thewinchesterwhumpkin
Winchester the Whumper
I write (sub-par) whump, need I say more?
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✨Whump Asks ✨
🪳Who’s your OC that just won’t die? Why????
✨Which OC is your most specialest ever?
⚰️ What’s an OC or story that never made it past the planning phase?
🎨 What do you think is your most creative whump idea?
❌ What’s your controversial whump opinion?
😈 What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done to an OC?
🍻 Which OC would you wanna grab a beer with?
🫀What work do you love the most?
🦷 Which OC is the most likely to bite? Who’s most likely to get bitten?
👑 Who’s your fave? Why?
⛓️Which whumpee has been tortured the longest? Why won’t you let them GO??
🕸️ What’s a whump idea that’s gathering dust at the back of your brain?
👹 Who’s your worst OC? Why?
🥇Shout out to your fav whump creators!
🥩 Which OC Is most feral?
🍯 What’s your comfort ratio? Are you a comfort person? Why or why not?
🥊 Can you beat any of your OCs in a fight?
🔪 Quick: fuck, marry, kill [insert OCs].
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Hello! Welcome!
New account
Hiii!
I'm Cainy, a 19-year-old girl from the Netherlands.
Recently, I have been getting interested in the Whump community, so I decided to make an account where I can share my thoughts, ideas and writing.
I hope to meet new people who I can share my ideas with!
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should i change my user…
What are we called? Whumpites? Whumpkins? Whumpians?
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it’s slightly giving that Supernatural scene with Crowley and Jody.
Iykyk.
Whumpee's just met whumper and have no idea how much danger they're in. They might as well have walked into a deathtrap.
While unaware, they have a polite conversation. Whumper seems to express interest in them ever-so-harmlessly.
Perhaps during the conversation, however; whumper's waiting to snap the trap closed.
Just whumpees who have no idea a Whumper is a Whumper.
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Tiny whumpees inside one of those claw machines but also in those sealable little balls with the colorful caps. Little air holes, just enough so whumpee doesn’t completely suffocate.
tiny whumpees inside of one of those claw machines so the whumpers can try and catch one as a prize to take home
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whumpees who are terrible people my beloved. <3 maybe they’re former whumpers, or have committed some terrible crime that they’re on the run from when they get kidnapped. maybe they were disowned by their family after dishonoring them and have no one to go home to. maybe they manipulate and lie and cheat and steal and are toxic and terrible people who believe no one is looking for them and that they deserve every bad thing whumper does to them. <3
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So um-
This is the second death I’ve experienced in two months. Third if you count the child of a regular customer who has died from SIDS recently…
I keep promising myself to complete writing and whump challenges and I’m going to try to complete Febuwhump but I just don’t know if I have the energy.
My bad…
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Day 2 of Febuwhump: Flinching
Content Warnings: female whumpee, male caretaker, angst, survivor’s guilt
@febuwhump
After much coaxing, the mourner emerged from her room on the fifth day of the third week.
The bunker lights were brighter than the darkness Rose had nearly succumbed to, and she kept constantly having to blink in order to adjust. The cold of the floor seeped into her bare feet, and she regretted leaving her socks in the other room.
Dean loped beside her, slowing his steps so she could keep pace. She was notably slower, muscles still stiff and inelastic because of her lack of movement. He couldn’t help but study his child’s profound regression, concern taking over all of his own function. He saw the lethargy in her steps, the way her ribs poked out just a little more than usual, the hollowness in her face… he kept kicking himself for not pushing her to eat, not pushing her to come out of that damn room and be where she could feel love. No, he instead had let her retreat as he often did, forgetting that she wasn’t the same as he was. She wasn’t always determined to get back up. She still fell apart, still held onto more humanity than he even had left in his soul. She was still practically a child to him.
Rose felt shivers down her spine at the thought of being watched, and tried to speed up. Instincts were flooding in again, though she tried not to let them. She was safe, here in the bunker, she knew that. This was her home.
Jonah was your home, you idiot.
“Fucker,” she mumbled, her dry eyes stinging at the thought of tears. Dean looked down at her, her frail features, and saw some of the strength returning. Just a shred of it.
“Mmm?” he questioned.
“Nothing.”
“Okay.” The silence swallowed them whole again.
“I’m going to make them pay.” The sentence was so quiet that Dean almost couldn’t hear it.
“Rose?”
“You heard me.”
Dean couldn’t help but sigh, stopping in his tracks. As much as he needed to get Rose cleaned and fed properly after her self-neglect, he also knew he had to stop this fire before it got too high.
“There’s nothing we can do about this.”
“E-Excuse me?” The bewilderment on her face was soul-shattering, something right out of a human-adapted ASPCA commercial.
“I meant right now. We can’t do anything about this right now.”
