May 19, 2025
You know, an emotional whump trope I never see is Whumpee crying while performing a relatively mundane task. They’re making food or doing laundry when the emotions just hit all at once.
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You know, an emotional whump trope I never see is Whumpee crying while performing a relatively mundane task. They’re making food or doing laundry when the emotions just hit all at once.
Things about crying I'd love to see in more whump:
- Being tired. Even if they weren't tired before they're tired now. Crying takes energy. Sometimes they sleep easier after crying.
- Eyes hurting. It may just be me but sometimes eyes can hurt after crying. It's not talked about enough.
- Dried tears!! Whumpee who has cried but can't/ doesn't wash their face and so now they can still feel where their tears have dried and their skin is uncomfortable. Perhaps hurting/burning to tie into the last one.
starting a collection
Crying...
Crying in front of others.
Holding it in 'till they're alone.
Holding it in, even when they're alone. Denying it. Denying themself.
Trying to hold it in, yet the tears are out of their control.
Raw, unbridled emotion, finally spilling over the edge; revealing itself in it's purest, ugliest form.
The headaches and tiredness that settle in after the tears finally stop.
A Whumpee cuddling up into Caretaker, still whimpering after sobbing their heart out. They curl up and hide away, knowing they're safe in Caretaker's arms.
CW: captivity, male whumpee, female whumper, asthmatic whumpee, begging, forced intoxication, noncon drugging, restraints, threat of burns, implied past abuse (belt beatings), intimate whumper, degradation, crying
Masterpost
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Otto never thought he would be somewhere like this; surrounded by tons of extravagant luxuries, nightgowns of silk and lace adorning his skin. A life where things like comfort and security were a given and not something you had to fight for. A life like this was always so far out of his eye line it wasn't even a speck on the horizon.
But if he knew the cost before the check was signed, if he had glimpsed the ink that would inevitably seal his fate, he would have happily continued living the ordinary, boring life no one gave a second glace at. He would have gladly played the unimportant side character, a blimp in the background, not once looking back at his decision if he knew what laid within the director’s cut.
Now here he sat: kneeling on the hard floor, bruised knees turning a deep shade of purple from being forced to crawl like a scorned dog. The violent flames of a fire baked his flushed face and stole the air from his already wheezing lungs. They constricted in his chest like an iron vise, hardly able to take in enough air to keep him from crashing to the ground, each breath keeping him on the edge suffocation as the tang of blood became a stain on his tongue. He was on the brink of death with each inhale; fighting for his life on every exhale while his owner constricted the leash on his existence.
His head floated miles above his body, his conciseness just a mere toy for his captor to squeeze and bend at her wish. She was more than satisfied in making him guess whether he’d live or die each day.
Silvanae sat propped in a plush chair, on knee slung over the other, resting on her self appointed pedestal she saw no one else was worthy of. Hovering like a sovereign empress carrying the weight of a heavy crown, wine swirling around in her glass. From a tilt, it almost resembled blood.
A delicately manicured finger hooked itself under Otto’s chin, tilting his teary gaze up to stare into the monarch’s eyes. She smiled as sharply as a wolf down at it’s prey while she brought her glass to his lips. Otto didn't have a chance to reaction let alone resister what was happening before he was drowning in the sting of alcohol, it rolled down his face, mixing with his tears as it soaked his nightgown. He gagged, doubling over to try to stop the burning liquid from stealing what little air he had.
“Just like you to waste a perfectly good wine,” she sneered down at him, letting him go to hack up the last of the drink, accent thick with malice, “No matter, I have plenty more for us to enjoy.”
“Please I—can't breathe I-….please stop–” his pleas were cut short as an inhaler parted his lips. The subtle disperse of fumes entered his airway. A hand clamped down over his nose and mouth until he was forced to inhale the tainted air. Otto’s desperate squirming didn't matter—his struggles slowed under her grasp, head lazing against the hand on the nape of his neck to keep him from escaping.
“Ah ah ah,” she tsked, “Can't have you blacking out on me again.” She hushed him as the smoke settled in his lungs. It was drugged—something that made him twitchy and weak—the perfect concoction to keep him awake yet pliant, bound to the hearth of the fireplace and too feeble to wiggle out of the restraints far too close to the flames.
