#Cold Whumpee

[1whump-dump1]

Elite - Season 4 Episode 4. (Part 2.) (Part 1 here.)

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #30

Trope of the day: “Not much longer...”

_

Caretaker's arms are warm around whumpee, who is barely awake, but forces their eyes to stay open. As they watch the snow fall from above, they feel disoriented. A shiver makes them whimper and caretaker rubs their hands over whumpee's arms.

“Not much longer...”, they mutter and look around, probably to find any sign that the others are on their way here. Whumpee can't even answer anything as just a soft grunt escapes their lips.

They are tired and cold, just want to close their eyes. But they know they shouldn't. Because they know that they probably won't open them again.

“Not much longer,” caretaker repeats and whumpee tries to take it to heart. Not much longer and they can finally rest ... finally close their eyes. But till then, they need to stay strong.

[whump-or-whatever]

IDK why but I’ve been on such an ‘exposure to the elements’ kick lately. Maybe it’s because I have a tendency to go walking and somehow always end up 2 hours away from home when it starts to blizzard.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about whumpee stuck out in the cold. Some of these are things I’ve mentioned before but I’m doin em again cause why not.

The unstoppable trembling when whumpee is chilled to the bone

Chattering teeth

Fingers so stiff they hardly move or do what they’re told to

Beat red skin that is painful to touch

Shivering not only outwardly but also inside the ribcage (I get this idk maybe I’m just weird)

Curling up in a ball and blowing onto frozen hands

The painful tingling when whumpee starts to get feeling back in their skin

Two whumpee’s huddling together for warmth

Whumpee burrowing deep into a pile of blankets when they get home

Whumpee’s hair and clothes forming ice where the moisture from their breath meets the cold air

Getting completely disoriented in whiteout conditions

Shaking hands trying to light a fire

Caretaker trying to rub warmth back into Whumpee’s skin

Stumbling along on numb feet

Whumpee getting so cold they lose the ability to think about anything else

Being unable to get warm no matter how many blankets they have or how much tea they drink

Nose running uncontrollably/constant sniffling

Frostbite and hypothermia

Whumpee continuously trying to pull what clothing they have on around them to protect them from the cold, to no avail

Whumpee who has bad experiences with the cold starting to panic any time they get even the slightest chill

Add any others y’all can think of!

[the-baby-storyteller]

Secretly powerful teammates.

Think someone going to strike at a character and them not having the reflexes quick enough to stop it. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, their teammate known to be weak (maybe the only one who stays out of the action) not only protects them, but lunges at the attacker with a cold look on their face the team has never seen before. Them winning, to the surprise of the team, but getting slightly hurt in the midst of the battle. Afterwards, the character being highly in shock over the unfamiliar actions of the teammate and worrying over their graze as they convince themself that they must be going crazy. There’s no way their innocent, feeble teammate could be capable of something like that.

The teammate lightly commenting that they had hardly noticed the injury and instead turning their attention to making sure the character is safe. Them wanting to care for the stuttering, confused character, suddenly seeming much bigger and more mature than ever before, but being stopped in their tracks by the approaching team. The team, who had been taken aback by the sudden change in the teammate, confronting them about their actions and true strength, while simultaneously trying to discreetly lead them to an area to get treated. The teammate eventually realizing this and saying that the injury was hardly a scratch the couldn’t even notice and that they’d had far worse. The team becoming horrified at the notion that their “weakest” member could ever have handled worse. Shocked because they thought of the teammate as someone they always needed to protect, someone they couldn’t imagine getting even slightly hurt.

Then the teammate having to convince the team that they’re really fine, and going back to normal afterwards. But the team never really recovering from seeing the other side to the teammate and thinking of them differently from before.

[deluxewhump]

Lawrenceville Baptist

II: Jesse and Peter Sullivan

Part one

CW: cold whump, mentions of murder, adoption, house fire, death of family members, religion (Christianity), hurt/comfort, night terrors, disordered eating from PTSD, Peter is 17 at this time, dysfunctional sibling relationship

After dinner, with their mother in her room, Peter and Jesse went back out to the barn to get Paulo. Their mother didn’t know they were keeping the stray pet in there. Or she did, and she just didn’t want to address it. It’s hard to say how much she knew.

To Peter Sullivan, felt like their mom stopped paying attention to anything whenever Glen left for a long haul in his eighteen wheeler. The exception was Sundays, when she was temporarily reinvigorated from church and would begin a doomed project she'd abandon by Monday morning. Otherwise, she would stay in her room nearly all day and all night. Three in the morning, Peter would get up to go to the bathroom and see the light from the TV flickering under her door.

She’d get better the day before Glen was scheduled to get back. She’d vacuum and make the boys do Laundry Mountain. He and Jesse would do a deep muck on the horse stalls and replace all the bedding with fresh sawdust, sweep the barn's cement center aisle so it looked new. She’d wash her hair and put makeup on and cook a big meal, instead of Jesse cooking for just him and his little brother like usual.

Everyone knew taking Paulo in was the Christian thing to do, even the ones that looked at him like he had a communicable disease. They’d called a social worker to the church, like you’re supposed to do in that situation. She documented everything and it was quickly decided that since Glen and Tabby Sullivan were already adoptive parents, it would be 'more than appropriate' for the abandoned pet to stay with them until someone showed up to claim him, or they decided to surrender him to the state.

And so Paulo had come home with them. The social worker had never even come by the house. Pets aren't really their bag, Jesse said. Pets aren't really anybody's bag, except the traffickers.

Jesse handed him a flashlight.

“What’re we doing?” he asked.

“We have to go check on him. He could freeze. It’s a lot colder tonight than last night and he was all wet.”

Peter didn’t want to go back out in the cold, but he knew Jesse was right. He hadn’t really thought about how cold the barn gets, that it was not that same as inside the house. But he still didn’t want to lose his spot in Jesse’s room for some abandoned pet, or to have Jesse be distracted from him like he was his senior year in high school when he’d had a girlfriend from town. She was dead now. Peter had never seen Jesse so empty-eyed and inconsolable as he had at her funeral. He was so broken up by her death it was like he’d died, too. He was somewhere Peter couldn’t reach, and it made him afraid. 

Watching him touch the casket had made Peter feel wobbly inside, a feeling he recognized immediately and was terrified to feel again. He'd felt it acutely after the house fire in Pittsburgh that killed his parents and grandfather in the same night— the same hour, three AM.

