Whumpy side blog

[whumpie-comforts]

Defiant Whumpee who has no respect for authority figures. They talk back, lie, disobey, clearly feel very comfortable not being compliant. Except for with Whumper. Whumpee still is defiant but there is this constant tinge of anxiety under it. Whumper can hurt them, has hurt them, and while Whumpee doesn’t want anyone to know that they can’t hide the lingering fear.

[studyofwhump]

Whumper: I’m in the mood for begs and achin’

Whumpee: don’t you mean eggs and bacon?

Whumper: 😏

Whumpee:…… Whumper?

Whumper: c’mon time for the pain room!

[painwithoutplot]

thinking about a whumpee with some sort of innate magical ability that they're drawn to use. not one that outright kills them if they don't use it, but not using it is unpleasant and uncomfortable, like a constant pull or an itch under their skin. now thinking about them growing up in a community that represses magic, maybe teaching that it's sinful or unnatural or dangerous. whumpee grows up shamed and outcast, and the only tenable path forward is to refrain from using them at all.

sooner or later, Whumpee leaves, and they find themself in Whumper's clutches. Whumper is someone who wants to exploit their magic. They don't treat Whumpee well, but... they let them use their powers, and Whumpee can't stomach going back to anything less.

[red-lipstick-stains]

"dirt under your nails"

When I found Hero, his mangled body a mess of blood and gore—caked in mud... an overwhelming sense of dread and grief rose within me. The brutality shocked even the media. Yet, news reporters and journalists pounced on his defeat against the masked villain, Havoc. They dived into speculations and gossip with the ferocity of starving wolves. Feeding off my family's misery and suffering, throwing question after question, with a hunger that only beasts should be capable of. My hand tightened on the newspaper I held. The headline read: NUMBER 4 HERO, VAWK, SERIOUSLY INJURIED, and then a picture of his mangled corpse underneath. The media's audience, the villains, the heroes, the civilians, they couldn't believe it. VAWK always prioritized patrols during the daytime, seldomly did he ever patrol at night—when Havoc struck most—but when he did? He proceeded with caution. Yet... His body laid motionless in the ICU. Crazed fans complimented Havoc's victory, thinking his display of Hero's body was a work of art, a masterpiece. Normal, feeling civilians spoke of the evilness of such a heinous act.

The newspaper crumpled in my hand. The image of limbs twisted in odd angles and dirt streaks down his face as he was rushed into emergency surgery flashed through my mind. Power stirred through my veins. "Whumpee?" A warm voice asked behind me. I blinked. Then turned around to see... Assistant. He was a new employee. Joined Hero Headquarters as the Vice-President's Assistant a few weeks before. I disapproved of how quickly he had risen into the position. He had outstanding qualifications, sure, but so did the other candidates. I wondered why exactly he'd been favored over the rest.

The smile on his torn lips was cautious. As if he wasn't trying to startle me. His eyes flicked down. I followed his gaze and realized the newspaper in my hand now littered the floor in uneven pieces. My anger had stirred my power without me knowing. "I didn't mean to do that," I sighed, heavily, bending down to pick up the scattered papers. He chucked, softly and crouched down to help me. He tilted his head up to look at me through uncombed strands of brown hair, "agitated?" "Very." There was no humor in my tone, but he grinned anyway. His smile softened and he dragged a trash can over. "I can imagine it's been a rough week," he said, conversationally, "with your brother's hospitalization." "Yup." I answered, dryly. And Assistant being here wasn't making me feel any better. He studied me. "Is he recovering well?" I shrugged with one shoulder. "Not really. But he's alive." Barely. "Is that so?" He asked, voice deceptively light. I looked up, meeting his sparkling eyes. Did Hero's pain amuse him? I shook my head and looked back down. No. I'm being paranoid. He's an assistant here. A week of the media pestering me with questions ran my patience dry. That's all. He hummed and irritation flared, "you know it's rumored that whenever Havoc targets a hero, he goes for his family next. Do you think-" "No," he reached down to pick up another piece of torn paper, "can you just leave-" I froze. My hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist. "What are you-" He started to say, but I cut him off. "Shut up." His nails... "Dirt under your nails..." My mind flashed to the dirt streaks on Hero's face, as if Havoc had dragged his nails across skin—feeling the angles of Hero's jaw, the soft touch of cooling skin from blood loss. The way Hero's costume had blood and mud stains all over. "You have dirt under your nails." His brows furrowed. "Um, yes?" My grip tightened on his wrist and my power stirred again. His eyes sharpened. Agony exploded in my head. A million shards burst into my skull at once, violently forcing its way inward. I couldn't feel anything but the hot, white shards stabbing me, running down my scalp to the soles of my feet-