He wheezed out any foolish hope of escape he had and let the tears fall for the other’s entertainment. If he was lucky maybe he wouldn't remember this in the morning. The bite of the ropes around his wrist would just be another cut he couldn't recall getting. He missed when those used to be tiny scratches, barely noticeable, and not swollen lashes in the shape of belt buckles.
Laughter erupted from above him, “Do you ever not cry? Honestly, you're lucky you're pretty or you would just be pathetic.”
She let go of his face to pour another glass, stopping before it reached her lips. Her eyes glinted dangerously in the fire’s light as she smiled. To Otto, that smile usually meant pain. Deep dread pooled in his gut before she even spoke, inky black tentacles leached off his nerves as she leaned forward, “Why don't we see how many tears this will wring out of you.”
Otto could only beg desperately as Sil’s glass of wine was tipped onto the length of rope.
AI-less Whumptober
Day 1 Torture Tuesday (Public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”)
TW/CW: Generic character, public torture, public humiliation, medival torture, small nausea-adjacent talk, collar, Word count: 531
The way to their punishment was nearly worse than whatever would await them. The townspeople stood and laughed. Scorned and spit at them. As if any of them were any better! They were just to afraid or didn't get caught!
But his anger didn't help him here and frankly it barely made it throught the building fog of dread and shame.
The guards roughly pulled the length of chain attatched to the rough metal collar around the thieves neck. They had arrived at the 'Trülle'. A narrow metal barred cage, barely large enough for a teenager to stand upright in it, less alone an adult. Before Whumpee could protest they were already pushed into the already opened cage and locked in.
Hi Hi Hi (Again)! Do u have any ideas like, quotes or scene ideas or whatever for crying whumpees? Thanks and here's one I came up with half asleep (The best time to make whump imo) If whumper had their memories erased and explained the situation to whumpee... they both look down. When whumper asks what they did, wait, and don't get a reply, they look up to find whumpee shaking and crying.(Shaking & Crying combo always gets me 😍😍😍)
Hiya, glad to see you again!! Ooh, I can for sure make a post listing some lovely prompts around crying whumpees - some off the top of my head include:
- Whumpee breaking down into sobs at the realization that it's over, they're finally safe and out of danger, but there's just so much to process it's utterly overwhelming
- Whumper: "Oh what, tears again? D'you know how completely pathetic you look right now, crying like that over a little pain?"
- Silent tears that leave Whumpee's face damp and cold as they try to move on with their day, unwilling to admit to anyone the extent of what they're still going through
Oh oh and also! I loved the one you came up with, so I used it for a lil drabble!! Hope it does your idea justice! :D
CW: crying, memory loss
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Whumper looked up from the spot on the floor he’d been studying for the past hour. A man and a woman stood some ways away from where he sat in one of the waiting room chairs, both watching him with the same expression of chilled hatred he’d seen on the face of every person he’d talked to since he’d woken from his operation.
The woman spoke again to the man in what she must’ve thought was a hush, “I mean, what good would it do at this point? You’re not going to get an apology from him, especially not now.”
“I just...I have to do this,” Whumpee muttered back. He gave her a brief, meaningful glance before meeting Whumper’s curious gaze again and stepping towards him.
CW: female whumpee/whumper, no holds barred beat down, slight emeto, crying, begging, blood and bruises, slight emotional whump, sadistic whumper, pet names
@ladywhumpdiaries
Day #7 of the lwd event: Asexual career woman
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Whumpee slings her bag over her shoulder, biding the passing graveyard of desks and chairs good night after a long day. Staying this late really wasn't working for her sleep schedule, but it payed off.
Speaking of, she stopped when her feet scuffed the worn carpet leading to the elevator, pushing the button before pulling out her phone to check it. The screen is almost blinding in the dark hallway she stands in, most of the lights shut off due to the hour, dramatizing the handful of unread messages with a burst of white ebbing into the default blue of the overhead lights. All from caretaker.
The most recent one was a simple ask to text them back when they got off. It wasn't unusual for whumpee to miss a few texts. By now her and caretaker had a game not unlike tag going between the two of them.
The elevator dinged, the dim light signifying it's stop popping up above her, steel doors opening wide. Her attention was still on her phone as she stepped inside and pushed the button to the garage.
A smile caught her lips as she typed her response to caretaker, completely ignoring the other texts, she was too impatient to wait till she got home to tell them about her promotion. All those late hours and early mornings, the work that numbed and cramped her fingers, it all payed off. And with the increased pay she could finally help out with the house more.