That was when he realized the world was not solid, the ground beneath his feet could not be trusted. For a year he feared spontaneous combustion, gas leaks, cars and their hot engines full of combustible fluids. He thought he was choking when he ate anything other than short noodles in butter and lost fifteen pounds at Montgomery Children’s Home. He feared the very plates of the earth opening up like a dream and swallowing him whole, separating him from everyone else forever. That was Hell, he understood after the fire. Being truly alone.

The next year he was enrolled to enter Cheshire Junior High as an eighth grader. The Sullivans finalized their adoption and he had a home again. Not just a mother and father but chickens, eight horses, a four wheeler, and an older brother, Jesse.

They pulled on their winter jackets, warm from hanging above the radiator. He followed Jesse out the backdoor and across the yard. Snow crunched under their boots and they could see each puff of their breath in the air. The moon looked far away and blue. Jesse went in the side door of the barn, easier than opening the big doors in front on their icy metal runners. The horses whickered softly at our footsteps, hoping for extra hay. Chance tapped his stall door with an expectant hoof.

Jesse went to the tack room, where they'd locked Paulo in a few hours earlier. The tack room was like a big closet, windowless and dusty. There had been more horses here once, years ago, but now there were only two, so most of the saddle racks and bridle hooks sat empty. Still, it always smelled of leather. A space heater affixed to the wall was meant to keep the leather from being damaged by extreme cold, but like a lot of things on the Sullivan property, it was not being kept up the way it once had. It was humming weakly, emitting an orange glow and very little heat. Paulo was curled up close to it, shivering.

Jesse knelt down in front of him. Paulo had told the social worker he was nineteen, making him and Jesse the same age. He had the same homogenized American accent they did, minus some of their rural colloquialisms. Peter shone the flashlight at the ground so it wouldn’t be in Paulo’s eyes, but so he could still see him in its halo of light.

“Can you walk?” asked his brother.

Paulo looked dazed. His lips were not the shade they should have been, and Peter felt the uncomfortable twinge of sorriness he had when Samson had been half drowning him earlier. They knew he was different. They knew he was likely used and damaged in ways that both repulsed and darkly fascinated them.

Until Sam started dunking his head in the horse trough, Peter had been glad there was someone newer and more out of place than him. Someone clearly involved in evil and not just kissed by it, like he had been with the fire.

Peter had been baptized in the church before the adoption finalized, but he was still worried they knew he was some kind of defective. He was just saying the words, letting them dip his head back.

He wanted to be Saved, he just didn’t know if he was or not. He had waited and prayed for that feeling in his heart that Pastor Patterson had described, but even when he came out of the water there was only silence. He was terrified to confide this to anyone, fearing it would reveal his true and permanent otherness to them. Eventually he softened it, declawed it, and mentioned it to Jesse, who casually reassured him that it was fine, that silence was where God lives. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered to be afraid of anything without consulting Jesse first, who seemed afraid of nothing.

Jesse handed Peter his flashlight so he could help the other boy to his feet. He shucked out of his own winter jacket and put it over Paulo’s shoulders for the walk back to the house.

“I forgot this heater is on the fritz,” he muttered, holding the more slender frame of our guest up easily. Jesse was big, strong in a way Peter didn’t think he’d ever be. The football coach in town had begged Jesse to stay on the team and play his senior year, but he was still too messed up about his girlfriend at the time. The murder had just happened and it felt like the whole county was still in shock. Everyone had understood when he hadn’t played. Even Glen.

He’d had to go to the station and answer questions for hours, go over timelines with them, everything he knew about her calls and her texts in the days leading up to the murder. The cops in Cheshire never really suspected Jesse. No one who really knew him did. Even people who had reservations about their own sons knew Jesse hadn’t hurt Jasmine Black. But the cops were just doing their jobs, and the boyfriend of the dead girl is always a good place to start.

Peter walked alongside them, shining the flashlight in front of them so they wouldn’t slip on a patch of ice. They made it inside and he locked the door behind them, following them down the hall to their room.

When he was adopted, they’d converted Tabby Sullivan's old sewing room to a bedroom for him. Though small, it was freshly repainted and had brand new carpet. But the only thing that kept Peter from having night terrors about fire was sleeping in Jesse’s room with him, on his floor, where he would reach down from his bed and touch Peter between his shoulder blades, or on his hair. It became such a habit they dragged the mattress off Peter's bed and put it on the floor where he preferred to sleep.

Glen saw and said it was one step above bedwetting. Peter needed to learn to sleep in his own bed in his own room if he was ever going to grow up to be a man. He was thirteen, for Chrissake, he reminded them all over Sunday dinner, and Jesse was fifteen. They were not five and seven.

He never found it in his heart to forgive Glen for shaming them at the table like that, though he prayed for the strength for months after. Shaming him. It was clear their father thought Peter was the one who was weak, in the wrong room at night, and needed to grow up.

But Jesse still let him in his room in secret after their mom and Glen were asleep. Jesse would leave the door cracked so he made no sound pushing it open to slip inside, and he would find his thick sleeping bag already unrolled on the floor so he could climb in. Jesse would wake him before morning, reaching down and tapping him on the shoulder so he could retreat to his room and his cold sheets just before dawn.

Eventually, Jesse and Peter became so inseparable that even Glen gave up. They shared the desktop computer in Jesse's room, played video games together in his room, and eventually brought Peter's single bed into his room. Their mom reclaimed the sewing room and Glen never mentioned it again. His work as a truck driver had been taking him further and further from home for longer stints, and he didn’t seem to have energy for them anymore.

As Tabby retreated into herself, Glen was pulled out of the house as if by a tide, and Peter's world became school, church, and Jesse. It was a relief. As much as he had ached for parents, he now realized he couldn’t replace the ones he had lost. There was no going back, he was just who he was now, so he might as well get used to it. And now, all he really needed was Jesse. Jesse took care of him. The first time he heard the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, he knew exactly what it meant. He and Jesse had their covenant. They were a sovereign country unto themselves.

Jesse asked him to go make some hot tea. He was annoyed at being sent out of the room, but he also wanted to help undo whatever damage Samson had done, as he knew it wasn’t helping him be a good Christian. Paulo hadn't done anything to them. He was all alone. Peter knew a thing or two about that. That’s what Hell really is. Being all alone.

When he got back with a hot mug of herbal tea, Jesse had stripped Paulo’s wet clothes from him and replaced them with a t-shirt and sweats from his own closet, and wrapped him in the comforter from his bed.

Paulo kept opening and closing his hands, like they hurt. Peter knew it was serious when Jesse took them in his own to warm them. Back at school, or at church, Jess never would’ve taken another boy's hands like that, so gently and earnestly, trying to warm them. You’d let his fingers get frostbite and be cut off before you’d commit a social faux pas like that. Peter had been taking cues on how to behave from Jesse for five years now, four of them while attending the same school. When Jesse did something out of step with his usual behavior, he noticed.

