#// rocky recovery

[paingoes]

Rubies - Hangover

drunk delta makes an appearance

alt title: DIFFICULT AT PARTIES

(Content: living weapon whumpee, conditioned whumpee, rocky recovery, past trauma, alcohol, flashbacks, guilt, begging)

“Do you wanna come out with me tonight?” Kitty asked. She was only half visible within the shared bathroom, but she popped her head out to see if he’d answer. Delta looked up from his laptop. He was up on the top bunk, a couple pillows propped up behind him to shield his spine from the wall. His typing ceased.

“…Do you want me to?” he asked.

He had refused the first time, then the time after that. His associations with the word party had been less than positive. What he thought of first was thick smoke and deafening music. What he thought of next was clean yellow floors and the unbearable sense that everyone in that room would steal him away if they had half a chance. He’d had to bite back his own sense of betrayal when she’d asked. He was so sick of being arm candy, just a toy to be shown off or a silent threat to levy.

He hadn’t told her that was why. After a few hours, he had rationalized that that was not why she had invited him to go. But he’d still said no, once he was certain he was allowed to.

He could’ve said no again. But he knew there was a reason she kept asking — she wanted it. There was so little he could offer her in return for what she’d done for him. He could do this, if she really wanted him to.

He was curious, after all.

~

“House partyyyyyyy,” Kitty told him in the car. “My friend Nora’s house. She’s nice. You’ll like her.”

“Please don’t leave me alone,” he begged.

“I won’t!” She wrapped her hand around his own. “Prommy.”

“Prommy?”

“Different way of saying promise.”

“Okay.”

She pushed the door open, not releasing his hand as she stepped out into the street. He followed her, keeping close. He liked the way the wet asphalt reflected the street lights. It was still strange to be out so late. He’d so rarely been given the chance to before — and certainly not in places like this. 

They walked up the rusted stairs of the fire escape. Other people were already crowded in the cage-like structure of the entryway. They blew smoke out through the bars, letting it dissipate into the cold night air. Kitty squeezed in between them. Delta tracked behind— nervous, but less so when he had a target to follow. 

Inside, it was about as loud as he’d expected it it to be. His eyes traced over the bright purple lights cast up against the white-washed walls, the less than enthused but still rhythmic motion of bodies. They were all silhouettes. He took an effort to make out their faces, but it was a half-hearted one. His attention was still drawn back to Kitty, who seemed to have found her friend.

Despite being the ostensible host, Nora did not seem particularly interested in hosting. She sat back against what looked to be a fainting couch, with a few other students scattered around her in a semi-circle. She waved lazily as Kitty approached, but leaned forward into the hug she was met with. Kitty chirped happily before bouncing back to Delta’s side, looping one arm through his own.

“This is Delta. He just joined.” She smiled, showing all her teeth. These people weren’t in Galatea, but they’d know what she meant when she said it.

“Cute,” Nora said in low approval. 

He blushed a bit, hiding further behind Kitty, following her as she moved to sit. He still got the overpowering urge to kneel at her feet. It still felt intensely inappropriate for him to be sitting beside her, to be at any of their levels. Even as he did, he felt nervous that they might kick him back down onto the floor. He wouldn’t have even protested. Sometimes the pain was not half as bad as the suspense. 

It didn’t happen. He sat at her side anyway, reflexively pulling his legs up, curling up slightly. He listened idly to their conversation, what little he could make out over the music. It was…nice. He liked the way people spoke outside of Empire. He hadn’t realized that people weren’t always mean. It felt like he was living in a parallel reality sometimes.

They tried to include him in the conversation. It was an effort he appreciated, but not one he really responded to. His voice got caught when he tried.

“You’re in Intel too?” Nora asked him.

“Yes, miss.” He nodded. Kitty had told him he didn’t need to use the honorific anymore, but she hadn’t said he needed to drop it. It was hard to break the habit.

“How’d you get into that?” She smiled — and he saw that she had fangs too.

He shrugged. He was okay at it.

