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pxppet · 2 years

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Year of Whump January 22 Prompt!

grabbed in the dark / public humiliation / hospital emergency department /soft weighted blanket / “You must have imagined that, dear”

Some Actor Mark whump since there is quite a lack of Iplier ego whump! One of Actor's first encounters of fully falling into the Other World due to an unexpected death.

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Mark is wasted. Shirtless and unshaven, in a sagging off sleep robe, stumbling down the streets alone. A whiskey bottle kisses his reddened lips over and over. The cobblestone street is rough and unbalanced below his stumbling. He doesn't remember leaving his house. Fuck, the voices won't stop. He is surrounded by laughing and taunting, leading him along with their jeers. "We'll poison the king, we'll poison the king!" it shrieks directly to his left. He swings around with a gasp, and watches a shadow dash down an alleyway.

"Hey- hey you!" he slurs, and follows it in a half stumble half sprint. He runs down, braced along the grey and red wall of the alley, but hits a fence at the end. Panting, he glances around, then sinks down against the wood. "F-fuck," he sobs. He's going insane. He must be going insane. It gets worse every day, the shadows and voices, the coldness and dust floating in his peripheral. He slugs back whiskey through a sob.

He sees a shadow approaching him, and sobs harder, throwing his arm over his face. "Just- just let me be," he cries.

Until a very real man becomes visible before him. Mark can only register an unshaven, rotten toothed face before a pistol's cold, dark metal presses into his bare stomach. His eyes bug out in his head, mouth agape, staring at the mugger, not sure if this is real. Is anything real these days? His hand nearly drifts up to touch the man's skin in his shock.

"Yer that rich little crumb of an actor, aren't you?" he sneers. "Bet you can cough up a pretty penny. Gimme the hooch and the cash," he swipes Marks whiskey away in a quick movement, and Mark screams. It's not proud, he sounds like a terrified toddler. Mark curls up around his own body, sobbing openly.

"Fuckin' coke-snorting pretty boy, I said gimmie your money!"

"Leave me alone!" Mark screams, shrill and terrified, as his hand strikes out at the man.

In the dark-cornered haze Mark registers the man's nose spurting blood. As his own head lolls backwards he registers the impact, the deafening bang, the spray of dark, dark red coming from his left shoulder. He faintly hears his own scream through the increasing, imposing whispering voices as he sinks deeper and deeper into the blackness, dust particles and an odd greenish hue overtaking him entirely. The last real thing he sees is the mugger's horrified, cursing face before the man runs away.

----

Mark is floating. He would call it walking, but that doesn't describe it properly. A bouncing, a hobbling, a drifting. Like a bee between flowers.

It's the same street, the same town he grew up two miles away from. He breathes out, slow, slow, a puff of clouded white. His hand is against the buildings along the way. The stone is tinged black or green. His body radiates a slight red. He doesn't know what to do, but it feels so much better here. The voices sound… nice. He can hear Celine saying her wedding vows. He can hear William's drunken laugh that always makes them all burst. He can hear Celine humming him to sleep. He can hear Damien's gentle and affirming voice talking him through his woes.

He smiles dazedly, stumbling. His bare shoulder gushes red-black sludge, but it doesn't bother him. It doesn't hurt. It feels warm. Everything else is slightly cold.

"It's not fair," something whispers. It sounds like his own voice. He chuckles, dopily walking towards it.

"Ahm, silly bastard, let me near you," he smiles. He falls to the cobblestone, his crash and soft 'ah' echoing, resonating.

"You can't go yet," Celine's voice teases as he's leaving for a photoshoot, beconning for a kiss.

"C-cel-line," he slurs, still drunk. He recognizes his front garden, the round drive with well trimmed shrubs.

"Come sit here, Mark," Benjamin's voice soothes when his back is aching.

He lets out a shaking, comforted breath, laying down on his front stairs. "Can't go further, I'm sorry Benj…" He trails off, and the green is slipping to black, black, a calm and soothing black. The sludge of his shoulder is climbing back up his arm, the droplets on the floor float up and sink back into his wound. But Mark is asleep by then, breath slow and soft as his wound swells and then forces itself closed.

---

"Mark? Honey?"

Warm, soft, blackness but with a light behind it. His eyelids, of course. And Celine's sweet voice.

He opens his eyes, and shuddering sigh leaves him. It all looks real. The master bedroom, the photos of his friends and family. There is a heavy warmth on him; the sheep's wool quilt that Benjamin joked must weigh 20 pounds when picking up the package.

"Mark?" a soft call and a hand on his cheek turns him to his wife. His vision is blurry with hangover, but he sees mussed black hair, pale skin, and a black robe. He smiles at her. "Did you nightmare again last night? The gardener found you outside, said you looked half dead. The butler carried you in but you slept right through."

The night rushes back to him in a quick-pooling pit of dread in his gut. "Celine-" He sits up and hugs her as tight as he can. "Celine I was shot! Oh, oh my god, a man shot me- Was there an awful amount of blood? Do I need to go to the emergency room?!"

"Mark, Mark, darling," she shushes, brushing a worried hand over his hair. "You must have imagined it. A nightmare, from all the alcohol. There wasn't a drop of blood at all, no wounds or any of that. You're safe, Mark." She hugs him back pulling him close.

His robe shifts on his frame from the force of her comfort-hug. Mark nuzzles against her, eyes shut. He opens them with a semi-content sigh, face downward towards his own frame.

The shifting of the robe slides away to reveal a thin but wide round white scar. As though a bullet had passed right through his arm.

And Mark's dread coats his bedroom in that familiar green and red; blood and sick at the sensation of once more - forevermore - not knowing reality from the Other world.

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whumpookies · 2 years

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don't-wanna-whump-cookie

🤣 that made me laugh and at 7ish in the morning I almost lost my coffee!

Wanna-Whump-Cookies can be seen so many different ways...

Do-wanna-whump+cookie, lost-Wanna-Whump-Cookies, say-wanna-whump-cookie like-Wanna-Whump-Cookies gimmie-Wanna-Whump-Cookies hug-a-wanna-whump-cookie

the list goes on and on and on 🤣

#ask #answer #whump cookies

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the-actual-last-quincy · 2 years

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𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 - 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

RULES: bold which trope you prefer (or, in some cases, maybe just hate the least!) out of each of the following pairs

Slowburn or love at first sight

fake dating or secret dating

Enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers (both because I said so)

Oh no there’s only one bed or long-distance correspondence (for Ryuken - both for Nanao and Rose)

Hurt/Comfort or amnesia (Gimmie all the whump!)

