One thing that's stayed with me for years:
Whumpee is lying on the floor. Whumper opens their mouth, puts a small water glass inside. They leisurely get back up and kick Whumpee's jaw.
It's just so incredibly callous and I've yet to find something that feels cruel in the same way to me.
In the comic/manga (sadly I don't remember) where I saw this, Whumpee is already unconscious at the beginning and Whumper just steps over them and never turns back to them. But what if Whumpee was awake throughout it?
I assume this isn't something survivable without surgery. But inside my head, Whumper is very much able to get all of the tiny fragments out before they wreak havoc on Whumpee's lungs or digestive system. It's just a process that takes hours and hours and hours - and it's very much Whumpee's fault!
My favorite visual whump thing has got to be whumper touching whumpee's face/head. Be it gentle and tender, caring, a reward, a comforting pat on the head for being a good pet. Or maybe rough, grabbing their jaw while the manhandle them, slapping them, pulling their hair and smashing their face on a flat surface. Putting a muzzle on, taking it off, fingers brushing over their lips. Putting their hands in a magical whumpee's sharp toothed mouth to prove how harmless whumpee is.
- Whumpee with an extremely expressive face suddenly going stone-cold emotionless when threatened. This scares their teammates
- Developing a facial twitch from being under constant stress
- Whumpee not making the right facial expressions for what they’re feeling, which causes them even more distress; because they don’t feel like they are actually experiencing emotions anymore, leading them to think that what happened to them couldn’t have been that bad, because you can’t hurt the feelings of someone who has none
- Whumpers who emote in a smug, conceited way, whose little smirk and laugh make Whumpee want to tear their face off (bonus points if Whumpee eventually does get to tear their face off)
- Whumper who can imitate any voice cutting off the faces of people who are the same height and skin color as they are and wearing them to steal their identities
- Masked Caretaker is fighting Whumper and Whumper gets the upper hand, and they decide to take their mask off. As it turns out, Caretaker looks very much like one of Whumper’s victims who died and scares the hell out of them because “Oh my god their ghost is haunting me for what I did to them.” Caretaker uses this shock to their advantage and ends up winning the fight because of it.
- Tenderly cupping a deeply bruised face to get a better look at the injuries
- The aesthetic of blood running down only one side of a character’s face so that it looks halfway like war paint (bonus points if they mentally snap as this happens)
Whumpee smiles as they look down the knife in their trembling hand.
Swallowing their hesitation, Whumpee lifts the knife and points the tip at their forehead, piercing their own skin and slowly dragging the blade down their face, splitting it open as they fight the urge to cry out and drop the blade. Whumpee repeats this over and over again. The gash grows deeper and deeper, blood running down in rivulets and dripping off of their eyebrows, eyelashes, nose, and the small, invisible hairs on their face. The more the pain grows, the more fervor Whumpee gouges their face with.
It’s agonizing. Even when compared to the awful things Whumper’s done to Whumpee, it’s agonizing. Whumpee would much rather take the whip than this. They’d take anything over this.
It’ll be worth it in the end, though.
Even though they’ve put Whumpee through so much suffering, Whumper has never once touched their face. Whips and knives and lighters and hammers have all met Whumpee’s legs, arms, and torso, but never their face. Whumper would curse themself if they accidentally got a speck of blood on Whumpee’s face, taking a handkerchief out of nowhere and wiping it away. Hell, they’d even do it just to get the sweat off of their face. Whumper said they hated the look of Whumpee’s hair sticking to their forehead, said it was unbecoming of them, too ugly a look for them—and then they’d go back to making a mess of Whumpee’s lower body.
Speaking of the devil, the door creaks open.
“How are you doing today, Whumpee? I brought you some—”
A plate of bread and fruit clatters to the floor as Whumper’s eyes dilate, their mouth gaping like a fish’s. They run over to Whumpee and bend down. Taking out that dumb handkerchief of theirs, Whumper begins cleaning Whumpee’s face of blood and pushing their hair back.
“What did you do to yourself? This isn’t good at all…”
“I went ahead and got started without you. I thought I’d try something new and go for the face,” Whumpee laughs.
