call me Violet ✰ likes and follows from @violet-prism-creatively
age-wise, I'm over 18, but this blog is safe for minors to interact
original writing: #violet's whump writing
original prompts/scenarios: #violet's whump prompts
art: #violet's whump art
meta, opinions, rambling, etc: #violet's whumperflies
I have an ongoing whump story, Weapon's Wounds (team whump, living weapon, captivity)-- Masterlist, tag for all related posts
And a new one-- Irissa & Luce Masterlist (enemy to caretaker, magic whump, caretaker new master)
Some of my favorite whump tropes:
- Defiant whumpees
- Team whump/multiple whumpees (the dynamics between whumpees! self-sacrifice!)
- Fantasy, historical, sci-fi, etc. settings
- Character pushing past their own limits
Things you probably won't see here:
- Nsfwhump/noncon
- Extreme gore
- Box boy/pet whump
- Intimate/creepy whumper
(Nothing against people who write/draw these, and I may occasionally interact, they're just not my cup of tea. If you follow me and you post a lot of these, I may not follow you back just because I don't want them on my dash, but I love and appreciate you!)
I'd love to discuss tropes and stories with you guys! Feel free to send me asks about anything :D
black whumpees. black whumpees who were raised in a lab/living weapon facility/something to that effect and never had anyone teach them how to take care of their hair and always just had it roughly untangled with no regard for their pain meeting caretaker (also black) who knows how to do wonderful cornrows in whimsical patterns and softly comb their hair with more gentleness than they've ever known before. black whumpees with a creepy whumper who thinks their eyes—dark as the night, just as deep, just as starry, just as infinite—are the most beautiful thing on the world. black pet whumpee with a godawful no-good whumper who forces them to speak "proper" (= standard english or their setting's equivalent, whumper's definition of unproper being AAVE/ebonics) and who finally finds a safe space to let go and speak normally during recovery. black whumpee who got their hair forcefully cut/shaved in captivity getting to wear bright, beautiful extensions and braids to try and make up for what was lost, now that they have the freedom to. black whumpee snatched up and raised in captivity and isolated from their culture being tended to by a community who helps them reconnect with the lost time, good food making them tear up with nostalgia longing for a time they barely remember existed.
black whumpees in all shades of skin from bronze terracota to the deepest mahogany & with all kinds of hair from a curly cloud of sheep's wool to a fluffy, looser kind of curls & black whumpees in all shapes & sizes & all kinds of gender and sexuality or lack thereof & as robots and fairies and angels and vampires from all kinds of backgrounds & with all kinds of trauma. yes please.
A character who's been shot is captured by enemies/bad guys. They're bleeding badly, and their captors need them alive. The bullet is removed, and the wound is poured with alcohol and bandaged tightly - none of it is done gently, and, being tied up (and maybe gagged), they can do nothing but scream and cry out in pain while enduring the rough treatment.
Threatening whumpee with a raised backhand if they don't stop screaming
"Fucking hold---still."
Cold efficiency as their wound is opened to remove the bullet and they scream, biting down on the gag as hard as they can
Or worse, jabbing in pincers to remove it roughly, smirking at whumpee's cries
Gagging whumpee because they are screaming, and whumpee begins to whimper pleas that they will be quiet
Whumpee that doesn't want to show weakness to the enemy so they try to take it all stoically but they can't hold back the grunts of pain and the trembling and flinching as they are tended to
Ooooo forced to kneel, in whatever context you'd like! For the ask game :D
I didn’t mean to leave this one in the inbox for two months but I finally had a suitable idea! This is set some years in the future of FHK (relationship status spoiler warning tho), and may never be canon but was fun to write!
Content: forced to kneel, forced to watch, defiant whumpees, royal whump, medieval whump, whipping whump
The iron of the collar was rough and heavy, a far cry from the pointed brass of years before. Yet the feel of it even now made Cinn wish to weep and fight and flee.
Worse yet, a collar to match his own lay around the neck of his beloved Maira, held facing him. Their captors seized their shoulders, tough boots kicking the backs of their knees and forcing them to kneel.
Cinn winced as his knees hit the cold ground. His wrists were chained before him, the weight of the manacles causing the old injury in his shoulder to ache. Maira kept her chin up, eyes gleaming with furious defiance and fixed on his.
The leader unfurled a large whip and Cinn’s stomach dropped.
