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whumpsies · 4 years

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Welcome to the Ten Trails Whump Challenge!

(And yes, ‘Ten Trails’ is absolutely a pun on ‘entrails’ lol)

This challenge is made up of ten themes, called ‘trails.’ Each trail includes ten prompts related to their theme, spread out through the month of October. Prompts on the same trail are never on consecutive days; there is always at least one day in between prompts, often more. You can use these ‘off days’ to rest your creative muscles or to do a prompt from a different trail, whichever you please!

The goal is to complete at least one trail OR ten prompts in total! Trails, prompts, and dates are as follows!

Trail 1: Guts Galore

Trail 1 is all about that sweet blood and gore! You can really put your whumpees through the wringer with this trail!

October 2nd - bleeding out // October 7th - dissection/amputation // October 11th - impaled // October 13th - electrocuted // October 16th - shattered skull/spine // October 19th - crushed // October 21st - stabbed/shot // October 26th - flayed // October 29th - set on fire // October 31st - organ failure

Trail 2: Heart and Soul

Trail 2 deals with emotional whump; wanna tug on your whumpee’s heartstrings ‘til they snap? Trail 2 is for you!

October 2nd - abandoned // October 6th - repressed memories // October 9th - survivor’s guilt // October 12th - broken heart // October 15th - toxic love // October 18th - lost loved one // October 21st - abuse // October 24th - exile // October 26th - self-hatred // October 28th - suicide

Trail 3: Creature Feature

Trail 3 is full of darkness, fear, and unseen monsters just waiting for a poor unsuspecting whumpee to wander through!

October 1st - animal attack // October 3rd - mob violence // October 9th -cursed/haunted // October 13th - diseased // October 15th - cannibalism // October 19th - chased // October 21st - hiding // October 24th - slaughter // October 28th - possession // October 30th - dark magic

Trail 4: Mind Games

Trail 4 puts a spotlight on mental torment and psychological pain. Love a whumpee with their scars on the inside? Give Trail 4 a try!

October 1st - dependency // October 3rd - hallucinations // October 5th - drugging // October 7th - amnesia // October 10th - brainwashing // October 14th - straitjacket // October 18th - paranoia // October 22rd - isolation // October 25th - phobias // October 30th - broken will

Trail 5: Costume Party

Trail 5 is a celebration of all the ways a whumpee can be dressed up, accessorized, or not dressed at all! Come join the party!

October 2nd - on a leash // October 4th - muzzled // October 6th - tattoos/brands // October 8th - all dolled up // October 10th - shown off // October 12th - new name // October 16th - stripped // October 18th - collared // October 23rd - uniform // October 27th - photo op

Trail 6: Aches and Pains

Trail 6 features common but delightfully unpleasant experiences for your whumpee to suffer. Take a walk on the mild side!

October 3rd - burns // October 6th - cuts/scrapes // October 9th - lost a fight // October 11th - appendicitis // October 14th - allergies/asthma // October 17th - broken bone // October 20th - vomiting // October 22nd - broken teeth // October 25th - head injury // October 27th - cold/flu

Trail 7: Road to Recovery

Trail 7 is for those who love to see a whumpee in the aftermath. The trials and tribulations of the healing process awaits!

October 1st - rescue // October 4th - scars // October 6th - nightmares // October 8th - panic attack // October 12th - coping mechanisms // October 17th - breakdown // October 21st - self-harm // October 24th - therapy // October 29th - triggers // October 31st - lashing out

Trail 8: High Spirits

Trail 8 is chock-full of prompts designed for a whumper’s POV! What awful torments do they have in store for their victim?

October 2nd - victory // October 5th - control // October 7th - false comfort // October 10th - tools // October 13th - training/obedience // October 16th - touch // October 19th - trophy // October 22nd - hunting // October 26th - taunt/tease // October 29th - ownership

Trail 9: Death Trap

Trail 9 is no game, and definitely no fun for a whumpee! But if you like ‘no escape’ scenarios, Trail 9 will suit you just fine!

