#given that at the time he was the only whumpee on the blog

[hold-him-down]

"He won't tell me what's wrong." - for the dialogue prompt thingy

“He won’t tell me what’s wrong,” Lincoln grumbles into his hands. A volunteer sits on the opposite side of the large metal desk, once occupied by Director Jones, who now sits behind bars awaiting trial. Link has gutted the office, save for all the files, which live in the safe, and this desk, mostly because sitting on the floor day after day felt like he was asking too much of his body. This desk, though, and everything else about this place, is covered in the blood of hundreds and hundreds of workers, and Link longs for the day that it can be burned to the ground. For now, though, he’s at its mercy.

“He won’t tell anyone much of anything,” the volunteer responds. ���I tried last night, every time I got within five feet of him I feared for my life.”

Hyperbolic as it is, Lincoln can relate to the frustration.

“He hasn’t eaten,” Link says. The volunteer nods. “He didn’t sleep at all last night?” 

“Not that I noticed.”

He nods again. The options with River are incredibly limited. He is extremely resistant to any sort of help, and each time Lincoln has tried, he’s been met with open hostility that has, in some cases, led to physical altercations. He’s tired, and he’s scared, and he has to be fucking hungry. And, moreover, he’s in pain, although so far he has refused to offer any insight as to why.

Lincoln pulls out his file, printed only for the benefit of having something tangible to look at when he’s at a loss, and opens to the first page. A picture of River, several years earlier, greets him. He looked angry then, too, Lincoln thinks.

“Do you think he’d talk to any of the other residents?” Lincoln asks then. “Has he shown any interest in any of them?”

It’s a dark horse suggestion, but he’s low on ideas. Short of forcing River into an x-ray machine or into an ambulance or drugging him again, he doesn’t see a way around this. 

“No,” the volunteer replies. “He spent all night in his room, refused breakfast, and hasn’t spoken to a soul.”

[jax-writes-whump]

Greetings whump community!

My name's Jax, lover of all things writing/whump. I've been snooping around tumblr for over two years, and I finally decided to create a blog to post my own stuff.

Favorite whump tropes:

Permanent disabilities. (Deaf, blind, mute, etc) Especially when they are given later in life by a whumper is just *chef's kiss* Peak trauma

Long, hard recoveries. Seeing the whumpee work through the trauma is just my favorite type of high

To build on that; Recapture. Whether by a different whumper or the same, forcing them to regress after so much progress and then the team being disappointed that the whumpee has lost so much progress. More trauma, more fun!

Necessary pain. Like physical therapy when it genuinely hurts to do it and a begging whumpee with a reluctant caretaker... it just gives me the best whumperflies.

Dehumanization. Specifically the recovery. Choosing not to sit in furniture, sitting by peoples feet instead, voice changing because of a shock collar, afraid to speak because they were muzzled. just... 😁

Fade to black Noncon. I won't ever write explicit, though I may read it, but I do enjoy implications purely for the aftermath and the recovery. Like... being comfortable being touched if they became touch-averse, re-learning that what they want matters if it was a slavery type thing. Just makes me proud of any of my characters when they progress.

Characters under the cut...

Some of my characters that I may post:

Story 1:

Nazari (M, 16): half-unspecified creature whumpee. Blinded by acid. Grew up with Caspian, Rae, Zinnia in slaver, and raised by Thorn since he was 7

Caspian (M, 19): Half-siren Caretaker. Also grew up with Nazari, Rae, and Zinnia in slavery, and raised by Thorn since he was 10

Rae (M, 19): Half-fire-giant leader. Grew up in slavery with the others, raised by Thorn since he was 10

Zinnia (F, 18): Half-dryad healer. Grew up with the others in slavery, raised by Thorn since she was 9

Thorn (M, 68): Half-orc (Can you see the theme yet?) guardian. Grew up on a farm, but cast aside because he was only Half-orc. Added onto his own cottage after finding the four children struggling in the city.

Lorella (F, 59): DEAD! Orc Caretaker, was married to Thorn before she died and had one daughter with him Lyla (8), but since she's like...super dead you'll only see her in flashbacks or something set in the past.

Story 2:

Virion (M, 45): Father of Vett, Vex, and Vel, Side caretaker, leader of the council inside a sanctuary that is a city encased in crystal inside an otherwise collapsing society.

Elis (F, 40): DEAD! Yes, another mother is dead. My bad, besties. Loved the stars, had a whole observatory made because she married the leader of the council so she could do whatever she wanted. Said to be the most beautiful woman in the sanctuary (Idk man it was 2am when I came up with her. I haven't drawn her yet soooo up to interpretation.)

Vex (M, 19): Oldest son of Virion and Elis, main caretaker of his siblings because Virion can't actually parent and likes to play with politics and swords instead. Fills in for his father on the council when he is away, so like all the time. Doesn't like it, prefers staying in bed. (Girl same)

Vel (F, 18): Only daughter of Virion, main protector of her siblings, because Virion can't PARENT. A captain of the guard, mostly trains recruits when she's bored and uses it as an excuse to get out of school. Prefers punching people over learning.

Vett (M, 15): Youngest child of Virion, said to look just like his mother by every creepy old man ever. Main whumpee because Virion CAN'T PARENT. Has a malformed left leg so uses a brace and crutch (Is this because I watched Arcane and fell in love with Viktor? Yes. Am I ashamed? A little.) Goes to school because he is forced to when in reality he is smarter than his teachers and he hates everyone there, would rather spend that time in his observatory made by his mother.

More to come...

[whumpsday]

Ancient Evils

Whump Oneshot - Writing masterlist

find my G/t blog here: @smallsday

content: g/t whump, giant whumpee, demon whumpee, magical whump, isolation, claustrophobia, burns, forced to obey, rescue, hurt/comfort, caretaking

Whumpmas in July Day 21: Abandoned GT July Day 21: Coveted Hug a Giant Day

dammit i did that thing again where i write a oneshot and it turns into the setup for a miniseries. will write a followup to this eventually lol but it also works as a standalone <3 (edit: might just leave this as a standalone, who knows)

-

The tomb was covered in glowing runes Berian knew from his studies, but had never encountered in use until today. Symbols carved painstakingly into stone by ancients, covering every inch of the thirteen-foot stone box, all screaming a single purpose: keep whatever lies inside sealed within.

The magic used to activate them was powerful, powerful enough to seal the tomb for two thousand years, powerful enough that the caster had surely died, given what they had to work with back then. It was likely all they could think to do in their desperation, back then. Berian uttered a quick prayer for the caster who came before him, who had sacrificed themself to save countless: long-dead, but not forgotten.

At least he wouldn’t have to follow in their footsteps. Two thousand years was, thankfully, enough time to develop a better solution. A way of utilizing the demon’s own magic against itself.

Though it was always in the back of his mind as a backup, in case something went wrong. Hopefully, the knot of anxiety in his stomach would dissipate after it was done.

Berian looked to his watches, lined up one after the other on his wrist, all still in sync, and waited.

As soon as it hit twenty seconds until release, he began chanting as practiced, his staff pointed directly at the tomb. He had to time it just right, or his colleagues out at the entrance probably wouldn’t even be able to come retrieve his corpse.

“Finis.”

Precisely at the same moment Berian bound the spell, the runes ceased to glow, a forceful BANG sounding from within the tomb.

He exhaled slow. The lid stayed shut. After only a few seconds, the runes resumed glowing once more. He’d done it.

The entity inside screamed.

Berian jumped back. The screaming did not stop, a wail of agony and despair. Barely audible under it all, his phone beeped, the least of his worries.

“Hello?” he called out, hesitant.

A voice roared from inside. “LET ME OUT.”

In all his wildest imaginings, Berian had never imagined the demon would speak to him.

He could, he realized. The spell had bound the demon to his will: it would have to obey him even outside the tomb.

And it was the only chance he would ever get. And they had backup plan after backup plan in place in case things went horribly wrong.

“...Okay. Don’t move.”  This would at least be a good test of whether the spell would hold, he told himself. It was safer this way, really.

Berian tried to lift the lid, but it was simply too heavy, a gigantic slab of solid stone. He pointed his staff to it, muttering just the right words to let it slide off to the side.

The demon looked like a man. He hadn’t expected that. He was as tall as the tomb was long, easily more than twice Berian’s height, with large, curled horns protruding from his head, but other than that, he looked human.

True to Berian’s order, he did not move a single muscle. His body lay stock-still within, his arms raised and palms up–he’d been attempting to push the lid off himself. Overlapping scars streaked down his skin wherever it touched the stone in the pattern of the runes, burned in as though with a branding iron. Massive shackles cinched tight around his wrists, ankles, and neck, chains binding him to the inside of the tomb.

The demon did not speak again, his eyes wide with overwhelming alarm.

It was only after a moment of taking him all in with awe that Berian realized it was him preventing the demon from doing so.

“You can move,” he amended. In addition to forcing the demon to use his own magic to re-activate the runes, the initial spell had contained a command preventing him from leaving the tomb. This would just be going overkill.

The demon gasped, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “OUT. OUT. YOU WILL RELEASE ME.”

Berian winced. “I can’t do that. You’ll hurt people, like last time, right?”

To Berian’s continued amazement, the demon began to cry.

“ONLY YOUR ENEMIES. OR NO ONE AT ALL. WHATEVER ARE THE TERMS. WHAT MUST I DO TO BE RELEASED?”

Berian could have sworn he heard that powerful voice break, just a little.

“NAME YOUR TERMS,” the demon insisted. Berian was sure now, the desperation palpable.

The demon shifted slightly, and everywhere the stone touched new skin, it burned.