Stop, I can't, I can't- - - - My head pounded against my skull. I tried opening my eyes but was met with darkness, a blindfold obscuring my vision. My hands flexed against restraints. I groaned and my head drooped to the side. A hand snaked under my chin and tilted my head upright. "You're awake," a smooth, amused voice greeted. It wasn't... Assistant. "Who..." I cleared my throat, hating how scratchy my voice sounded, "are you?" "Hm," one of his fingers traced the outline of my jaw, "take a guess, darling." I tried pulling away from his grip, but he easily forced my head forward, stretching out my neck uncomfortably. "Ah, ah," he murmured, amusement coating his words. "None of that, please." "I'm not playing this game," I ground out, "just tell me who you are." He tilted my jaw to the side ever so slightly, "amuse me." I stayed silent. He tsked, disappointed, and dropped his hand from my jaw. "Do you know what I think, Whumpee?" His fingers pulled the blindfold off me. I blinked rapidly against the blinding light, the pounding in my head sharpened. When my vision finally adjusted, it settled on a tall man with dark hair. Deep green eyes, pale skin... The first thing I noticed about him, though, was the wound running from the inside of his jaw up his left cheek. Fresh stitches ran neatly along the wound. It couldn't have been more than a week old. "I think," he crouched forward, meeting my wide eyes with his darkly amused ones, "you know who I am." I swallowed. He watched the movement and slowly dragged his gaze back to mine. My heart leaped. "Havoc," I breathed. He smiled and anger flared in my chest. "You disgusting little monster, my brother almost died because of-" My vision went white with pain as millions of shards attacked the inside of my skull. Stop, stop, please- When the pain slowly subsided, I was panting heavily, chin against my chest, and my throat was raw, as if I'd been screaming. I blinked back tears. "Language," the villain—Havoc—warned me, softly. His fingers reached for my chin again and he made me meet his terrible, dark eyes again. "This doesn't have to be unpleasant, Whumpee." I glared at him, spitting out my words through ragged breaths. "What do you want?" This time when he smiled, it was slow. As if he was savoring his next words. "To make sure Hero comes back to finish what we started once he's recovered." My eyebrow twitched. "You want a rematch? Why?" "Do you see these stitches on my face, darling?" My eyes trailed to the wound, but I didn't respond. "Hero did this. And I'll make sure he pays for it." I opened my mouth, then closed it. He must've sensed my hesitation because he smiled. "Go on," he coaxed, gently. "How are you going to make him pay?" I asked, voice quiet. The smile on his face made my stomach sink. "With you, of course." "He's not going to recover quickly." "Oh, I know," he leaned forward, breath ghosting my cheek as he softly continued, "that's why, I'm going to keep you until he does, darling."

[justplainwhump]

Not you.

Dany has to horrible to her friend (and to herself).

Shorter piece. As always, Ridley is borrowed from @hackles-up. Lou is dedicated to @wildfaewhump.

Content / warning: psychological whump, gaslighting, betrayal, forced to lie, forced denial of identity (or idk how to call it, but dany betrays a lot about herself).

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There's been 'mingling' scheduled after the press conference, fifteen minutes of handshakes and pleasantries, with Ridley and the governor filing through the crowd, taking compliments and good wishes. 

I'm not needed any longer. Security is guiding me towards the exit, two men and one woman, acting if their main concern is to protect my privacy from intrusive questions. It's not. They are Leo's guys. A hidden gun is pointed at me at all times.

At least they're not rushing. It's a struggle to keep myself walking straight. My body hasn't recovered. Every other step sends jolts of pain up into my hip.

"You'll make national news tonight," Jonah says. He's walking by my side, unfazed by the guards, constantly checking his phone. His casual tone makes my skin crawl. "Plus, reels of that speech are already doing numbers on socials. Right now, 60-40 between favorable posts and comments calling you an 'attention whore'." He clicks his tongue. "Now, that's just mean." 

"Yeah," I huff. "Meanest thing that happened to me in weeks."

He looks over his shoulder at the ballroom full of journalists, then shoots me a warning glance. "Careful."

I keep my voice a low hiss. "Careful? Oh, I'm entirely in character. We've done such hard work to establish that I'm a sexy sad traumatized girl, haven't we?"

His eyes narrow. "You're-"

"Stop." One of the guards raises an arm. "No more questions for Ms Hammond!"

"Dany", someone behind us says, firmly. Lou. 

I squeeze my eyes shut. I should've known they wouldn't let go. 

