#accidental whumpee

[mintflavouredwhump]

A whumpee getting caught in a bear trap in the middle of a snowy forest at night. Its metal teeth sinks into their flesh, drawing out a sharp cry from their lips. Their blood stains the snow like dark ink.

Whimpering in agony, Whumpee can barely look at their mangled limb without a shudder slipping down their spine. What's worse is that their wounds could be infected- I mean, who knows who or what was handling the trap before poor old Whumpee came along. It might not even have been sterilised in the first place.

On top of that, it's snowing and the lack of movement is making them feel colder by the minute. Very soon, shivers rack Whumpee's entire body and the thick coat they're wearing isn't enough to keep them warm.

However, they can't just prise the trap off their leg and merrily skip away like nothing had happened. The resulting blood loss could be dangerous and with no one around to help, there's even a chance that it would be fatal.

So Whumpee has two options: rip off the trap and suffer blood loss at the cost of freedom or stay still and hope for the best, trying to stifle their screams.

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #56: Else

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery and lots of it, angst, sickfic, accidental emotional whump, fear of starvation, vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee (turned caretaker), reunions

Whumpmas in July Day 18: "Or else"

i'm sorry for being so slow with k&j chapters! i'm going to try to be quicker with them in the future. here's one people have been waiting for for a very long time!

-

“You’re sick.”

Jim blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You’re sick,” Kane repeated, taking another sip from the bowl. One of his last bowls before he was to start finding his own elsewhere. “I can taste it.”

“What? What kind of sick? Is it serious?” Jim asked with increasing urgency. Kane could see it in his eyes: he knew fear, and he hated to see it in Jim.

He wanted more than anything to reassure him, but he couldn’t lie. “I-I don’t know?” he admitted. “I don’t know much of human illnesses. You seem… fine?”

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” Jim grabbed his coat. “I’ll be back soon. I gotta… go to the doctor, or something. Door,” he warned.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll be okay! You can’t even feel it! You’re a healthy young man!” Kane assured him, ducking into the kitchen.

“Thanks for warning me!” Jim’s voice was laden with nerves. A flash of sunlight made Kane shiver, and he only returned to the living room when it was gone.

Kane knew what this meant: Jim would likely not finish out the week. This was his last meal given. He would have to go to vampire territory tonight, or else he would have nothing to eat come tomorrow. He had to find blood tonight, or else he’d starve. He’d go back to that horrible, empty state, always wanting, always in pain.

He knew Jim wouldn’t really let that happen, but it wasn’t fair to rely on him for blood forever, either. Kane had taken enough, with and without permission. It was Jim’s turn to rest.

Still, the fear of hunger never left him. It was a part of him now, permanently, no matter how much he fed.

And this meant one thing. The thing he’d been putting off and dreading since Jim set him free.

He would have to go to vampire territory and talk to his parents. He knew already that it would not go over well. Father would be either furious or crushingly disappointed that he’d allowed himself to be humiliated by humans, and he wasn’t sure which was worse. Mother would undoubtedly be the latter. He wondered, not for the first time, if they preferred him ‘dead’.

It shouldn’t matter. He knew now that they weren’t… good people. He could see that. He had a new family of sorts, now that Jim had taken him in.

But Jim wasn’t his legal next of kin, and Jim wasn’t the one he had to ask if he wanted his money returned so he could buy blood.

He could always get a job. But it seemed ridiculous to do when he had money sitting right there, and he would likely be found by his parents at some point anyway. There was no avoiding it forever.

Kane drank the bowl down quickly.

-

It was a flu, apparently. Nothing life-threatening, but it set Jim’s anxieties alight. His parents had died of illness, he explained.

While Kane had managed to catch it early, Jim started to devolve within a few hours of arriving home.

Kane knocked on his bedroom door. “Jim? Can I come in?”

“Ugh. Yeah,” he agreed.

Carefully balancing the tray, he entered. He found Jim curled up in bed, looking miserable.

“I’ve brought you lunch.” He’d been practicing his human food skills. He was still quite afraid of the stove, so though he used it when feeling especially brave, he mainly stuck to things that didn’t require cooking. He’d written down several combinations of foods that humans found appetizing, which could often be served in between slices of bread as a ‘sandwich’.

But he needed a tray instead of a plate, because despite his strength, he simply didn’t have enough hands to carry the six cups of water circled around it.

“Lotta water,” Jim noted weakly, grabbing a glass and taking a sip when Kane brought it close. His hand shook, the liquid threatening to spill. Kane watched it close, ready to steady it in a heartbeat if Jim needed him to.

He spoke gently, like he was worried speaking too loud would break Jim in his fragile state. “...Like I’d mentioned, I don’t know much about human illness. Most of what I know comes from you. I just remember… you wanted a lot of water, last time.”

He thought about that time a lot. How he was so close to losing Jim, because he was too proud to listen.

“Ah. Yeah.” Jim wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I remember.”

Kane set the tray down. “I should have taken better care of you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I mean–I shouldn’t have had you in the first place, but I did, and you were my responsibility, and I didn’t care for you like I should have.” A hint of tears in his eyes, he took Jim’s unusually-sweaty hand. “I’ll do better this time. Anything you need, I’ll be there.”