There wasn’t much he was allowed to talk about — and even fewer that he was inclined to. Levon had given him explicit orders not to mention his powers. That was technically his only restriction. But when so much of his life had traced back to it, he found himself more prone to mutism than ever. He hadn’t thought of a good cover story yet.

“Can I go?” he whispered to Kitty.

“You wanna leave?” Her eyes widened. “We can.”

He shook his head. “Just wanna walk around.”

“No prob.” She squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to ask permission.”

“Thank you.”

He drifted away from them, without any real direction. There were a lot of rooms in the apartment, far more than he would’ve expected there to be. 

The alcohol lay unguarded within the busy kitchen. 

Nobody stopped him. He’d been expecting someone to, really. He guessed he was always waiting for someone to yell at him, to cut him off. This was a time honored tradition in his life. 

One of the boys of the half-circle had followed him, much to his surprise. He poured himself a drink, then one more for Delta, though he hadn’t yet finished the first. Delta swore the music was getting louder, because he didn’t hear any of the words that came out when the boy moved his lips, but he nodded as though he understood.

The boy moved over to the kitchen table and he found himself following him.

~

He was too drunk. He knew he was drunk and it felt dangerous, uncomfortable and ominous. There was a soft nausea forming in him. He watched the lights dance as if they might send him a message. The music was loud enough to be painful, but he could still hear the braindead chatter all around him. He’d been guided and abandoned, time and time again. 

He liked the new girl the least. 

“Like, I know,” she complained to the table. “It’s not like I’m fucking dumb.”

Both her hands flew up in frustration. She was even drunker than he was, but she seemed more adept at handling it. He got the sense she was like this even when she was sober.

“I just wish they weren’t so fucking nosy, you know? They’re such helicopter parents, I feel like I can’t even go anywhere without them telling me I’m gonna get chopped up. I’m a fucking adult!”

“At least you have parents,” Delta muttered.

He was vaguely aware of everything that quieted in the space around him after he had said it, but he could not be bothered to care.

“Oh,” she said. 

His eyes practically glazed over as he dug himself in deeper, deliberately.

“No, I think it’s like. Reallllly cool. That you got to have that experience. It’s really awesome that had parents that loved you. And that you were allowed to develop as a person. I can see you really made the best of that opportunity.”

He cracked a small smile. It was such a bitchy thing to say. He didn’t know where the impulse came from, but he wanted to indulge it. As a treat, sometimes. 

Her eyes widened with surprise, some mock-up of offense. For some reason, this annoyed him.

“You don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about. Do you even hear yourself? You have no idea what it’s like. People are living in war zones right now and they don’t complain as much as you do.”

I never complained as much as you do.

It wasn’t fair.

~

Even from across the room, Kitty could hear Delta’s voice rising in agitation. She was shocked he was speaking at all. Loud or agitated were not qualities she would have ever expected in his voice. It set her on edge immediately.

She crossed the room to find him gripping the table so hard his knuckles turned white. His eyes were squinted in disgust. She caught only the tail end of it, but was surprised to hear just how much venomwas in his tone. She’d never heard it from him. It was so hateful.

“Delta,” she whispered, gripping at his elbow, “C’mere.”

It wasn’t that she meant to pull him around. She didn’t want to. But as she studied the faces of the people gathered around him, it was clear things were turning hostile. He was too fresh for it. She had to get him out.

He dead ignored her, still focused in on the completely one-sided argument he’d engaged himself in. It was only once she’d pulled him a good five feet away from the scene that he seemed to even realize he was moving. He rounded on her in frustration.

“Whaaaaaat?” He hissed. “I said it was cool. I think it is fucking awesome.”

“C’mon,” she nudged him out the doorway, out into the hall. He spun around, ripping himself free of her grasp. None of the disgust or the anger left his expression.

“What? You’re gonna hit me for it?” He challenged. “You hit me for everything, it doesn’t even matter what I do. I don’t care. I don’t even care.”

Kitty frowned. He wasn’t even talking to her anymore. She didn’t know where he had gone in his mind, but she knew it was miles away from the party: She felt a pang of guilt. She’d just wanted to try taking him out. It wasn’t even a crazy party. But it’d been too early. At some point, he’d gotten dead drunk, and she hadn’t even noticed.