I like how vulnerable they look.

"I'm fine," I say, as I turn around. "Lou. Please."

The guard pushes herself between us, hand wandering towards her hip. "Mx. Step back."

"It's fine." I'm talking to the guard now. My heart is thrumming in my chest. "They're a friend, not a journalist."

She scoffs. "Mr Lucia-"

A glare from Jonah makes her mouth fall shut, before she can bring up Leo's name. "If Danielle wants to talk to their friend," Jonah says slowly, "Of course we'll give them privacy. Danielle, it's your call." He nods at Lou apologetically. "Sorry for their harsh tone, Mx. They're private security. After what Ms Hammond experienced, understandably everyone around her is very on edge."

My gaze catches Jonah's. He gives a tiny half shrug, almost like he's sorry. We both know what the situation demands. We both know the stakes. We both know he won't allow me another choice.

I clear my throat. "Yes," I rasp. "Yes, thank you, please, give us a moment."

In another situation, the reluctance with which the guards step away at my order would have been comical. It's not now. I fight the urge to ball my hands into fist and pummel them until they go. 

Lou has to trust me. Lou has to believe me. They have to believe this.

Jonah walks off, too, deliberately out of earshot, deliberately gesturing at the guards to leave us even more space. We're cornered, still. Of course we are. All exits are covered.

"You've done great before." Jonah's voice is a whisper in my earpiece. "You know what to do."

"Dany," Lou says again, softer, and steps in closer, extending their arms.

Tears well up in my eyes. I lift a hand between us and shake my head. "Sorry, I… I can't."

Deep worry flickers over their face. "You can't… hug me? Dany, what… what have they done to you? Was it Frankie? Lordin? Who's in on this?"

What do you think, how long will delicate little Lou last down here?

"I'm fine." I force the words out. "I know I should have talked to you guys sooner."

"Yeah." They fold their arms, carefully looking me down. "That's quite the understatement, to be honest, but yeah, you should have."

"I was with Ridley. It was safest not to let anyone know. I'm a target. I need to be careful about whom to trust."

It's the first strike. The pained irritation in Lou's face feels like a gut punch. "Me, Dany? You can always trust me."

"I had to priorize."

Their head spins back to the main floor, where Ridley is doing his rounds. "And you chose… that clown? Dany, how long have you even known him?"

The question makes it sound, like they struggle to understand. Not like they struggle to believe. 

I am the one lying to them. Why is it, that them believing my lies feels like a betrayal?

"A while," I say.

"Be precise," Jonah says over the comm. "Around a year. Dating for five months."

Fucking Jonah. I know the numbers. They've made me learn them by heart. "We've met about a year ago. Took us a while to understand what it was. We've been dating for five months now."

Lou shakes their head. "You don't date. That's what you always say. You don't do romance."

I grimace. The words feel like cutting into my own flesh. "I know I said that. But - it seems I was wrong. I just… I hadn't found the right one. I have now. Ridley is." 

"That's BS, Dany. Bullshit."

Tears threaten to well up in my eyes. I know the script. I know what I need to say. 

I look to the side and shake my head, slowly, softly. "I knew you wouldn't understand."

There it is. It's out. The line to break them. And it lands, just as intended. Lou seems to shrink into themself. "Dany, what-?"

"This world, here, the rich and famous, politics, Ridley - that's my place, Lou. I've been made for it. I've tried myself out for a while, yeah. But with all the stuff that happened lately? My Dad, and all? It just made me see more clearly that I'm done. I needed to start a new chapter."

"A new chapter?"

I nod, my throat constricted. How can I do this? How can it be so simple, to do something so unforgivable? To destroy my best friend?

The earpiece crackles. "Don't stop talking. Drive it in."

"We..." Lou is looking up at me from teary eyes. "Dany, we... we thought you were dead!"

"I know," I whisper. "I know, and I'm sorry. But there's a part of me, that had to die."

They bite their lip. "Dany, you-"

"Princess?" Ridley is strolling towards us, face flushed with success and excitement. "Come. We're leaving"

"Princess?", Lou echoes tonelessly. "That's not you, Dany. It's not."

Jonah stops Ridley's steps just out of earshot and whispers something in his ear. Both are watching us intently.

"I know this is going to be hard to hear. I'm exactly where I need to be. It is me. And on that note," I tilt my head. Tears are heavy in my eyelashes. It doesn't matter. These lies work well with tears. "It's not Dany any longer. I go by Danielle."

Ridley extends his arm. 

With measured, painful steps, I walk over to him and let him wrap his arm around me, shield me against the reporters, against Lou, against everything.