Paulo looked at Jesse warily, like he half-expected him to break one of his fingers next. Peter couldn’t blame him, after what they let Sam do to him earlier. Anyone new wouldn’t understand— everyone let Sam do whatever Sam wanted to do because it was just easier. He wore you down. And he always stopped before he went too far. And he always made you forgive him, sooner or later. He’d find a sore spot and make it feel good, smile at you like nothing ever happened and you’d just find yourself smiling back, mirroring that warm glow.

Jesse gave Paulo sips of tea by lifting the mug to his lips for him— another extreme oddity. Peter dropped his eyes. It felt like watching a Catholic mass in a movie— the part with the wafer, so foreign to the beige, carpeted church we worshiped in.

“Does he have hypothermia?” he asked.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Jesse told him, making eye contact with Paulo as he said it. Telling him.

Jesse didn’t know the answer to his question, but he wouldn't admit it. Jesse would just tell Peter something else he did know, and Peter was always satisfied. Jesse had never lied to him. If he said it was going to be okay, he knew it would be, because it always had been. He wondered if Paulo wasn’t more or less their slave now. He knew it wasn’t like that, they had taken an abandoned pet in… but didn’t it amount to the same thing?

They put Paulo in Peter's narrow single bed with extra blankets, a thick pair of socks, and a glass of water on the nightstand beside him. He climbed into Jesse’s double bed with him, and was happy when Jesse put his hand between his shoulder blades like he used to when he was younger and would wake up whimpering and mumbling nonsense on his floor. He scooted closer to let Jesse know he still wanted him to touch him, that he wasn’t too big and it hadn’t somehow gotten weird. It would never be weird between them. He didn’t see how it could happen. Jesse was his brother. And he also wasn’t at all.

Jesse draped his arm around him and he maneuvered himself backwards until he felt the unwavering solidity of Jesse's chest on his back. Jesse pulled him snug and held him, and he fell almost immediately asleep.

[whumpees]

Hurt whumpee cuddled to keep him warm

[whumpcity]

Caretaker being chained to the other side of the cell wishing they could help whumpee keep warm. The sight of them shivering on the bare cell floor and the sound of their clacking teeth makes caretaker’s chest hurt.

Shivering so hard that the teeth are audibly chattering and every click and clack of them together sends little shocks of pain through the whumpee's jaw

[spinzolliii]

There’s something about a whumpee just sitting down. Not fainting, necessarily. Maybe they’re just about to faint, and they quietly just kneel on the ground at a time and place that doesn’t make sense. They don’t even have the capacity or willingness to articulate why they need to abruptly stop and sit. Maybe they’re catatonic while the others look at them.

Maybe a caretaker can see the dull, vacant look in their eyes and immediately senses that something is seriously wrong. Maybe the fainting comes just a few moments later.

[gh0sthands]

caretaker desperately kissing, cuddling, hugging, etc whumpee because "you're here. you're alive."

whumpee basking in the affection, and returning it (as much as they can). they missed caretaker more than anything. and caretaker came to save them.

[letitbehurt]

It’s a good day to grab Whumpee by the hair and shove their head underwater.

[warmblanketwhump]

recovering A is sitting outside with caretaker B. it’s a pleasant day, with mild weather and sunshine, and B figures that even though A’s still fairly weak, the fresh air will do them good. and for a while, it does seem to lift their spirits and bring a bit of color back in their pale cheeks.

A enjoys being outdoors at first, but despite their sweater and the heat of the afternoon sun, they’re barely warm at all.

suddenly, the sun darts behind a cloud, and A shudders.

“feeling alright?” B asks, brow furrowing.

“I’m okay.” A wraps their arms around themselves, trying to ignore the goosebumps that prickle down their spine, and wishes they’d brought out a blanket to tuck around them. I thought the sweater was enough, it’s not even that cold.

the sun returns a few minutes later, but it’s too late—A feels their frail body start to tremble, overcompensating for the slight change in temperature.

“A, you’re shivering.”

“Just got a chill, that’s all.” A hates the way their voice wavers, the way they can barely force the words out through their chattering teeth, the way their bones are suddenly, impossibly freezing, like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over their head.

B jumps up from their chair and instantly comes to A’s side, cursing softly. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you out—“

“It’s fine, B. I wanted to come outside for a change.” Still, B helps them up and guides them inside to their chair, then covers their shivering frame with one blanket, then two, and begins to build up the fire in the small cabin.

“I’ll make you some tea, too, try and warm you up from the inside…” B’s voice trails off as they rustle around in the kitchen.

But A knows it’s no use from experience: they won’t truly stop feeling chilled until their hot bath tonight. And I can’t take my bath too early or else I’ll inevitably get cold some other stupid way, and I’m not making B run me two baths.

Recovering has been slow and frustrating, this part most of all. Why can’t their body maintain their temperature like it used to? Why are they so damn cold all the time?

They don’t realize they’re crying until they feel wipe away the twin tears on their cheeks, and they see B crouching to eye level. The concern on B’s face only makes A cry harder—they don’t want to be this weak, they didn’t used to be this way, they just want things to be better…

And they must say all that out loud, because now B’s arms are around them. “I know. I know it’s hard. We’ll get through this, A.”

There will be more blankets, and hot tea, and against A’s efforts, two baths. But in that moment, A’s never been more grateful for the warmth of B’s arms.

I will get through this.

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The cell the whumpee was trapped in was constantly cold, and the whumpee had nothing to even try to warm themselves up. Injuries were easier to ig or than the constant freezing feeling, the stone under them felt like a slab of ice, and every movement felt sluggish and stiff.

[whumpy-wyrms]

Blood Runs Cold #2: You Poor Thing

previous | masterlist | next

content: captivity, cold whump, starvation, dehydration, begging, strangulation, mind control, blood drinking, non permanent death, defiant immortal whumpee, creepy vampire whumper

IT’S BACK!!! finally gonna start writing this series again, sorry for the long wait!!

— 

Aspen slowly opened his eyes, and once again, the first thing he noticed was how cold he was. But unlike being trapped in a thin metal freezer, Aspen was laying on a small mattress.

He curled into himself, shivering violently. After realizing there were no blankets to keep him warm, he sat up, but immediately felt the dizziness hit him. He groaned in pain, his head pounding and his body aching from his last death. His last death.

Everything that had happened the last day came flooding back to him like a punch to the gut.

He died. Twice— no, three times, apparently, though he didn’t remember the first time—

And he came back.

