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mj-iza-writer · 26 days

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I did something extra special for my birthday, I just turned 28.... I'm getting old. Anywhoo, I went to an aquarium today and had so much fun.

Warning: mentions one main character with terminal illness, innuendo that said character is dying. Character death at end. I almost started crying writing this. I need to stop doing this to myself.... this was supposed to be happy. 😤

Whumpee watched some fish swim in a small pool.

Caretaker stood at the counter, purchasing tickets for them both.

"Is there any issues a wheelchair user should be concerned with?", Caretaker asked the cashier.

"Not really. Our facility is wheelchair friendly, except around the shipwreck area. Some of the wooden boards may be a little harder to get through", the cashier frowned, "I apologize."

"Not a problem", Caretaker smiled, "thankyou for your help and letting me know."

Caretaker walked over to Whumpee's wheelchair.

"Are you ready to go inside?", Caretaker smiled at Whumpee.

Whumpee excitedly nodded.

Caretaker saw that Whumpee's oxygen line was crooked.

"Please don't play with your oxygen line Whumpee", Caretaker adjusted it.

"Sorry, my cheek was itchy", Whumpee giggled, "I tried to fix it."

Caretaker looked over Whumpee.

Even in the warm summer heat, Whumpee was dressed in thick pants and a cozy cardigan. Their illnesses made them look like a skeleton of a person.

"Alright here we go", Caretaker unlocked the chair.

Whumpee was instantly amazed by the first room.

"Wow this is amazing", Whumpee awed.

"Look up Whumpee", Caretaker pointed.

Whumpee looked up.

A giant skeleton hung overhead.

"What is that from?", Whumpee looked back at Caretaker.

"I believe a whale or something along that line", Caretaker winked.

Whumpee nodded.

The next room was a tunnel, all sorts of fish swam along the sides and overhead.

"I can't believe I almost left this life without seeing an aquarium", Whumpee's head swiveled as they tried to see every fish they could.

Caretaker felt their heart sink.

"I know Whumpee, we will get as many adventures in before your body gives out on you", Caretaker gently rubbed Whumpee's shoulder.

Caretaker's mind drifted to their last doctor's appointment. The news wasn't great, Whumpee's illness they had been battling had turned terminal.

"Caretaker look at the shark", Whumpee pulled Caretaker from their thoughts.

"Whumpee, there's a bathroom up here, I'm gonna pop in there really quick", Caretaker turned the chair, "do you need anything?"

"Can I have my water before you go in?" Whumpee smiled, "I think I'm okay."

Caretaker handed them their water before going into the bathroom.

Whumpee had only taken a few sips when the water suddenly went down the wrong way.

Caretaker heard Whumpee start coughing and rushed to finish.

Whumpee had managed to catch their breath. They looked for their water bottle, and realized it was on the floor.

"Crap", they sighed.

Someone came by and saw Whumpee's struggle.

"Here let me get that for you", they bent and picked it up.

"Thankyou so much", Whumpee grinned.

"Are you okay. I heard you cough. It sounded pretty bad", the person questioned, "I'm a nurse, I don't mind."

Caretaker hurried out of the bathroom, "oh thank goodness", they breathed a sigh of relief, "can't leave you alone for a minute can I?"

"Water went down the wrong way", Whumpee whispered hoarsely, "they helped me pick up my bottle", Whumpee reached up to their nose, "I think I got a nose bleed from that though."

"Yep that is easy to do with your oxygen drying you out", Caretaker hurried to their bag and started pulling things out.

"Would you like some help? I'm a nurse", the person offered again.

"I appreciate it, but I think I have everything I need", Caretaker smiled, "thankyou for helping them also, I really appreciate it."

"Of course", the person turned, "I hope you feel better soon."

"Thankyou", Whumpee grinned.

Caretaker pushed Whumpee to an empty bench and set to work.

They squirted on some hand sanitizer, before sliding gloves on and sanitizing the gloves. Caretaker gently removed the oxygen chord and handed it to Whumpee.

"Hold that to your nose while I clean you up", Caretaker sighed as they pulled out some tissue.

"Not too bad Whumpee", Caretaker grinned as they finished up with the bloody nose, "you should be good to go."

"Can we sit here for a little while? These fish look cool", Whumpee looked around, then let Caretaker replace the oxygen.

Caretaker packed the care bag up then pushed Whumpee to get closer to watch the fish.

"I'll be back on that bench if you need me, just let me know when you're ready", Caretaker patted their shoulder, "don't hurry though, just enjoy this."

Caretaker quietly watched Whumpee, who was giggling at the fish. They saw the stranger from earlier in the corner of their eye.

"May I?", the nurse questioned.

"Yes absolutely", Caretaker scooted over a little.

"I know you probably can't talk much about it, but are they okay?", the nurse pointed at Whumpee, "I know it's none of my business, but they've been on my mind since I saw them earlier while you were buying the tickets."

Caretaker glanced at Whumpee before turning to the nurse, "they have been fighting an illness for a long time. Unfortunately, we just found out it is terminal", Caretaker sighed, "they don't have much longer unfortunately."

The nurse looked at Whumpee sadly, then at Caretaker.

"We are doing different adventures. As much as their body will allow at least", Caretaker sighed, "they've never been to an aquarium, so this is what we decided on today."

"Will you both be okay?", the nurse fought tears from falling. This wasn't the time for them to cry.

"We are both living each day like its their last. We are both scared for that day, but I am also scared for the next days to follow. I uh, I don't want to be alone, I don't want my dear friend to leave me. I know that sounds horrible of me. Because I don't want them to be in pain any longer. They don't deserve this. They are the kindest human you could have ever known. So full of life", Caretaker wiped away a tear, "I apologize for saying all of this to a complete stranger."

"It's okay, it's not easy to be someone's caregiver. You take on so many responsibilities, and often don't get to talk about your needs", the nurse patted Caretaker's hand, "you are doing amazing things for them though. I'm glad they have a friend like you."

Whumpee watched the fish. They didn't let on to the fact they could hear the whole conversation.

That night, Whumpee lay in bed and watched Caretaker get their monitors set up for the night.

"Caretaker?", Whumpee whispered.

"Yes Whumpee?", Caretaker looked at them with concern, "are you uncomfortable?"

"I heard your conversation earlier with the nurse", Whumpee whimpered.

"Oh you did?", Caretaker sighed, "I'm sorry."

"I-I'm sorry Caretaker, I know this has been hard on you. I'm sorry that you have to watch me die in front of you", Whumpee was almost crying.

Caretaker knelt down, "Whumpee I don't.... Whumpee I get to take care of you. It's hard yes, but I couldn't imagine letting someone else do it. It's not a chore to take care of you... I hope you know that."

Whumpee nodded, "I'm sorry still that you have to do this..... I-I don't want to die.. I don't want to leave you either", Caretaker wiped away tears from Whumpee as they spoke.

Caretaker then wiped their own tears, "it's okay Whumpee, "I know", they forced a smile, "what should we do tomorrow? Hmmm, no more talk about dying."

The night nurse came into Whumpee's bedroom and started getting ready to watch over them.

"Can we go for a walk in the park tomorrow?", Whumpee smiled at their nurse.

"Absolutely", Caretaker nodded and nudged Whumpee's cheek lovingly, "goodnight Whumpee, sleep tight."

Caretaker jumped out of bed when they heard the monitor make the sound no one in that house wanted to hear.

Caretaker raced into Whumpee's room and saw the nurse trying to get Whumpee back.

Caretaker went to Whumpee's side and grabbed Whumpee's hand.