Fantasy AU or modern au

Mutual pining or domestic bliss

Smut or fluff (both)

Canon Compliant or fix-it

reincarnation or character death

one-shot or multi chapter

kid fic or road trip fic

Arranged Marriage or accidental marriage (I cut my teeth on Harry Potter Marriage Law fics, this is one of my favourite tropes, so please hit me up if you’d be up for writing this)

College romance or middle aged romance

time travel or isolated together

neighbours or roommates (but like odd couple roommates with loads of friction)

sci-fi au or magic au

Body swap or genderbend

angst or crack

Apocalyptic or mundane

Tagged by @jaegersol

Tagging:

@mirokusaki @reservedhealer @lewdestconcubine @twoswordsonecaptain, @deathblizzard

#dash games #tag response

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whump-tr0pes · 2 years

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Me first! 😁 1, 4, and 5 for the writing wrapped?

Bee thank youuu

What genre did you write the most this year? Hahaha I'm not counting whump, because that's a gimmie. I'd say... religious-flavored angst?

Favorite paragraph you wrote this year? Ok this isn't strictly a paragraph, but...

Dee’s strange eyes and fangs were forgotten. He was lost, swimming in a choppy sea, barely able to keep his head above water but loving the waves of music that tossed him about. He brushed shoulders with a human wearing a thick blue coat, rubbed elbows with another that was wearing an entire fuzzy suit made of red and white. A human walking ahead of Dee bent to pick up his young child and put her on his shoulders. Then the human turned around, looking towards Dee. Dee flinched and ducked his head, praying he hadn’t been noticed.

“Now look up the hill, sweetheart,” the human said. The young child gasped and clapped her little hands, letting out a peal of delighted laughter that carried over the crowd, clear as a bell.

“Pretty!” she squealed, her cheeks pink with the cold. Her thick black curls were capped in a knit blue hat that looked like it was hand-made. Dee watched as the human man looked up at his child, and Dee swore he saw a heavenly glow in his eyes.

Favorite line of dialogue you wrote this year? *evil cackling*

“After all the things you’ve done?” Lucas murmured, drawing closer, craning Dee’s head back so he was forced to look at him. It relieved a little of the pressure on his throat, and he gasped in a breath. “Oh, little snake.” He released Dee’s hair all at once. Dee’s eyes rolled back as he dragged in breath after desperate breath. “‘Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it.’” He grinned, tilting his head to survey Dee. “There is no mercy for you. You are the enemy, little one. Your words and air and blood are poison. You possessed this body when it was not yours to take. You corrupted the human and manipulated them into being kind to you. Do you believe you deserve salvation, inimicus?”

#ask game

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sickficwarshiper · 5 years

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Sick Brucey

Here’s my first ever sickfic, I believe in this one I swaped Bruce and Peter’s personality but hey, atleast it’s filled with all the whump we loveee.

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Summery:- Bruce is having a bad day and doesn’t know he’s sick despit being a doctor until he reachs his down fall, cue Tony and Peter saving the day.

I suck at summeries I’m terribly sorry you have to go through this, I hope you enjoy the story tho.

@fandomsficsandfeels please judge my writing master of whumpiness *bows head*

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Bruce was confused.

He had woken up to a spinning room,his body was aching and his brain wasn’t keeping up with what his eyes were seeing, simply thinking he was being an idiot again with his non sleeping habits, he was starting to worry Tony was affecting him with the amount of times he stayed up late convincing the billionaire into having some shut eye if he wanted to stay functioning and the billionaire managing to tempt him into starting a new formula to help peter’s incredibly high metabolism. Yet even though he stayed up late the day before, he knew he had at least 8 hours of sleep and according to the wall clock in his bedroom -if he was seeing correctly- it was afternoon already. Bruce NEVER slept in.

He checked his stark phone -the one Tony gave him on his birthday with a ‘number one Science nerd’ phone case- and found a reminder that had him jumping out of bed and sprinting to the bathroom to start a shower.

Science lab day with tony at 1:00pm

Considering he woke up at 12:45 he only had about 5 minutes to shower and 10 minutes driving if he wants to make it there on time.

He ignored the dizzy spell that hit him and blamed it on grogginess from just waking up, and started the actual shower which was cold because he had no time for hot relaxing showers that helps with tense muscles an-

Okay, maybe it was a bad idea to stay up late experimenting the right formulas for the medicine.

He got out of the shower having not really done much and was sure he still had shampoo in his hair that would soon dry and be a pain in the ass to get off later, put on whatever the hell was laid on his desk’s chair, not really caring if it was the same clothes he wore the day prior and started to stumble down the stairs with the aim of not tripping over his own feet which would lead to the consequences of not being able to make it at all even after all the trouble he went through. He knew it was already bad enough he missed breakfast, but he couldn’t bare seeing anything edible at the moment, he blamed it on the anxiousness of not making it there on time.

He knew tony wouldn’t mind if he was a bit late, but he likes to always be on time. He doesn’t like letting anyone down. (A/N I don’t know why he sounds so much like peter rn lol)

Looking at the time, he had 12 minutes to make it there on time, which meant he showered and dressed in only 3 minutes. He thanked Thor he lived near the compound and would eventually make it in 11 minutes according to the navigation.

He was sweating, obviously after all the stumbling and sprinting about he just did, but it wasn’t the kind of sweating it was supposed to be. He was surprisingly cold and the sweat was irritating him, maybe he should’ve gotten a thicker shirt on.

Has it always been this suffocating in his car? Why was he constantly switching between irritatingly hot and unreasonably cold every few seconds ? He should probably ask Tony to check his AC for him. Despite his shivering and constant tugging on his shirt’s collar, he kept his gaze on the road while ignoring his blurry vision.

Thanks to his annoying wavering vision, he managed to take two wrong turns and three almost accidents, and he made it to the compound in 15 minutes.

Cursing his screwed over luck, he dragged himself out of the car while contemplating whether it was worth all this effort. He struggled for purchase on his car door when he stood up too quickly, taking a sharp inhale when his vision blurred and dark spots danced around the edges of his sight, thinking maybe skipping breakfast wasn’t a good idea either.

