#// rocky recovery

[sugarsweetwriter]

┇(Cult) Whump Recovery… (Whumper is referred to as The Leader/God)

"Do you remember what you were like before?" Caretaker asked gently. Too gently—and Whumpee hated it. Whumpee absolutely despised the softness, the kindness they always held in their voice as the sweetly coaxed Whumpee's secrets out of them, to, of course, use against them later—Whumpee thought. It was the same voice that The Leader would always use; Whumpee wondered why it scared, angered them so much to hear Caretaker take on the same tone. How could they dislike the same tone Their God would use? It all confused, and immensely bothered, Whumpee.

"Yes, I do. I was sinful." Whumpee seethed. Their eyes darted around the room, before settling on the white, floral fabric, draped over their bruised thighs. The dress was apparently Caretaker's cousin's, and it was the only clean clothing they had when unexpectantly taking Whumpee in, only about a week ago. Since then, laundry had been done, but Whumpee seemed attached to the dress, and Caretaker wanted them to be as comfortable as possible. It was much prettier, silkier, than their previous, everyday-garment; a gray, modest dress which covered them from head to toe. It sat on them loosely, and was itchy at the shoulders, but that had never mattered.

Caretaker frowned at the response, but Whumpee hadn't dared to look up to see it.

"How were you sinful—if you're comfortable telling me?" Caretaker questioned—again, far too tenderly. Having sat at the foot of the bed for around 10 minutes now, Caretaker kept conversing with Whumpee—though it felt more like an interrogation for them.

Whumpee hesitated for a moment before answering:

"I.. I wasn't holy yet. I hadn't found The Leader yet—I hadn't found God yet. I hadn't begun worshipping them- and, so, I couldn't have been-.. righteous," Whumpee paused briefly, then continued.

"I would've.. never been forgiven if I had continued like that, but... Now, I'm sure I'll never be forgiven again… no matter how hard I could ever pray." Whumpee practically whispered the second half of the sentance, taking in a shaky breath before muttering the very last part—they sounded as if they were about to sob.

Caretaker sighed, sorrowfully, before slowly—very, very slowly—moving over towards Whumpee, to which Whumpee only stared at them for a moment before looking back down at their thighs. Hesitantly, Caretaker spoke:

"I know, I know it's scary—but none of that's.. true. Please.. know that you're safe. The Leader.." Caretaker hesitated, "God—can't hurt you, anymore. I promise. You're far away from them all now and I won't ever let anybody from back there hurt you ever again. You're safe" they finished.

Caretaker, now sitting knee to knee with Whumpee, looked back into their eyes, only to be met with a small, scarred, terrified, baby deer. Their eyes, yet again, frantically searched for a focus of interest around the room as tears spilt freely now, quiet sobs racking through their chest as they attempted to mutter a defensive response—but to no avail, as they could only let out pitiful whimpers.

How could Caretaker challenge The Leader? How could Caretaker challenge The God—the only being who knew true virtue? It went against all that Whumpee had known for the past four years. And deeply, it both shook and absolutely terrified Whumpee.

Once more, Caretaker moved towards Whumpee, little by little, attempting to look back at Whumpee's face—failing, since Whumpee's head was now lowered and pressed against their thighs, still covered by soft fabric.

"Whumpee… Can I touch you?" Cautiously, Caretaker asked—unsure as to whether Whumpee could even heard them through their now, much louder, sobs. Although, even through Whumpee's hysteric crying, Caretaker could've sworn they'd heard something among the lines of "Yes, okay". And so, steadily, they wrapped their arms around Whumpee, who quickly lifted their arms as well, almost instinctively, wrapping them shakily around Caretaker and burying their face in Caretaker's neck, breathing heavily and smearing their tears everywhere. Whumpee had been deprived of touch for so long, of course they’d take it now that they got the chance to.

After the shock of it all, Caretaker dotingly whispered sweet confirmations, holding Whumpee firmly yet tenderly, making sure to comfort Whumpee yet not trap them.

Words of "It's okay, it's all okay. I promise—you're safe. The Leader can't get to you here" were spoken, caringly.

Eventually, the cries died down, and Whumpee was left in Caretaker's arms, whimpering quietly, their arms now drooping down Caretaker's back.

"How... You're- you're wrong" Whumpee sniffled, well aware of how weak the defense was.

But they were so tired, and still, scared. Desperately, they just wanted to believe Caretaker—believe that they were safe, and believe even that god—not The Leader—but god, either didn't care—or know—about them, or didn't even exist to begin with.