Whumper raises a hand to slap Whumpee, but they quickly pull it back and punch Whumpee in the chest instead, making them cough. “You idiot. You absolute goddamn idiot. How am I going to fix this? This is bad, very, very bad… How am I going to explain this to the hospital? Can they even fix this? This wasn’t supposed to happen. No, no, no,” Whumper rambles, wiping their own sweaty forehead with the bloody handkerchief.
“Maybe if you’d been more careful and taken the knife with you, this wouldn’t have happened—but what would I know?”
Whumper snatches the knife in question from the floor and frees Whumpee from their bonds. “On your feet.”
“Oh? You’re going to take little old me to the doctor?”
“Shut your goddamn mouth,” Whumper hisses, yanking Whumpee up by their shirt collar and dragging them up the basement stairs. “You think you have the upper hand because you cut your face open? Don’t kid yourself. You won’t escape me. Ever. The doctor will fix your pretty little face right up, and after that, I’ll beat you so bad you forget how to say anything except sorry.”
Whumpee laughs again. Whumper’s voice is so authoritative, but their hands and knees shake as their eyes glisten with tears. If Whumpee knew this is all it would take to push Whumper over the edge, they would’ve done it a long, long time ago.
Summary: Ivan's friend and boss was taken by an unknown entity, forcing Ivan to take on a new identity and go undercover looking for Kolt. When he finds him, Kolt is in rough shape and the escape isn't as clean as either of them could have hoped for. Now, with Kolt free, and Ivan captured, Kolt can only try to recover in time to rescue his friend and keep him from being turned into a living weapon in his place.
Fallen Masterlist - Part 38
Content: Living weapon whumpee, descriptions of a facial wound, facial whump, mentioned whip wounds, multiple whumpees, whumpee on whumpee violence, captured, bound, sedated, creepy whumpers
Three days in the box really did a number on a weapon.
Alpha-2 watched blankly as people moved around him, preparing him and his gear for the next mission. Despite him being let out of the box yesterday, everything was still too overstimulating. The lights too bright, the noise so cacophonous he was afraid he was going to miss an order from one of his superiors, and his back and face still ached.
He saw the way people avoided looking at him. Careful to avert their eyes from his face. It had been stitched back together the day before. While they had hired someone with a healing Power to heal his hands and keep them from becoming useless, his face had not received the same treatment. He was meant to scar and scar badly.
He hadn't seen Dr. LeAnne yet. He didn't know if she knew what Harry had done to him. He didn't know if she would think it bad enough for her to plan Harry's downfall.
He hoped so. He wanted to kill Harry.
But maybe Alpha-2 had deserved that treatment. After all, he had been a disobedient weapon and gone against orders. He had faltered. He had let memories get between him and his task.
He felt so guilty as he continued to cling to those memories.
He had finally connected a name to those screams he sometimes heard in the Jar. The ones that seemed to tear his very soul apart. That was Kolt.
The same Kolt that stood there, not running and not attacking. Begging Alpha-2 to come back with him. To be... to be Gale again. To be protected.
Alpha-2 still couldn't decide if he regretted not going with Kolt. He had regretted even considering the proposition while Dr. LeAnne had been in the room. When she had expressed her disappointment in him, but, after she had left, the regret started to turn. He regretted not going with Kolt to safety. If Harry was going to keep Dr. LeAnne away from him and if Dr. LeAnne wouldn't let him kill Harry, he decided he would leave with Kolt the next time Alpha-2 saw him.
He really, really hoped he would get to see Dr. LeAnne soon.
Almost as though his wish had pulled her into existence, there she was across the room.
He didn't smile, that hurt too much, but he did sit straighter and make himself look as perfect as he could for her.
She barely looked at him at first, talking with someone on the phone and then with the person who was managing the workers preparing the gear. And then she made her way over to him.
He could tell the instant she saw his facial wound. Harry must not have told her about it because the look of absolute devastation vindicated Alpha-2 in a way he would never be able to put words to.
She came to him faster, gently cupping his jaw on the good side of his face.
"What did he do to you?" she seethed, words dripping with venom.