“You–you will harm no one,” Berian started, before he’d even thought how this was going to work. “You will stay in this section of the cave. You will not touch my staff or any other conduit of magic. You may exit the tomb.”

Berian had never seen something so huge move so quick. The demon burst from the stone box like a firework, chains snapping like rubber bands under his freed might, the ends hanging limply from his shackles. The cave ceiling was not tall enough for him to stand and he did not try, scrambling as far away as he could get and huddling against the wall there.

His phone beeped again.

The demon glared at him, his chin tucked into the metal wrapped around his neck, breathing heavily.

This wasn’t right. This was a demon that had wrought terror across lands, responsible for thousands of deaths, a giant among men. He wasn’t supposed to be… pitiful.

“Hey–”

“I WILL NOT GO BACK IN.” Now that he was out of the tomb, Berian could see the true extent of the damage, the burns even more intense on skin that had been pressed against the bottom. As huge as the box was, it had been built scarcely larger than the man before him, big enough to fit him and no more. Skin that had been pressed against the bottom was particularly scarred, so much so that it was essentially a giant burn, the symbols impossible to make out.

“I’m not going to make you go back in there,” Berian promised. Maybe a stupid promise. What the fuck was he going to do? “So just… it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

He certainly wasn’t expecting that. The demon’s glare gave way to surprise. “GOOD.”

Berian took an experimental step forward, like he was coaxing out a feral cat. “Do you have a name? Mine’s Berian. I’m–” Don’t say caster. “...A researcher.” It wasn’t a lie, after all.

The demon picked his head up. “THEY CALLED ME ALARIC. ALL-POWERFUL.” The words rang bitter.

“Were you… awake in there, all this time?” Berian asked, dreading the answer.

The glare returned. “I DO NOT SLEEP.”

“We didn’t know you were awake. You weren’t supposed to be awake.” Berian took a couple more steps forward.

Alaric put his hand up, huge, sharp claws protruding from every finger. Berian flinched, squeezing his eyes shut with a small yelp, but there was no attack: his commands prevented it. When he opened his eyes, he found Alaric merely motioning for him to stop.

“DO NOT BRING THAT NEAR ME.” He pointed to Berian’s staff.

“Okay! Okay.” He set the staff down on the ground, bringing his hands up in a placating motion. “See? You follow my commands, I follow yours, it goes both ways. I don’t have it.”

Alaric lowered his hand. “YOU MAY PROCEED, MAGE.”

Heart fluttering and permission granted, Berian did. He walked right up to him: even huddled on the floor, Alaric was taller than Berian was standing.

“STATE YOUR PURPOSE HERE.”

“Right! I, ah, I was sent to… re-seal you. But I won’t!” Berian clarified hurriedly. “Really, I was just sent to make sure nobody gets hurt. Like–like the last time you were out. That’s fine, right?”

Alaric narrowed his eyes. “IT IS DONE.”

“Good! Good.” Berian hovered a hand inches from his skin. “You’re hurt.”

“YES. THAT.” Alaric nodded toward the tomb and shuddered.

In order to create something that could contain a demon, they’d had to make something so totally opposed that it had harmed him. Berian didn’t blame the ancients: they had to stop the massacres one way or another, and they worked with what they had. They were desperate.

But there was no massacre now.

Without his staff, the kinds of spells he could perform were limited, but not nothing. While he couldn’t cast outright healing spells–would they even work on a demon?--he could at least cast something soothing. “I could… help. If you want.”

Alaric eyed him silently for a few moments before responding. “DO AS YOU WISH.”

“I can touch you?” Berian asked.

The demon nodded. Berian laid his hand lightly against Alaric’s back, red with harsh welts. He could feel Alaric’s muscle underneath, tensed, twitching slightly at his touch.

His whispered incantation didn’t do much. It was the magical equivalent of putting aloe on third-degree burns. But it was something, and Berian felt Alaric relax just slightly under his hand.

Berian performed the spell again and again, touching wherever it looked the worst. Between this and the earlier binding, he quickly exhausted himself, but that was fine.

“Better?” he asked.

“...YES.” Alaric looked down at him with a little less apprehension now. “YOU WILL BE SPARED, MAGE.”

“Haha, great!” Berian squeaked. “Just–just like everyone, right?”

“THOSE WERE THE TERMS,” Alaric agreed.

Berian wanted to get those shackles off. He wanted to take Alaric out of here, bring him to the lab. No, the lab wouldn’t be big enough to house him comfortably. Nowhere would. They’d have to build a custom facility, and there was no way he’d get permission for that, much less the funding. He couldn’t so much as let anyone know the state in which he’d left Alaric, or they’d find another caster and find a way to finish the job.

His phone beeped twice.

���I have to go, okay? You just… stay down here for now. I’ll be back soon,” he promised. “I’ll bring you things.”

“BRING ME A SHEEP,” Alaric demanded.

“I’ll bring you a sheep! Sure! And–I’m sorry about this, but if someone finds you, it’s going to be really bad, especially for you. So… be quiet,” Berian ordered.

Alaric did not respond. He couldn’t. His features set back into a glare, but he nodded: he was the one who stood to lose, after all. At least he understood.

Before Berian could think better of it, he leaned in and wrapped his arms around the demon as much as he could manage to. Alaric did not push him away, even though he could have. If anything. Alaric leaned into it slightly.

He stayed like that for a good minute before stepping away. “I’ll protect you. That’s my job.”

Berian raced out toward the entrance, already planning his next visit.

Oneshots taglist

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@reborrowing

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@what-if-i-just-did

Everything taglist

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G/t taglist

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Events

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[secretwhumplair]

Found & Lost

1,264 words | The black prince [WT] (sequel to The Outpost)

Content | Multiple whumpees, broken bones, starvation, mute whumpee, mentioned/implied: painful healing, death

Notes | Say hello to the prince! Surely nothing heartbreaking can happen now that he is safely with his people.

Taglist | @echo-goes-aaa @whump-blog

Orafin’s vision went black for a moment when he slid off the horse, bending his broken legs in all the wrong ways.

Despite wanting to get away as quickly as possible, he hadn’t been able to help being glad Elgar couldn’t make the horse more than walk. Even so, everything was a haze of agony, his legs only the sharpest among the bruises and welts and open cuts all over his body, and the painful void inside his stomach.

He could hardly think, even now that General Tarrev’s familiar face struck relief from his tormented heart like a gold vein from raw stone. Barring his siblings, there could not have been a more welcome view than the man who taught him how to fight when he was a child, who could protect him as well as he helped protect the kingdom.

He distantly heard Tarrev order a medic and food to his quarters, and a messenger to ready themself. Then his voice turned quieter as he arranged Orafin into a bridal carry. »What have they done to you, my Prince.«

Orafin could barely process what was being said, but one thought broke through the haze. Something—someone—was missing.

It took all the effort he could spare, but he managed to grab Elgar’s hand as Tarrev turned away.

Tarrev looked into his pleading eyes, and thankfully understood. »You want your companion to come with us?« He switched to the Rekkshuran Elgar had used to communicate. »Can you walk, good sir?«

Orafin didn’t register Elgar’s answer. He found his head leaning against Tarrev’s arm; it was so nice and warm. Then what felt like moments later, he was set down into a cot that felt as comfortable, no, better than his four-poster at home.

He was going to go home.

All thanks to the poor creature who had been enslaved alongside him, and had the courage to run when he couldn’t.

Elgar’s hand hadn’t slipped from his, and now that he was almost comfortably reclined, aside from the pain, and flooding with what joy his exhausted body could handle, he found it less strenuous to turn his head and look at him.

He looked frightened, and Orafin gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

He had promised he would protect the man who had saved him, tonight in an act of unfathomable bravery but in truth probably a dozen times over, and he would keep his promise. He wanted nothing more than to tell him he was safe, that no one would dare lay a hand on him ever again, or else that he could go home when he had recovered his strength; but all he could do was squeeze his hand like they had done dozens of times.

»Here, your Highness.« Tarrev sat down on his other side with a bowl of—it could have been anything, for all Orafin cared. It was food.

He managed to take it in his feeble hands. It felt wrong, freely being handed food, like he would definitely be punished if he simply accepted it; he looked at Tarrev’s face to fight the horrific instinct that had been implanted in him, finding kind worry rather than lurking malice.

»I know it is not much, your Highness. I apologize, but it is dangerous for a starved man to eat too much, too quickly. You will not have to wait long on your next meal, on my word.«

Orafin thought he might cry from the care he was being shown. Elgar had done what he could with what he had, but he had never been quite able to make a material difference, except leaving him a tiny little more of his own food—and how grateful Orafin had been, knowing they were both hungry. He was almost ashamed a proper meal made him feel so much better, when it was so easily given.

He couldn’t focus too much on his concerns, though. It was all he could do to spoon the stew up rather than simply drink it out of the bowl in one go. It was difficult enough, even physically; he had not been allowed to even use his hands to eat for months.

He only distantly noticed the medic entering.

»Your Highness. May I attend to you legs?«

When he didn’t answer—he couldn’t simply nod when he wanted to beg for them to be careful—, the medic frowned. »Your Highness, can you not speak?«

He swallowed before opening his mouth in reply. Tarrev took in a sharp breath, and the medic’s shoulders sagged.

»Let him finish eating,« Tarrev told the medic in his stead, and Orafin instantly knew why. This would hurt. Tarrev got up and went over to his desk. »Wait…«

Orafin was already wiping the bowl clean with his fingers. There would be no way around it, and he shouldn’t be looking for one—they were goint to heal him, not pointlessly hurt him out of cruelty.

Tarrev returned with a slate and pencil. »Can you write, your Highness?«

Orafin took them with trembling hands, setting the cleared bowl down. His hands felt awfully unsteady, but he scrawled thank you on the slate, in the largest letters he could fit.