Still terribly unsure of whatever the real truth of it may be—they feared The Leader was right, it was what they'd been taught for so long anyway—they just hoped, so wholeheartedly, but exhaustedly, hoped that they'd be okay. That they'd be safe, that they wouldn't be punished—not for leaving, or for daring to doubt The Leader, and even god.

At least now, in Caretaker's warm arms, they did, indeed, feel safe—for the first time in a very, very long time.

In response to Whumpee's defense, Caretaker only hummed affectionately. Truthfully, Caretaker was proud, so proud, of Whumpee. For the first time in the week they'd been staying with Caretaker, instead of hiding in the closet, or just uncontrollably sobbing and praying while pushing them away, they accepted touch, and comfort, help.

Caretaker knew it'd take a long, long time to work with Whumpee and work towards recovery; Whumpee was still working on processing the very notion that it all, that all of the punishments could've been for nothing. It wasn't as if they had never considered it before. They did at the start, and later on they wondered if—regardless of whether The Leader, or any god was real—anything could've made all that they had been through worth it. Eventually though, they became far too fearful to ever even consider any of it ever again.

Yet here, they slowly fall asleep on Caretaker, their weak body slumping onto them, head awkwardly positioned at their neck; to which Caretaker gently—not too gently this time; without saying anything in fact—positioned Whumpee's body in a more comfortable position, and as Whumpee slept, safely, and warm, Caretaker was sure of it now; they will never give up on Whumpee.

┇A/N: First writing on here! Posting this before my intro as well... it's 3 am now but I just had the urge to write and came up with this (touch starved Whumpee my beloved)... I haven't seen any cult whump recovery drabbles before, so here's one! Hopefully someone enjoyed my writing! ^^

[paingoes]

Rubies

Asking

“Aegre fero” here has a double meaning of “I’m sorry” and “It hurts”. Taking some license with the Latin I think. Forgive me.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, comfort!!!, crying, past trauma, conditioning, malnutrition mention, emotional whump, abuse mention, rocky recovery)

=========

Apollo readjusted the dials on the old receiver. He clicked in between the channels of the small device, listening in as best he could through the static. The sheer range of Galatea’s radio always impressed him. 

“-off the Western side now, escalating-“

“-running out of provisions! Just a reminder-“

“-tell Contra if she doesn’t fix her damn-“

“-worst summer in years, but not like-“

“-does anyone not need their kidney-“

Delta came out of his room, slipping quietly out into the hall. His short hair was hard to get used to. It was actually kind of curly when it wasn’t weighed down. Apollo thought it was cute. His expression was totally unreadable, but that was about typical for him. 

“Hey.” Apollo pulled one of the earbuds out. He didn’t move much beyond that. Delta had gotten comfortable enough that he didn’t feel the need to fuss after him nor the impulse to coax him out of hiding. It’d be better to stay still, not spook him too much.

Delta skirted the edge of the couch carefully and knelt down onto the carpet. He folded his arms on the cushion, resting his head down on top of them. It hid his face. Apollo took out the other earbud, leaning forward.

“You okay, bud?” Apollo’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. Delta hadn’t knelt for him in a while. He’d thought that he was getting out of the habit. Delta nodded, his face still buried in the cushion. Not speaking, but that was also to be expected.

“Do you want to sit up here?” Apollo offered, just in case he needed to be reminded that he was allowed to. He shook his head for no.

“…Okay. Let me know if you need anything, alright?” He only put one earbud back in. Delta spoke so softly, he didn’t want to miss it. He wasn’t going to force him to talk about it, if there was anything to talk about at all. Delta needed to do what made him feel safe. As odd as the behavior seemed to him, he wasn’t going to correct it. 

He turned his attention back to the radio, but kept his sights on Delta to see if there was any change. His eyes widened as he noticed the small hitches along his shoulders. He was definitely crying.

“Hey, hey.” Apollo put the radio aside on the couch, sliding down onto the floor. He touched Delta’s arm lightly, “C’mere.”

It was all the invitation he needed. Delta shifted off of the couch and into Apollo’s arms, burying his face in his chest. Small sobs wracked his body. Apollo was surprised at how silent he was being in spite of this. He made shushing noises reflexively, even though there was no sound. He felt the fabric of his shirt marginally tighten as Delta gripped it. 