"Kolt Tolket made a comment about this weapon not having facial scars. Harry decided to punish this weapon based on that comment, ma'am."
She crooned softly, leaning over him to place a kiss just above his eyebrow. His eyes fluttered shut as he did so, and he allowed himself to lean into her touch.
"This weapon has missed you," he admitted.
"I know. I've missed you too, but you know why I couldn’t see you, right?"
"This weapon needed to be punished," he murmured. But did he deserve to have his face cut into like that? Did Dr. LeAnne believe that?
When he opened his eyes, he could tell she did not believe it. She would find revenge for him. She would find some way to let him kill Harry.
Relieved, he focused on her.
"Have you been briefed on your mission?" she asked.
"This weapon is to go on a capture mission," he said. "Harry wants more weapons."
"He does. And with the process of Power transmission almost down to a science, he will get what he wants," Dr. LeAnne said in an inscrutable voice.
Alpha-2 felt something jump nervously in his chest. Other weapons. He hadn't even thought about... Dr. LeAnne would be involved in that process. Of course she would, and they would take up more of her time because they would be new and untrained. She would have her attention on other weapons and not on Alpha-2.
Distressed, he swallowed hard, trying to find the right question to ask. One that wouldn't assume anything about his relationship with her, whatever it was, but one that would get him the comfort he needed.
She watched him before she smiled. "I know what you're thinking. Ask it, Alpha-2."
"This... this weapon is afraid that its mistress will like another weapon better," he rasped.
She ran a hand over his head. "Oh, never, Alpha-2. You are going to always be the best. You know what the rules are. You have the practice. The other weapons won't be able to catch up to you."
Which implied that if somehow they did, Alpha-2 would no longer be the favorite.
Still, he nodded and planned to be better than all the rest. He would not let any other weapon win over him.
"Alright, I'll let them finish prepping you for the mission. If you do well, I have permission from Harry to bring you dinner and spend the evening with you."
Alpha-2 nodded eagerly and watched as she straightened, looking at his facial wound for a moment longer before turning and leaving.
Alpha-2 closed his eyes, relaxing slightly. He could do this. He could be good. He could be perfect.
And if he couldn't... it sounded like there was someone who would be able to pull him out of all of this.
Powell skidded on the wet concrete, the sound of running feet right on his heels. He was exhausted. He had been chased for 10 blocks now while maintaining his camouflage and he was running out of steam. He felt like he was going to throw up.
He glanced over his shoulder to see the man chasing him. More of a predator than a man. He never missed a step, his eyes hidden behind tactical gear that likely made it easy to keep track of Powell, and a single mindedness to his every moment. He cared about nothing except capturing Powell and the vigilante knew it.
Powell skidded off down an alley, finding a fire escape to get up to the roof of a building. He was good at roof running and his camouflage worked really well against the night sky. He could get out of here. As long as he could get to one of the vigilante union buildings he’d be safe. He just had to make it.
Something sang through the air and pain zinged through his ankles as a bolus wrapped tripped him up.
He caught himself hard on his hands, landing on his hip and skillfully kicked the boluses off before getting back on his bruised feet, running as fast as he could, zigzagging so his pursuer couldn’t get another bolus around his ankles. He was so close. He was so close!
He leapt off the edge of a building, heading for the next roof, only for a sharp bang to sound in the alley. A net wrapped around him just before he reached the next building, shot from the darkness below. Powell landed heavily in the gravel that coated the roof, screaming in frustration that briefly overpowered his fear.
He fought to get the net off, gasping for air. It was a trap. He was chased right into a trap! Powell was better than that and he knew it!
He writhed, turning onto his back to kick at his assailant, who had followed him onto the roof with a graceful ease that said he was a roof runner as well.
"Get back," Powell rasped, dropping his camouflage in favor of conserving energy to fight his way out of this.
The operative, for lack of a better term, moved quickly, grabbing the net and rolling Powell back onto his stomach, dropping a knee on the small of Powell's back and pinning his head down against the gravel.
Powell tried to reach for the small knife he kept in his sleeve, only to have his wrist grabbed and twisted hard.