His body was trembling and he felt fatigue tug on him like a wet blanket, forcing his body back on the driver seat, he took steady calculated breaths to will the dizziness away, deciding through his stomach’s complaint that he’ll grab a bite if when he makes it to Tony’s lab.

Just when he was about to try standing again his phone rang.

“This is Bruce.” He rubbed his eyes with the knuckles of his left hand to get rid of the blurriness. Blaming the hoarseness of his voice and his scratchy throat on his thirst.

“Oh so you’re alive! good, because I’ll have to disturb your beauty sleep -giving the way you sound right now- by asking whether you’re still up for lab day or not.” He could hear distant foot steps on Tony’s line which clearly didn’t belong to him.

“Uh, yeah I am. Not sleeping though, I’m in the garage and was about to make my way to the front doors.” He stifled a cough that was threatening to rip out of his throat for no apparent reason, he should definitely have a drink after all.

“Great because I’ve- HEY leave that alone!” He heard a crash and a ‘sorry’ he frowned, pepper was out of town for a conference meeting and Rhodey had a meeting with the president.

“Tony, who’s with you?”

A few struggling and a heavy sigh later, Tony reached the line again, “Oh it’s just Peter, which is why I called by the way. Are you okay with having a third nerd on our lab day?”

He groaned, it’s not that he hated Peter’s company quite the contrary he loved it, it’s just that the kid’s energy was draining, and he was already lacking any energy to get him out of the damned car to begin with. This is what happens when he stays up too late and misses breakfast, after a quick snack he’ll be okay. Hopefully.

“Brucey?”

Oh yes, verbal answers, ugh they are the worst. “Yeah absolutely, Peter’s always welcomed.”

“Alright, get your ass up here before we die of boredom.” And with that the line went dead.

Sighing, he got up -slowly this time- and though still dizzy, he managed to lock the car and make it up the steps to the front entrance. He even made it to the elevator with not much trouble.

“Good afternoon Dr.Banner.” Came the robotic voice of the AI.

“Good afternoon FRIDAY.”

Leaning heavily on the elevator’s wall, hunching over in a fetal position, it seemed this was the only position his body was approving of. the AI was apparently informed of his arrival and started taking him to his destination. He always hated the way Tony designed his elevators, with all this unreasonable colors, it was starting to hurt his eyes, his eyes were watering unwillingly... well... because of the elevator’s crapy design of course -Totally not a billionaire’s at all- *though on any other day he always liked the colors and found them fascinating*.

Still dizzy , he blinked his eyes rapidly trying but failing to get rid of the constant blurriness and took deep breathes when nausea kicked in with the list of the other inconvenient symptoms -caused obviously from lack of sleep and proper rest-

“Sir, your heart rate is elevated and I am detecting a low degree fever, should I send you to the med bay instead?” Called the sound of the AI.

He ignored the sound for a minute to try and keep his breathing under control and push the black dots away, he always thought the AI was a genius just like it’s creator, knowing medical conditions was fascinating but it wasn’t making any sense right now, what fever? He was absolutely fine. He straightened up ignoring the way his body wanted to hunch back over in discomfort, and took one final deep breath.

“No thanks, I’ll have something on my way up, must be because of dehydration and lack of nutritions.” Obviously. He didn’t have a sip of water today. I mean come on, he’s a doctor. If anyone would know, it was him. He knows how to fix all this.

When he finally made it, he saw a sight that got him almost reaching out for the first floor’s button again.

Peter was hanging upside down on the lab’s ceiling, with Tony webbed to the other side of the room. Objects scattered on the floor messily and some of his test tubes and round bottom flasks broken with it’s ‘important’ contents spilled on the floor. Bruce was shocked to say the least. Infact, shocked was an understatement. He was not functioning properly because of -lack of nutritions-

And he was shifting from cold to hot every second, he was definitely not willing to deal with this shit and neither was the other guy.

He took deep calming breathes, forcing the other guy to back off and turned to Tony.

“Couldn’t you have at least NOT touched my part of the lab? Tony this formula was the only ones we experimented on for Peter’s medicine! God what is wrong with both of you, I was late for only five minutes! Five! Whenever you two meet up it only causes destruction. Jesus you wrecked my whole space!” He didn’t mean to snap, he was just irritated. He didn’t have the best morning and he is definitely not feeling so great because of lack of nutritions, he doesn’t know if that’s even the reason anymore he just wants to sleep.

They both stared at him worriedly, what’s wrong with them! honestly, he couldn’t deal with their shit anymore than that.

“You know what? I’ll just go fucking grab whatever it is you have in your kitchen, I missed breakfast and I’ve gone through shit today just to get here on time, and for what? A grown up webbed up to the wall and a teenager hanging off the ceiling, you’re both cleaning this up I’m not dealing with your shit until I calm the fuck down. When you’re done call for me.” And with that he left.

~Time skip brought to you by Spider baby.~ ^_^

They called him as promised after all his lab equipments were back in place, minus the ones they broke and everyone was working in silence.

Bruce was about to snap again. For the past 30 minutes he had been trying to make a chemical formula with a throbbing headache that was slowly turning into a migraine, failing miserably because of his shaky hands and watering blurry eyes. He kept taking calculated breathes, deep and steady. But he was still trembling.The food he had earlier was taking a troll on him, intensifying his nausea and threatening to make a second appearance, apparently Tony’s AC was shitty as well because he was shifting between cold and hot again.

And just when his anger subsided, his shaky hands dropped the test tube and he watched in slow motions as it chattered to pieces on the desk.

30 minutes worth of struggling, all chattered in a matter of seconds.

Bruce was on the verge of tears. Literally.

His vision wavered and he sank to the floor on his knees, holding his head while breathing sharply through his teeth, ignoring the tear track he now had on his face, he started coughing ugly deep throaty coughs, he almost coughed his lungs out and he was pretty sure he would pass out soon.

“Hey hey hey, easy.” He heard more than saw Tony and Peter making their way over to him.

Bruce kept his face in his hands and just cried.

“I b-broke it.” He sobbed, coughing weakly as he took in a deep breath, feeling strong hands helping him up and onto a chair, which he was most grateful for because of the spinning that was happening around him.