“Aegre fero.” Delta’s voice wavered. It was only when he spoke that Apollo could hear just how much trouble he was having breathing. He carded his hands through his hair.

“It’s okay. Deep breaths, yeah? Four-seven-eight,” he said. Delta knew how. Apollo had caught him doing them alone before, unprompted. He was clearly used to being the only one to calm himself down. Apollo’s heart ached at the thought of him sitting up whenever they had kept him, forcing himself stable for somebody else’s sake. Still, he slowed his breathing, picking up the pattern. From where Delta was curled into his chest, he should’ve been able to hear it well. His shoulder blades gradually steadied. The shaking stopped. He didn’t let go.

“Do you…like when I play with your hair?” Apollo’s hands stilled. He realized he’d never actually gotten permission to touch it. He probably should have. Delta nodded slowly. His face was still hidden. Apollo continued to run his hands through it. It was very soft — and seemed to be a lot healthier than it had been when they’d first picked him up. He was proud of that, the way the malnutrition symptoms were gradually fading. He had missed cooking for people.

It took a while before Delta would pull away. His face was flushed when he did, eyes bleary. He looked down like he was ashamed. Apollo patted the couch cushion.

“Sit up, sweetheart.”

Delta climbed onto the couch, pulling his legs up to his chest. He was always more responsive when given direct orders. Apollo didn’t want to force him, but honestly, his joints couldn’t take any more time on the floor. He stood up himself, disappearing briefly to retrieve a cup of water. He brought back the burner phone too, passing both of them to Delta.

~

It was mortifying. When had he ever cried? He could count on one hand the number of times he had done it over the last two years. On two hands, he could count the last decade. Now it was like he couldn’t stop. He wasn’t supposed to behave like this. He had learned, so early on, that he was not supposed to behave like this.

It had felt so nice to be held for a second.

Mortifying.

Apollo sat back down on the couch and opened the IRC program. The burner phone buzzed in Delta’s hand. He unlocked it.

sunspot: Hey

nodiving: hi

nodiving: sorry

sunspot: Do you want to talk about it?

nodiving: i dont know

nodiving: i dont know whats wrong with me

nodiving: im not supposed to be like this

sunspot: Be like what?

nodiving: pathetic

sunspot: Why do you think it’s pathetic?

nodiving: because it is

“That’s circular logic,” Apollo said aloud. Delta typed faster.

nodiving: im not supposed to need anything and i usually dont

nodiving: now i have to keep bothering you for everything even things that dont matter

nodiving: im sorry

He began to type something else, but couldn’t bring himself to. He knew he should be punished for it. For having the audacity to even take notice of the emotion, let alone make it someone else’s problem. He should’ve just stayed in his room until it passed. 

sunspot: Everyone needs things. 

sunspot: I’ve been telling you this entire time to please come to me if you need anything

sunspot: Thank you for trusting me enough to take me up on that

Delta blushed, his fingers idle about the device. Apollo looked him up and down.

“When you say ‘things that don’t matter’,” he ventured cautiously, “You mean your own feelings?”

Feelings. The word itself sounded childish to him. He was supposed to be above it, as cold and mechanical as they’d trained him to be. But his skin was still damp where he’d been crying. It was a little late for that.

He nodded. Apollo couldn’t be mad at him for it; Delta already acknowledged their own worthlessness. It wasn’t a lie.

“Okay,” Apollo said softly, “I understand why you would think that. Nobody’s had much regard for them throughout your life. But it’s not true. Your feelings do matter. It was wrong for anybody to make you feel like they didn’t.”

No they don’t. Delta hid his face in his hands. He shouldn’t need this. He recoiled from the words as if they had burned him. No they don’t.

“I know you might not believe me right now. That’s okay. I’m still really proud of you for coming to me with this instead of trying to deal with it alone. Even if you think it’s not important, I still want to know what you’re feeling. It matters to me.”

Awful.

“Delta?”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded, showing he had heard. Not that he agreed, just that he’d heard.

Apollo paused while he caught his breath. It took a lot of effort to try and recover from what he’d just said. It still burned.

“Do you want to try?” Apollo encouraged.

Delta nodded, picking the phone back up. He typed slowly and decisively.

nodiving: nothing caused it

nodiving: im just sad

“Thank you. That’s a really good start, Delta. I know you’re not…used to talking. So maybe you don’t have all the vocabulary you need for it right now?”