He gasped for air as the pain spun off down his arm. He swore and spat as the operative bound him as though Powell was a newborn fawn before picking him up by the back of his jacket.
The operative hauled him to the edge of the building where he casually tossed Powell over the edge.
Powell screamed as he fell before the wind was knocked out of him when he hit a rescue trampoline. Someone grabbed him, hauling him off just as the operative jumped down.
"That was a good run, Kamo," someone laughed. "You might have actually slipped us if we hadn't brought our weapon here. Alpha-2, heel."
Powell sorted himself out, looking around at the men that crowded him, hauling him to his feet. The man in charge had teeth that were too straight and too white. His hair was styled for the office and he wore a suit with an unlabeled Kevlar vest over the top of it.
The operative stalked over and knelt at the man's feet, hands folded behind his back.
The man reached down and pulled the operative's helmet off, revealing a man with dark skin and closely shaved hair. When he turned his face, Powell could see the recently stitched cut running from the corner of his mouth up his cheek.
Powell struggled against his bindings, the net, and the men who held him. "You're one of those sick corporate freaks! Suns irradiate you!! I'm with the Eastern Vigilante Union! Do you even know who you're messing with!?"
"Yes, yes I do, Kamo. Or should I say Powell Kendrick? Not that you'll keep either name for much longer. You're going to be my pet project from here on out, and this weapon here-" the man put his hand on the operative's head. The operative gave him a distasteful glance, but visibly leaned into the touch- "He will be your brother at arms and your enemy should the time come. Perhaps you will even become his replacement."
The operative twitched, glancing at Powell resentfully now.
Powell snarled. "Likely story. If you think I'll do anything for you-"
The man gave a signal and someone slammed something into the back of his skull, dazing him badly.
"Pack him up. We have a lot of work to do."
Powell was blindfolded by a strangely complex fabric and plastic contraption and all he knew were hands and some sort of harness that tucked his limbs out of the way firmly and gently.
He snarled and swore at every chance he got as he was divested of his weapons and tools and bound so he was practically hanging in the harness from something, only just stabilized by his knees.
There was more movement nearby, during which Powell screamed and called for help until someone placed a mask over his face that hissed ominously.
His last memory was of a car door slamming shut and the world moving and shifting around him.
Dr. LeAnne slowly sipped at her coffee, watching patiently as the vans drove into the warehouse and started to unpack their precious cargo.
Her weapon was pulled out of the van and marched into the debriefing room. She hadn't been allowed to listen in on this mission, but she knew it had gone well.
Sure enough, another man in a similar harness and bindings was pulled from the van. He was sluggish and groggy, clearly from being sedated, but he was fit and looked fairly uninjured. She wondered if he had it in him to become a weapon like her Alpha-2, or if he would just break.
She thought she had broke Kolt, but he had pretended. He had just pretended and it irked her that she had been so easily misled by a man whose very life she had held in her hands.
She shook off the anger and finished the rest of her coffee, leaving the cup on the ground for someone else to take care of while she went to comfort and praise her lovely, wonderful weapon. She could play with the new toy later. Hopefully Harry wouldn't feel the need to be too in the way while she worked her magic.
Part 40
A.N. - WAHOO MULTIPLE WHUMPEES LETS GO!!! Will they become friends or will they make both of their situations worse? We shall see >:)
“You have nobody but yourself to blame for this, you know.”
Whumpee desperately tries to escape Whumper’s grasp as tears form in their eyes, their face wet with sweat. “I-I’m sorry, Whumper, I really am… Just give me a-another chance.”
“Are you truly sorry, or are you only sorry because of what I’m about to do to you?” Whumper hums. “I’m thinking it’s the latter.”
Whumpee shakes their head, a pained smile spreading across their face as they take shallow breaths. “I-It isn’t! I’ll do anything you want! A-absolutely anything! Just anything besides this, please!”
Whumper tilts their head. They tap their chin and think as time drags on. “Then get on your knees and lick the floor.”
“What..?”
“You said you’d do anything. If you don’t want me to burn your face, then get on the floor and lick it—no, wait, don’t just lick it once. I want you to lick the entire thing clean.”