“One lash for every month of unpaid tribute. If the king here collapses before the count is done, I shall take the remainder from the flesh of his bride. Until then, she shall count. Each missed count will be dealt again.”
Maira’s eyes flashed with fear, and Cinn swallowed hard. Seven years and a season… that was many tens of months.
But he could not let them take payment in her blood.
He gave her a small nod.
Maira’s lips thinned and her nostrils flared. He knew she did not want him to bear this all himself. If only he came out of this with further scars, she would be furious at him as well as their captors.
But he could not watch them harm her.
CRACK!
His whole body flinched at the sound. A line of pain tore across his back. He had forgotten how much it hurt.
“One!” Maira choked out the number.
Again and again, the blows fell. He could feel the blood streaming down his sides, staining his trousers.
By the time they had reached forty, each blow sent him slumping to the floor. He pushed himself back up to kneel tall.
CRACK!
His body lurched with agony and he barely caught himself with his chained hands.
He had to rise.
Cinn shoved off the ground, resuming the kneeling position.
CRACK!
Again he fell.
Again he forced himself up once more.
CRACK!
He could barely hear Maira’s sobbing count. He wanted to reassure her, but the world had narrowed to the blinding pain of the whip and forcing himself to rise from the ground.
How many had it been?
His arms shook, muscles turned to jelly. He could not get them under him, could not rise.
He had to.
Had to…
Iron dug into his throat as he was dragged back up by the collar. Their captor grinned.
“Seventy-one. A brave showing, but not quite enough.”
He could not quite process what the man meant until he saw rough hands tear open the back of Maira’s dress. A whip rose above her.
He pulled against his bonds, the collar choking him as it held him upright. “NO!”
———
CRACK!
Maira’s body jerked as the whip struck. She clenched her jaw, biting back a scream. The pain was worse than she had imagined, ripping to the core of her with agony.
Forcing her eyes open, she met her husband’s anguished gaze.
CRACK!
She bared her teeth, glaring at the man holding Cinn’s chains. Tears streamed down his face.
CRACK!
A choked cry forced itself past her teeth.
No!
Cinn had endured this and more. She would too, even if she only shared in a fraction of it.
Sixteen times in total, the whip fell. By the sixth, she could no longer hold back screams. Pain overwhelmed her senses. Only dimly could she hear the man proclaim, in a too-smug tone, “eighty-seven.”
It was over. They still knelt, facing one another, both overcome by the pain of their own wounds and the horror of the other’s. But they would live. She had survived, she had endured, and none could question it.
(I put up a poll 2 weeks ago and then completely forgot to actually post the chapter lol, sorry! That just means a shorter wait for the next chapter!)
< Previous | Masterlist
Warnings: wounds from past events (beating, branding), imprisonment/slavery
------
Luce wasn’t just going to accept their new lot in life as a trophy prisoner. Even though Irissa had been fairly lenient so far, they didn’t want to sit around waiting for things to get worse.
They could kill Irissa. Plenty of things in her bedroom could be used as improvised weapons. Irissa had even fallen asleep last night without chaining Luce up or locking them in the closet. Luce might not be able to win in a fair fight, having spent the past months doing hard labor on little food and frequent beatings, but they could catch her by surprise.
But killing Irissa meant nothing if Luce couldn’t escape.
(A possibility whispered in the back of their mind. If escape was truly impossible, Luce could leverage their position here with one final act. They’d be executed or worse, but they could take down a pillar of the new regime with them.)
This morning, Irissa had been summoned to some meeting. She left her chamber with curt instructions for Luce to remain here. Luce counted to a hundred in their head to make sure she wasn’t coming back, then took action.
Luce knew that Irissa was the type to keep weapons hidden somewhere in her room— and sure enough, they found three daggers, one of which had a fire enchantment. Luce couldn’t do magic with the iron collar around their neck, so that was a valuable find. They also grabbed the medical kit from the bathroom and a spare set of clothing. They packed it all in a satchel.
The brand on Luce’s forehead clearly marked them as a prisoner. They arranged their hair as best they could to cover it. A high-necked jacket hid their collar. Luce couldn’t remove the solid ring of iron without magic, so their first goal had to be finding someone who would. They had contacts in this city; they just hoped that those people hadn’t been captured.