Delta’s eyes narrowed at that, the mention of vocabulary. He wasn’t stupid. He read books.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know you’re smart.” Apollo raised his hands in mock surrender. “Your technical skill is advanced. You’re great at arguing. I know. All I’m saying is that you probably don’t have a lot of practice talking about this kind of thing. It might be difficult at first. And that has nothing to do with your intellect.”

That was objectively true. He had no idea what to describe what was happening to him, not with all the words he knew. He thought of the one that had shocked him most when they first suggested it. Abuse. He knew the definition. He did not see how it could slot into his life. Many of the words they used triggered that same uneasy feeling in him. Chess-piece. Feelings. Love. 

Most days, he could barely talk at all.

“I’m...gonna get you some CBT workbooks or something. We can work on it more later. Is there anything you need for right now though? Anything that normally helps?”

He didn’t know anything that would help. He’d never felt like this before. Whatever it was, it seemed like it was receding. The mood had passed.

He realized that crying might’ve helped. Touch. Talking. All the things he’d never been allowed before. All the things he thought he didn’t need.

Mortifying.

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[floral-comet-whump]

“HOW COULD YOU!” Whumpee cried, falling to their knees. “YOU’VE TAKEN EVERYTHING FROM ME!” + Caretaker

1. “I haven’t! No, Whumpee, I’m giving it back to you! Don’t you remember?! I’m your friend!”

2. “Please, you.. You need to learn to be free.”

3. “What did they do to you, Whumpee...”

4. “Really? Having someone to torture was your everything? That's pathetic.”

5. “I.. know it may be difficult to adjust, Whumpee. But please, this is for the better.”

6. “It’s okay. You’ll thank me one day.”

how to play

full credits to @/seth-whumps for the idea!! avoiding actually mentioning them, but they're linked

[whumpshaped]

very specific whump drabble request because it won’t leave my mind.

whumpee recovering (with the help of caretaker) after being tortured by whumper and specifically having his achilles tendons cut :D

content: past trauma, rocky recovery, hospital setting, gore mention, sadistic whumper, surgery mention, aftereffects of torture, flashbacks

The cast felt uncomfortable. The surgery site was not yet painful, likely because Whumpee had been pumped full of painkillers, but his leg was already itching, and he knew that stupid cast wasn't coming off for at least several weeks. And they'd put his foot in such an odd position, it was just... so weird.

"I don't like this," Whumpee whispered, and Caretaker gave him an apologetic smile.

"I know. I'm sorry. But they had to do the surgery."

Whumpee nodded. Of course, he knew that too. It just didn't make it any easier.

It felt so unfair. He was here with a stupid cast on his leg, while Whumper was somewhere still out there, free, happy, able to walk and run and jump.

"Just let me know when you're ready to go," Caretaker said softly, breaking Whumpee out of his thoughts.

"I mean... I, I'd like to go as soon as possible. Can we go now?"

"Uh— well, I mean, I guess? Let me ask a nurse, hold on. They said we could go whenever, but I'm not sure they assumed you would want to go immediately."

Whumpee watched his friend disappear into the hallway, and he turned his head back to look at the ceiling. It was all white, just like the rest of the hospital, aside from pops of that ghastly green colour.

He wanted to go home. This emergency hospital visit felt like one last punch from Whumper, one last way in which they could keep him from finally returning to his life. It was infuriating.

"I hope you're not a dancer," they said, giddy with excitement as they raised the knife. "I would so hate to do this to a dancer."

The memory flooded his mind all at once, without warning. He clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle any sobs, trying to calm down. It was over. It was over.

"I hope you think of me every time you take another step."

~

this is one of my last drabbles here, please feel free to follow me on my new blog @sowhumpshaped

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

21

inspo by @whumpitlikeyoumeanit

[tw self-harm, self-deprecation, past trauma, implied past captivity, lashing out, anger as a trauma response, rocky recovery, argument between friends]

"This is so stupid," Whumpee muttered. "So fucking stupid. What the fuck is going on with this?"

"Whumpee, it's normal." Caretaker tried to take them by the hands to stop them from picking at their scars, but Whumpee flinched away before they could have. "Hey, it's okay. It's alright."

"It's not! It's so fucking itchy! Like– twice a year it'll get fucking itchy like it's brand new, for, for no reason! It's so annoying!" Whumpee kept scratching it until it hurt, feeling ridiculous that this small thing was making them lash out like that. "It's healed, it's fully healed! And not only is it ugly, it's itchy."

