#whumprober
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NSFWHUMPTOBER 2023
RULES
tag me. it's @whump-world. if you don't tag me, i won't be able to find your pieces. (then all my followers who are largely okay with nsfwhump won't be able to find your blog either!)
2. it can be as nsfw as you like. i will reblog all of it.
3. use this hash tags #nsfwhumptober2023
4. the prompts are just guidelines. take as much creative liberty as you need. the dialogue can be edited. the word prompts are for additional inspiration.
5. write out all the warnings at the start of your piece.
6. any kind of media is okay as long as it's on Tumblr. so art, writing, gifs, etc is a-okay.
7. reblog this if you're participating
PROMPTS
day 1: anything you like!!
day 3: "get on the table"
exhibitionism | punishment | humiliation
day 5: "were the pillows soft?"
noncon drugging | denial | creepy whumper
day 7: "love me. that's all i'm asking"
pet names | possessive whumper | defiant whumpee
day 9: "you don't understand how ravishing you look"
clothes | higher social status whumpee | restrained
day 11: "Shh.. unless you want it to hurt"
wax play | in public | pain
day 13: "smile at the camera, love"
anonymous whumper | voyeurism | stalker
day 15: "i'll do anything." "anything?"
sensory deprivation | mind break | isolation
day 17: "who- who is that?"
multiple whumpers | blinded whumpee | trafficking
day 19: "you only have one purpose"
toys | cockwarming | dehumanization
day 21: "the begging, the tears, gosh, the show you put on."
captivity | gaslighting | terror
day 23: "can i touch you here?"
weapons | noncon touch | bargaining
day 25: "you're tired, huh. sure, sitting there must be oh so tiring."
exhaustion | dubcon | somnophilia
day 27: "who do you want first?"
multiple whumpees | mind games | pet whump
day 29: "you can't go out like that. people already think you're a whore. no need to prove them right."
control | relationship whump | embarrassment
day 31: "why are you crying? you deserve worse."
villain whumpee | bondage | loss of power
#whump community#whump#whump blog#whump writing#whump art#whumpblr#whumprober#nsfwhumptober2023#intimate whumper#whump challenge#whump prompts#whump scenario#whump inspiration#whump inspo#whump list
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The stone is hard, but there is moon
Timeline: approximately a hundred years ago, in the middle of short cut of time when experiments on creating mod-souls were made. One of them, who will later be called Nova, is having his powers awakening and is not a good time for him.
The mod-souls are created deep down under the surface, under one of the Twelfth Division buildings. Well, more likely under the entirety of the Twelfth Division. Giant caves, natural or made by the hand on shinigami, are filled to the brim by laboratories, warehouses, test areas, and, of course, containment units for the various test subjects. The building of different shapes and purposes form an underground city, with streets and blocks and even small park with a tiny river.
So it makes sense that there is a lighting system in place, with hundreds of light sources imitating daylight. During the night on the surface most of these light sources are disabled, making the underground to sank into the twilight.
Red did not know most of it at that time. The attempts the scientists made to create stable mod-souls with useful and effective powers were successful only half of the time, so neither shinigami nor older mod-souls bothered to teach – or to speak more than strictly necessary – with ones who were still defined as “work in progress”. What was the point, if half of freshly-created souls would crumble into pieces anyway, and half of the survivors would not obtain powers, or would be killed by them, or deemed useless by scientists?
So Red is alone, surrounded by stone, with one small barred window under the ceiling and dim light seeping out from under the heavy door locked from the other side. It is darker than usual on the outside, quieter too, and if Red turns his head just right, through the window he can see a lonely light far away, dim but steady. And nothing else. Red does not know if there are no other mod-souls on the other side of the stone walls. May be there are, but they are too tired to make sounds, or are unable to, or a dead. It should not really matter to Red, but it somehow still matters.
While dying generally sucks, dying alone feels much more miserable. Also it makes Red angry. Angry on the world in whole, angry on the scientists who pointed on Red strange devices and discussed the results with indifferent voices, angry for a few other, older mod-souls who Red encountered briefly while being moved around the facility. In contrast with shinigami, the other mod-souls at least looked at Red – but even if disinterest in their eyes was feigned and heavily fixed with tiredness, pain and pity, Red still forces himself to be angry. The anger is better than apathy.
Red decides to call the distant light source in the window the moon. He does have some memories of the real one. Apparently, those are living memories from before Red – or one of the souls from the parts of which he was assembled – died. The older mod-souls did, in fact, explain at least some things when Red did not died or went insane some time after being created. So Red knows that this is a Soul Society, the world where the dead live. Red knows that shinigami are in charge here and that shinigami are creating tools to help them fight monsters, hollows – unlucky souls who did not died right, or something like that. And Red knows that either he lasts the night and surfaces with some sort of strange ability, like jumping ten times higher than usual or smashing the stone with his bare heads, or there will be no tomorrow for him.