“Delta.” Her tone was more pleading now, less irate. He didn’t respond to it either way. He wasn’t listening.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He snapped, then seemed to trip over himself. He braced his back against the wall for support as his hands fumbled by his waistband. He struggled with it. She realized with a start that he was attempting to peel his shirt off — though he was getting visibly frustrated with how little success he was having. 

“Stop.” She said as she slid both her hands over his wrists. She knew she was stronger than him. His own fingers unhooked from the fabric of his shirt, going still.

“It’s not fair,” he said. “Everyone else can do whatever they want. No one ever corrects them. No one cares if they hurt me. But the second I say anything back-“

The speech giving way to a frustrated growl. He’d cut himself off, then tore his wrists free. She let him go. He moved both hands to cover his face.

“It’s not fair,” he whined. “I didn’t do anything.”

~

The place he woke up in was warm. His eyes fluttered open to find soft morning light shining onto the pink comforter. It was bunched up around his face. He’d nestled himself protectively beneath it. It wasn’t his bed, though. 

It was the closest thing to it. He was on the lower bunk, which was Kitty’s section, and he slowly realized it was because she probably couldn’t get him up the ladder last night.

Dread descended on him wraithlike and frigid. He blinked a few more times, unmoving. He did not know how long he stayed like that. After years of being denied adequate rest, he was reluctant to give it up for anything. And no one ever forced him awake here. There was a dull throbbing in the back of his skull - it laid there dormant, menacing. It only erupted into real pain as the door opened and he shot upright in response.

Kitty closed the door gingerly behind her. Her tail curled low beneath her legs and all her limbs hung with neither tension or enthusiasm. Her face was marked with a visible displeasure. Though he’d seen it on her before, he knew it was different this time. It was purely his own doing.

He was on the floor in an instant. The sudden motion caused his stomach to lurch. More vividly, all the colors flashed behind his eyes at once as the migraine aura engulfed his vision. It was a biting pain. Each motion was dizzying, but not enough to destabilize him. He’d been trained better.

“I’m so sorry, Kitty. I’m so sorry.”

Maybe not that well-trained. His nails dug into the flesh of his thighs in a desperation motion. He was talking over her. He was speaking without permission, which he was not supposed to do if he was apologizing. He had learned to let the body language speak for itself since he wasn’t truly allowed to beg. He’d learned it well. Nobody could’ve denied that as he bent his head forward, kneeling down on the floor. But he had to say something to her aloud. He meant it.

She stood in front of him and something truly awful was conjured up in his memory, his own nausea intensifying tenfold just the same as his shame. He couldn’t look at her. Before, when he tilted his head down, his hair would’ve obscured his vision like curtains. It’d been a kind of shelter, even if all its protection was imagined. Here, even in the soft, warm light, he still felt exposed. There was no hiding from it.

“C’mon,” she said softly, “you don’t have to beg.”

There was no chance of that. Not after what had happened. Delta couldn’t bring himself to unfold from the kneel. Through the fabric of his pants, his nails scraped close to drawing blood. He was so sorry. He’d fucked up so bad.

Kitty lowered herself to her ground — and the shock of her presence alone was enough to rouse him. He glanced up nervously, though kept his chin tucked close to his chest, his body still recoiling in anticipation of a slap. It was the absolute least he deserved. He didn’t have the right to cringe away from it. 

But she didn’t touch him. He could tell she wanted to — it was weird for her not to — but she was holding herself back. Her eyes searched him instead.

“How are you feeling?” She looked him over again, as though she might be able to see the migraine aura for herself if she stared long enough. “Your head okay? Are you hungover?”

He was, badly. Without meaning to, his hands slid out of his lap and up along his arms, wrapped protectively around himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly.

“Okay. What are you sorry for?”

He winced. It was a familiar question. He answered immediately.

“I was disrespectful.” The safest option, always, the most broadly applicable. “To you. To everyone. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“ -I’m not allowed to- “—talked to you like that.”