Irissa’s room had a balcony. It took moments for Luce to pick the door’s lock. Too easy… Pride shifted to suspicion as Luce considered that this might be a trap somehow. Had Irissa left them alone and unrestrained to test whether Luce would obey her? Were there guards waiting out of sight below, ready to haul Luce back in for punishment? Did Irissa even have a meeting or was she just outside the room? Luce wouldn’t put it past the cunning general to devise a scenario that would give her an excuse to punish Luce.
Luce had to risk it anyway.
Luce carefully scanned the view. No guards underneath the balcony; there were no doors nearby to guard. This side of the castle was only separated from the surrounding wall by a narrow garden. At the end of the dry season, the plants were mostly withered; the few scraggly trees wouldn’t give Luce much cover. Guards patrolled along the base of the wall in groups of three. Luce could climb the rough stone, but it would be tough to get down from the balcony, across the garden, and up the wall— at least two stories high— before the next patrol came around the bend.
Luce rehearsed the timing in their head a few times, painfully aware that if Irissa was in a meeting, she might return from it soon. They had to act now.
As soon as the trio of guards had passed, Luce swung themself over the balcony railing, then dangled by their hands, dropped the rest of the way to the ground, and rolled with the impact. Their back flared with pain. They bit back a scream. Landing on the still-healing wounds was a bad idea.
No time; they pushed themself to their feet and dashed across the garden. Up close, the wall loomed over them with fewer handholds than expected. But this was their only chance at freedom. Luce dug their fingers into the crevices and hauled themself up, their entire body shrieking. They pushed through the pain. Aching muscles, fingertips scraped raw, the wounds on their back stretching and tearing…
A shout from below. Luce didn’t look down. They were closer to the top, but still too far away.
Something hit their shoulder. They could’ve taken the pain, but that arm had been bearing their weight as the other reached up, and Luce lost their handhold.
They had just a moment to feel the frustration and fear before plummeting from the wall.
Heyo~ feel free to ignore if you don't do this, but do you have any suggestions for armor whump? I've been trying (and failing) to think of ideas for mostly full plate but I like all kinds of armor
Ohhh, this is interesting. Hmm!
If you're in a universe with magic, the classic D&D "I cast heat metal" is an option. It'll also already be very hot inside a full suit of armor, so you can consider heatstroke, too.
There are always weak points. Arrow strikes from a well trained archer, perhaps with poisoned tips, could knock your whumpee off their feet for a long while.
Also consider that blunt force hurts. Even with metal, if you hit a pommel hard enough into the stomach, it could bruise, cause internal bleeding, break a rib, or just cause a whole lot of pain.
Unfortunately, I'm no expert. It may help to visit a museum or library nearby to find history diagrams or displays in person. It could give you ideas, or get you thinking. Regardless, I hope this is helpful!
That first one (heat metal) is always a good choice. One of the evilest things one of my parties has done in D&D was collaborating to pin a guy down with an Immovable Rod and then casting Heat Metal on his full plate. We literally cooked him alive. It was awesome.
But magic shenanigans aside, I have some ideas:
Being so exhausted that they can't remove their armor.
(Also has the fun bonus of someone else helping to take it off.)
Metal armor in a cold environment. Feeling it leeching the heat from their body.
A blow so strong it breaks the armor and while the initial blow didn't actually hit, now they have broken armor digging into their skin.
Their armor being somehow held in place / unable to move, essentially paralyzing them without actually affecting their body.
An arrow/blade pierces a weak spot or gap in the armor. A caretaker struggling to remove the armor fast enough to treat the wound. (Also, if it's an arrow or something else that is still lodged in the wound, they would have to be extra careful not to make things worse by catching the projectile on the armor while removing it.)
A broken limb which now must be moved repeatedly in order to remove the armor. Potentially with broken armor making it worse.
On the less dramatic side, armor that doesn't fit quite right. A tad bit too big or too small, weighing you down or rubbing in all the wrong places. (Why doesn't it fit? Did it belong to someone else? Where is that person now?)
Armor is loud. Trying to be quiet, needing to hide from enemy soldiers, but your every move makes noise.
It's also heavy. Imagine trying to carry a heavily armored character to safety, but their armor is too much for the rescuer to lift. Do they have time to try and remove it? And would the injured character forgive them for leaving it behind?
While a helmet might protect your skull from getting cracked open, a character might still very well end up with a concussion.
A character being forced to wear the armor of their enemy (or wearing the armor of their more skilled friend) and being struck down (ala Patroclus).
Being forced to march for days in heavy armor until they are so exhausted they simply collapse with a heavy CLANK!