That earned a small smile from Jim. “Guess it isn’t so bad being waited on. ‘Specially because you can’t get sick, right?” The smile faded. “…Right?”

“I can’t,” Kane assured him. “You don’t need to worry. Just rest, and I’ll take care of anything you need.”

Jim huffed an almost-laugh. “You really changed, man.”

-

Liz did come over to visit come nightfall, which was good, since despite his promises, Kane had to leave. He didn’t like the thought of leaving Jim alone at night. He knew it made him scared, and Jim deserved to never feel afraid ever again. She brought a container of soup, a yellow liquid with colorful plants and large white orbs floating in it.

He waited, patient, until Liz emerged from Jim’s room. “Liz?”

“Hey. Thanks for looking after him,” Liz said.

“Of course!” The praise spread warmly through him. “There’s, um, something I wanted to talk to you about, if you have the time? Advice, I suppose.”

“Shoot,” she encouraged, flopping over on the couch.

Kane took a deep breath. “So, um, I assume now is a good time to start getting my own blood.”

“Yyyyeah.” Liz shot a glance to the stairs leading to Jim’s room. “I’d say that’s about right.”

“Blood… isn’t free. I have the money–had the money, but I’ve likely been assumed dead for many years. I’ll need to go to my parents to get it back,” he explained. “My parents are not kind people, I’ve come to realize.”

Liz raised an eyebrow, but politely refrained from making any comments about his former obliviousness. “You think they won’t give it back? Isn’t there, like, laws? This can’t be the first time this has happened with vampires, you guys are too good at not dying.”

“No! No, that’s not it, they’d give it back. It’s just, um, they’ll be… quite upset with me, I think. Especially my father.” He sighed. “I didn’t want to talk about it with Jim. I was worried he would feel pressured into giving me more blood than he’s comfortable with. I don’t know. It shouldn’t be as big a deal as it is. I’ve been through so much worse, I don’t understand why this is so terrifying. I suppose I’ve just never failed this badly before.”

“Hey, you made it out of five years with those monsters, alive. Bet there’s not a lot of vampires who could say that,” Liz pointed out.

“Ah, that’s just… not how Father would see it,” Kane said vaguely. Humans were supposed to be the weak ones. The fact that it took him five years to be freed, and he couldn’t even do it himself, would make him an utter embarrassment in their eyes.

And it was all because he couldn’t use persuasion. Everything they’d always believed about him, proven true.

Liz pursed her lips, lost in thought for a moment. “I don’t remember my parents that well,” she admitted. “I know yours suck pretty bad. I don’t think you have to admit more than you need to, right? Like, do they even need to know where you’ve really been? You could just make something up, for the sake of keeping the peace.”

“Make something up…” Kane murmured. He shook his head. “I’m not a very good liar. They’d see right through me. It’s fine, actually, the more I talk about it, the more I realize I’m being a bit ridiculous.” He forced a laugh. “It’s one uncomfortable conversation and then I can come back home.”

“You’ve got this.” Liz patted him lightly on the back, a modification from her usual clap she’d learned tended to scare him. “You’re tough.”

Kane certainly didn’t feel ‘tough’.

“Thank you. It was nice to at least… get it out of my system. Oh, and congratulations. Jim told me about you and Laken.”

Liz smiled. “After what happened, I just knew I had to say something, you know? If they could just be taken from me at any moment. Stuff happens. People die. I didn’t want something to happen to one of us before I could tell them how I feel.”

She stood. “I can give you one more night’s worth, maybe two. If you need some time to think about it and all.”

Kane startled. He and Liz had grown far more amicable over the past months, but he hadn’t expected this from her.

Maybe he should have. It wasn’t the first time. He thought of Jim, on that first night, vehemently denying Liz’s offer to provide blood, vowing to do it himself.

“...Thank you. That means so, so much to me. It’s alright, though. I’ll go tonight,” he decided.

“Good luck. We’ll be here when you get back,” she promised.

And that was all he really needed, in the end.

Kane got up, heading to the door with a quick glance back to make sure it was alright. For the freedom he’d earned, he hadn’t gone more than ten feet from the house since he’d returned with Laken. But of course, Liz made no move to stop him. “I’ll see you soon.”

-

The night was as beautiful as ever, even in the cool autumn air. He liked it better this way, in fact. It made it more comfortable to wear more clothing, the long pants and long sleeves and jacket he liked, especially when he ran. When he went this fast, he hardly felt the cold, and his mind was occupied elsewhere.

What if his parents made demands of him in exchange for their help? What if they expected him to return to vampire territory, to isolate himself out of the way in a socially-acceptable manner? Now that he’d tasted true companionship, he almost couldn’t bear to give it up. And what about Jim? Ever since Laken’s abduction, he’d been more scared at night. The very least Kane owed him was his protection.

His petty worries disappeared the instant he realized he could hear a vehicle coming closer.

Kane ran faster, opposite the sound. He’d likely been pushing fifty miles an hour before, and could make sixty if he tried–but he was out of practice, and the vehicle was faster.

A glance behind him showed moonlight glinting off a silver crossbow.