»I am your servant, your Highness,« Tarrev only replied quietly.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed being able to communicate. There were so many things he suddenly felt the need to talk about.

But first, he held the slate up to Elgar. He had, Orafin noticed only now that the worst of his own hunger was sated, been given his own bowl of stew. He would have been surprised if Elgar could read Ochurian, but Tarrev picked up on his intentions. »His Highness wishes to thank you.«

Elgar only nodded timidly, ducking his head in a clumsy bow.

Orafin wanted to tell him a thousand things more, not the least that there was no need to bow to him, but Tarrev continued while he was wiping the slate, so he merely noted a quick, Please speak Rekkshuran, for the benefit of my companion.

»I wrote to their Majesty, your sibling,« Tarrev said, half-turning to the medic, and then repeated himself according to Orafin’s orders, continuing on in a language Elgar could understand. »If nothing holds them up, they can be here tomorrow night. They will be able to heal you if you prefer to wait.«

The medic nodded, hesitantly. »I can just give you something for the pain for now, then. But it’s always better with these things not to wait too long, even for a mage.«

But Orafin barely registered any of that. Their Majesty, your sibling. He stared at Tarrev, desperate for this not to mean what it had to mean.

Tarrev noticed the moment that had caught him, and his face fell. »Oh.« Orafin wasn’t sure he had ever heard the man’s voice go this soft, and he felt dizzy, knowing that this could not bode well. »Have… Had you not heard?«

Orafin blinked back tears. Only rumours.

Tarrev nodded slowly, lowering his eyes. »I am so sorry. Her Majesty passed from injuries sustained in battle… four months ago now.«

Without ever seeing her youngest son again, believing him dead. Without Orafin there to say his final goodbyes, or hear his mother’s last words, or even attend the funeral. With his siblings believing this to be the second loss in such short time.

Without him.

Orafin had thought he had run out of tears some hours ago, but now he covered his face in his hands and wept more.

[accidentalcookies]

Hello! Call me Sage! I go by they/them pronouns, and am in my late 20s! I've been lurking for a good long while, and have been promising an intro post for a looong time (what do you mean 2023 was 2 years ago?!), so here it is!

You'll find this blog as a sort of a repository of reblogged whump tropes and prompts, as well as my writing! You can find all the tracked tags I have on this blog tagged to this post for ease of navigation 😊 This is also a sideblog, so you'll see any likes or follows coming from @digitalcactusblog instead of this blog!

I have a wide range of likes when it comes to whump, though I strongly prefer whumperless whump to having a whumper! I do dabble on occasion, though, especially in certain AUs for my OCs. And boy, do I have a lot of AUs.

As far as favourite whump tropes go, I love characters fainting/collapsing, the "hidden injury" trope, and so so much the "moment of awakening" trope—when a whumpee finally wakes up from unconsciousness and is super out of it. And, of course, more, but we can't be here all day 😂 I generally write/reblog a pretty wide variety of stuff!

My inbox is always open if you want to hit me with an ask/message! I'm always down to chat 😊

OC details and writing masterlist under the cut:

OC List:

Shaoyuan Nie (he/him): Introduction here!

Shaoquan Nie (any pronouns): Twin sibling to Shaoyuan, and the Abel to his Cain. A silvertongue smooth-talker with a careful eye for detail, and such a sharp insight into the thoughts of others that you'd think they're able to read minds (and in some AUs they do). They much prefer words over weapons, though one could say that words are their weapons, and they're a master of using them to devastating effect. They strongly believe that violence is unnecessary, and murder even more so.

Aristides de Silva (he/him): A mafia leader that inherited a dying empire from his father, who is determined to build it up to something worth inheriting. An enigmatic man whose mind seems to work in inscrutable ways, even to the ones who know him best. If life is a game of chess, then at any given moment, Aristides is thinking ten steps of the people around him. Catching him by surprise is a difficult task; he always seems to know more than he ought to. In most AUs, he's the father of three young children: his son, Demophon, and twin daughters, Delfina and Desideria.

Celestinus Cheng (he/him): A doctor who was born an outsider to the criminal underworld, but was pulled in after associations with Aristides. Since then, he's become Aristides' trusted right hand and advisor, as well as the de facto medical professional for members of his gang. Despite his constant air of exasperated frustration, his bark is far worse than his bite, and his heart is too big for his own good. No matter ally or enemy, he can't stand to watch and do nothing when someone is suffering or hurt.

Anne (she/her): An independent arcane researcher, and a member of the circle of "angels" that have descended to bestow magic upon the humans in Hell Is Another Word For Home. With her cheerfully heartless demeanour, however, one might be forgiven for thinking of her as a demon. Her first and only love is her research, to which her heart belongs—but, she has a special place in her heart for those who inspire her curiosity.

--------

Writing Masterpost (by AU):

Mafia AU: A cold-hearted assassin who killed his entire family. An ambitious mafia leader, looking to expand his enterprise. A civilian doctor, saddled with keeping these two chucklefucks alive.

When Aristides secretly buys out Shaoyuan's contract from the management agency that owns him, Celestinus isn't too convinced that this traitorous assassin, who has wiped out two whole "family businesses," can be trusted. Through time, effort, and the judicious application of precise headshots, he finds otherwise.

Whump Tropes: Living weapon whumpee, exasperated caretaker, hidden/downplayed injury, [more to be added].

Characters: Shaoyuan, Celestinus, Aristides.

Relationships: Shaoyuan/Celestinus/Aristides

Intro: Aristides and Shaoyuan

Warming To Your Resident Murderer: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, tbc

Whumperless Whump Event 2024: Day 1, Day 11

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Hell Is Another Word For Home: After Shaoyuan is caught for helping his siblings escape a sisyphean hell that turns children into human weapons, all attempts to execute him for this crime are stymied by the discovery that he is a Saint—a human weapon that has attained the pinnacle of magical mastery and become immortal as a result. So what do you do with a criminal you can't kill? Why, you use him as the subject for experiments that would kill a normal man, of course.

Whump Tropes: Immortal whumpee, lab experiment whumpee, warm caretaker, unethical scientist whumper, magical overexertion, lab experiment whump, sickfic, living weapon.

Characters: Shaoyuan, Anne, [more to come!].

Whumpuary 2025: Day 1

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Borderlands AU: Introduction here!

Whump Tropes: Chronic illness, team setting, [more to be added].

Characters: Shaoyuan, Katerina, Felix, Raz.

---

More to be added over time :3

[octopus-reactivated]

Title me Miss: Bath time!

Took me really long to write it, but it's done. What can i cay, i'm a slow worker

Also, thank you to @whump-blog for proofreading 💜🦀💜

Tw/cw: Pet whump, Whumpee thinks Caretaker is new Master, multiple(2) Caretakers, mention of starvation, fear of hurt (knife), touch starvation. Let me know if i missed anything

__________

Miss took the last sip of her tea and put the cup down. Juli took this as a sign that the breakfast was over. 

It was one of the best meals he ever had. Food wasn’t like in the facility: completely tasteless or spicy to hurt his freshly cutted mouth. It wasn’t spiked with drugs that made his legs wobble and his head spin. And now, when Juli was sure it wasn’t human food too and when he had a clear task, he felt safe and so … not guilty. Well, maybe a little bit guilty. 

At least, he managed to stop himself from devouring food as soon as it was given to him. It was difficult, but not impossible. He shouldn't complain anyway, not when he was shown so much mercy. 

__________

“I… um…” he stuttered.  Miss looked at him confused. His heart thumped, as he realized he would have to explain why he dared to speak up unprompted.

“I currently don't have any wounds” he admitted “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I was supposed to look presentable and… I'm sorry, so sorry…”

There he was babbling and muttering again. Pathetic. 

“If you wish so Miss…” he took a few shaky breaths to calm himself down, “you could open some yourself?”

As soon as the sentence left his mouth, he realized how stupid idea it was. Who was he to dictate Miss what to do?

But she said she wanted to get his wounds treated. 

“Miss?” He asked in a shaky voice, trying to imagine her grabbing a knife and dragging it on his skin.  Would it be a few cuts on his back? Shallow cut near a vital area, so she could feel him shake in fear, but still try to hold still to show obedience? One long cut going from his back to chest and back to back in a spiral?

He dared to look up. 

Miss looked at him disgusted… no, more than that. Horrified. 

He remembered how she told him earlier that she liked him. This must have changed by now. 

If only he learned to keep his mouth shut and keep his stupid suggestions to himself.

“Juli” Miss said in a sweet voice, the one that people in the movies often used when they were so angry, that they became completely calm.

She crouched to his level and placed a hand on his check. He was so, so terrified, and yet, some of his old training kicked in, and he involuntarily leaned into this comfort, even if it was just an illusion “No one's going to hurt you.” She said, gently tilting his head up, forcing him to look into her face “Not me, not Justin or anyone else”

“No hurt?” he repeated, wide-eyed.

“That’s correct. You’re safe here”

Juli sighted from relief. 

As long as he behaves, he won’t be hurt. 

That meant so much. He will be -somewhat- free of constant pain.

Have you forgotten how frequently you mess up your tasks?- mocked him the voice inside his head -How long will you go without punishment? That is, if you even get to have punishment instead of being abandoned.

He bowed down to show his gratitude. 

“I have to get going now” she took her hand away “I should be back for late dinner”

He didn’t understand why she was saying this to him, why did she feel the need to explain her plans to him, as he could understand or influence human ways. 

__________

“Water should be warm enough. You can get yourself ready,” Sir Justin said. “There is soap and stuff. I’m going to check up on you in a few minutes, but if you have any trouble you can call me”

Like he would dare to call sir, like he had any power to decide when sir came and went.