And, well, at this point Red kind of starts to dream about being killed by shinigami, because he did already witnessed a couple of fellow lab rats being disposed of, and while it did looked painful and messy, it was pretty fast. On the other hand, agonizing on the cold stone from something new being formed inside your soul was much more time-consuming. Red was currently engaging in this particular activity, and with each passing minute the pain, varying from the dull ache inside of Red’s skull to sharp spikes of what felt like his spine being melted from the inside, seemed only get worse.
The temperature in the room seems to lower too, because while Red was already uncomfortable on the cool stone floor in the beginning of the night, now he is actively freezing. Being dressed only in light shitagi did not helped. Red swallowed a whine after another wave of pain passed through him, and a small huff of his breath became visible for a moment. It really, really should not have been so cold in here. Must have been a part of process of powers awakening – the fever, the temperature rising. ...For some reason Red doubted that human body could heat up to the degree he was currently experienced, but maybe in Soul Society things worked the other way around. Whatever. It was hard to concentrate on one thought for too long.
Red slowly moved his limbs in attempt to find an at least a little more painless position, but bare floor did not give a lot of choises. At least Red was small enough to not feel being squashed by the walls and the ceiling. Well, almost all mod-souls the Red caught the glance of were little compared with shinigami, and also young – like, really young, Red was pretty sure half of them would have counted like literal children, not fighters – but Red was smaller then others, compensating by being twice as loud and active.
There is a tingling in Red’s fingertips, and it is not quite painful, but disturbing nonetheless. The sparks buzz under his skin, traveling from the base of Red’s skull down to fingers. These sparks are neither hot nor cold but sharp, as a barely noticeable needle prick. Not a problem yet, but the pain in Red’s spine is hard to ignore, and it also started from a small ache.
It was easy to not be as quiet and passive as others. Yeah, Red was scared too – of scientists and tests and blood being taken – but he coped by attracting attention, and by shifting the focus from others on himself. Even if it got him the lion’s share of additional punishments and harsh threats, the more to Red’s meant the less to others. Fair trade.
Another wave of pain crushes through, and this time Red can’t refrain from making a sound. He immediately shuts his mouth and clenches teeth, but the pain increases and increases, not leaving much place for thinking. Soon Red screams, and his throat hurts, but his back hurts worse, and there is nothing Red can do about it.
There is still no sound from the outside, no voices of other mod-souls or steps of scientists. Only artificial moon, and Red briefly laughs with the irony of this – artificial moon for artificial soul. His laugh is hoarse and a little wild, and Red has nothing worth of laughing, but he laughs nonetheless. And then screams again, this time not even trying to hold back. It feels like his spine is growing new ribs, both between already existing one and outwards, like false wings. There is nothing of such gruesomeness happening, Red knows (after checking his chest and his back, wherever he can reach with joints stiff from pain). Nothing moves under his skin. But it certainly feels this way.
He is a mess, Red knows. Ready to plead for someone to make it stop, to knock him unconsciousness, to do something. But there is no one around. Only the moon.
Fucking scientists and their experiments.
The room is shifting now, the walls wobbling and the floor shaking, and after a while Red feels like the world itself is stretching and shrinking simultaneously. Something is wrong with Red’s sense of distance and direction. The light from the moon warps, and every couple of breathes it feels like the window and the door change places. The ceiling is suddenly so close that Red knows that he can touch it without standing and even sitting up, but Red can’t move, can’t even close his eyes to shut away the insanity the world around is becoming.
For some reason Red is sure that if he closes his eyes he may not open them in the same scenery of bare stone walls again. Or he may not open them at all. So Red forces his eyelids to stay out of the way and watches, stares on the stone like if something could change in addition to wobbling distortion of dimensions.
The pain shifts from Red’s spine to one spot inside his chest. Red’s heart is beating so loud that it should be audible from the outside, and it is faster than it has any right to be, frantic pounding leaving Red breathless. Red blinks away tears, and his own screams sound muted to him, and the pain is tearing his body from the inside while the world dances around.
Red feels like something inside his head clicks, loudly and inescapably, and the world turns crimson. Red feels the spasm forcing itself through his body, the sharp pain of his tongue being bitten through, and then there is nothing, an empty blackness without any sounds.
...
Red wakes up and there is something wrong with the world, something missing. It takes time to figure it out, but finally Red grasps – there is almost no pain. Yeah, Red is not sure of how much tongue he got left, because it may be half-bitten with how it aches, and Red’s throat is also really sore, but the rest – the rest is just the dull background feeling comparing from the last night.
