#conditionated whumpee

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee had been broken for so long, and they usually didn’t care as long as they stayed away from the whumper’s wrath- but it changed when someone new came in. A new whumpee, one that was as defiant as the old one used to be- the first whumpee doesn’t know what to feel, specially when they’re looked at with disgust by the new captive.

[whump-galaxy]

Somewhat unusual sounds that the whumpee needs to sleep/relax peacefully.

A half working, droning air conditioner, reminding them of the more comfortable environments they slept in? Sure!

The sounds of heavy footsteps on wood floorboards above them, telling them the whumper is too busy with company? Alright.

The distant sounds of sobbing and screaming, assuring them they’re not today’s target? …why not?

[whumplump]

Day 2 of @augusnippets

Prompt used: platonic bathing

Not used: hair care / make-up

CW: nudity (non sexual), bruises, hurt/comfort

Caretaker carried Whumpee into the bathroom and calmly sat them on the stool in front of the sink. Whumpee flinched in pain from the movement.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" Caretaker asked worriedly.

Whumpee nodded no. They were too exhausted to speak. Their entire bodies hurt, the joints in their arms and legs felt like they were going to break. Their skin was covered in bruises and sore spots, sometimes purple, sometimes yellowish.

Caretaker slowly undressed them, being careful with their sore body. Whumpee didn't protest. Caretaker lifted them into a bridal carry again and placed them in the already full bathtub.

Time passed slowly as Caretaker cleaned the wounds and massaged Whumpee's back. The two sat in silence, just enjoying each other's company, a spasm of pain coming from Whumpee here or there, followed by an apology from Caretaker. Only when Caretaker focused on washing Whumpee's hair did the silence break with a gasp.

"All good?" Caretaker said.

Whumpee smiled. A bruised and tired but genuine smile. Then they giggled.

Caretaker giggled back nervously. "What is it?"

“Shampoo is only for the roots, and conditioner for the ends, silly!" Whumpee said, starting to laugh loudly.

They both laughed at the joke. The sounds of their laughter were music to each other's ears.

[chiharuuu22]

When Whumpee was with Whumper, Whumpee never experienced such a thing as sleeping peacefully. He was made not to sleep for days until he experienced severe hallucinations, or when he finally managed to sleep, Whumpee would be forcibly awakened. That's why you can see black eye circles like a panda on Whumpee's face. Don't ever think Whumpee sleeps in a good place. Just getting a flat and dry floor, he was already grateful. The temperature of the place? It's too hot that it makes you sweat from your hair to your feet, or it's too cold that it makes you shiver to the bone.

After being rescued, Whumpee experienced the first time he fell asleep comfortably without worry in Caretaker's arms and woke up again (after who knows how long) in a much better place. No one forced him to stay awake; he even fell asleep many times in the middle of the conversation. When he woke up in the middle of the night, Caretaker gently told him to go back to sleep. Whumpee will wake up slowly without being shocked to eat, take medicine, or clean his body. The place to sleep was clearly very good, on a comfortable bed with soft sheets, some soft pillows, a warm blanket that is always fixed in position if it is shifted by the Caretaker, and even several plushies that the Caretaker placed to accompany Whumpee. What's the room temperature? The caretaker always keeps the air conditioner on at the right temperature so that Whumpee sleeps soundly without getting too hot or cold.

[holidayinhell]

Heat Stroke

Whumpee is forced to walk home.

CWs: non-sexual nudity, extreme sunburn (yeah I'm still finishing the Whumpay prompts, got sidetracked my b)

Whumpee trudged across the molten asphalt on his blistered feet, each step more agonizing than the last. His breathing was heavy, each inhale a struggle, and shapes swam hazily in his vision as the intense sunlight bore down upon him. The air shimmered in the oppressive heat, distorting the landscape in a wavering mirage.

“Please,” Whumpee said under his breath, “please.”

He didn’t want to give Whumper the satisfaction of hearing him beg, but oh god, he needed water desperately. He was minutes, no, seconds away from collapsing. He would die soon if Whumper didn’t help him.

“I can’t. I can’t.” Whumpee moaned over his shoulder. “No more…” 

A window from the car behind him rolled down, sending cool air spilling out of the vehicle. 

Whumper spoke to him for the first time since he’d been stripped down and forced to walk across the desert in the blazing sun. 

“You made it all the way out here once already.” Whumper mocked. “You can make it back.”

“Please.” Whumpee shook. Water.. Oh god, water… he needed it so badly and couldn’t even say it.

“Keep going.” Whumper demanded through the driver's side window.

It was impressive that the little fucker had made it this far without complaint. His skin was practically glowing red and he hadn’t had a decent meal in at least, well, in months at this point. Then again, Whumpee always had been the prideful type.

“I can’t….” The man in front of the car said breathlessly. The sun beat down relentlessly on the stretch of desert highway, turning everything the light touched into a blistering furnace. His raw, burnt, bleeding feet stuck to the road with every step.

“That’s too damn bad.”

“Please, water. I need water.”

“I don’t have water.”