But he didn’t want to argue. That was a bad idea. A very bad idea. A recipe for getting returned.

Sir looked at him like he waited for an answer, so Juli confirmed that he understood, and then sir left.

There wasn’t much time. The Boy got out of clothes and folded them as nicely as possible, then grinding his teeth, he jumped into a full bathtub.

To his surprise, the water wasn’t ice-cold or even boiling hot. It was warm, yes, but not hot. Why was it warm? Maybe it was supposed to be hotter, but tap water couldn’t get any warmer? Why not boil it on the stove, then? But this could take a lot of time and effort, and he wasn’t worth it. 

Or was it to taunt him? ‘Look at him, he gets to clean himself  in warm water, almost like a human!’ Or was it to show off Miss’s wealth? ‘Actually, I can afford to give a nice bath even to my pets!’ Or maybe it was to give him something nice, so it could be ripped out of him later on, to hurt him and leave miserable.

It wasn’t his place to try to understand human reasons anyway.

 ________

The boy waited for him in the water. Sitting still, head down, back hunched. Justin expected him to start clearing himself, but no point In pointing this out, it would only stress him out more.

‘I thought we could wash your hair first’ he suggested, but the boy must have to consider this more of an order than a suggestion. 

Juli obediently leaned back, as Justin wetted his hair and when he put shampoo on them. He gently rubbed it in, when he noticed that Juli was closing his eyes. At first, he thought it was to not let the soap in, but then realized that the boy leaned into his hand, seemingly unbothered by the fact that it was still covered in bubbles. His breath hitched a little. Justin let him lay like that for a while, rubbing his cheek. Poor thing was visibly touch-starved. And regular-starved too. Justin had no heart to pull his hand away. He felt a sense of responsibility for the boy. 

When Decima first arrived, she had little to no understanding of how upperland culture and society worked. So if someone would tell her that Pets were on every level different from humans – she would probably believe that. It just happened that Justin was first. And now she decided to help one of those poor souls. 

“I’m going to wash the shampoo off,” he said, grabbing the shower’s head. He’ll do everything he can to help Juli heal from his wounds

__________

Taglist:  @kim-poce @whatgoeswhumpinthenight @kween-pinescales @wolfeyedwitch @myst-in-the-mirror @dont-touch-my-soup @obsessedwithegos @cicatrix-energy

[lumpofwhump]

Do you know how one would write brainwashing whump? For context: Girl has to fight her adoptive older brother who was kidnapped in the middle of the night by a dude who is obsessed with dolls. I wanna make it painful for him since he’s the oldest between him, the adoptive sister and his bio sister so he’s gonna be thinking about them and when they find him the light in his eyes are gone, and he’s way too compliant to his kidnapper. (I’m prolly gonna ask a lotta whump blogs sorry)

TW: Torture, cults, mention of institutionalized child abuse

Do you mean how one would write the brainwashing process itself? Oh boy, here comes the infodump!

What we think of as brainwashing has a lot in common with torture and interrogation, as well as cult tactics of control (and methods used in “troubled teen” programs, but do not get me started on that or we’ll be here all day). So a lot of the same methods of making someone compliant and suggestible work here too, especially in combination with one another:

Food deprivation (including small portions or nutritionally unbalanced diets)

Social isolation/solitary confinement

Sensory deprivation/sensory bombardment

Bathroom deprivation

Sleep deprivation

Holding stress positions for long periods of time.

Forced repeated exercise

Some things that you can also play around with are:

“Struggle sessions” or “encounter groups,” where a group of captives are made to insult or scream at each other, weaponizing their relationships, insecurities, and even responses to stress for hours on end without break (except possibly of their minds 🙃).

Thought-terminating clichés - phrases whumper uses to immediately shut down positive comments about the targets or other forms of verbal resistance, until whumpee internalizes this.

Having the whumpee listen to recordings that espouse the whumper’s point of view for hours on end, especially if this is the only semblance of social contact they have.

Reenactment or forced confession sessions where the whumper progressively gaslights the whumpee into believing that their targets have harmed them or others. For instance, whumpee has to write a list of every interaction they’ve had with their loved one they can remember. Whumper rejects the list as untrue or incomplete, making them write it again. Rinse and repeat for five, ten hours, no bathroom breaks, no food, no sleep, nothing, until whumper gets something closer to what they want. Then, on another occasion, have whumpee reenact a negative interaction with whumper, and whumper makes it sliiiiightly worse. Repeat the process until whumpee believes their target is a fucking abusive monster.

Closer to the end of the process, have whumpee “practice” violence against effigies of the intended targets, or actors (especially if they’re other captives!) to desensitize them to it.

I honestly wouldn’t use nonconsensual drugging in writing brainwashing, as 1) it’s unpredictable and 2) it can wear off, but if that’s a theme you like, it’s fiction, so have fun!

If you, or anyone else reading this, wants to do a deep dive into this, I’d recommend the following:

Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism: A Study of ‘Brainwashing’ in China by Robert Jay Lifton.

Declassified CIA Interrogation Manuals from the 60’s and 70’s (I dug them up on Google a few years back).

Poisoner in Chief: Sidney Gottlieb and the CIA Search for Mind Control by Stephen Kinzer: Ultimately more about what doesn’t work in reality than what does, but holy GOD is the CIA infinitely more fucked up than you think.

Books, podcasts or documentaries about specific cults - Synanon, Scientology, and the People’s Temple (AKA Jonestown) are the ones I’ve read/listened about most.

The Lucifer Effect by Philip Zimbardo. Even given the criticisms (to say the least) of the Stanford Prison Experiment, it still has a lot of valuable information.

Help at Any Cost by Maia Szalavitz, about the “troubled teen” industry of boot camps and modern day reform schools that draw a lot from the cults of the 60’s and 70’s. (HEAVY CW for child abuse.)

This is probably more than you wanted, but I hope it helps!

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

I posted 1,327 times in 2022

That's 1,073 more posts than 2021!

238 posts created (18%)

1,089 posts reblogged (82%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@pumpkin-spice-whump

@quietly-by-myself

@whumpsday

@hold-him-down

@ashintheairlikesnow

I tagged 1,065 of my posts in 2022

Only 20% of my posts had no tags

#van van speaks - 120 posts

#quietly-by-myself - 70 posts

#asks - 63 posts

#847481: jesse - 56 posts

#ashintheairlikesnow - 52 posts

#whumpsday - 51 posts

#my boy kensi - 47 posts

#deluxewhump - 46 posts

#reblog - 42 posts

#hold-him-down - 35 posts

Longest Tag: 123 characters

#it was supposed to get here last week my boyfriends birthday is in four days and its still on the other side of the country

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Caretaker: why didn't you tell me what happened to you before?

Whumpee:

51 notes - Posted July 25, 2022

#4

Reap the Harvest - Part 1

Oh boy a new series! I thought of it like three days ago and it took over my brain.

Thanks to @quietly-by-myself for helping me with research! (i didn't ignore your advice i swear i just needed this scene out of my brain) Also I know next to nothing about medical things so for the majority of this... just suspend your disbelief.

CWs: hospital setting, noncon surgery, amputation, gore, awake during surgery, treating people like property

Masterlist

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

Colin bounced his leg, hands shaking ever so slightly in his lap. He moved them to his sides and clutched the edges of the chair, shivering in the thin hospital gown. The waiting room was always needlessly and annoyingly cold. It usually didn’t bother him, but he was particularly nervous about this procedure.

It was his first time having an arm harvested.

Colin had donated skin, fingers, toes, blood, and bone marrow, but never an entire limb. Well, it was just going to be from the elbow down but still. He was nervous. No, he thought, nervous was too casual of a word. It was stupid but well... He was scared. He was scared like he was the first time getting his blood donated. When donating blood, they would take nearly half of its volume in your body, since it was not exactly needed for his peoples' survival. Still, the next few hours would be spent cold and delirious until their bodies could replenish it. The mere thought had terrified him as a kid, and now it felt totally normal, although a little inconvenient. He would eventually feel the same way about this.

But he couldn't help the fear he felt. Regenerating from having entire limbs taken wasn't as fast as replenishing blood, it could take days -- up to a week! -- and Colin didn’t want to spend that long helpless and in pain.

To his utter embarrassment, he felt tears pricking at his eyes, but he forced them down, glancing at the camera in the corner of the room. He would not show that he was scared, even though he undeniably was. He had enough pride to at least keep it to himself.

When Colin first heard that he was assigned to donate a limb that month he'd done his best to look brave, maybe even confident. He was eighteen years old, and he'd been assigned to have a limb harvested. He was a real adult now, and real adults didn't care about their assignments. They just went through the motions and did their duty.

His parents could tell he was scared, though. Rayleigh and Daniel had sat him down countless times over the month, trying to comfort him and convince him that it really wasn't as bad as he thought. They said that it would hurt, yes, but he would heal and be given time before another big one came his way. It wasn’t the end of the world. He'd regenerate quickly and be okay.

Bridger told him that it would hurt like hell and he’d never be the same again. Their dad had slapped him upside the head and told him to stop being a jerk. But he didn’t deny it.

That scared Colin even more.

It wasn’t so much the thought of the surgery itself as it was the promise of oncoming pain. Anesthesia and painkillers would dull his body's healing properties, so he'd have to go into surgery fully aware and alert. It hurt when his skin was peeled away and fingers were taken, but it was bearable. But his arm? The bones they’d have to break and cut through? That made his stomach cramp up.

And then there was the weirdness of knowing that a large part of him would just be… gone. For days, until a new one grew back. He’d be vulnerable and incomplete and the thought made him more uncomfortable than he cared to admit. 