Whumpee frowns. “I-I’m not… I’m not going to do that!”
Narrowing their eyes, Whumper grabs a lighter with their free hand and lights the stove, bright blue flames erupting from the burner and licking at the open air. They slam Whumpee’s face onto it. Screaming and the smell of burning flesh fill the air as Whumpee’s skin slowly melts away. Whumper scrunches their nose. They open a window.
When they go back to looking at Whumpee, they notice that the stove isn’t at its highest. They turn the dial, resisting the urge to pull their bare hand away from the intense heat as the flames devour Whumpee’s face. Somehow, Whumpee still has the energy to scream and worm around. Shouldn’t they have passed out because of the pain by now? At the very least, they should’ve stopped screaming. Maybe Whumper should burn Whumpee’s throat.
Whumper bends down. Some bone peeks out from the disgusting mess of seared muscle and fat that’s Whumpee’s face. They can barely make out their eyes and nose. Their lips are almost gone, now pathetic flabs of skin and meat.
If it were anyone else, Whumper would feel sorry.
Turning off the stove, they grab a cup and fill it with water, dumping it onto Whumpee’s head and repeating the process a few more times until nothing sizzles and steams anymore. Whumpee lets out a weak cry as Whumper pries their face off of the burner.
“Don’t say you’ll do anything if you actually won’t do anything,” Whumper says, rolling their eyes as they wipe down the stove the best they can. “I told you that you only have yourself to blame, so don’t look at me like that.”
Wiping the stove isn’t working, so Whumper takes some degreaser and sprays it on the stove, letting it sit. They roll up their sleeves and start scrubbing. It doesn’t work. Tossing the steel sponge onto the filthy burner, they turn back to look at Whumpee—and of course they have tears rolling down their face, because no matter what, they’re always the victim, aren’t they?
“You can still see, can’t you?”
“Y-Yeah.” Whumpee nods, eyes casted down at the floor.
“Alright. Make yourself useful and clean up your mess,” Whumper says. They throw the dirty sponge at Whumpee, smiling as they bend down to pick it up, tears hanging off of what’s left of their eyelashes.
Synopsis: Emmeline is discovered and held captive by a female pirate captain and her crew. The Captain and many others are searching for a source of eternal youth and health spread through stories. So when she finds someone who doesn’t die or age she believes she’s found the secret - and will do anything to get it.
Author's Notes: This is the first part of what I hope will be a little series, but if it's standalone that's alright too. :) Either way I'm super proud of it and I hope you like it!
The ‘fountain of youth’ and pirate elements aren’t intended to reflect or represent any specific person/place/lore/time period, it's all just vaguely inspired by things like that. AKA I don’t want to do research. I'm just gonna wing it.
Content Warnings: Lady whump, female whumpee, female whumper, piracy of the nautical variety, pirate whumper, multiple whumpers, immortal whumpee, temporary character death, magical healing, shipwreck, dehydration, exhaustion, sunburn, animal attack/bites, manhandling, rough handling, kicking, beating, bruises, punching, face whump, broken bones, detailed descriptions of injury, whumper's POV sort of.
Emmeline Tag List: @deluxewhump - @whumpinggrounds - @yet-another-heathen - @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog - @killtheprotagonist - @kixngiggles - @averyskellybro - @whumpingmydarlings - @starnight-whump - @thecloudattack - (tag list hasn't been kept up, please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed)
----
Two of Captain Mara ‘Marauder’ Bellamy’s crew members drag the limp body ashore by the arms, while three others pull their lifeboat up out of the water and anchor it. Their captain strides ahead of them into a large cavern.
“There,” she orders, pointing to the center of the flat, rocky space. As instructed, the men throw the young woman to the ground. She skids a little, further tearing her shredded dress. With a gargling groan, she rolls onto her back and begins to convulse and heave up water.
The small group circles her, watching in awe and terror as the body that they had most certainly found dead, clinging to a piece of driftwood floating amongst the shipwreck they were scavenging. Thirst, exhaustion, and the unbearable heat of the sun beating down on her bare back took her quickly, and soon after a school of nearby fish had taken bites of her legs and feet and the skirt of her dress hanging heavy beneath the water.