“It’s alright big guy, you broke a gazillion of those before what’s the big deal?” Tony rubbed his back slowly while he was hunched over on the chair, still crying and coughing.

“I know b-but I feel awful and I’m cold yet I’m hot a-and my head hurts and- thirty minutes! T-thirty fucking minutes tr-trying to do something right b-but my stupid hands keep shaking, I feel so exhausted and I just w-want to sleep.” Honestly he had no idea why he was crying, this was a really unnecessary thing to be crying over and he was just crying from fatigue at this point.

Then he felt a cool small hand touch his forehead, unconsciously he leaned into the comforting touch. Watching with glazed over eyes as peter’s face pinched in worry, glancing at what he assumed was tony over his shoulder with a nod.

“Friday, what’s his temperature?”

“Dr.Banner’s temperature was at 99.7 degrees when he came here and has been steadily climbing from stress till 102.4 degrees. Bed rest is recommended and a-lot of water to prevent dehydration. Light food and medicine should also be added to the list.”

“W-what? I’m sic-“ he was interrupted by a dry heave, surprisingly there was a trash can under his chin which Peter had bought over, apparently expecting this would happen eventually.

“I think this answered your question.” Tony sighed.

“I’ll go grab you some medicine Dr.Banner. You should get some rest here today, I don’t think you’ll be able to make it home in this condition.” He offered him a soft smile before going to get him the medicine as promised.

Relishing the comfort from the back rubbing Tony was giving him, he didn’t even look surprised that Tony was giving him physical comfort, or more like, he didn’t care. He just wanted to sleep.

Eye lids drooping, weak coughs and more puking later, Peter comes back with medicine and a glass of water. Both Tony and Peter helped him up to the comfortable couch in the lab and Tony left to get some blankets.

“I knew before you came into the lab you were sick.”

Bruce stared at him with disbelief da fuq?

“I heard your heart rate and breathing. I even told Tony while we were cleaning up the lab, he said I should leave it for a bit until you calmed down.” Peter fiddled with a string on the hem of his shirt absentmindedly, a nerves habit Bruce caught up with from all the time the three of them hung out in the lab.

Bruce looked away guiltily.

“I’m sorry about that, I didn’t even know I was sick. I was irritated with how my body was acting and just wanted to go home, Tony knows I hate it when he goes through my lab stuff, let alone break it.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.

“I was so close to reaching the right formula for a medicine that works with your metabolism, one that works even better than Steve’s, that’s why I got angry.” He coughed weakly into his fist and shifted his position for a more comfortable one that fits his stomach’s liking.

Peter hung his head before speaking again.

“M-maybe you should probably focus on you right now, I-I mean I’m not ordering you I’m just worried about you, Mr.Stark told me you’ve been staying up with him lately and it’s bad for your health, n-not that I’m judging you or anyth-“

“It’s okay Peter Jesus calm down, I appreciate the concern.” Bruce chuckled.

Tony came back with 3 blankets, two for Bruce and one for Peter and himself.

“Today we’re all taking a break, we’re going to take big care of you right Pete?”

Peter’s eyes twinkled innocently as he nodded, beaming brightly at Bruce. And he could’ve sworn he started feeling a tiny bit better because of it.

Peter and Tony wrapped him up in a burrito after giving him medicine and putting around some lit scented candles, “I remember you telling me once how it gets hard to control the other guy while sick.” Tony had said while he lit up the candles and they all sat huddled up in blankets while watching some Brooklyn nine-nine upon Peter’s request.

Bruce sat content not really concentrating on the show anymore, but more like thanking whatever god that is up there besides Thor and Loki for having the most caring family ever. He already felt a lot better than when he woke up this afternoon.

And with those thoughts in mind, Bruce drifted off into a dreamless sleep surrounded by warmth and a relaxing atmosphere, filled with small chuckles and quite babbles, thinking maybe today wasn’t as bad a day as he thought it was.

#sick bruce #sickday.#irondad #spiderson #tags are fun #gimmy that whump #exhausted Brucey #sorry you have to go through this #hope you like it tho #thanks for reading #first published fic #english is not my first language #it’s actually arabic lol #maybe I’ll add more tags later #or not #i’m really insecure tho #I ended up adding tags again lol #hey to you from egypt

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bleedingandfeverish · 4 years

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❌ The character had a fever.

✔️ A burning fire was building slowly but surely behind the character’s eyes, causing them to droop with the sudden but intense need for rest. The pulsing ache of a stubborn fever made the character reach for their temples, clammy hands making for a fresh sensation other than constant heat. Was it possible to burn from the inside out? Muscles aching, it took sheer willpower alone to get out of bed, let alone continue through the day with any semblance of normalcy. The character threw on a few layers to combat the chill, but the shivering had already taken its toll. The occasional groan escaped at more demanding movements, chest rising and falling slowly with each tired breath. Feeling rather spent from the hard work of keeping upright for any period of time, blinking became a challenge: eyes closed for too long each time, and there were several moments when they were sure they must have nodded off in their seat. It was hard to focus on anything, their brain feeling rather like it had been enveloped in fuzz and cotton, warm but muffling all that attempted to penetrate it. Beads of sweat danced along their hairline, a pounding headache adding to the mix once the heat grew to a nearly unbearable state.

#gimmie those details #i live for them #fever #whump #fever whump #my writing #sick #sick whump #sickfic #still terrified to post my own writing #but need to practice and get over it

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just-another-sickfic-blog · 6 years

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English teacher: The writer makes numerous horrible things happen to this character. If we look at her life, we can see that she was exposed to things like this from early childhood --

Me, the author: LOL, I just like making my ocs suffer.

#me #the author #whump #me probably #i do though #gimmie whump

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thewriterowl · 3 years

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Whump thought of the day : Din slowly going out of his mind after hours of listening to Luke scream in pain and not finding a way out of the room he's locked in.

GIMMIE!! I need this! Din losing his mind hearing Luke suffering and screaming. Din finally snapping and going feral and ape-shit on the people and he's just not good afterwards when he saves his beloved.

JUST GIMMIE THIS. YES.

#owl inbox #dinluke #tw: darkfic

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jordanstrophe · 3 years

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Awesome writeeer 💛💛💛💛

How you doing? I must admit you've been killing it these past few days 👏👏👏

Also I have this crazy idea this time, I'm thinking of whump and paranormal stuff 😈 .