He had hardly slept at all last night, which was only going to make it worse, but the anticipation of the unknown and large procedure, coupled with not being allowed to eat for hours, made him too sick to sleep. Rayleigh had crawled into bed with him and rubbed his back, reassuring his fears, until he managed to doze off in the early hours of the morning. Bridger woke up at some point in the night and made fun of Colin for needing that, but for once he'd just ignored him. Maybe it was childish, but his mother's presence always helped him feel calm.

After just a couple restless hours, Rayleigh woke him. She and Daniel walked Colin down to the clinic just a few hallways away from the family dorms, leaving with a few words of encouragement and promises to be right there in the recovery room to take him home when the procedure was over. Colin nodded wordlessly, giving a weak smile to his parents before the door was shut.

He'd changed into a gown and had a quick physical by a nurse (the psych eval had been done a few days prior) before having the barcode on the back of his neck scanned and being left in the waiting room... Where he was still waiting at least an hour later, trying to stop his heart from jumping up his throat.

At this point he was hoping that Dr. Malsom would show up and they could just get the whole thing over with.

As if he could read his thoughts, Nurse Blakely appeared at the door. “Colin Sharpe?” he asked, like Colin wasn’t the only person in the room.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his gown and stood up, clearing his throat. “Yes, sir,” he said. His voice trembled.

The nurse motioned for Colin to follow him out the door. His legs felt like jello, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the fear or lack of food. Probably both.

He’d walked this hallway countless times over the past five years, but today it seemed impossibly long and imposing, like it did the first time he’d ever walked it. Then he was only thirteen, nervous but proud to finally be able to do his duty. Parents are encouraged to walk back their children the first couple of times, and he held tightly to Daniel’s arm, trying to put on a brave face but also seconds away from bolting in the other direction.

He almost laughed thinking about how he hadn't really changed.

Blakely opened the doors to one of the many operating rooms at Rockmire Hills, holding it open for Colin before he followed, locking the door. Dr. Malsom stood next to the operating table, conversing lightly with Nurse Kelley. They looked over at Colin and waved him inside, gesturing for him to sit on the operating table. A cart of instruments stood off to his left, but he pointedly avoided looking at it as he lay down.

“How are we feeling, Mr. Sharpe?” Dr. Malsom asked easily.

Colin took a deep breath before answering. “I’m fine,” he lied. His voice was still weak. Probably weaker.

Dr. Malsom and the nurses pulled on masks and caps. “You're okay,” he assured, the nurses strapping Colin down.

See the full post

56 notes - Posted May 14, 2022

#3

sorry i'm late i was doing normal things (I was torturing the captive in my basement with a hot knife to hear his pretty screaming)

103 notes - Posted November 17, 2022

#2

Love how this whole community centers around our shared love of torture but every time someone says they're gonna hurt their characters everyones like "HEY THATS NOT OKAY"

241 notes - Posted February 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Writing is so stupid because you're like it's just putting down words I know words this will be so simple and then it's the most difficult thing you've ever done

22,462 notes - Posted July 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[secretwhumplair]

Night

1,338 words | The monster of Lindborough (sequel to Messy)

Content | Werewolf whumpee, internailzed dehumanization, isolation, mention of: family death

Notes | Everything is scarier by night! But also generally more emotional! Enjoy!

Taglist | @whump-cravings​​​ @inkkswhumpandstuff​​​ @wolfeyedwitch​​​ @whump-blog​​​ @whumpsday​​​ @myhusbandsasemni​​​ @whumpzone​​​ @kira-the-whump-enthusiast​​​ @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @briars7​​

This was insane.

But if his - its - bullies would go so far as to pursue the wolf right into his, William’s, chicken coop, he barely had any choice. He had been given responsibility of the creature, and so he had to keep him safe - especially now that he was already so badly hurt.

Even if it meant letting the wolf into his home.

This was insane.

Night was falling - the time of monsters - and he couldn’t even banish this one outside.

He had thought hard about where he should let the wolf sleep. The doors inside the house didn’t lock, so there was little point keeping them between them, and so he finally had decided to let him sleep in the bedroom, had assigned it the corner across from his own bed and instructed it to lay out a second blanket for it to sleep on.

Now night was falling, and he was second-guessing his decision.

He doubted he would sleep at all. The wolf looked small and frail between its blankets, half-swallowed by the darkness now only broken by the light on William’s bedside table - he wouldn’t extinguish it tonight, he couldn’t bring himself to it - but he was still a wolf. The thought had gotten slowly buried in William’s mind, more than he ever wanted it to, but now, in the same room with it, by night, he was all too keenly aware.

It took all his self-control to even look away from it, leave it out of its sight and stare at the ceiling instead.

It fit, William reckoned, that an awful night would follow such a very strange day. The wolf, caught bloodied with his hen’s blood, and yet apparently innocent. The boys - he’d only seen them briefly when they came to deliver his coals, the lot of them accompanying today’s carrier and eying him with enough expectation to confirm what the wolf had said, sparking a fury that felt oddly misplaced; it should be the wolf who sparked it, at some point, and yet he knew this was nightmarishly correct. Then the wolf, seeking out his company only to cry quietly in his corner.

And then the wolf’s egg-stealing confession. Was it a ploy to evoke his pity? What on earth had he hoped to achieve with that?

Maybe he was overthinking, and no wonder, when he had to distract himself from the wolf being right there, in his house. He glimpsed over at it, unable to resist.

Its eyes were right on him, and he started at the realisation. They were shining in the weak lamplight - was it crying again?

Only when its eyes shifted towards his face did he realize it hadn’t been staring at him at all, it had been looking at the lamp.

It moved back a bit when it saw it staring at it, as if trying to get away. It was still scared of him; he couldn’t really blame it, not anymore, but it was a werewolf.

What a bizarre situation. How had he ended up like this?

He forced himself to look away again, even with his heart still beating fast from when he’d thought it was watching him.

He would not sleep tonight.

After a time passed in tense silence, he heard a soft rustle, and turning to look, he saw the wolf standing - no, taking a step towards him.

»Stay away!« The words were out before he could think, before anything other than a fierce jab of panic went through his brain.

The wolf immediately stilled, ducked, and then cowered down. »I’m, I’m sorry,« it whispered, and now he was sure it was crying. »I just - I’m sorry.« William heard it sob once or twice until, he assumed, it forced itself into silence, laying down again.

It looked, once more, unbelievably like a lost, hurt, lonely boy.

William leant back against the wall - he’d barely noticed himself sitting up. »What did you want?« he finally asked when he felt he could trust his voice, even though a nagging voice in his brain still insisted, Eat you, obviously.

The wolf looked up. »I j-just - I wanted to - lie beside your bed. I-« A sob interrupted it, and then, when it continued, its voice was liquid, dissolved in tears. »I’m always alone.«

William barely hesitated. He couldn’t, even when that tiny voice screamed at him that he would regret it. »Alright, come over here.«

The wolf fell silent, and for a moment, it didn’t move at all; then, it hesitantly stood, as if it didn’t trust his ears, or William’s words. It walked over, moving slowly, wrapped in its blankets, then carefully laid down on the floor beside him.

For a while, they returned to silence. It was different now, though. It wasn’t just tense - it was awkward.

The boy - the wolf really had just come over here crying about being lonely, and he, William, sat there like a piece of brick.

»How long have you been… you know. A wolf?« he finally asked, half-hoping the wolf had fallen asleep in the meantime.

He hadn’t - William heard him move, although he refused to look down on him. It didn’t seem right now, somehow.

»I think… I think a year last month?« His voice was still wobbly, but he wasn’t fully talking through tears any more, William thought, and that was strangely relieving.

Which was good, because the date the wolf had given slapped him cold across the face. It was a mere coincidence, he knew that… and yet.

»I tried… I tried to stay away from people. I never wanted to hurt anyone.« William could hear the tears threatening to choke the wolf’s words out again, but he could only listen. »But th-the wolf, it smelled your sheep. I’m - I’m so sorry.«

William didn’t think he’d heard this long a string of words from the wolf before.

Not that he could blame it. He had never asked.

»You’re the wolf,« he pointed out, waiting for an explanation. Something inside him squirmed uncomfortably, like a horrible thing was just about to happen.

»Yes,« the wolf conceded hurriedly.

Then it fell silent, so William had to prompt it. »What did you mean then?«

The wolf swallowed, then spoke so quietly William had to strain to hear, even in the silence of night settled over them like a suffocating blanket. »It’s, it’s different. When I’m - transformed - the wolf doesn’t know - it doesn’t think. It just feels, hunger and anger and f-fear-« Its voice cracked, and William waited for it to collect itself. »It doesn’t know about. Ownership. Or morals or anything like that. It’s different... when I…« It swallowed again. »I’m scared,« it finally whispered. »I’m so scared, every time, what it will do. That’s why… why I stole the eggs. I was so hungry, and, and… the wolf, when it’s hungry…« It broke off, apparently unable to speak any more.

William didn’t know what to say either. This was a possibility he had never considered - that the wolf himself was terrified of his full-moon, beastly self, that-

He couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t.

»When… when our village was attacked…« the wolf finally continued, still so very quiet, and it was all William could do to listen. »My father died trying to protect me from - from being bitten. My mother couldn’t even look at me, after.« The tears were gone from its voice now, as if they were all spent. »I know why you think I’m a monster, I really do. I am. I am. I just… I just wish I weren’t.«

Now William had to look at him, look into those big, too-young eyes, for once not fearful, but filled with a resignation that was somehow worse.

He was too young for this.

»Try and get some sleep, pup,« William said, unable to think of anything better, and only realizing a moment later what had just slipped past his lips.