"Whumpee come on", Caretaker cried as they buried their face into the thin hand, "we need to go to the park tomorrow."

Their thin hand was already cold.

"They're gone", Caretaker sobbed as they looked at the nurse, "they're gone."

"I'll call the ambulance", the nurse wiped away tears as they left the room.

"Whumpee", Caretaker's voice cracked, "I love you so much Whumpee."

At the hospital, the nurse had started their shift. They still had the conversation with Caretaker fresh on their mind.

Suddenly a gurney was wheeled pass.

The nurse overheard someone saying the person on the gurney needed a pronouncement of death.

The nurses heart sank as Caretaker walked in following the gurney.

Caretaker saw the nurse and nodded as they walked past.

Whumpee was pronounced dead.

Caretaker was given a private room to wait for the paperwork to be finished. They hadn't collected Whumpee yet, so Caretaker sat beside the bed and gently held Whumpee's hand.

The nurse came in in time to see Caretaker wipe their eyes on their sleeve.

Caretaker turned to see them.

"I-I'm sorry", the nurse whispered, "I am so sorry."

Caretaker nodded, "thankyou", their voice stuck in their throat, "I think they knew today was their last day. They didn't want to say it though."

The nurse nodded, "do you have anyone coming up here for you or them?"

"Yes a few friends will be up to mourn with me for a few moments. One of them is the transport for Whumpee's body."

Caretaker sighed, "we already had everything set up for when this happened, Whumpee was happy they got to pick their own casket and funeral playlist. I was always amazed they could find some humor in this."

The nurse nodded as they stepped closer, and patted Caretaker's back.

"I'm going to miss them", Caretaker smiled weakly, "they wanted to go to the park for a walk.... today I guess it's early morning. I haven't even looked at the time yet."

Some people came into the room.

"Hey Caretaker", they greeted then looked at Whumpee.

"I'll leave you to be with your friends and family", the nurse started to go.

"Thankyou for helping them earlier today, and mourning with me", Caretaker gave a small grin, "I really appreciate your caring for them."

"Yes of course", the nurse smiled weakly.

The nurse hurried to their station and started to weep.

They told some of the other nurses what had happened at the aquarium and about the deceased patient.

Friends and family surrounded Caretaker and Whumpee.

After Whumpee was taken, Caretaker decided to walk home... making sure to take a long stroll through the park.

Are you crying yet? For some light heartedness, please scroll down and enjoy some pictures from my aquarium trip.

I will not lie. The Sting Rays and Sharks were my favorite. In the video, see if you can find the sea turtle, I didn't even realize I filmed them until later. There were two sea turtles. They were both rescued and were not able to return to the wild.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems @lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

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shywhumpauthor · 10 months

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Whump aesthetic of the day: a Whumpee having a coughing fit, but it’s so bad they can’t manage to inhale which makes it so they can’t cough right which only makes them need to cough more so they’re stuck in this awful cycle of choking on their own spit and breath

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honeycollectswhump · 5 months

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maybe put a shock collar on Ashtray?

Lightning in His Veins

[masterlist]

CW: shock collar, pet whump, conditioned whumpee, dehumanisation

His Mistress has a new collar for him. Ashtray should be excited at the prospect of being decorated, but something about it makes his stomach churn. It is big, black and ugly. Nothing like the delicate accessories his Mistress usually dresses him in, and that almost feels like a sin.

Maybe it's because the collar is a gift from one of her friends, watching excitedly. Not for Ashtray, of course, nothing is ever for him, nothing belongs to him, that’s how it's supposed to be. But sometimes they gift her things to dress him in, though nothing comes close to her knowledge of style and grace. This collar must be one of those gifts then, and who is Ashtray to question that. A Good Boy never questions his superiors, a Good Boy never questions anything. A Good Boy does what he is told.

So Ashtray does. He bares his neck prettily, taking note of how his torso moves, twisting on fresh burns, knowing that the glitter the servants applied must shine like tiny diamonds. And maybe, silently, he hopes that his Mistress’ friends must be so jealous of her beautiful, perfect possessions, decked in gold and jewels, just what dreams are made of.

…At least he thinks that’s what dreams must be like. Objects don’t dream, naturally.

As his Mistress closes the clasps of the collar, as her pristine red nails scratch over a burn scrab, he can’t help but focus on the feelings of prongs digging into his throat in an uncomfortably familiar way. Ashtray doesn’t dwell on it though. He has already learned, there is nothing to fear. The blank rooms are far gone and instead have been blessedly replaced by the shining smiles his Mistress graces him with, her cold hands like glistening ice bringing warm burns, and the golden glamour she has allowed him to be a part of.

Satisfied, his Mistress steps back. She is saying something, talking with her guest, exchanging airy laughter and warbled pleasant tones, washing over Ashtray like pearly morning dew he can picture in his mind but has never seen before. He could get lost in her voice, riding on it like clouds carrying him through his purpose, and yet never being too distracted, always keeping an eye on the ground just low enough so he’ll never miss a clue he can’t understand, never missing the remote–

The remote being handed to his Mistress, equally as black as the collar, making him suddenly awake of the prongs against his throat and the pit forming in his stomach.

Ashtray stays still though, perfectly poised, and suppresses the flinch before it had even fully realised. Maybe he hopes, desperately, if he is Good enough she’ll decide against it. Maybe it was all a test, maybe, maybe… Maybe he can see it coming just enough to give her the reaction she wants.

Almost pleadingly in the silence of his own mind, Ashtray knows he isn’t trained for pain. He is supposed to be an Ashtray, an object with a specific use, it’s all he could ever hope to know. The thought of displeasing her with his reaction scares him more than any pain ever could. What if he reacts too much? What if he is not– Lightning burns down his veins, ripping out his throat, his skin and tissue and soul. Two punctures spread venom down his very being, and there is no escape no escape no escape no escape no escape

Suddenly, it’s gone and Ashtray finds himself curled up on the ground, his limbs still twitching. He can’t remember how but surely it wasn’t graceful and–

His mouth rips open in a breathless scream, a pathetic, garbled screech barely noticeable over the sound of mindless thrashing, limbs hitting the floor, head banging against polished stone. It’s fire and lightning and Punishment and he doesn’t know why, doesn’t know anything, only knows Pain and Punishment and Please Stop.

Pause.

Breath.

Notice saliva dripping from the mouth. Not elegant. Not trained.

Hell.

Like veins imploding, swallowing what is left of Ashtray, leaving no trace of his purpose. Like poison, destruction, ruin, Ødelæggelse.

Stop.

Gasp.

Look up at Mistress, hope for mercy, hope for anything.

Find glee. Find amused laughter. Please.

It never ends…

• • •

He is still here. Ashtray is still here. Twisted, on the ground, the venom still burning in every vessel, but here. His tongue feels thick and swollen in his mouth, dried and bloody at the same time. Somehow, it is all pain, every single cell in his body is pain and lightning and shocks still coursing through him.

Maybe she heard him think. Maybe she felt her Ashtray have stupid little thoughts about things he should be grateful for, like being adorned in a big, black, ugly painful it hurts burning agonising beautiful collar.

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

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whumblr · 3 months

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Whump dialogue #59

"You seem like someone who doesn't understand the difference between mild discomfort and actual pain.

"But don't worry. After we're done, you'll never mistake one for the other again."