It hurt to think about— what any of this could possibly mean. Nobody could just die and come back to life! …But here he was. Alive and well. Aspen almost thought it could all have been one bad dream, if not for the dull pain in his neck. He traced his fingers over his throat, and felt two small scars from where the vampire had drank from. The vampire.

That thing was what had killed him- bit into him- tore him apart. And it said it would do it again. Aspen had to get out of here. He couldn’t stand the thought of being around that monster again, he couldn’t.

He took a deep breath and decided to start looking around the room he found himself in, though that didn’t help much since all around him was complete darkness, not a window or flicker of light in sight. The mattress beneath him felt rough and grimey; it definitely hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. Aspen put his hand to the wall to steady himself as he stood, feeling the chill and cracks of the cement on his fingertips.

He took a step, but heard a rattle of metal coming from the floor. He took another step, feeling a heavy weight and cold chill on his left ankle and he realized that he was chained to the wall. Shit.

Aspen tugged on the chain a bit, to no use. So he started walking anyway, wanting to see the furthest he could go. He walked around the room and held his hands out in front of him, trying to see if he could feel anything in the darkness. He eventually found a staircase, but could only get a few steps up until he reached the farthest the chain would allow him. He went around the other side of the room and felt a small drain in the concrete floor. Startled by the new texture under his bare feet, he jumped away, the chain pulling taut on his ankle and causing him to trip and scrape his knees on the concrete. He staggered up and collapsed back on the mattress in defeat.

And that was it. Nothing else in the room offered him much help, and he was stuck waiting in horrible anticipation. It was hopeless; there was no way out of here and he was going to be hurt by that vampire again.

He shook those thoughts away and decided to be smart about this. Sure, Aspen couldn’t actually die— for some reason— but vampires could. All he had to do was find… what was it? Silver? A wooden stake? Aspen never really had been too interested in vampires; he was more of a werewolf type of guy. And he didn’t even know they were real until now, whatever he’d heard about them in the past might not even be true. But nonetheless, he’d find a way to kill that bastard and reunite with Lyle again- wherever she was. He wouldn’t just give up.

. . .

Aspen didn’t know how long it had been since he’d woken up, or how long he had been waiting in the dark, laying curled up on that mattress. He realized soon enough that he was hungry; he hadn’t eaten in who knows how long, and definitely hadn’t drank any water. Oddly enough, he didn’t have to go to the bathroom. After all those deaths, he probably had nothing left in his system.

He also realized, after hours of laying on that mattress with nothing but his anxious thoughts, that the vampire hadn’t given him his glasses. It wasn’t like he needed them in this dark, but he still could hardly see normally without them. He also hadn’t given him his chest binder. He was just wearing his jeans and hoodie, not even a shirt underneath! That asshole. He didn’t know whether it was to humiliate him, give him less warmth, or both, or some other reason, but Aspen had never felt so vulnerable and defenseless.

The vampire had broken his phone, so he obviously couldn’t use that to call for help. Like the corpse that he was, he had nothing. Absolutely nothing that could help him. The only thing he could do was wait.

And after what felt like forever of waiting, stomach aching with unbearable hunger, Aspen heard the thud of footsteps coming from the ceiling above him. They walked slowly until they stopped by the stairs. The click of a lock echoed through the basement, and light finally flooded into the place.

Aspen sat up on the mattress, heart thumping rapidly through his chest as he stared ahead.

Finally, the vampire was back.

The vampire walked down the stairs, taking slow, deliberate steps that echoed in the silence. His wavy black hair fell down in his ghostly pale face. He wore a dark red dress shirt, the first few buttons undone, and a black suit coat hanging messily over his shoulders. Aspen gulped and hugged his knees to his chest, noticing the blood-red eyes peeking through the strands of hair and staring directly at him.

His captor reached the bottom of the stairs and stared down at Aspen, watching him tremble in fear.

“Hello, little corpse,” the vampire said, his voice sending a shiver down his spine.

Despite Aspen having so many things he wanted to say and ask— like let me go, I’m hungry, don’t hurt me— his words went dry in his throat. He felt acutely aware of his position; held captive, frozen in place under the vampire’s intense gaze, afraid that any movement or noise would cause the vampire to pounce and tear him apart again.

“What? Got nothing to say?” The vampire hummed, tilting his head.

Aspen swallowed and tore his eyes away from his captor, deciding to get a look around the now visible room.

The basement was not much larger than he had originally thought. Most of it was empty, but against the left far wall was a large metal table. It was hard to see without his glasses, but squinting his eyes, he could make out various dangerous looking tools and weapons hanging on the wall above it. The sharp blades were all covered in faded, dried blood. Higher on that wall, in the corner by the ceiling, was a small window, boarded up with wood that had looked like it’d been there for ages. Hanging down from the ceiling in the middle of the room were various hooks and chains. Dried blood faintly painted the floor by the drain.

That was it. It looked like everything in this place was just made to cause pain, to hurt him.

He looked back at the tools. They were too far away to get to with the chain around his ankle, but if he could somehow get his hands on them, he could defend himself.

Unless… somebody else got his hands on them first.

His eyes flickered back to the vampire, who had been following his gaze to the wall. He smirked.

Aspen’s heart plummeted.

“I see you’ve noticed my—”

“Don’t hurt me!” Aspen said, body trembling. “Please let me go, I- I—”

“Begging already?” The vampire mused, and started walking closer. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Yet?

“N-no, stay away from me,” Aspen said, backing up against the wall.

“Why would I do that?” His captor walked closer, boots thumping against the concrete. Aspen pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to hide as much of his body as he could, trying to make himself small. The vampire crouched down in front of Aspen and put a hand in his curly hair, gently scritching the top of his head as if he were nothing but a spooked animal. “You’re much cuter up close.”

Aspen trembled under the vampire’s touch, pulling away ever so slightly but being fully backed into the wall, there was nowhere to hide.

“How’re you doin’? You making yourself at home?”

Aspen just stared ahead, mouth agape, words caught in his throat.

“I asked you a question, Aspen,” the vampire hummed in a light tone, though his hand gripped tighter in his hair— a warning.

Aspen swallowed thickly, and said in a quiet, shaky voice, “I-I don’t wanna be here. Let me go.”

“Aw, is it really that bad? I even gave you a mattress and everything.”

Aspen frowned, shivering into his hoodie and wrapping his arms around himself. “It-it’s so- so cold down here. Just let me go.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” the vampire cooed, wiping Aspen’s tears with his thumb. He didn’t even realize he started crying. “I don’t care.”

Aspen sniffled. “I don’t even have my glasses.”

“Oh, of course. You need them to see?” The vampire’s voice was laced in mock sympathy.