“I have permission!” he wailed as the off-roader gained, heart threatening to burst from his chest. This couldn’t happen, not again, no. Jim and Liz wouldn’t even think to look for him until a day had passed, a day that could easily be spent baking in the hot sun. “Liz Lieberman granted me permission to cross! Please, I didn’t do anything! Mercy!”

“Kane?” an unfamiliar voice called. The vehicle caught up to him, but there was no attack. “Oh shit, it’s you!” the driver said. “It’s so dark, I almost didn’t recognize you from the picture Laken showed us. Thanks for bringing ‘em back.”

Kane slowed, just a bit. “What?” he squeaked, tears streaming down his face.

The hunter in the passenger seat elbowed his partner, making quick movements with his hands that Kane could not understand. A signed language of some sort, he assumed. Though he didn’t know much about such things, other than that spoken orders under persuasion often didn’t work on humans who utilized it.

“Uh, my partner wants to know if you’re good? Like, you’re alright?” The driver asked. “Did we scare you? Sorry. Just, uh, you know, gotta be quick with the other guys. One second wasted and you miss ‘em, and that’s someone’s whole life, y’know.”

“Oh. Um, yes, you’d–you’d frightened me. I’m sorry.” Kane wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for. “Am I… free to go, sirs?”

“Yeah! Yeah, you can go… sir? Shoot, don’t let us keep you,” the hunter assured.

The one in the passenger seat made more hand-signs, waving him goodbye after. “Nice to meet you!” the other translated, finally driving away.

Kane picked up speed again and didn’t stop until he was sure he’d left the border far behind. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

He was so close to going back to the pain. If they hadn’t recognized him, he would have been skewered with silver–likely soon killed, not tortured, given they were from Liz’s guild, but still, he would have died in pain. No matter how hard he breathed, he felt like he couldn’t get enough air, and he wasn’t sure if it was that he’d been sprinting for too long or the sheer horror.

He wanted Jim. He wanted Jim to hold him and tell him everything was alright, that he was safe, that no one was going to hurt him. But Jim was miles and miles away, and could not help him here.

And he couldn’t cry on the ground forever. He was burning moonlight, and he needed blood.

Kane forced himself to his feet and wrapped his arms around him. If he squeezed his eyes tight, he could pretend he wasn’t alone, for just a moment.

After a minute like that, he started running once more.

-

By the time Kane reached his parents’ estate, he’d mostly calmed down. It was hard to feel as though hunters would ambush him out of nowhere when he went deep enough into vampire territory to see buildings and people. Any hunter here would be apprehended in seconds.

He touched the gate, brass-coated, though he knew there was silver underneath. There seemed to be some sort of electronic device attached to it, a new addition since his last visit, but he wasn’t sure how to use it. He could climb it, or simply shout, and one of the staff would likely hear him. If he wanted to be extra polite, which he did, he could simply stand here until someone came or went and ask to be let in.

And then that would be it. Kane would be standing face-to-face with his parents. He would accept Father’s ire without complaint. He’d had worse, he reminded himself, even when it came to the comparable. The hunters had spit on him while calling him worthless, ground his face into the floor while forcing him to decry himself as beneath them. It had been so much worse.

His hand shook against the gate.

You’ve really changed, man.

Had he? If he was still back here, ready to take whatever judgments his parents threw at him, debase himself and eagerly beg for their forgiveness, had he really changed? There were humans in there. Captive, hurt humans who he could never in a thousand years be able to free if he tried, locked away in their quarters. What happened to all his regrets? His vows that he would never associate with anything of the sort again?

What would he have done differently here before, if he’d realized back then everything he knew now?

Kane left.

-

It took him a bit to find it, he hadn’t been to this town before, but it wasn’t far, and he knew the address.

There was a different kind of dread this time. If he was rejected here, it might be even worse than his parents. But as he rang the doorbell, he knew this was what he had to do.

The man who answered looked almost exactly the same as the last time he’d seen him, thirteen years ago. The same dark skin, perfect hair, typically garishly-colorful shirt.

Bellamy’s eyes went impossibly wide, as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Kane?”

taglist in reblogs, chapter 57 coming july 30th :)

@whumpmasinjuly

[letitbehurt]

Whumpees who used to be notoriously heavy sleepers, but after their captivity they hardly sleep at all and the smallest sounds jolt them awake.

Caretaker hardly dares to breathe when Whumpee falls asleep around them. They silently threaten anyone within earshot not to make a sound. They protect Whumpee’s rest with a vengeance, because it’s so rare.

[abhainnwhump]

Whumper trained Whumpee to respond to hand signals. A snap means they fight whatever enemy they assign. Tapping three fingers together means they kneel. A raised hand means to go silent. If they don't respond, they get severely punished. Caretaker has a tendency to talk with their hands and accidently triggers Whumpee. They don't know the signal to return them to normal.

[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…” 

[whumpzone]

Whumpee was always kept naked by their captor. Caretaker knew they'd talk about it when they're ready. They'd only had Whumpee for a day or so, and so far they'd just let them sleep. Now, though, they really need to eat.