Maybe a haunted house, or a ouija session that went wrong...whatever u like .

Just wanna see the fear, the unknown sounds, nose bleeds...

By this point I really don't know what on earth I'm thinking, but just bear w/ me , I love your writing 🥺

Hello awesome Anon! I'm doing quite well, thank you! And oho you are speaking to an experienced Phasmophobia player. (if anyone knows what that is)

CW: paranoia whump, migraines/passing out, haunted house

"This!? This is where we're staying for the weekend!?" Whumpee shrieked, gesturing to the old rundown building.

"Yep!" Caretaker chirped, the smile across their face said nothing but 'mistakes were made'.

"... Was it on sale?"

"... Yep..."

"Oh for goodness sake, Caretaker." Whumpee rasped. "Hey, it was a good deal! And besides, It's just for the weekend. I bet it's a lot nicer inside!"

It was not nicer inside.

In fact, it was worse. The ceiling had holes, the walls looked like they were painted with coffee stains and empty bottles littered the floor.

Whumpee gave Caretaker a 'I told you so' face.

"A weekend! We can survive here for a weekend! I'm going to set our room up, so gimmie your bags and see if you can... get the stove on?" They cringed seeing the kitchen wasn't much better. Whumpee sighed with a nod as Caretaker headed upstairs, having to jump over broken rails that had collapsed.

"Oh dear..." Caretaker muttered, finding the bedroom practically unusable. One of the walls had a large stain that looked too similar to blood. "Hey Whumpee?!" Caretaker called.

A pit in their stomach grew when they didn’t get an answer, their steps growing more frantic with each moment of silence. Their heart stopped when they found Whumpee lying motionlessly on the kitchen floor.

"Whumpee!" Caretaker cried, falling to their side as they turned them on their back. They saw their face sweating and their brow furrowed, groaning as they turned their head away. "Hey, stay with me." Caretaker muttered, taking their arm and hoisting them to a chair by the window.

They tried to crack it open, but it was jammed tight. "Come on..." They grunted, pulling until their fingers started to hurt.

*CRASH*

They gasped as they jumped back, watching the window completely shatter without reason.

"...mm.." Whumpee mumbled, seemingly unaffected by the noise.

"Hey! Are you okay?" Caretaker rasped, crouching down next to them while feeling their head sweltering. "..hng... headache..." Whumpee groaned, leaning their face into the cold touch of Caretaker's palm.

The lights started flickering as Caretaker gasped, nervously pulling Whumpee's arm over their shoulder as they helped them to their feet. "Come on, let's just leave..." Caretaker coaxed, helping them to the front door.

*SLAM*

The door slammed shut, causing a wind to blow their hair back. “What?” Caretaker gasped, jostling the handle as it stayed locked. A shiver ran up their spine as they held Whumpee protectively, turning around and pulling them back to the broken window. “Hang on to me.” Caretaker ushered, tucking an arm under their knees and lifting them through the window. They crawled through themselves just in time as Whumpee’s knees collapsed as they fell against Caretaker’s shoulder.

They lifted them back into their arms, carrying them to the car and setting them in the front seat. Whumpee’s eyes slowly blinked back open, dazed and confused. “Wh-.. What happened?” Whumpee mumbled, pressing their fingers to the bridge of their nose.

“You don’t remember?” Caretaker asked, feeling their forehead to find their fever gone. “D-don't worry about it. Let's just find you someplace to rest.” Caretaker soothed.

“Ahh wait wait wait, I’M picking the place tonight!” Whumpee barked.

“Okay! Okay fine! Whatever you want.” Caretaker raised their hands submissively. In reality, they were just overjoyed Whumpee was seemingly okay.

They glanced back at the house, seeing the lights in the bedroom flickering on and off with a faint silhouette in the window.

Tag list: @grizzlie70 @alien-octopus @lave-whump @amethysts-sideblog @whump-it-like-its-hot @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight @yet-another-heathen @princessofonward @whatwhumpcomments @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @mascmasochist @hamiltonwhumpdump @shokuhoemisaki @as-a-matter-of-whump @whumpasaurus101

o(^∀^*)o Thank you for reading!

#paranoia whump #fainted whumpee #collapsed whumpee #caretaking #caretaker #feverish whumpee #whump #whumpee #ghost whump

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inber · 4 years

Text

I Think I’m Made of Stone

A/N: I am gonna preface this by saying I am heavily writer’s blocked right now. I want this to have a second part but I can’t promise one. The ending is implied but if that’s not your jam, that’s fine! Other TW for broken bone, hurt/comfort, angst, insecure Geralt, Jaskier whump. Nothing too deeply violent or severe (it’s only 1.8k) but there’s no fluff here, lads.

“Give it here!” Jaskier bellowed, lunging across the bed and ending up in an ungainly sprawl.

Geralt tottered out of the way of Jaskier's reaching fingertips, holding the bottle of erveluce up high, intoxication tilting one corner of his smile handsomely crooked. “You give it here.”

“That makes no sense!” Jaskier whined, rolling off the mattress and back onto his feet – more or less. He clung to a poster of the bed for balance. “You have the bottle, you, you great... galoot.”

“Wha'd you just call me?”

“I said,” Jaskier pointed accusingly, “you great, massive, hulking galoot. The god of all galoots. Were there a crown for galootery, you'd wear it firmly on your fat galoot head--”

Geralt growled, hunching his shoulders forward, knees bent. “Take it back, bard.”

“Gimmie the liquor.”

“Take it back.”

Jaskier grinned, legs spread in anchor, split-lick lightning storm eyes flashing in a clear dare, striking the yellow of Geralt's. Beach-sand turned glass. He cocked a thick eyebrow.

Pushing down the tail-end of a chuckle, Geralt sprang forward. Jaskier anticipated him, let him collide with the tense muscle of his midsection; he wrapped his legs behind Geralt's, corded strong from years of walking and dancing, and pulled. The two of them crashed onto the rug, tangled, the near-empty bottle rolling away. Jaskier chuffed with laughter and stretched after it, but Geralt gripped his shoulders and flipped the both of them over.

“What am I, hmm?” Geralt asked, even as Jaskier wriggled bothersome beneath him.

“Galoot, I say!” Jaskier squealed when Geralt jabbed his side. “Ooh, no tickling! Cheat!”

