hello.

I just realised my pinned introduction introduces literally nothing to you apart from the fact that I’m down the rabbit-hole and don’t plan on clambering out any time soon.

So, here I am!

I’m Melonade. I don’t read often, but when I do, it’s either yandere or fics with the hardest power imbalances. So whump fics are like a godsend. I started out writing heavy yandere stuff but it’s really refreshing to be able to slap another label onto that brand of stalking/torture, haha. 

I’m still learning the specific terms but I’d say my favourites right now are:

Perhaps I’m just listing things I like. I always try to read/write with a slight yandere overtone. I like the idea of one party being so hopelessly obsessed with the other they’re willing to force them to at least pretend to love them too.

Oh, if any of what I’m saying scares you, uh. No, please, come back.

(I am a stickler for some diabetic fluff and domestic romance too, but we’ll talk about that later. I’ve stated on my other blog that I’m only 6.66% evil yandere incarnate, so you know what you’re getting).

I’m twenty-something and uni and exams still have their fingers around my neck, but they’re leaving the actual choking in the hands of my part-time job till March comes along. 

Anyway, I won’t bore you with my non-whump words, so I’ll do my best to bring to life what grubby little thoughts come into my brain, and hope you like them too.

. Foiled .

I think I wrote this a year ago but didn’t post it on the other blog so here it is; my first ever whumper x reader thingy. No summary, really, just pretty woman teaching her pet not to run as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

[female!whumper x reader]

(also, @meowsikbox​ is this what you meant?)

– – – – –

She can’t help it.

Her lips are curled into a death grin. It’s just too funny watching you from her window. The steam from each calm sip of tea languidly fogs the glass when she exhales behind it, each laugh a little too amused. Stealthy pupils study you dashing across her vast garden. 

She can already imagine your desperate panting, your false hope, as you near your exit.

Please, you? Escape? Oh, you make her laugh, you really do. Seems like you really haven’t learnt anything from all those nights down in her cellar. Oh well… it isn’t like she hasn’t been itching to get a little rough with you anyway. And better for you to have asked for it than for her to just drag you down there unprompted.

You have a lovely way of making her feel better about all the nasty things she does to you.

Tears.

If you want someone to blame for this, please contact @painsandconfusion. Mention this, in particular. The audacity to post a dialogue prompt and not expect consequences, tsk.

tw: gun violence then actual violence.

– – – – –

The alley was suffocating.

Rotting meat, slime-coated dumpsters and the vague scent of sewage stirred into a ghastly, invasive concoction that invaded every square inch of the area. The air was too thick to breathe.

The alley was suffocating, but not nearly as suffocating as the cold, hard steel digging into the underside of their jaw.

An arm across their throat kept them tightly pinned against the wall behind, jagged concrete clawing harshly at their back. The muzzle of the gun pushed deeper into the soft flesh under their chin, forcing their head back further and further till it met solid, unforgiving brick. Left screwing their eyes shut into darkness, Whumpee’s grunts broke into a string of whines as the pressure slowly morphed into pain.

It was harder than they’d thought, pleading through gritted teeth.

“I won’t— I won’t tell anyone, I swear, I didn’t even—”

“See anything,” Whumper sneered. “So you’ve said.”

Whumpee gurgled helplessly as the forearm crushed their trachea, unable to fight back, unable to even move, unable to do anything other than struggle for the next breath of air.

“Let me— go—” Their words came in short, sharp rasps, broken by a sudden choke as the tip of the gun dropped, coming to rest atop their collarbone.

If Whumpee was ever intuitive, it was that awful, deranged laugh that told them they weren’t getting out of this without at least one lovely, permanent scar. The shadows, the stench, the lingering threat of that un-pulled trigger.

Finally all too much.

Tears fell in searing waterfalls, staining flushed cheeks. “P-Please,” Whumpee squeaked, shivering, caught in the vice of pure terror, “please let me go… I— I can’t help you, please just—”

Before they could get another word out, a knee landed squarely in their gut.

The blow knocked the wind out of them. With a wheezing cough, they fell to the ground, landing heavily on their knees and bruising their wrists from the impact. They immediately slumped over, trying to curl in on themselves as shaking hands gingerly clutched at the agony blossoming in the pit of their abdomen.