They knocked on the door to Whumpee's bedroom and immediately heard a gasp, and a thud. Then they heard frantic rustling. Caretaker slowly pushed the door open to see the duvet throw to one side where Whumpee had scrambled out of bed and fell to their knees. Whumpee themself was pulling off all of their new clothes with desperate, trembling fingers. Trying to look presentable before their strange new jailer.

"S-Sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be faster," they promised around uneven breaths. "I shouldn't have worn them, I'm sorry."

Caretaker stayed still, holding the tray of bread and soup in their hands, trying not to scare Whumpee any more while also having to watch them strip away their pyjamas in the freezing winter cold. Their body underneath was sickeningly frail and abused.

In just a few more seconds Whumpee was completely exposed and kneeling on the floor, shivering but docile. "Okay," they mumbled. "I'm ready now."

[echoingalaxies]

Content: self-punishment/injury, conditioned whumpee, trauma

Whumpee got up before dawn to prepare breakfast. For so long now, it had been their routine, something they'd gotten used to doing no matter their condition, no matter the amount of pain or exhaustion weighing them down. Coffee with two sugars, and three fried eggs, would have to be ready to be served precisely at 6, and Whumpee would carry them to Whumper's room where he would still be sleeping, wake him up, and stand there, head bowed, wait until he finished his meal and then take the dirty dishes to the sink.

The few times Whumpee had missed the 6 am mark, even by a couple of minutes, hadn't ended well. Whumpee ran their fingers over the scars they'd received for those mistakes, wide and raised under their shirt, as they waited for the food to cook. They kept glancing at the clock, anxiously, shivering at the thought of being late, but they also couldn't hurry too much because the punishment for undercooked eggs would be just as cruel.

At 5:58, Whumpee had everything set up, and taking the plate and the large mug of coffee in their hands, they started to head toward the stairs, moving slowly for their aching body. Whumpee had become really good at counting in their head, so they knew they were right on time, as they balanced the mug on the plate for a second to knock on Whumper's door.

They pushed the door open, flicked on the lights - so much brighter than Whumpee remembered... He hadn't changed the lightbulb, so had Whumper had to do it himself? How come hadn't he told Whumpee to do it? - and went next to his bed.

"Your breakfast, sir," they said, trying to sound chipper but gentle, humble and happy to be there. "Good morning, sir," they added quickly after, almost having forgotten the proper way of greeting. What has wrong with them today?

Whumper, usually waking up to their voice and demanding to have the food immediately, just pulled the duvet to his chin, face deep buried into pillows. He grunted something inaudible, and Whumpee was left standing there, unsure what to do.

"S-sir? It's morning, sir, time to rise. Are you feeling ill?"

"Shut up," Whumper growled, and his voice was odd, but Whumpee pressed their lips together tightly, afraid to make a sound. "What the fuck are you doing, it's so damn early..."

The plate and the mug were shaking in Whumpee's hands as they began to breathe heavily, panicking. They'd been on time, but they'd made a mistake. They'd made some kind of mistake. Whumper was upset, and oh, when he'd wake up, hell was awaiting for them...

"Please," Whumpee whispered. "I- I'm so sorry. So sorry, sir..."

After a few mess-ups, Whumper had introduced Whumpee to an alternative option when it came to punishments of slipping off schedule or not completing their tasks just as Whumper had told them to. Quicker, easier, and for Whumper, even more fun than getting to carve marks on Whumpee's skin.

He'd love to watch Whumpee be humiliated.

"I don't want to waste my time on you when I have better things to do," Whumper had once said. "Make it simpler for the both of us. You know when you mess up. Why not get the consequenses out of the way? Use whatever's available, as long as you clean up the blood."

Whumper was still under the covers, perhaps falling back to sleep. Whumpee was still confused by the situation, but it seemed like he should've somehow known to not bother him this morning, oh no, they'd done gravely wrong, and there was only two ways out...

And they'd made their choice which route to take.

Whumpee set the plate on the nightstand, and closed their eyes, when with trembling hands, they took the mug of still steaming coffee above their head and spilled it all over themselves. Even as cried out in agony, they kept reminding themselves whatever Whumper would have done to them would've been worse, and with any luck, this would be enough.

Whumper was once again woken up by Whumpee's cries, and bolted up from the bed like he'd been electrocuted. Whumpee felt a sting in their heart. Of course they'd want to watch. Why would they miss the show? Maybe they'd be unsatisfied with their pain and make Whumpee throw themselves down the stairs for good measure.

Whumper cursed loudly and grabbed Whumpee's arm, pulling them out of the room and to the nearest bathroom. He shoved Whumpee under the shower and turned it on, turning the temperature cold. He squeezed Whumpee's arms, shaking them lightly.

"Oh god, Whumpee, why would you do that? What were you thinking?"

Whumpee coughed, the water getting into their mouth. They shivered, from cold and from fear.

Another mistake.

Nothing made sense.

Why was whumper helping him? What was all of this?

Whumpee tried to pry themselves away from Whumper's grip and out of the shower, but Whumper held them still.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry -"

"Wait," he said, sounding concerned rather than angry now. "Oh shit, Whumpee, no, stop that. Look at me. I'm not him."

Whumpee did as they were told and raised their gaze to meet the eyes they expected to be gray and cruel, and was shocked to see hazel, and nothing but kindness.

