#whump scenario

[whumporama]

Character who, for whatever reason, tries to track down a missing person.

As they go along, they uncover more and more. Maybe it's not an unsolved dark case, maybe it's just a really old mystery.

And Character learns about the missing person (MP) They find people who remember them, they find letters MP wrote. Pictures they took. They learn about their wants and needs, their personality.

They get invested.

But what started as a fun search turns dark when they start piecing together what happened to MP.

How does it end?

Does Character find them, alive and well, having escaped whatever horrors they lived through? Does Character find a skeleton? Do they find them alive, still captured, and it's a rescue mission? Do they never learn what happened to them, and write their own ending?

[deerslayer14]

@augustofwhump day 15, hidden enemy/crime/body

Detective launches to his feet, storms out, storms back in, hands in his hair, white-knuckled grip of his slender fingers expressive like a sculpture. He can't stop pacing around the room, arms jerk towards the body and back into his hair. He lets out a muted moan.

"I'm sorry, sir..." Assistant whispers.

The moan grows into a howl. It's his wife's body on the floor. It's her art studio painted in her blood. Detective squats, burying his head in a cage of his skeletal elbows.

Not so dry anymore, Assistant thinks. Not so indifferent. An old crunchy log like you never deserved an artist like her.

"May I get you some coffee?" Assistant says softly.

Detective sniffs. "Yes, please, my dear... Thank you ... for being here with me."

"Of course, sir. I'm so sorry." I'm not.

[whumporama]

Caretaker who is struggling with Caretaking. Not in a sense of not knowing what to do, but they're just so tired of it. Or they struggle with staying emphatic in general.

Whumpee throws up for the Nth time? Caretaker just sits behind them with a far away look in their eyes, absentmindedly rubbing their back, waiting for them to be done.

Whumpee's leg is hurting. When they have to stop again, Caretaker just stands still, supporting them, while they wait it out.

Whumpee is groaning in pain again and saying it hurts, and all Caretaker can think is 'I know. What do you want me to do?'

Caretaker asking Whumpee what they can do, what does Whumpee want. Whumpee just miserably answers they don't know. Caretaker resists the urge to roll their eyes.

"You need to drink, what can I make you?"

"I don't know... I don't feel good..."

"I know. You need to drink. What do you want?"

They're so close to snapping, but they know that's not right to do. They don't want to be like this either, it's just... hard.

[suchprettypieces]

OMG it's been so awesome reading the resulting stories to my prompt! I've collected them here: #the full stop at the end of a sentence anthology

I made the tag for myself, because I keep scrolling through my reblogs trying to reread them. They make me so happy!

And then I thought why not share the tag?

Right now it's just a couple but who knows? Maybe there'll be more 🤯

[writerwhostayedupallnight]

"Come on, Whumpee," Leader commanded as they hurried down the hallway. "This place is going to be crawling with The Enemy in minutes, we need to keep going."

"I can't," Whumpee panted from somewhere behind them.

"Don't give me that. I know you hate running but surely you're not tired out already. Get going!"

"I can't, I really can't," Whumpee gasped.

Leader turned on their heel, ready to blast Whumpee for being so outright lazy that they would jeopardize theirs and Leader's safety—

Only for the words to die on their tongue the moment they saw the blood.

[whumpscreamqueen]

WHUMP SCENE #06

KW: post-whump, multiple caretakers, night terrors

“What’s wrong? What happened? Why is Whumpee screaming?” 

Caretaker A was sitting on the floor in front of Whumpee’s bedroom door. They brought the bottle of vodka in their hand to their mouth, taking another swig of the clear liquid. They didn’t answer. They didn’t even acknowledge Caretaker B’s presence. 

“Caretaker A, what are you doing?” they asked. “Why are you just sitting there?” 

Caretaker A slowly trailed their gaze to Caretaker B. For the first time, Caretaker B noticed the exhaustion in Caretaker A’s eyes, the resignation, the defeat. 

“They have them every night,” Caretaker A explained. “Night terrors.” 

Night terrors.

Guilt swirled in Caretaker B’s stomach, a burning sensation they couldn’t shake. They left Whumpee; they left Whumpee all alone; they let Whumper take them, and horrible things must’ve happened to Whumpee because of it. But it was okay, because Caretaker A found Whumpee, traveled with them, brought them home. Except, now Whumpee was in that room, and they were clearly not okay, and by the look of Caretaker A’s face, this wasn’t the first time. 