Geralt huffed a warm laugh, cut short when he took Jaskier's elbow to the sternum, winding him. Jaskier used the opportunity to writhe free of the grip he'd been held in, attempting to shove into Geralt from behind. Control the hips, control the fight. The two of them had been tussling like this for awhile now. It reminded Geralt of his brothers, of nonsense at Kaer Morhen after Vesemir had gone to sleep. Stealing the last sweet-roll and brawling over it, never-mind the confection that'd be lost in the rumble.

He forgot, for a split second, that Jaskier was not one of his brothers. The eyelash-flick of time was enough; damnation in an hourglass' grain. Geralt half-twisted his torso, gripped Jaskier's right arm, and wrenched. Eskel or Lambert would have pivoted with the manoeuvre, trained.

There were two rapid, succinct snaps. Stupidly, Geralt thought of firewood, the pop and swell of a campfire. It was just like that.

Except Jaskier went limp in his grip and howled.

Geralt released him instinctively, but the gravity of his actions had not settled in the haze of his mind. With a dawning horror, he watched Jaskier drag himself away – away from Geralt – and saw, for the first time, a sheen of fear in the bard's gleaming blue eyes.

“Fuck,” Jaskier sobbed, trying to cradle his injured arm, “oh, fuck.”

Move! Geralt's mind screamed, riotous, incensed by the paralysis of his muscles. Precious moments slipped by as Jaskier moaned, long and low. Geralt had heard those sounds countless times in his life. An animal, wounded; terrified.

A sharp intake of breath finally afforded Geralt clarity, and he rose, sobriety hitting him like ice-water. He grabbed for his coin-purse, not even bothering with his cloak, despite the miserable weather outside. That was why they'd taken a room at all--

the snap-pop of firewood

--Geralt swallowed bile, unable to look at Jaskier. “Going-- to get healer.” He managed.

“Don't—don't leave--” Jaskier swooned, and Geralt ran.

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

Despite the low-hanging clouds that draped sheets of rain over the town, obscuring the position of the waning moon, Geralt knew it was past midnight. He did not waste his time asking questions of the prostitutes and paupers huddled miserably beneath the eaves of darkened establishments. Geralt simply followed his nose to the healer's shop, the scent of herbs and balms unmistakable.

Curling his hand into a fist, Geralt pounded on the door.

No answer. Inside, Geralt could hear the elderly man mumbling beneath his breath, clearly pretending to not be home. Geralt banged again, and then again.

Finally, the medic answered the door. “What?”

“Need your services. Friend broke his arm.”

The man snorted. “It's the middle of the fucking night. What happened?”

“I need you to hurry.” Geralt tried to sound gentle, but could not temper the growl on the edge of his tone. “Please.”

“You break it or something? Bloody animals, you witchers are.”

Geralt's stomach churned with a fresh wave of nausea. “Whatever your fee is, I'll add fifty crowns to it. Please.”

As ever, coin said more than Geralt ever could. The man complained the entire time he pulled his coat on and gathered up his bag, but he finally followed Geralt. Together they sloped back towards the inn, walking at the healer's pace, Geralt trembling the entire time.

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

Jaskier screamed again, and Geralt paced faster in the hallway.

Geralt had been banned from the room for hovering too close, and for critiquing the elderly healer's technique. Soundlessly he prowled, back and forth, all of his senses honed on the activity unfolding behind the closed door. Jaskier made a sound that was dangerously close to Geralt's name, and Geralt had to turn and brace himself against the wall so that he would not crack the fucking jamb open. He tried to concentrate on breathing, tried to find the centre of himself, but the battleground of his brain was far too turbulent.

Stupid. This could have been avoided if Geralt had just thought for a second. Jaskier gave as good as he got when they threw down, true, but he was human. He was—he was fucking breakable. Geralt was dangerous, as stupid and bloodthirsty as the monsters he fought, and now Jaskier was suffering for it.

After hours that felt more like days, the healer finally opened the door. Geralt slid inside once beckoned. Upon the mattress, Jaskier laid haloed by pillows, his arm purpled grotesquely by bruising. It was set carefully in place with thick bamboo splints and wrapped in starch-stiff linens to keep the limb immobilised. Geralt smelt poppy-milk and was glad that Jaskier could not feel the pain of it.

“Lucky, really. One clean break on the ulna, one hairline on the radius. If the fractures had been compounded, there might not have been anything I could have done.” The healer was packing his things away as he spoke.

Geralt tried not to think about the what if, or how 'lucky' they apparently were.

“He will need to keep the limb in that position for eight weeks. It is critical that he doesn't try to play his lute or engage in any strenuous activity, if he's to make a proper recovery.”

His right arm. It was his right arm. Of course it fucking was. Geralt nodded, his tongue stuck thick and useless against the roof of his mouth.

“I've seen far worse breaks, witcher. He'll be fine. I've left enough poppy-milk for the initial pain. Make sure he drinks plenty of water and eats good food.” The man shut his satchel.

“Thank you.” Geralt whispered. He fumbled for his purse, and poured out coin, not bothering to count it. At this stage in his life, Geralt knew by the weight that he was offering more than a fair price for the work. Considering the pleased noise of the medic, he knew there would be no quarrel.

Before the healer left, Geralt was struck by a thought. “If I take him to Oxenfurt after a few days' rest here. On horseback. Will that jostle his arm too badly?”

“Not if you stay on decent roads and keep to a sensible pace.” The man shrugged. “Good luck to you, witcher.”

The door closed, and Geralt was left with a drug-dozy Jaskier, and a heart full of leaden shame.

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

When Jaskier awoke hours later with a gasp, Geralt was at his bedside before the bard could draw a second breath. With gentle hands, Geralt steadied him. Jaskier groaned, blinking stickily, trying to get his bearings.

“Oh, fuck me,” Jaskier rasped, “my fucking... ow, my head... Melitele, Geralt, how much did we drink?”

Geralt's jaw clenched firm as he poured fresh water into a cup, holding it up for Jaskier to sip from. “Too much.”

“Urgh, clearly. What's-- oh, bollocks, my arm! How did that fucking happen?”

Malevolence stirred in the pit of Geralt's chest, the syrupy ichor of a sudden thought poisoning his heart. If Jaskier didn't remember, Geralt could make something up. They could take a rest whilst Jaskier recovered, and then continue on together as if nothing had happened.