Tears welled in Whumpee’s eyes. There was no way Whumper didn’t have water, not here, not in the burning heat of the desert. He had water, he just refused to give it to Whumpee. Whumpee wasn’t sure if Whumper wanted him dead or not. Whumper had gone to a lot of effort to track him down, after all. But this punishment was grueling and by far the worst Whumpee had been subjected to yet.

“Please.” Whumpee said with a sniffle.

“I don’t have any goddamn water.”

Whumpee stopped in his tracks. He was entirely too fatigued to carry on in this state. Maybe Whumper would grant him mercy and finally run him over. He bent forward weakly, tresses of sweat-soaked hair fell into his eyes as he cried softly. He crossed his arms over his badly sunburnt torso, bare and glowing red. Salty tears trickled down his swollen face, searing pain into every pore they trickled over and stinging his peeling, chapped lips.

“Help me.” He whispered so softly it was almost inaudible. He had never been so exhausted in his life. 

“Help me or kill me already!!” Whumpee screamed.

“Keep going.”

The white-hot hood of the car slammed into Whumpee’s raw, sunburnt ass, and he yowled in pain. The searing metal against his burnt skin was excruciating. His scream echoed in the blistering air.

There was a dull thud. Whumper slammed on the brakes and peered over the car’s dashboard, but Whumpee wasn’t in sight. He’d collapsed to the ground.

Whumper sighed, rolled his eyes, and shifted the gear stick to park. 

The warehouse was still over three miles away and this was taking fucking ages. He could have made it back there in only a few minutes if he was driving normally, but Whumpee was marching forward at a snail’s pace. 

This little punishment detour had cost Whumper at least two hours and almost a full tank of gas thanks to the air conditioner that was running on full blast. Whumper had admittedly misjudged just how cruel this walk of shame was, but when he remembered how angry he'd been when he discovered Whumpee had escaped, he felt pretty fucking justified.

“Fuckin’ christ.” Whumper slammed the car door closed behind him, scorching his hand on the burning door handle that had been baking in the sun all day. He could feel his shirt grow damp from perspiration the instant he stepped out of the air-conditioned car into the hot, shimmering air. Fuck Whumpee for dragging him out here at the hottest point of the day.

The heels of his boots didn’t click on the asphalt like they normally would, the road was so hot that it had become molten and sticky black tar stuck to the bottom of his shoes. He took a cursory glance at the state of his rubber soles and realized they’d already melted slightly. He imagined that Whumpee’s feet had burned raw within seconds of his punishment, no doubt every step he’d taken across the road had been agonizing. 

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” 

Whumpee nodded solemnly.

“You can’t go any further, then? Should I leave you here?” Whumpee’s eyes grew wide with fear as Whumper drew nearer, despite the blinding sunlight.

“No.”

“I think I should.”

“Please. Don’t…” Whumpee mumbled. “I’ll be good this time, I’ll--”

“You wanted your freedom, right Whumpee? This is what freedom looks like here.”

“I don’t want it anymore. I don’t. I’ll, I’ll do anything, everything you say…” Whumpee choked out between hitched breaths. “Water…”

Whumper sighed, fighting to conceal how pleased Whumpee’s desperation made him. “There’s three miles to go.”

One day. One single day was all the time that Whumpee had lasted before Whumper collected him. Life didn’t come easy in the desert; Whumpee had learned this lesson in the most brutal way. When he’d made his escape only 48 hours ago, he’d figured it was better to cook to death and die free than being chained up in the cool darkness of the warehouse for the rest of his life. 

He was wrong. Immensely wrong. Death was not better than life. Escaping was the single biggest mistake he had ever made, and he was paying for that mistake dearly.

Whumper watched as Whumpee fell forward and his chin slammed into the ground. His exposed, red chest nearly sizzled against the blacktop of the road. 

Good, thought Whumper. Might teach this defiant piece of shit how to be obedient.

“Get up.”

Whumpee laid motionless in place, eyes fixed on the pavement beneath him, his arms flailed out by his side. He was in so much pain that his body didn’t register it anymore.

“Get up. Now.” Whumper demanded.

Whumpee’s head rushed as he pushed his weight into his palms. He tried to lift himself but his muscles wouldn’t fire, his heart raced and beads of sweat rolled down his temple. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t have another ounce of energy left.

“Last chance. Get. Up.”

“C-can’t. I can’t.”

“That’s too bad then.” Whumper sighed, turning on his heels to face the car. “Good luck out here.”

“Wait!” Whumpee cried desperately. “Don’t leave me here!”

“Don’t pity yourself, Whumpee.” Whumper said without glancing back at the puddle of a man on the ground.

Whumper walked away and climbed into the idling car. He took one last look at Whumpee, his naked, sunburnt form was still pressed face-down against the smoldering road. His back rose and fell quickly, from either crying or hyperventilating.

Whumper put the car in drive. He slowly rolled up next to Whumpee and dropped a cheap plastic water bottle from his window, which smacked Whumpee square on the back.

“Life is hard.” Whumper’s voice was dripping with contempt as he craned his neck out the window. “But I’ll let you choose whether you live or die. Stay out here if you like, try to survive if you can. I’ll just find your friend-- what’s his name again, Caretaker?-- and have him take your place.”

Whumpee shifted on the ground. “Don’t fucking touch him,” he growled. 