By the time we reach the limo, his crisp white shirt is stained with my tears.

He doesn't seem to mind.

On our way home, in the back of the limo, it is me who wordlessly takes initiative, who works open his pants, who pushes up my dress, who slowly settles down on his lap.

Ridley doesn't mind that either.

[justplainwhump]

Reblog for the [Dany: Princess] tag list:

@distinctlywhumpthing @queenofthenoobs @ocean-blue-whump @angst-after-dark @yet-how-they-creep

@light-me-on-pyre @theloveofwhump @yellowcatcallshome @promisedhorrors @defire

Let me know if you want to be added or removed!

[inhurtandincomfort]

Recovery living weapon things in the unlearning of ingrained behaviour. A stealth-oriented weapon still needing to know everything about everyone, and it's played off as a love of gossip until they suddenly seem to know everything about you, from your phone number, your childhood address, every ex-partner and former boss...

A living weapon who's only job was to pull the trigger. That's it, they don't need to know any information, they don't need to know anything other than the ability to follow the most basic and direct commands. Now having to learn that violence is not actually an acceptable way to resolve issues, please just take up pottery or something, no I don't want you to punch that guy because he looked at us weird...

A living weapon who enjoys their work, needing to relearn other ways to cope and feel that rush. Through art, painted or written displays of violence. Through extreme activities, skydiving, bdsm, anything for that adrenaline rush. Those are the safe ones. It could go badly, falling into substance use, getting into street fights because they need it, they can't exist without it, this is what they're built for

[living-weapons-whump]

Non-human whumpee rescued by a team of humans. But because of whumper they think all humans are dangerous and is always on their toes/really aggressive to the team until they discover someone on the team is also not a human !! So now everyone is confused as to why the new rescued who wouldn't look anyone in the eyes now follow caretaker like a baby duck

[friendsandfoood]

Thinking of an obsessive Whumper kidnapping Whumpee for a specific skill they have. Maybe they’re an excellent dancer or singer. Or they could even be good at cooking. Either way, Whumper wants to be the only one to enjoy that talent.

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Whumpee laying on a bed, screaming and crying into a gag. The medical team around them are expressionless as they perform what needs to be done, with little regard to the pain it's causing.

Are they trying to help? Whumpers? or Caretakers with terrible bedside manners?

[whumpluv]

people trying to talk through sobs is so good in whump. have you ever tried to talk while crying? it's not easy. quick, gasping breaths in-between desperate and incoherent stammering because you're sobbing too hard to get the words out. should be used in whump more tbh.

[prettyboytortureclub]

Stoic Whumpee being kept blindfolded, and crying themselves to sleep each night when they are 'alone'. Whumper watching them silently, a grin on their face, excited to exploit this hidden weakness.

[afterdarkwhump]

Whumper leaving non-permanent marks on whumpee - mild bite marks, bruises and marks from firmly gripping their hips - and tattooing around them so they stay forever.

"Now I'm always touching you," Whumper taunts, placing their hands on whumpee's hips in the same position as the tattoos, the shape matching perfectly. They lean in, pressing their lips to whumpee's neck, over the mark that is again a perfect fit.

Everytime whumpee looks in the mirror, at these fake hands holding them, at these fake marks, they swear they can still feel whumper's touch

[bleedinganddistraught]

Whumper who buys whumpee a cat. It's nice, it makes it easier to sleep, it keeps Whumpee company when they're hurting. Whumpee can't escape without leaving the cat in the hands of whumper. Whumpee can't escape.

[inhurtandincomfort]

Living weapon whumpee who had a life before. A normal life, with a family, friends, interests and goals. Maybe it was a good life, maybe it wasn't, but it was real. And then they were cruelly snatched away, forced into this new role, this life of endless pain and violence, and it changed them. How could it not? They tried to cling onto those memories, tried to remember being a person, but as the years drag by, that past feels unreachable. Like it belonged to someone else.

When they escape, when they reunite, their loved ones don't recognise them anymore. Their manner is cold, their eyes dull. They're always tense, guarded, downright suspicious of their old friends. Everyone having to adjust to that, whumpee and loved ones all having to come to terms with the fact that whumpee is never going to be the same.

[for-the-ouchies]

The pain spikes, flaring bright in their mind, and then slowly settles again, becoming a dull ache. They remember to breath. In, out. Easy does it. They're sweating, and it hurts, but they won't panic. Can't afford to panic.

One down. Thirty-nine to go.

[it-whumping-time]

Whumpee being defiant towards Whumper. Snarling at them and throwing insults. Being difficult and laughing whenever Whumper gets frustrated.