"I'm not him," he repeated, and Whumpee blinked a few times, letting their eyes take in the rest of the person's face. "Everything is okay. You're home, remember? Safe."

The person had dark circles under their eyes. They had a friendly face, although right now, they wore a worried expression. Whumpee wiped water from their face to see better... their eyes must've been lying to them...

"I..." Whumpee begun, stammering. "S-sorry... I should've let you sleep... I didn't know... I'm sorry..."

"Whumpee, shh." The person reached to turn off the shower and then let go of them to grab a large, thick towel they spread on Whumpee's shoulders. "Don't, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realise it was you. You shouldn't even be walking! I thought it was Teammate just annoying me, I was barely awake, I didn't mean to be harsh towards you."

Whumpee pulled the towel around them, turning their head to look around. They knew this bathroom. They'd been patched up here many times before, years earlier. It was Caretaker's.

They looked at the person in front of them. They knew them. It was coming to them slowly, but they knew them better than anyone.

"Caretaker?"

They smiled. "Yeah. It's me. It's okay. You've been home for a few days now, remember?"

"I... guess."

Caretaker helped Whumpee out of their wet clothes and let them shower privately, washing the coffee off their hair and ease the pain in the burns on their scalp, their face, their shoulders.

When whumpee was ready, they opened the door to let Caretaker in once again. Caretaker sat them down on a little stool and started to treat their injuries, talking in a calming matter throughout the process. Whumpee was still feeling lost, his brain struggling to understand what was real and what was not.

"I'm still so sorry, Whumpee," Caretaker said, spreading something soothing over his burns. "I never should've allowed things to go so far that you'd do this to yourself."

"I didn't want you to hurt me," Whumpee said quietly. Caretaker stilled for a second, then continued rubbing the lotion on Whumpee's skin. Whumpee bit their cheeks. Caretaker, and everybody else, didn't know much about what he'd been through with Whumper. They hadn't had many opportunities to talk that much yet.

"I would never do that." Caretaker leaned in and pressed an unexpected kiss on Whumpee's forehead. Whumpee blushed, though they were grateful it probably was hidden by their already reddened face. No one had done that for... Whumpee didn't even know how long. "No one will ever hurt you here. And you never have to hurt yourself, okay?"

Whumpee wished they could keep that promise. But who was to say what happened this morning wouldn't happen again?

"Yeah," they said. Caretaker's touch was gentle and comforting, and Whumpee remembered them as a trustworthy person.

Only it all wasn't up to Caretaker.

And it wasn't up to Whumpee. They didn't decide to forget they were not living in that nightmare anymore.

But if things were to be like this, would they ever truly get out?

[whumppromptoftheday]

Accidental whumper realizing whumpee’s afraid of them

[generic-whumperz]

There’s this company that makes “Human Dog Beds”

✨It’s giving pet whump✨

(But forreal these do look comfy)

*Plufl, pics taken from their Instagram

[defire]

Asthmatic whumpee

Content: medical abuse, death threats, beating/whipping, accidental whump

(stoic whumpee vibes included)

Gagged whumpee moaning through their nose for help as their lips go numb, they slump and then faint

Going gray in the face as whumper pulls out a whip

Crying causes an asthma attack from too much mucus, so whumpee has to force themselves to stay stoic. (Bonus: whumper decides this means they need to break them.)

Whumper actually trying to keep from triggering an attack because it makes whumpee more numb and feel less

Intentionally triggering an attack and laughing as whumpee begins to fear for their life

Whumper thinking they can last-minute save whumpee's life with an inhaler. Cue an hour of spraying albuterol into their mouth hoping they don't actually die (at that point an inhaler doesn't do much)

"I'll give you your inhaler if you..." "Ha. Try inhaler plus my seven other meds AT HOME. I'm gonna die here."

"If you don't cooperate, I won't give you your meds, and your asthma might just kill you." "Fine. I made my peace with that when I got my diagnosis."

The confusion and headache when you're low on oxygen. Blurry vision.

"whumpee get the fuck up. I can tell when you're faking." *Whumpee trying to claw their way to standing as whumper grabs a cane to beat them into submission*

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumper had managed to capture a fairy-the whumpee, and in their excitement didn’t think twice about treating the whumpee like a specimen to observe and experiment on. The whumper ends up hurting the whumpee, keeping them in captivity despite the fact that the whumpee clearly wanted to leave desperately. The whumper takes a long time to realize how much they’ve harmed the whumpee, and panics when they finally see what they’ve done.

[letitbehurt]

Intimate Whumpers who discover Whumpee’s deepest fear and dig their fingers into the wound.

[abhainnwhump]

(Content warnings: Burning alive, implied death, immortal whumpee)

Everything thinks Whumpee is dead, but they're just in a heavily/magically induced sleep. Whumpee's friends decide to cremate their body. Whumpee wakes up in the chamber they're being burned in and scream to get out, pounding on the case.

Bonus points if they have some form of immortality and they are unable to die, just going through it until Whumpee's friends realize what happened. The trust there is forever strained.