A smirk spread across Whumper’s face. It was so easy to get Whumpee to spill his secrets. Caretaker would be excellent leverage in the future.

“Option two is to come back. But this time you’re going to play by my rules.”

Whumpee fumbled for the water bottle blindly, finally finding it leaning against his hip. He twisted the cap off with all the strength he could muster and sipped on the water slowly. A wave of clarity rushed over him the second the moisture filled his mouth.

“I’ll come back with you. I won’t run away again, I swear.”

“And you’ll play by my rules. Say it.”

“...and I’ll play by your rules.”

“Good. Time to get the fuck out of here.”

Whumpee rose to his feet shakily. He was still fatigued but felt re-invigorated by the small amount of water in his system. He approached the passenger door and Whumper shot him a puzzled look.

“Whatcha doing there Whumpee?”

Whumpee blinked dumbly at the driver. “Aren't we going…?”

Whumper shook his head no.

“Oh no. You’re still gonna walk back.”

Whumpee’s form crumbled.

 “I gotta get gas. The warehouse is three miles east, when you get to Seven Devils Road take a right, a left, and then another left.”

Whumpee sniffled, his strength draining away as he collapsed under the weight of his exhaustion and despair.

“Whumpee. Hey, look at me.” Whumper tilted his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. 

He somehow forced his weak gaze into the other’s.

“If you’re not back by sundown, don’t fucking bother. I’m sure I’ll stumble across your corpse in a week or two.”

He rolled up the glass window and sped off.

Whumpee braced himself for the brutal journey back to his own personal hell.

((more Whump oneshots))

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #29: Conscience

Masterlist

content: immortal whumpee, captivity, stabbing

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

When his eyes fluttered open, Heather was right there. 

She was right on top of him. In her hand, she held a knife.

He was too stunned to even scream. But he really, really wanted to! Because why the fuck was she there? Oh God. He was so close to her. She was so close to him. His pulse went machine-gun fast. He could smell the orange blossom soap on her skin, the conditioner in her hair, the faint coffee scent of her sweater. He thought, for a moment, that he was dreaming, but this was too vivid to be a nightmare.

He swallowed. His throat was raw, arid and scratchy. He wanted to beg but he couldn't even bring himself to move. His limbs felt like they were wrapped in cellophane.

She pressed the knife lightly against his shirt. The point of the blade twisted against fabric.

His breathing slowed, the longer he stared at it. He was not in any danger, he realized, not any worse danger than before. If she was going to kill him, he didn’t mind dying again.

Well, then, this was a walk in the park! This was a slice of pie. Skittles and beer and vanilla ice cream. Life was going great. He was out of the basement. Everything was going to be okay.

He could even see sunshine! The curtains no longer covered the window. From his left, light spilled over the window ledge with reckless grace. The living room was much less dim and dreary. He could even see the blue sky, a merry robin-egg shade stretching over the snow. Jackie could get drunk on that sight.

She narrowed her eyes, as if just noticing he was awake. “You're quiet.”

He shook his head and left it at that. He felt much better, compared to last night. Sleeping in the basement was hard. He would wake up in bursts and starts, easily startled by a noise he’d imagined or a spider darting across the wall. This was his first deep rest in a while.

“I was checking if you were asleep,” she said.

Jackie nodded distantly, already thinking of other things.

Just then, the doorbell chimed. She cleared her throat and stood up, off the sofa, and walked around the corner. The door opened. He didn’t get up. Back then, he would have taken this opportunity for escape with eager arms, but escape was a distant pipe dream now. He was so much older, so much more exhausted. Shameful, to give in so easily, but…

Outside the window, a cardinal flitted across the snow. He closed his eyes and put his head back down. The sofa was so comfortable. Shameful, this docile sort of life, but he was happy.

The front door was not far from the living room. Jackie could hear the faint murmur of conversation. Nobody he knew, nobody he could recognize.

It was brief. Only a couple of words were exchanged, then the door was shut again.

There was the dull crunch of footsteps in the snow, and the lock clicked into place. He heard more footsteps, echoing against the wood floors. Outside, a bird tittered its song, piecing together a hesitant melody. Branches crackled in the cold.  

He heard a heavier thump, closer to him. Jackie started upright. There was a white box at the foot of the sofa. Kind of like the boxes bakeries used for cakes. It was heavy, judging from the sound, but not too big. Only about five inches tall, five inches wide. There was no label on it, no shipping company, not even an address.

Heather hadn’t put the knife down. Did the visitor notice? Did they not care? Her stare was boring holes into him. She stepped closer, until they were no more than a rat’s-tail apart, and he did nothing.

Before he could even register what had happened, he flinched. There was a blur of movement. A sharp motion. The ache in his chest flared up to a burst, and he clutched the wound on instinct. A spurt of blood dripped down the knife and across the curve of her hand. She had stabbed him. He could hear his pulse get weaker, feel its sad convulsions in his throat.

“A—ah. Shit.” He would never get used to the pain of dying, no matter how often it happened. He pressed a shaky hand to the knife’s handle. “Good morning t—to you too.”

