#All whump no recovery

[whump-in-the-closet]

when a living weapon whumpee only takes orders from ONE person. They’ve been conditioned to ignore everyone else’s orders. This means that after rescue, the team can barely get whumpee to drink or allow them bandage their injuries. One of the teammates manages to imitate whumpee’s handler by deepening their voice.

They stay out of whumpee’s line of sight, standing behind their hospital bed. “Drink this,” they snap, hating how they have to command this broad-shouldered ghost of a person. Without their armor, without their mask, whumpee looks like a wraith. There’s nothing behind their eyes. They play with the hospital blanket with twitching hands that have strangled and maimed.

When whumpee hears the order they stiffen to attention and take the cup offered with those still-shaking hands. But the cup slips through their fingers and lands in a puddle on the tiles.

They immediately tense up, shoulder blades flung so far back they touch. Their breathing quickens, waiting.

But nothing happens.

They give whumpee a new glass of cold water. This time, they lift the cup to whumpee’s lips and hold it steady, with one hand behind their head for support.

[foundfamilywhump]

after the whump has ended, either an individual event or ongoing captivity or abuse, the whumpee is carrying a lot of damage. there’s physical damage of course but there’s also the trauma that’s taken away their sense of safety around other people. in their own body.

and they decide they want it back. they’ve found some kind of solid ground with barriers up, and the people who have been helping them recover are careful to respect those boundaries, but whumpee wants to try something different now. they want to try and get something back, at least one thing: the safe, comforting touch that whumper stole from them.

so they start trying to replace the traumatic associations with better ones, asking for caretaker(s) to help (either verbally or by silently, embarrassed, guiding caretaker’s hands to places they had earlier made clear they didn’t want to be touched).

and they start working to dull the traumatic associations with better ones. strong, protective hands cupping the back of their neck where whumper had choked them. gentle fingers stroking hair that whumper had yanked repeatedly. a firm, comforting touch rubbing their back, now scarred from a whip. holding the hand whumper broke. massaging shoulders that carry lingering pain from being kept in stress positions. an arm draped around them keeping them close after they’d been manhandled and physically forced where whumper wanted them to go or stay. sometimes they have to stop abruptly, get space to breathe rapidly and wait for their heart to slow, but it stops when they need it to. caretaker backs off, lets go. and it helps. slowly, it helps.

[serickswrites]

I'm Just Not Well

Warnings: rescue, captivity, torture, broken bones, blood, bruises, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hospital

"Whumpee, you gotta talk to me, please," Caretaker said as they sat in the back of the ambulance with Whumpee.

Whumpee's skin was mottled with bruises in various stages of healing--some deep purple almost black, some red and swollen, while others had taken an almost blue green tint as they healed. Their collar bone was clearly broken. Blood had dried in their matted hair, clotted on their split eyebrow, and had dried on other parts of their body that was visible.

They sat quietly on the gurney, responding only to a few questions asked by the EMT. Their voice was low and hoarse. Clearly they had been screaming from days. They stared out with a hollow look in their one not swollen shut eye.

"Whumpee?" Caretaker tried again.

"I'm alive," they croaked, "I'm just not well."

Caretaker's heart sunk. They had hoped Whumpee would open up a little bit more to them. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Whumpee closed their one good eye and leaned back on the gurney. "There's nothing else to tell you, Caretaker. I'm alive."

Caretaker opened their mouth and closed it. Clearly Whumpee wasn't ready to talk about whatever horrors they had endured at Whumper's hands. "Well, I'm here if you ever want or need to talk, Whumpee."

Whumpee nodded, but didn't say anything. They kept their eye closed, their body swaying with the motion of the ambulance speeding down the city streets.

"We'll be at the hospital soon, Whumpee. You're going to be ok," Caretaker said, hoping that their words were true and Whumpee would be ok.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #30

part 1 || part 2

xxx hospital bed

"Is he breathing? Oh, fuck, Louisa, is he--"

"Just shut up for a second! Let me...Oh, thank Christ. He's got a pulse, he's alive! Where the fuck is the ambulance?"