Aspen nodded his head, looking up at him through his curls.

“Well, I kinda like it when you look all disoriented and confused. I might just keep you like this forever.”

Aspen’s heart dropped, his despair plastered all over his face. “Why are you doing this?”

“Aw, did you forget already? You exist only for me to drink that delectable blood of yours. You’re nothing but my food. You’re mine. I can do whatever I want to you.”

“B-but- but…” He was speechless. As he struggled to come up with something to say while his captor played with his hair, he saw the vampire’s eyes light up, smiling that horrible grin that showed his deathly sharp fangs.

“Oh, you’re going to be so much fun to break.”

“W-what?” He squeaked.

“We’re going to have so much fun together, Aspen. Just you and I. It’s been so long since I’ve had a human of my own, this place hasn’t had much use in ages, but not anymore. And since you can’t die permanently, I won’t ever have to hold back.”

The vampire’s gaze wandered back to the tools hanging from the wall and the chains hanging from the ceiling. Horrible visions racked Aspen’s mind. Visions of pain. Of agony. Torture. Death. It hadn’t happened to him yet, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it. He couldn’t do it.

He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stifle a sob. The vampire was too close. It and its fangs and claws were too close and it was touching him and he didn’t want to be here and why wouldn’t it just let him go?

“Open your eyes, Aspen,” the vampire said in a sing-song tone.

“Huh?” Aspen opened his eyes.

“I like to see the fear in my prey’s eyes as I feed. Makes the blood all the more intoxicating.”

“F-Feed?”

“Did I bash your skull in a little too hard last time?” Silas flicked Aspen’s head roughly with his finger. “Every night I am going to feed from you. And every morning, you will come back to life fully healed and regenerating more blood. The process will repeat itself. It’s simple. No more questions.”

“But I don’t- I don’t want this. I wanna go h-home.” He looked up at the vampire through his curly hair with tears in his wide, terrified eyes. His lips wobbled as he spoke so quietly that it was barely a whisper. “Please.”

“Oh, Aspen. You still think you have a choice. You’re so cute, it’s unbearable. It makes me just want to squeeze the life out of you.” The vampire thought to himself for a moment, before a mischievous grin crossed his face. “And I guess… I can do that, can’t I.” It was more of an observation to himself than a question.

“N-no.”

“Oh, I will.” The vampire broke out into a wide, maniacal grin, fangs looking sharper than ever. “Whenever the fuck I want to. How about now?”

Before Aspen could say anything, the vampire pounced. Inhumanly strong hands wrapped around his neck and shoved him against the wall. His nails dug into Aspen’s delicate skin, causing blood to drip down his throat.

“Ow!” Aspen gasped. “Stop- stop stop stop- please stop.”

The vampire suddenly squeezed his hands tighter around Aspen’s throat, crushing his windpipe. Aspen gasped for breath, but could no longer get any air.

“L-et g-o,” Aspen choked out, a whimper soon broken by his lack of oxygen.

He clawed at his neck, at the vampire’s hands tightening his grip on him, at the blood spilling from the small cuts, desperately doing all he could to get air. But his captor’s hands didn’t budge, they only pressed down harder on his throat.

Aspen’s mouth opened and closed, trying and failing to suck air back into his lungs. He tried to plead, to beg, but no sound came out. Dark spots filled his vision as his lungs screamed for air.

The vampire leaned in and started drinking the blood trickling down his skin. Aspen felt his hands squeezing tighter to get more to spill out, as if he were nothing but a living ketchup packet.

Tears fell down Aspen’s cheeks as he went limp in the vampire’s hold, finally losing strength. He struggled to keep his eyes open, to keep his head from lolling to the side and into the vampire’s grasp, to keep himself from slipping away into unconsciousness, into death.

The vampire squeezed his neck again, this time harder. A horrible crunching sound filled Aspen’s ears, and everything finally went black.

. . .

Aspen gasped awake, hands instinctively flying to his neck to get air- to stop the bleeding—

…That wasn’t there. There was no puncture wound, no blood, not even a scab. Just smooth scars over his skin from where the vampire had scratched him and drank from.

He took a deep, long breath, closing his eyes as sweet refreshing air filled his lungs. He breathed out, and in, and out again. A steady pace to calm his racing heart.

The room was dark again, and the vampire didn’t seem to be in there anymore. He must’ve left after Aspen… died. Maybe that was a good thing. Though, he was still incredibly hungry. And thirsty. And his captor was the only one who could give him that necessity.

He cringed thinking about the last thing he remembered, that moment with the vampire. He shouldn’t be so scared of him. He had to stand up for himself and fight back, that’s what Lyle would have told him if she were there.

He didn’t know what time it was or how long he waited for, but when the basement door opened again, Aspen swallowed his nerves and ran towards the stairs, wasting no time in going as far as the chain would allow him. He was standing on the second step and holding on to the railing, his left leg held out in the air a little bit due to the chain pulling on it.

“H-hey,” Aspen said, looking up at the vampire. “Let me out, I’m so hungry!” He pulled against the chain, not caring about the cold metal digging into his skin, and pushed his arms against the railing as if trying to heave himself up the stairs. “I can’t- can’t take it anymore! Let me go!”

The vampire was standing at the top of the stairs, his entire body cast in a haunting shadow from the light behind him, making him nothing but a looming silhouette. He took a silent step down the stairs, and another.

“Brave little corpse today, huh?” The vampire growled, his two red eyes glowing bright in the darkness. He seemed to be in a different mood today, one that sent a shiver down Aspen’s spine.

“I’m starving. I don’t care what you do to me, I just need food! Please!” Aspen cried.

He didn’t even see it coming.

The vampire pounced, leaping down the stairs and slamming his body straight into Aspen, sending both of them tumbling into the hard concrete floor. Aspen cried out in pain, his entire body hurting from the inhuman force pinning him to the ground. The vampire quickly stepped back and shoved Aspen into the wall by his mattress. After struggling to catch his breath, Aspen’s eyes went wide when he noticed the vampire walking towards him.

“W-Wait!” Aspen exclaimed. “Please don’t hurt me—” He squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating another blow to the head. When that didn’t come, he blinked and saw the vampire crouched down next to him, inspecting the chain around his ankle.

“This chain is much too long.” Before Aspen could do anything, the vampire wrenched it through what had it fastened to the wall, effectively shortening the length Aspen was allowed to walk, leaving the chain only a few feet long now. Aspen could only move around the mattress, and that was it. “Much better.”