Heather made a slight, small choking sound. Her hair hung down like torn rags around her face, brushing the edges of his jaw. She staggered, then… put her head down on his shoulder. Tears wetted his shirt. Their cold, salty sting bled through the fabric to his skin.

“Oh.” He cringed. This was not his idea of a good morning.

“Jesus…” She shuddered against the crook of his neck, against his chest.

“Yeah. It happens. Do you want a hug? Or… what’s in the box?”

"Morphine.”

Not all her drugs were homemade, then. “Do you want some morphine too?”

“Yes.” She sniffed. “Yes to both, please.”

He didn’t know how to administer morphine, or how to reach them with Heather leaning on his shoulder, so he settled for the hug. Around her waist, around the thick maroon fabric of her sweater.

He patted her back, a rhythmic motion below her shoulder blades. “There, there. It’s okay. Why are you sad?”

“I—“ Her voice hitched. “I stabbed you.”

“I’m fine. I’m immortal, remember? I’ll be okay.”

“It’s not that, it’s—I don’t know why I’m being so cruel to you, Jackie. I don’t know! I wish you would—” Another hitch. “But it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re just scared.”

“Yeah…” He glanced down at the knife. His slow-dripping blood had an odd viscosity to it, and it was so dark that it nearly shone black. The blade was embedded so deep in him that it was barely visible, rimmed by the slightest glint of light. It was one of those kitchen knives. They usually came in a set. Three silver circles dotted the handle.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even want to keep you here. I was going to kill you. But I don’t—what was I supposed to do? I didn’t mean it. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I forgive you.”

“No, you don’t,” she snapped. “You’re saying whatever you think will make me happy. You hate me. You should hate me.”

Such a picky girl. Take the forgiveness and leave, or else say nothing, because there was nothing he could say back. If he kept acting cute, she would hurt him regardless, and if he started spitting insults at her, she would probably bash his head into the wall. But it wasn’t his opinion she was searching for—no, he was a prop for her guilty conscience, and he’d have to play along.

“I love you, Heather.” He pressed up against the side of her face. “Don’t go.”

“You…” She let go of the knife. This shifting caused his wound to sting anew, but he made an effort not to wince. “You don’t love me. I hurt you.”

“I don’t care. Just… don’t leave me alone again. Please. It was horrible. I don’t want to go back.”

“I won’t.”

A prop, a perfect prop, never complaining or talking back. A doll, a sweet and shallow toy. Maybe that was what she wanted. Jackie probably couldn’t do that for her, but he could try.

The doorbell rang again.

She sat up straight almost instantly, tearing away from him. He felt a dizzy ache clog up his throat, as her heat left his skin. She scrambled off the sofa, conjured up yet another tissue. After impatiently rubbing at her eyes, she threw it on the coffee table. Off and around the corner she went.

There was a shrill sound—it was the door swinging open. “Good morning, ma’am.”

“Hello, officer.”

Officer. 

Jackie froze like a deer. 

He clutched the knife still stuck between his ribs until his knuckles felt sore. If he screamed now—no, Heather would lock him alone again, and she’d kill the witnesses, whatever it took to silence him. He stared at the crumpled tissue instead. A torn, crushed, fragile thing. So immaterial in the glaring sunlight.

“Hello.” The voice was rough but reedy, husky but not deep. “I wanted to ask a few questions—“

“Questions?” Heather’s voice was calm, even confident. “Ask away, officer. Is something wrong?”

“There’s been a disappearance in this neighbourhood.” Jackie’s heart pounded like snares in a metal crusher. “Have you heard anything about Matthew Markham?”

Oh. Of course. The dead body. The unlucky guy who had annoyed Heather. Of course nobody was looking for Jackie. He swallowed the sinking feeling in his gut and continued to listen.

“No, I haven’t heard anything. My apologies.”

“That’s alright. We've been searching the area, you know how it goes. Would you mind if we talked inside your home?” There was a tiny creak—Jackie imagined him leaning forward, trying to push through the doorway.

“Do you have a warrant, officer?”

There was a curt, painfully obvious pause. “I'll return in two weeks or so. I appreciate your help.”

“Okay, officer. I hope you can find Matthew.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

The door closed. He wasn’t a dirty cop, then. Not some pig. What luck. Jackie wanted to kick the guy. If only he were a brute! The law was fair, but it was not always kind. If only he’d barged in, shoved Heather aside, and taken Jackie home…

Home? What home? The apartment was gone. Repossessed, returned to the landlords, rendered to dust and white-wash wood. This was his home now.

“Jackie!” Heather ran back into the room. All that confident composure had crumbled away. Panic warbled in her voice. “Fuck! What should I do?”

He sat up straighter. “Why are you asking me?”

“Who the fuck else should I ask? Matthew?” She began to pace beside the table, back and forth, tracing her steps over and over. She ran a tensed hand through her hair. “Shit, shit, this is bad.” She paused her pacing to glance at him. “Don’t just stare at me. You have a plan, right?”

“Not really. Sorry."