#whump #whump prompt #implied torture #angst #whumplr #creepy whumper #threats #threatened torture #my writing #my prompts #my dialogue prompts #I feel like I already posted a something like this some time ago #but *shrug* maybe ill find it

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pixelatedraindrops · 3 months

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A silly little idea I came up with (or actually I’ve had it for a while) when I was talking to Kazin, and as always, she drew it out for me… xD

The idea is that if Yuma goes into (or is forced) into a Mystery Labyrinth while he’s sick; in the Labyrinth, the illness temporarily disappears since they are in an alternative dimension. So while healthy, he can solve the mystery with no obstacles.

However…when he leaves the Mystery Labyrinth? His condition worsens. Depending on how long he was in there, or how much energy he used, it’s all transferred to his body outside, and…yeah he practically collapses.

LATER…

Shinigami knows exactly what she did.

What a little jerk x’D

#whumpcode #not my art #art belongs to kazinsblog #rain code #mdarc #master detective archives: rain code #yuma kokohead #shinigami rain code #this is essentially like a sick filler episode trope #where the hero does their duties even if they’re ill #but then gets worse at the end… xD #this was too funny to not think about #he's only slightly feverish in the first page #but in the third page he's burning hot :3c #I think the fever rises by .5 or 1 degrees #poor yuma not even shinigami goes easy on him... xD #shinigami the ultimate yuma kokohead whumper haha #girl after my own heart FR #yakou giving yuma both his bed's duvet and pillow though <3

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whumpsoda · 3 months

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What would happen if the Sleepy Thrall got sick and needed medical attention?

-- @oliversrarebooks

WOHEO Masterlist So here’s like. My fifth? writing post of the past week… I’m just on the writing grind :3

cw: sickfic, pet whump, multiple whumpers & whumpees, vampire whumpers, captivity hypnotised/brainwashed whumpees

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“Mal…ak?”

Nevan delicately poked his head inside the dimly lit room, the tall, wooden door creaking along.

His vision took a moment to settle into the darkness as he looked toward the thrall’s shared mattress placed beside the vampire’s luxurious bed, fully expecting Malak to be seated atop it.

Strangely, he was not.

“Malak?” Nevan called again softly, turning around the room until his gaze landed on the corner farthest from said mattress.

Huddled up to the wall, curled into a tight ball of his large frame Malak sniveled, nose dribbling with snot and eyes rung sickly red. He rubbed his face with his palms, shielding his vision from bright light sneaking in from the open door. “Oh.”

Nevan carefully stepped inside, shutting the door slowly behind him until it clicked. Arms outstretched in front of him he knelt before the ill thrall. “Malak..? Are you… alright?” He questioned, voice low and gravely, trying purposely to not make enough noise that may elicit or increase a headache.

“Um…” Malak started, peeking the tiniest bit out from his legs. His eyes were wide and shaky, body trembling. “Head… feels weeeird… don’t like.” He mumbled quietly, brows furrowing in muddled confusion. “‘M sorry…”

Nevan placed a hand to his knee, rubbing lightly over his skin with a soft thumb. “It’s fine. Yes… you… you should get back in bed…” he urged, guiding Malak's gaze to the tussled mattress he had wandered out of.

“Nngh…! Noooo… no bed, please…” Malak whined, pushing his frame further into the wall behind him. At least, as much farther as he could, already shoved deep against it.

Nevan sighed. “You… you like it here?”

Malak only nodded weakly in response, his head swaying just the slightest bit from dizziness. Nevan lifted a thermometer between two fingers. “Okay… uh, can… Master Darius told me to take your temperature… again… can, can I?”

For a beat Malak considered allowing him to do so, before giving another slight nod of approval. “Umm… shh… sure…”

“Thank you. Say ah.”

The other man obliged, welcoming the thermometer under his outstretched tongue and accepting it by the grip of his lips. The two waited in silence, Nevan still brushing the other man’s skin as a means of comfort.

“Mm… one oh one.” Nevan read the numbers, disapprovingly.

“I’m sorry… sorryyyy… sorry…” Malak slumped back once again, head lolling onto his buckled shoulders. “Head weird… Nevan.” He whispered, shutting his eyes tight.

Nevan wanted to help him, he really did. He didn’t remember ever having been sick himself, but from the look of how hard it hit Malak, he could almost understand exactly how gross he felt. “No… I’m… I’m sorry.” How could he possibly help? How disgustingly useless.

Malak clawed feebly at his own skin and flesh, wriggling and fidgeting restlessly in his spot and portraying his own agony. “Don’t… don’t, ummm, like it… bad. Bad.” He whined, gratingly, the sound scratching against Nevan’s eardrums.

“Well… you’re, you’re talking a lot. That’s nice.”

“Feels weird… bad…”

Nevan frowned. “Well Master had to, to make you more… awake ‘n stuff so we can help you. That’s good… right?”

Adrastus had been practically forced to ease up on Malak’s enthrallment due to his ill state, him having been doing overall far worse with it as intense as normal. Plus, they required him to be able to communicate his pain in order to aid in his recovery. It was a condition he was, as expected, still adjusting to.

“Good… goood…” Malak mimicked. Nevan grinned, just a little bit from hearing the other man still utilizing one of his common habits even when dreadfully sick.

Before Nevan could open his lips to speak again, the door was nuged open so Adrastus could enter. Their arms were full with further bedding, elegantly lush pillows and blankets gathered for their favorite thrall. “Oh, dear, I’m back.” They bumbled in, heading straight to the thrall’s bed before they took notice of its absence of a body.

The pair followed as their face flipped to further distress in a flash, searching quick for their thrall, before landing on the two. “Nevan!” They exclaimed, recoiling an inch backwards. “You mustn’t be in here, get, get! You might catch it! I know how much you care about your little friend, but we just can’t risk you getting sick as well.”

Adrastus slipped between the thralls as Nevan stood to his feet, heading to leave as the vampire had instructed, but was held back by Malak gripping the bottom of his dress with a deadly grip.

“Goodness, how are you doing, baby? Tell me how you feel. What do you need? I can get you anything.” The vampire fussed, tucking their thrall’s sweat coated curls behind his ears and out of the way of his eyes.

Malak mewled, the edge of his words shaky and cracked as the urge to cry was swelling. “Bad… ickyyy…”

“Yes, love, I know, I know. What’s bad?” They pressed, urgently and needily.

He thought for a moment, processing their wants and questions, scouring for an acceptable answer. “Mmmngh… head… my, mmn, nose…”

“Alright, what can I get you? Umm… medicine? I’ll see if we have any more blankets? Please, baby, I’ll get you anything.” Their tone was growing ever so more distressed by the second, desperate for a solution as they nodded along with his soft but pained mumbles. The edge of their words was tainted with what almost seemed like fear.

Nevan watched their conversation unfold, stomach churning with sick and worry filled unease. He’d never seen Adrastus less than elegantly put together, never without their dignified, strict composure. The sight of them carefully trying to keep up their facade rattled anxiety in his bones.

“Want… want…” Malak gazed gently upward, meeting the other thrall with cloudy eyes that mirrored the still hazy fog of his mind. “Nevaaannnn… Nevaaaannn…!” He continued tugging at the dress flowing from Nevan’s waist, jerking him harder and harder as Nevan struggled against the much stronger man.

“No, no. No Nevan.” Their tone was devoid of anger, rather spewing with urgency. “Nevan. Leave.”

“Nooo! Nevaaann…! Need!”

His head was spinning, being called every which way. He didn’t know what to do, who’s orders to follow. His face was tainted with the scald of flattery, poorly hiding his excitement of someone, especially Malak, expressing a need of him. Him. Though, he knew such defiance was not acceptable.