October 3rd - buried alive // October 5th - burning building // October 8th - explosive device // October 13th - noxious fumes // October 15th - lost and injured // October 17th - trapped/stuck // October 20th - hypothermia // October 23rd - deadly fall // October 25th - drowning // October 29th - sacrifice

Trail 10: Tricked and Treated

Trail 10 has lots of tricks and treats, but none that a whumpee would enjoy! Who needs candy when you’ve got prompts like this?

October 1st - betrayal // October 4th - gaslighting // October 7th - bought/sold // October 11th - cruel prank // October 14th - poisoned // October 16th - exposed // October 20th - favoritism // October 23rd - torture // October 27th - humiliation // October 31st - dehumanization

And that’s the challenge! Do as much or as little as you like, and please don’t feel the need to do every single prompt (though if you do, major kudos to you)! Feel free to @ me in your works if you’d like me to reblog them! Have fun!

IMPORTANT EDIT: There is now an AO3 collection for the Ten Trails Whump Challenge! Please feel free to submit your works to it!

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whumpsies · 4 years

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Disobedience

Rating: Mature (15+)

Word Count: 1565 Words

Trigger Warning: Details of abuse, Abusive behavior, Conditioning, Depiction of physical harm

Whump Prompt (from @whumpster-dumpster ): Whumpee does everything Caretaker says without question or hesitation. Thanks to Whumper’s conditioning, they see every gentle inquiry as an order.

———

Crutchie shivered as his wounds were exposed to the cold air. Some were reopened when he was dropped on the floor; others were new from what Snyder considered ‘disobedience’. His throat was thick with bile, feeling like he would throw up at any point.

The door creaked open and he forced himself to look up, knowing that if he didn’t address him, he’d be facing punishment. He didn’t meet Snyder’s eyes, trembling as he sat up on his knees and bowed him head.

“Welcome, sir,” Crutchie whispered. A snort was heard above him as he was kicked down to the floor.

“Is that the best you can do to greet your master?” He sneered. Crutchie flinched, swallowing thickly to keep the bile down. He let out a shaky breath and did his best to sit up again. Arms giving out a few times, he whimpered. This was too slow for Snyder’s tastes, earning him another kick to his side.

“Will you stand up for me?” He said in a sickeningly sweet tone. Crutchie nodded, whispering a ‘yes sir’ before mustering any strength he had to make it on his feet. Swaying from blood loss, he felt dizzy but forced himself to stay conscious. His stomach screamed in pain from the lack of food.

“Good boy,” An unimpressed tone showed Snyder did not believe his own words. Crutchie bowed, lowering his head. He could feel the acid working up his throat from being bent over. He coughed from the burn, earning him a shove to the ground. A cry escaped his throat and he froze in fear.

“Will you apologize? I had to hear your filthy voice let out a scream.” He said, moving forward. Tears brimmed Crutchie’s eyes and he nodded. He worked to keep his stomach down; he’d be beaten if he didn’t.

“I’m so sorry, master,” A satisfied hum resonated through the room and it made Crutchie shiver. It was so sick; someone deriving pleasure from his torture. Luckily, it’s seemed he evaded punishment today.

“Can you thank me for being so nice today?” The fake tone was back. It was all an act, he knew. The moment he said no would be his last moment alive. He brought a forced smile to his face, doing his best to sit up.

“Thank you for being so nice today, master,” With that, Snyder nodded and walked out, promptly locking the door behind him. Crutchie shivered and wretched his stomach on the floor, nerves getting the best of him. He coughed and gagged, feeling nothing but acid coat his throat and mouth.

Once he was dry heaving, he set to work on cleaning it up, even when his body greatly protested. Just as he was about to take his pants off to use to wipe up, he heard tapping. Looking at the window, he saw Jack. Relief flooded his features as he did his best to stand.

“Jack,” he coarsely called out, trembling from exhaustion as he limped over to the window. Jack was horrified by what he saw. All the bruises and open wounds scattered around Crutchie’s body, and his concave stomach. He’s never seen the blond look so deathly, even when he had polio.