"They're coming. Now that they know the scene is clear and they aren't going to get blown up, they should be here any minute. You're sure he's alive? He looks--"

"He's alive, Shirley! Come help me untie him! Oh, god, River."

"Jesus, that's a lot of blood...I really don't think he's breathing."

"Shit. Help me get him out of this chair, we need to lay him down!"

"You know CPR?"

"Yes. Find out where that ambulance is, will you? ...Come on, don't do this to me, River. You do not get to do this. Come on."

xxx

Louisa jerks awake, heart hammering wildly for a second as she gets her bearings. And then she takes a deep breath, slumping down in her chair. Visitors aren't usually allowed in ICU for long periods like this, but Lamb had pulled strings. Officially, Louisa is there to provide security for River. The man who had landed him here won't actually be causing him any more trouble—Louisa had seen to that—but she still can't bear the thought of leaving River on his own. She remembers the feeling and the sound, the awful snap, of his ribs cracking beneath her hands and shudders.

He looks better now than he had when they found him, which is really saying something considering he looks like shit. There are dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks, scruffy and unshaven, look sunken in. But he's not so pale as he had been, and his lips aren't blue. That's something, at least.

A nurse comes in after a few minutes to check River's vitals and surgical incisions. She looks over at Louisa with a big smile when she gets done, and Louisa has to fight the urge to roll her eyes at the cheeriness that so obviously doesn't belong here.

"Everything looks great. I imagine it won't be too long now before Mr. Cartwright's moved out of ICU," she says, her voice just above a whisper. "Do you need anything?"

A year long vacation? New job? Friends that don't nearly get themselves killed every few months?

"No," Louisa says. "I'm fine."

"How's your hand feeling?"

Louisa looks down at the bulky splint on her right hand, then glances at River's leg before looking up at the nurse.

"Better than his leg is going to feel."

The nurse winces in sympathy. "He's got a long recovery ahead of him, that's for sure. But he's got good friends to help him along the way, so I'm sure he'll turn out alright."

"I'm his security," Louisa says, and the nurse nods, an exaggeratedly serious expression on her face.

"Of course, of course," she says, and winks before going to check on the next patient.

This time, Louisa does roll her eyes.

xxx

River hurts. That's the first thing he's aware of. There's a sharp pain in his gut, and a deeper, more intense ache in his leg. He groans. Everything else sort of filters in slowly – the sensation of oxygen tickling at his nose, the stingy itch of IV needles, the antiseptic smell of hospital, and a familiar voice saying his name.

"River, you awake?"

River grimaces and forces his eyes open. Louisa is leaning forward in a chair next to him, her left hand gripping his right one.

"My fucking leg," River rasps, his whole body tensing at the intensity of the pain. "Ow."

"Here," Louisa says, placing a small plastic remote into River's hand. "The doctor says you can press this when the pain gets bad. It's all calibrated so you can't get too high a dose."

River presses the button, face screwed up in pain. "I don't think it's--" And then, relief as the pain recedes to a dull background noise. He sinks back into the pillows with a small sigh. "Oh, that's better. Thank you."

He looks over at Louisa again and frowns. There's a bluey-purple bruise over her left eye and another at her jaw. "You okay?"

Louisa rolls her eyes and almost smiles. "You should see the other guy."

"I mean it."

"Yeah, well, so do I." Louisa lifts her right hand. Her pinkie and ring finger are splinted together in a clunky brace of some sort. There's a hint of pride when she says, "Boxer's fracture. Anyway, I should be asking you that question. Are you okay?"

"Better now that you showed me this." He waves the remote at her and this time she does smile, shaking her head.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it. It's just to tide you over until they can do surgery on that leg."

River hums in response. He's feeling a little strange, like things are a bit hazy at the edges. Soft. Probably it's whatever meds the magical button has pushed into his bloodstream. Even with the drugs, though, memories start to piece together – being hit in the crosswalk. Being tied to that chair. Being stabbed.

Just in case, I'm gonna stay awake as long as I can.