“Caretaker A, let me go in,” Caretaker B took a step forward. “Let me help them, let me fix this.” There was desperation in Caretaker B’s voice. 

“No,” Caretaker A whispered. “You don’t get to help tonight…tonight you just get to listen.” 

“We need to do something,” Caretaker B pushed the words through gritted teeth. They felt their hands clenching and unclenching; their whole body was alive with the need to stop the sounds coming from Whumpee’s room. 

“I will do something,” Caretaker A looked away from Caretaker B again, “I just…” They sighed. “I need to wait a little longer. I need you to understand.”

“I get it,” Caretaker B seethed, “I f*cked up, I’m a horrible person; I get it.”  

“That doesn’t really make it better, does it? I mean, Whumpee still sounds the same, don’t they?” 

Caretaker B sighed in defeat; they lowered themselves down onto the floor next to Caretaker A. They hit the door with the back of their head in frustration. Caretaker A held out the vodka bottle, and Caretaker B took it greedily, gulping down a few mouthfuls before handing it back to Caretaker A. 

“Okay, I agree, tonight I’ll just listen.”

It wouldn’t stop Whumpee’s nightmares; it wouldn’t get rid of the trauma they suffered at the hands of Whumper, but it made Caretaker A feel better; they wanted Caretaker B to feel what they felt, to feel so helpless and so sad, because their Whumpee, their sweet Whumpee, was broken and Caretaker A didn’t know how to put them back together. 

[acta-est-fabula-plaudite]

Friend who knew Whumpee before suddenly disappearing, as fiery and intelligent and free.

Now Whumpee looks normal— as normal as they can be, but they are so different from the person they knew.

Whumpee looks sheepishly and afraid of doing the wrong thing, always asking Friend if they are doing good or what should they do and etc, apologising for everything and anything.

[survivesurvivingwhump]

i love a whumpee whos just completely exhausted after, especially if the sexual assault/rape was particularly violent. you'd think they wouldnt be able to sleep but they're getting the deepest sleep of their life. also good if theyre so tired and weak they need help bathing and are practically falling asleep during

every time that whumpee moves, even an inch, pain shudders through their battered body. the attack had lasted for a lifetime and it had been violent - extremely violent. whumpee hadn't even fought. and still whumper had been outright sadistic, hitting and biting, choking, manhandling whumpee and using their own body as a weapon to batter whumpee even as whumpee laid limp and sobbing.

now, though exhaustion coats their body like layers of heavy lead, but they have to drag themself home somehow. home to where they live with their friend, their friend who they know will be waiting up for them when they didn't get home at the normal time. their friend worries. it's sweet, even if whumpee rolls their eyes sometimes.

tonight, the awareness that they'll be there waiting when whumpee manages to drag their bruised, aching, beyond sore body home is both horrific and a thought that fills whumpee with so much relief that it nearly makes them collapse to think of it. all they can do is put one foot in front of the other until they make it in their front door. and that's as far as they get - they collapse as soon as they cross the threshold. all they want to do is sleep for a year. their eyes can barely stay open. but they can't rest yet.

whumpee's skin is stained, their body disgusting. tears well in their eyes as they think of it, slumped against the wall and flinching hard as soon as their friend approaches. "please," they manage to force out. "please i- i can't on my own. i need- i need to wash it off. i need to wash them- wash them off. please."

"okay. i- yeah. okay." their friend's hands are shaking. whumpee is too exhausted to even really talk, but they notice that. those shaking hands are gentle and careful, and a soft voice apologizes every time whumpee flinches. whumpee's head lolls over against their friend's guarding arm as they're held up in the tub, the washcloth feeling like sandpaper against their abused skin. but still, it's... it's good. whumpee feels raw and destroyed, unable to do anything but accept their friend's help. but it's good. it's the exact opposite of what whumper had done.

and they'll have to explain that, soon, won't they. they'll have to tell their friend what happened (as if they don't know, as if they haven't already guessed). for now, though, they lean heavy and helpless, against the person they trust most in the world. for now, they'll let their friend wash away as much of their rape as possible, and then they'll sleep. for a long, long time, they'll sleep.