She sighed. His heart sunk to see she was not pleased with that answer.

“C’mere.”

Again, the words were familiar. But the action was not. She pressed one hand to the nape of his neck, gently pulling him closer. To his surprise, he let her. He pressed his head into her shoulder. The scene of smoke and liquor had been washed away, replaced with lye and jasmine. She was still being careful with him. Nothing hurt.

“You were being kind of an asshole.” She said as she stroked his hair back. “But I’m not mad at you, okay? You’re not in trouble. Do you get that?”

He believed her, if that was what she meant. He trusted she wouldn’t hurt him. Even if she should have. Even if he had without a doubt earned it this time. He nodded slowly, without removing himself from the embrace. She kissed the crown of his head.

He only got up when she encouraged him to, ushering him back onto the mattress instead of on the carpet. He only did it because she told him to. He didn’t feel right about it. It didn’t feel fair. There was little he could do to ward the guilt from his demeanor. His own body language had turned sulky, the way it did when he’d been punished, or when he expected to be. 

Kitty seemed to cultivate a deliberate form of inattentiveness. She was still going through the room, straightening up, not looking directly at him anymore. He waited, sensing there was more. He was right. After a while, she added:

“I wish that wasn’t the first time you talked about it.”

Was that what she wanted as conciliation? For him to talk about it?

He didn’t like to. He tried hard not to think about it at all — even though it always burned in his brain. Even if he thought of it every night. He still went mute at each opportunity.

But he’d speak if she wanted him to. If he owed it to her, which he knew he did.

“Um. Last time-“ He hesitated a lot. “-Last time I got too drunk, I got really hungover. And I was. Um.”

He lowered his voice. The tone was becoming progressively less certain. It was harder than he expected.

“I got whipped for it,” he managed, “Until I bled. I wasn’t allowed to. Uh. Sleep. Or eat or anything. Just had to stand there, like, on display. Just to show I’d been punished. Or that I was being punished. Whatever.”

He didn’t realize it until he said it, but he was offering her ideas. If you wanted to… hung just by the tip of his tongue. If you wanted me to…

But she did not accept the invitation. She just looked sad. She crossed the distance between them — he still flinched — just to sit down on the bed beside him.

“I don’t know how anyone could ever hurt you,” she said. She sounded like she meant it, too. He shook his head.

It was arguably one of the more justified punishments he’d be given. He really had talked back in an awful way; he didn’t resent Paris for it. The opposite, really. That was why it had hurt so badly at the time, the same reason it hurt so bad now. He was sorry. He’d deserved it. 

“Drink,” she said, pressing the water bottle into his hands. He nodded obliging, not realizing how badly he needed it until he drank.

He’d never be grateful enough.

“You’re really not going to hit me?” he asked quietly. There was no real surprise in that question anymore; he didn’t expect it from her. It was guilt alone that informed it.

He didn’t even need to be hit. He’d have done anything. Starved. Held still, let himself be chained until his muscles ached. But she wasn’t even yelling. He’d upset her again with the question, but she wasn’t punishing him for it. He felt a strange sense of absence. She did not let him dwell on it.

“Never,” she promised, “We’re gonna go get pho - helps with the hangover. You can come along if you want. If you wanna sleep it off, that’s cool too.”

He pulled his legs up onto the bed, hugging his knees close to his chest. His head felt empty, but raw and stinging about its hollow edges. He took another sip of water.

“Can I come? Please?”

“Yea! Yeah.” She grinned, tousling his hair. “Yeah, I’ve never taken you there before. You’re gonna love it.”

~

The place was small, but not cramped. Large windows let the morning light stream in the same easy way he’d now grown to expect from this planet. He found it a comfort now. The sun would always rise.

Laminated menus laid flat atop the plastic table. He let Kitty order for him, because it was all written in a language he couldn’t read, and because it felt nice to give up control to her. He trusted her enough for that.