"You guys came," he says. The words feel...mushy, somehow, as he says them. He doesn't let that stop him. "You saved me. I don't remember...Was I awake?"

Louisa's smile falters, the corners of her mouth twitching, and she blinks rapidly, looking away from him. "Uh, no, River. You weren't."

"What happened?"

Louisa sighs, still not looking at him. "You almost died. It was a trap – which we knew, by the way, before you told us. There were explosives at the entrances of the building where they took you. If we'd opened either door, the whole place would've gone up. We had to call in a bomb disposal unit, while I knew that you were inside bleeding to de--" She cuts herself off and takes a deep breath, finally turning to face him. "But we got to you in time."

River has the vague impression that there's something else, something she's keeping back, but he doesn't press it.

"Well thanks...Whose face did you break your hand on?"

"Oh, this," Louisa says, lifting said hand at him. "His name was Gabriel Rakes. He's the one who stabbed you. It was Coe that figured out where he and the others were. He knew they'd want to see their plan unfold in person. Something about the theatricality of it, I think. Anyway, you don't have to worry about any of them. Assuming he wakes up, Rakes will be joining the others deep in the basement of Regent's Park."

River smiles at the idea of the people who'd done this being stuck in tiny cells for the rest of their lives.

"Good."

Sleep is starting to tug at his consciousness and he blinks heavily.

"You can go to sleep," Louisa says.

"I don't need to," River responds. When he blinks again, though, it turns out to be much easier to just keep his eyes closed and he drifts off anyway.

xxx to be continued...

[uriswhumpchamber]

Whumpee closed the door, before letting themself fall on the bed. The door - the door! This room had a door. A proper one, too, blocked all the light coming from the hallway, didn't hang slightly loose from the hinges, having been forced open more times than they remembered.

They could remember, in that small, dark, fearful place they called a room before, throwing their body against the door with all their strength. Trying to close it - catching Whumper's fingers between it and the frame. Next thing they remember after the punishment, and there was nothing left to call that space theirs. Not that they did, not often. Nothing in the world was theirs.

Until now.

[paingoes]

Rubies

First Night

welcome back everyone

(Content: fainting, reference to past captivity, blood)

=================

He collapsed onto the deck. Apollo caught him just before he could crash to the ground. The silver chains clattered loudly on the metal surface. Delta was freezing, soaked, and now fully unconscious. The ramp slammed back up just as the ship was pulling up.

“Destroy them!” Kitty cheered at the console.

“I’m working on it,” Rene looped the ship back around, letting out another volley. The airship was mostly on fire, but it still hadn’t fallen out of the sky. The last round finished it off. It went into freefall. The airship was briefly a normal ship and then just as quickly it turned into a shipwreck. The resulting column of water reached their windshield from several stories below.

“Get the collar off,” Apollo said, bending down to feel Delta’s pulse. Cass slid the bolt cutters up against his skin.

“Oh fuck, I think I nicked him,” Cass gasped. A massive psychic wave ripped off of Delta’s body as the collar was removed. All of them got electrocuted. 

“Oh my god, you people can’t do anything,” Iza put her hands on her head. 

“Throw the collar out,” Lun whispered, “Into the sea.”

Willow cracked the window open, tossing it out. It beeped miserably on its descent.

“Put the dampers on. He’s going to show up on every radar in a five-mile radius otherwise.” Iza gave the order, but she started to fulfill it herself. She slid Delta’s sleeve up, wrapping the insulating band around his upper arm. Immediately, the pressure in the ship went down. The light returned to normal. 

“The cuffs,” Apollo said impatiently. Cass cut through the chain binding Delta’s wrists. They bent down to cut off the manacles, this time just missing the skin. They tossed the cutters aside and pulled out a small ammeter from their pocket. They touched it to Delta’s clavicle. It burnt up immediately. Cass dropped it in pain.

“That can’t be right.” Willow said, a look of horror crossing her face.

“I knew it,” Apollo shook his head, “We’re so fired.”

=======================

Iza bridal carried Delta into the house. Rene held the door open for her. He walked ahead to turn on all the lights. It was an older safehouse; they’d only got it running again earlier that morning. There were still cobwebs in the corners and outlets that didn’t work, but at least it was heated. 