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 1

1. (Jan 01-02) Captivity / Snow / Secret Revealed

cw physical whump/injury, whumper turned caretaker, captive whumpee 

Villain glowered at the struggling captive at their feet. “Well, isn’t this something. When Supervillain said they had a present for me, I was shocked enough as it was. Imagine my surprise when I found out they had managed to capture the pesky little snitch who’s been mucking up all my plans. Selling my information to Superhero and almost getting me caught at that jewel heist last week.” 

A weak noise of protest came from their enemy, likely muffled behind a gag. There was a cloth bag over their head, concealing their identity, and their hands were bound behind their back. It was an exhilarating sight to finally have them kneeling at Villain’s feet, completely at their mercy. 

“What was that?” Villain taunted when they attempted to talk around the gag. “You’ll have to speak up, sweetheart. I’m busy thinking of all the fun I'm going to have with you.” 

They kicked the hero sharply in the side, knocking them onto the ground. With their hands tied behind their back, they had no way of catching themself and their head smacked into the concrete, followed by a choked noise of pain. The hero curled in on themself when Villain’s foot connected with their stomach. It felt so unbelievably good to finally let out their anger on this nuisance who had been giving them so much trouble. 

Villain knelt beside them, grabbing onto the hood that concealed their enemy’s identity. “Now,” they drawled, “let’s see who’s under here. I want to see the fear in your eyes and watch you cry while I teach you a lesson.” 

They pulled the hood off and felt their blood run cold. A familiar pair of eyes blinked up at them, teary and full of betrayal. “Hero?” they asked in disbelief. 

Hero whined, flinching away when Villain hurried to remove the gag. There was a nasty bruise forming on one cheekbone and dried blood under their nose—clearly Supervillain had already had a turn with them before dropping them off at Villain’s lair. 

“Oh my god, Hero, I’m so sorry,” they apologized, hands shaking as they helped the other sit up. Thank God Villain hadn’t gotten any farther. “What’s going on?” 

Hero sniffed, looking up at Villain with a mix of hurt and anger. “You were about to beat the fuck out of me, that’s what’s going on.” 

“No—no, I…” Villain focused on untying Hero’s hands—if they ended up punching Villain once they were free, well, Villain knew they deserved it. “Supervillain told me they had caught the person who’d been selling me out to Superhero. I—I had no idea who they were bringing me.” 

“Supervillain is a filthy liar and an opportunist, don’t you know that by now?” Hero said, rubbing their wrists once Villain finally undid the rope. They hissed in pain, glaring at the angry red marks on their skin. 

Villain pushed their hair back gently, inspecting for damage where Hero’s head had hit the ground. Luckily, it didn’t look too bad—they'd probably just be sore for a bit. “So you’re not the one who’s been selling my info?” 

“You think I would?” Hero asked earnestly, meeting the other’s gaze. “Of course it wasn’t me. It was Supervillain, you idiot.” 

Suddenly, the pieces all fell into place. Fuck, it was all so obvious—Villain really was an idiot, weren’t they? “They were trying to frame you—shift the blame off themself and get me to take you out at the same time.” 

“Two birds,” Hero agreed. 

“I’m going to kill them,” Villain growled, eyes darkening with rage. “I’m going to torture them slowly until they’re begging for my forgiveness and then I'm going to kill them.” 

Hero smirked and punched their arm halfheartedly. “I told you no killing, remember?” 

“Ugh, you’re no fun.” Villain sighed melodramatically. “…Is a little torture okay, though?” 

Hero rolled their eyes. “A tiny bit, I suppose. But can you take me home first? I’m so tired.” 

Villain frowned, cradling Hero’s face in their hands. “Yeah, of course,” they said, more quietly. “I'll take you home, and get you cleaned up and tucked into bed. I’m sorry about all this.” 

“Thank you.” They let Villain pull them into an embrace without protest. “Just make sure to give Supervillain my regards.” 

“Anything for you, Hero.” 

[3-2-whump]

(Re)Living a Nightmare, part 2

<prev next>

You're still here? Okay, it's not gonna get any better for our poor boy. Do read and heed the tags/CW.

Basic Summary if You Decide to Skip

Also please skim this chapter and this chapter if you haven't already, because they will be referenced heavily in the story coming up

TW/CW: rape/noncon, bound and gagged and blindfolded whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, knife play, neither safe nor sane nor consensual, blood (lots of blood), victim blaming, internalized victim blaming, whumpee and whumper unknowingly triggering each other, blunt force trauma to the head (face), panic

NOTE: The inner thoughts and opinions expressed within do not align with those of the author, who themself has never and would never condone such thoughts and opinions in real life. Reader Discretion is advised.

All Thomas asked of him was to change into clothes he wouldn’t mind replacing, which usually meant that whatever Khaled wore would be torn/burned/ stained so irreparably that it’d just be thrown away after. Already based on that request, Khaled could guess he was in for a rough night. He had no idea how much worse it could get until he was blindfolded, bound, gagged, and carried out the apartment and down to the cold garage, where the hard foot-well of the back seat waited for him. The car revved to life, and his restrained body lurched forward as Thomas pulled out of the garage and drove them to fuck knows where.