This was not the answer she wanted, but she finally stopped running laps across the living room. Instead, she stood against the wall opposite him, looking more haggard than ever. Jackie seriously doubted that this mysterious cop with a missing warrant could rescue him. If Heather thought he was in danger of being discovered, she wouldn’t simply give up and let him go. She’d stuff him in a closet, or hide him in her trunk, or lock him up somewhere equally uncomfortable. It was in his best interests to nudge her towards a plan that didn’t involve being shoved into small spaces.

“Heather. Do you trust me?”

She laughed without mirth, her head bent down, her ruffled hair falling over her eyes.

“Okay,” he said. “I get it. It doesn’t matter. More importantly—you have a lot of money, right? You’ve got a rich daddy who up and died or something. That’s why you can afford this house and all those drugs and still never go to work. That’s how you got all those nice chiffon scarves. Am I wrong?”

“You’re… uh, you’re right. I live off a trust fund. How did you know?”

He shrugged. “Lucky guess.” Nobody who earned their own living had time to play with pharmaceutical drugs. ”Listen, if you’ve got the money, we could just leave. Go to Hawaii, maybe.”

“Leave… how? We can’t drive to Hawaii. Can’t take a plane, either. I don’t have your passport, it would look suspicious. Perhaps we could go to…”

“Kentucky?”

“No. I was thinking of somewhere temporary, like…”

“A hotel?”

“A hotel!” She clapped her hands together. “You sly devil. That’s perfect. They won’t suspect a thing.”

Sly devil. That was a new one. Sounded coy. Very suave. Better nickname than subject, anyhow. “When are we leaving, then?”

“I’d say… three days to pack, then we can leave right away.”

And he hoped, crossed his heart and hoped, that this would not backfire. Just one nice thing. Just one streak of luck. Lord knew he needed a break. He just needed this to go right. Just one good day.

“By the way,” she said, gesturing to his chest, “you’ve got a little something…” 

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” He wrenched the knife from his heart. His blood soaked the front of his shirt and smudged on his hands. For a minute, he could not feel his pulse—how odd. He did not have a heartbeat at all.

Heather took the knife from his hands. Although she hesitated, as if she wanted to speak, she left the room quietly.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

@yassifiedinformation

@creppersfunpalooza

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Tiny Whumpee vs...

Household Edition

ceiling fan

air conditioner

space heater

the shower

flyswatter

fly paper

mouse trap

the vacuum

a mop or broom

lava lamp

wires/electricity

a curling iron or hair straightener

a blow dryer

medicines meant for humans

laundry chute

washer/dryer

an iron

a high shelf

cleaning products

the fireplace

fire extinguisher

| Kitchen Edition | Craft Edition | 

[fourwingedwriter]

Cyborg Whump -Sickfic

AN: I saw a prompt and really wanted to write some soft sick whump. They're about 31-32 here btw

Master Post

----

Caretaker knew Whumpee's immune system was weak, but she hadn't really been faced with the reality of it until now. She worried greatly for her husband, taking care of him best she could.

Her hands worked shampoo through his hair as he sat, barely conscious, on the chair they kept in the shower. Caretaker had never been more thankful of the accommodations she's built over the years, knowing she couldn't carry Whumpee if she tried.

With the shower on low, she carefully rinced his hair out, working through it with her hands. As she did so, Whumpee made small, satisfied groans, evidently finding relief in the comparative coolness of the water on his scalp. He relaxed a bit, hand dropping to his side as he let out slow, deep breaths.

Caretaker leaned forward and kissed him behind one of his ears, turning off the water once more to start working in some conditioner. He leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering somewhat.

She found this task somewhat therapeutic, remembering the days they used to do this more often. It had been more of a bonding experience then, Caretaker helping him shower for the first few months.

Whumpee mumbled something as she turned the water back on again, syllables slurred together, the only comprehensible word being "thank."

"Of course, love," she couldn't help but smile a bit, thankful he was even that conscious.

By the time she was done, he was half asleep, likely not aware of her temporary departure to retrieve towels from the dryer. When she draped one around his shoulders, he practically melted. Whumpee didn't argue as she transferred him to his wheelchair, a warm blanket put across his lap.

Caretaker towel-dried his hair, a task during which Whumpee finally fell asleep. She couldn't help but smile as she saw how comfortable he was, despite how miserable he had been roughly an hour before. No matter how bad he was doing now, this is a marginal improvement from how he was at the beginning.

Whumpee had gained some weight and a bit of length to his hair, which she now gently brushes out. He's gotten better, but days like these remind her how fragile he can be.

Caretaker wheeled him into his room and, not wanting to wake him, simply reclined his seat into a better position and pulled up a chair beside him. She wrapped herself in another warm blanket, curling up with her head resting beside his thigh like she had so many years ago when they had barely just met.

----

Tagging: @tildeathiwillwrite @whumperofworlds @rainbowsandwhumperflies @idkanonymystuff @mysticalshadow351

[whump-place]

Living weapon Whumpee that doesn't know they want to be loved, and comforted; is something they have never heard of, much less felt, but still there's always missing.

And they don't know why they feel that way. They follow orders, they train just like it's expected of them. And Handler always looks so proud when Whumpee comes back from a mission victorious. So why?

Living weapon Whumpee that wants nothing but to understand what they are feeling, and more importantly, why they are feeling at all.