Helmets hiding the faces of other combatants. Searching a battlefield desperately for a lost loved one, unable to distinguish them in the sea of metal and blood.
Question for the Chained Rivals readers (and anyone else who just feels like pushing a button)!
Though, wait, this is kind of a spoiler, but not for anything you couldn't have predicted anyway.
In the next chapter, Luce tries to escape. Spoiler: it doesn't work and they get punished. I wrote the escape attempt today and it's 738 words, shorter than most of the chapters but long enough that it could stand alone. If I add Luce getting punished, the chapter might end up really long. (I haven't written that part yet.)
Basically, would you rather have a shorter, not-as-whumpy chapter now and a separate very whumpy chapter later, or have them combined as one longer chapter at some point in the future?
Should I...
Post the escape attempt part now, and then the aftermath as a separate chapter
Question for the Chained Rivals readers (and anyone else who just feels like pushing a button)!
Though, wait, this is kind of a spoiler, but not for anything you couldn't have predicted anyway.
In the next chapter, Luce tries to escape. Spoiler: it doesn't work and they get punished. I wrote the escape attempt today and it's 738 words, shorter than most of the chapters but long enough that it could stand alone. If I add Luce getting punished, the chapter might end up really long. (I haven't written that part yet.)
Basically, would you rather have a shorter, not-as-whumpy chapter now and a separate very whumpy chapter later, or have them combined as one longer chapter at some point in the future?
Should I...
Post the escape attempt part now, and then the aftermath as a separate chapter
Spy Whumpee being tied down and electrocuted as a part of their interrogation. They're at this set voltage that's already painful enough, as if their skin and muscles underneath are being pierced by needles relentlessly. The moment the shock is stopped, Whumpee slumps forward in the chair, breath ragged, trembling from the aftershocks.
Whumper steps into their line of blurred vision.
"I can do this all day, you know, but I'm not very sure about you."
Whumpee tries to even out their breathing. They've been trained for this. But it's been too long. They can feel their body giving out. Their resolve to keep their organization's secrets hasn't cracked, yet, but their capacity to keep enduring is definitely going to reach it's limits. They don't speak.
Whumper doesn't speak either. They lazily stride over to the machine delivering the shocks, and Whumpee's gaze follows them. Their eyes widen as they notice Whumper turn up the voltage. No. Oh, nonono. Gods, no-
The next moment is filled with this organ-deep, visceral agony that they can't even comprehend.
An injured character who's managed to grit their teeth and bear it through the course of a painful wound tending with scarcely a sound but as soon as the ordeal is actually over they dissolve into quiet weeping of relief and released tension and lingering pain.
AGGHHH I just gave myself the whumperflies thinking about whumpees who are so badly injured or otherwise compromised, that they abandon attempts to endure or survive, and start acting on OTHER priorities.
The Doomed Whumpee is DIFFERENT from the Self-sacrificial Whumpee.
The Doomed Whumpee knows they they will die regardless, so they are NOT giving up their survival. It's ALREADY a given that they will die.
And it's this knowledge that gives them the clarity to switch their efforts to the next most important thing.
Ensuring the rest of the team gets out safely
Instead of trying to figure out how to get three people out they start planning for two.
A team mates says, "there isn't enough (food, air supply, space on the escape pod, magic to evacuate) for all of us," and Whumpee says "It's enough. For two."
Conserving resources
They won't let further medical supplies, food or other vital resources be used on them. This will be particularly difficult if the other team members CANNOT or REFUSE to see how far gone Whumpee is.
Maybe Whumpee is a medic who can tell their injuries are too severe, or a scientist who calculates the radiation they were exposed to is unsurvivable, or a magic user who realises the amount of energy they've just expended means their end is near.
Worse, if they know their own death is assured but will be a long time coming, and they will be using up resources WHILE they still live. Do they take themselves out? Or if they are unable, do they ask their team to do it?
Whumperflies abound in either case.
Comforting Others
Ugh there's nothing like a whumpee already on their way out trying to ease the impact of their demise. Do they have time for solace to land? Or is there a time crunch? If their team members are still in danger and can't afford to fall apart, the stakes get higher.
And how lucid are they? Are they drifting in and out of consciousness? Are their words slurring? Are they trying to make light of it, or trying to be jocular about it? Or are they trying to leave practical, and possibly even life-saving instructions? And what about their team... are they trying to hold it together? Or are they completely falling apart.