She shot the text off immediately. She didn't expect caretaker to read it right away, of course, but she kept her phone open for a few more seconds before closing it and returning it to her pocket.
Looking up, she caught a glimpse at her rippled reflection in the dull doors of the elevator. She looked exhausted. Her only saving grace was her wide eyes and the ghost of a smile she wore. But even that was hollow.
Her upright posture had been beaten out of her spine, clothes wrinkled and cascading over the hunch it left. Rings encircled her eyes like vultures waiting to strike, skin ashen, and she only just noticed the slight tremors that took her body.
She can't remember the last time she actually slept. Or herself in just a regular shirt and pants, not the put together image shown off in the office. She was so excited to talk to caretaker but when was the last time they did that without a phone in between them? Maybe that game of tag wasn't just a quirk in their friendship.
The yellowed light of the small space loomed over her, highlighting the shadows on her face, making her seem more a phantom than a person. She turned her head this way and that. It had to just be a trick of the light, right? But no matter how she angled herself the shadows stayed as if they had already claimed her face as their home long before she noticed them.
She sighed, closing her eyes and rubbing a hand over her face. The elevator dinged it's halt. It was too late for a self-analysis, she had good news to share. And she wasn't going to let herself ruin it.
She stepped into the expansion of concrete awaiting her, rummaging for her keys. Dinner was a better subject to think about, and a much needed one, she was starving. The vending machines only had crappy protein bars and trail mix now—
An acrid bite sparked across the side of her head. The ringing dulled around her ear and before she could blink them open something heavy slammed into her flailing arms, dragging her in one fluid movement.
Keys sunk to a muffled floor, clattering miles away, metal coating her teeth as she tried to shake off the shock and the spinning drilling into her head. She was thrown to the grown in a mess of limbs, nails scraping stone before her world was tossed in a loop again: a grip on her shirt pulling her up, pain exploding on her face this time.
She hit the ground again, a groan escaping her lips while she heaved through vision stained with tears. Red dripped on the blotch of gray below her. Some primal urge deep rooted in fear told her to run. And so she did. Or tried to, she barely scampered a few feet back before a shoe caught her coat, stopping her in her tracks.
A tsk sounded above her as she tried desperately to pull away, a scream building in her throat. But a tough hold around it chocked off what would've been.
Darkness loomed over her. A hand squeezing tighter with each second while whumpee’s eyes flew up, searching to make sense of the person that held her with the only available lights peering over their shoulder.
Her mouth gaped around the tightening pressure, hands clawing at her attacker’s wrist. Which pivoted at an odd angle, drawing back before slamming a fist into her throat in the next second.
Her throat convulsed around broken sounds before they had the chance to form. The scream that so desperately wanted her attention nowhere to be found. Whumpee grabbed at her own neck, grimacing as she tried, and failed, to produce anything from it.
Chest sealed with terror, twisting her heart upwards in the same motion of the stranger's eyebrows, slowly followed by a smile, “That's better.” the woman said, stepping off whumpee’s coat to let the latter jump to her feet.
Whumpee stood on shaking legs, the pain and the vertigo all taking backseat to the panic of what just happened—of what was going to happen by the looks of the woman rolling up her sleeves to her elbows—and the tugging of a voice that felt too intimately familiar.
“Wasn't sure if that would work. I mean, there was a good chance it’d just fuck you up, and not in the fun way. But I guess I'm more capable than I give myself credit.”
The light caught her features as she shifted; a smile that more often than not came with construction before encouragement, a nose that was always tilted in a way that made her feel smaller than she was complementing her smug poster, wrinkled hands whumpee could still feel patting her on the back encouragingly.
Eyes that narrowed in on her like all she saw was prey.
Whumpee’s eyes blew wide at the sight of her boss. Her hands dug into her pockets, then her bag, tossing out random items and any spare change or bills she could find. Backing as far away from her as she could.
But the woman apparently had no intention of letting her go. Instead she chuckled, gaze locked onto her’s in a way that could only be described as predatory, “I’m far from needing your money, but nice try.”
She wanted to combat that, to ask why the hell she would corner her in a garage parking lot then. But when it came out as strained wisps of air, she could only wince. Though that could also be attributed to her back hitting the wall, and whumper gearing up for another swing.