And then as if her spirit had re-entered her body all at once, the corpse gasped to life and nearly scared them all to death.
Mara doesn’t leave survivors. That’s her reasoning as she instructs her crew to haul the body aboard. It’s hot, and perhaps she only imagined a scrape on the woman’s cheek begin to fade away…
But now as they all stand around, they exchange glances until Mara is frustrated enough to speak.
“You’re all seeing this too, right?”
They all nod in simultaneous confirmation. Because they all saw the bites and cuts littering the body heal away like they were never there. And then, when writhing against the grit of sand atop stone grates at her sunburned back, she turns onto her stomach and heaves some more. They watch the charred and bloody skin of her back mend, too, leaving the woman soaked and gasping but whole.
The Captain sees the rarest of treasures. The light at the end of a long journey to find something she wasn’t even sure existed. But…
“We have to be sure.” She motions to their captive. “Hurt her.”
Within seconds, grunts and whines echo from the high, curved cavern walls. The two crew members choose a place along Emmeline’s hip and thigh, where the dress has torn enough to reveal freshly healed skin. They take turns kicking the spot in quick and brutal rhythms, beating a livid purple bruise onto the flesh. When Mara whistles sharply, they stop and draw back.
The woman keens, body twisting to protect her injured side from the hard ground. She reaches a hand down as though to shield it, only to let out another agonized sound at the slightest press of her own fingers to the abused skin. Now, her sobs echo.
Gradually but unmistakably, the bruising reverses before their eyes, lightening and easing as its victim cries and hovers a hand over hot skin.
Before they know it, it’s gone entirely.
The crew begins to chatter excitedly; they’re immediately silenced by Captain Mara raising her hand. They take the cue to step back and keep their voices to a whisper.
Mara steps forward and kneels before the woman. She digs her fingers tight around the roots of her stringy, damp hair and yanks her head up to get a proper look at her.
The face that stares back at her is impossibly youthful - silken skin, full lips and flushed cheeks where not long ago they were parched, sunken and colorless. A face and a body unmarred by wounds or even death itself. Her deep, shining eyes hold the weight of sadness of a lifetime lived, yet someone still just naive enough to plead.
“I need to see it up close,” she murmurs. Her grip tightening, she lifts the woman higher and slams her fist into her face so hard a snap! rings out at her cheekbone breaking. It’s a thrill to see that perfect face scrunch in agony. When Mara pulls her hand away the spot is crumpled and blood blooms beneath the skin.
The woman’s trembling lips rasp a word she can hardly make out in a language she doesn’t know.
It is unmistakably a plea for mercy. It goes unnoticed.
Mara’s fist is already drawing back and she knocks any further words from her, pummeling one side of her face with enthusiastic brutality. Her crew looks on without flinching.
When the blows cease and the ageless woman is half-conscious and dangling limp in the Captain’s grasp, Mara yanks her head to one side and leans in to get a closer look. From this angle the crew can’t see, but they don’t need to. Her decision is the only one that matters.
Heavy tears spill from a swollen-shut eye down a path across the bruised and mangled cheek and jaw, mingling with blood that in turn trickles from her split lip down her chin and neck. She’s trying to breathe but choking on her own blood, shuddering so hard in her grip that Mara’s arm shakes.
Just as before, the damage mends from the inside out, the worst of the swelling easing down, followed by the deepest bruises, the cut on her lip…
Before the bruises can disappear entirely, Mara grips the woman’s face tightly with her other hand, pressing in until they darken once more. She whines and tries to speak again, but Mara squeezes tighter until she’s silent.
“We all believed the stories meant a hidden waterfall or spring, some natural fountain.” She says just loud enough for her crew to hear. “But the line never mentions water. The story goes, “find the source overflowing with health and youth; take from it and you will gain its gift.”
She can feel herself grinning. She releases the woman’s face and watches the remaining damage dissipate. Then she stands and shoves her back to the ground.
“‘Take from it’,” she repeats with delight. Standing over the crumpled form, Mara can see the teary glimmer of eyes through disheveled hair before they flutter shut.