Making Peace
Ooh this one's got so much potential for internal dramaaaaa. Whumpee trying to make peace with themself can be intentional or unintentional.
If they're alone, with no-one to perform for or hold the act together for, perhaps they'll let their mask slip. The one that has everyone believe that they're the brave one, the stoic one, or the one who can see the funny in any scenario. What is under the mask they always wear?
The possible time frames they could occupy as they go through their concluding moments...
The present: trying to find something beautiful in the present moment. A sunset. Or a view they are familiar with but are looking at for the last time. Or a tiny, tiny detail-- Blood seeping into grout. The threads on their sleeve. An insect making its way up a wall.
Maybe they feel themself slipping, and they try to stay present by clenching their nails into their palm, or digging their fingers into the ground.
The past: trying to take refuge in the past. Maybe they revisit moments where they've felt particularly loved. Someone said something to them in the past that rises up in memory and comforts them in their impending end. Or they see someone from their past, incongruously inhabiting their present. A parent, a sibling, a team mate, a lover... maybe even a younger self.
The future: hallucinating a possible future in extreme detail. Growing older, being safe, in a place that is new yet familiar in this hallucination. Is the vision populated by people they know? Maybe grown up, with children, or old, with greying hair. Maybe they're in a relationship they never dared hope for. In an imagined possibility they never thought they'd build for themself. Is it an epic vision, breathtaking and grand? Or is it small and kind and mundane?
Do they finally dare to admit to themself that they are afraid of being alone? Or are they grateful they're finally alone?
Maybe they try to be grateful for the things they've achieved, and come to terms with the things they haven't.
Or maybe they're not being intentional at all. Their mind is so used to operating a certain way that they are still in that mode. Maybe trying to calculate the amount of ammo their team still has left. Or if their team is still in a fight, they're spotting the common mistakes they are still making, as if they're in a sparring match. Or they're wondering if Taco Tuesday is still on.
Does some small part of them know why they're still stuck in the usual mode of thinking? Maybe they're doing it as a way to comfort themselves, maybe they know they've never really been the sort to brood on things, or maybe they know that if they really look at it, they will collapse into terror.
When death does inevitably arrive, is it a prolonged and ugly struggle, or is it barely noticeable? Internally, do they simply go from on to off, or is there a sensation of embarking on a journey. Or maybe they simply arrive somewhere.
Aaaaugh, so many possible ways to go. DOOMED WHUMPEES.
The whumpee and caretaker are both held captive by a cruel, sadistic whumper.
The whumper singles out the whumpee for torture. They don't lay a finger on the caretaker, but they brutally beat the whumpee every day.
They force the caretaker to watch.
As the wounds pile on, never having the chance to heal properly because the whumper never stops, the caretaker starts begging the whumper to hurt them instead.
Helpless, desperate, they promise anything. Just let the whumpee have a break. Just please don't hurt them today.
The whumper smiles. They say that yes, of course, since the caretaker's been asking so nicely, they'd be glad to do as asked and switch them out for a while.
But the whumpee has to want it, too. The whumpee has to say that they want the caretaker to be hurt in their place.
The caretaker's eyes land on the whumpee, shivering on the floor and barely able to move. "Please. Tell them you want me to be hurt."
There's silence. In that silence, the caretaker's heart aches, because they know what the whumpee's going to say.
"N...no. Don't hurt them."
"Please! You can't take much more of this. I can't stand watching you suffer!"
"...no."
The whumper chuckles, and kicks the whumpee's side. They shoot the caretaker a merciless grin. "Well, you heard them. The answer is no."
if your story has a Caretaker you need to give them soul-crushing amounts of vicarious trauma and stress and misplaced guilt. then you need to give them their own Caretaker to help them through it. hope this helps <3
Whumper: "Word of advice, whumpee: don't fight, don't scream, don't cry, don't beg. Just stand there and do whatever they say. Whatever they say, you do it. They're gonna test you, trust me, but do not engage."
Whumpee (laughing): "Oh sure, yeah, just like you've been trying to get me to do for... Weeks now? Months? I'm not gonna sit pretty so you can look good to your bosses. You failed. You can't break me, they can't break me, and none of you ever will."
Whumper(?): "This isn't about me, bud. I've always been fucked. But you're strong. You can be smart. I know that. They don't. If you ever want to escape, keep it that way. Don't give them a reason to think you'll be a problem until you're ready to be the biggest problem they've ever seen."