Living weapon Whumpee that can't ask the people around them about what they are feeling, because the fact that they are feeling anything at all is bad enough; and still. They crave to understand, why they are like this.

It's wrong, it's so wrong, and Whumpee hates it that it aches even more than any punishment Handler ever set up for them.

[weirdstrangeandawful]

Subtly unpleasant ways to wake up your Whumpee:

With a suffocating cloud of cigarette smoke

A weighted blanket that’s too heavy

Cranking up the heat

Turning off the heat/cranking up the air conditioner

Breathing down their neck. Literally

Quiet noises that sound like bugs are in the room

Actual bugs in the room

Birds

Staring at them intently

Birds staring at them intently

[roblingoblin285]

Whumpee tried to see past their watery eyes- but it was impossible to blink away. They were wrapped with their thickest clothes, but they couldn't stop shivering. They were still too cold, and they were going to be even more when they left their supposedly warm office.

Whumpee was unable to understand the document at their desk. They were staring at it for fifteen minutes now, but they could only read the half before forgetting the beginning. They cleaned their throat - at least tried - but they couldn't swallow. They needed something warm and preferably full of caffeine. They had to get the job done today.

They stood up, sudden movement causing them to stumble. They breathed through the waves of nausea as they leaned to their desk, forcing themselves to stand straight as they felt more stable.

They sniffled, making their way to the small kitchen of the office. There was hot water in the kettle - a blessing. They dumped a good amount of coffee into a big mug and filled it with warm water. Cupping the slowly warming glass, they walked back, slowly, for their shaking hands were risking their only way to get through the day.

They checked the clock. Just half an hour more, and they were going home.

This time, they at least finished the document before they coughed until their chest began to ache, any information flying as they let their head to fall their cold desk.

By the time they could focus again, their shift was done. They tried to be quick as they packed, but their arms were aching, and they felt drained after the cough fit.

They sank into their coat more, getting out of the building with an unsteady pace. Walking home seemed too hard suddenly.

They ended up shivering in bus instead, but at least they sat next to the air conditioner until they had to give their seat to a small family with cute kids. The kids had made fun with their miserable state, their parents looking embarrassed as Whumpee smiled them with acceptance.

Stairs of their apartment was a challenge, but they were home. Opening the TV, they dove into the kitchen to eat something - maybe only get some snacks, they didn't know if they could keep anything they ate down. They gave up as the last cupboard proved to be empty if they didn't count Caretaker's dinner. They wouldn't eat that.

They fell to the couch, not bothering with removing their layers of clothing. They wanted to sleep, but they were too cold to stop shivering, too tired to get the blankets from the top shelf of their wardrobe.

The TV slowly began to sound distant, and they were feeling hot instead of cold. After a while, they coughed, getting aware of their surroundings. They were burning, the heat and their small nap causing them to feel drowsy. They straightened to get their coat off, they were sweating too much, but the door sound interrupted them.

"I'm home— Whumpee?"

"H-hello." They sounded terrible, but they couldn't try again. Caretaker rushed next to them, kneeling and helping with their coat. Whumpee felt Caretaker's cold hand at their head, and leaned on it. Why home was this hot?

"Why didn't you call me?" Caretaker laid them, getting their coat of.

"W's sleepin' " They rasped. They just wanted to go back to sleep.

"Whumpee," Caretaker called them as they woke up with a cold feeling. "We should get you to a doctor."

Whumpee tried to say no, they weren't that bad, but they wheezed. Their chest hurt too much. Caretaker held them down, their cold hand resting over Whumpee's burning cheeks.

"I'll bring you some clothes, stay awake for me, alright?"

They didn't know if they could, but they would try. They felt worse than they were in the office. They could at least breathe there.

Caretaker came with a thin t-shirt, and even seeing it made Whumpee shiver. They weren't going out with that.

"You have fever, Whumpee, I'm so sorry." They helped Whumpee sit up, as if they could read Whumpee's mind. They changed to the t-shirt - the ones they wore was soaked. "Can you stand?"

Whumpee didn't know. They felt terrible as it was, but they couldn't find out without trying. Whumpee nodded, Caretaker wrapping a hand around them for support.

They stood, and everything went black.

It's nearly six and I have study papers invading my desk, but I'm also sick and unable to get anything done. Reading the same thing since I first coughed myself awake at 2.

I hope you feel better soon.

~💜

this is sooo me thank you 💜! i also hope you feel better

[freefallingup13]

Lmao new headcanon; I always intended for Beck to be surprisingly competent at hair care to keep his long hair silky smooth.

But like.

I think it would be funny if I just made it his thing. He’s gonna be that person with three kinds of shampoo, two conditioners, hair milk, heat protection spray, hair masks, the works. His whumpee is going to walk into the shower and it’s going to smell like a salon

Beck Marley has infected me with OC brain rot He's a murderous whumper, kind of like Jaren, but he's just a murderer for hire and kills because he finds it funny. Not necessarily for sadistic entertainment.

Also, biggest difference is he prefers to use a gun instead of a knife and dispose of bodies himself. Kind of. He. May or may not have a person that helps him out occasionally. His friend. They hang out sometimes. May or may not make out some of the sometimes. Beck's up for whatever.