“No, sweet, Master is right here. Nevan can’t help you, but master can. You could get Nevan sick.” Adrastus corrected with a strained smile, trying their very best to remain calm. “And, you like master more, don’t you? Master’s right here.”

Malak whined again, looking nearly dejected, making Nevan’s heart only hurt further with vigorous compassion. “Sorry… sorry… need, ummm, Nev… annn…”

“No! You are sick! You’re going to get him sick!” Their voice continued rising with stinging heat, shouting at their own thrall while still in a short vicinity. They had dropped any and all lingering peace in their mind, and Nevan jumped back, cowering weakly.

They never yelled at Malak. Never. Both thralls were understandably stuck in place with surprise, salty tears instinctively welling in Malak’s eyes. Nevan wished he could’ve done something, anything, but Adrastus' burning stare was well enough to keep him frozen in place.

“‘M sorry… sorry-”

“Ad, it’s okay, it’s just a fever.” Darius piped up from the back, soft and calm yet unexpected. The three huddled together whipped around to face him, Adrastus’ expression boiling with flushed anger and embarrassment. “He’ll probably get it anyway and they’ll both be fine.”

The other vampire shook their head frantically, a sight that only put Nevan more on edge. “No! N- no, he, he can’t get sick! We can’t let him get sick,

Hester can’t be sick.”

The air flipped the switch to silence, save for their quick and exhausted breaths. Nevan stared dumbly, all he really could do paralyzed by fear. He’d learned full well what happened when a vampire was upset.

Nevan had… never heard such a name before. Of course, not that he could recall, but still. It was sudden, and even Adrastus appeared disturbed that they had let it slip.

“Dear,” Darius interrupted, his voice eerily soothing and kind. He’d never spoken that way. At least not to Nevan, which wasn’t at all surprising. “You need to step away.”

“No, no, I-”

“Ad.” Their lips zipped to a close. “I need you to take a minute.” He looked to his own thrall, who shrunk back with festering fear. “Nevan, take them to the kitchen.”

Malak erupted, moaning in aching agony. “Nooo! Noooo… I need Master! Need… Nevan…”

Adrastus instinctively curled their hands over that of Malak’s, gaze full of unbridled abd desperate saccharine. “But- but what about-”

“Malak will be fine. I’ll stay with him.”

“But, the doctor-”

“Baby, the doctor said the same. He just needs rest and the meds she gave us.”

“Masterrr…!” Malak called again, his words cut apart by thick whimpers and snivels. The sound of his suffering carved deep marks in Nevan’s ears, and even more so Adrastus’.

“But…” they paused, begrudgingly stepping back from their upset thrall. Nevan looked to the other man with sorry eyes as Malak’s face twisted in disappointment as the two headed to leave. “Can I come back…?”

“Of course, Ad. I just need you to calm down, okay?” Darius placed a hand on each shoulder, tenderly guiding them to the door before Malak could continue his outbursts and convince them to stay. “You can take a couple sips from Nevan if you would like.”

“O- okay. Okay. But I’ll be right back to your side, baby. I’ll make sure Nevan is all nice and, and safe and away from any diseases.”

Nevan gave one last small wave to his friend before leaving, Adrastus gripping and squeezing his forearm, biting their lip with unusual nervousness. He tried not to pay too much attention to it. “Thank you, master.”

Though, as the two walked out to the kitchen and he kneeled beside his master, neck craned to show off his throat, even with his brain dazing out from their strong aura, he couldn’t help but dwell on the name they’d previously let slip instead of his.

Just who was Hester?

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Taglist- @softvampirewhump @iys-cloud @battyfantasy @xx-adam-xx @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @mylifeisonthebookshelf

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

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befuddled-calico-whump · 1 year

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nothing like when a character who outranks the whumpee in some way gets whumped

- maybe they work for the whumper, and are a little too cruel when completing a task. the next day, they take the whumpee's place as punishment.

- maybe they're just a little too smug, too cocky, and the whumper gets tired of their attitude and puts them in their place.

- maybe they've always worn a shock collar, but whumpee never noticed until it was activated right in front of them after a petty offense

- maybe they get meaner when whumpee reaches out to see if they're okay. maybe they lash out, verbally or physically.

- maybe they break down the moment they're alone.

#look I just #love prideful characters #i love when they're too proud and project anger and indignation when they're upset or hurt or sad #whump #whump prompt #whumper turned whumpee #fave #ill be back for you tropes *blows kiss*

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chaotic-orphan · 11 months

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Delirious Villain x Hero, part 2:

Read first part here

*~*~*~*~*

Hero didn’t sleep that night. They just stayed awake, staring at Villain’s gentle rise and fall of their chest. The poor thing was probably exhausted and Hero didn’t know what to do. They felt so useless.

Villain woke up screaming in the middle of the night, fighting whatever monster was in their head. Arms flailing and legs kicking at everything trying to escape, Hero took one of the cloths from the water bucket beside their bed, still cold, and pressed it gently to Villain’s forehead.

Villain gasped awake, sitting straight up in the bed and then curling in on themselves and apologising. Hero jumped off the bed and ran around to Villain’s side, getting on their knees and taking Villain’s face in their hands.

“Villain, Villain, shhh, ssshhhh. It’s me, it’s Hero. You’re home, it was just a nightmare, Vil. It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here. I’m right here.”

Wide frightened eyes searched Hero’s face and found a stranger at first, pulling away from Hero’s hands.

“Villain, it’s Hero. You’re sick. You have a fever, you let me help you to bed last night. It’s me, it’s Hero, your Hero, please,” Villain entire body was shivering like they had just been dunked into a pool of ice, sweat running off their face as if they had just surfaced from the sea.

But slowly, very slowly, realisation dawned in their eyes and they let out a choked: “Hero,” through chattering teeth.

“Yeah, it’s me, Vil. Okay, I’m gonna put you on the chair okay?”

Villain just sucked in a breath and nodded, pliant and obedient as they took Hero’s outstretched hand. Tentatively they shifted their body towards Hero and hung their feet over the edge of the bed when all they wanted to do was curl up and cry.

“You’re soaking, Villain,” Hero said sadly and Villain mumbled out a shaky sorry. Hero shook their head. “No, no. It’s not your fault, Villain. I just think we should get you out of your wet clothes, okay?”

Villain just nodded. Hero said: “I’ll grab a towel for you, one second.”

When they left Villain’s hand felt unnatural and cold, so they tucked it back into their armpit shuddering as waves and waves of painful tremors shot through their body.

Hero was back in a matter of seconds, but it felt like years to Villain and they wanted Hero to just hold them and tell them they loved them. Hero would never do that again, though, A snide voice said in Villain’s head that sounded a lot like their brother, Not after seeing Villain like this. Pathetic. Weak. Useless.

“Can you put your arms up for me?” Hero asked gently and Villain obeyed. Arms going straight up.

It’s better in the long run if they just obey.

Hero peeled the sweat soaked shirt off of Villain and wrapped the warm fluffy towel around their shoulders. It was so warm and so soft, and dry, and it smelled a little like Hero. They choked back the sob that wanted to escape their throat.

Hero was too kind. Too nice to them. Loving them, doing this for them. It was too much.

They didn’t deserve this kindness. They deserved to be sick and rotting and shivering in their own sweat because they were nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

“Villain,” Hero asked, voice quiet and soft. Villain’s eyes focused on Hero like they could see them again and Hero smiled. “There you are, you wandered off. I need you to stand up and I can take your pants off.”

Villain nodded numb and stood and swayed. “Woah, Villain. Hold onto my shoulders okay?”