He was about to curl into a ball, but he remembered his goal. He needed to stand up for himself. He needed to show him that he wasn’t weak. He blinked back his tears and stared at his captor. “L-let me go!” he demanded. “I’m hungry! Really really hungry. I need food. You can’t just keep me down here!”

“Aspen,” Silas growled, turning to face him. “Are you really making me repeat myself again? You’re mine. My food, to do with as I please.”

His mind raced, frantically trying to come up with anything at all that could change his mind. “If you’re going to- to keep me here, you need to feed me! You can’t just k-keep me starving forever! It hurts! Please!”

“You haven’t died from starvation yet, so why would I waste time and resources letting you eat if you don’t need to? Seems like a big fucking waste to me.”

Aspen looked up, pleading with his eyes that were filled with anger and confusion. his breath hitched in his throat. It was getting harder and harder to be brave. “You ca-can’t do this. You can’t!”

“I can do whatever I want to you.”

Tears fell down his cheeks. “P-please!” he sobbed. “I’m begging you, is that what you want? Please. I’m starving, I—”

“Stop screaming. Holy shit, you’re insufferable. Did you know that?” The vampire turned away from him and started walking towards the other side of the room. “I usually love hearing the horrified screams of my prey, but today isn’t one of those days.”

“Wh-where are you going? —Wait!”

In a flash, the vampire was back to kneeling in front of him, shoving a piece of cloth into his mouth and tying it around his head, effectively gagging him. Aspen reached up to pull it out, but winced when his captor grabbed his wrist and roughly twisted his arms behind his back. The vampire tied his hands together with rope, and pulled it tight. Aspen whimpered as it dug into his skin.

He screamed through the gag, and his captor slapped him roughly across the face, shutting him up. His head shot to the side, and he whimpered as his cheek stung in pain.

Cold, inhumanly strong hands grasped at his shoulders as the monster bit down into his neck, ripping and tearing the flesh away like a deranged animal. He cried out, but there was nothing he could do to stop this. It wasn’t long after that Aspen’s world went dark yet again.

. . .

Time seemed to stretch on in one big blur. The vampire came to the basement to feed, to kill, and throw any and all kinds of hurt or pain into the mix that he wanted. No matter how much Aspen pleaded for it to stop, that only seemed to fuel the vampire’s cruelty. He mocked him for being weak, for being unable to do anything against him. His captor would either kill him or leave him alone in the basement until he came back hours later, alive but in no way living.

It was always dark, and Aspen didn’t know how many days were spent down there. He thought that if the vampire fed once a day, he’d been in the basement for at least five. Five days without food or water. Five days trapped in a cold, dark room with nothing but his worried, anxious thoughts to distract him from the agonizing pain. Not to mention however long he’d been in the morgue before this, however long ago he’d died the first time.

But he could be wrong; he really didn’t know how long he’d been trapped here for. It could have been a few days or a few months and he’d have no way to tell. He wondered if anyone was looking for him, or where Lyle was, or if he’d ever be able to see the sun again. Surely, he’d be rescued in no time. He was going to get out of here, he just had to wait.

He laid his cheek against the rough mattress, arms still tied behind his back and gag stuck firmly in his mouth. Even though he tried to stay optimistic, sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was his life now. Cursed to be trapped starving in a basement and used as a vampire’s bloodbag for all of eternity— and killed, over and over, that too.

He found the actual death to be somewhat… peaceful, as grim as that sounded. It was the only escape he got from the pain before he was forced back into the cold cruelty of the basement— of his life. It was an unwelcome distraction, but it was at least something. He always hated having nothing to do, being bored out of his mind. At least now he got a break every now and again.

Then, for the first time in days, he heard something new. Aspen’s ears perked up, listening closely to the faint, muffled noises coming from above him. Voices. Multiple voices upstairs. He stood up, despite his weak and starved body begging him to rest, and stumbled towards however far the chain would let him.

He shook his head vigorously, rubbing his chin against his shoulder and finally, finally getting that disgusting gag out of his mouth.

And then, he screamed. His throat was sore and raspy, dry from the lack of water, but that didn’t stop him. He called for help as loud as he could, hoping to get the attention of whoever was up there.

The voices suddenly stopped as Aspen’s frantic pleas rang through the air. There was a loud sigh, and the snap of someone’s fingers. Eerie silence filled the air except for the all-too-familiar footsteps walking towards the basement.

The door swung open violently, and Aspen flinched back at the noise, chain rattling behind him.

“What do you want?” The vampire hissed, flicking the lightswitch on and slamming the door shut behind him. Aspen had never seen someone look so angry. He cowered away as primal terror flooded through his veins.

“I- I, th-the people! There are people up there! Help, help! HELP!”

The vampire did nothing but stand there silently, staring at him with that creepy smile on his face. “Keep screaming, Aspen. See where that gets you.”

“But there’s… What…what did you do to them?”

“Mind control. Their dumb little minds don’t belong to them right now, and they certainly won’t rescue you.”

“You can… control people’s minds?”

“Of course I can,” his captor hissed. “And the next time you try to ask other humans for help, I won’t be so merciful to them.”

“Were they looking for me?”

The vampire couldn’t help but laugh. “No, they weren’t looking for you. They were looking for directions.”

“Directions?”

“Yes. We are in the middle of fucking nowhere, by the way.” The vampire took a step down the stairs. “And nobody will come looking for you. You’re dead to the world, already buried six feet under. And scream all you want, there’s no civilization in miles. That gag was just there to keep you from annoying me all night and day with your incessant whining. I almost never see people out here unrelated to my business.”

“But when I do,“ the vampire continued, “oh, you have no idea how hard it is to resist feeding on them. I’m glad you’re awake now. I deserve a snack for having to deal with those insufferable morons.”

“And you,” the vampire drawled, walking closer and causing Aspen to flinch back in fear, stumbling onto the mattress behind him, “deserve a punishment for spitting that gag out and trying to call for help. You’re mine. You do not try to call for help. You are not getting out of this. Get that through your thick skull before I bash it in.”

Aspen breathed heavily. The vampire was standing a few feet from him, but was more menacing than ever before.

“Say it, little corpse. Tell me you’re mine. I wanna hear it from you.”

Tears pricked in Aspen’s eyes, cheeks going red. “I-I’m, I’m y-yours.”

“And you’ll never try calling for help again?”

“N-No,” he said, shaking his head and sniffling.

“Good. Now enough chit-chat. C’mere.”

Aspen let out a sob and crawled forward, palms and knees aching against the cold stone floor. He crumbled in despair as Silas leaned down to feed again. Sharp fangs sank into the same spot on his neck, blood started flowing out and into the mouth of his captor. He grew even more lightheaded, squeezing his eyes shut and silently begging for unconsciousness.