The wolf was still staring at him when there was a forceful knock at the front door.

[justheretobreakthings]

Whumpmas in July: Day 26

@whumpmasinjuly

What’s a memorable moment that gave you whumperflies?

Hohohohoooo, boy, do I have a lot of these.

The first one that I gotta bring up is one that I know I’ve mentioned once before on this blog, but my Whump Awakening was definitely Prince Philip in Disney’s Sleeping Beauty. I can distinctly remember watching the scene in which he gets captured and tied up and gagged by Maleficent’s minions and realizing just how delightful it was to observe.

I’m primarily a Voltron blog, and have been since making this account, and VLD has given me some fantastic whump moments, but the special mention goes to “The Blade of Marmora”, which is the episode that secured Keith as my new favorite whumpee because, damn, seeing him take that intense physical beating and then immediately following it with just as intense an emotional beating is just so *chef’s kiss*, and “The Black Paladins”, which is so angsty and intense and I have rewatched the fight between Keith and not-Shiro so so many times. It’s just as good on fiftieth re-watch.

Earlier in this event I talked about how Bonanza was a big part of my introduction to the whump community, and there were some fantastically whumpee episodes in that series that got plenty of re-watches from me, but my favorite is “My Brother’s Keeper”. Look, if you are a whump fan and are into protective-big-brother dynamics, that episode is a must-watch. It’s just a cavalcade of great whump tropes: animal attacks, gunshot wounds, infections, feverish delirium, accidentally hurting a loved one, heaps of guilt, medical help being out of reach, at-home surgery with no anesthesia, robbery, home invasion, whumpee being carried and cradled by caretaker. All in a single episode.

One show that I know I haven’t talked a whole lot about here on this tumblr - hell, I’m not entirely sure if I’ve ever even mentioned that I’m a fan of it - is the 2003 Teen Titans series. But if you have seen the show, you probably already know which episode I’m about to give a shoutout to. “Haunted” is probably the darkest episode of the series, and my absolute favorite from start to finish. Robin takes more of a beating in this episode than any other, spending the whole episode trapped by paranoid hallucinations of a villain he thought had been defeated, while his teammates can’t see what he’s seeing and are sure that he’s lost it.

Another case of the darkest episode of a series being an absolutely fantastic whump source is the Danny Phantom episode “The Ultimate Enemy”. I know it’s a fan-favorite as well, which makes sense as I know a lot of the modern fandom for that show is made up of whumpers, but the whole evil future aspect of it all was wonderfully bleak, and it’s the most beaten-down and terrified we get to see the title character in the whole series.

Last but not least, gonna give a shoutout to a moment that accounts for half of the posts in my Irondad and Spiderson tag here on my tumblr. I am, of course, talking about Peter Parker’s “death” in Tony Stark’s arms in Infinity War (it’s been three years, it’s not a spoiler anymore, right?) The actors’ performances in that scene is amazing, but I want to give special mention to the sound design in the scene. The silence in the scene’s background broken only by sounds of wind and the crumbling of Peter’s body when he disappears make the dialogue and the cracking, teary voices stand out so perfectly. Good sound design can really take an angsty moment from A to A-plus, and this is a perfect example.

[loxxxlay]

@maidenofmidguard tagged me to do the Tap Game :D

Tap game by @bad-behavior

1. List your top three whump tropes and tag people.

2. Whoever gets tagged gets to say how they feel about your top three tropes.

3. After finishing that, they can list their top three tropes, and the tagging cycle goes on!

So here are @maidenofmidguard's top 3 tropes and my thoughts on each:

1) big strong guy getting put in a cage abd getting touched .. taken around on aleash .. the whumper exhibiting him, where everyone can touch and inspect the goods of our gut fights but he cant because he has secrets to keep and people to protect. So he is tsken advantage of. He is the party favor being passed around.

um..... -looks self-incriminatingly at the hints of this trope in my fic on our terms- im not turned on right now, UR turned on right now alsd;khg;lashdglaskhg

2) sick fic sick fic. Big strong dude who never gefs sick is now sick. People realizing belatedly that he is seriously sick and are surprised to see that he needs help. People fanning pver him .. kissing him on his head while he burns up in fever.

i likeeeee this, for sure. i def prefer the "weaker" dude getting sick with this exact trope moreeeeee, but i'm not one to complain about my strong bae getting sick either. * _ * (also you can always make them both sick mwahahaha)

3) the strong-willed whumpee made submissive in front of his old friends and family. Better yet the family has given up whumpee to the whumper as a last ditch resort to keep thier kingdom safe.

"being made submissive in front of his old friends and family" is literally The Shit and i will die for it. like the absolute humiliation and embarrassment. While this is very much not a Walking Dead blog (yet.... >.>), I will say that when Daryl literally was "the help" when Negan first visited Alexandria, and Rick had to silently watch Daryl be treated like a total fucking slave in order to keep Alexandria safe, like.... Daryl/Rick is not usually sexy to me, but I definitely had a Thing happen in that moment lmfao. so this trope? yeah. Please. Yes.

Alright now it's time for my top 3 favorites:

And good fucking lord I'm already struggling, so we are going to just... name 3 favorites, and not necessarily top favorites, because let's be honest, my whims change daily if not hourly.

Mutual noncon/dubcon.

Shocking, right? It's hilarious because back in my wee fandom days in 2014ish, I would never read mutual noncon "fuck-or-die" scenarios because they didn't do it for me. And now look at me.

I think that it works best for me when there is still a semblance of a choice. Like where full-tilt death is not magically imminent, but the consequences are still implicit and severe. Even if they are rushed, panicking, etc, they still need to make a deliberate conscious clear-headed choice at some point to have sex with each other, even though the situation is nonconsensual. (As opposed to like... being in heat/mindless or whatever.)

I espeeeeecially like it if One of them makes the choice moreso than the other. Like, for example, the Character A can't stand to see Character B face the consequences, so Character A chooses for them both, even though Character B might have preferred the consequences. It's still mutual noncon/dubcon -- neither of the characters wanted it -- but one character is still consenting more than the other, and that fucking kills me guys, it really really does.

Caretaker is an accidentally (or perhaps overprotectively) bad caretaker and makes things (temporarily) worse.

This is a Big Thing I do in my original fiction, but I've only touched on it very briefly in fanfiction I think. I could definitely do that more... For example in "Forget Me Not, Remember Still" (or whatever i called that shit lol), the first chapter where Thor and Loki receive a note from the Grandmaster, Thor is so angry and upset (and scared) that he starts yelling--and since Loki is nearby, he feels himself to be the target for the anger. Not in an abusive way, of course, because Thor is trying his absolute best, but in a way that isolates Loki when he really, truly needs affection. Which, unfortunately, makes this trope the inciting incident of this fic lmfao. Sorry, Thor~~

In an original fiction of mine, one of the characters is trying to help a rape survivor recover, but one of his strategies is to forbid her from leaving the house (because she might get raped again, who knows). Which is like ... re-traumatizing ... because even while the overprotection is well-intentioned, it strips her of her choices and agency again.

I also would like to recommend @veliseraptor 's Will to Live because I always do when I get a chance, and it has so much of this trope in it. I feel like "caretaker learns through trial and error how to be a good caretaker" is literally the thematic element of this fic which is what makes it so appealing to me. :')

Brain fucked-uppery resulting from some kind of abuse.

Um, so first of all, Moment of Peace is this. All because Thor, in Infinity War, had his head literally start to be melted by Thanos, like.... the aftermath of that whump was ROBBED from me, and I am angry.

I especially like this when it is a character who has never experienced whump in their life lmfao, because they're so Tough... Because it terrifies them, they don't know what to expect, they don't know if it will get better, and they're just in a primal state of panic and paranoia and it's great. (aka Thor).

But then again, I also especially like this trope when it is a repeated pattern of behavior that is always constantly on their mind and causing them a long-term dimmer state of panic and paranoia which is also great (aka Loki).

I also like this trope when it causes kinda... a distortion of reliability/an unreliable narrator kinda deal. Like again, in The Walking Dead, a recent episode explored this trope with the character Princess, and I'm just like * _ * More more more.

Alright, it's been a long time, but hopefully you all remember how this goes. I hate tagging people. It makes me feel bad. So instead of handpicking usernames, I'm just going to tag all of you.

And when I say I am tagging all of you, I literally mean ALL OF YOU. If you have eyeballs reading this shit, you are fucking tagged. If you have eardrums vibrating with this shit, you are fucking tagged. I am unsure of how else you could be perceiving this shit, but if you are, you are fucking tagged. There's no "technically" about it. This is a fully legitimate tag, and it includes you. Go, be free, and do the meme if you'd like to.

[whumblr]

Return to sender

A first teasing continuation for We’re gonna have so much fun

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog

-

Another letter.

The team gathered around. They’d recognised the handwriting from last time. From when the small package had given off a strange smell and its corner was stained in brownish blood. Even after receiving that little reminder, Whumpee had been determined to go after Whumper next. And now, this new letter would maybe give their team a hint as to why they hadn’t returned yet. An unwelcome hint.

This time however, there was no blood, no rotten smell. Just a clean envelope. The only hint that it contained something other than paper maybe was the little bump right in the middle.

No one wanted to open it. Some of the members lingered in the doorway, or sat at a distance with their back turned. They didn’t want to see part of their team member again, but were also too curious to outright leave the room. Or just desperate to get closure.

The leader took the envelope and carefully tore it open.

There was no note. The envelope contained just a single tiny item. It wasn’t bloody or repulsive in any way, but still the tiny object had the power to make the blood drain from the leader’s face.