Villain did as they were told and soon their wet pyjamas were discarded too. “Okay, good. You’re doing great Villain. Come here to the chair and I can strip the bed, okay?”

“No,” Villain mumbled, shaking their head despite the rush it caused them. “No. It’s… it’s too much. Too much work. Not… not… not worth it. ‘M… not—“

“Yes, you are worth it. You are worth this, Villain. It’s not a problem. I’m doing this because I want to. I want you to be comfortable, so really, if you let me strip the bed, you’re doing this for me,” Hero coaxed, as they guided Villain to the dry towel covered chair, letting them mull over Hero’s request.

“Okay,” Villain said as they sat on the chair. “I candoit for Hero.”

Hero smiled their radiant smile and Villain’s heart melted as they placed a kiss to Villain’s sweat covered hair. “Thank you Villain.”

Hero stripped the bed with swift sure movements, leaving and returning momentarily with another two towels that they put on Villain’s side of the mattress and redressing the bed with a new sheet and pillow case for Villain. Villain watched them work through bleary eyes, their body so heavy and sagging against the chair, enveloped in soft towels.

“Okay, see? Thank you Villain. You’ll be more comfortable now.”

“‘Mkay,” said Villain and Hero smiled at them again. They walked over to Villain and took a spare towel, drying Villain’s face and wringing out their hair. It felt so good, that little gesture. They weren’t as sticky and they felt they could breathe again. They leaned into Hero’s touch as they towel dried their neck and their torso.

“Brother would never do this,” Villain hummed happily, closing their eyes. Hero’s lips drew into a frown at the name. That horrible strange name that they hated hearing from Villain’s fever hazed lips.

“Brother isn’t here right now, Villain. They’re gone. I won’t let him hurt you again.”

Villain’s eyes opened wide and fixed on Hero, before softening, a lazy grin on their face as they said: “you’re so good to me Hero. You’re my Hero.”

Hero laughed. That was all the medicine they needed to get better. Then Villain’s hand shot out, fingers loosely holding Hero’s wrist hostage.

“You don’t have to save me, Hero,” Villain told them. “I’m not… ‘mnot a victim. ‘Mnot your job.”

“No,” said Hero, leaning in close and wrapping a hand over Villain’s. “You’re not my job,” Hero said, pressing a kiss to Villain’s knuckles and tucking them back into the towel they were wrapped in. “You’re my partner. My friend. My lover. My caretaker, my everything, Villain. My everything. If you think there’s not a thing I would do to protect you and keep you safe you are dead wrong, and I’ll spend everyday of my life proving how much you mean to me. That includes right now. I’m doing this because I love you, not because I have to. Understand?”

“They’re lying to you, Vil,” said Brother from across the room, looking out the window into the street below. They turned their head to Villain, a horrible grin on his face as he said: “Understand?”

“Yes,” Villain said quietly, eyes glazed over and unfocused. “I understand.”

“Good,” said Hero with a happy smile and kissed Villain on the cheek. Then they stood and went to their dresser, pulling out a fresh shirt and shorts. Hero’s clothes. “Let me dress you and we can get back into bed, okay?”

“Okay,” said Villain. Hero’s scent enveloped Villain as Hero put their shirt over Villain’s head and put their arms through. “You always smell good,” said Villain, keenly aware of how bad they probably smelled to their perfect Hero. Villain probably repulsed Hero right now and they were just being nice about it. As soon as Villain fell asleep Hero would leave them and it would be all Villain’s fault.

“You’re right there, Vil,” said Brother, this time beside Villain, looking at Hero as they put their shorts on Villain. “Just wait until you wake up and it’s just me and you again. Would you like that? Maybe you can throw up for me again. Just the two of us. I do so love that gagging sound you make when you retch—”

“Hero don’t leave,” Villain yelled, grasping onto Hero’s shoulders tighter. Hero’s hands were on Villain’s waist stabilising them, but they moved one hand up to brush the hair from Villain’s eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere, Villain. I’m taking a couple days off. I’m staying with you. It’s okay. I’ll stay with you until you’re better.”

“Lies.”

“Okay,” Villain sighed, sagging against Hero. Hero wrapped their arms around Villain, and just held them there for a moment. When Villain squeezed tighter, Hero did too just to let them know that Hero was there. In front of them. With them.

“Let’s get back to bed,” said Hero. Villain didn’t move.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Villain mumbled against Hero’s shoulder. “I don’t want to go to sleep again.”

“You don’t want to see me again? I’m hurt.” Brother asked, right behind Villain’s ear. Villain shivered in Hero’s arms and Hero held them tighter.

“Okay,” Hero said. “So how about we just lie down then and talk?”

Villain didn’t move for a minute before sighing and nodding against Hero’s shoulder. Hero smiled and helped Villain back into the freshly made bed. Villain let out a soft sigh as Hero walked around the other side of the bed.

As soon as Hero climbed in, they had their arms around Villain, resting their head against Villain’s shoulder as Villain lay on their back staring at the ceiling. Hero wrapped their leg around Villain’s and lay a hand on their chest, feeling the soft heartbeat within.

Villain put their hand over Hero’s and squeezed it gently. “Thank you Hero.”

“You’re welcome Villain.”

They just stayed like that. Huddled together in bed, Hero not letting up or letting go for even a moment. Neither of them knew when Villain’s fever broke, but it did and for the first time in the last 24 hours that felt more like 24 days Villain was coherent. Or at least, coherent enough.

“Hey Villain?” Hero asked, voice small. Villain hummed in reply, the rumbling reverberating from their throat to their chest and Hero felt it echo under their palm. “Who’s Brother?”

Villain stiffened under Hero at the name, and Hero nearly wished they didn’t ask them. This could have waited until they were better. Until they were fully better, but Hero didn’t know if Villain would tell them when they were fully better.

Brother came into view, standing over Villain as they stared into the ceiling, a wide grin on their face and cruelty pulling at every feature.

“Yeah, Vil. Tell them about me. About me, and what I did to you. Then they’ll definitely run in the morning.”

“Listen,” Hero said, breaking the heavy eye contact Villain was making with Brother’s phantom and closed their eyes. “I know he did something bad to you. I just— you never tell me about your past.”

“There’s a reason for that Hero.”

“It’s because they were pathetic in the past,” said Brother to Hero but Hero couldn’t hear them. Only Villain could, and they knew that Brother wasn’t really here. Wasn’t real. They hadn’t seen them in years, they probably don’t even look like how Villain saw them anymore. Tall and broad and dark and hiding cruelty behind a mask of virtue.

Sometimes when Villain looked in the mirror, they saw Brother’s eyes peering back at them. Black and void and endless. Villain hated how alike they looked, had always looked. They couldn’t escape him even to this day.

“Brother…” Villain began, trailing off with a heavy sigh. Not knowing how Hero was going to take this. How does someone react to someone when they find out they were abused? How do you look at them and not see a victim? Villain didn’t want to be a victim. Didn’t want Hero to see them like that. “If I tell you…”

“They’ll run.”

“You’ll run.”

“They’ll look at you differently.”

“You’ll look at me differently.”

Hero sat up looking down at Villain. “I won’t,” they said in earnest. “Villain I would never see you as anything more than I see you now. Or anything less. I love you. I want to know you, even the dark parts. All of you.”

“They will, Vil,” Brother said, this time going to sit in the chair that Villain was in while Hero dressed them. “But go ahead. Tell them how broken and damaged you are. Go on.”

“Brother is—“ Villain began again, then sighed and ran a hand down their face, pinching the bridge of their nose. Their eyes closed as they said: “Brother is the name of my older brother.”