"You're going to make yourself bleed–"

"And? What's it to you? It's my body, isn't it? That's what you always say. Whumper never said that shit. They were upfront, they said 'your body is mine to perfect and mine to ruin.'" They made Whumper sound as stupid as possible just so they wouldn't have to deal with the tears. "But you're different, right? You're telling me my body is actually mine. I can perfect it and ruin it myself, right?"

"Whumpee..."

"No, no! Don't give me that! I can do whatever the fuck I want! I can most definitely scratch a stupid itch!"

Caretaker sighed and sat back, watching with a frown as Whumpee continued to rub their skin raw. It was a matter of principle at this point, and Whumpee was prepared to push it to the limits.

"I can do whatever I want," they repeated, quieter. "My ankle was flaring up earlier too. If I had enough one day and decided to chop it off–"

"Don't say that," Caretaker cut in, increasingly more nervous.

"Oh, now I can't even say shit. I can't do anything, I can't say anything. So much for autonomy. So much for–"

"Whumpee, don't... you're being ridiculous."

"Sure," they spat. "I'm being ridiculous."

"I don't mean that in a– look, I just... I want you to take a deep breath, okay? And just calm down a little. Clearly, you're not having a good day–"

"Yeah, I'm completely unfit to make decisions for myself. Because it's a bad day, and I'm fucking stupid."

Caretaker slammed their hand down on the table in frustration, and Whumpee finally stopped messing with their scars. Their eyes snapped up to their friend, fearful and shocked. They shouldn't have been shocked. They'd wanted to instigate, and now here was the fruit of their labour.

"Stop putting words in my mouth," Caretaker said as calmly as possible. "Yeah?" Whumpee nodded a little, still stiff as a board. "I'm sorry for banging on the table."

A small part of Whumpee wanted to go further. They wanted to make another comparison between their friend and Whumper, they wanted to push it, they wanted to see just how angry Caretaker would get. A much bigger part of them wanted to slip onto their knees and grovel.

They ended up doing neither of those. They stayed seated, unable to do anything but make a nervous attempt at wiping away their tears and shaking their head to signal it wasn't a big deal.

"Fuck, Whumpee..." Caretaker stood up and circled around the table, and Whumpee tried to push them away on instinct. "Whumpee... Hey. I'm sorry." They knelt down and finally took Whumpee by the hands, wincing when their eyes landed on the patch of raw skin. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so upset with you. You're safe, I promise. I would never hurt you."

"I don't actually want to chop my leg off," they choked out. They had no idea why that was the first thing they wanted to address out of everything, but it felt like the most urgent matter at hand. Caretaker nodded.

"That's good news."

"I'm not fucking dumb."

"I know you're not. I know."

"You keep treating me like I– I can't even joke about it, or get angry, or– I... I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't... it's... I shouldn't get angry with you. I shouldn't be saying these things."

Caretaker squeezed their hands a little. "I can't really... deny that sometimes it gets scary when you joke about it. Especially when it doesn't sound like a joke, or when you're... already upset and in a bad headspace."

"But I wouldn't do it!" they snapped, then immediately shrank back and murmured an apology.

"I can't read your mind. I just can't. And I know you're more than capable of hurting yourself." They sighed. "Listen... Bodily autonomy, and, and your right to– to hurt yourself if you want to... I... I don't know how to explain..."

"I'll never actually have autonomy."

"Please don't do this. Please don't ask this of me. To– to prove that I mean it by letting you hurt yourself. That's fucked up. Surely, you realise that's fucked up."

Whumpee didn't say a word. Of course they knew. But they felt like a dumb kid, trying to find out where the limits of their freedom were by constantly pushing back against their parents' rules.

"I want you to be safe. Ultimately, I can't stop you from... from doing anything, really. I can't stop you from hurting yourself, not if you really want to. But– but it's not about stripping you of your bodily autonomy. It's about... me, as your friend, wanting you to be safe and healthy. That's all. And it sucks so fucking much that you treat it like I'm– like I'm forcing horrible stuff on you, when I've never done that."

"I know," Whumpee whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's not about apologies, okay? I know you're in a very tough spot. I know it's difficult. I just want to... I'm trying to explain my reasoning. I want you to understand where I'm coming from, since..."

"Since I'm so fucked in the head."

"Please, stop putting words in my mouth. Whumpee, I'd never think any of these things about you. Please, stop."