He turned the envelope over and caught the glistery item. Slowly, he placed it in the middle of the table.

Curses rose up. Fists slammed on the table. Boots stomped from the room. The ones who stayed, too paralysed to move, merely sighed in defeat. Some sobbed. Slowly closed their eyes in resignation.

On the table lay the pristine suicide capsule they had given to Whumpee before they left.

The leader closed his eyes and crossed himself.

“Not sure why you’re doing that,” one of the team members snarled. “It’s not like that capsule is empty.”

The leader opened his eyes. “But one can pray.”

-

Continued here

[whump-softie]

First Friend - Part 9 (Mutt)

Part 8 / Masterlist

Taglist: @looptheloup @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @as-a-matter-of-whump @albino-whumpee @cupcakes-and-pain @unicornscotty @whumpfigure @boxboysandotherwhump @briars7 @girlwithacoolcat @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @kiretto-laorentze *it’s a flashback btw sorry*

The day Bird was bought, she was 13. New to her reality, fresh for sale, vultures swept in and got hold of her. Whisked away to a city with tall buildings and hot sidewalks, lead through mirrored rooms and hallways.

Shoved through doors, and dropped at the feet of a person laying on the floor, a boy that couldn’t be that much older then her, who almost looked dead.

A blonde man pushes her closer. “Fix him,” he says.

Bird doesn’t know how. She doesn’t know what’s wrong, she doesn’t know this boy or what’s happening or what she’s supposed to do or—

“Look at me when I talk to you, Two.”

Bird looks up at the number she was told to respond to and meets scary eyes, resting on a face that definitely didn’t look happy. She doesn’t like it when people don’t look happy, it makes her want to do anything she can to help.

“Better,” the man smiles. “Now, fix him.”

She still doesn’t know how, but the man leaves her alone in the room with the unconscious boy, and she still doesn’t know what to do.

Fix him? Okay, fix him. Heal him, or maybe... revive him? Bird kneels down and puts her ear on his chest, listening for a heartbeat that she fortunately finds. She tries a few firm presses with her hands on his chest, but he doesn’t move.

She checks his body for wounds, but finds none. She does find a lot of scars, though. From blades by the looks of them. She shudders. Yeah, she definitely wants to help this boy now. She wants to fix him.

A while passes, and after checking to see if he was breathing—he wasn’t!—she gently opens his mouth and peers inside. Shocked to see something there, she takes a few deep breaths after wiping her hand on her pants, and reaches in.

Her fingers grab a large stone that seemed to be just too big for him to swallow. She gently pulls it out, and startles back against the wall when he coughs violently, spasming to life and sitting up.

A few minutes pass and he catches his breath. Bird doesn’t move, and definitely doesn’t say anything. She holds the stone clenched in her fist for some reason, maybe for protection? She watches him cautiously.

He calms down, and then he glances at her. “...thanks,” he mumbles. Bird only nods. She wants to ask his name, but ends up sitting in silence.

“Were you given a number?” He asks.

Bird hesitates. Yes, she was, but she doesn’t really like it. She nods, and holds up two fingers.

“Two?” The boy asked as if it was a ridiculous name. “Okay, well, I’m One.”

Bird blinks. She guesses that it makes sense, but she didn’t like how he asked for her number and not her name. “My name is—”

“—Don’t,” One interrupts, “don’t tell me. I’m not gonna tell you mine, either. We’re not allowed to know and frankly, I don’t care. It’s number now, got it, Two?”

Two nods along, happy to follow orders instead of fighting for her life or living in fear. She opens her palm and extends her arms, holding out the stone. One sees it and smirks.

“There he is,” he laughs, joking around and reaching for it. “I’ve been looking for him everywhere.”

Two giggles, and One grabs the stone and fiddles with it. He smiles again, but this time there’s sadness behind it. “It’s today’s performance souvenir.”

[secretwhumplair]

Reveal

940 words | The monster of Lindborough (sequel to Laundry day)

Content | Werewolf whumpee, fear, referenced: beating, corporeal punishment, forced labour, victim blaming

Notes | The moment you’ve all been waiting for!

Look, William is trying. He’s trying literally the opposite of what you want him to, but he sure is trying.

Taglist | @whump-cravings​​ @inkkswhumpandstuff​​ @wolfeyedwitch​​ @whump-blog​​ @whumpsday​​ @myhusbandsasemni​​ @whumpzone​

Through a week and then another, the wolf remained skittish and unsteady, looking at William with big, frightened eyes, if at all. In some ways, it was understandable; partly, that had even been the goal of the ritual - William wasn’t fool enough to think it wasn’t so. It was a good thing, he kept reminding himself. If the monster weren’t frightened, who knew what it would get up to?

It continued taking its sweet time on its errands, stalling on its other tasks - of course, wandering through the woods must be tempting for a wolf - or at least, that was what William believed.

Until one morning it came back with a fresh bruise blooming across its cheek, just starting to turn deep purple.

He grabbed it by the chin and pulled it in for a closer look. »What happened?« he asked, a suspicion already forming.

It trembled, its eyes darting away from his face; if it weren’t a monster, it would have been pitiful, just a frightened young boy trying to find a right answer.

But that wasn’t what it was. He must remember that.

»I-« It could barely speak, and William waited impatiently. It swallowed hard, then continued, »I fell against a tree.«

William narrowed his eyes. »And you expect me to believe that?«

»I-« It sobbed, then rushed through its words, as if getting them out fast would make a difference. »They - they attacked meandthenIgotshovedintoatree. It’s - I - deserveitIknow. I mean, I mean nothingbyitIknowthey’re allowed to hurt a - a monster…« Its voice died away.

»Who?« William demanded, awful realization settling in. The wolf hadn’t been wasting time at all.

»N-no one. Some boys. No one.« Its voice faltered again, and it heaved with a dry sob.

William stayed silent for a moment, lost in thought. He had a good idea who would be behind this - the millers and their little friends, always happy to stir up trouble, and hadn’t the miller family voted to kill the wolf?

He couldn’t wholly blame the boys; they were dealing with a monster, after all, and they were only boys. He, though, felt dreadful - he had been punishing the wolf for something out of its control. Monster or not, that wasn’t just.

»Has this been going on this entire time?« He let go of the wolf, and it stumbled back, ducking down, its eyes fixed on the ground.

It didn’t answer.

William took a deep breath. »You should have told me.«

The wolf almost folded in on itself at the words. »I’m sorry, sir,« it whispered, so quiet he could barely hear it over the hiss of the fire.

He shook his head - not that the wolf saw it, still staring at anything but him. »Right. Get back to work, wolf.« He had to pull himself together; he was still handling a wolf.

He must remember that.

* Joy barely made it from the workshop into the living space of the house; his legs were trembling so hard, and he felt ill with fear. The entire way back to the blacksmith’s he had tried to come up with a way to hide the bruise, to pretend nothing had happened, to forgo explaining, and he couldn’t.

And yet he had to make his way back and face the smith.

Only now, he could fall apart; he landed on his knees, crying and shaking, and yet, all that fear he had carried all this way seemed to be for nothing. The smith hadn’t punished him; he hadn’t even seemed angry. But then, he was always cold when dealing with the wolf. He probably should be grateful for that, as well. How easily he could have been given to someone who would treat him with anger instead.

The smith hadn’t punished him. Not even for losing time.

He tried to wrap his head around it. Maybe the smith had just forgotten in the moment, and he would have to pay later, for not reminding him. As if he deserved to get away so easy.

The thought was choking.

Maybe it had been on purpose. Maybe he thought Joy getting beaten by the boys was enough. Maybe… maybe he didn’t want to punish him, now that he knew the delay wasn’t his fault.

But that was a ridiculous thought; it was his fault for being a monster, that was the whole reason he had been held up in the first place.

There was only one way to find out, and he didn’t have the courage for that. He couldn’t will himself to go remind the smith of the missed punishment. He couldn’t. It was cowardly and dangerous, and he would regret it once the smith remembered - or would he? - and amidst everything he had suffered through, the punishments were by far not the worst, so why try and weasel out of that one? He was already hurting all the time. It would make no difference.

But he couldn’t go and tell the smith. The fear was so paralyzing he barely managed to get back to his feet.

It was just two or three steps back to the workshop. Just a handful of words to remind the smith. Maybe it was just enough to avoid whatever worse fate would come to him when the smith remembered by himself, and realized he had been dishonest like this.

But he couldn’t do it.

He didn’t know how long he had stood there, wrapped up in fear and choices that were no choices. Realization hit him ice-cold in the stomach. Now he was wasting time all of his own accord. He had work to do.

He had so much work to do.

[milk-carton-whump]

Hello oo !! Can I get uhhhh "cradling someone in their arms " for the bthb please ?

Hi!!! I went a different route than normal so I hope that's okay. There isn't enough Dan on my blog so I figured why not make him the whumpee for this.

Tagging @whatwasmyprevioususername, @abitefullofeverything, @tears-and-lilies, and @castielamigos-whump-side-blog to follow the Jock Boys adventure!

Masterlist

CW: angst, implied non con, and unconscious whumpee, kidnap, intimate whumper

Bad Headache

Dan's head laid against Nathan's shoulder limply, his breathing was soft and steady. If Nathan didn't know any better, he would've assumed that the goalie was fast asleep. In reality, Dan had been knocked unconscious upon entering the house. Nathan had been waiting for him and had thoroughly enjoyed watching him crumple to the ground after knocking him out.

Luckily for Nathan, his sweet Brody had told him that Dan would be coming over. He hoisted Dan's limp body up and over his shoulder as he took him to the kitchen where Brody had been left. 