“God, Crutch, what’ve they done to ya?” Tears fell down Jack’s cheeks as he reached through and wiped a line of saliva off of his chin. Shaking his head, he pulled his hand back to work at the window. Crutchie wasn’t staying here another minute.

“I’m okay, Jackie, promise,” Crutchie lied with a fake smile. Jack grunted and ignored the other’s words for a moment, using his force to snap the window upward. With a sounding screech, the opening widened and before Crutchie had any time to process the motions, Jack grabbed him and pulled him out of the window.

Wincing, Crutchie yelped from pain, sucking in air through his teeth. The shocks sent nausea through him, making him dizzy and unstable. He leaned into Jack’s side, biting the brunet’s shoulder to keep from shouting.

“I’se so sorry, Crutch, but we’se gotta get ya outta here.” Jack helped the blond along to railing until they reached the fire escape, Moving as quickly as possible, the rickety metal groaned underneath them. Jack picked Crutchie up, running down the steps.

On the ground, Jack took off in a sprint, making the stinging sensations reverberate through Crutchie’s body. He whined as tears fell from the excruciating pain. Jack kept muttering apologies until they all blurred together, consciousness fading from him.

He woke up in the lodge, dazed and nauseous. Sitting up, he blinked awake and became aware of his surroundings. He remembered at once that Jack had broken him out, anxiety swelling in his chest. Doubling over, he threw up any remaining acid. Rushed steps could be heard coming from the stairs.

The door flew open to reveal Jack, panting as he took in the situation. His eyes welled up with tears as he moved into the room, smelling the sick. He covered his nose and quickly grabbed an old rag, cleaning the floor up before tossing it in the corner. Sitting on the edge of Crutchie’s bed, he hugged him.

“I’se so worried ‘bout ya, Crutch,” Jack whispered, pulling back to examine the other. Wraps had been placed over the wounds, cleaned and cared for. There were so many, he looked like a cadaver. Biting his lip, Jack had to look away to stop himself from breaking down.

“D’ya think you can handle food?” He asked, running his hands along Crutchie’s side. Jack could feel every bone; every heartbeat under his fingers. Crutchie felt fear course through him at the words. His stomach could not keep anything down but he wouldn’t disobey.

“Yes, sir,” Crutchie replied, conditioning forcing the automatic response out of him. He could feel Jack tense before relaxing, making him wonder what he did wrong. He furrowed his eyebrows but was sated by Jack petting his hair.

“Does minestrone sound alright?” The taller asked. Crutchie could feel more bile rise at the thought of the hearty meal but nodded anyway. Relief crossed Jack’s face and he smiled lightly.

“Alright, I’ll be back shortly. Will you be okay alone for a bit?” Another command that Crutchie wouldn’t disobey. He bit his lip at the thought of isolation but didn’t say anything, knowing it would result in bruises. He didn’t want to be hurt anymore.

The room was lonely as soon as Jack left. He trembled in fear that Snyder will be the next one to open the door, reclaiming him from escape. Or that Jack would return with his hand ready to strike. Anxiety slowed down time, making every moment more excruciating than the last. He could feel all of his wounds burning him. Crutchie bit back a sob as he curled around himself.

After what seemed like hours, Jack returned with a small ceramic pot, steam coming from under the lid. The smell wafted to him and he salivated, his stomach growling at the sight. Hunger pains hit him hard, making him wince. Crutchie scrambled to the floor, sitting on his knees.

“Here ya- Crutch?” Jack said, confusion at seeing the other on the floor. He blinked as he tried to process it. Shock set in at the realization that Snyder made him do this for food. He bit back the awful taste that coated his tongue and set the bowl on a nearby dresser.

“Charlie, can you stand up for me, please?” He whispered, crouching down to meet Crutchie’s height. Crutchie’s body protested immensely and he was worried that he may pass out, but followed orders anyway. He smiled and nodded at Jack, forcing his wobbling legs to carry his weight.

Jack’s features showed immense relief at Crutchie so willing to break his habits. That he was able to stop himself from eating on the floor. He smiled at the blond and led him over to the bed again, sitting him down and retrieving the food.