“I’m not getting fired,” Rene said peevishly, “I didn’t do anything. Lun should get fired.” “Lun carried,” Kitty’s sharp teeth flashed when she smiled. She wrapped her arms around Lun’s neck, “They should be promoted.”

“Don’t send the report yet,” Iza called out to Kitty, “I need a minute.”

“Just put him on the floor for right now,” Apollo said. The two of them moved into the guest bedroom. Iza placed Delta down gingerly. Apollo dug through the dresser, pulling out a towel and a clean set of clothes. He nudged the door shut with his foot, keeping the others from seeing in.

They stripped the wet clothes from Delta’s unconscious body. Apollo redressed him in an oversized shirt; it was the easiest thing they could do without having to maneuver him too much. Iza raised him up onto the bed. 

“Alright, I’ve got it from here. Thank you,” Apollo said. He looked up. A sudden urgency entered his voice. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“Happy to help,” Iza said unhappily. 

“Tell them it’s my fault,” Apollo said.

“You know that’s not how it works. I’m a big girl, sunny. Don’t worry.” 

Iza shut the door before he could argue.

Apollo sighed as he looked over the dormant form in front of him. He reached out to touch Delta’s wrist, checking the pulse in an almost self-conscious manner. Still alive. You’d be forgiven for thinking otherwise. Apollo examined the wrist; he noted its odd angle. It was fractured, if not broken. He winced as he looked closer at Delta’s face. Inflamed claw marks raked one side of his cheek. There were matching ones along his forearm. He knew the salt water had probably helped to stave off infection, but he doubted that was a painless process. Some of them were still bleeding minutely. 

He was most concerned about hypothermia. The safe temperature ranges varied across species. He suspected Delta was better prepared for it than most. Still, the plan had not been for him to fall into the ocean on a freezing night. His skin was clammy. Apollo wrapped the blanket around him. He sat next to him on the bed, taking a moment to check over vitals and jot them down in his journal. He patched up the deeper cuts along Delta’s forearms and cheek, as well as the new one on his neck. He saw the ring of bruises around where the collar had been. They were layered one on top of the other. After a moment’s consideration, he went about making a wrist splint. It was surprisingly difficult when the patient was still unconscious, but he managed to tie it up tightly. It wasn’t pretty — none of it was — but it would hold him over until they could get back to base. 

==================

“He still out?” Kitty looked up from the laptop. Her fingers still danced along it automatically. It was like they operated completely apart from her. She could carry a whole conversation while typing out a completely different one with someone else. 

“Yes.” Apollo turned the microwave off before it could beep. He removed the compress. 

“I’m gonna send it now!” Kitty’s voice rose up, carrying throughout the house. There were a few sounds of assent, some of protest. She giggled at the reaction. But as she turned back to the screen, Apollo caught the subtle way in which her smile faltered. Her tail flicked beneath her. It was all bristles. She looked up at Apollo, searching for something. Permission? Approval? Reassurance? 

He nodded, squeezing her shoulder gently. It was too late to go back now. She hit send.

Apollo felt a bit like he was cheating by hiding out in the room with Delta. It was a good excuse. When Galatea did review the report, nobody would ask to speak to him first. And if they did, well, he was obviously pretty busy at the moment.

The only thing was that he wasn’t actually that busy. Delta was low maintenance. He had not stirred at all since they’d found him. His heartbeat and breathing were steady, if a bit too slow for Apollo’s comfort. He was just cold. Apollo pressed the compress against Delta’s chest. He brushed the still damp hair out of the boy’s face. Delta made a soft, pained noise. Apollo winced.

“It’s okay,” Apollo shushed him, “You’re okay.”

He didn’t know if he’d heard him, but Delta nuzzled deeper into the pillows, pulling the blankets up around himself.

==================

Delta only woke once that night. He wouldn’t remember it. At the time, he didn’t think it was real.

He slowly sat upright, his movement hindered by the pain in his ribs. He did not know where he was. But it was dark. He was freezing, despite the warmth of the room. Everything hurt.