He’d been surprised to learn that the we in question had been Kitty and Nora. Nora sat across the table from either of them, shifting the small spheres within her purple drink, eyes red with exhaustion. But if she held any resentment for the night before, she didn’t show it. She didn’t look upset to see him.

Delta drank the tea Kitty had suggested for him and found that he was right to trust her on it. It was sweeter than he was used to, but not unpleasant. It was a soft color. The caffeine in it eased the edge of his headache. His head felt clearer and cleaner the longer he stayed.

“I’m sorry for last night,” he said timidly to Nora. He felt a new shame about his own reticence, aware now that it only appeared as a cover for a secret ugliness in him. He’d proven it to her. He didn’t expect her to forgive it.

“Oh, yeah,” Nora barely looked up. “You’re good. Worse things have happened at my parties.”

He blinked. Was that it? He’d been prepared to get onto the floor and grovel for it, but she’d given it like it was nothing. Delta glanced sideways at Kitty for confirmation. She squeezed lightly at his arm in reassurance. 

The soup came out shortly after. The broth was clear and aromatic. He poked at it idly, still self conscious about his own feeding, his mind still fixated on denial and absolution. But Kitty looked sad when he did not eat and even Nora seemed to raise an eyebrow in concern, so that he had no choice but to indulge them. 

He was glad that he did, though. It was warm and saltier than he had expected, which he appreciated. The headache ebbed away even further and the raw tension in his stomach began to fade. He was grateful. 