Eventually they came to a stop, Thomas exchanged some words with the night-shift guard at the old house, and then they kept going until they parked. Khaled slowly started to put the pieces together. They were back at the old house, which probably meant Thomas wanted to take him downstairs, which meant whatever he wanted to do to him would be too messy or too specialized to do back at the apartment. What is he planning? Khaled wondered. He’s asked me to wear my most expendable clothes, he’s tied me up like I used to be when I was recaptured, he’s thrown me into the back like when I was recaptured-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the car door opening. He blindly tilted his head toward the chill of the night and the distant sound of frogs singing. A pair of calloused hands hauled him up from the foot-well of the back seat and slung him over a broad shoulder. “Thought you could escape me this time, did you?” his master’s voice purred in his ear.

A pit of dread competed with the chill of the early spring night in his bones as Khaled realized what all this preparation had meant. Master wants to roleplay my escape attempts. He began shivering, though not just because of the cold. A warm hand rested on his buttocks to steady him as he felt himself being carried inside, through the hallway, and to the front of a very familiar door. Reliving his failed escape attempts but with an added sexual element was one of Khaled’s recurring nightmares. What cruel irony was this, that he had begged so enthusiastically no more than half an hour ago for this man to make his nightmare come true?

The familiar creak of a door opening preceded the dusty, dried-blood smell coming from the stairs leading down into the cellar. Khaled pleaded through the rag stuffed in his mouth and the tape sealed over his lips as they descended the stairs step by concrete step. He tugged at the zip ties binding his wrists and ankles, but all that did was dig the hard plastic further into his flesh.

The cellar in the basement was the only room in Luciano Antonio Costa’s old house that didn’t get renovated when they converted the rest of it into an office space. Mainly because its purpose as a room for torture and interrogation never went obsolete. Khaled didn’t have to see it; he’d been down in the T&I cellar enough times to have the layout committed to memory. Dusty, red bricked walls arched into a curved ceiling where two overhead lamps hung by thick chains, illuminating the large expanse below. A fireplace and all its accompanying iron tools sat to the left, and a rack lined with various instruments of torture was positioned to the right. In the middle was one large table with scratch marks furrowed into its edges, and many other types of equipment were either shoved in a corner or hanging from the ceiling, suspended by heavy chains and hooks like morbid chandeliers. Partitioning a back portion of the room was a large iron gate leading to a small offshoot of the basement, much like a door to a prison cell. Not much lay beyond the iron gate besides a hard-worn bench and several opaque plastic storage tubs full of mysterious items.

Khaled squirmed as he was lowered onto his stomach on top of the familiar table. “What were you thinking,” scolded the nightmare looming above him. A faint swish of a pocket knife and cold steel next to his skin made Khaled pause his struggles as his master cut away the zip ties. “Escaping in this cold weather without so much as a scrap of clothing on you –did you even have a plan?” he taunted. “I don’t know what your plan was, or even if you had a plan, but was it really worth freezing yourself to death?”

Khaled enjoyed the freedom of his unbound limbs for only a moment until his wrists were snatched into a tight grip and gathered in front of him. A coarse and scratchy material –rope, most likely –began entangling around and in between his wrists as his master continued talking. “We have a tracking chip installed inside of you, remember? You can never escape me; I will always find you.” With a forceful tug, Khaled’s hands were pulled in front of him, then he couldn’t move his hands at all. The other end of the rope must have been tied off to the ring attachment at the edge of the table.

His ankles remained free, if only to make it easier to take his pants off.

There were some light shuffling noises before the wooden table groaned under a newfound weight. Khaled felt the body heat of another person leaning over him. The cologne Thomas wore quickly overpowered his senses as the man hovered close. Khaled could feel his master’s breath on his ear and something hard and stiff against his backside. “The last time you tried to run away, a friend of mine advised me to cut your tendons,” Thomas sultrily whispered.

Oh god no. By now, Khaled knew which escape attempt they were reenacting, and, coincidentally, it was the one he had nightmares about the most.

“I don’t want to permanently cripple you though,” Thomas sighed, “mostly because it would be even more of a hassle to care for you, but I will cripple you temporarily, at the very least...”

He could already hear the hiss of the iron.

His panicked cries took on a new pitch of desperation. Without warning, his master’s fingers pinched at the edge of the duct tape on Khaled’s mouth and pulled, making him scream in pain. The rag was quickly removed, only for his tormentor to shove his index and middle fingers past the boy’s teeth to depress his tongue. “Suck,” he growled, “because this is the only lube you’re going to get.”

“Please, no, not this one, please, please no, not this, not this,” Khaled begged around the fingers in his mouth.

The fingers quickly withdrew before Khaled’s head was yanked back by the hair and then smashed onto the table. Stars danced across his blindfold, and a faint trickle of something warm and wet escaped from his nose.

“Let’s try this again.” Thomas shoved his fingers back into the boy’s mouth, burying them to the knuckle and making the boy gag. “Suck.”

Khaled shakily worked his head up and down the length of the fingers as his tongue lapped at each digit. He started to cry. As soon as the fingers withdrew, his pleas picked up again in earnest. “Please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me-”

“Would you relax?! I’m not going to burn you!” Thomas shouted above him. “What about any of this looks like I’m gonna burn you?!” Khaled heard a frustrated huff above him as his master yanked down his pants and underwear, exposing his bare ass and legs to the cold. The shed clothing was discarded, landing with a soft whump somewhere behind them. The two digits that were in his mouth forcefully entered him below, all pretense of play forgotten as they began roughly working him open. “Besides which, weren’t you the one who wanted to do this? You asked for this, you wanted this! You said you would be good for me!”