His eyes gradually adjusted to the dark around him. He just made out the shape of the door. It was ajar. On the other side, a single unblinking olive-green eye peeked through. 

Delta squinted at it. There was nothing he could do to make sense of the situation. He didn’t care. He immediately fell back asleep.

===============

(Masterlist)

Tags: @catnykit@indigoviolet311@snakebites-and-ink@vivulapom@scoundrelwithboba@whatwhump@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire @micechomper

[gh0sthands]

whumpee who picks at their skin (maybe a nervous habit, an unhealthy stim, or as self harm), and caretaker who will gently take whumpee's hands in theirs to prevent the picking. who uses fidget/stim toys, hand holding, or anything else to prevent the picking without shaming whumpee.

caretaker who will help clean up whumpee's skin if necessary. who knows it's not an easy habit to break.

caretaker putting scar gel on whumpee, if they want it. kissing the scars. covering for whumpee if people ask about the wounds/scars. getting whumpee fun/unique bandaids (if they use them).

caretaker never judging whumpee for their stims, their habits, their coping methods, but helping whumpee work toward healthier ones

[whumpberry-cookie]

(tw: noncon touch)

Imagine Whumpee being magically so beautiful and breathtaking that all mortals are just falling on their knees before them.

Whumper treated them as their pretty bird in a cage. Kisses, compliments, unwanted pets and affection.

After the rescue, Caretaker... without a second thought decides to never mention how captivated they feel. Because they think it's unfair that Whumpee can't have any true relations with mortals for who they actually are.

(C:) "I never told you this, but..."

(W:) "I knew you loved me, Caretaker. Because you never told me"

-------------------

(Also that's what I found after searching for pretty man in gifs)

(Ah, yes. My primary school crush)

(Of course Taehyung's here)

[whumpcereal]

hi I hope you're doing well!

How about the promot: What do you think is whumper's favorite thing about you? For Jack?

Jack is in bed, Carl curled behind his legs. The room is dark and quiet. He tugs at the drawstrings on the hoodie that Joe left out for him after his bath; he's too warm, but Joe wants him to wear it, and so he will. The hood puddles around his gaunt face.

"Ivan said I was a quick study," he whispers. "He said I was a smart boy. That I knew how to behave. I think that was his favorite thing. It's--it's what he trained me for. But Joe?" Jack rolls onto his back, letting his hand move absently over the crown of Carl's dark head. "I don't think he has a favorite thing. I thought I would be what he wants, but I'm not."

[spencers-secret-whump-account]

hey mid-gen z whump fans!

[whump-in-the-closet]

this idea for a non-chronological, very whumpy storyline has been bugging me

It follows Leslie, a thug-in-training, who's good at her job and likes what she's doing until she's ordered to kill someone she once knew and cared for.

Compelled to obey, she does the job but with horrible consequences. Rarely cool or collected, Leslie confronts her Organizer about what they made her do. Now, she's not only banned from leaving the organization, but they force her to go through intensive training so she "never forgets her place again".

The storyline would jump around from Leslie's time before she signed a contract with the Organization, with her girlfriend Swift, to her time training under her mentor, Kaspian; and to the fall out of her mission and how The Organizer wears her down to a shadow of what she used to be. The message is clear and unyielding: Leslie will conform, or she will be destroyed. The organization’s iron grip tightens, reshaping her into a weapon conditioned to never forget her place again. Then there would be the rescue and vengeance arc and Leslie sets several people things on fire.

I've written a few parts, but should I post them?

Let me know if you'd want to be tagged in any of this

[foundfamilywhump]

truly i don't care who thinks it's stupid or boring or "doesn't count" or can't be as intense as what they think of as "real whump" or whatever else, whump with comfort and recovery and caretaker(s) is always going to be my style of whump and i'm gonna have a blast vibing with people who also enjoy that

[whereallthewhumpgoes]

Kicked

Caretaker'd had a very long day at work. By the time they got home to Whumpee, it was well past dark and their eyes were glazing over. Typically, they paid better attention to anything - or anyone - that might be lying on their floor, but tonight they were too focused on getting to bed to notice their charge until their steel-toed boot connected with Whumpee's side, waking them from their peaceful slumber.