Crutchie could feel his stomach already rejecting the food, but his mouth and mind couldn’t ignore the smell. He took the bowl, thanking Jack and forcing himself to dig in. A small spoonful is what he was able to bring to his mouth before realizing any more would end with sickness.

Jack frowned, rubbing Crutchie’s back to soothe him while he ate. He noticed the lack of movement and looked into the bowl, not seeing any difference.

“Can you eat a few bites, Crutchie?” He encouraged, wanting him to at least get used to eating again. Crutchie felt panic course through him at eating that much food, but dutifully brought the metal spoon to his lips and swallowed. This continued until the bowl was empty and Crutchie was in pain from how full his stomach was.

Jack was elated that Crutchie was doing so well, especially after the treatment he saw him receive at the refuge. He grinned over at the other, bringing him into a hug. His brother was back, and that’s all that mattered. Jack was so proud to have Crutchie recovering so well.

“Are you okay, Crutchie?” Jack asked, pulling away to look at the boy. Crutchie looked up at Jack, feeling his face numbly shape into a smile. The words left his mouth out of habit, knowing what was to come if admitted weakness.

“Of course, sir.”

#whump prompt #newsboys #newsies fanfiction #newsies musical #newsies #crutchie morris #jack kelly #snyder newsies #snyder #crutchie #jack #whump fic #fanfic #whump drabble #whumpfic #whump writing #whumpblr #charlie morris

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whumpsies · 4 years

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Whumpee slips into Caretaker’s room late in the night, when they’re sure they’re asleep, and curls up at the foot of their bed on the cold floor. They know in the morning Caretaker will be upset to find them there but this is where pets should sleep. That’s how Whumper trained them.

#Next fic

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whumpsies · 4 years

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I know we all love a good old injury reveal; It’s good shit. But what about trauma reveal? That’s talked about, but it’s not done. Not nearly as much as I would like. So how about this:

Character A was captured and tortured for weeks at the hands of the villain. The team rescue A, patch up his wounds and A pretends everything is fine, hiding the real trauma.

Fast forward a few months and A and team encounter the villian again. Maybe its just a battle, maybe the good guys all got captured, or maybe the villian was captured by the good guys. It doesn’t matter.

The team doesn’t notice As trembling hands, the way he tries to avoid the villains gaze, the way his fists clench around his weapon - but the villian does. And with the way the usually close, caring team are so casual, so ignorant of As plight, the villain realises they don’t know.

So he takes great pleasure in recounting the torture he put A through in graphic detail, delighting in the heroes horrified faces and reslishing the way A’s face burns in shame.

#Next fic

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whumpsies · 4 years

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Please reblog this post if you are a whumper/member of the whump community.

Let the experiments continue.

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whumpsies · 4 years

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You’re No Leader

Rating: Teen (13+)

Word count: 1,088 words

Triggers: Bullying, mocking, panic attack

Whump prompt (from @heartlesslywhumping ) : A stoic whumpee being mocked when they finally break down and cry

———

Spot Conlon did not cry. He was toughened by the streets to have a spine of iron, forcing his way to the top. Young kids looked up to him and if he cried, his respect would be lost.

Trembling slightly, the sound of rough fabric scratching against itself was present in the relatively silent night. An occasional drunk stumbling home broke the odd serenity. Candles in home windows and the fire from the factory smokestacks lit the path well enough to see where he was going.

The air was cool, on the brink of chilly. All of the buildings being built were funneling the wind through the streets, making city life colder. It didn’t help with the stinging in his eyes or the biting at his skin. In fact, it brought tears that much closer to falling.

Spot had been informed that the bulls had attacked, and that Crutchie was in the refuge. All those newsies soaked because he couldn’t bring himself to let someone else lead him. He swallowed thickly as he stumbled.

The streets soon became empty, just the occasional animal moving about. Most candles had been blown out and no light led him down the street. He felt like a shell, not really there anymore. A deep breath in shifted the burden he carried, not relinquishing it.

Spot’s feet should have led him home but they didn’t. When he finally looked up, he was in front of the docks. A numb sort of relief settled in him as he toed off his shoes, stepping forward and sitting on the edge of the pier.