Whumpee wanted to curl up and die. They couldn't shut up about it. They couldn't stop putting words in everyone's mouths. All their brain did day after day was supply them with endless amounts of negativity their friends must've been thinking, even if logically, they knew it probably wasn't true. "I'm sorry," they repeated.

Caretaker let go of their hands and placed their own on Whumpee's knees instead. "I want nothing but for you to be happy and healthy. That's all I ever want. And this might sound rude as hell, but when you ask me to let you chop your leg off, it feels like you're a kid asking to eat two tonnes of candy and stay up for three nights in a row. I can't in good conscience agree to that. I know it's a bad idea."

Was that how people perceived them? Like a child, throwing a temper tantrum? They could feel themself checking out entirely, their mind refusing to grapple with all the things that had been said. I told you I didn't actually want to chop my leg off. "Okay."

"Okay?" Caretaker gave them a look of cautious and reluctant hope. "You understand where I'm coming from?"

"Yeah."

"Are you just agreeing because you're overwhelmed?" Whumpee hesitated, and it was enough to make Caretaker's hope shatter. "Well..."

"No! No, that's not... You didn't even let me answer!"

"I guess I didn't. Sorry. I just... I know when you're about to lie about stuff like this." They sighed and stood up. "Whumpee, I love you more than anyone in this world, okay? I hate to make you feel overwhelmed. Or like you have to agree with me. Why don't I get some cotton pads to clean that wound, and then we'll take a break from this conversation?"

The argumentative brat in them wanted to say no just for the sake of it. But they felt so exhausted all of a sudden, they just couldn't. They ended up nodding their agreement wordlessly, and then they sat in silence the whole time Caretaker was tending to them, letting their mind drift.

This was all so stupid. As they looked down at their many scars, they wondered whether they could even chop off a limb on their own. Had they been joking when they said it? Or were they actually considering it?

It didn't matter. As angry as Whumpee had been about restrictions just a couple minutes ago, they were quickly realising they at least made these thoughts kind of meaningless. It didn't matter whether they had it in them, because Caretaker said they weren't allowed do to it anyway.

"All done," Caretaker said all too soon. "Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit? Or do you want me to sit with you?"

"Sit with me," Whumpee said without thinking. The request sparked that sliver of hope in their friend's eyes again as they nodded and walked back to their own chair.

"No talking?" Whumpee shook their head. "Alright. No talking."

[thewhumpcaretaker]

🩷 Bratting in Whump 🩷

Maybe whumpee likes being taken care of, but can't work up the courage to say so. Maybe they think Caretaker will leave if they get better. Maybe they want physical contact and the only way they know how to ask for it is by being hurt. In any of these cases, they might do the equivalent of "bratting," except they're fishing for caretaking instead of punishment.

TW: Emotional manipulation, self harm, rocky recovery.

Whumpee mistreats a wound on purpose - for example, by pulling out a knife so that Caretaker now has to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. (Credit to this post, which inspired the whole list!)

Whumpee wants Caretaker to have to attend their wounds, so they take off their dressing or move too much and tear their stitches.

Whumpee goes outside in the rain on purpose to catch a cold/get sicker.

Whumpee charges into a dangerous battle, knowing that Caretaker will have to rescue them.

Whumpee purposefully deprives themself of sleep so they'll pass out in Caretaker's arms.

Whumpee pretends to be more hurt than they actually are and makes a big deal about the pain.

Whumpee notices that they're recovering already and fakes getting worse so that Caretaker keeps worrying about them.

Whumpee takes a small amount of poison so that they'll seem sick.

Whumpee purposefully views something that will trigger them, so that Caretaker will comfort them through the panic.

Whumpee fakes tears so that Caretaker will comfort them.

And finally, the moment when Caretaker realizes what's going on, and promises they'll be there for whumpee no matter what. "You don't have to be hurt for me to hold you. I want to, and I'll always be here. I promise."

[eriexplosion]

The only thing about Wolffe being in TBB season 3 is I really hope people aren't weird about the fact that he's probably going to be riding the imperial party line at least a little even if we see him dechipped. He's still in contact 15 years later after all, fully believing that they were betrayed by the Jedi, so its not likely to be quick or complete turn around if we even see it in this show.

[diy-fire-water-pups]

Hey pups, I lost my mother a few days ago, can you say something they might make me happy please

First of all, we're sorry it took us some time to get to your ask. We get a lot of them and try our best to answer as much as we can.