The startled Whumpee stumbled back, making a heartbreaking whimpering noise in the back of their throat. "Christ, Whumpee, I'm so sorry, I had no idea you were there," Caretaker stuttered. "Sorry," Whumpee sniffled. "Sorry pet was bad. Didn't mean to be bad." "No, no no no, you weren't bad, stop it." They reached out to hold Whumpee's trembling hands, brushing the tears from their face. "I kicked you by accident, you see? I didn't know you were sleeping on the floor. I thought you were in bed." "Pet can't go to bed," they said. "Pet's not supposed to sleep until master comes home. Didn't mean to fall asleep. Sorry. Don't be angry."

A sob welled up in Caretaker's throat, but they stuffed it down. "Whumpee, were you trying to stay awake for me?"

Whumpee nodded, curling into a ball as they often did when under stress. Caretaker reached forward and scratched them behind the ears, and a soft, contented sigh escaped their lips.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm not angry, I promise. Next time I'm out this late, you have my permission to go to sleep when you usually do, alright? In the bed, on the floor, anywhere you need. You're not bad, okay? You've been a very good pet."

They rubbed Whumpee's head affectionately, and the tension went out of their limbs completely as Caretaker stood up, took their hand, and brought them back to their bedroom. Master loved them, really loved them. They weren't used to it, but they could learn.

[dioles-writes]

• WRITING SHARE TAG •

thanks for the tag (again) @seastarblue ^^

Rules: Share a bit of your writing

Felix and Shehani found themselves in the living room staring at a complex-looking popcorn machine. Shehani blinked at it a few times before turning to Felix. “I’m not sure how to use this.”

Felix didn’t want to tell her that he had no clue either. The only time he ever made popcorn was in the microwave, and usually he had Reagan do it for him anyway, because his always came out blackened and burnt. It always made the whole kitchen stink, too. He squinted at the machine, unsure of how he was supposed to even turn this thing on.

“I believe the popcorn goes in here?” Shehani said, beginning to disassemble the machine. Felix held the bags for as she worked, watching intently. She ripped the top of the machine off, gesturing towards him. “Then put the popcorn in here.” Felix dumped it in and Shehani placed the top back on, narrowing her eyes as it struggled to stay shut. “Maybe you should try, Felix.”

Felix pressed a button and thankfully, it turned on. The machine then let out a series of what sounded like grunts of pain and agony. That…. Didn’t sound like it was supposed to, Felix was pretty sure.

“Is that the right noise that should be coming from it?”

“It’s probably fine.” Felix said, slapping the side of the machine in an attempt to get it to quiet down.

“This is the first time I’ve seen a popcorn machine.”

“Really?” Felix straightened up, turning to her with a look of surprise. He knew Shehani definitely wouldn’t have gotten to make popcorn growing up - how could she, living in a training base, forced to fight every day? But still, it shocked him. So many things that were so normal to him, were unknown and new to her. It was weird to think about.

She nodded. “I’ve never had popcorn before.”

“Have you even watched movies before?”

“I watched movies with Einar.” Shehani recalled, the memory of sitting with Einar in his living room as he set up his dinky old projector bringing a soft smile to her lips.

“Popcorn makes movies wayyy better.” Felix told her. He remembered, when he was younger, Reagan used to make jiffy pop drizzled with chocolate and caramel and sprinkled with candy when they had family movie nights. Paisley would have a bag of salted, unbuttered, very plain popcorn to herself - she always laughed about how that was just too much sugar, even for her.

“Is that so? Then I hope this popcorn turns out well.” Shehani said, giving him a smile. Felix grinned back.

Suddenly, a very pungent smell cut through their nice moment. A very pungent smell that was coming from the machine beside them.

Felix turned to see that the popcorn machine had begun to produce these thick, terrible black fumes, and even worse, sparks had begun to crackle and shoot out. Shehani turned to Felix expectantly. “What do we do?”