The feeling of being alone right now warmed him to the point of burning. It was a double-edged sword. Spot wanted to be alone but not by himself. Loneliness built up until it broke.

He caused this. He let newsies get hurt, when he could have aided them. Spot ached at the realization that someone could have died today because he didn’t like being challenged.

As a tide hit his legs, the tears sprung free. He took a choppy breath in to subdue it, only to find it wouldn’t work. Wiping furiously at his face, Spot couldn’t stop them.

“So this is where you were,” a voice called out. Spot froze, not daring to turn around. The words were laced with venom and he knew the water from his eyes would fuel it.

“Jacobs,” he croaked out, bringing his feet out of the water and his knees up to his chest. Footsteps could be heard, boards creaking under the weight. Shuffling sounded as David sat on one of the posts near the edge.

“Was that enough proof for you , or would you want me to bleed myself?” David hissed. The implications hit Spot in the stomach and he couldn’t help but let a sob out. David seemed curious but not surprised.

“God, I-I’se-“ Spot whispered, choking on his breath. David seemed unamused and just looked at him. A glance to the sky told him he had about an hour before he needed to head to Manhattan before dawn.

“Are you done yet? You don’t deserve to cry. This is on you. Les broke his arm, Jack has hysteria, and Smalls won’t wake up. Every single one of those boys are hurt because you said no,” David hissed, emphasizing on the ‘you’, “And when big bad Brooklyn says no, so do all of the other boroughs.”

Spot felt the tears fall down his face freely as he envisioned all of the Manhattan boys soaked in the street. One of them isn’t waking up because he didn’t show. A small wail left his lips as he shook from the guilt in his chest.

“Go on, Spot. Cry. Cry as your boys are home and safe, working another day. Cry as none of them were soaked by full grown adults with batons. Do it, Conlon.” he mocked. David slid off the post and walked over to Spot, who was shaking his head, hands tugging on his hair. He was hyperventilating; the world becoming fuzzy as he lost oxygen.

“You should cry more. Maybe then no one would respect you. They’ll see that you abandoned others in need over your power-hungry Napoleon complex. Always have to be on top, huh,” Spot had never heard such wrath directed at anyone before with such precision, and it cut him to the bone.

He hiccuped and gagged, coughing from over-exertion. He kept repeating chants of ‘it’s my fault’ to himself. A bitter chuckle could be heard above him.

“Yeah, it is your fault. Crutchie was hit in his back with his crutch. I hope to god he’s not paralyzed, otherwise you should be expecting a lead pipe to yours. But go on, cry like you couldn’t have prevented this. Show the world that you deserve pity.” David gestured to the world around him, slamming his hands back to his sides. He leant down and jerked Spot’s chin to meet his eyes.

Spot tried to squirm out of David’s grasp, only to be clamped harder on. He let out a cry of pain and opened his eyes from force. David had a black eye and a busted lip.

“You’re no leader, Spot Conlon. You’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and I hope that whenever you cry, you see my face. You think of how pathetic you are that you’re crying when it’s my boys that are wounded. And god, I hope you think of your cowardice whenever you ask for help. You don’t deserve Brooklyn.” he growled, punctuating every ‘you’ with a shake to his jaw. He pushed Spot backward on the dock, sprawling him on the ground. Dusting himself off, David stood up. He walked off the pier and gave one last glance over his shoulder.

“Goodbye, Sean. You have no place in this strike.”

Out of all the things that hurt, that sentence hurt the worst. That he had no right fighting for equity when he couldn’t make the first step toward equality. Spot looked to the water, wondering if drowning would feel better than the agony raging through him.

He picked himself up, tears and all, walking off the dock. Numbness muted his thoughts. All except one.

He’d never show his face in New York again.

#newsies #newsies musical #spot conlon #david jacobs #davey jacobs #musical #newsies fanfiction #fanfic #whump fic #whumpfic #whumpblr #whump drabble #whump prompt #whump writing #jack kelly #newsboys #one shot #teen rating

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