…Only, death didn’t come this time. The vampire pulled away early, licking his lips and stepping back with a sour expression.

Aspen dared to peek an eye open and look up at him. “W-wh-what are—”

“Your blood. It’s not as good as it was before. What happened?”

“I-I don’t- I don’t know.” When the vampire yanked a hand to his hair, Aspen sputtered frantically to get his words out, wracking his mind for what it could possibly be. “M-maybe it’s- maybe it’s because I haven’t- haven’t eaten anything?”

The vampire stared at him for a moment in consideration. Then, his hand let up, and he stepped away. “Hm. I guess that makes sense.”

“Y-yeah, p-please, I really need food. I need it.”

“…I don’t have any human food here. I’ll have to get some the next time I go to town.”

“...Oh,” Aspen said quietly. “B-but you’ll still feed me? Th-thank you.” He looked up at his captor with hope in his eyes for the first time, and finally let his body relax, as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He’d finally get to be fed.

“Yeah. Holy shit, you’re pathetic.”

“C-can I at least ha-have a blanket in the meantime?”

“No. Can’t let you get too comfortable, can I? Or you’ll forget your place.” The vampire chuckled, patting his head in mock affection.

“But it- It’s so cold here…”

“If you’re suffering so much, why don’t I just kill you now and make the pain stop?”

“N-no, please don’t kill me,” Aspen whispered.

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“W-wait!—”

But he had already put the gag in place, and tied it tightly around his head, more so than before. Aspen let out a muffled whimper as the vampire walked up the stairs and out of the basement. The light was turned out, the door slammed shut, leaving Aspen in suffocating darkness once again. All alone.

His stomach growled. The cold bit at his bare skin. His throat ached with thirst and the lingering pain of the bite.

Maybe he should’ve accepted the offer.

— 

i’m not like super proud of this one but i think it’s as good as i’m gonna get it so here u go :3 future chapters will be better (and probably shorter), i’ve written a whoooole bunch of this recently and i’m realllyy gonna try to get regular updates now!! yayyyy

taglist: @inkwell-and-dagger @vidawhump @taterswhump @toyybox @andithewhumper

@creppersfunpalooza @bottlecapreader @whumpsday @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @kisa-writes

@mintflavouredwhump @fleur-a-whump @starfields08000

let me know if you want to be removed or added to the taglist!

[whump-or-whatever]

Whump Vignette #3

Contents: car accident, trapped in car, stranded in the snow, freezing temperatures, head injury, leg injury, rescue, worried caretaker

Whumpee was driving down a backroad just after 6 pm. It was winter, which meant it was already pitch black. Whumpee squinted, trying to see through the flurrying snow. The roads had been cleared at some point, but the continuing snow left a layer of dirty slush on the uneven pavement.

“How bad are the roads?” came Caretaker’s voice from the car stereo.

“Bit slushy but not too bad. Visibility is crap though.” Whumpee slowed down as they approached a gradual bend in the road.

There was the sound of Caretaker moving around on the their end of the line. “Yeah, sounds about right. Well, just be careful and take your time. Text me when you get there.”

“Will do, talk to you later.” Whumpee responded.

“Bye.” There was a beep as Caretaker hung up.

Whumpee continued driving, their eyes focused on following the tracks of whatever car had gone before them. Every so often their tire would catch on the edge of the tracks and Whumpee would let off the gas, slowing down until they re-gained traction.

All was well until, out of the white wall of snow emerged a large pickup truck. It came speeding around the corner, cutting into Whumpee’s lane.

“Fuck,” Whumpee cursed in panic. They hit the brakes and felt their anti-locks kick in, trying to gain some semblance of traction on the snow-covered road. The truck showed no signs of moving back into its lane, as if the driver didn’t even see Whumpee’s car. Wanting to avoid a head-on collision, Whumpee swerved to the right, barely missing being sideswiped by the truck.

Unfortunately, the side of their car connected with the snow bank on the side of the road. Whumpee cranked the wheel back to the left, which resulted in them spinning out whilst sliding down the road. Before Whumpee knew it, their car had crossed the road and slammed into the snow bank on the opposite side. The momentum sent them straight through it and into a deep ditch. There was an abrupt impact which threw Whumpee’s head forward into the steering wheel and everything went black.

• • •

Caretaker eyed the clock. 8:30 pm.

Whumpee had promised to text them when they arrived at their destination. Even assuming that they had gotten distracted upon arrival and forgotten to text right away, they should have been in contact by now. Caretaker was starting to get worried.

By the time the clock hit 8:45 pm, Caretaker decided enough was enough and they called Whumpee. The line rang only once before the voicemail message played. “You have reached Whumpee, please leave a message after the tone.”

Caretaker hung up and called again, to the same result.

Now seriously worried, Caretaker grabbed their keys and jacket and headed out into the frigid night.

• • •

Whumpee awoke to a pounding in their head. It took them a moment to realize that the groaning noise in their ears was coming from them. Cracking their eyes open, Whumpee couldn’t see much of anything. They raised their hand to their head and winced as they made contact with a painful gash on their forehead. It was then that they remembered, the corner, the truck, the accident.

Whumpee grabbed the door handle and tried to push the door open, but it didn’t budge. They undid their seatbelt and tried throwing their shoulder into it, but still nothing.

Whumpee started to push themself up in their seat, intending to climb over to try the other doors, only to be stopped by a bolt of pain which flared up from their right ankle and tore through their leg to their hip. They cried out and stilled, waiting for the pain to abate. Reaching down, Whumpee found that their foot had become trapped under their brake pedal, which had been crushed to the floor in the accident.

Whumpee could feel where the metal had already cut into their ankle, and they realized that their foot was extremely cold. Actually, their whole body was extremely cold, but their foot in particular was freezing and almost numb.

Whumpee’s heart rate kicked up. They felt around in the passenger seat, looking for their phone, but they couldn’t find it. Given the force of the impact, it could be anywhere. They were just glad the windshield had remained intact, so they weren’t directly covered in snow.

Finally realizing how dire their situation was, Whumpee felt a choked sob rip from their chest. They could only hope that Caretaker would come looking and find them before it was too late.

• • •

Meanwhile, Caretaker was driving carefully down the road. The snow had let up, so they could scan the ditches closely as they went. Luckily they knew the usual path Whumpee took to get to the place they had been going.

Caretaker had been driving for some time when they came across an unusual set of tire tracks. Panic rose in their chest as they pulled over and threw their hazard lights on, jumping out of the car. Caretaker followed the tracks to the edge of the road and looked down into the ditch. There was a trail of compacted snow and broken car parts leading down to a large pile of snow with just a sliver of black paint reflecting in the moonlight.