“So what, we move on?” Her anger flared. Shit, he was fanning the flames. Too late to turn back now. “We pretend like nothing ever happened, we say ‘we can’t do anything’ until years have passed and Kai gets ganked by some other demon and we accept it?”
“Revenge-”
“Don’t give me the crap about revenge. Because every time you say it, you turn right around and break your own rules. Hypocritical.”
Dean bristled. “Look, I get it. This is weighing you down. Survivor’s guilt-”
“You don’t know shit about survivor’s guilt!”
“I know everything.” He stared down at her, vaguely aware of the way he towered over it all. Rose stared up at him, the cortisol starting to rush again.
“It feels like your chest is getting crushed, like everything is heavy and numb all at once. I get that. You feel like you can’t keep going but you don’t got an option. Those people you lost? If the roles were reversed would they want you to shut down?”
Rose suppressed a whimper. “No.”
Dean came on stronger. “Would they?”
“No!”
It was then when he noticed her sharp movements, backing away from him by two steps. Something that had only happened once before. His chest sank.
“Rose, I’m sorry.”
Rose stared, rabbitlike fear in her eyes. Skittish, skittish, broken… She shook her head and straightened up to full height, wincing at the aching muscles.
“You’re right.” She turned on her heel and walked as briskly as she could muster down the hall, leaving Dean to question everything he’d said.
#whumpblr#febuwhump2023#febuwhump#whump#female whumpee#male caretaker#genderless whumper#tw survivor’s guilt#tw angst
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Hey thanks-
Best wishes to those of you participating in Febuwhump! I hope you have a blast and your whumpees suffer beautifully 👏
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Febuwhump Day 1: Touchstarved
And so the time has come for a whump event once more. This year I am committed to finishing any and every event that I may participate in, Febuwhump 2023 included!
Today is “touchstarved”.
Please note that any work I produce for the month of February regarding my OC of choice, Rose, may be featured in the respective fic I am actively editing for A03. Later on in the year, likely during the summertime, I’ll post the official masterlist for this fic! Please keep a lookout.
Yes, this is based in the Supernatural universe, although I am trying to focus more on developing my original characters through this event. Please be patient, offer feedback if desired, and enjoy!
@febuwhump
Content: touchstarved, angst, mention of character death, eventual fluff, self harm, mention of abduction as blackmail, younger female Whumpee (think nineteen, young little fluffy thing), drowning, fluffy romance (nonsexual), parental male caretaker, genderless whumper for the time being
Two weeks. Two weeks since it happened.
The scene replayed itself over and over in her head, and all of time seemed to stand still. Rose’s room was a time capsule, irrelevant and unimportant to the flow of the world outside its unmoving steel door. The bedding had gone as cold as her heart, and all the reminders of Jonah were strewn across the ground in a fit of rage. She was cold too, cold like his body before they’d wrapped him in a sheet and set him aflame once the salt was spread. She willed her heartbeat to still, willed for it to stop like his heart had done beneath her trembling fingers. The fingers that were supposed to bring life, not death. The thin fingers sewn onto the hands of a monster.
Rose lay on her side, staring at her grey walls in the boxy prison she used to call her bedroom. Save for a blink, she didn’t stir, hugging herself and clutching at the raw skin on her arms with those death fingers. Burns riddled areas which hadn’t been scratched or patched by stitches. She wished for touch, his touch. But that would never come.
She saw it coming and did nothing.
Kai’s grin was malevolent and the next thing Rose knew, she was tip-tip-tipping backwards into the water. Her heels scraped against the docks, and she screamed, unable to catch herself. The rigid structure of the chair kept her from scrambling onto the dock, and instead her solid form crashed into the chilling winter waters. It all came flooding in, and the rushing cold drowned out the sounds of her family’s dismayed cries. Jonah’s pierced her most of all, causing her to inhale nice and big and deep. The water gladly took the invitation, swarming into her nose. Rose immediately wished she hadn’t, thrashing. Her knife was still above the water, in the hands of the demon.
Like a torpedo, someone dove after her after what felt like minutes. Rose was drowning fast, with her lips adhered shut and the bay sucking her in. Her fingers were clamped tight around the iron dragging her down, rigor mortis greedily taking a preemptive effect. The evening gown she wore contributed in dragging her down to the floor of the deep. In the dark, deep blue, she could not make out who the torpedo was, though judging by the fuzzy cloud that was a shaggy head of hair, she assumed Jonah. If not for the lack of oxygen she would have been relieved. Instead, she let her head loll back, eyes fluttering. Her chest went from heavy to light, skin going numb quicker than the last time she had almost drowned. Was it supposed to be like this?
The knife sawed at her bonds, but she felt nothing. Nothing except for the angel hands lifting her to the heavens.