He has a black leather jacket, as in my drawing. He's a sarcastic asshole. Unlike Jaren, who drowns his emotions in sadistic indulgence, Beck is far more likely to go... "emotions? what emotions. lol. lmao"

He lives in a cabin in the woods, there may be some "targets" buried in his driveway. He finds his unconvential job very fun. As in funny. Not a game, just a fun hobby. Get a contract, get a target,get paid. Then he can fuck off and lounge around his cabin, enjoying being away from literally everything and everyone.

I'm trying to think up a nonbinary whumpee for him. I didn't want to use a lady whumpee this time around, but a male whumpee didn't feel like it would fit exactly. So... fuck gender, I guess. I still gotta figure out an appearance and everything, but I do know exactly how they'll end up with Beck.

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Carlos & Bailey: An Interactive Story #6

Masterlist | Previous

Content: Burns, vampire whumpee, multiple whumpees, reader's POV.

You chose to say: “Would it help if I grabbed some more quilts to wrap you in?”

“How ‘bout I grab another quilt to wrap you in?” you offer after some contemplation. Neither of them respond, but you can see the blanket move as one of them - presumably Carlos - timidly nods their head. 

So you head inside and grab the nearest one that’s currently draped off the back off the couch in the living room. It isn’t all that big, but it’s thick and certainly able to keep the sunlight at bay if used with the one they already have out in the car. So, after tucking it under your arm you make your way back out into the garage and announce your presence to avoid scaring them, before draping it over Carlos’ lower half. 

“One at a time,” you instruct them, keeping a hand on Carlos’ shoulder to let him know you’re there as he reluctantly shuffles backwards towards you. There’s little terrified whines coming from beneath the blanket, and when he’s as far back as he can go, you ensure that he’s wrapped up nicely before bringing him into a bridal carry. 

Bailey doesn’t even wait for you to come back with the blankets, much to your surprise. It’s as you’re heading into the house with the intention of placing him on the floor just inside the door that you hear a thud, followed by a chilling scream and frantic footsteps as the second vampire races for the first bit of shade he sees. 

Poking your head out again, the events are pretty clear. He’s already got sweltering blisters and little areas of burnt flesh on his back and side, and there’s blood in the shape of messy footprints leading all the way to where he’s currently curled up. You realise the sun on the concrete must have burnt his feet as he got out. 

Before you can offer any help, Carlos is already rushing past you with one of the blankets he’d been wearing bundled up in his arms. He kneels down and hastily wraps it around Bailey’s bunched over form, despite the lack of sun in that area. 

Only then does Bailey begrudgingly move from his spot again. He and Carlos both timidly follow you inside, breathing small sighs of relief at the cool air radiating from the air conditioner. It has to feel good on Bailey’s fresh burns at least. You wonder why on earth he’d do such a thing. You had blankets ready for him - he just had to lie there for a little while longer. It makes no sense. 

This vampire is going to be hard work if you decide to house them for more than a few days. It hasn’t even been several hours and he’s already injured himself. You can’t afford to give him more blood to help him heal today. 

“Can I take a look at those wounds?” you eventually ask. There is a moment of silence before you receive a glare from the injured creature sitting on the floor by the door. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he hisses, curling up just that bit more to further prove his point. “It’ll heal on it’s own. I don’t need you, human.”

There is a layer of condescension to his words, and Carlos clearly hears it, too. He tenses up immensely, seemingly preparing for some form of punishment. It’s clear Bailey’s behaviour has gotten them both into trouble before. 

Taglist: @alexkolax @ardebatis @aseasonwithclara @bones-arent-real @choppedflowermuffinchild @doodlepoodle154 @florissimps @littlefaefeather @neurodivergentcyborg @pepperonyscience @road-trip-to-jupiter @whump-it @whumpsday @whump-queen @whumpshaped @whumptier @whumpycries @whumpzone @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @zillastar13

[whump-place]

Pet Whumpee that obviously knows more than Caretaker.

Sure, they were trained and brainwashed, but there was no use in erasing all that knowledge because they are going to end up being a pretty little decoration for whoever buys them, it's not like they are going to speak without permission anyway.

And everything goes on smoothly, Caretaker is just a privileged person that doesn't want to feel lonely and that likes to spoil their Pet.

The problem is Whumpee.

They just don't know what to do with someone as dumb as Caretaker. Whumpee told them once that it only rains on sundays because of some weather thing, and then Caretaker just believed them.

Whumpee doesn't know what to do with Caretaker's limited intelligence, but they might as well take care of them, after all, Caretaker always buy them good treats when they go out.

[bloodsweatandpotato]

Day 29

Sleep deprivation

Fandom: Original work

Characters: Generic whumpee, generic caretaker

Tw: none?

Summary: Whumpee and his team (including Caretaker) are on the run form Whumper. Whumpee’s been pushing himself too far. I myself am extremely sleep deprived while writing this so sorry if some of it is incoherent or has spelling errors.

“Whumpee, when did you last sleep?” Caretaker frowned, reaching out to put a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder. Whumpee flinched sluggishly.

“Mm?” He hummed questioningly, half lidded eyes revealed as he turned his head to look at Caretaker.