“Oh my god,” Caretaker muttered before sliding down into the ditch. They lost control of their descent at some point and ended up slamming into the hood of the vehicle. Scrambling onto their knees, they began digging the snow out from around the driver side door.

• • •

Whumpee was struggling to keep their eyes open. They were so cold they didn’t even have the energy to shiver any more. Their skin was burning with the cold.

Through the haze, whumpee heard a thump from above them. They tried to focus, but found it very difficult. Their eyes fell shut.

• • •

Caretaker managed to clear out the snow enough to look through the window. They could barely make out the shape of Whumpee inside the car. “Hey, Whumpee!” Caretaker shouted, banging on the window.

Whumpee’s eyes opened slightly, gaze listing and out of focus.

Caretaker renewed their efforts. In just a few minutes they managed to get enough snow cleared away to pry the door open.

Caretaker peeled their glove off and cupped their hand on Whumpee’s cheek. They were mortified to find them so cold. “Oh my god, Whumpee…”

Caretaker slipped their hands under Whumpee’s arms and began to pull them out of the car, but stopped short as Whumpee let out a pained whimper.

“Shit, Whumpee, you have to help me out here.” Caretaker said despairingly.

“My leg,” Whumpee whispered so quietly Caretaker almost didn’t hear them.

Caretaker jumped into action, leaning down to take stock of the situation. They found the problem quickly, seeing that Whumpee’s foot was trapped. They grabbed the brake pedal and, putting their foot against the doorframe, put all their weight into yanking it away from the floor.

Caretaker didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more concerned that Whumpee didn’t seem to feel as much pain from the action as they probably should have. In any case, Caretaker managed to bend the metal away enough that they could pull Whumpee’s foot free.

Once again hooking their arms under Whumpee’s, Caretaker managed to drag them out of the car.

“I’m going to need your help to get us back to my car. Avoid putting weight on your injured leg, I’ll support you as much as I can.” Caretaker ducked under Whumpee’s arm and the two of them started the trek up out of the ditch.

Whumpee was incredibly uncoordinated, but they tried to use their good leg to push off the ground as much as possible. Thankfully the snow had been packed down enough by the car’s descent that the two of them could plant their heels firmly to climb up. Still, it was a struggle with Caretaker essentially dragging Whumpee up a slippery slope.

Miraculously, they made it. Caretaker laid Whumpee down in the back seat of their car. After grabbing a blanket out of their trunk, Caretaker hopped in the front seat and cranked the heat. They turned around and leaned into the back seat awkwardly, wrapping the blanket around Whumpee tightly. “Hang in there, I’m gonna get you to the hospital as fast as possible.”

Whumpee nodded groggily and Caretaker turned back around, putting the car in gear. Doing a three point turn, they headed back in the direction of the nearest hospital.

• • •

Fin

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Hero had noticed that Villain seemed a little distracted during their fight—not bantering as much as usual, fighting back halfheartedly. Still, they had expected Villain to dodge their attack in time. But when Hero sent out another blast of their ice powers, it hit Villain square in the chest, knocking them into the wall behind them. 

Hero gasped as they watched Villain crumple to the ground, clutching at their chest. “Oh my god.” 

Villain groaned, staring down at the ice spreading across the front of their suit. “Fuck. You got me good, huh?” they forced out. The laugh that followed was on the verge of hysterical. 

“God, Villain, I’m so sorry,” Hero said, rushing to them. They knelt down in front of Villain, pushing their shaking hands out of the way so Hero could inspect the damage. Ice had pierced through their suit, seeping into Villain’s chest. Thanks to their own fire powers, it most likely wouldn’t be fatal—Villain's body heat had already begun counteracting the ice. But it looked like it hurt. 

Villain’s eyes were distant when they looked up at Hero, and their lips were tinged blue. “My fault,” they said, teeth chattering. “Should’ve been paying attention.” 

Hero shook their head. “No, no it’s not your fault. Shit, I'm sorry, I knew you were having an off day and I still…” 

Villain wrapped their arms around themself as shivers wracked their body. “S-so cold. And tired.” 

“You have to stay awake,” Hero instructed, though it came out as more of a plea. “Keep your eyes open, okay?” 

The ice was beginning to melt away already, but the effects would probably last longer. “You’ve g-got your chance to t-turn me in now,” Villain said, forcing themself to keep their eyes on Hero. 

Hero sighed, pushing Villain’s hair back. “Not gonna happen. I’m taking you home where you can have some hot soup and lots of blankets, and then rest. And maybe when you’re feeling better, you can tell me what had you so distracted today.” 

“Why?” Villain asked incredulously. 

“I did this. Now I'm going to fix it.” Hero didn’t tell them about the guilt and the looming fear that always followed them. The constant underlying threat of their powers being too strong. Or that they might lose control, like they had today. One of their worst fears had just come true and it was only by luck, or maybe a miracle, that Hero had hit the one person who couldn’t be killed by their ice powers. 

“If you w-wanted me to c-come home with you, you c-could've just asked,” Villain joked. 

Hero couldn’t help but smile—at least Villain was with it enough to still tease them. “Don’t fool yourself. Once you’re all better, we go back to being enemies.” 

“Yeah. Obviously.” Hero pretended not to notice the way Villain’s smile faltered. “You’d have t-to take me to dinner f-first, anyways. I’m not that easy.” 

“Well,” Hero said, “I can at least make you chicken noodle soup, so hopefully that counts for something. Now, come on, let’s see if you can stand…” 

[whumpitisthen]

Masterlist

Grab your character and shove their head underwater. Keep them pinned until they breathe in the water. Pull them up and let them splutter and cough. Push them under again. Pull them up. Let them use their precious seconds of air to beg. "Ple-Please, please stop — " Push them under again. Feel them squirm. Pull them up sooner; they couldn't hold their breath long enough. Once more for good measure. Don't let them up until they nearly suffocate. Pull them up and throw them to the ground, let them cough up all the water they swallowed. Pull them into your lap. They are shivering, the cold water having seeped deep into their bones. They are crying. They are going to try to pull away. Don't let them. Hush them gently. Card through their hair. Let them relax under your hands. Then drag them back over to the water. Put their nose right above the surface and keep their head right there. Let them imagine how it will feel to be pushed under again, held there, pulled up just so they can drown again. They will fight, they will sob, they will plead and barter and yell. They will be scared. Answer them with an order. "Take a deep breath for me." Watch them struggle to decide if they should. They probably won't be able to take one deep enough if they tried. Push them under. Watch them squirm. Repeat.