Those hands suddenly became firm and real and raw, and even rawer air smacked her straight in the face. Rose’s blurry vision was stabbed by the brilliance of the dock lights, back hitting the rough wood. Arms were wrapped around her, arms clad in soaked fabric. Rose struggled for air, and the moment she could open her mouth it became a fountain, sputtering out the bay water so she could breathe again. In the whiplash of it all, she could barely tell how long it had been since she went under. She suspected not long, because she would have drowned after four to six minutes without her airways being obstructed by tape and being bound to an iron chair, even less under her circumstances.
“I’ve got you,” Jonah mumbled to her, though it all sounded bubbly and wrong. He pushed slimy tendrils of hair from Rose’s face, and she mustered up a smile of relief. Though he was now as cold as her, she welcomed the touch. In return, he grinned, pulling her towards his chest. That goofy smile was a source of comfort, the pearly whites with the chipped canines a relief in comparison to the straight-toothed devil. “That was scary, wasn’t it?”
“M-mhm,” Rose mumbled, clinging on for dear life. She couldn’t get enough of the touch.
“Don’t worry, we’re gonna get you home now. Just get up with me and we’ll get to the car.”
But they never made it to the car.
Rose’s hand inched forward, the only movement in hours. Every one of her muscles ached with the effort as her fist curled around the lighter on her nightstand. It was Jonah’s, one of the only things she had left of him. It was a dingy, silver Zippo with a faded rattlesnake decal and a rusty hinge, but it worked just fine. He always used to argue with her during those long nights camping or the times they were left in a motel alone. His hands would run down her sides, keeping her all sweet and secure through the nightmares, and they would argue over that stupid Zippo all the while. This, this was all she had left of his touch.
Laboriously, Rose rolled up the lower half of her tanktop, fingertips rubbing against the fresh scars she’d forged since his murder. The ghost of his pressure could be felt in those scars. Full of yearning, she lit up the Zippo. Little blue flames with a crimson crest broke from the ignitor, licking up the oxygen in the room. The only warmth in the whole damn box, this lighter. She needed it. The girl sniffed, bringing it to her skin.
Sizzle, burn, scar, again. Purer than cigarettes, better than drowning. The flames moved along her hips, lower, lower, lower. All with that blank stare. All just to feel anything other than the pain.
She was ready to move to her thighs when her door creaked open. She stopped.
“Rose?”
Rose snapped the Zippo shut and set it on the nightstand, pulling her tanktop down and drawing the covers up, but the clatter was too loud for her guardian to ignore.
“What were you doing?”
“Nothing,” Rose stammered, “I-I was… nothing.”
So funny, how that chopped up sentence spoke more truth than the lie she was trying to tell. I was nothing. I am nothing.
Heavy footsteps made their way to her bed, a burdening weight sinking her bedside. A weathered hand reached out, pushing her hair back from her face. It was warm, so warm, and for a moment, she felt the lake water again.
“Talk to me, kiddo.”
That was all it took for Rose to melt into her surrogate father’s arms, a hot mess of sobs and snot. Crying isn’t always pretty like it is on TV, she decided to herself, no matter who told her how beautiful her eyes sparkled when they were full of tears. At least, it wasn’t pretty on the inside. You could be a model crying to the screen, but on the inside you only felt like more of a monster.
Neither of them said any words for a long while. It was father and daughter, alone in the grey prison. Father providing security, daughter clinging to and eating up all the contact she could before it could escape her grasp. There was one thing they both knew for damn sure.
That demon was going to be no more come March.
#febuwhump2023#febuwhumpday1#touchstarved#femwhump#female whumpee#male caretaker#parental caretaker#demons#angels#hunters#winchester#supernatural#whumpblr#original character#not a mary sue#tw self harm#tw drowning#tw abduction
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whumper who calls whumpee pet names all the time
honey, sweetie, baby etc. whumpee finds it disgusting, up until the moment they fuck something up and whumper uses their actual name and punish whumpee for whatever they did
from that time on whumpee truly apprectiates being "sweetie"
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A whumpee who was brutally tortured for information on their master, is eventually returned to their master who then proceeds to brutally torture them for potentially giving up valuable information.
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Mom said it’s my turn to hurt fictional characters.
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Who else loves the sound of Whumpees alternating between shouting threats and curses at Whumper and then screaming in pain as they're punished for their boldness? 🥰
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And they were roommates-
Give me more casual moments between Whumper and Whumpee.
Your whumpers can get tired, bored, lonely even. They can't hurt Whumpee 24/7, they have a life too! So give me:
Whumper suddenly helping whumpee do the dishes or something for no reason. They are just really bored.
Cooking when this was supposed to be Whumpee's duty, it's just that they don't have this dish in a really long time and only them can make it right.
Telling a joke because they found it really funny and had to tell someone else.
Asking rethoricall questions ("Whumpee which shirt is better? The blue one right? I'll go with the blue one.")
Just siting and chilling in the same room as the whumpee.
Getting curious about the person they are hurting so much, and asking what was their favorite color, if they read X book, and what they think of Y movie.
Just casual moment with the roommates.
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