Lie, the dark thing whispered, lie and keep your friend.

Geralt swallowed a stubborn lump that sat thick in his throat. “I broke it.”

“What?”

“We were fighting. I was careless.” Geralt's eyes lowered, heavy with regret. “I broke your arm. I am sorry.”

“Oh.” Jaskier frowned, letting his head hit the pillows again. “Yes, I seem to recall... ah. Goodness me, but we are a pair of fools, are we not?”

“The healer said you have to keep your arm still for eight weeks.”

“Eight--” Jaskier spluttered, and then whimpered. “I'll go mad!”

“You won't.” Geralt picked at the skin of his thumb. “In a few days, we're going to Oxenfurt. You'll have proper care there, proper food. The library, books to read. Students to take down your compositions.”

“I don't want to go to Oxenfurt.” Jaskier said.

“It's the safest place for you, Jaskier. You can't sleep rough, not with that arm, and I won't risk your career over--”

“Hnng.” Jaskier whispered, masking his pain poorly. Geralt picked up the poppy-milk and measured a few drops. Then he lifted it to Jaskier's lips.

“Let's not talk of it now. Rest more. Here, for the pain.”

Obediently, Jaskier drank, and Geralt watched his eyelids grow droopy.

“Y'wouldn't... leave me, Geralt? At Oxenfurt? Right?” Jaskier mumbled.

Before Geralt could fumble out an answer, Jaskier was asleep.

After checking to make sure Jaskier was comfortable and his arm was properly supported, Geralt returned to his vigil beside the fireplace. There had been no rest for him. Meditation was an impossibility. So be it; fatigue was a small penance, and Geralt had much left to pay.

Why had he not lied? As Geralt stoked the flames, he thought about what Jaskier deserved. At the base of everything, truth. Geralt could not deceive his friend, not after mangling him. Beyond that, Jaskier deserved safety. Geralt had always considered himself something of a protector, a wall between his bard and the world of monsters, impenetrable.

Yet Geralt could not keep Jaskier safe from him.

He could already hear Jaskier making light of the situation. Composing a ditty about it. Diminishing Geralt's crimes. Jaskier was gracious, ever-ready to forgive Geralt's sins, even as he confessed them constantly. No, it would not do.

Whatever it took, Geralt would see to Jaskier's future security.

#the witcher #the witcher fandom #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #angst #whump #cw broken bone #fortune writes #inber

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whumpsy-daisy · 3 years

Text

CW // dehumanizing whumpee, whumpee being refered to as a pet (bc i don't have a name for him yet pls gimmie suggestions) general whumping, mentions of suicide, low self esteem thoughts, conditioned whumpee, whumper refered to as Master, vampire whumper, victim blaming from whumper

Kieran was growing increasingly impatient. The meeting had dragged on longer than he’d expected and now the schedule he was trying to develop for the Pet was going to take even longer to set up. His annoyance grew further as his stomach hissed at him. He gripped tighter at the wheel, with everything going on in the company and with his new pet he’d forgotten to eat. How long had it been? Two? Three? Maybe four at the most. Either way, his poor decisions were finally catching up with him. He was ready to pounce on anything that had blood pumping through its veins. Sweat began forming on his forehead as he panted softly. His fangs began popping in and out uncontrollably as he continued staring at the road. He had at least another 45 minutes before he could finally eat again.

•──────────────────•°•❀•°•──────────────────•

Pet stumbled into the living room. Gripping the sofa for any sort of leverage. His hands dipped into the plush couch. He sank to his knees gripping the couch. He whimpered softly, his other hand snaking around his stomach. He figured it was a punishment for the scene he'd caused in the store. He'd do just about anything to fix it if his Master would give him a chance. But the routine that Master had didnt allow for that. He came home and would go into the room he wasn't allowed in. He tried other ways to be helpful and prove he deserved food, he kept the house clean, didn't speak unless spoken to and didn't make eye contact like he was trained. Most of these tasks were pretty easy since Master didn’t eat and neither did Pet and that Master was really only in one room or just not home most of the time.

Pet rose to his feet staggering toward the door. Vision blurring instantly. He remembered this type of hunger. It's happened many times before. He couldn’t stand up too fast or walk for too long. But it was ok because it seemed like Master preferred him on the floor. He eased back onto the floor.

•──────────────────•°•❀•°•──────────────────•

Kieran knuckles were white as he finally made it to the main road of his home. He had one thing on his mind. He finally pulled into his driveway. Nearly forgetting to park the car. He slammed the door shut speeding toward his destination. He clumsily unlocked the door, Pet who was out of his line of sight behind the door getting slammed backwards onto the floor sending the poor thing scrambling backwards. He’d be sure to apologize later but right now the important thing was feeding. Pet’s scent was suffocating; he could feel himself choking on it. He rushed toward the refrigerator, he couldn’t be near Pet, not like this. The second his hand made contact with the handle of the refrigerator his shoulders lost all the tension that had built up during the day, but just as soon as it was gone it came back tenfold. Empty. It didn't make sense. He was sure he’d had one bag of blood left. He searched desperately for any sign or trace of it inside. Thinking over what he’d done the week before and how he kept putting off his shopping for work. His eyes landed on a small note.

“we need to talk maybe we could drink over dinner?- Caroline” His knuckles went white again as he slammed the door shut violently not caring that it nearly tipped the refrigerator over. He needed to change his locks, no one's ex should still be entering their home months after a break up. He was fucked. His breathing picked up, he could feel his fangs throbbing. Then that damn scent invaded his nostrils again. It was warm, enticing, practically calling out to him. Pulling him in just begging for him to sink his teeth into it. But he couldn't, that's not what he’d bought the damn thing for. But that’s what a pet was made for. Made to serve whatever Master was put in front of it. Pets were born for this. Pets were weaker,smaller; Pets were human, infinite blood bags and this one, this one belonged to Kieran.

•──────────────────•°•❀•°•──────────────────•

Pet meekly made his way into the kitchen. He would have just gone straight to bed but he knew he’d regret not asking water tonight. Master seemed more tense than usual and he didn't know if he was going to be used as some sort of stress reliever.

Pet fumbled to the kitchen, the loud noise making him nearly change his mind. Masters footsteps came toward him swiftly, he kept his eyes down. Trying to remember everything he’d been taught.