“I asked how long it’s been since you last slept.”

“Dunno.” Whumpee mumbled. He turned his head away from Caretaker, eyes drifting around the room, glazed and unfocused. “I think… Whumper… knocked me out f’r a bit.”

Caretaker resisted the urge to scream at Whumpee, instead gritting his teeth in frustration. “Whumpee, that doesn’t count as sleep.”

Whumpee didn’t seem to hear.

Caretaker quickly ran through some mental calculations. It had been two days since they had managed to get Whumpee away from Whumper, two days since they had first went on the run to hide from Whumper’s network.

48 hours.

Plus however long Whumpee had been awake while with Whumper. At least 55, then. Likely more.

He let out a breath that sounded almost like a growl.

“Okay, up. You’re getting to bed.”

The team had made it to one of their scattered safe houses, and they had at least a day or two until Whumper managed to catch wind of their location. They had enough time for Whumpee to get some real sleep.

“No… Can’t.” Whumpee murmured quietly.

“Yes you can, and you will.”

“Have to… keep moving.”

Caretaker sighed. “No you don’t. Whumper won’t find us for a while. You need rest, and we’ve got enough time.”

“No.” Whumpee insisted, voice almost pleading. “Not that. I…” He frowned, taking a moment to find the words (it had been getting harder and harder to think with every hour) “I’ll f-fall.”

“What do you mean ‘fall’?” Caretaker asked. “If you can’t walk, I’m right here. I won’t let you get hurt.”

Whumpee felt a stir of frustration underneath the stifling blanket of exhaustion. “No… fall ‘part. Just… so much. All catch up t’ me.” His tongue was thick in his mouth.

Caretaker stiffened beside Whumpee. “Oh… oh, darling…”

Whumpee didn’t comment on the pet name.

Caretaker didn’t say anything else, but simply bent down, slipping Whumpee’s arm around his shoulders and pulling the shaking figure up from the chair.

“‘M alright.” Whumpee murmured. “I can stay ‘wake. Not… not that tired.”

“Liar.” Caretaker grumbled, taking most of Whumpee’s weight.

Whumpee let out a quiet sound, almost a moan.

“Whumpee?”

Whumpee’s eyes were open, but unfocused, roaming the room as if searching for something invisible. “Dizzy…” he slurred, and Caretaker tightened his hold on Whumpee as he began to slump.

“Make the shadows… stop movin’.”

Caretaker’s stomach flipped. God, he wasn’t in any mood for dealing with Whumpee hallucinating. He did his best to shut down the idea. “The shadows aren’t moving, Whumpee. Just close your eyes. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Don’t wanna… Gotta… gotta fix the… the..” He trailed off, eyes closing. His head lolled on his neck, rolling until his nose was buried in the crook of Caretaker’s neck. He said nothing for a moment, and Carteaker almost thought him unconscious, before her managed to slur something else. “Mm… Y’r soff’. You… your hair uses the… the conditioners, right? I… I like ‘em. Smells… Mm…”

Caretaker tried not to let himself blush.

“Gosh, you’re out of it, huh?” Caretaker sighed, taking more of Whumpee’s weight as he somehow went even more limp.

“Whumper… Wan’ed to know where you were. I didn’ tell.”

“I know you didn’t tell, darling. Please be quiet. Just walk.” It was becoming harder and harder to keep Whumpee upright as they stumbled down the hall towards the bedroom.

“Didn’… I… I never’d do. Even… even if it… the cage. Even if the cage…” Whumpee’s voice faded in and out, becoming more incomprehensible by the second.

“I know.”

“I wouldn’. I pr-prum-promise.”

“After you wake up, we’re having a nice long talk about your sleeping habits and lack of self preservation.” Caretaker sighed.

“I have self… self presseration.”

“Whatever you say, Whumpee.”

“The shadows. That’s wha-, wha’ I say. They’re… they’re lookin’ at me.all over the… the walls. Is haunted. Is..” He paused for a moment, cracking his eyes open, before letting them fall shit again. “Where are we again?”

Caretaker just replied “Safe.”, knowing Whumpee was unlikely to really absorb anything Caretaker said.

“Oh…” Whumpee murmured as he fell onto the bed in a mess of limbs. Caretaker began untangling them. “Wha’ was I sayin’?”

Caretaker straightened out Whumpee on the bed, watching out of the corner of his eyes as Whumpee tracked his movements with dazed fascination. “Just sleep, Whumpee.”

“‘M not tired.” Whumpee slurred one last time, before promptly passing out.

[whumpers-inc]

Whumptober2021- Blood-Matted Hair

There's something about a Whumpee sitting in a warm soapy bath, the first real comfort they’ve had in a long time, while Caretaker shampoos the bloody matts out of their hair.

Leaning back into the gentle touches, eyes closed while gentle fingers ease the blood and dirt out, sending it swirling down the drain. The flowery scent of the conditioner mixes with the steam and suds as it wraps them in an invisible hug and Caretaker sings a soft lullaby as they rinse Whumpee’s hair one last time before cocooning them in a warm fluffy towel.

And it’s with Caretaker's gentle hands smoothing their hair, that they finally fall asleep.