And he was right, he did say he wanted this. He asked for this to happen. So, with a defeated sniffle, Khaled went quiet and limp.

“So, are you going to be good for me now?”

Khaled’s bruised forehead scraped against the table as he nodded.

“Thank fuck,” Thomas grumbled.

I asked for this, Khaled told himself. The darkness around his eyes became damp as the blindfold caught his tears. I asked for this, I wanted this. He repeated it like a mantra as the man on top of him replaced his fingers with his cock and steadily screwed him against the table. I asked for this, I wanted this. Something tore down there as an unmistakable thin, warm, and sticky fluid trickled past the cock pummeling his hole. I wanted this. I wanted this…

I didn’t want this.

I never wanted this. Any of this.

I don’t want this. Slowly, the new mantra gained strength, and he let the words slip between his lips with every shuddering breath. “I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this-”

“Tough shit,” his master grunted.

Khaled pulled against the rope restraining his hands as he struggled against the body pressing into his. “I don’t want this! I don’t want this! I don’t want this! I-” Again, Khaled’s face was smashed against the table. He heard a faint crunch as a new river of blood flowed out of his nose.

“You can scream all you want, nobody’s going to hear you,” Thomas growled, “but for fucks sakes, can you please scream something less annoying?!”

Khaled kept repeating it between every sniffle, like a sad broken record. “I don’t want this,” he sobbed. “I don’t want this… I don’t want this…”

His begging finally outwore Thomas’ need to finish. “Fuck,” his master huffed, unsticking his sweaty torso from Khaled’s clothed back as he pulled out of him. Khaled collected his heaving breaths. It would be too naïve of him to believe his bitchy whining finally got through, but he would appreciate this moment while he could.

He suppressed his sobs and tilted his head to follow the footsteps and shuffling sounds Thomas was making as he tried to guess what would happen to him next. Khaled heard the faint schwing of a different knife being unsheathed. It cut through the flimsy fabric of his t-shirt as his master finally completely undressed him, tearing away the scraps of cotton the knife didn’t excise from his body. “You said you would be good for me, but you have been anything but!” A twisted strip of cloth was wedged between his teeth and hastily tied off at the back of his head. His master’s hand pinned him down by the back of the neck, crushing him against the table with the weight behind it. “You said you missed me, but you’ve only fought against me this whole time!” Khaled screamed into the gag as the tip of the knife sank in between his shoulder blades. Its blade dragged tortuously and deliberately through his skin as his tormentor continued griping above him. “You’re a fucking liar, you know that?” The knife mercifully lifted from the trough it had carved, only to be plunged into a new area of Khaled’s back. “Do you know what I do to liars, boy? I make them pay!” The raw wounds on his back wept with blood as the knife kept slicing, spilling over his sides and pooling underneath his stomach and the table below. It was hard to cry with a gag in his mouth and a broken nose full of blood. He gasped for breaths between sobs, never quite getting a satisfying breath before the pain of the knife would make him scream again. His tears slipped past the saturated blindfold and tracked down his cheeks to join the pinkish smear of saliva, snot, and blood he could feel covering the lower half of his face. “This is for Callahan!” The knife drove down and sliced another line through his skin for each name the monster dropped. “This is for Trémeaux! And Robinson, and Martinez, and Kruger, and Kościelsky, and this-” The knife dug deeper this time. Khaled bit into the gag as his nerves screamed in agony, the steel scraping something hard as it dragged against his back. “-this is for my brother; he is never coming back! Tony is never coming back, and it’s all because of you!” the monster above him roared.

It was in that moment, between the terror and the pain, that Khaled realized with a fascinated horror that his master was reliving a nightmare, too. I need to snap him out of it if I’m getting out of this cellar alive, he realized. So, he set his own trauma and pain aside and began doing what got him into this mess in the first place. The twisted cloth had loosened just enough. He pushed it out of his mouth with his tongue and started begging as if his life depended on it, because this time, it really did.

“I didn’t kill him!” he cried.  “I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill him!” Khaled screamed well past the point his throat hurt. “Master, please, I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill any of them! I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill him, Master, I didn’t kill him…” If the knife had stopped cutting into him and the rope around his wrists had been untied, Khaled was too far gone in his panic induced catatonia to notice. “I didn’t kill him… I didn’t kill him…” he rasped through a throat torn raw from screaming.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood

[whump-place]

Whumpee hates loud noises, they hurt their ears and the only thing they wanted is cower in a corner and stay hidden until the noise disappears.

Unfortunately, Caretaker feels lonely if they aren't surrounded by noise. Music, people chattering, even the noise of footsteps made them feel safe.

Poor Whumpee, they don't know how to tell Caretaker that the music and podcasts that they love to put in high volume is terrifying to them.

That the way Caretaker's friends laugh and yell when they bring them over scars them.

The only thing they can do is pray that all the noise ends up soon.