Brody had been given the rare opportunity to have his wrists bound in front him. The only positive was that when Nathan laid the unconscious goalie in front of him, he could actually touch him. Nathan dropped down into a squat and ruffled Brody's hair sweetly. 

"Alright sweetheart. As promised I'll let you spend a few minutes with him. But after that, it's just the two of us" Nathan said sweetly as he stood back up to get something. 

Brody whimpered softly and did his best to pull Dan into his arms. He held him as close as he could and murmured apologies to him. This had been all his fault and now his best friend was hurt for no reason. He held the limp goalie tightly and worried deep down that Dan may not wake up before their time together was up. The few minutes he had been given felt like seconds as Nathan reentered the kitchen. 

"Don't worry sweetheart. He will still be here when you come back." Nathan said as he dragged Brody away by his collar. 

Dan's eyes fluttered open slowly and he watched helplessly as Brody was dragged away. He mumbled Brody's name as he tried to get himself up. He felt tears start to run down his face since he had let Brody down as a protector and friend. The stress it caused him was enough for his vision to fade back to black as was pulled back into unconsciousness.

[whump-only]

Lorelei & Hunter -- Blackout

Hunter has too much drink and shares something he shouldn’t have :( 

tw: throw up, threat of non con stripping/nudity, SFW nudity, light manhandling, forced to drink, headache, alcohol poisoning, master/pet, slavery

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

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, his head was throbbing so badly and it was only made worse by the bright white light. He whimpered and tried to slump over but was pulled up by the back of his shirt... he stared into the toilet bowl. Little chunks floated around there. ...Puke, Hunter registered slowly. The smell was sickening so he wretched again, but only coughed out a drip of slime. Hunter moaned at the burst of sharp pain in his head, his head hurt, everything hurt--

“Drink this,” said Lorelei, from close behind. 

Hunter‘s stomach lurched. No drink, please, please no more. Hunter whimpered, not wanting to choke down another shot, stop, make it all stop. Stop the unrelenting spin of the room, the slippery thoughts, his hurting head... his was so confused, bad bad bad pet, he could barely see—

Hunter was pulled back by his collar, world blurring again. Lorelei held a cup to his lips. Hunter moaned desperately, his mouth tightly closed. “Mm-mm.”

As Lorelei pressed the cup into his mouth, Hunter realized, with a shock, that his master was shirtless. Lorelei sat on the edge of the bathtub, in red shorts Hunter had never seen before. 

Lorelei snaked his finger’s into Hunter’s hair, breaking his thoughts. “I don’t have time for this right now, sweetness. I’m tired.” 

Hunter shivered. He wasn’t— he couldn’t— he was tired too. He whimpered helplessly. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry.” He felt tears prick at his eyes.  

Lorelei took one of Hunter’s hands and squeezed it around the cup. “It’s just water, dipshit. Drink.”

Lorelei let go of Hunter’s hand and he barely managed to not drop the cup. He stared at it dumbly until Lorelei nudged him and he took a sip. 

“Just like that. Now finish it,” Lorelei demanded. 

Lorelei watched him with a humorless expression that made Hunter want to beg, beg, beg and hide. Hunter gulped down the rest of the water but immediately his stomach spasmed and he only had time to lean back over the toilet as the liquid lurched back out, sending a shock of pain into his head. Hunter rested his head on the toilet seat. 

“Ugh... damn it... Drink more water or you’ll regret it in the morning,” Lorelei said. 

Hunter barely registered the threat because Lorelei stood up and Hunter was shocked at how naked his master looked, with only shorts on. His body looked strangely pale and smooth without scars. 

Hunter closed his eyes. Energetic black and gray spots slid and burst across his vision. Even with his eyes closed it felt like he was tilting. 

“Ok. Take your clothes off, then into the tub. Time to wash up,” Lorelei commanded. 

Huh? No no nono. No way. Not that, not now. He hugged himself. He’d rather be whipped, he’d take nearly anything over being naked right now. He hurt so much, couldn’t he just— sleep here? He locked his legs together. “Please. Can’t.” 

Lorelei loomed over Hunter. “Come on. Don’t be difficult. You can’t go to bed covered in puke.”

Hunter looked down. Sure enough there was dark splatter of sick down his shirt. He was struck by the impression that he wasn’t in his own body, that this was someone else... he felt impossibly disoriented. He gripped the toilet, hoping it would slow the spinning and he could wake up. 

“Shirt off. Now,” Lorelei said.

Hunter winced at the sharp command. He couldn’t. He dropped his head to the floor, pressed his forehead to the tiles at Master’s feet. For a moment the cool of the tiles distracted him, but then he remembered. “Please don’t make me. Please. I beg—“

“Enough. Stop. Get in the tub,” Lorelei said angrily. 

Hunter felt too sick to move, but he draped his aching body over the side of the tub, pausing to make the pulsing in his head die down—Lorelei grabbed the loop of his pants yanked him in and he smacked into the base of the tub. 

Ow, Hunter thought. 

Lorelei spoke, “Arms up. And you better not try to kick me again.” 

Kick...? His thoughts slipped away too fast, he tried to remember the command. He lifted his arms over his face.  

“Not like that. All the way up, above your head.” Lorelei demonstrated, raising his hands up way in the air. Hunter found it strange to realize Master had hair under his armpits too. It felt like a private thing, like something he shouldn’t have seen.

Hunter raised his arms higher, exposing his sides, his belly— Lorelei lunged to grab and yank up his shirt, Hunter quickly snapped his arms down to his sides. 

Lorelei howled and slapped Hunter across the face. Hunter’s scattering thoughts barely registered the slap before Lorelei was growling in his face. “So bad. Acting so badly. Did I say you could put your arms down?”

Hunter shook his head. “S-sorr—“ 

Lorelei grabbed Hunter’s arm, wrenched it above his head. “Shut it. You vomit all over me, my couch. In front of my guests. Then you’re suddenly a little fighter when I’m trying to get you into the bathroom. And somehow, I’m still getting attitude. I’m far too generous with you. Far too generous.”

Hunter stared up at Lorelei’s angry face, nothing was making any sense. But he understood he was horrible, he was confused, he’d been so bad and everything was wrong and sick and painful. “I’m sorry, Master, please, I didn’t mean—“

“Would Misha be so generous with such a bad pet?” Lorelei said suddenly. 

Hunter froze with cold dread, that name cracking through his brain. How did Lorelei? “M-Misha?” 

Lorelei looked at him slyly, suddenly sitting back, releasing Hunter’s arm. “Were you ever this bad for Misha?”

“Oh—I...” Hunter searched but was stunned silent. Lorelei couldn’t know... “Misha? I don’t...”

“Misha. Who you miss soooo much,” Lorelei said, mocking. 

Hunter grimaced. “I—I... said that?” He felt Misha’s absence constantly. Between every thought, and in quiet, agonizing moments where he couldn’t breathe. But to admit that to Lorelei... was impossible. He felt so exposed, like he was naked. No, worse. He didn’t have skin. 

“What? You don’t remember telling us all about your guardian angel? Right... Guppy?” Lorelei mocked and Hunter wanted to scream at him to stop, shut up. 

Hunter’s head pounded, he tried and tried to think through the blurred fog, it was all very wrong. “Don— don’t remember.”

“Ahh. Don’t remember,” Lorelei sat down again, oddly calm. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Hunter thought hard, but moments came only in swirls. “We were at the table. Playing the game, the—the first one, with the questions.” Guppy frowned remembering how his master’s friends laughed at him for being so stupid, for not knowing anything. Not knowing what real people knew. Drink again, drink again! 

They started playing a different game, but Hunter couldn’t remember what the rules were... except that when they yelled at him he had to drink. “Your friend... I was on his lap. At… at the table,” Hunter absently reached up to his collar, remembering the motion of the man touching the fabric, saying something. 

“Mhm,” Lorelei hummed, “Do you remember being on the couch?”

Hunter tried to grasp for the couch, but he couldn’t remember, he didn’t know. “No,” Hunter said and felt overwhelmed, sick, sick at the thought of what he didn’t remember, at what Lorelei could’ve done, at what he could’ve done. What was going on? He was in a nightmare... he felt his voice crack. “I don’t remember.” 

He ducked his head, though he couldn’t hide his tears from Lorelei, who was always watching, never leaving Hunter alone. Lorelei knew about Misha somehow. But Hunter couldn’t possibly have told Lorelei about that, have given Lorelei the perfect knife. “Don... remember.”

Lorelei shifted closer and Hunter pulled back but had no where to go, he was trapped, always trapped. Lorelei reached out and Hunter braced himself, but Lorelei just patted Hunter’s back.

Don’t touch me... Hunter thought bitterly and it took his reeling mind a minute to register that this was supposed to be calming. If he knew anything, it was to seize mercy. Before he lost his bravery, he blurted, “Master. Can I clean up by myself? Please?”

Lorelei stopped petting him and seemed to consider it. “Yourself? You couldn’t even walk over here, how are you—“

“But!” Hunter cringed at his bad interruption, “I feel better. I can stand,” Hunter wasn’t exactly sure if that part was true, “Y-You’re tired, sir. I can do it. Please?”

“Well... you do seem better, I guess,” Lorelei said and yawned wide. “...Okay, fine. Don’t make me regret this, crybaby.”

“Yes sir. I won’t. Thank you,” Hunter said, surprised that it worked so easily. 

Go go go go Hunter prayed until Lorelei shuffled out. Hunter melted in relief, suddenly feeling very heavy. 

He curled up, finally alone with his splitting headache. He’d shower... in a minute. The pounding in his skull now seemed deafening. He lay there for a while, with the awful churn in his vision, even with his eyes closed, until at some point, he fell asleep. 

------

goodest blogs! --> 

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