She swung, and whumpee ducked under it, bolting forward when a foot shot out to trip her. Her world blurred, nose hitting the pavement with a thud, pain flashing white behind her eyes. Nothing but a whimper in her chest to prove it. Head pounding as if a beast was trying to escape it with no way out.
Her fingers twitched at her side. Her mind trying to carry the heavy weight of her whole body and drag it out of here—far, far away from this woman.
But it was useless when a shoe collided with her side. The pain seemed to take it’s time reaching her head, before throbbing under her skin. Hands caught her by the collar of her shirt, in the way you would a cat’s scruff, and hauled her up off the floor.
The woman spoke, and the words slammed against a growing headache, “This isn't as personal as you might think. So don't think too much into it.”
The side of her face was shoved against the wall, blood slipping through cracked paint and chipping against her skin. Despite her struggles her wrist was caught in an iron hold, forcing it up between her shoulder blades and stilling whatever hope she still had for a fight.
It was hard not to see this as personal as whumper pressed her flush to the wall, the same woman that handed her the promotion she was so excited about a minute ago with a “Congrats, you've earned it,” now letting her breath fan over her ear, the same breath curling into a chuckle as she forced her arm in a way it was never meant to go.
A sickening pop followed. New tears mixed with old ran down her face as her mouth opened in a pathetic attempt to scream, rasping air empty with agony no one would hear.
It was hard not to take this personally when the woman she had admired rolled her to her back, crooked shoulder pressed painfully to the wall, and looked at her as if pitying an animal. And now, looking back, that might have been all she ever was to her.
Whumpee’s vision swam as her head met the wall, vision zeroing in on a silver rim that cut off a car’s blue, the way the tires sat as if stuck in quicksand, before snapping up to the woman. Brows too dazed for a furrow and she almost wished she didn't.
Her boss’s eyes held a joy that was betrayed by her pitying smile, almost drinking her in before she was torn apart. While she had the nerve to tell her that her pain apparently had nothing to do with her.
She sighed, “Everyone's just always breathing down my back for something, you know? I hardly get a moment to myself before another complaint comes knocking at my door. Or another deadline. Or an air brained smartass parading around like they know twice as much as me but have only been there half as long.”
Then see a therapist.
“And you wanna know what everyone's advice is? ‘You're too stressed, you should just get laid. Just try to loosen up more and quit being so stiff.’ What the hell is that even supposed to mean?” she rolls her eyes, shaking her head as if trying to banish a memory. And she wasn't doing a good job given how her grip tightened.
Whumper scoffs, voice higher than it needed to be for two people, “Why does everything boil down to sex, huh!? I can't even turn on my tv without seeing two people go at it every other scene and I’m so tired of it!”
“Really, all anyone wants is that adrenaline, that rush you get when you see what you wanted fulfilled. It's idiotic to think you can only achieve that through a fuck.”
She punctuates that with a knee the stomach, dropping her to the floor like a sack of rice. The pain is nauseating, everywhere and churning in her head as her arms refuse to hold her any longer, cold floor like a shock to her system.
It was hard having sympathy for her when the ghost of whumper’s grip was still biting into her flesh and spreading to her growing collection like a hive mind dead set on making her suffer.
“Anyway, that's were you come in. Since skydiving doesn't do it for me I figured I’d try a more…unconventional approach.”
The world’s tilting, slipping from her twitching fingers and she just wants to go home. She shouldn't have stayed so late. She should be home lounging in clothes she wouldn't change until the weekend was over and they earned their fair share of stains.
She shouldn't have wasted her time with caretaker, should have taken them up on their offers to hang out. She should have texted them back about dinner.
Whumper’s shoes click against the floor, filling the space of her consciousness while whumpee’s legs refused to move, her lungs wheezing and hitching with tears on every exhale. In her peripheral she could see the coins she’d thrown earlier, laid out to slaughter and yet they get to live,
“I'm sorry,” she screwed her eyes shut, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. She wasn't sure who she was talking to. Maybe whumper, possibly caretaker, or the ghost of self-pity finally reared it's head. “Pl-ease, I'm sorry.” because what else was there to say?
“Why are you apologizing hun? You didn't do anything.” another kick to her stomach.
She curled over herself, salt staining her lips, exhausted from more than just pain, “Then why…why are you doing this? Why me?”
Whumper shrugs, “Because I want to.”