He hoped she knew that.

~~~

tags:

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

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

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter

[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

[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! ^^

[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

[scumashling]

Consensual sex being mistaken for Noncon/Past noncon/PTSD/violence/CNC/WHUMP SCENARIO NOT ACTUAL KINK POST

I am thinking about a scene where rape survivor Whumpee, still very emotionally volatile and not entirely trusting due to her experiences, having been taken in by two Caretakers in a relationship, accidently overhears them going at it and mistakes a particularly dirty and degrading cnc scene they are taking part in for an actual SA attempt. She gets extremely triggered (he told me I was safe I'm supposed to be safe here but she's scared of him and he's hurting her and he likes it), bursts into the room in full PTSD mode and proceeds to go absolutely feral on Dom Caretaker. Sub Caretaker starts yelling in panic, unable to move to help and struggling to get free of her binds to stop Whumpee and explain the situation. But Whumpee is too far gone already, the only hearing the sound of their own heart beat thudding in their ears as she pummels Dom Caretaker and claws at him hard enough to draw blood, tears of betrayal and rage streaming down her cheeks and onto Caretakers face. Eventually, Sub Caretaker is able to get the ropes off, pulling a still screaming Whumpee off her partner, forced to hold her down to stop her from attacking Dom Caretaker. Sub Caretaker tersely tells Dom Caretaker to leave the room. When the screaming and thrashing subsides and Whumpee tires herself out, she collapses into Caretakers arms and starts sobbing, all while Caretaker gently strokes her hair and assures her it's okay, I'm okay, we're both safe, I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you. Once Whumpee has calmed down enough to listen to Sub Caretaker explain, she feels really guilty and offers to help patch up the injuries she left on Dom Caretaker.

[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."

[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.

[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.

[whumpspicelatte]

Bedside Vigil: Terry in "King's Counsel"

Terry's POV to @echo-goes-mmm's Aftermath (set just before)

Juno belongs to @echo-goes-aaa / @echo-goes-mmm

Warnings: implied self-harm, mention of suicidal ideation, aftermath of near-death experience from caretaker's POV

The room’s silence weighed down on Terrance’s shoulders, broken only by unsteady breathing. Juno’s fingers laid limp between the king’s hands. Long lines of smooth, perfectly untouched skin snaked down his boy’s scarred back where he had watched blood bubble and drool over skin and silks alike only hours before. 

Now, Terrance’s hair hung down his back, only a simple seafoam green robe over his bare skin, bare soles flat against cold marble. No makeup hid his split lip or black eye. No jewels gleamed over his skin. No crown weighed down his head. 

The sickening stench of freshly spilled blood still flooded his senses, despite having already allowed himself to be pried away to wash off every sticky drop staining his skin. 

He had nearly let himself drown in the bathwater. 

All of his advisors but elderly Duchess Delphine Valentin and Minister Edgard Thomas, the only ones who hadn’t been active, willing participants in his myriad punishments and backroom dealings, had been forced out of the castle with an ease that still left his head spinning. Perhaps the blood and bruises had been enough to shock his guards into action. Maybe not. He didn’t know. 

According to Court Mage Wright, the shock and blood loss was what kept Juno from stirring yet; that it may take an hour or two before he was up again. The potion for replenishing lost blood could only work so fast. 

And Terrance had first hand experience on how draining quickened healing could be on the body. Had felt his head spin as he swallowed down a healing potion aimed at the skeletal system himself, fractured bones in his wrists knitting back together. He hadn’t accepted any others. He didn’t deserve the others. 

So now it was just…a waiting game. Waiting for Juno to wake up. To come back to him. 

Waiting. 

Terrance stared down at Juno’s hand, gently curling and splaying out his boy’s fingers. Those lashes never even fluttered. There, amidst the pillows and blankets, Juno laid bare. Even if it felt…wrong. 

A proper pair of sleeping trousers waited, neatly folded, on the bedside table. Next to a tall glass of water and a plate of orange slices from the royal greenhouses and candied spiced nuts and freshly steamed clams. The food laid under a glass cover enchanted to keep everything fresh. 

Steam had coated the inside of the glass hours ago. 

Juno still hadn’t woken up. 

Terrance closed his eyes and did his best to breathe, slow and deep. Even though nobody else was here. Nobody but Juno. Nobody but his boy. 

Nobody but his boy, who still hadn’t woken up. 

His breath hitched, fingers shaking. His vision blurred. 

Here, there was only Juno. 

Nobody else was there to see the tears begin to dribble down his cheeks, shoulders shaking as they hunched. Nobody was there to hear him cry into Juno’s limp palm clutched between his hands. Nobody was there to watch as Terrance let himself dissolve into hitching sobs. 

Nobody was there to hear him beg. 

“Wake up.” His voice wobbled around the aching lump in his throat. “Please. Please wake up.”

If Juno didn’t wake up within the day, Wright had told him that meant something had gone wrong, and they’d need immediate magical-medical assistance. That if Juno’s breathing or heartbeat ever stopped, to immediately start emergency resuscitation magics while ringing for help to arrive. 

Juno’s heartbeat fluttered against Terrance’s thumb. 

The king’s tears slicked Juno’s skin, and all he could do was pray to gods he’d long since stopped believing in. 

He was overreacting. He knew he was overreacting. But seeing Juno like this was- wrong. On such a visceral level that made it feel like someone was tearing his heart out of his ribcage. 

It was just sleep. It wasn’t even a coma. It was sleep.

Wright had told him that Juno’s lack of magic, lack of that seed inherent in everyone born of Rhodantheian roots or on Rhodantheian soil, could lead to…complications. 

Juno’s breathing whistled in and out past his lips, and Terrance hid his face against that limp hand and quietly begged. 

“Wake up, Juno,” he pleaded, and his voice cracked. “Please just wake up. Wake up. Please, wake up, please.”

His boy didn’t stir. 

Terrance surrendered to the darkness once his sobs petered out, resting his head in his arms, cheek cushioned on his boy’s hand. That sluggish heartbeat pitter-pattered on, a faint fluttering against his skin. A reminder that his boy still lived. 

When that hand slipped out to pet his hair, a wounded noise slipped free as he melted into the gentle touch. 

He didn’t wake up. 

[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

[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!!!

[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

[harrylights]

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

[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.

[diy-fire-water-pups]

Pups any advice

I’m pretty sure I’ve got the flu but my boss won’t let me rest unless I have a fever or I’m getting sick to my stomach

Classic stupid capitalism, putting profit over worker's health.

Maybe try getting something like honey with lemon to fight off the flu and not give it a chance to get worse... It's a great immunity booster too!

And don't forget to wear masks! This way, if you got it, you won't spread it around to others.