Then Whumper shows that they captured Caretaker too. "If you're not going to comply when I hurt you, then I'll hurt Caretaker instead."

All of a sudden Whumpee goes quiet and immediately start complying with Whumper. They put the collar on their own and kneels in front of Whumper. They now obey every command perfectly.

[holidayinhell]

CWs: threats of noncon, gunplay

“Put your hands up, you piece of shit.”

“Now Whumpee--”

“Quiet.” Whumpee snapped. “I’m not fucking around.” 

Whumper took a step back, breaking his usual pattern of intimidation. He raised a brow inquisitively, his lips twitching to form an amused grin.

“Put your fucking hands up.” Whumpee repeated forcefully.

“Riiight…”

“Do it.” His grip tightened around the handle of the gun. “I'm not afraid to shoot you.”

“Really. You’re gonna kill me, Whumpee-boy?” The tall man half-chuckled. “That’ll be the day.”

The metallic click of the revolver’s hammer echoed in response.

Point taken.

“Ugh. You’re no fun.” Reluctantly, Whumper heeded Whumpee’s warning, sighing as he removed his hands from his oversized hoodie pocket, slowly lifting them above his head. For the first time during Whumpee’s captivity, his cruel smirk faltered.

“Give a coward a gun and suddenly they think they’re invincible.” The tall man grumbled under his breath. There was no way Whumpee would actually shoot him. He didn’t have the balls.

“Just shut up.”

“Ooh, scary.” Whumper taunted. He reeled his head back and spat in Whumpee’s direction, the wet splat landing only inches from the other's bare feet. 

Whumpee’s eyes flicked up to meet Whumper’s, blazing furiously.

He inched closer to Whumper with careful, measured steps, keeping the barrel of the gun leveled steadily at the monster's chest. 

“Woah woah woah. Easy tiger.” Whumper said playfully. He maintained the intense eye contact as he slowly lowered his hands back to his sides, palms facing out in a mock display of submission. 

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” He chuckled, tucking his hands back into the oversized hoodie pocket.

“This isn’t a joke.” Whumpee warned. “Put your fucking hands up, or I’ll make you.” 

“Naw.” The tall man said, drinking in Whumpee’s increasing agitation. His sadistic eyes glinted with challenge. “Guess you’ll have to make me.”

“I’ll end you right now. I mean it. Nothing would make me happier than watching you bleed out.” Whumpee clenched his jaw. “Killing you would be the easy route, though. Death is too good for you. It's not even a fraction of what you deserve. So for the last goddamn time, fucking listen to me.”

“Fucking listen to me,” Whumper repeated sarcastically, voice dripping with contempt. “You really know how to demand respect, Whumpee. I’m confused, are you gonna shoot me, or are ya gonna torture me? 'Cuz you’ve got me absolutely shitting my pants over here.”

Whumpee felt a surge of adrenaline, the weight of the confrontation pressing down on him as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“How ‘bout this, you trigger-happy little cunt,” Whumper said wickedly. “Give me the gun now, and I won’t fuck you with it later.”

The threat made Whumpee’s blood boil. 

That’s it. Time for Whumper to die. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Whumpee took a step forward and planted the muzzle of the gun against Whumper’s temple. He squeezed the trigger. 

The hammer flicked forward, eliciting an empty click.

The gun didn’t fire.

Time froze. 

The dull sound echoed in the silence. 

Whumpee couldn’t hear anything other than his heart thundering in his chest. 

His wide eyes darted down to the revolver, disbelief written across his face. Panic flooded in.

A wide grin spread across Whumper’s chin as he removed a hand from his pocket. Six golden bullets rolled in the palm of his hand, glinting in the light. Whumper pinched one between his fingers, turning it over as he marveled at it.

“Surprised?”

With a flick of his wrist, he released the remaining five bullets from his palm. They cascaded to the concrete floor with five distinct clangs.

“If you’re gonna shoot someone, you might want to make sure the fucking gun is loaded.”

Whumpee froze in disbelief.

How could he have been so stupid?

He didn’t react when Whumper lunged at him, twisting the gun from his sweaty hands. He didn’t fight back when the cold metal smacked against his temple, heavy and sharp, sending him hurtling into the concrete, cracking his skull into the ground.

Everything went black. A trickle of blood flowed down his cheek.

Whumper towered over him, a victorious grin plastered across his face.

"I enjoyed your game, Whumpee. Let's play another."

He loaded the single bullet into the revolver, clicking the cylinder closed.

“You ever play Russian Roulette?”