- You awake?
Red twitches and the world around shatters for a brief moment, and then there is a sharp flash of pain and everything is back to normal. The only addition is a sudden hunger cramp. Red blinks the crimson spots away and turns his head to look at his new neighbor. Judging by the similar, even if a little more clean and less torn shitagi, it is another mod-soul. He… Or she, but Red leans towards he, is definitely from the older bunch of mods, looking like a young man – or woman – not far away, but still away from adolescense. The other mod-soul has long white hair, white skin and warm blue eyes. They also have the cup of water which is currently being held to Red.
Red suddenly realizes his thirst and takes the cup, but the other mod-soul does not let go of it, instead helping Red to move it to his mouth. Not without reason, Red’s hands feel like a jelly. Red sips cool water, and it tastes like blood.
- So. - the other mod-soul patiently waits while Red drinks and then places the cup on the floor. - I am Kurodo. Got a name?
Red glances with suspicion, since no one before bothered to ask, but this guy – Kurodo – this actually sounds like a real name, must be cool to remember something from the past life – looks genuinely interested in answer. And also Red for some reason likes him. So Red points to his head – the tangled mess of dirty hair – and it seems like Kurodo gets the hint.
- Red, right?
Red nods. He is really hungry, much more than he must be after one night, and it does not feels good.
- Not a chatterbox, I see. - Kurodo smiles at him, and Red, pushed by sudden impulse, opens his mouth and sticks out tongue. Kurodo’s face shows a mix of compassion and sadness, and then he softly smiles to Red. - Nasty bite marks you got here. I got some healing salve here, but I have no idea if it would make it better or worse.
Red does not feels like speaking at all, not only because of the sore throat and aching tongue, but also because something has shifted inside him the last night, and Red is not exactly sure what. So he just looks at Kurodo with what Red hopes is a question drawn on his face.
- Right, yes, probably should have started with it. So, I don’t know if it would be good news for you or bad, but the science guys decided that you have the powers. And, since you flickered out of existence for a moment when I startled you, it seems be true.
So he is not being disposed of and neither the power’s awakening had killed him. Red genuinely tries to determine what does he feel about it, but the world is still a little blurry around the edges. Well, thinks Red with bitter amusement, it definitely means that he got more time to thing about it.
Also, what is next?
#whumptober2023#no.3#Solitary Confinement#“Make it stop.”#“Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”#bleach#fic#blood#captivity#bleach noba#noba#writing_getsu#kurodo#bleach kurodo#bleach au i guess or at least heavily headcanoned#writing in whumprober does strange things to me#whump is somehow yielding to plot and worldbuilding#but i try to bring it back!#also there is a hard and yet unanswered question of#1) where Getsu was at the moment (current answer: having his own problems/being dematerialized/???)#2) how would he change the status quo - free the mod-souls and help them find their place in Soul Society
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Whumprober '22, Day 12
Healer grunted, hauling the massive body with all of his strength towards the chamber entrance. Dirt and rocks caught on the brightly painted plate mail, making it harder to get Tank out of the area.
"Damn you for being out of range," Healer growled, adjusting his hold on the plate. He dug his heels in and heaved, gaining inches only. "I should have let you fucking die." He groaned, pulling with all his might to start getting his tank around the corner. Another explosion went off in the chamber, and the monster let out an awful scream. The other two party members weren't going to last much longer.
Healer stopped for a moment, catching his breath before readjusting his hold. They were almost out of the way, almost out of danger.
"You all thought you were so prepared," Healer grumbled, pulling again. He grunted, panting, and one of the other party members screamed in agony. "If you had told me the name of the place," he pulled, adjusted his footing, "I could have fucking told you you wouldn't survive."
Tank stopped suddenly, and Healer looked down to see her legs still in view of the horrible beast. Her armor had caught on something, and he frantically reached down to dislodge it. He pulled on Tank's arms, then her legs, swearing under his breath when he couldn't find the snag. He gasped in relief when he discovered it by Tank's hip and hurriedly kept pulling her away.
"I should just leave your ass behind," Healer panted, grabbing Tank under the arms. "I don't even know why I'm traveling with you morons."
The last party member screamed, a tight cry of pain that ended just as suddenly as it started. Healer stayed crouched, stock still and panting. He could hear the monster moving around inside the chamber, shuffling about. There were no more fighting sounds. Everyone else was down.
"Fuck," Healer whispered, glancing down at Tank. She was still breathing for the moment, but all of the blood on her chest was a problem. Healer looked up to the chamber entrance, his breath shuddering as the monster stepped closer. "Go away," he whispered shakily, slowly letting go of Tank. "Please go away," he breathed as the shadow fell over the arch of rock.