“This isn’t my fault, you know…” Whumper leered down, circling the poor thing whimpering at their feet. “I’m not a bad person, baby.”

Crouching to level with the crumpled heap on the floor, Whumper took a moment to enjoy the sight of them; completely broken down, weakly sniffling in a puddle of tears, knees bloodied and eyes swollen from crying.

Strong fingers seized Whumpee’s jaw and fresh tears swelled in their waterline at the new pain. Whumper leaned in, smile sickle-sharp.

“You’re just so pretty when you cry.”

whump trope: grovelling.

Too much to like about this. Too much to like about:

whump concept 1: tranquilliser darts.

I’m usually a sticker for old school physical whump, but I’d sooner wear wet socks for the rest of my life than pass up on an opportunity to fawn over a little non-con sedation.

yeah, the tranq dart kind.

tw: mentions of blood, guns and a Very Sadistic Whumper.

. . .

So a Whumpee thinks their little escape plan of scaling the gate of Whumper’s mansion is going very well.

Little do they know, their Whumper is a perfect shot. Regular bullets are okay for warnings, a couple of shots here and there to punctuate a statement or to let a Whumpee know they need to stop trying to run. Perhaps those warnings could come as a bullet grazing the back of an escaping Whumpee’s calf, just for a nice confetti blood trail Whumper will gladly follow. 

Regular bullets are messy, expressive and all for show.

But with tranquillisers, there’s no need for such a threat. 

whump prompt: emphasising helplessness:

There are just too many ways Whumpers do this.

A minty-fresh scenario:

i have no idea how this works but it’d be a crime not to share with you a trope i die for eleven out of ten times. 

picture this:

whumpees’ escape going horribly wrong.

The woods in the dead of night.

An adrenaline pumped Whumpee books it as fast as they can, away from that shadow that looks a little too familiar, hoping they can lose their attacker in the dense forestation. They’re hellbent on putting as much distance between themselves and Whumper as is humanly possible. It’s laughable, really, how they think there’s any structure to their plan, as if Whumper hadn’t been anticipating this the entire time, as if they don’t know the dips and grooves of the woods like the back of their hand. 

Ahh, still, it’s cute to see the effort Whumpee is putting in. 

The frantic crunch of shoes against gravel only sharpens Whumper’s smile as they pursue their soon-to-be captive in an agonising, almost insulting saunter.

There’s no need to run. No need to break a sweat, even. Whumper resists a laugh when a deafening crack sends a flock of crows scattering into the sky.

Poor little thing didn’t get very far.

Sure enough, in the clearing, past the low hanging branches, lies a softly whimpering Whumpee, sloppily grabbing at the gash in their calf from where a sharp, jutting twig tore right though their clothes and lodged itself snugly into pulsing ligament.

As Whumper draws nearer, a panic-seized Whumpee still tries with everything they have to scramble to their feet, but when that doesn’t work, their only option is to grovel uselessly as that menacing shadow encompasses them with ease. It’s too dark to notice the trail of crimson leaves left in their wake.

A moment later, Whumpee has backed themselves against a fallen trunk. Lifting a shaky, blood-stained hand up, their mouth opens to form a plea of some sort. But a pathetic wheeze is torn from their throat instead, as the heel of a boot embeds itself into their chest, shoving them roughly back against the bark.

Completely winded, Whumpee can do nothing but cough and splutter, weakly grasping at the ankle that has them pinned. 

“P-Please. . .”

Whumper grinds their foot down harshly before leering over a choking, helpless Whumpee. “Oh my, you’re losing a lot of blood there, arent you?” It’s an observation. One made so causally you’d think it was someone noticing a papercut under running water, or someone inspecting a small dent in their car.

Let me go. With waning vision and barely able to take another breath, Whumpee never manages to get the words out before their world is blanketed black.

It’s not up to them anymore. It never was.

Whumper grins, revealing a set of gleaming teeth at the form slumped unconscious against their leg. “Time to clean you up, baby.”

lukewarm lemonade.

Exactly two minutes ago, I fell down the rabbit hole of whump fics, and now I’m here with a freshly-squeezed blog to scream all about it. 

I’m not exactly new to whump, but I’m definitely new to the label! I have written a few fics in the past (and ongoing) that I never knew fell into the ‘whump’ category... although I can see now why it’s called that.

That being said, hello.