholdt's voice made Jean open his eyes once more. The lanky traitor was gently caressing Marco's face. "It's okay, I'm here…"
He wanted to yell, to scream, to lunge out of that bed and bite down on Bertholdt's damn neck. Tears rolled down his cheeks, his emotions coming to a fever pitch. However, he found himself frozen, an icy dread latching onto something within him.
Marco nuzzled Bertholdt, and leaned into his touch.
August of Whump DAY 3: On Display – Black and Blue
CW: CW: Torture, forced to watch, physical abuse, bound and gagged, self-harm, child abuse (implied).
Moi’s father dragged the chair to one side of the room before pointing at it and looking at his son.
“Sit down,” he ordered.
Moi’s legs trembled, but he obeyed, walking with slow, heavy movements before lowering himself onto the hard wooden chair.
The man then walked over to the table full of tools and returned holding a roll of duct tape. He peeled the edge free and began binding Moi’s wrists behind the chair’s backrest. The young man stayed frozen, not even bothering to struggle, a chill running down his spine at the sharp rip of the tape as it wrapped around him, immobilizing his arms.
“Right,” his father said once he was done. “Now you’re going to stay there. This time you’re going to watch me work.”
The words took a moment to sink in, but eventually Moi’s brain caught up to what they meant.
“What…?”
Before he could say anything more, he was interrupted by Liam’s cry as his father punched him in the stomach. The young man collapsed to the floor, curling in on himself in an attempt to regain his breath. The man straddled him, ripping his shirt off, then grabbed a coil of rope and tied Liam’s wrists in front of him, moving on to his legs right after.
Used to mistreatment, Liam didn’t even try to struggle or defend himself, only letting out muffled protests when a rag was shoved roughly into his mouth and sealed over with a strip of duct tape.
Meanwhile, Moi stared, his mouth open, heart pounding in his chest.
“Dad, what are you going to do?” he asked, swallowing hard. A thousand images flashed in his mind, each worse than the last, each something he desperately didn’t want to see.
“You need to learn, Moisés,” his father said. With another coil of rope, he tied Liam’s wrists and then passed the rope over one of the ceiling beams, pulling and pulling until the young man was lifted, hanging by his arms, his feet just inches above the floor.
With his bare chest showing old marks of abuse, Liam looked like a slab of meat on display at a butcher’s shop.
The man tied the end of the rope to a metal ring in the floor, then gave Liam’s sunken stomach a shove, making him sway forward and back like a piñata.
“Watch closely, Moisés. This is what happens when you disobey me.”
A furious punch landed against Liam’s abdomen. His eyes shot open and a muffled groan of pain slipped past the gag. A second, a third blow followed, then another, and another, and another still.
Moi’s lower lip began to tremble. He tried to get up, but with his hands bound behind the chair’s back, he couldn’t stop his best friend from being treated like a punching bag.
The man kept hitting and hitting. The basement filled with the sound of flesh on bone, skin against skin, Liam’s muffled cries of pain, and Moi’s ragged breathing.
“Dad, please stop, stop!” Moi cried. He had started sobbing, pathetic whimpers escaping his lips no matter how hard he tried to hold them back.
Liam opened his eyes and gave him a sad look.
His father turned and walked toward him.
“You think that just because you ask me, I’m going to stop, you worthless little shit? You betrayed me, and you expect me to forgive you just like that? The only reason I’m not killing that son of a bitch is because I want you to learn, to learn the consequences of your actions, what I can do if you disobey me. I’m going to make him suffer, and you’re going to watch so you learn that your actions have consequences, so you learn never to defy me again. Understood?”
Moi didn’t answer, his wet eyes fixed on his father, more sobs and garbled apologies spilling from his throat.
“DID YOU UNDERSTAND ME OR NOT?!” the man roared. His voice thundered off the four walls like a storm.
“Y-yes!” Moi answered. He took a deep breath and bit his lip.
His father looked at him with disgust and contempt.
“I feel like slapping those tears right off your face, you pathetic little fag,” he spat, before turning back to the table of tools. He picked up a wooden stick, once part of a broom. “You’re going to count to fifty.”
He swung his arm back and struck forward. The wood cracked against Liam’s abdomen with a loud snap. Liam let out a cry of pain. Moi sat frozen, jaw hanging open. Suddenly, his voice wouldn’t come out.
“I didn’t hear you start,” his father said, delivering a second strike, this one to the ribs. The smell of blood rose as skin split open.
“T-two!” Moi exclaimed.
His father gave him a reproachful look.
“Two? I didn’t hear you say One. Start over.”
He delivered a third blow. Liam’s muffled screams of agony grew, and tears slid down his face.
Moi swallowed hard.
“One,” he said. The number burned on his tongue.
Another strike followed, the stick whistling through the air before crashing hard into its target.
“Two…”
Time passed slow and agonizing.
Moi felt like he barely had air to speak, but he forced himself to count loud and clear. If he didn’t, his father wouldn’t acknowledge it.
After the twenty-eighth blow (which was really the thirty-second), Liam seemed to lose consciousness. His head fell limp forward, and he no longer reacted to the pain. Still, Moi’s father made him count all the way to fifty, after which he finally let the stick fall to the floor, now spattered with scarlet.
That’s when Moi broke down crying. His throat burned, felt tight, breathing hurt, his lungs compressed, his face stung as if the tears were acid eating away at his skin—but no pain could compare to the ache in his heart, to Liam’s pain.
Liam still hung from the ceiling, a bloody trophy. The skin of his chest, stomach, sides, and back was raw, stamped with the stick’s shape as though branded, some spots even bleeding. Was he still breathing? Moi couldn’t see clearly through his tears.
Moi’s father lowered Liam, running his hands over the injured skin.
“He’ll just have a few broken ribs, he won’t die,” he announced.
He untied Liam’s hands only to bind them again, this time behind his back, and replaced the duct tape in his mouth with a thinner rag, wedged between his teeth and tied behind his head.
“There. Now you won’t be whining that he’ll choke to death or something,” he said, dragging the limp body over to the mattress in the corner and letting him drop onto it.
He walked over to his son and cut the tape binding him. With a hard yank, he pulled him from the chair and dragged him up the stairs, out of the basement.
“P-please, Dad, let me stay with him, he’s hurt…”
His father silenced him with a single look.
“Wait until next weekend,” he said, shoving Moi into his room and slamming the door shut.
Moi stayed on the floor, dissolving into tears. The pain in his gut made him think it was from hunger, but food was the last thing on his mind—this pain felt like his very existence was being eaten away.
It’s my fault, he repeated in his head.
He imagined Liam waking up alone in the basement, bound and gagged, black and blue, knowing he could have save himself the beating if Moi didn't try to escape.
The young man scratched at his arms, trying to chase away the crawling under his skin. The memories of when his father beat him came back in crushing sensations, remembering the times he had to hide his own black and blue marks, times when Liam was the only one who tried to defend him.
And now Liam was…
Think about that every time you believe you can run away, a sinister voice in his mind said.
Moi had always believed that by accepting this pact, he was doing something good—that he was giving himself a chance to act, to take care of Liam, to keep his friend alive while he looked for a way to escape his father’s control. But now he understood the truth: he had never had any power here. Neither of them had. Moi was nothing but a forced witness to the violence of a father who had never seen him as anything but a disappointment and who, even fourteen years later, still ruled that house with an iron fist and blood.
No, escape was impossible. Moi knew that now.
The young man only hoped that Liam could survive until the next time they saw each other, so he could at least apologize. Saying sorry was the only thing he could do.
To be continued...
Taglist: @spooksydoo
I finally found some inspiration to continue this story! Thanks so much for reading!