Don't speak.

Keep your head down

Don't fight back

Master is always right

“Master…” his voice felt out of place in the usual silence that had been happening between the two. And finally., after three days of waiting Master gave his first orders.

“Go to your room, lock the door, and no matter what I say do not open the door. Do you understand me?”

Master��s voice was stern yet so soft. Pet wanted nothing more than to be praised by this voice. A voice so firm it felt...safe.

“Yes Sir.” Pet mumbled before leaving, padding up the stairs locking the door to the room Master had given him. It was different from what he’d been used to. This bed wasn’t a towel on the floor, it was huge. This Master was so different from his previous ones it was hard to get a read on what kind he was going to be.

There was no going back or second chances. Getting sent back meant getting drained dry. Pet had seen it happen before to others. The only one he remembered was the one who’d lent him food when he was being starved as a punishment. Pet wished he could have repaid her before she was drained. She’d been sent back multiple times and that's when the three-strikes rule started. She wasn’t obedient most of the time. She talked about wanting freedom a lot, he felt like she kept getting sent back on purpose just so that hopefully the trainers would let her go. Unfortunately that's when everyone found out what being what being let go really meant.

Pet was snatched from his thoughts by a sudden banging on his door.

“Open. The. Door.”

It was Master. Was it some sort of test? He’d just been given a direct order not to open the door. So Pet sat still on the bed, he felt ill; it wasn’t just from his lack of nutrition. He felt as if he was disobeying an order. But it had to be a test otherwise Maser wouldn’t have made him come up here in the first place. But the pounding on the door continued. Getting more violent as the seconds went on. Pets brows furrowed in confusion

“I said, open the door!”

Master was practically growling He hopped down from the bed rushing for the door he reached for the door but quickly pulled back his shaking hand. He needed to follow his original order. This was definitely a test, it had to be. It went eerily quiet. Pet backed away from the door turning away. After this test was over he hoped Master would give him food and water and maybe even give him the gentle touches he’d received on his first night and maybe just to hear Master say he was proud of him. Pet was snapped from his fantasy as thuds began repeatedly against the door again.

Pet watched in horror from the floor as the door cracked. Wood splitting as the door was bashed in. The door was opened so hard it fell off the hinges. Master was seething, his rage was suffocating. Pet wanted to drop to the floor and just beg for forgiveness for whatever he’d done wrong but it was clear whatever was about to happen no mercy would be shown. A deep growl echoed through the room before Pet was snatched from his place on the floor being manhandled out of the room. Pet yelped, pleading for mercy as he struggled blindly against Master.

He didn’t understand how he'd upset Master this much, he’d followed the order hadn’t he? He didn’t have much time to think about it before he was promptly thrown down the stairs. White hot pain flashed across his body as he tumbled down. Each stair engnighting a searing pain through his body. Pet collided with the floor with such force he thought he cracked it. A piercing scream ripped through the air, Pet hadn’t even realized it was his own scream until Master’s hands came around his throat quieting his cries.

“M’sorry!” Pet choked, tears spilling down his cheeks as he gripped onto Master's wrists trying to no avail to get free of the hold Master had on him.

His arms flailed wildly as he tried with everything he had left in him. Master seemed entirely unaffected by the struggle, simply collecting both of Pet’s wrists in one hand before slamming them onto the floor with the rest of Pets' crumpled body.

“I don’t know- I don’t know what I did! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please I can b-be better...I can do better!” Pet begged, wheezing from the pain spreading through his lungs making his breathing feel like he was being stabbed over and over.

Master’s hand came crashing down on Pet’s face, pinning his face down to the floor. He didn’t even have a moment to react to the first flash of pain before another came shooting through his entire body. Whatever wail Pet would have made was caught in his throat. His eyes rolling into his head from this newfound pain.

He’d been bitten many times before, the last time he’d been fed from wasn’t that long ago. So why did this time hurt so much more? It was overwhelming, he felt like he was drowning. Pet made eye contact as Master lifted his head from Pet’s neck, blood still seeping from the bite. His eyes glowing a drunken crimson.

“You’re as sweet as you smell," Master snarled, wiping Pet’s blood from his bottom lip.

Pet tried to apologize again but the words came out garbled as sobs continued to rob him of air. Master started to go for another bite, Pet was trained to sit and take this. Pet wasn’t supposed to cry about this. Pet was supposed to be good for whatever his master needed from him. No matter how many beatings and feedings he got there was still something in him. His old master said it was called human instinct but he called it defiance. Pet’s were supposed to lose that in training. But yet somehow after everything that had happened to him he still had it, Pet still wanted to listen to the fading little voice in the back of his head that told him to fight or scream or run at any opportunity that was open.

“Fight back”

Pet didn’t even realize what he’d done until his hand collided with Master’s face. He didn’t know if it was from the fall or the blood loss all he knew was that he was finally feeling something other than pain

This was a new emotion, this was terror. He’d hit someone, not just anyone but his Master. Pet could feel whatever was left in his stomach slowly trying to crawl out of his throat. Master’s crimson eyes were the last thing he could clearly make out before Master’s grip became tight enough to cause a deafening pop from Pet’s wrist. Next came what seemed like an endless barrage of fists pounding into him. This time Pet knew it was him when a shriek echoed through the room.

Master’s boot came into contact with his chest and Pet gripped it with all he had left, sobbing desperately for any sort of mercy. It didn’t take much for Master to get his foot back and leave Pet winded against the floor. His lungs burning with each shallow breath he managed to take in. The only thing his body was meant to do was to take the pain. He’d learned that over the years and he had the scars to prove it. But even after everything he still couldn’t take it. His vision quickly clouded with black dots. Pet could make out a large silhouette in front of him. A hand slamming his face back into the floor.

“Don’t fight it, just close your eyes; I don’t need you to be awake to get what I want.”

Pet obeyed without a second thought, he was so tired of fighting, he just wanted to be good. No matter how hard he tried, he always managed to ruin it, and now he was going to die alone with a Master who probably hated him just as much as he hated himself.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

@tavecincertum

#whump #whump writing #whump fic #whump blog #whump community #pet whump #whump tropes #caretaker turned whumper #whumpee #vampire whumper #captivity whump #this was a lot longer than i thought it would be #why am i so mean to my whumpee #pls help me name him

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