The silence settled heavy around them. Like the fall of a guillotine that separated the life of Villain with Hero now, and the past they tried so hard to run from. So hard to hide from.

It was out now, in the open between them. Permeating the silence. Filling every atom of the room and dragging it down. Making the air thick and sticky, and hard to breathe through.

“Fuck Villain,” is all Hero said.

Villain let out a small humourless laugh. “Yeah, fuck is right. He was awful to me. Not at first. He was a good brother when we were kids, I mean younger kids. He was brilliant,” Villain said.

“I’m touched.”

Villain ignored the phantom of their Brother.

“I mean like, he was perfect. Smart. Funny. Charming. Compassionate. Every kid loved him, every parent thought he was the perfect child. My parents adored him, which is okay, because I did too. He stuck up for kids being bullied, everyone said he was a good kid. A hero. Kind and good, and smart, so when I came along everyone expected someone like him.”

Hero’s face was drawn, worrying their lip between their teeth and their thumb absently trailing their lips. Villain let out another soft laugh.

“You’re like him,” said Villain, reading Hero’s mind, squeezing Hero’s hand on their chest in theirs reassuring. “But not in the superficial way that he was good. You’re actually good.”

“So… everyone thought he was good, but he wasn’t?”

“H— He was good. That’s the killer. He was good to everyone. A hero. A kind, smart kid. Adored by all. He was just a monster to me.”

“So poetic, Villain. You’re making me shiver. Go on.”

Villain let out a heavy sigh.

“Villain you don’t have to—“

“No,” Villain said with a forced smile. “It’s fine, Hero. I want you to know.”

Hero nodded, cautious eyes wide, catching every movement of Villain. Looking for any tell that they actually wanted Hero to stop. To stop questioning and looking for an answer, but they… they wanted to know. They wanted to know what made Villain so upset about being sick.

“So, I guess it all started after I got into a fight at school. Some idiot kid was talking bad about Brother in front of me and I wanted so badly to be like him. To prove myself that I was like him. So I defended him. Then the kid got even more lippy and we got into a fight. Brother came to break it up and when he realised it was me in the fight, I had never seen him look at anyone like that,” Villain whispered, eyes haunted by the same stare that he saw when he looked in the mirror everyday.

“Like I was worthless, and beyond saving. He defended me, like I did him and he made it up to the other boy. Turns out the other boy was just jealous and actually wanted to be friends with Brother.”

“That was at lunch… then after school when we were walking home, Brother went a different direction and I followed, because obviously I followed him. He was my older brother and we always walked home together. I thought it was just a new way—“

“But it wasn’t, was it?” Hero asked. Villain heard Brother giggle in the chair and turned their head to see him leaning forward, hands on his knees. Eyes alight with vicious glee.

“This is my favourite part, Villain. Continue.”

“No,” said Villain. “It wasn’t. He brought me into the woods, sat me down on a felled tree trunk and asked me what happened at lunch. I told him. I told him I was defending him. That I did it for him.”

“You didn’t do it for me, though, Villain. If you’re honest with me right now, you didn’t do it for me,” Brother said.

Villain stood up and protested. “I did, Brother. I swear I did.”

“No you didn’t. If you were thinking of me you wouldn’t have done it at all. You embarrassed me today, and now I have to talk to stupid, fat, ugly Tyler Tobins just so the fight doesn’t get reported to the principal.”

“I had never heard him call anyone names before,” Villain said in awe. As if the name calling shocked them still to this day. “Ever. And three names in quick succession I thought maybe he was just angry and didn’t like Tyler. No one really liked Tyler anyways.”

“So what did you do?”

“I did nothing,” said Villain. “I said sorry. Tried to explain myself again but he didn’t appreciate that. He just walked over to me very slow. Stood over me and stared me down with his black eyes, no smile or happiness of kindness anywhere near him… he looked at me with hatred and said:—“

“You’re not sorry,” Brother said along with Villain. “Not yet. But you will be.”

“Then he beat the shit out of me. Tore at my clothes. Kicked me in the ribs, the chin, the face, the nose. Stomped on my back, then when I cried out for him to stop, he kicked me over to my back and got on top of me and just started wailing on me. I couldn’t breathe with the blood and I’m pretty sure I blacked out half way through, but when I woke up my body was so sore. I remember being surprised at being alive. I think I thought I died.”

“But Brother knew I was awake when I woke up. He stood over me and said to get up and come with him to the stream so he can clean my blood off of him. He even said he would clean me up a little too. He didn’t say sorry. I was eight at the time. He was eleven. Since then the beatings only got worse, more creative, more invasive.”

“Villain…” Hero breathed, putting a hand on Villain’s cheek. Villain turned to face them, unshed tears glistening in their eyes. Forcing a small smile onto their lips. “I’m so sorry. You— you didn’t deserve that. I— I don’t know what to say.”

“I know Hero,” said Villain, tracing figures on Hero’s hand still on their chest. “I know that. I’ve dealt with it over the years. Got away as soon as I could and never looked back.”

“What about your parents?”

“Oooh, that one’s gonna sting.”

“They didn’t care. When they found out, they didn’t care. They loved Brother more, it was always like that. It hurt, but they’re not in my life anymore.”

“How can a parent just sit back and let that happen to their child?” Hero demanded hotly, eyes burning with righteous fury. “Why didn’t you report them for neglect? Or— or abuse, or something!”

“Because I just wanted to cut ties, Hero. Brother was making a name for himself in the world, and if I tarnished his reputation with a lawsuit against our parents I’m sure he would’ve tracked me down and killed me, or worse.”

“Bet your ass I would’ve,” Brother said from the chair. “But it’s okay, Villain. I don’t need to find you again. I’m already here, in your mind, still frying your noodles whenever I want.”

“But it’s not fair,” Hero said, frustrated tears forming behind their eyes. Villain cooed and reached a hand up to wipe the tears away from Hero, a fond smile on their face. “I shouldn’t be crying, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” said Villain. “I don’t know how many times I’ve cried over it, Hero. It’s okay. I changed my name when I left them. Moved towns, moved here. Met a certain crime fighting badass and flirted my ass off with them until they fell for me.”

Hero laughed through the tears, sniffing.

“And I fell for them,” Villain continued. “They won’t ever find me, Hero. They will never bother us again, so let’s just… be happy together and forget about them, okay?”

“Okay,” Hero sniffed with a watery smile.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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whumperer-86 · 7 months

Text

Moon in the day *Wouldn't wake up

This drama is whump treasure

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painsandconfusion · 4 months

Text

Something's Not Right

Whumping the Whumper - Part Thirty-six

(tw: internal bleeding, death threat, illness, long term captivity, concussion, bruises, gun, murder mention, nonsexual nudity)

[Previous | Masterpost | Next] [Chronologically following this scene]

Four years ago...

“E-Ethan? Ethan wake up..-”

Ethan stirred at the light poke to his thigh. He groaned, stretching against the cold concrete before squinting open his eyes. His arms instinctively snaked around Johnny, pulling his warmth closer. His head was throbbing- he pressed the ache closer into Johnny’s shoulder to bury it away again.

“N-no, Ethan. Please.”

His eyes fluttered open, squinting down at Johnny in the moonlight. He looked…scared. Must have had a nightmare again.

Ethan swallowed the grogginess from his throat and reached up to brush a few stray locks of hair from Johnny’s forehead. “What’s wrong?”

Johnny stared up at him, eyes shimmering. “Som..something’s not right. It’s wrong and-” Johnny’s voice cracked as a tear leaked from the corner of his eye. “It’s just…wrong.”