Secondly... I know more or less how you feel. Long ago, when I was still a small puppy, I had my mother taken away from me and I had to run away. I never got to know if she's alive or not... Never heard anything, never got any clue to what happened to her after that.

Sometimes I think I'm forgetting what she looked or sounded like... And it scares me. But then I remember that, even if she goes away from my memories, the affection and care I know she had for me and my siblings, that will never go away. It stays with me forever and I get to keep living. I just hope to make her proud of the pup I'm becoming, wherever she may be right now.

I know that's what she wanted for me, to have a good life, to make friends, maybe even have a good owner... And I got the best owner a pup can ever dream of having, am I right? It may hurt a lot right now, but it's good, it means you love and care about her. This way, she will always be with you and you get to keep going.

[siracethegreat]

yknow what I think it is?

I think I find the idea of putting fucked up blorbos into increasingly fucked up situations Not Nearly as interesting as putting extremely fucked up guys into happy /calm situations.

cause like,,, yeah you can take the terrible blorbos and make them worse,, OR I propose putting the terrible blorbos in Normal(ish) situations and watching them blunder it. Just the most traumatized guys ever not knowing how to exist in a situation where there is room to thrive. theyll be out there like "damn,, so I don't have to fight for my life every second of every day? crazy.. what do I do then..?"

I think it is like an experiment to see what blorbo will do when put in a situation(positive)

[verticalmomentum1]

In this fast-paced world, we often find ourselves racing against time, chasing dreams and ambitions, and sometimes forgetting the true essence of life.

It's crucial to remember that life is fleeting, like a whisper in the wind. The famous boxer Apollo Creed once said, "There is no tomorrow," and his words resonate deeply when we ponder the brevity of our existence.

We are so engrossed in the pursuit of success and material possessions that we often overlook the most valuable gift we have - the present moment.

It's not about the presents we give; it's about our presence. Your family, your loved ones, and your friends need you more than any material gift you can offer.

Think about all the times you've postponed spending quality time with your family, promising to make it up 'someday.'

Life doesn't guarantee us a 'someday.' The truth is, every day is a gift, and it's our responsibility to unwrap it with enthusiasm and joy.

We must learn to live in the here and now, appreciating the small moments, the laughter, the shared stories, and the warmth of our loved ones.

Time is a precious resource, and once it's gone, it can never be reclaimed. Make each day count by embracing life's simple pleasures.

Whether it's watching a sunset, sharing a meal, or just being present in the moment, these are the memories that truly matter.

So, take a page from Apollo Creed's book and remember, "There is no tomorrow." Today is the day to express your love, make amends, and create lasting memories with those who matter most.

In the grand tapestry of life, it's not the material possessions that leave a lasting impression; it's the love, laughter, and shared experiences that define our existence.

So, as you navigate this short, beautiful journey called life, remember to enjoy every day as a precious gift. Your presence is the greatest present you can give to those who cherish you.

#LaFamilia #family #thereisnotomorrow #rockybalboa

[bongsavior]

You’re 26, it’s time to mature a little bit.

LMAOOOOO what does this mean ??? 😭😂

Sorry you can't post goofy shit anymore you're twenty six. Didn't you know being silly past the age of 25 is a crime and a slander to society? You'll have to stop right now mister, or i'll call the cops!!!

[harrylights]

gonna get sappy here for a hot sec (quelle surprise)

[whumpshaped]

hello, I loved that one shot you wrote where whumpee asks caretaker's help with overcoming their trauma, by asking caretaker to tell them the command to kneel

can you do something similar, but whumpee asking caretaker to help them overcome their fear of needles??? (whumper had tortured them with drugs multiple times, so now they fear needles.) whumpee really needs medical treatment in the moment and at first they are compliant, but just when the nurse is about to inject them they scream and beg not to get the shot. whumpee thinks it'll be easier with caretaker because they trust them, so they'll not be so scared in the future (also doesn't go well, but they're working on it)

content: needles, phobia whump, past trauma, medical whump, hospital setting, rocky recovery

"Whatever I do, whatever I say... Just... Just hold me tight, okay? Hold me as tight as you can. Please."

Caretaker was fidgeting with the hem of their shirt, looking anywhere but at Whumpee. "I'm not sure I can do this."

"Please. I need— I need this blood draw. It's very important. I just... can't do it alone. I get really scared. Last time was so embarrassing, please help."

They slowly nodded. "Okay, um... I'll try my best."