“Uh-“

It wouldn’t turn off.

“What is that awful sme- you gotta be kidding me.” Haru appeared in the living room, an unamused look on his face as he glared at the two. “You guys can’t even make a batch of popcorn….”

He gave them one of his usual dirty looks before running over, attempting to turn off the machine only to get burnt by it instead.

“We were doing fine.” Felix said defensively, aggressively smashing all of the buttons, praying that at least one of them would turn this thing off.

“You’re obviously not.” Haru began to smack the machine, leaving it severely dented along with all the damage Shehani and Felix had already ensued.

“That machine was already broken.” Felix said matter-of-factly.

Haru had now knocked over the machine and was violently stomping at it. “This thing was not broken.”

“It totally was.”

The black fumes began to multiply. One moment, Felix was arguing with Haru, the next moment, the entire living room was full of dark, toxic smoke. Felix wasn’t sure what was worse - the stench of his and Shehani’s kitchen disaster at the cabin, or this.

“WHY ISN’T THIS TURNING OFF!” Haru growled.

The sound of popcorn kernels aggressively popping broke through the bangs of Haru smashing the popcorn machine. “At least it’s popping.” Felix added helpfully.

It was at that exact moment that a horrid burning sensation began to spread through Felix’s throat. He gagged, doubling over as he burst into a fit of coughing and choking. He quickly opened up with a rough swipe of his hand through the polluted air - a weak last-ditch attempt to try and clear out the smoke. Shehani helped him as he tried to waft the smoke out into the portal.

Suddenly, the sounds of sparks flying and kernels popping begun to quiet down and stop. Soon, with the help of Felix’s portals, the smoke in the living room had been completely cleared out. Felix glanced back down at the busted and broken popcorn machine to find himself staring at the quiet girl from before - Amaryllis.

[3-2-whump]

TW/CW: post-trauma, very vague mentions of trauma, scars

I am absolutely weak for…

A whumpee who ends up looking after a child one day. Could be his, could be Caregiver’s, could be a friend’s, it doesn’t matter. One day the child happens to see his scars peeking out from the hem of his shirt as he bends over.

Innocently, she asks, “What are those?”

“They’re scars,” he answers simply.

“Can I see?”

What would’ve been an impossible task for him several years ago is accomplished within minutes as he takes off his shirt and turns around.

The little girl gasps behind him. “What happened?”

“I got hurt,” he explains.

“How?”

“Someone…hurt me…”

“Why?”

And really, how much should he tell her? She’s so young, she doesn’t need to know. More importantly, how much can he tell her? How can he answer that question when he himself doesn’t even know?

Sometimes kids are perceptive, though.

The girl stops asking, knowing when to quit probing. Instead she runs her tiny fingers over his back, and Whumpee is glad he didn’t flinch under the contact.

“They make you look like a tiger,” she says, her attempt at diffusing a tense situation.

Whumpee was not expecting such a compliment. “They do?”

“Yeah-oh!” The little girl scampers off, laughing to herself as she runs into the house, only coming back once she has her mother’s eyeliner pen in hand. She beckons him down to where she can reach, then draws haphazard lines across his bare stomach, chest, and face.

Sometimes kids are silly, he guessed.

“There” she beamed triumphantly. She grabs a makeup mirror and shoves it in Whumpee’s face. “Now you look like a tiger on the front, too!”

“So I do…” Whumpee can’t help but feel the smile creep onto his face. “And this tiger’s gonna eat you right up!” He pounced playfully toward the child, letting her get a head start before chasing her around the back yard, laughing all the while.

Sometimes kids are amazing.

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 30

Let's see what Payge and Nicolai have been up to! We met them on Day 12, which this post references and continues from! They also showed their faces on Day 16 and Day 26, should you want to see more of them <3

Content warnings for: the slightest moment of nail whump, creepy whumper, and painful wound cleaning.

Recovery

Payge had been confined to the basement bedroom for… two days now. This was the third. He awoke the same way each morning so far. The same padded cuffs kept him in bed on the mattress by his hands and feet, only mercifully allowing him to change positions.