Ethan’s brows pinched together. “Why don’t you try to get back to sleep? It always hurts worst right away - maybe when you wake up-”

“-no, it’s wrong.” Tears were dripping steadily now. Johnny’s quick, shallow breaths pressed against Ethan’s chest.

Was Johnny always this warm?

Ethan sat up, looking over Johnny. He was bruised, sure, but..he’d woken earlier and Johnny was alright. Not…completely alright, of course. But…healable. Crawford had used his fists, the damage was mostly to his thighs and torso. No broken bones, no sprains, just deep, aching bruises.

..Ethan tried to pull him a little closer. “Some more sleep sh-”

Johnny pressed his palm against the ground, tugging himself free from Ethan’s arms. “I-I don’t know what it…what it is. Something…something’s not right…”

Something akin to fear started to curl in Ethan’s stomach. No. Weighed it down. Sour and heavy and hot, pressing against his mind. He sat the rest of the way up, too, folding his arms around Johnny. He kissed the back of his neck.

…Johnny was sweating.

In this cold??

He gripped Johnny a little tighter. “Does it hurt?”

Johnny reached up, clutching Ethan’s fore-arms. One hand clamping down, the other resting lightly. “Yeah, it’s…yeah.” Johnny swallowed. “It’s wrong. Something’s wrong.”

“Okay, okay I…I hear you.” Ethan didn’t know what to do. He rubbed his thumb up and down against Johnny’s shoulder. “What does it feel like?”

“..just...wrong.”

“Does…it hurt more than usual?”

“...Um…I think so? No. Wait. Not…not more, jus- … different. I can’t…everything feels wrong.”

Ethan’s hand presses against his forehead. “..is it any particular place?”

Johnny’s breath pulled out in a whine, hugging Ethan’s arm closer. “...e…kinda everywhere but…b-ut ‘specially here-” he made a vague gesture over his abdomen.

Ethan frowned, extracting himself from Johnny’s grip. He carefully picked at the hem of Johnny’s shirt, carefully pulling it up and off of him. There were no goosebumps despite the chill that must have just washed over him. Sweat clung to the shirt, making a sticky sound as he forced it off Johnny’s skin.

Ethan’s eyes slid back and forth over the bruises that just barely showed up as an outline in the sprinkling of moonlight that worked its way into the basement. His brows pinched, worry starting to churn through him.

..Crawford hit too hard. He knew these symptoms, Johnny was bleeding where he couldn’t see.

Ethan pulled the shirt back down, praying to the first handful of gods he could think of that it would clear up within a couple days. At least one god had to listen to him, right?

“..is…is i-t okay..?”

Ethan looked helplessly over Johnny, hand lifting to cradle his face. “..I don’t…I think so - I do. But..I really think we should get you a doctor.”

Johnny laughed- but the small, spiteful sound immediately sputtered out into a small whine, breaths immediately falling faster and shallow. “Hh-hhhe w-on’t- n-no way-”

“...Just let me ask.”

Johnny’s head tilted into Ethan’s palm, cradling it there with his own. “...o-kay..”

So much for his headache. Is it still considered a headache when it’s a concussion?

In any case, so much for his concussion.

Ethan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Johnny’s forehead before dragging himself up and toward the stairs. He took them three at a time until his fists bruised against the door with the force of his banging. “HEY ASSHOLE-! GET THE FUCK DOWN HERE-!”

Johnny rolled his eyes through labored breath, propped against the wall. “...h-e’s not gonna come- it’s like fffour in the morning.”

“He will if I don’t shut up-” Ethan turned back to the door, hammering on the wood again. “CRAWFORD, YOU SLIMEY BITCH WE NEED A DOCTOR-!”

Ethan paced, shouting up and out into the house he couldn’t reach for almost twenty minutes, his own head reeling and spinning damn near off his shoulders each time he screamed up to the well known abuser and an unknown god in tandem.

Finally, finally, the bastard showed his face.

The door slammed open the moment it was unlocked, gun pointed at Ethan.

Ethan took a hesitant step backward down the stairs, eyes on the gun. He never got that out.

“What. The fuck. Is wrong with you,” Crawford bit out, all but drooling venom.

Ethan lifted his hands. “We need a doctor- you fucked up Johnny too much.”

Crawford scoffed, starting to close the door. “I didn’t do anything different, go the fuck to sleep.”

Ethan stepped forward, bracing one hand against the door so it couldn’t close. “No, wait- I’m seriously h-”

The sound of the gun cocking cut off his sentence. “He’s. Fine. You were a little bitch when you first got here, too. Deal with it.”

“He’s bleeding internally!”

“And who’s fault is that?”

Ethan froze, memories of running skittering across his mind. Johnny’s screams. Crawford’s cursing. Guilt curled fresh into his blood.

Swallowing down emotions and pride, he tried again. “...please. He needs a doctor.”

“I will kill him if you don’t shut the fuck up. He’s fine. Keep pushing it and he won’t be.”

Rage flickered across Ethan’s eyes, but he let his hand fall from the door.

In a moment, it slammed in his face, deadbolt snapping back into the frame.

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @paleassprincess @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @hold-back-on-the-comfort @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @orphans-parent @whumplr-reader @rainbowsandwhumperflies @starfields08000 @sunnyesunny)

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

#internal bleeding #death threat #long term captivity #concussion #bruises #gun #murder mention #nonsexual nudity #whumping the whumpers #ethan #johnny #crawford #ethan and johnny #illness

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ccieatchildren · 11 months

Text

Spark

Phone Notes 1

As they were about to open the door— about to make it to freedom— fingers clamped down on their wrist. A scream bubbled up in their throat, but his words cut them off.

“I rolled over and went to cuddle my wife, but they weren’t there.” A cheek nuzzled against them, “want to tell me where they went?”

Cold sweat gathered at their brow while Whumpee scrambled for a response. They gaped like a fish locked in his arms, Whumper’s fury palpable in the tense atmosphere, but no excuse came to mind. They was so close.

“Hmm? No answer.” He tightened his grip even more, leaving finger shaped bruises on their skin. “You know what I think,” Whumper’s voice dropped an octave, becoming deep and gravely with anger, “I think my pretty, little wife took my generosity for granted, sneaking out of our bed, the one I was nice enough to leave them unbound in, and took advantage of their husband’s exhaustion, not caring at all about the hard work he does to keep them here well fed, safe, and pampered. That little bitch of a wife tried to escape their loving husband for what?” Whumper was seething, each word bit out, trying, but failing, to keep his composure. “Some woman who doesn’t even realize you’re gone. A job you were forced into despite your affinity for research. A repetitive life that takes your all, but never gives anything in return. A lonely existence without someone to rely on or care for.”

He let out a long sigh. “I simply don’t understand why you would want to escape Whumpee. I have given you everything you need here. All you need is to stay with me. Why do you want to —“

Whumpee whipped around to look at him in disbelief, a scoff leaving their lips at the absurd question. “We both know why I don’t want to be here.” They wiggled out of his loosened arms, swiftly turning their back on him and walking to their— his— room. Whumpee knew when to abandon their current mission to retry again another day.

Stunned by their swift dismissal, Whumper stared after them in shock before hurrying along to their room. He hadn’t expected them to respond with such harsh indignation, and simply give up— no, just regrouping— after he caught them. Whumper had thought they would fight some more to make it out, they were right at the end after all, or at least cower under the weight of his frustration and fury. But they did neither. Their fire wasn’t as bright as before, but it hadn’t been completely put out yet. There was still a small spark eager to grow inside them, despite the months they had spent under him.