Whumpee gently took Caretaker's hands in their own, stopping their fidgeting. Caretaker glanced up at them, still feeling awful about what they were about to do.

"Thank you. Truly. You're helping, Caretaker. I promise."

This reassurance would play over and over in their mind as they held down their friend, listening to their screams of sheer terror with tears in their eyes.

~

this is one of my last drabbles here, please feel free to follow me on my new blog @sowhumpshaped

[amieejean]

Source: Pixabay

I made this page years ago but never posted on here! I often have difficulty getting started with things (i.e. procrastination)… but there’s no time like the present, right? I’m a perfectionist, so this makes it harder to begin; however, I feel like I’m getting better at combating this. You know, I actually made this blog when I was still trying to recover from an eating disorder (anorexia nervosa). I’m recovered now (thankfully) and am in the best place mentally I’ve ever been. The title of the blog was a play on words; Rocky road and Monte Carlo were two things I never would have eaten in the past! It seemed like such an impossible thing to ever be able to get to the point where I could enjoy a dessert or sweet biscuit guilt-free. Where I’m from, there’s a brand called Arnott’s and they make lots of different things including Monte Carlo biscuits (they’re nice, I like them). Also, obviously it works as a phrase literally too. It’s not always easy to get to foreign places (being from Australia it always seemed like I’d never get to travel because it’s expensive and far away from most foreign destinations). But guess what? I did travel (not to Monte Carlo though haha maybe one day I should check it out?) and now I live abroad! Yeah, it was a hard (rocky) road to get to this place… but I made it! I liked stumbling across this page again and I like that I’ve come such a long way since I created this blog. I don’t even think I thought about what I’d use it for back then… perhaps I can use it now though, hey? Maybe I should thank past me for setting up this little space for me to document my thoughts and experiences? I’ve never been good at keeping journals, but perhaps this format might work for me. I want to write more… Let’s just see how this pans out, shall we?

[thewhumpcaretaker]

🖤 Dark, Cathartic Whump 🖤

I just want to talk about the stuff that feels almost too dark to write yet so important. It feels like an actual drug sometimes. It hits so hard that you feel dizzy for a second and then you feel such a sense of urgency that you can hardly sit still - at least, I do. These are the kinds of whump that leave me thinking afterwards, wanting to go hug my real loved ones, and reflecting on what makes this life good even though it contains so much suffering. (Spoilers: the answer is genuine love and connection.) It makes my brain start screaming, "LIVE! LIVE! LIVE! LIVE! LIFE IS WONDERFUL!" to both myself and everyone around me.

TW: physical abuse, emotional abuse, drugs/OD, SA aftermath, suicide, sh, passing out, rocky/difficult recovery. DDNE

Whumpee being flat-out beaten within an inch of their life, especially by a parent, and not even fighting back.

Whumpee being emotionally abused or gaslit, especially by someone they trusted. Being told the worst possible things about themselves until they're reduced to a sobbing mess.

Whumpee caught in a suicide attempt and fighting back against those who try to stop them. The agonizing conversations and suicide watch that follow.

Whumpee openly sobbing in genuine despair or grief. Inconsolable, yet someone is trying to console them anyway, and it DOES matter.

Whumpee overdosing in an attempt to feel something good when they've been addicted for so long that nothing feels good anymore.

Whumpee facing the aftermath of assault and dissociating violently. The desire to leave the body at any price.

Whumpee severely self-harming in a blind rage that looks almost like a tantrum. Needing to be restrained or calmed down.

Whumpee passing out from shock after something traumatic happens. No time to process, no copings skills that can keep up with how bad that was. They're going to wake up with PTSD.

And rescue. Rescue from all of that. A rescue that involves freedom and trust and long term solutions as much as dependence. A rescue that puts Whumpee's needs above everything, including Caretaker's concern, and demonstrates trust in their ability to heal and live independently again. It would be so easy to incapacitate Whumpee "for their own good," to place blame on them and to expect a lot from them during recovery. Because this hurts to watch. But Caretaker loves them and will make every effort to respect their will and their consent. Caretaker knows it will be necessary to face extreme empathetic pain for Whumpee's sake, and just share that pain with them, and listen. It will be hard. Good. That's an outlet for the vengeful protectiveness that is quickly becoming uncontainable.

[therapythoughtstogether]

This is my goal for this year.

I hope you grow with grace this year, even if the path is rocky and rough. I hope you get closer to where and who you want to be.