He stood upright, trembling, reaching instinctively to his back. The monster set its massive claws down in the entryway and Healer let out a withering cry as it stuck its head out into the passageway.
Before he even knew it, he'd strummed a cord on his lute.
The monster stopped, giant, yellow eyes falling to the instrument. Healer stood there, trembling, and glanced down at the lute now in his hands.
Well, what else could possibly go wrong?
He strummed another cord, and the monster perked its huge ears, eyes focused on the lute.
"Uuuuh…" Healer sang, voice trembling. He picked a tune and started playing. "Please, ugly monster, don't eat me," he sang, too shaken to find the chipper tone of the random song he'd started funny. "I promise I taste worse than shit," he went on, his fingers steady where they touched the threads. "Oh please, giant monster, you'll hate me," he sang as it stepped further into the passageway. "Please leave now, before I have a fit."
Stupid, that was too many syllables.
The sound of another massive body behind him startled him, and he looked behind himself to see two more huge monstrosities coming up behind him. He wailed briefly, almost buckling against the panic, strumming a new tune as he backed into the cave wall.
"Giant monsters, oh, big, tall monsters," he practically cried, his voice wobbling worse than his legs. He was terrified, striking notes off-key with every slam of his heartbeat. "Why are you so fucking hungry? Giant monsters, you awful monsters—"
Wait, fuck, that was it.
The healer reached into his bag, pulling out a leg of mutton wrapped in butcher's paper. He glanced between the one monster and the two, and decided which group was more likely to kill the other.
He chucked the mutton hard at one of the two smaller monsters, and it hit the beast in the face, stunning it momentarily as the paper burst open. The smell of roasted meat filled the air, and the larger monster roared and lunged, sinking gigantic teeth into the smaller creature before Healer's dinner even hit the ground.
He ran headlong back into the cave, ignoring Tank and the fighting behemoths and running for the party's fallen magic user. She was the only one who'd be able to get them all out of this any kind of alive.
#Whumptober2022#no.12#what could go wrong#Fayte writes#salty healer#grumpy healer#forgot to post this yesterday#it's not super whumpy but I love the idea of a healer who's angry at the world#y'know. like any healer who does raids in a video game
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Warnings; torture mentions, blood mentions, crying.
Whumprober prompt 17; stay with me @whumptober2019
Luna would never tell Emmanuel, but she knew.
They’d sent her footage every day of them torturing her husband. She’d heard his cries as they whipped him within an inch of his life. Watched them swing hatchets and hammers at him. Saw him shake with suppressed sobs when they left after giving him a brutal beating, her fingers on the screen of her phone, tears running down her face as she whispered, “Stay with me, babydoll. We’ll find you.”
Every day held new torture for both. If the messages came while the children weren’t home, Luna might scream and cry with him, begging them to stop hurting him even if they couldn’t hear her. She would sob herself into a coma of exhaustion, and she dreaded every day, knowing a new video would pop up on her phone from the private number that not even Niota could figure out how to track.
But it was the only way she could tell her husband was still alive, so she watched.
She watched them hold him underwater until he nearly drowned, watched him grow thin as they fed him only enough to keep him alive. Watched the dull, dead look in his eyes as they tortured him. Watched him sob until he couldn’t breathe whenever they left.
A bright red ambulance in her driveway, a small yellow M tattoed just above the bumper-
Niota standing there, white arms streaked with scarlet blood. One look at her daughter and Niota nodded. Luna’s heart stopped-
The sirens screamed as if they could ever hope to compete with the sobs that wracked Niotas body as they sped to the hospital. Beautiful, strong Niota, reduced to hysterics-
Niota took the gurney and ran into the hospital as fast as she could, calling out “Code Red,” and “Nurse,”-
Em was in surgery for hours-
No one knew what was happening-
And Samara couldn’t stop crying-
And they had to put him on life support-
Luna would never tell him, but she saw it all.
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by Trekkiehood
Whumprober stories revolving around Alexander Hamilton.
Day 1 - Shaky Hands
Words: 1917, Chapters: 1/31, Language: English
Fandoms: Hamilton - Miranda, 18th Century CE RPF
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Categories: F/M, Gen
Characters: Alexander Hamilton, Philip Hamilton, Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, George Washington
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & Alexander Hamilton's Children, Alexander Hamilton & Philip Hamilton (1782-1801), Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton & George Washington
Additional Tags: Whumptober, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, Hurt No Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Whump, Triggers, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort
from AO3 works tagged 'Hamilton - Miranda' https://ift.tt/2oWaoz7
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