The first day, Nicolai had sat down and trimmed his nails.

“Of course I have to, dove. I know you’ll come up with a thousand keen solutions, and it’s my job to think of each one before you do.” They gestured for his hand then, and he handed it over reluctantly. 

“I wasn’t thinking of that…” They trimmed his thumb down, leaving the thinnest sliver of white at the edge.

“Of course not. But you would have.” The pointer nail was cut even closer, if there was such a possibility. 

“For Christ’s sake, leave a bit of nail! They aren’t used to being so short.”

“Don’t ask my permission for your delinquency, Payge. I wouldn’t have to take such precautions if you would accept my care.”

“I am, aren’t I?” He protested, false hope in his voice.

“You should have seen yourself on the table.”

A full-body shudder shook his hand and caused them to clip too far. 

“Come on!” He pulled his hand away and observed the nick as it slowly wept a single drop of blood. Nicolai snatched it back and continued their work.

“You’ve had worse. On the table, for example.” They had the foresight to grip his wrist hard before he flinched again. 

“Forgive me for never wanting to remember that.”

“Well, I don’t plan on letting you forget.”

He did remember. Every night. Payge was a side sleeper now. 

The second day, Nicolai changed his bandages.

“Sure you don’t want to look? You could have supervised access to a mirror.”

“I’m sure.” 

“Well, then.” 

They turned on the tap, slowly adjusting the temperature before filling a bowl. A rag was dipped in, wrung out, and pressed over the bandages to moisten them before unwrapping.

“Aren’t you grateful I’m not ripping this off with the scabs, dove?”

“...I am. Thank you,” Payge whispered.

The dressings only tugged mildly at a few stubborn parts. Probably where they cut deeper, he thought, and just as quickly shoved the idea away. A separate rag pressed against his bare skin, starting at the edge of the wound. 

He caught a glimpse of it at some point: stained various shades of brown, red, and something on the yellow spectrum.

“It’s not infected, is it?” An infected wound of that size… it spelled a death sentence without medical intervention.

“No, no. Just severe.” 

Each fiber of the cloth was tangible as it pressed him into the back of the chair, scratching whenever Nicolai adjusted it.

“It’s looking lovely so far. Red suits you.”

“My mom always said it clashed.” She had, really. Always said he looked better in neutrals. Burgundy or merlot, orange blossom or cream. Not red.

“Nonsense. Nothing could clash with you, dove.” 

“Sweet-talking me gets you nowhere.”

“I quite enjoy it, actually. Sweet-talking you is a favorite pastime of mine.” The rag drifted over his collarbones, tracing them absentmindedly, before it returned to the bowl to soak. After they were done, Nicolai would disappear upstairs and bleach them, rinse, and fold them up like new for next time. They’d made him help before.

A brown bottle emerged from the cabinet and tipped onto a third cloth.

“Oy, you told me peroxide only makes scars worse.” Payge held up a hand and pointed at the offender, as if it could be anything else.

“Yes. Put that hand down.”

“Did you forget? You try to minimize a lot of those.” A glare told him he was pushing his luck.

“You’d be a fool to think I worked so long and hard on nothing. I wouldn’t do that to you without reason.” 

He held his tongue on the truths that itched to spew forth, too aware of his current position. 

He’d felt the burn of that the rest of the day, especially when Nicolai refused to rinse it with water. Even the unharmed skin around seemed inflamed.

And this morning Payge was still wearing the shirt they’d dressed him in. Breathable, flexible fabric that zipped up to his neck in the back, still tight enough to compress his torso. He could reach it if he tried, but it would be a chore. The point of the barrier, of course.

He was stuck in bed until they came down and unlocked the cuffs. But it wasn’t all bad.

The windowless room could only be lit by the switch next to the door. At all other times, a projection shone on the popcorn ceiling. A window into a fishtank, towers of kelp swaying as different species swam by. A simple night light in the nearest outlet created the illusion, shooting light out when it didn’t detect another source.

It was strangely comforting. 

So long as he glanced up at it from his side.