Whumper felt a crooked smile spread across his lips as he locked the bedroom door behind him. There was still a lot of fun left to have with Whumpee.

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whatiswhump · 3 months

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I just love insanity whump so much because there are two EXCEPTIONAL options to start with:

There are whumpers who can take advantage of the situation, maybe even mAke someone ill or brainwashed, but there's also underlying mental illness, and its just so tragic and messed up...

And in this.. the whumpee's worst enemy can just be themselves.

#MAYBE a mix of both >:)#mental illness #psychiatric whump #psych whump #whump #emotional whump #I love when even the whumper realizes that what the whumpee is doing to themselves is worse than what they could dream up #maybe they smirk and siit back and watch #maybe theyre worried #maybe the whumper had plans to brainwash them unaware that kidnapping them and taking them off their meds would make them go haywire anyway #so many possibilties

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galaxywhump · 1 year

Note

if wren started begging for something during a torture session (a small break bc he feels like he's gonna be sick, or some water) would daniel grant that to him? or would it be situationally dependent?

I know you were probably expecting a straightforward answer, but your ask made a WIP happen, so here it is.

[SV-240 masterlist]

contents: forced relationship whump, slavery whump, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, illness, non-graphic emeto, torture, knives, stress position, blindfold, creepy comfort.

~~~

Wren woke up feeling terrible.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary for him, but that morning he felt terrible in a different way. He felt ill; weak and slightly dizzy, shivering despite it not being cold in the house. He didn’t tell Daniel, even though he wanted nothing more than to be given medication, hot tea, and some peace and quiet. No, telling Daniel would also mean him being overly caring and doting, which was the last thing Wren wanted to deal with.

So he didn’t say anything, and then he learned that Daniel was in the mood for some handiwork with his favorite knife.

Shit.

He still didn’t say a word when Daniel closed handcuffs on his wrists and attached them to a chain connected to a hook in the ceiling, forcing him to keep his arms outstretched and stand on his tiptoes. He didn’t say a word when Daniel put a blindfold on his eyes and earplugs in his ears. He just shuddered and gritted his teeth when the knife pierced his arm and was dragged downwards.

Just get through this, he thinks to himself while Daniel makes small, precise cuts around his shoulder blades in a pattern that only makes sense to him and his artistic vision. It’s not the first time.

But it’s the first time when he feels this awful during torture, and the position he’s in doesn’t help. His body is under so much strain, stretched out uncomfortably, he can barely stay upright, his arms hurt, his head hurts, everything hurts, and Daniel’s only adding more pain. He still feels dizzy despite the darkness - or maybe because of it - his face is covered in cold sweat, he starts feeling slightly nauseous. The blindfold is soaked with tears of frustration, he can hear his heartbeat way too clearly, it’s the only sound he hears, he feels horrible, he wants out, he wants this to end, he can’t handle this after all, but that means…

“Stop,” he mumbles weakly, shaking his head and whining when the pain from the cuts seems to intensify now that he’s not fully preoccupied with his illness. Talking with the earplugs in is an unpleasant, almost surreal experience, and he can only hope he’s actually saying something, that his voice isn't too weak. "Please stop."

But this is Daniel, so Wren can imagine him laughing at his begging, making a stupid comment promising that this will be over soon, sweetheart, but this isn't about that. He whimpers when the knife cuts into his back again.

"I'm serious, stop, I-I think I'm gonna be sick, I just need a break."

The knife disappears, and Wren swallows desperately, struggling to take a deep breath.

He flinches when he feels Daniel grip his arm - thankfully an undamaged part of it - and a moment later his wrists are released. Daniel catches him before he can collapse, unable to stay upright after the punishing position.

The earplugs are removed, and the blindfold follows. Wren winces and blinks, and when his eyes get used to something other than darkness, he sees Daniel's face, with worry written all over it.

"Are you still feeling sick?" he asks, and Wren nods.

Daniel wraps Wren's arm around himself to support him and leads him to the bathroom, where the nausea gets overwhelming. Daniel holds his hair back for him, not saying a word for now.

Wren closes his eyes, exhausted, and fuck does everything hurt, but mostly his arms and back now that he's moving again. He's trembling, getting up feels like an impossible task, and he's still crying, from pain and from his awful state, and he's not even mad at himself for it.

"Better now?"

"I think so," he mutters. Daniel lets go of his hair.

"I'll get you some water."

Wren nods, keeping his eyes closed, not daring to move an inch for fear of his body igniting with pain again and the room spinning.

Anxiety creeps up on him; nothing like this has ever happened before, and he doesn’t know what to expect from Daniel.

He comes back and hands Wren a glass of water, then sits down next to him, looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"What happened?" he asks.

"I think I'm sick." Wren stares down at the water, every breath causing his fresh wounds to shift and hurt even more. "I feel like shit, and… you just saw for yourself, I guess." He sighs. “So just get the session over with before it gets worse.”

Daniel firmly shakes his head, frowning.

“No. You need to rest. I’ll take care of your wounds and then you can lie down.” He pets Wren’s hair. “We can continue some other time.”

Wren huffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You do realize how fucked up that sounds, right?”

Daniel just chuckles in response. He does know. It changes nothing.

The knife will return in a few days, and yet Wren can’t help but be relieved as Daniel cleans and dresses his wounds, then gives him a shirt and carries him to the living room.

“I can carry you to the bedroom, if you’d like. Unless you prefer the couch.”

“Couch,” Wren mutters. The bed is more comfortable and the bedroom would offer more peace and quiet, provided Daniel leaves him alone, but he wants to stay out of there as much as he can, and the couch is too small for Daniel to lie down next to him.

As much as he hates the couch, he can’t deny that it’s comfortable, and in his exhaustion he practically melts into it. Daniel even brings him a blanket, which Wren curls up under, pulling it up to his neck.

“I’ll bring you some pills,” Daniel says, pressing his palm to Wren’s forehead; he clicks his tongue when he confirms that it’s unnaturally warm, and brushes Wren’s hair away from his face, making him wince. “Do you need anything else, sweetheart?”

“Rest,” Wren sighs, struggling to keep his eyes open. Now that he’s stopped ignoring it, his illness has decided to hit him with everything it’s got.

“Okay. I’ll fetch the pills and you can sleep after you’ve taken them, alright? Try to stay awake.”

“Mhm.”

Daniel leaves, and Wren wraps the blanket tighter around himself, blinking slowly, trying to fight his exhaustion off for a bit longer. Daniel is just as doting as he’d feared he would be, but… aside from his usual sweethearting it feels good to be taken care of, and to be listened to. The wounds still sting, a reminder of the torture he’d gone through and will go through again soon, but he can’t bring himself to care. He waits for his captor and torturer to come back with the medicine, and he has to remind himself not to thank him for this bare minimum of kindness, more than most of what he’s gotten throughout his life.

He wishes it wasn’t like this, moments of kindness and loving care juxtaposed with pain and tears and coercion; he knows how much Daniel enjoys doing this, being the sole source of both suffering and comfort.

He’s aware of so many mechanisms of his captivity, yet he’s powerless to fight them, forced to accept them, and all he can hope for is that all these processes won’t shape him into something else, whatever Daniel, whose smile is unnervingly genuine and fond when he enters the living room, wants him to be.

“Sleep well, sweetheart," Daniel says softly once Wren's washed the pills down with water. "I hope you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“So you can torture me more?” Wren mutters, closing his eyes.

Daniel’s lighthearted laughter keeps ringing in his ears long after he's fallen asleep.

~~~

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